Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Boldily Functions Abound

It has been a hectic week. We have been arduously looking at houses. I went out of town for my church's women's retreat (SUPERFUN!). Henry has the flu. So I thought to make it simple--I'd simply give a tally of different things that have been happening.

Houses looked at: 14
Houses with neighbors that prove unsightly: 3
Houses with neighbors that have old McDonald Equipment in the front yard (aka The Hamburgler house): 1
Times I laughed so hard I almost peed: 6
Lap dances given: 1 (Sorry Allie)
Times "That's what she said" was said: About a million
Henry's teeth that are completely in: 4
Diarrhea explosion diapers: 3
Times Henry has thrown up on Daddy: 4
Times Henry has thrown up on Mommy: 9
Times vomit has collected in Mommy's cleavage and gotten her panties wet: 1
Times Henry vomited on Mommy in public and she got laughed at by Mean Aunt Sonya: 1
Baths taken by Henry: 6
Baths taken by Henry and Mommy together: 1
Loads of Laundry: 8
Most times changed clothes in one day: 6
Times Henry has pooped on Mommy while she takes his temperature: 1
Sightings of Fu-Manchu snot mustaches: 9


Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Play Group and my little Photog

Neither Henry nor Caleb are content in being passengers--both want to drive Henry's car. Later in the day, out of curiosity, Caleb started pulling Henry's hair, to which Henry just turned around and crawled over Caleb as if to say "Hey, I may be a preemie, but I'm still bigger than you."

Peter and Luke chill on Henry's gym. Pretty soon they'll be entering the ring with Henry and Caleb. Peter is working on Henry's crawl over you technique. I suppose Watson, the other member of our Boyz only playgroup, will have to referee.


Ahh, play group is gone and I've got my toys to myself. Ooh--Mommy is trying to take my picture in my hat. I'd rather take the picture myself. Maybe if I crawl over to where she is...

I can pull up and then yank on that dangling lens cap. I wonder what it taste like.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Back to Cuteness

Sloan has complained that the last couple of posts have been too serious. So I will take this opportunity to get back to all things Henry. Henry is wonderful and has now been to meet with a mortgage agent and real estate agent in the effort to get him a yard and a dog. He is most excited about the dog. This morning at church a girl brought a dog to church that she'd train for animal therapy and Henry just loved being licked. It made him giggle and grin. Just bliss for me. And, once again, being the good Presbyterian that Henry is, he took his morning nap during Steve's sermon. Once again, bliss.


Mommy is so proud that like her, Henry is a lover of books. In fact, he simply devours them.

Henry is all boy. He loves chillin in his sweats, turning his bib around so it is a cape, and then trying to escape from Mommy's babyproofed areas. Lord, help me.


How 'bout them Heels? Mommy and Henry are so excited that his baseball cap finally fits. He enjoys wearing it, although sometimes he is my little "K-Fed", pulling the brim down low over his eyes. To him, this is just soooo funny.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

I don't like new people. Oh well.

With the year anniversary of my going into the hospital, God has really been working in my heart. As I've written before, I've been struggling with the seeming randomness of His blessings and grace and wondering a) how in the heck did I get through it, and b) what about all the other women with similar stories.

Last night I was praying and pondering what I could do. I've been working on a book about all of the blessings God showed us throughout our infertility, misscarriage, and difficult pregnancy, but have been plagued by the remoteness of it coming to fruition and my love for procrastination. I was thinking that I could take baskets to women in the hospital like I did for the woman at my church--full of soft toilet paper, bendy straws and post-it notes--but then I remembered that, as a general rule, I don't like meeting new people. I pretty much assume that if I don't know you, there's probably a good reason for it. After all, I'm like a wet sponge. Saturated.

So today, for Valentine's day, Henry and I went to pay a visit to my nurses on 3 West at Henrico Doctor's hospital. I took them goodies and we laughed about how many things I had up on my walls and how no one was allowed to visit me when Guiding Light was on. How there were pictures from my nieces and nephews everywhere. They said they'd used my making up of a schedule and adhering to it as encouragement for many patients and I confessed that it wasn't the schedule that got me through it, but God and God's good use of them and my doctors.

Then a nurse told me that she had a patient there that had been admitted at 23 weeks (exactly when I went in) a couple of days ago, and that she was pretty down and scared and would I be willing to talk to her. Before I'd even had time to think that I'd be talking to someone I don't know I said yes and I was pushing Henry's stroller into a hospital room.

I met this women who like me, had her feet high up in the air. She was very thankful to see me and asked me tons of questions. We talked about my schedule, how I had billions of pillows, the best way to cut meat with one hand, bed pans, hospital food, greasy hair, the fear of losing your child, the nurses, ultrasounds, meds, basically everything that I went through. We laughed. And then all of the sudden I was talking about how being in the hospital was a blessing. That it was hard--but what the enemy meant for harm has made me a better mom, a better wife, a better listener. I told her how just knowing that it was God's plan for my family didn't make going through it any physically easier, but it gave me peace. And I told her that I thought to have a sense of humor about it all was a gift from God too. That I thought that when the Bible talks about the fruit of the Spirit, the reason peace is listed after joy is because joy is how we get to peace. And then I asked her if I could pray for her and I did!

And I am planning on taking her a basket of goodies next week. And I'm looking forward to it.

I got the contact information for the head nurse at Henrico Dr's Hospital and am going to contact her about getting permission to make and deliver baskets to women waiting on bedrest. I would have my contact information in the basket and also tell the women to let their nurses know if they would be okay with a visit from me. (While I do have a heart for these women, I also don't want to barge in on strangers who are stuck in bed and can't get away from me unless I'm invited in.) And I've contacted the pastors at my church to see if they would partner with me by asking if other women want to joing me and gathering donations of things to put in baskets and the baskets themselves.

My aim in all of this is to glorify God by: a) encouraging pregnant women on bedrest by meeting some of their physical and emotional needs, b) providing hope and humor in a difficult time by sharing my story of God's faithfulness to me, and c) establishing relationships with these women and praying for their babies to be healthy and to come to term. I do not see this as a door to door evangelism project. In fact, the thought of that makes my skin itchy. Rather, I see it as me providing some practical ways to make their hospital stay's easier. I think if this is done, God will do the rest.

Who knew I'd get excited about meeting new people? What is God thinking?!?

Monday, February 11, 2008

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

One of Sloan and my favorite songs is Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" and it has been a hard rain kind of falling week for me. Sadness mixed with poetry mixed with hope. Just full of those things that haunt you. Mainly it has been a week to reflect on the mercy of God, His goodness to our family, and the seeming randomness of it all. In a nutshell, the complexity of God's grace.

It was about a year ago this week (February 16th, to be exact) that we went to the doctor's expecting a routine ultrasound only to find out that I was in labor, 4 cm dialated, and would be admitted to the hospital. I was 23 weeks pregnant and so full of fear. I remember asking my friend Joe to pray for God's will to be done, because that just wasn't something I could do. If it was God's will to take Henry home, that I wanted no part of it. I wanted my way, my son, my life back. That was my heart that first day.

The next day, no less fearful, but I suppose more composed our pastor came to see us. Teary eyed, I remember telling him that the night before, for some unknown reason, all I could do was say over and over in my head the first question and answer to the Heidelburg cathechism (thank God for Seminary classes forcing me to memorize it). Question: What is your only comfort, in life and in death? Answer: That I belong--body and soul, in life and in death--not to myself but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ, who at the cost of his own blood has fully paid for all my sins and has completely freed me from the dominion of the devil; that he protects me so well that without the will of of my Father in heaven not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, that everything must fit his purpose for my salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit, he also assures me of eternal life, and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him. (The simple fact that I remembered this at all is truly a work of the Holy Spirit as I've always been a day before the exam crammer!)
But over and over I couldn't shake the truth of this--that no matter what may happen--I belong to Christ and nothing, not even the loss of a child, can shake that. And that led to me realizing that because of God's promises to me, Henry, although too small even to be born yet, was God's too. That Henry's only comfort in life and death was, would be, and is that he belongs body and soul to Jesus Christ. And then I knew that to hold onto something that tightly, even the very life of your child, is harmful. Not because life isn't precious or a miracle, but because it is a gift. No--not even a gift--a loan. Henry doesn't and has never belonged to me. I've never belonged to my family, my husband. We're on loan and at some point in time, we will return home.

So I asked our pastor, Steve, to pray that I would remember the truth. Of course to pray for the safety and health of Henry, but that no matter what, I would not forget that God is for me and loves me. Truefully, I think getting over the loss of a child would be easier than getting over believing that you've been forsaken by God. I don't want to trivialize that loss--but to believe that God doesn't love you? Where does that leave you? Without hope in the hard rain.
More introspection came also this week as I left Henry in the nursery at my Bible Study for the first time. About 20 minutes later, as I'm trying to lead my group, I'm crying because I miss him so much. Not because I'm worried about him or concerned he's unhappy (he was having a blast and didn't miss me at all!), just because I missed his smile, smell, touch, laugh. And then I started crying more because if I, a flawed, self-absorbed human, missed my son this much in just 20 minutes, How much more must God love me and miss me when I ignore him? Or how much more must God love me if He gave his only son to die in my place? No way in heck would I even let Henry go for an hour just to help people who are mean to me, much less let him suffer on their behalf.
It has also been a difficult week as an aquaintance of mine was recently hospitalized during her pregnancy. Henry and I went to visit her and take a basket full of goodies--mints, post-its, gossip magazines, soft toilet paper, lotion--basically all of the stuff I learned I needed in the hospital. I tried to encourage her and to let her know that despite all of my good humor and laughter at peeing in a bed pan, it is a difficult and scary time. Two days later, at 23 weeks, she delivered her baby girl. Her daughter did not make it through the day.
I am haunted by this. I hold Henry tight, smother him with kisses, and cry at the pain her family must be feeling and wonder why God chose to loan us Henry longer. I dance with him until he starts trying to wriggle away, constantly singing John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy." I want to scream at the top of my lungs, "Lord, I'm grateful, but I don't understand!"
And I don't have to understand. The truth is--God loves this grieving family. Desperately. His heart aches for them and is near to them in their sorrow. It is also true that this sadness was part of His perfect plan for them, and also, knowing them, feeling this ache--for me as well. How do I manage to put these two things together? I don't know. Life isn't a puzzle; the pieces don't always match.

All I know is that a hard rain is falling and I'm ever so grateful I belong, in body and soul, to Him.