I went on my first road trip this weekend. Can we talk a minute about infant car seats?
They’re awful!
People, I have zero muscle control in my neck, so when you put me in a car seat, I am naturally going to slump over to the side, unless of course you pull the straps tight enough to keep my head upright, but the only reason that works is because my cheeks balance precariously on the straps.
In all, there is nothing comfortable about this so-called “pumpkin” seat.
(I like how you’ve given it a cutesy little name in an attempt to make it sound like it’s fun. So precious of you…)
Anyway, I’m in the running to claim the Baby of the Year title, so I was on my best behavior for this road trip, and not only because I want the prestige. I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I’ve heard my parents tell the story of the night the man named “dad” dropped my sister, Tia, on her head when she was a baby.
Apparently she was sleeping in her “pumpkin” seat and the handle wasn’t locked well, so when “dad” picked her up, she pitched forward and fell on her face.
So she was left defenseless against the dangerous “pumpkin” seat, without even her hands to help break her fall. (Yes, I’m putting the quotations in there on purpose, because pumpkins are round and lovely, and seem to elicit happy memories from everyone of something called “fall.” This infant car seat elicits no such happy feelings from me. Thus the quotations…)
Whenever my parents tell this horrific story, they laugh. Sure, they say it was an accident, and they make cheeky comments about Tia having been literally dropped on her head, but it still leaves me slightly wary of the “pumpkin” seat. I listen hard for the handle to latch when they set me in it, and I’m trying to be cool and go to sleep, even though I’m wildly uncomfortable, and rather terrified.
I mean, take this photo, for example.
Do you see the terror on my face?!
Do you?!
This month, I’m linking up with The Nester for this 31 Day series as I survive the newborn haze of sleepless nights, endless nursing, and squeezing in life in twenty minute increments throughout the day. If you want to receive the posts directly in your email inbox, just leave your email address in the box on the sidebar, and subscribe so you don’t miss a post!
I’ll share photos every day, some of them good, and some of them mediocre, because baby leaves me little time to worry about taking and editing the perfect photos.
I’ll also be sharing my daughter’s thoughts, as dictated to me telepathically while she nurses, because she has informed me that she is a mind ninja, and I am merely her portal to the outside world.
It’s probably too early for me to attempt to put into writing the events of the day of Annika’s birth, but while it all still feels so fresh, I’m going to give it a try.
In some ways, I wish we had better documented the day, but a part of me is content to keep those moments a sacred memory. This birth was different in a lot of ways from my other children’s, and I’m glad. The fourth child deserves a unique story, doesn’t she?
My first three children were all born in the hospital. I’ve always chosen to give birth naturally, not because I’m strong or brave, but because I’m scared of needles and the epidural literally sends me into spasms of fear just thinking about it. I’m that annoying girl who gets dizzy every time she gets her blood drawn. Nurses love me.
I also have always had the benefit of having very, very quick labors. My longest labor before Annika was 5 hours. Apparently I was made to birth babies.
This time around we decided to give birth at a birth center with the assistance of a midwife. Since moving to Florida, I haven’t found an OB that I like, and because I’d never needed much medical assistance anyway, this route just made sense to us.
It was such a unique experience to give birth in the birth center. Lee and I were really left alone for most of the labor, which allowed me space to work through the pain on my own time and in my own way. I liked this freedom, and the atmosphere was so quiet and peaceful and serene that I almost felt like we were in a fancy hotel room.
And the fact that we got to go home just four hours after she was born was such a blessing. As we drove home that evening, Lee looked at me and said, “I’ve had rounds of golf that lasted longer than that!”
Around 1:00 am the night before she was born, my contractions started. They were manageable, and not really all that painful, but they were strong enough to keep me up. I also felt almost certain that my water had broken, so I spent much of that night preparing myself to welcome our baby soon. Because labor has gone so quickly for me in the past, I was given strict instructions not to wait too long before calling the birth center.
No one wanted to see me deliver this kid on the side of the road.
Around 5:00, I decided that the contractions, though still not very painful, were regular enough to warrant a phone call. We were told to meet at the birth center at 7:00, so we called my mom, woke the kids, and told them that they’d have a baby sister by the end of the day.
That was so much fun. It was awesome to see their excitement as it only fueled our own.
Fast forward three hours, and we returned home from the birth center…without a baby. I was in tears, frustrated and embarrassed that after doing this three times before, my body seemed to be completely unresponsive to labor this time around. I wasn’t dilated, my contractions had slowed considerably, my water actually had not broken, and the baby was not laying in an optimal position, which was probably the cause of the hold up. Her head wasn’t centered, so she wasn’t moving down like she needed to.
This was so different from anything I’d ever experienced and it threw me off a little. So I went to bed and took a nap, still hoping that we could ramp things back up later.
When the kids got home from school they were naturally disappointed that I hadn’t had the baby, but while they played around me, I felt the contractions kick back up and, true to form, they started to come fast. This time I knew it was for real, and we rushed back to the birth center, arriving even before the on-call midwife.
I was 5 cm dilated at that point, and things happened very quick. Within two hours, it was go-time, and after only six minutes of intense pushing (because my labors happen so quickly, I often describe them as violent. I go from nothing to BABY in a flash, and the pain goes from a 4 on the pain scale to a 52 in seconds), Annika made her debut.
At 4:32, the midwife laid Annika Rachel on my chest I had the same intense feeling that I had with all my kids:
I knew her.
Her face was so familiar to me, and not just because she looks exactly like Tia did at birth, but because it’s as though she has always been here. I think God does that on purpose. He leaves this tiny impression of our children on our hearts long before giving them to us so that when we finally hold them, it just feels perfectly right.
I feel like I’ve known this little girl all my life.
We are one week in, and things are going relatively smoothly. I forgot how much work newborns are, which has been an adjustment. But other than feeling like I can’t get anything done, things are moving right along. She could not be more loved or cherished by her brothers and sister. To be sure, she is a blessed little girl.
I will hold tight to the memories of September 22, 2014 for the rest of my life, filing them away in my heart next to the births of my other three children. What a privilege it is to be the mother of these four spectacular little humans. I am truly in awe of this calling placed before me.
I kept on swimming, friends. Right into labor and delivery. Our daughter, Annika Rachel, was born yesterday at 4:32. The labor was a different one for me. But that’s another story for another time. Right now I’ll just share a few pictures. They aren’t great pictures, mind you. I haven’t had the wherewithal to try and create perfect photos just yet.
But that day’s coming because I have a closet full of RIDICULOUS hair bows waiting for this child.
Thanks for all the encouragement after my last post. I survived pregnancy! I’m not pregnant anymore.
I’ve never been what one might call “patient.” I was the kid who snooped for Christmas presents (maybe even unwrapping and rewrapping the gifts a time or two. Sorry, Mom…) While I enjoy surprises, I don’t like knowing a surprise is coming then having to wait for it. That’s just mean.
When a big event is coming, I feel nearly tortured with the wait. A holiday, a big trip, a life event, you name it, and I’m most likely bouncing up and down in anticipation.
This means that the end of a pregnancy is just short of torture.
What makes these last few weeks even more torturous is that there is no real set time. I could go in to labor tomorrow, or in two weeks. I don’t know. THIS MAKES ME INSANE!
And by insane, I mean angry. Imagine the Incredible Hulk in the final stages of pregnancy.
HULK SMASH!
Now, logically, I know that I should cherish this time. Right now life is still easy. The kids are in school all day, and I have free time to accomplish things. We can still easily get from here to there, and I don’t have to worry about juggling feeding and nap schedules as long as she remains nestled snug in my womb.
I am working on a new book, and still trying to pitch my novel, and I have time to focus on both those endeavors right now. This is good! I know the logical arguments for why I should be cherishing this time.
So why am I so frustrated?
First, I blame hormones. I can already feel those wily little chemical imbalances toying with me, pushing me into tearful escapades over silly little nonsense.
Incidentally, NERF guns should be banned from planet earth when one is at the end of her pregnancy, because NERF guns with all their clicky loudness and insanity inducing bullet shooting are enough to turn ANY hormonal pregnant woman into the Incredible Hulk.
HULK SMASH!
Second, I’m just uncomfortable. My hands and feet are swollen. I can’t sleep. I see a million things that need to be done (that I have the time to do), but they’re hard because I have a 20 pound bowling ball protruding from my gut.
Finally, I’m just impatient. I want to meet her. I’m ready to move to the next phase in our family. I’m ready for the nighttime feedings and the crazy, because clearly I operate better under crazy than I do under being stalled.
Some days, I approach full on HULK SMASH mode, overflowing with frustration at all of the world. And it’s so silly, really, because I know – I KNOW – I should be grateful. This is the last time I’m going to do this pregnancy thing. I want to cherish it. I’m trying to cherish it.
So I’m working on channeling my inner Dory, which is so much more pleasant for everyone around me than my inner Incredible Hulk.
There’s no point to this blog post. None. No lesson to be gleaned. No wisdom to be imparted. I tried to think of a really cool way I could turn it around and offer you something deeply profound about motherhood and life, maybe even relating it to creativity.
But I’ve got nothin’.
All I can say is that as you and I head into our weekends, let’s just keep swimming. Swim right on through this crazy life with all of it’s joys and frustrations. Let’s channel our inner Zen, avoid the dreaded HULK SMASH, and swim the heck out of this life.
Aren’t you glad you stopped by this place for a visit today?
Motherhood and creativity go hand in hand. Even a mathematically/scientifically minded mother will find herself tapping into an inner creativity when her children are born.
You have to be creative to survive those small people, amen?
As we see the boom in blogging, (particularly in niche blogging), it’s a good idea to observe those mothers who have a specific bent toward creativity, and who are boldly living out their art and life in this online explosion of creativity.
The 5 Habits of Successfully Creative Mothers
1.) Joyful Dedication: Creative mothers are dedicated to their creative pursuits. They not only set time aside to accomplish their creative goals, but they actually find joy in this time spent on their crafts. Whether it be sewing, baking, decorating, writing, speaking, acting, photography, or any other creative endeavor, the creative mother finds great joy in the dedicated time spent on her art.
2.) Love of Craft: Creative mothers love what they do as much as they love their children. They live out their art boldly, and confidently share it with the world, not as a means to brag, but because what’s the point in creating something beautiful if you’re not willing to share it?
3.) Embracing a Life of Imbalance: There’s a lot of talk about a little word called “balance.” This word is often directed at mothers as a means to encourage them to remember their number one priorities (the children), and to find a proper amount of time “balance” life and art.
Successful creatives realize that there is no such thing as balance.
You cannot effectively pour yourself into your art and keep the house clean, the laundry done, dinner on the table, and everyone happy. Worthy goals will always require sacrifice, and creative mothers know this too well.
Sometimes, time spent on the art will need to be sacrificed in order to focus on your family.
Other times, you may need to make a different kind of sacrifice (either through hiring child care, ordering take out, ignoring dirty floors and clothes, staying up late or waking up early, etc…) so that you can focus on your art.
The balance is in knowing that your days will not be fully balanced. It’s give and take – ebb and flow. The mothers who are successfully pursuing their creative endeavors understand and embrace this imbalance.
4.) Refusing to Take On Guilt: Motherhood comes with a side of guilt included. Whether or not we choose to ingest this guilt, or push it away, is entirely up to us. The creative mother who decides to spend a little more time one weekend devoting herself to her craft can quickly get derailed and sidetracked if she bows down to guilt.
Guilt tells us we should be more focused on our family than our art.
Guilt tells us our family is suffering because we are being selfish.
Guilt is wrong.
Creative mothers living in successful pursuit of their craft know that it’s just as important for them to focus on their art as it is to focus on their families. Your creativity is a gift, and it’s part of who you are. To deny it would leave you lost and frustrated. This is a building block to embracing the imbalance.
5.) Confidence: Successful, creative mothers are confident in their abilities. This is not a haughty, proud confidence, but a belief that their skills are necessary and worthy to be pursued. They don’t cower in the shadow of comparison, or bow to the altar of sacrificing dreams. They believe in themselves, embrace how they were made, and share their gifts always to the benefit of others (including their families).
Creative friend, you are worthy and you’re good at what you do. As you can see, each of these habits builds on the other, and stacked together, they form a pyramid on which to steady yourself. Above all else, however, it is imperative that you remember that you are a good mother, and you have a creative bent. The two do not have to be mutually exclusive. You can live life creatively with your little ones at your feet, and you can still prioritize your title as mother above your title of creative.
Because I am so near the end of this pregnancy, I am what you might call…um…large. Great with child? My eleven year old says I’m HUGE. He’s learning tact.
Most nights are, to put it bluntly, completely miserable. I fall asleep quickly, and I sleep well until somewhere between 2:00 and 3:30, at which point I might as well just start getting out of bed and calling it day. Instead, I toss and turn, and mumble about the wicked heat, despite the air being turned as low as my husband will allow it, and a fan pointed directly at my face.
When morning finally rolls around, I try to pull myself out of bed with a good attitude, but generally my first thought is, “Well thank God that’s over.”
Then I suck it up, act like a big girl, drink a little coffee, and move on with my day.
Such is life. We don’t always get what we want, and sleep is overrated anyway, really. Who needs it?
(I do. I really do.)
I’ve also got a To-Do list that’s a half mile long, with two-thirds of it probably residing somewhere on the unrealistic side. Nesting is no joke, you guys. Last week, I took out the strongest cleaner I could find and washed my front door.
I WASHED my FRONT DOOR.
Add that to the list of ridiculous things I feel like I need to finish before baby arrives and you get a small picture of the crazy that is surrounding most of my days. Feel free to pray for my family as they deal with me.
The cherry on top of all of it is my desire to keep creating. I was in a creativity groove this summer, and I love it. I poured myself into my creative pursuits, writing and dreaming up ideas. I started new projects, and continued to push forward on completed projects. I published an ebook, sent out countless queries for my novel, started the proposal for a new book, and wrote blog posts for several different sites.
It was so much fun! My writer heart felt very fulfilled.
Now, however, the time to create has begun to taper, and I know that when the baby arrives there will be a period of time when it stops altogether. Fatigue plays a role in this lack of creativity, as do all those other tasks I want to accomplish. I’m still setting aside some time to write, but not as much as before.
And that is okay.
Living this life as a creative is a constant balance of knowing what I need to do and what I want to do. We creatives tend to be our own worst critics, never feeling like what we do is enough, but in the pursuing of our art, we can so quickly forget to live.
A couple of weeks ago, the kids and I watched the movie Hook and I was struck by the last line of the film. Granny Wendy looks gently at Peter after he returns from the grand adventure in Neverland.
“So,” she says. “Your adventures are over.”
“Oh no,” he replies. “To live – to live would be an awfully big adventure.”
In the quest to accomplish and finish and do, it’s really easy to forget to live. Stepping away from the To-Do list long enough to swim with my children is not a waste of time – it’s living.
Putting aside the writing for today so that I can focus on preparing for the arrival of my daughter is not a waste – it’s living.
Enjoying a game night with my family instead of folding and putting away that laundry is not a poor use of time – it’s living. (And let’s face it – who wants to do laundry anyway, Amirite?!)
It’s all part of the adventure.
So this one is for all the creatives who feel like there just isn’t enough time to create. Don’t be afraid to set it all aside for a little while. Don’t be afraid to live, because to live is the grandest adventure of them all.
This month, I’m linking up with The Nester for this 31 Day series as I survive the newborn haze of sleepless nights, endless nursing, and squeezing in life in twenty minute increments throughout the day. If you want to receive the posts directly in your email inbox, just leave your email address in the box on the sidebar, and subscribe so you don’t miss a post!
