Growing Family

And On the Sixth Day...

...they kicked her out of the baby hotel, and she came home with a small, warm bundle, to a house exploding with the energy of a two and four year old. A two and four year old who desperately missed their mommy and needed the re-establishment of normal in a very bad way.

And though she was calm and collected in the baby hotel, upon returning home she was undone and overwhelmed, and burst into tears. Yet somehow everyone napped, and somehow she made dinner, and somehow she'll get through the night, and somehow they'll find a new normal.

And even though her br*asts are emitting a constant high-pitched whimper that turns into toe-curling screetching every time she feeds her baby, she knows that this too will pass. Really it's all been lovely and dreamy, and wonderful. It's just that they should send mothers home from the baby hotel with little warning signs flashing on their foreheads, "fragile, may erupt into tearful blubbering at any moment, choose music carefully as certain Coldplay melodies may bring on a torrent."

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We're home, safe and sound. The Captain, Kohana, Small Sun, The Sprout, and...FINCH. Go ahead and bask in his yumminess as the pictures will only stay up for a couple days!

Edited to Delete Photos.

About an hour old

 
First Day

 
Six days old

34.5

In 34.5 hours my son will be delivered and I'll be holding him and seeing him for the very first time.

Now that it's so close, I wonder if we should just let nature take its course and let labor develop? A planned c-section brings the end of pregnancy into startling focus. Even though I'm feeling big and sore and I want to meet my baby so much, I am also sad that this experience is almost over. Who knows if I will ever experience this again?

It's hard to savor the final moments when you're no longer comfortable. I want to remember this feeling forever, but memories fade.

I am simultaneously leaning forward and holding back. I am in the middle of a 34.5 hour tunnel: part of me wants to run back and part of me wants to run forward. It's crazy like that.

I'm Still Here

Having a third baby is very different from the first two. I am so! busy! I want to slow down and rest but it is just not happening.

Today marks our entrance into the "big sticker week". I had the kids put stickers on the calendar to mark the upcoming events. Small Sun was asking every day if it was his birthday, or if the baby was being born that day, so a visual on the calendar and ticking off the days helped him understand better.

Today my father-in-law and sister-in-law arrive from Holland. They will be such a help with the big kids when I'm in the hospital! So they come tonight. Tomorrow we will celebrate Small Sun's 4th birthday with a big party at a play center where they coordinate all the birthday prep for you: cake, gift bags, games, food for adults, the whole deal. All we do is show up and host our guests! Small Sun is really excited!

Tuesday is Small Sun's actual birthday. We'll keep that low key with a few presents and a special birthday dinner. Then, on Thursday I go in at 5:30 a.m. for a c-section scheduled for 7 a.m. The big kids should be able to come visit their new brother by 9 or 10 that morning!

Needless to day, life has been very busy. I took 50 donuts to Small Sun's preschool class yesterday for his birthday. I've been helping a friend with moving. Cleaning house, cooking, laundry...getting ready for company.

In the meantime I've had steady contractions and was nearly certain on two occasions that I was going into full labor. We've set the c-section date at 39 weeks and some odd days, so it is entirely possible that baby could come early. At my last check up the OB said "this baby is ready, he's getting big, it's time to be born!" I am still active and have decent energy (thank God for iron pills, they are changing my life! I wonder how long I've been exhausted due to low iron?) and am sleeping well at night. But I am big and increasingly awkward and uncomfortable. When the baby presses his legs out and his head down, I feel like he's going to explode out of me like a rocket!

The Captain went to St. Mary's Cathedral this week and prayed for our new son. God spoke some specific stuff to him about this baby, as He has about each of our children. At this point I'm just hugging my belly every day and waiting, excited, to be able to kiss this little person! That said, I have a very small window of time to wash the floors while The Captain has the kids with him at the grocery store. Off I go!

Piddling

It's three a.m. so I apologize if this makes no sense in the daylight.

This baby is absolutely piddling. My due date isn't until the 25th and the c-section is scheduled for the 21st. I have had SO much pre-labor with this little guy and spent the whole day today (yesterday?) paying attention to contractions that continued all day and night but didn't accelerate into labor.

Now here I am, out of bed in the middle of the night because the baby is moving so much and the contractions were hurting enough that I just couldn't stay in bed anymore.

If the baby wants to come now, fine, so be it! Just come already! I am getting worn out from all this not-labor! I spent the whole day yesterday resting because every time I tried to do stuff the intensity of the contractions sent me back to bed.

I want my contractions to pretty much stop or for a definitive move towards labor, like my water breaking, so I can go to the hospital. Of course I don't want this to happen at 3 in the morning, five days before our help arrives, but I'm just so tired!

Okay, toast has been eaten and I'm back to bed to try to get some more sleep!

How Wednesday Got to be the Best Day of My Week

I think I will forever be very conscious of the fact that from about the age of 11 to 15, I was really horrible to my mother. There were influencing factors, of course, but responsibility for my actions still lies squarely with me. I know I was mean and petty and hurtful and I still grieve those choices.

When I was 15 we were living in Russia, and I was being horrid to my family. My dad took my brother and I on a trip from St. Petersburg, where we lived, to Odessa, on the Black Sea. It took 3 full days by train and that journey is still pure magic in my mind. I hope I never forget the golden light on the quivering aspens, as long as I live.

In Odessa we worked at a cultural and spiritual conference and I met kids there whose parents were doing the same work as my parents, in different cities all over the former Soviet Union. When we had worship time I would watch those kids out of the corner of my eye. They were into it. It meant something. It moved them. It was in getting to know those kids that I decided to live a life of faith.

When I decided to try to follow Jesus, changing my attitude towards my parents was one of the first things that I made an effort to change. It was slow going, but I really made a sincere effort. At 19 I got married and moved to Holland with The Captain (with my parents' blessing). By that point I think a lot of the damage to my relationship with my parents had been undone, but not a lot of further progress had been made. I spent my high school years trying to dig my way out of the hole created by my poor choices.

When we returned to Nashville later, in 2001, only expecting to stay until I finished school, I decided to commit my time in Nashville to building a relationship with my parents. And when, in 2005, we adopted Small Sun, we made it a clear priority to cherish the time we had with my parents before we would move on from Nashville. 

Everyone knows the scripture from Deuteronomy 5:16:

"Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God commanded you, so that your days may be long and that it may go well with you in the land that the LORD your God is giving you.”

I guess since it talks about your days being long, I had this idea that you do what your parents want while they are alive, and then you get to do things your way after they've passed. Morbid, I know! I think I also read "honor" as "obey" which can have a loss of personal power as part of its connotation.

Even as I made the decision to honor my parents, I did it because it was the "right" thing to do. The thing that God would want. In reality, I didn't expect it to benefit me much.

When we adopted Small Sun my mom dedicated Wednesdays to be a day she came to help me. The initial idea was that I would run errands, do the shopping, or get some "me" time, while she watched Small Sun. I found myself hesitant to leave. On Wednesdays we talked without distraction. On Wednesday my mom would bring a ripe avocado for sandwiches, or a perfect cookie she'd saved for me, or some other little treat. Each and every Wednesday I was assured of my mother's love and care for me. It was on Wednesdays that I really got to know my mom.

From time to time we'd "reassess" if Wednesday help was still necessary. I got my feet under me as a new mother. My need for practical assistance wasn't as great, but Wednesdays carried on. Small Sun grew, I grew with The Sprout, then I needed help in earnest with two under two years old! But whether I left the house or stayed, Wednesdays became the best part of my week.

Now, 13 years into my walk of faith and 8 years into my commitment to grow a meaningful relationship with my parents, I am surprised at the results. The blessing that comes as a result of honoring my parents isn't some future promise. I am living it now.

I never really understood how some people stayed in their hometown their whole lives, or even lived next to their parents! Now I realize the gift of a Wednesday mother is so precious, and raising my children near their grandparents is trumping nearly every desire on my life list.

I believe it is the supreme kindness of God for me to experience such a change. So on this Mothers Day I want to thank my mom for waiting for me to come around, and for being there for me when I did. Wednesdays will never be the same again.

The Plodding, I mean Blogging

I've been writing here for almost three years now. I've written a lot about adoption, a lot about parenting, a lot about our move to Australia, just a lot about my life from my perspective, really.

When I started writing, the adoption blog world was a pretty small place. I knew my way around and I felt like I had a finger on the pulse of what was going on. At this point there are so many people blogging about adoption, that there is no way I can keep track anymore. I would love to be able to read tons of blogs and comment on them, and be part of the big discussion, but I can't. I have two little kids that keep me very, very busy.

In addition to the blog world exploding, the issues that are salient to me have changed, as my children grow. I also find that being outside of the U.S., I feel less compelled to really be a part of the American adoption system. Fighting for reform, writing representatives, raising awareness...it's all so far away.

I find that since moving here, adoption is less a part of my life for several reasons: adoption is so rare here that people don't have misconceptions and opinions about adoption. They ask me sincere questions and have no point of reference. In Nashville everyone had their ideas about adoption from Lifetime movies, and their sister's cousin's adoption experience that they projected onto our family. I was always against the current, trying to educate in a strong stream of misinformation.

Also, since we have had to lay adoption down completely at this point (fully intending to adopt again as soon as we are in a position to do so), I am less inclined to stay on top of what is happening in the adoption world, knowing that it will all have changed again by the time it is relevant to us.

I still value this as a place to come and release my thoughts, but I confess I start to lose my voice when I think no one is listening. This isn't a journal, after all. It is public, it is a monologue that requests a response.

My baby will be here in two and a half weeks, or less. Then I will have even less time to read and comment, and to write. My life will be filled with sleepless nights, adornment in the form of spit up, and nursing. Teething, first foods, crawling...I've written about it all before. Twice.

I'm not sure which direction this blog will take in the next season. I won't close it, as I appreciate my ability to come here and write. At the same time, I don't really know what I'll have to say, or how often I'll come to say it. I don't know who is reading here these days, or what they are coming for. I'll take it one step at a time and see what grows.