Right now..

Right now, my beautiful baby girl is napping in her boppy pillow just a few feet away from me.  My son is happily playing upstairs in his playroom, as I can hear his ‘play/pretend’ voice chatting away with the rocket ship and spacemen.  And now, I am sitting back down to type, because I was called to come and kiss his owey on his head from an abrupt, yet quick, disruption fall. He’s happily launching his rocket ship, so any worry has subsided.  I am smiling.  I feel complete.  And among all the fear that has crept into my mind this past week, I know that I have been given a blessing that I can handle. Two. Two beautiful babies to watch grow.  Two personalities. Two lives. Two children that I get to see evolve into something great. 

So many fears fogged my mind this week.  We of course have endured a fast refresher course of having a newborn. It’s been slightly easier this time around, as the anxiety of ‘the un-known’ isn't there, and only a few minor hiccups have risen.  Discovering and embracing the differences and similarities between my two children is just one contributing aspect to feeling complete. 

Jonah has adjusted well with his little sister around.  He loves holding her and is quite protective.  His sensitive nature worries when she cries, as he noticeably cares and nurtures in his own way.  He isn't as much jealous, as I believe him to be worried.  Thus resulting in a refusal to listen, and increase in energy. I feel he worries that our attention isn't as focused as it once was, which is expected and true.  I cannot dismiss the frustration I've felt, but know as time resides a calmer normalcy will fall into place, just as it should be.

I remember always ‘feeling’ and verbally stating that God would give me boys and that I wouldn't ever have a daughter. Part of me now thinks that I ‘felt’ that with an undermining fear—fear to raise a girl that might be like me, might have the characteristics of me that I don’t particularly like, might face this world with similar struggles I have faced, and I don’t know if I would want or like that.  I may not.  But I know God doesn't give us anything we cannot handle—as children or adults. 

In the morning hours I find myself just staring at her, first in awe of the gift God has given me, and second in prayer that she may be strong in this harsh world, knowing that struggles will come, and she may face hardship that I cannot protect her from.  The fears of raising a daughter may still linger, but becoming a mom to Ellie has shown me that God can handle what we cannot.  God has given me what He knows I can endure with His help-- this gift to nurture, love, protect, and mother my beautiful baby girl. 

As stated, there are a lot of emotions right now, but one standing out is complete. A complete understanding that a household normalcy will reside soon.  A complete acknowledgement that my plans for the future aren't always those of His. And lastly, I accept completely that God will protect my sweet baby girl and the future He holds for her. 

Ellie's birth story

Ellie Grace Hancock
July 21, 2013
5:35am
7.9 oz, 18.5 inches long

Let me start off by saying that Ellie’s birth story, in my mind, mimicked those seen in movies.  The frantic rush to the hospital, the experience of my water breaking, the fear that we weren't going to make it—it was all there, and looking back, it was perfect J Having been induced with Jonah, I didn't have the experience of laboring and having my water break on its own.  Knowing that this was my last pregnancy, I wanted to experience it all (well..not all..I did want an epidural and thankfully received one.  Barely, I might add, but no complaints on this end).

As my due date approached, like any pregnant woman, it got significantly uncomfortable.  On the night of the 20^th, Patrick and I decided to watch a movie in bed to ease any levels of un-comfort on my end.  I recognized that baby Ellie was moving differently, and actually stated to Patrick that, “something weird” was going on in there.  I fell asleep shortly after midnight and woke up to a contraction around 1:45am. I had a couple contractions 8 minutes apart, but really didn't think much of it, as I had experienced some false labor a few weeks back that started out similar.   Within minutes the contractions became 4 minutes apart.  I told Patrick I thought we needed to go to the hospital.  I called our neighbor to come and stay with Jonah and by the time we were in the car, the contractions became much stronger and 2 minutes apart.  Looking back on the car ride to the hospital, I laugh.  Patrick and I both experienced fear, excitement, a bit of laughter, and pain all in one.  I remember mentioning to Patrick that I thought my water was going to break in his car.  His foot hit the pedal so hard, we found ourselves going 65 mph down Meridian. (speed limit I believe is 40 mph).

When I got to the hospital, Patrick wheeled me into the emergency entrance and I was taken to a triage room where they checked my cervix and vitals.  That prior Monday, the doctor had indicated I was 3cm dilated and 75% effaced. Considering the stats, I figured I had progressed a little since then.  The nurse told us I was at a good 6cm and that we were going to have a baby! It was really happening! She wheeled me down to the delivery room.  I remember throwing up a few times, nurses asking if I had wanted an epidural and an overall rush to get me to where I needed to be to deliver.  I don’t believe I would have had the opportunity to receive an epidural had the anesthesiologist not been in the next room at the time of my room transfer. Within 10 minutes after I received my epidural, my water broke and I was completely dilated.

I have to state that the faculty and facility itself at Good Samaritan are amazing. Both of the times I have delivered there have been wonderful.  Reminiscing and reviewing all the little details here and there about Ellie’s birth, there are a few comical moments to mention about the staff that helped me deliver. There may have been an overly sweaty (now I mean OVERLY..overly being ‘drenched in her scrubs, dripping on my gown’ )  nurse helping me who couldn't quite figure out her bearings.  Whether it be hooking up the IV machine, inputting correct stats into the computer, or her ability to make some decent coffee for sleep deprived fathers, it all makes for a few good laughs.  The unstated but laughable non-communication between her and the anesthesiologist, and post-delivery nurses all made our experience that much more ‘story-worthy’. 

Once complete, I labored for about an hour, letting her progress naturally down into the birth canal.  I started pushing at 5am, after around 6 pushes, she arrived at 5:35am. Ellie Grace Hancock was born at 7.9 ounces, 18.5 inches long.  From the time we left our home to the time she was born, it was less than 3.5 hours.  Ellie’s birth was such a different experience than Jonah’s, but both equally rewarding.  She is such a blessing to our family, and makes our family complete in so many ways.

Our family

Jonah meeting his sister

Jonah sharing his blanket with Ellie

sweet sibling kisses

all ready to go home!

An un-tampered faith

Yesterday, I read a really good article on how becoming a mother gives us way to review or discover our own faith composition.   I quote her in saying, ‘when babies start growing up, you begin thinking about everything you believe—how it matters, how it transfers, how the responsibility of passing things on suddenly bears weight.’  There have been several times where I find myself feeling guilty, knowing I probably haven’t yet set a good foundation needed for Jonah to learn about God. Yes, I've bought books, we pray every night, and I try to constantly remind him how much Jesus loves him.  I worry I have let my own frustrations about church and my own doubts get in the way of allowing him the opportunities to discover who Jesus is-- where the trees come from, hear the stories, sing songs,  and recite bible verses that I reviewed so many times while growing up in various church activities, camps, and Sunday school.  

I am drawn to reminisce in the memories of my own childhood, and review a pride I have let slip.  I remember accepting Jesus as my Savior at the age of three and memorizing bible verses for AWANA , singing on Sundays, and attending camps.  In later years, my weekends consisted of church activities, small groups, and daily devotions.  I had an overwhelming support system of mentors and friends who gave way to my personal growth with Christ, and what I believe helped keep me out of trouble for at least a few years of my adolescence.  I give much credit to my mother in the earlier years, who despite any financial or economic circumstances she faced as a single mother, made God a constant priority in her life, transferring what matters, passing on her own beliefs, and teaching me what she knew was right and true.  That desire to learn, dive into faith, and develop a relationship with Christ was so strong.  I was eager. I tend to become sad as I reminisce the days of my childhood where my faith was so prominent in my life--Sad, knowing that today my faith is nowhere near the level it once resided.

In those teen years, I was young and like any teenager, held a desire to fit in with those around me.  Competition, self-discovery, and temptation all sat within a bird’s eye view.  But I think those life lessons all encompass what it means to ‘grow up’.   This ‘growing up’ could have coincided with the alternative, had I not chosen the narrow option. I rather enjoy the fact that I wasn't involved in much trouble young teens indulge in at that age.  Discovering myself and what my faith consisted of in an environment lacking any drugs, sex, or immorality presents a pride in itself. 

This pride, both derived from my mother and choosing the narrow has seemingly slipped into a blind spot. Masked by the doubts centered around faith, and frustrations later years have brought.  I quote the author in feeling  ‘For a long time, I viewed my faith issues much like I view my house when it gets too messy—I stand back, take it all in, and conclude the mess is too overwhelming, so I make a cup of coffee and walk away.’ It becomes a fear to really sit down and muster through the unknown. Many excuses and reasons have been given in hopes that it will be put on the back burner for a little while longer.  I guess this article has not only forced myself to accept the need to understand my own beliefs, but it validates the importance of them--For in order to diminish any doubts regarding Jonah’s personal growth in Christ, I must strengthen my own.   

Noting this, I have prayed asking to desensitize any fear.   Digging deep into the doubts I hold, may bring forth new doubts, may confront the reality that my faith is nowhere near the level I state. That truth is scary. A couple of weeks ago, Patrick and I watched “The Passion of the Christ.” Every time I see that movie, it brings me to tears.  Weeping more is a word to describe the nature. Amongst the reminders given of what I know true, I always get a sense of guilt and the doubt I hold resurfaces.  The definition of faith is perplexing; a belief in the unseen.   Jealousy surfaces and I question why the followers of Jesus and those living among him so many years ago had the privilege of seeing Him.  Why must I live in a world where just believing is the means of salvation? Why can’t I touch His nail struck hands, or see Him walk on water?  And even if I was present in that day and age, would I have believed in Him had I seen?  I do believe I would have, for I know I believe in Him without such vision..but it just always leaves me with a ‘what-if’ mentality and makes me question my own faith foundation.

And to note the familiar question--one I am sure is present with the disastrous event in Boston-- why must we live in such a world of destruction?  Reading of all the turmoil taking place in our country and those foreign makes me ask why? Is it evil? Why must evil be present and occur in the lives of the innocent? Why so vividly must it lie in the time I live in—the time my children live in? And if I don’t know the answer to that—how am I to answer to a child with similar wonder? Unprecedentedly, I've grown to know these frustrations give root to an arrogance towards those who lack any such doubts.  Claims of growth and validity of one’s faith tend to frustrate me further--Most likely crediting to the lack of answers in my own faith.

With this prayer for a deeper understanding into the doubts I've let live within me, I have also prayed for a validation of the things that I do know.  If I stood back and took into account the things that I do know and have learned in younger years more often enough—various verses, life lessons, bible passages--I think I would surprise myself.   I think it would allow me to move forward and re-open the truth of what I've learned.  It would give me the means to put forth a stronger effort and probably diminish some of the guilt I feel in not setting that stronger example of faith. The example I desire to set for my children.

What I do know is that my God is love. He is the definition of it. He gave His son for us and died for us.   The author validated the same—in that she wants her children to know the limitless love of God.  If what I pass down to my children is God’s love, and showing them that loving one another is what matters, I know He will work in their lives in a deeper way imaginable. For I know the faith I held in younger years was a result of knowing the love God holds. My parents may have had doubts in their own faith, but never allowed their own issues to get in the way of teaching me about our loving Savior. 

It’s evident, as I mentally process this post that I must face these doubts head on.  I must focus on mending my inner struggles and faith issues within.  I ask that a continuous prayer be made on my behalf for the courage to do so.  To parallel that, however, I vow to reaffirm what I do know, and take the more simplistic approach that endorses the innocent faith God asks us to have. Jonah is noticeably in the stage where he will believe most everything, we as parents, tell him. My hope is that God’s limitless love is seen in my actions, words, and heart as a mother. Thus resulting in a childlike, un-tampered faith. A strong faith that can one day withstand adulthood.   An assured one…and coincidentally one less complicated. 

milestones--shmilestones...

I tend to beat myself up when reading into what the parenting world views as the ‘norm’. Parental comparisons start to form when learning what the appropriate ages are for various childhood milestones. When should one start the transition to solid foods? At what age should we as parents wean our little ones off the ‘binky’? Is it  time to progress into a toddler bed? When should I start thinking about potty training? When these specific deadlines in Jonah’s age approach and, God forbid, the milestones have not been met, it frustrates me to no end.  It fills me with self-doubt and makes me question my own validity on the parenting scale. But in honesty, I don’t know why I allow the self-pity and the rally of questions.  I know that each child is different.  I've learned that reaching these milestones are just that--reaching them.  When training for my half marathon, yes, I trained, hard.  It took several months of discipline. But when crossing that finish line  I didn't think to myself, "I should have done this sooner or when I was younger". I wasn't ready to endure the discipline it took to train a few years prior to then. I know comparing my son’s milestones to mine are few and far between, but it has helped me understand that clearly we will reach them all when we are ready. 

Back in May of last year, Jonah had learned to climb out of his crib. Every nap time, every night.  He would literally do a flip out of his crib, head first mind you, and land on his bum. It came to a point where I would sleep with one eye open in fear that he would wake up and I’d have seconds to spare only to hear the dreaded boom from him hitting the floor. Patrick was away at WIC training, and I knew something had to be done.  The question arose—is it time to transition to a toddler bed?  I knew the timing wasn’t right.  I knew it would just be a fight to get him to stay in his bed.  It already was.  Even though all the internet sights, parenting books, and mothers around me softly mentioned he was at the prime age to transition, I knew he wasn't ready.  A crib tent solved the problem perfectly, and despite the feeling that I had to justify my reasoning, I know it was a decision that fostered many restful nights for all of us.   

Furthermore, for many that know me, I am and have become an advocate for child naps.  I strongly believe and know that naps, or lack thereof, can make or break a day.  So when a few weeks of Jonah striking against a nap occurs, I fear the inevitable.  That prime age the parenting world views—‘around 2 or 2. 5 years of age’ that a nap may disappear from a child’s daily routine lingers in my mind. The cycle begins, frustration, followed by doubt, and so on and so on….

I begin to reflect on what I've learned thus far with these said milestones and unlike some where I worry much longer on the topic (solid foods, potty training, transition to a toddler bed) I firmly take a stand on this one.  I know what is best for my child (and for my sanity).  These naps will continue to prevail in the Hancock household as long as I see the need.   The past couple weeks or so, Jonah had been napping in our bed.  He seemed to enjoy the aspect of being ‘tucked’ in.   It quickly dawned on me that I could stray away from any fight he might present just by allowing him the comfort of sleeping in ‘mommy and daddy’s' bed.  He’d fall asleep in less than 10 minutes flat.  This mere realization quickly led to another.  He was ready for a toddler bed. 

Friday evening, Jonah soundly slept in his new toddler bed.  It was the easiest transition by far.  Dismissing the emotional mother that I was Friday evening, realizing my baby is, in fact, growing up, I knew this progression would have been a nightmare if done any sooner. There was no fussing, no crying, and no getting out of his bed.  Here I sit one pleased parent.   I know among the vast amount of parents out there several have successfully gone through this transition with their child at a younger age than Jonah.  Some parents continue to allow their child a 'binky' when the presence of Jonah’s made its way out the door several months ago.  I know several children younger than Jonah who are fully potty trained.   Jonah is not. 

Clearly this slightly long rant signifies a continuous need to justify to myself why these said milestones aren't always met under the guidelines given.  Milestones--shmilestones, I tell ya. There is no harm in buying a few more boxes of diapers, and why worry if Jonah started earlier on solids a few months earlier than that said, “norm"?   In the end,  it doesn't reflect on who I am as a mother, or any parent who reads this—each child is different.  As parents, we are given this opportunity to direct and guide them rightfully in their own time.