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be kind to yourself.

I don’t mean to do it, but it happens. Each time I’ve given birth, I’ve become consumed by the magic and wonder and exhaustion and fog of new motherhood, and over time, I’ve kind of lost myself. It happens out of love, and because I mean well, and because my desire is to usher our babies into the world in a peaceful way, but it turns out (and I suppose this should be obvious to me by now) that when I’m not good to myself for long periods of time, I’m no good to anyone else either.

I start to fizzle.

I don’t notice it at first, but it shows up in the hard parts of the day. I’m quicker to respond out of frustration than out of love. I’m hyper aware of all of the needs in my midst and I corner myself into the belief that I’m the only one who can meet them. I don’t ask for a break, because I feel like this is my job and I ought to be able to do it well. I take it seriously; I take pride in my ability to “get it all done.” And then, when no one else is looking, I crumble.

This past week, it was in the rocker in the nursery late at night. As I rocked our newest babe, wide awake at some unfortunate hour, I cried out of exhaustion and desperation and a deep, deep desire to just. do. anything. alone.

These babies? They are the most incredible gifts. And for the first little while, they’re also like extra appendages. If they’re the clingy type (Hey, I’d be too, if I’d never known anything outside of a womb before), we’re either nursing, wearing, carrying, rocking, swaying, bouncing or otherwise comforting a tiny human for hours on end and a looooong string of days at the beginning. I think this is good and absolutely beautiful.

I also know it can feel endless.

It isn’t endless, but when you’re in it? And when you’re up most of the night tending the needs of a little person, knowing that other little people are going to be waiting for you first thing in the morning with their own needs? Let’s just say there are blurry, dizzying moments, yes?

This isn’t all bad. For the most part, I think my head and heart should be focused on our babies and their siblings and the needs of everyone in our home. I’m called to this, and I’m grateful. But I have to be careful. I have to take time to recharge if I’m going to be at my best for anyone. We all do.

A few days back, I asked Jason if I could take time this weekend to redeem a gift certificate for a pedicure. I already had another item on the calendar that was going to get me out of the house alone for part of the morning, and I knew I’d benefit from an hour or two more. If I came home to nurse in between, we could make it happen, so we did.

I felt crazily guilty as I left the house with two of three kiddos crying inside, but I left anyway. I did something intellectually stimulating for an hour at our alma mater, and a little part of my brain came back. I grabbed a coffee without anyone or anything in tow. I dashed home to nurse the baby, and then I headed back out for a pedicure. Turns out defining a few hours as “me time” was probably one of the best things I did for my family all week.

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It took those few hours, but I started to hear my own thoughts again. I felt energized. I stopped to look at pretty things in a lovely shop downtown–without any interruption. I pushed down more thoughts of feeling guilty and began to recognize my why for the afternoon: because when I stop pursuing lovely, I stop feeling lovely. And when I stop feeling lovely, I stop being lovely to the people who matter the most to me. 

The cost of not caring for myself is far greater than the cost of making room for self care.

Yesterday afternoon I talked to adults who weren’t my beautiful children and I found myself in conversations about faith, doula work, navigating relationships and pursuing what is good. I had the chance to make a part of myself feel good again (hello, fresh polish!) in a season of limited rest, messy days on repeat inside the same four walls and post-baby body woes. I realize these are wonderful burdens to carry, but they’re wearing all the same.

A few weeks back, I decided that my word for 2017 would be “worthy.” I’ll unpack this in a separate post, but I couldn’t help reflecting on the word yesterday as I passed this time away from home and navigated guilt along the way. Worthy: having worth, merit or value. I have some work to do in owning this word in my heart and life, and this will be a year of determining what that can look like. What I do know is that my family is worthy of the me who is loving and patient–the me who teaches from rest and who operates out of self control and grace. I want to be a wife and mom who can love my people well at all times, and sometimes that means I’m going to need to love myself better along the way.

Do you find yourself on empty these days, too? The world around us is wild and crazy, but there are ways we can do our part to calm the storm. We can raise our babies well. We can start at home. We can start by setting our minds on what is lovely, and by being honest with ourselves and others when our tanks are running dry.

you are worthy. you are. we are.

mm

 

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beauty in the mundane.

For a few sacred moments today, the whole house was quiet, save for the busy whir of the washing machine downstairs and a lone bird announcing the chill outside, unceasing.

It’s a wonder I have the laundry going before the kids are in bed, honestly, so even the very fact that the chores are moving forward at this hour of the day is grace to me.

So seldom do I sit alone with my own thoughts lately, and while I’m more than thankful to have my hands full with great big blessings, I occasionally miss the silence. I miss thinking through the next days or weeks and making plans, connecting with others via notes or texts or long visits over coffee, writing here in this safe space and creating community with all of you.

What a strange feeling, to exist in the hazy sweetness that is the fourth trimester.

I am seven and a half weeks into this time, and I’m certain I’ll miss it when it’s gone. As much as the early days with a new baby are hard in so many ways, they’re also part of the sacred marrow this mama life has to offer, and I’d hate to wish them away for a second. This snuggled up baby season is fleeting, and our little ones are increasingly more amazing as the years go by, but they are never as tiny or connected as they are at the very start.

I am Crosby’s world and he is mine. Just as it was with Henry, and then Eloise, too, we exist both with and for each other through the nights and the days as the clock keeps time. I trust this is how God intended for us to be.

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The fourth trimester is a gift if we let it be, and I am trying–oh am I trying!–to savor all there is to savor of this precious little boy who is growing sometimes faster than my mama heart can handle. The reality of life with a newborn is a strange dichotomy…the pressing and the incredible and the holy and the beautiful all swirling into one as we learn our babies and who they are and who they will become.

We’ve all been out together, the kids and I, on this chilly Monday morning–one errand, then a quick latte for mama and bagels for all as a precursor to this brief Thanksgiving week. I am so thankful for the notion of more family time in these days ahead; it’s been such a busy season in many ways, and I crave the sweet, quiet moments we’re collecting as a unit of five, just as often as we can have them.

“Two days of work and then five weekend days,” Eloise reported with a big smile first thing this morning. It turns out we all need this fourth trimester–we all need to rest in just being “with” one another in these days.

The learning curve is steep on this one, going from two to three in the midst of other big changes for our family. The shifting of seasons seems appropriate and timely, even though a part of me is already mourning a beautifully long and drawn out autumn–one so perfectly gifted to us in a year when we would have otherwise missed it as we made adjustments here at home.

The leaves have nearly fallen now, the snow is already collecting discreetly in corners after this past, wintry weekend. Our eldest two are playing in agreement for the moment while the baby sleeps, still tucked warmly into his car seat from our morning outing. And I’m about to tackle the dishwasher and make lunch plates and such before the wee one needs his mama again, as is routine, but not before I draft these memories of this quiet grace given to me today…moments of solitude at the keyboard with my own musings and the laundry winding down in the spin cycle on the floor below.

embracing the gift of margin today,
mm

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sacred beginnings.

Ten days gone by…ten nights ago, I was typing away for day two of my one hundred day countdown to baby, so curious to know how many more days might go by before we met our sweet little bundle. That night, I went to bed praying again that our babe was near. When morning came, I knew it was the day. All of the signs pointed to our newest love making his way–on his due date, no less! After so many days and nights of contractions and what felt like so much waiting, it was time to meet the bean.

For all of the times I’d felt like baby #3 was unpredictable and mysterious, he was gearing up to be surprisingly punctual. That morning, as we made preparations to go to the hospital to welcome him here, the joy in my heart welled to a degree I just cannot explain. There is a mighty story to tell about this little one’s entrance into the world–plot twists and turns and so much from a spiritual and emotional standpoint that I’m not quite ready to articulate just yet, but soon. We were blessed to have the day captured in photographs by a sweet and talented friend of ours, and I’m looking forward to sharing some of those images in time, too.

Most importantly, God honored so many prayers and requests last Thursday, September 29th, and it’s a day we will never, ever forget. When Crosby Eames was born into our family at 3:53pm that afternoon, it was as if he’d been a part of our crew forever. His name had been pressed on my heart for a long, long time, just as with Henry and Eloise, and when Jason announced Crosby was a boy, I nearly burst. The moment was surreal, sacred, relieving, perfectly beautiful.

At nine days old, Crosby Eames is as much a part of the fabric of who we are as he could ever be. This first week of sleepy days and interrupted nights has been sweet in its own way…different from when we welcomed Henry or Eloise, but again, sacred. Crosby is a peaceful baby. No doubt he is still waking up in these early days together, but there’s something about him that tells me he’s settled, not restless. He is finding his place in the rhythm of things in the little blue house.

Henry and Eloise have welcomed Crosby graciously, doting on their little brother in ways that make me so grateful as a mom. God has been beyond faithful to meet us where we are and to meet me in the quiet moments when I’m adjusting to the hard things along the way. Crosby’s birth has afforded me a new level of intimacy with God that I could not have expected but am so eager to receive.

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All snuggles and smiles.

After ninety nine days of writing to this sweet babe we didn’t yet know, I’ve wanted to embrace the sacred space that falls around a family when a new baby comes into the fold. We’ve spent our first week quietly navigating new territory as a team of five, and I have so much stored up and waiting to be shared when the time is right. There are very tough moments to complement all of the incredible ones, just as it should be when everyone goes through a major transition together at once. I promise to share about those things eventually, too.

In the meantime, Crosby and I are settling in as mama and babe. Having another boy to raise is exactly what my heart sensed in the last days leading up to his arrival, and he feels like the perfect fit. I am just as in love with him as I’ve been with Henry and Eloise when they arrived–it’s true that your heart just grows bigger and finds a way to love more, and equally. Already, I’m holding tightly to these first, tiny days and knowing that they’ll pass all too quickly.

As much as I was eager to have him here, Crosby’s arrival turned the tide on a new emotion…the desire to slow down time just as much as possible so as to treasure the days and hours as best as we can. Pre-Crosby and Post-Crosby are both seasons I have and will treasure in the days to come. Sitting here trying to wrap my mind around it all, I’m grateful more than anything else. More joyful than frazzled, more at peace than stirred. The fact that we are even privileged to embrace a baby so fresh from God is more than I can fully process. Life is just the most precious gift!

I can’t wait to share more of this journey as it unfolds, and especially to write Crosby’s humbling and life-changing birth story. For now, though, I’m off to sip coffee and snuggle this little bean of ours while life and time permit…

Saturday afternoon coffee date! (The first of many, to be sure:) )

Saturday afternoon coffee date! (The first of many, to be sure:) )

taking nothing for granted, but so filled up by what’s right in front of me for today,

mm

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sibling love. (2)

I asked Henry and Eloise today if they might like to write letters to the new baby. Both were very enthusiastic. I wish I could write Eloise’s entire letter in her sweet little accent and vernacular, but I thought a straight translation would be better for clarity’s sake 😉 The kiddos dictated, and I typed. My heart about burst. I hope this little bean knows just how much he or she is loved already. Soon, soon!

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Dear Baby,

Happy to see you soon. Our whole family and come to Disney World soon and see my heart backpack. And come to meet big sister. Meet your other big brother again, and Mommy and Daddy and Kruger, and we’ll even bring you to church.

Hope that you like the world. And see the world when you come out soon, and we’ll see you. But Mommy will be at the doctor for a couple days, and you won’t see us then, but you will see us when Mommy heals and makes sure your safe.

And wish that you had a birthday party. You will come soon with Henry’s birthday party, ok?

I wanna play with you and love you so much. I wanna help you and help take care of you. And here’s our dining room and our living room and our play room. And we have a room for you and a room for us. And I made a picture for you, just special. A little teeny baby picture.

I love you,

Eloise

 

Dear Little Bean,

This is your big brother. I love you, baby. You are so cute. You’re the best brother or sister besides Eloise.

The world is so fun, baby! You’ll love it! When you get to visit Disney World, you’ll love it SO much! And you won’t want to go home from it.

I want to snuggle you and play with you and make you laugh SO much, I just can hardly wait for you to be born!

Being born is scary…just a liiiiittle bit. A tiny, tiny bit. But your mama will be holding you. Your mom is so nice and so careful with babies, you’ll just wanna not let go of her.

I can’t wait to meet you, baby. Cuuuz, it’s the best part of having a new baby brother or sister!

We have your room almost ready baby, and you’re gonna love it! You room is so fun, full of sea creatures and whales and turtles and jellyfish and seahorses and octopuses. You’ll just love it so much, I’m just gonna kiss you and hug you alive!

Love, Henry

It’s so dear to me that H and E anticipate this little one just as much as we do. I think it’s wearing on them a bit that baby has yet to make an entrance, but I’ve promised them that the bean will be here to join us as soon as he or she is ready. They continue to pray over baby and my belly, talking to both all of the time. What a gift as a parent to bear witness to their simple love for a child they’ve not yet met, and to know that God is preparing their hearts as well as our own.

proud to be their mama,

mm

 

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God’s time is not our time. (3)

“Like a tidal wave, crashing over me, rushing in to meet me here, Your love is fierce.
Like a hurricane, that I can’t escape, tearing through the atmosphere, Your love is fierce.” -Jesus Culture

Last night I was so disappointed. After intense contractions through the dinner hour and bedtime routine, I’d let myself get my hopes up again that it would be the night. The one where we’d head to the hospital and meet this baby and snuggle together close. But, as it’s been for the last number of days, the waves stopped abruptly and completely. This journey has been so beautiful and so hard.

I curled up on the bed and decided to put our labor playlist on for the first time. I hit shuffle. And one by one, the songs came, pouring over me and bringing a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in days. I’ve been praying for it and asking for it, but it just hasn’t come. Determined to arrive at a place where I’m honestly good with whatever happens and when, I’ve pushed through emotions to matter-of-factness and run through the million reasons why I shouldn’t mind at all that baby is still tucked away.

When you want something so badly you can taste it (or when you have good reason to think it’s arriving momentarily, only for your circumstances to change again and again), it’s challenging to just be rational and nonchalant about it all. Babies come in their timing, I know. God’s timing. I know. It’s still ok that this is as much a spiritual journey for me as it’s been a physical one, and I am being stretched in ways that the physical side of things is only serving to exemplify. I can’t even possibly see all of the things God is doing behind the scenes, and I don’t need to. I’m just trying to trust and rest in him at each doubting moment–at each emotional turn.

Today when I woke up feeling completely normal, with no signs of labor at all, it was a first in over a week. I felt a mix of relief and confusion. But those songs from last night? They were playing over and over again in my head, like a soundtrack for the day. God had buried them in my heart again overnight, and they kept bringing more peace.

I took my time this morning. A long time, actually. I got ready slowly. Didn’t rush anything about the day. We headed downtown after lunchtime just to get out for a while, and to do something that would feel good in the midst of the waiting. We’re all feeling it, and that’s hard, too. I know the kids are waiting. Jason is waiting. Family and friends are waiting. And since babies aren’t mail order and we can’t command them to do anything outside of what is best for their entrance into the world, it matters that we make the most of what we’re being given, which, for now, is time.

I got Eloise out of the car downtown and held onto her. It’s been a long time since I could just pick her up and carry her without strain. It felt so good to hold her close and not let go. She actually thanked me. Our sweet baby girl needs her mama and I need her, too, and this moment could have been missed. I’m so glad it wasn’t.

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The waiting is causing me to live life differently right now. I don’t know how to feel about that, except to say that I think I’m looking harder for the things to enjoy or appreciate in light of this time I really didn’t plan for us to have. It’s good perspective on life in general, especially in light of very hard news in our community tonight, where a young husband/father/son/brother/teacher and friend was lost unexpectedly, and all too soon.

God’s time is not our time. That can be so hard to understand, and I’m not sure any of us really grasps it well this side of heaven. In light of this, what we can do is continue to trust that his ways are higher than our ways, that his love is fierce, that he knows what is best, always, and that he rushes in to meet us where we are.

Please pray with me tonight for a family and community grieving great loss, and especially for a wife and three young children who now long for the day when they’ll see their husband and daddy again in eternity.

Life is fleeting and good. Let’s take all of the days we can and make them count–in big and small ways, for the sake of honoring God’s good gifts to us.

waiting on waves,

mm