Where's the rewind button?

Wow…it’s been a long time. So much has happened between my last post and now that I’m not even sure what to write about. Ivey is sitting, attempting to crawl, and (much to my chagrin) STANDING periodically!! She JUST turned six months and seems to be growing at lightning speed. Those newborn weeks…you know that horrible, sleepless, scary time period that you can’t wait to be over…I want that back. I want my tiny little baby back in my arms, helpless and immobile, completely reliant on me for every little thing. I’m old news to my daughter now! She has no interest in cuddling or being held. She has just discovered the world around her and it’s super cool. I want to cry as I watch her sit and play with her toys without a single glance in my direction.  Thank goodness she is still nursing!! I get to hold her and love on her as much as I want while she’s at the boob 

Time is a crazy thing. Six short months ago, Ivey could barely lift her head or even stay awake for more than 2 hours at a time. These days it’s a struggle to get her to sleep. Six months ago, I was still in my 20’s! I had just had a baby…my life felt complete. I was feeling good! I’m 30 now…and feel every single one of those years. I’m not sure what changed in 6 months. Maybe it was just the mere change in decades…or possibly the fact that I had JUST HAD A BABY haha…but man do I feel old these days. Six months ago…  Ben Affleck hadn’t won any Academy Awards, no one had thought to bomb a marathon, and Cory Monteith was still alive. So many things can happen…devastating, shocking, amazing, life-changing things…in such a short period of time. The gravity of this reality never hit me until I had Ivey. In the beginning, I couldn’t wait for all of her milestones. First smiles, first roll, first laugh, first sit up…If only I had spent the time I was wishing her life away actually ENJOYING her where she was at that moment. Those first few months I had her all to myself, I was so busy worrying about every little thing rather than truly taking in and relishing mother hood. And, as a first time mom, there was really little else I could do. But now I am back to work…missing some of those special moments, wishing desperately to go back and have that time with her again. How differently I would have spent it!

I know firsthand how exciting it is to watch your child grow and discover new things, but don’t wish their life away. Cherish and treasure every moment…it’s all we are guaranteed. Before you know it, your precious bundle will be walking and talking and running away from you every moment they get! Best to snuggle them now before they are able to escape.

Take Two Every Four Hours

These past few days, our household has been riddled with the Plague. Which in my terms, is a very unpleasant mixture of strep throat, flu, and fevers. I had strep first, Ivey had a slight fever for about a day and a half and now my poor husband is currently being pummeled with flu symptoms. I’m still recovering, so the thought of arriving home from work to take care of two babies (let’s face it…men are not the best at dealing with any sort of sickness) is less than appealing. It makes me miss being a little girl and my mom making me lay in bed in front of a good movie and covering me in a million blankets. Because, while I hated being sick, I loved the full and loving attention I received from my mom for that short while. Now that I’ve been placed in that mothering role, I realize now the anxiety that your child’s sickness can cause. When I realized that Ivey had a fever of over 101, I was flooded with panic and of course all the worst case scenarios came to mind. RSV, Croup, Ear Infection, and so on…none of these were something I was prepared to deal with and it was all I could do to not take her to the ER straight away! One dose of Tylenol and a lukewarm bath seemed to do the trick and I am astounded at the intuition my maternal instinct afforded me! That little boost of confidence went a long way in helping me to remain calm and be the mother Ivey needed me to be. Of course, I got no sleep that night as my eyes were glued to her visual monitor and I sneaked into her room every hour or so to make sure the temperature was not to hot or too cold.

As I sit here recalling these miserable hours, I am reminded of my Father and the incredible care He has taken of me during my “sick” and troubled times. I felt His presence in the darkest of times and while I may not have even wanted healing at that point, I knew He was there, watching over me, checking my temperature and administering love and forgiveness when I needed it most. I can be a very stubborn patient. It takes me a long time to get over any ailment because I refuse to follow instruction or to slow down for even a moment. When I had strep, I took extra strength Ibuprofen to dull the pain and refused to take a day off. Finally, when I was unable to drag myself out of bed one morning, I acquiesced and went to the doctor. I was of course chided in a rather demeaning way (I’d like to point out my doctor was YOUNGER THAN ME) about not taking care of myself. Still, I went back to work and sadly only took four days of antibiotics because I simply forgot. Luckily, the sickness is seeming to digress and I am starting to feel like myself more each day. That said, doctors give up on me. I’ve had several haha…none of which have deemed me an “easy” patient. God could have given up on me several times. But for whatever reason, He has stuck around and continues to remind me of His presence through Ivey, through my husband, through the written words of a friend…I know He’s still watching over me, guiding me, and ready to help me fight the sickness always looming over my weak and damaged heart. I am going to hold Ivey a little closer tonight as I rock her to sleep. And when I feel her steady breath on my shoulder, I am going to look to Heaven and thank God for her. She was my healing after two long years of incredible sickness. And she turned out to be exactly what the doctor ordered. 

Ode to Mama

This post has been on my mind before I even started blogging. In fact, this post is the very inspiration behind my desire to write at all. As a new mother myself, I will admit to you the lack of profound respect I have had for not only my mother, but for any mother out there, until I myself was thrown into the role. I decided to look up the term 'mother' in the dictionary the other day and this is what I came up with.
Mother: "A mother is a woman who has raised a child, given birth to a child, and/or supplied the ovum that united with a sperm which grew into a child."
As a mother myself, this lackluster definition was borderline offensive to me. I refuse to be simply dubbed a "baby-growing factory" or "egg supplier". Giving birth is simply the first, and dare I say most minimal step in the journey that is motherhood.
To illustrate this, let me tell you about my mom. Since she is my mom, perhaps I am a bit biased. But I refuse to believe that the halo I have painted around her head is a figment of my imagination. My mom had her first baby at 22... 22!! I think puberty finally hit me at 22! I know I was nowhere near ready to take on the responsibilities of motherhood at 22. But my mom has always been described by her family and friends as "mature beyond her years." Being the eldest of four kids, she was placed in a leadership role at a young age as most firstborn children are. Family has always been her number one priority. She lost her dad shortly after her second child, my older brother, was born. Her dad was her hero...her best friend. When she talks about him, you can feel the love and respect and closeness she felt for him and with him. I think that loss really fueled her determination to keep all of us close and to raise us with strong family values. Not that she wouldn't have otherwise. I know she deeply regrets that we never got to know him. But sometimes losing someone so close can cause us to really appreciate what we have. And neither I, nor my brothers or sisters as far as I know, have ever felt a lack of love or appreciation from our mother. (I'm not leaving my father out on purpose...his tribute post will not be far behind this one). My mother managed to distribute her love evenly among six kids. I never felt any favoritism was showed to any one of us. We each went through our various stages of rebellion as all kids do. And we each brought with us a different challenge that she had to overcome. But even through the most difficult of times, she loved us unconditionally. When it came to punishment, we were all mostly scared of mom :) She would make us bend over and grab our ankles during spankings. At the time, I thought this was such cruel torture. She later explained that when she would spank us, we would often arch her backs, causing her to accidently hit our back or legs. Having us grab our ankles ensured that she would only be hitting our butts. She tried to protect us through everything, even when she had to punish us. I appreciate so much the way she disciplined us. Some would turn their nose up at this and chastise my mom for daring to lay a hand on her children. This is a personal choice. As a child who was raised with spankings, I never once felt abused or frightened. Yes, being spanked sucked. It was never fun and I certainly never looked forward to it. But it was necessary. Mom never punished us out of anger and always made sure we understood why it needed done. And afterward, she would wipe our tears and tell us how much she loved us. I couldn't imagine being raised any other way and fully intend on raising our kids in the same manner. My relationship with my mom didn't reach the level it is today til I went away to college. I think my brothers and sisters would all say the same. Its easy to take that kind of love and protection for granted when it is always within reach. But when I was out on my own and something bad would happen, the one person I wanted to talk to was my mom. I hated the fact that I couldn't just drive to her house and seek out the comfort only she could give. Needless to say, I didn't stay away long. As much as I wanted to branch out and explore new worlds outside of the one I grew up in, I wasn't...and still am not...ready to give up the luxury of my mother being close by. I am still learning from her as I begin my own journey mothering Ivey. My mom is my hero. She is the woman, wife, and mother I hope to be. She is humble, wise, selfless, and patient...and I could not imagine life without her.
All this to say I appreciate my mom now more than ever. And not just her... all the mothers out there. My sisters, sister-in-laws, mother-in-law, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, and friends...even those of you who are not quite there yet, but who long to be. I appreciate you. Regardless of parenting style you are ALL doing such a wonderful job! And I know that someday, you will have children who look up to you and are grateful for you the way I look up to my mom. So keep it up:) It may take a few years. But eventually we will become our children's best friends!!

*I love you, mommy.

Imagine

In light of the events of this week, I have been asked on several occasions why I would want to bring a child into this world. And while I understand, and certainly do not minimalize the tragedy of these occurrences, it saddens me that society has lost so much hope in civilization that they would question another's desire to procreate. Children, no matter when and how they are created, are a gift. Terrible things happen every day. They may not be blasted all over the news or mourned by an entire country. But they are just as real and just as devastating as mass bombings and terroristic attacks. There is nothing new under the sun. Men will continue to harm each other. It is in our nature apart from God. And while it would seem like society in general is deteriorating, the truth is, things like this have been happening for ages. One life lost at the hands of another is no different than many lives lost. The tragedy may seem more drastic and senseless. But a man who beats his wife to death in their own home is just as sadistic and heinous as a man who walks into a movie theatre and opens fire on hundreds of unsuspecting victims. What's my point? Imagine if everyone decided the world was too dark and twisty to bring children into. While we may seem we are doing our posterity a service, what then would be our legacy? We would all die out broken and hopeless,  leaving only memories of the hateful crimes we have committed against each other. Perhaps we would end up just turning on one another. After all, that seems to be the path we are on. And while this seems to be an overdramatized statement, that is basically what people who abhor the idea of giving birth in today's world are implying that we do. This is my take, for what it's worth.
We have been given an extraordinary gift! The ability to bring life into this world. I know it's scary and uncertain and at times we fear the future and man's uncanny ability to make an absolute mess of things. But we have an opportunity...even better, an obligation to shape our future through our children! The world does not have to continue down this path of self-destruction. I certainly do not blame all of the problems of today on poor parenting. Mistakes will be made and we all do the best we can. But imagine, rather than raising our children in fear, we raise them believing that they are the key to a brighter future. Coming from a close-knit circle (or rather square) of organized religion and restriction, I know first hand the damage that can be done if we are not encouraged to think freely and to understand the how's and why's of what we believe. My personal journey brought me back to the basics. And while not everyone needs to agree with me, I cannot stress enough the importance on letting our children discover Truth on their own! We can provide guidelines and instruction, but in the end we all choose our own way. Children who are raised being told WHAT to believe and not why often tend to revert to their most carnal selves. They have been given no freedom to explore or  to build a solid foundation of thought and reason. These children are then released into a world that will tear them apart because they have never been given the opportunity to arm themselves against all manner of temptation. We can drill "Thou shalt Not's" into their head all we want...but do they really know why they shouldn't? I am not against organized religion. I am a Christian, and believe whole-heartedly in raising my kids with a solid set of morals and boundaries. BUT I am going to encourage them to think for themselves...to believe for themselves. No matter what your religion/beliefs, the best we can do for the future of this country is to encourage our children to think freely. I firmly believe that restriction breeds animosity. There is so much hate in this world. But I am thoroughly convinced that this hate has spawned from an inability to decipher truth independently. Martin Luther King, Jr said " I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant. " Rather than raising our children with a list of rules they will inevitably break, I wonder what the world will be like 20 years from now if the only rule we drill into their heads is to love unconditionally.

All this to say, when I look at Ivey, I do not regret or fear for her future. When I look at Ivey, I see possibility and promise. When I look at Ivey, I see hope.

What's in a Name?

Many people have asked me about the reasoning behind our name choice. Some people assume we're hippies (ok by me) ...Others have the tenacity to assume we were inspired by Beyonce'...ummmmmmm NO! Here's the story behind Ivey Grey:)
During the course of my entire pregnancy, my husband and I fought relentlessly over name choices. He wanted the kid's name to be one of a kind...unique and creative. I was all for it until I realized how "out of the box" he was really thinking. From day one, we were convinced we were having a boy. So much so, that I had designed a nursery around him and even bought a few heavily masculine onesies. We were already match making him with other friends baby girls and stocking up on peepee teepees. Those with boys know just how essential those are! As such, we were also coming up with lists of primarily male names. Now, I thought I was being super creative, suggesting names such as Fletcher, Quinton and Oscar. But when I looked in horror at the list my husband provided...I knew this would be perhaps our greatest challenge yet! Some of his gems included Primo, Falcon, and Dawkin. I wanted to cry. I was convinced that he hated our child and wanted to see him beat up in the school yard. I'm not sure what I expected from him. There is nothing conventional about the man and he meant to prove that through the naming of our children. And while I respect creativity in all forms, I do believe there is a line. ESPECIALLY when the person most affected is our poor defenseless baby. I give my husband kudos for creativity, and to his credit, he did have a unique meaning or reasoning behind each name choice. But there was no way I could ever scold Primo, praise Falcon, or proudly show pictures of baby Dawkin. After much debate and several tearful discussions, my husband and I had finally settled on a name...a boy name. I was so relieved when we walked into our 20 week ultrasound, knowing that our little boy would no longer be nameless and, even better, would have a name that we both loved. So you can imagine the shock that overtook both of us when they proclaimed rather confidently that we were expecting a little girl! I'm pretty sure we made her check at least 4 times to be sure. The baby was uncharacteristically cooperative, holding a split pose the entire time our technician examined her bits and pieces. Sure enough, it was a girl! Shock gave way to excitement, which gave way to panic rather quickly. We didn't have a name!! I had come up with a short list of girl names just in case...but had never discussed them with my husband. I'm pretty sure he hadn't come up with any girl names at all. We went to lunch after our ultrasound to celebrate and start replanning our nursery. Over dessert, I carefully broached the subject of monikers. The name at the very top of my list was Evelynn. I always have loved the name and especially liked the idea of calling her Evie for short. When my husband quickly shot that down, I lost heart immediately, knowing we were in for a long and constant struggle. After a few minutes out of the blue, he suggested Ivy. I was my immediate reaction to want to shoot him down like he did me. But as I rolled the name off my tongue, I instantly fell madly in love with it. It flowed, it was different enough, and it was absolutely beautiful. My one request was that we spell Ivey with an 'E'...just to make it a tad more interesting.
When we got home that evening, I decided to peruse the internet for the meaning behind Ivey. I was expecting to just find references to the plant. But the old English term defines Ivey as the symbol for eternity. I remember feeling a weight lifted from me. We had found our name. After the losses we had suffered, nothing seemed more appropriate than a name that symbolized our eternal love for this baby we had wanted for so long. We decided to pair it with Grey, our favorite color, and I fell even more in love with it.
Ivey has grown into her name beautifully. I couldn't imagine her as an Evelynn or a Mia or *gulp* Auria (yes I considered that name for about a minute). She is Ivey in every sense:) Beautiful, relentless, strong, and most importantly, ETERNALLY ours!

Ten Tiny Babies

How rude of me to leave you in such suspense! I realize I skipped over the juicy details of labor and childbirth and the grisly reality of the first few days/weeks/months following. But I assure you its for the best. I'm certain if I told the story exactly as I remember it and left nothing out, nobody would ever want to procreate. Suffice it to say I sat on cushions for about 2 weeks after the birth and may have averaged about 2 hours a night of sleep for the first month. More than I remember the pain, however, I remember the feeling I had when (14 hours later) my beautiful, somewhat slimy baby girl was finally in my arms. No word in the English language can describe it. I felt like I was floating. We locked eyes and I remember saying, "I know you!"Of course she chose that moment to start screaming bloody murder, but I'm sure she was glad to see me too! She was so beautiful:) Pink and pudgy and not at all the alien-esque little figure I was expecting. Over eight pounds and a gangly 21 inches long, she was the embodiment of health. I guess family size bags of peanut butter cups may be contending for the next pregnancy super food title!
The next 24 hours were a blur. We were both poked and prodded. Nurses woke me around the clock to push on my belly and torture me in all manner of cruel ways. I'm proud to say I only had one meltdown the entire time! When it was finally time to be discharged I was both excited and scared. This mom stuff was super easy under the careful supervision of an experienced nursing staff. Once I left the safe haven of my post partum suite, I was on my own. Still, I was full of confidence as I carried her car seat (yes, they made me carry my baby in her car seat 20 hours after giving birth...don't get me started on that atrocity) anyway...where was I? Oh yes, I confidently carried her out into the bitter cold world, self-assured and ready to take on life with a newborn. Little did I know that that very night would be my undoing! After several failed attempts to coax her to sleep in her bassinet, I acquiesced to her snoozing on my belly. Of course, several times I could have sworn she stopped breathing. I had to aspirate her at least 20 times...or was it four? Same thing to a nervous new mom. I worried that every time she cried, she was hungry. So she spent the first 24 hours attached (quite painfully) to my extremely sore boobs. I would of course learn over time that not every cry need be quieted by a nipple jammed in her mouth. I thought for sure after that first night that I was not cut out for this. I was a terrible mom and my baby hated me.
Here we are, three months later, happy as can be! My baby is growing and thriving and I learn something new about her every day. We have such a special relationship. She will never look at anyone the way she looks at me:) I was the recipient of her first smile, her first coo, and most recently...her first laugh (heart MELTING). She loves when I talk in a British accent to her and she loves my silly duck face. Most recently she loves to grab at my face and try to stick her fist in my mouth. And while I anxiously await and look forward to each milestone, I desperately want to hold on to this age...her utter helplessness and need for me...her longing to be comforted by me and only me. She is my world...and I know I will only be her world for a short while longer. We just got into books:) Her current favorite is Ten Tiny Babies. Its big and brightly colored and I love to watch her eyes widen as she takes in the playful pictures. Her innocence and propensity to be awed by such small things is so inspiring. My world seemed so...heavy is a good word...yes, heavy before she entered it. I was going through the motions...existing... not so contentedly. I did not find joy in things, big or small. She makes me want to be better...for her, for my husband, for our family. To smile at sunshine and bright colors...to laugh at the feeling of my dog's wet nose on my face...to gasp in awe at the touch of her tiny hand. She has taught me so much in her short time here and has become my role model and my inspiration. My life, once grey and mundane, is now full of wonder and hope and I owe it all to my precious Ivey Grey.

Captain Sweatpants

So I dedicated yesterday to baby extraction...trying everything from walking my extremely under-exercised dog to castor oil to eating an entire can of jalapeno peppers. The end result certainly conquered Pregnancy Ailment #3! Once I was able to peel myself off the toilet, I donned my favorite pair of unwashed tattered sweatpants and gave up. In fact, once I sat down on the couch, there was no moving me for the rest of the day.

Really what is the point of trying to rush this experience? I know part of it stems from the fact that I just don't want to worry about her anymore. I want to see her eyes open and feel her breathing and know that she has all 10 fingers and all 10 toes. But how much safer can she be than she is now. I have virtually no responsibility to her other than to stay alive and to, of course, make healthy choices. Once she is on the outside, I am ultimately responsible to meet her every need. I realize I am arguing with myself here, but sometimes its best to talk things out:) Part of me is so impatient to meet her, while the other part of me is so terrified of the task of keeping her alive once she's here!

The truth is this...Once on the path to parenthood, the worrying never ceases. You worry the entire 9 months she spends in your womb, and you worry even more the next 18 years and beyond. I simply like to take it all on at once and torture myself in the process. I am already worried about explaining her first period to her and I'm worried about getting her through her first heartbreak. And she's still in utero!!

My husband has challenged me to live day to day and to focus on everything we are blessed with. I am taking him up on that challenge starting now. Today, I actually took the time to enjoy feeling her kick and roll inside of me. And, probably for the first time this entire pregnancy, I felt "the glow". I've wasted so much time worrying and being negative that I have missed the beauty of this entire experience. Needless to say, I won't be upset if she decides to wait a few more days. I have a lot to catch up on:)