I was getting a prenatal massage at a new place, provided by a woman who's worked with (evidently) a lot of pregnant women. I was pretty shocked at this question. Does getting a massage create some kind of intimate ask-me-anything-you-want atmosphere? If so, please clue me in.
I was mildly flabbergasted (since I was pretty relaxed, laying nearly naked on a table beneath a blanket getting a massage). Perhaps she had surmised this by my age, revealed by the crow's feet or the emerging grays from my two-month-old hair color. I immediately decided I was not embarrassed by my answer.
I simply replied "... um, no. After two miscarriages and a diagnosis of fertility, God has chosen to bless us with a miracle pregnancy." I told the truth. Usually people don't pry much more when you bring God into the conversation, but I'm past the point of wondering whether they think I'm nuts for believing.
She went right on from there, talking about other situations she's seen, how she had experienced seven (!) failed adoptions, and figured God just didn't have that in her plans.
I decided that she treated the massage experience like a lot of people treat the hair salon experience, and forgave her forthrightness. Still, it was weird man. Good massage though!
December 21, 2011
December 16, 2011
I Remember
I just read a fellow IF blogger's post about respecting the loss of the Dug.gars' latest pregnancy. I haven't bothered to look up the news story, as this person's post told me all I needed to know – that it was a loss at week 20, that they chose to have photos taken and share them, that they grieve deeply.
What interested me was the blogger talking about how people are judging them and how some are ridiculing them for publishing photos. As if a physical remembrance is reprehensible in our virtual world.
Who cares? And why do some people feel the need to blab about their opinion on how someone chooses to mourn? Not the blogger, but the ones she talked about. Her post was honorable and respectful for the most part.
What got under my skin is how some (the blogger and commenters) are framing their decision not to judge. Something to the tune of "I don't care for their religion, but…"
Wait a minute. Again – who cares? Why is okay to judge someone's faith in the context of claiming to be non-judgmental about something else they do? Can we be any more hypocritical and judgmental? Would anyone dare preface their opinion that way if the Dug.gars were anything but a brand of Christian, such as Muslim or Atheist or Jewish?
I'm going to close this idea right here.
What I am remembering today, in light of their loss, is my own. My losses, my journey. I remember the night DH and I watched Blue Lagoon sometime last year – soon after watching the female lead go through her naked pregnancy in the prime of her youth, I went to the restroom where DH later found me crumpled on the floor in the fetal position bawling my eyes out uncontrollably because I knew that would never be me. I remember having my first dead child sucked out of me through a D&C at week 12, and I remember the world's biggest blood clot dropping into the toilet as my second dead child left me at week 7.
I remember being trapped in a black pit of despair as I began my own journey of searching, of healing, of answers.
I remember that there is no such thing as rational grief, and I cannot help but honor however someone else chooses to express it.
Luke 6:36-38 (New International Version)
36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
What interested me was the blogger talking about how people are judging them and how some are ridiculing them for publishing photos. As if a physical remembrance is reprehensible in our virtual world.
Who cares? And why do some people feel the need to blab about their opinion on how someone chooses to mourn? Not the blogger, but the ones she talked about. Her post was honorable and respectful for the most part.
What got under my skin is how some (the blogger and commenters) are framing their decision not to judge. Something to the tune of "I don't care for their religion, but…"
Wait a minute. Again – who cares? Why is okay to judge someone's faith in the context of claiming to be non-judgmental about something else they do? Can we be any more hypocritical and judgmental? Would anyone dare preface their opinion that way if the Dug.gars were anything but a brand of Christian, such as Muslim or Atheist or Jewish?
I'm going to close this idea right here.
What I am remembering today, in light of their loss, is my own. My losses, my journey. I remember the night DH and I watched Blue Lagoon sometime last year – soon after watching the female lead go through her naked pregnancy in the prime of her youth, I went to the restroom where DH later found me crumpled on the floor in the fetal position bawling my eyes out uncontrollably because I knew that would never be me. I remember having my first dead child sucked out of me through a D&C at week 12, and I remember the world's biggest blood clot dropping into the toilet as my second dead child left me at week 7.
I remember being trapped in a black pit of despair as I began my own journey of searching, of healing, of answers.
I remember that there is no such thing as rational grief, and I cannot help but honor however someone else chooses to express it.
Luke 6:36-38 (New International Version)
36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
December 9, 2011
visual aids and the perception of progress
There we were, in the second of four childbirth preparation classes, when the leader showed a DVD of the labor process. Included were snippets from actual live births with women who didn't appear to be using meds (not that it matters). The emerging head, the visual inspection of the placenta…
Pardon me while I hurl.
Afterwards, the leader asked if we had any questions. Me? "Can I just schedule a c-section under general anesthesia?"
My doctor promises me that it's different when you're in the moment. Different as in better, right? LOL
As of today, I'm 30 weeks along and all is well. Or "perfect" as my doc says. I like her terminology. Oh, I could complain about the slow digestive tract, the sleep issues (Snore like a mama bear roaring in the woods when confronted with a threat to her cubs? Me?), the unanticipated weight gain (it's a good thing DH has no reason to pick me up or his back would snap in half), the heartburn (I love the jingling sound my plastic bottles of antacids make), the low energy (I regularly act on the overwhelming desire to nap), the mood swings (I love you! I'm desperate! I hate this place! Get outta my way! Aw how cute! I'm terrified!).
Oh but why? The baby is perfect. I don't have any problems that require intervention or careful monitoring or bed rest. So, really, I have nothing to complain about. Not that it stops me…
Hey kid! Quit kicking my bladder! …I mean, I love you sweet one…
Pardon me while I hurl.
Afterwards, the leader asked if we had any questions. Me? "Can I just schedule a c-section under general anesthesia?"
My doctor promises me that it's different when you're in the moment. Different as in better, right? LOL
As of today, I'm 30 weeks along and all is well. Or "perfect" as my doc says. I like her terminology. Oh, I could complain about the slow digestive tract, the sleep issues (Snore like a mama bear roaring in the woods when confronted with a threat to her cubs? Me?), the unanticipated weight gain (it's a good thing DH has no reason to pick me up or his back would snap in half), the heartburn (I love the jingling sound my plastic bottles of antacids make), the low energy (I regularly act on the overwhelming desire to nap), the mood swings (I love you! I'm desperate! I hate this place! Get outta my way! Aw how cute! I'm terrified!).
Oh but why? The baby is perfect. I don't have any problems that require intervention or careful monitoring or bed rest. So, really, I have nothing to complain about. Not that it stops me…
Hey kid! Quit kicking my bladder! …I mean, I love you sweet one…
December 2, 2011
A brief and powerful vision
The other night I was reading a novel, sitting Indian-style on the couch as I usually do. I glanced down at my belly and suddenly… I had a kind of vision of my son: Truly picturing him as a person of flesh and blood within my womb (no longer an idea or dream), growing and sucking his thumb and moving his eyes and mouth; realizing the power of knowing that, in a matter of weeks, I'll be holding him and staring at him and will no longer be pregnant but a parent.
Whoops. I can't think about this too long. I'm at work and I will start crying, just like I did in my car on the way to work this morning.
It occurs to me that I have no idea just how blessed I am. And I thought I had a pretty good idea.
Whoops. I can't think about this too long. I'm at work and I will start crying, just like I did in my car on the way to work this morning.
It occurs to me that I have no idea just how blessed I am. And I thought I had a pretty good idea.
November 18, 2011
That makes sense (part 2)
I talked to my therapist about my fears. After going over my historical fear of evil spirits and whatnot, she surmised that I'm in a vulnerable place right now.
As happy and miraculous an occasion that this pregnancy is, it's also bookmarked by tragedy and real fears. Not to downplay the goodness of it, just to acknowledge what it has taken to get to this point and knowing that it's not over yet. She pointed out that, rather than entertain any fears about the baby, my mind latched onto the contrived fears of a scary movie as a substitute.
In other words, demons aren't what I'm really afraid of. What I'm really afraid of, and don't want to admit out loud, is losing the baby. By chance, or circumstance, or car accident or what have you.
I exhaled. I knew she was right.
She encouraged me to keep praying, and form a bit of a bedtime ritual. That's what I'm doing. The logical part of my brain can now say "That isn't what you're really afraid of anyway, and that's okay. Go to sleep."
As for the demons, I remember that I already have the victory of the cross and that's all I need.
I have slept much better the last few nights, and I don't wake up feeling scared.
As happy and miraculous an occasion that this pregnancy is, it's also bookmarked by tragedy and real fears. Not to downplay the goodness of it, just to acknowledge what it has taken to get to this point and knowing that it's not over yet. She pointed out that, rather than entertain any fears about the baby, my mind latched onto the contrived fears of a scary movie as a substitute.
In other words, demons aren't what I'm really afraid of. What I'm really afraid of, and don't want to admit out loud, is losing the baby. By chance, or circumstance, or car accident or what have you.
I exhaled. I knew she was right.
She encouraged me to keep praying, and form a bit of a bedtime ritual. That's what I'm doing. The logical part of my brain can now say "That isn't what you're really afraid of anyway, and that's okay. Go to sleep."
As for the demons, I remember that I already have the victory of the cross and that's all I need.
I have slept much better the last few nights, and I don't wake up feeling scared.
November 15, 2011
Under my skin, or things that go bump in the night
I did something really stupid for Halloween – I watched Para.normal Acti.vity. Why was this stupid? Because, even when I understood that the movie dealt with demonic activity and possession, I kept watching. As a result, I may have slept half an hour that night. I kept the nightlight on in the bedroom for several days, looking over my shoulder at the room to make sure it stayed devoid of monsters. Eventually I switched sides with DH for the next week or so, just until the other night.
Stories of this nature have a tendency to sink under my skin and creep the heck out of me for a long time afterward. Why? That's a good question. The first time this kind of creepiness creeped me out was when I first saw The Excor.cist – I was barely a teenager – and ever since it's been a fear of mine. But I think it goes back even further.
As I tried to probe my brain, I remember when I was 6-8 years old and had frequent waking nightmares. You know, the kind where you wake up and you see someone or something until you cover your head with a blanket until the next time you open your eyes, at which point the thing is gone and you realize it was never there. Oh, you've never experienced this? I have. Many, many times. With many different "people" who looked at me or walked toward me… oh sorry, didn't mean to creep you out.
Each night after seeing that stupid movie (before I switched sides with DH), I was actually afraid of going to sleep. As if I just knew I'd wake up and something bad would happen. I know, it's totally irrational. Such is the nature of fear in this case.
I make it a habit to read my Bible every night – sometimes I go through a book, others I randomly select a passage and just start reading. One thing that brought a lot of comfort to me, and I've begun to study, was reading Psalm 91 just before turning in one night. It talks about how God literally protects those who believe in Him. I knew the Lord led me to this passage specifically, as part of it says:
"4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day..." (emphasis mine)
Wow. I can think of very few times in my life when I've come across a scripture that went straight to my soul in the midst of something going on, and this is definitely one of them.
Looking back, I suspect that I had those hallucinations as a reaction to my parents' divorce (I was six at the time). I also know now that chronic lack of sleep can result in such things. But so often, my kid brain was absolutely convinced that these hallucinations really happened. So in a way, seeing movies about people getting possessed unnerved me like nothing ever has because it reminds me of waking up in the night and seeing something that shouldn't be there.
This is no way to live, especially for a Christ-follower who has inherited the victory that He won for us on the cross. So I'm on the lookout for a solution. A few days ago, I remembered my copy of Joyce Mey.ers' Battle.field of the Mi.nd and picked it up again. I was surprised at what I read (still haven't gotten through more than 1/3 of the book). She talked about how the enemy can influence our thought lives by planting wrong ideas in there and getting us thinking about negative things. She calls them mind-binding spirits, and yes they are evil. Now don't get me wrong – I am fully aware that I have my own brain and am capable of harboring bad thoughts all by myself – but this is compelling information based on biblical truths.
It was like a light was turned on in my head, and I understood that this is probably the case for me. The author, for example, had once been an incredibly negative person and had no idea that it was her thought life, rather than her circumstances, that were robbing her of any joy in life.
Sound familiar?
Her admonition: think about what you're thinking about. Refuse to let the enemy rob you of happiness by influencing your thoughts. Instead, follow the advice of Philippians 4:8 (NIV) "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."
In other words, our thought lives must be intentional. Not reactionary.
Finally, I'll be sharing my experience with my therapist this evening to see if she can provide any additional insight. She's a good one for that.
Stories of this nature have a tendency to sink under my skin and creep the heck out of me for a long time afterward. Why? That's a good question. The first time this kind of creepiness creeped me out was when I first saw The Excor.cist – I was barely a teenager – and ever since it's been a fear of mine. But I think it goes back even further.
As I tried to probe my brain, I remember when I was 6-8 years old and had frequent waking nightmares. You know, the kind where you wake up and you see someone or something until you cover your head with a blanket until the next time you open your eyes, at which point the thing is gone and you realize it was never there. Oh, you've never experienced this? I have. Many, many times. With many different "people" who looked at me or walked toward me… oh sorry, didn't mean to creep you out.
Each night after seeing that stupid movie (before I switched sides with DH), I was actually afraid of going to sleep. As if I just knew I'd wake up and something bad would happen. I know, it's totally irrational. Such is the nature of fear in this case.
I make it a habit to read my Bible every night – sometimes I go through a book, others I randomly select a passage and just start reading. One thing that brought a lot of comfort to me, and I've begun to study, was reading Psalm 91 just before turning in one night. It talks about how God literally protects those who believe in Him. I knew the Lord led me to this passage specifically, as part of it says:
"4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day..." (emphasis mine)
Wow. I can think of very few times in my life when I've come across a scripture that went straight to my soul in the midst of something going on, and this is definitely one of them.
Looking back, I suspect that I had those hallucinations as a reaction to my parents' divorce (I was six at the time). I also know now that chronic lack of sleep can result in such things. But so often, my kid brain was absolutely convinced that these hallucinations really happened. So in a way, seeing movies about people getting possessed unnerved me like nothing ever has because it reminds me of waking up in the night and seeing something that shouldn't be there.
This is no way to live, especially for a Christ-follower who has inherited the victory that He won for us on the cross. So I'm on the lookout for a solution. A few days ago, I remembered my copy of Joyce Mey.ers' Battle.field of the Mi.nd and picked it up again. I was surprised at what I read (still haven't gotten through more than 1/3 of the book). She talked about how the enemy can influence our thought lives by planting wrong ideas in there and getting us thinking about negative things. She calls them mind-binding spirits, and yes they are evil. Now don't get me wrong – I am fully aware that I have my own brain and am capable of harboring bad thoughts all by myself – but this is compelling information based on biblical truths.
It was like a light was turned on in my head, and I understood that this is probably the case for me. The author, for example, had once been an incredibly negative person and had no idea that it was her thought life, rather than her circumstances, that were robbing her of any joy in life.
Sound familiar?
Her admonition: think about what you're thinking about. Refuse to let the enemy rob you of happiness by influencing your thoughts. Instead, follow the advice of Philippians 4:8 (NIV) "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."
In other words, our thought lives must be intentional. Not reactionary.
Finally, I'll be sharing my experience with my therapist this evening to see if she can provide any additional insight. She's a good one for that.
November 8, 2011
"The worst is yet to come!"
Okay, nobody is saying that outright. But every time the subject of new parenthood comes up in a conversation with someone who's not a new parent the sentiment is the same.
Get all the sleep you can now, because when the baby's born...
Enjoy this time together now, because when the baby's born...
Take care of those home improvement projects now, because when the baby's born...
You think you're tired now? Just wait until the baby's born...
Enjoy your humanity and self-identity now, because when the baby's born... (okay, I'm kidding, but you get the point). Seriously. I get it. Life is about to be ripped inside out, crumbled up like a giant piece of paper, soaked in baby barf, and thrown against a brick wall so that it will never again even vaguely resemble its current condition. Do I not have enough to be paranoid about without the constant stream of admonitions of everything I will no longer be allowed to enjoy, to indulge in, to fantasize about... criminy. Give a girl a break.
I need to hear more about the miracle of parenthood. About how the change is for the better, how I'll never regret it, how I'll fall in love the moment I set my eyes on my son when they lay him on my breast in the hospital, how deep and moving and utterly profound my life will be as a parent. Does this never occur to people?
Sigh. Enough of my rant. Please return to your regularly scheduled weekday...
Get all the sleep you can now, because when the baby's born...
Enjoy this time together now, because when the baby's born...
Take care of those home improvement projects now, because when the baby's born...
You think you're tired now? Just wait until the baby's born...
Enjoy your humanity and self-identity now, because when the baby's born... (okay, I'm kidding, but you get the point). Seriously. I get it. Life is about to be ripped inside out, crumbled up like a giant piece of paper, soaked in baby barf, and thrown against a brick wall so that it will never again even vaguely resemble its current condition. Do I not have enough to be paranoid about without the constant stream of admonitions of everything I will no longer be allowed to enjoy, to indulge in, to fantasize about... criminy. Give a girl a break.
I need to hear more about the miracle of parenthood. About how the change is for the better, how I'll never regret it, how I'll fall in love the moment I set my eyes on my son when they lay him on my breast in the hospital, how deep and moving and utterly profound my life will be as a parent. Does this never occur to people?
Sigh. Enough of my rant. Please return to your regularly scheduled weekday...
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