protection

This post is a rewrite of a throwback post from the very earliest beginnings of my pregnancy with elmer. i accidentally deleted the entire completed post  (i do that more often than i care to admit...) but here's the bits i could put back together again...

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Two different women from completely different walks of life contacted me within days of each other. The first sent me two different emails and in each one, she encouraged me to pray for the Archangel Michael's protection. This confused me - as there isn't much that i do understand about angels - and so i wrote her back and told her that yes, i would surely be praying for God's protection.
But then, the second woman - one that i really love and respect wrote me the following email:

"I am reminded of this passage in Daniel, where it talks about the struggle in the spiritual world and how the Archangel Michael comes to intervene.

Keep going, keep trusting, finish well because God is going with you."

And then she cut and pasted the entire 10th chapter of Daniel...
And i decided then... that despite my discomfort - i would pray in a different way; one that made me uncomfortable and uncertain.
It took me three days to gather up the courage to actually pray. i was embarrassed by the idea of saying words - forming a prayer - about something that i didn't really understand. During those three days, i prayed about other things, i talked *about* prayer, i read my bible and mulled over the idea of protection - but finally amidst the hubbub that is my house on any given day, i threw my dish towel on the kitchen counter and asked my daughters to hold down the fort - that mama needed 15 minutes to herself.
Slowly, crimson cheeked, i climbed the stairs. Locking myself in my room, i sat down on my bed and checked my phone for messages before finally throwing it down on my bedspread muttering, "Enough, Paige. Do it already... "
Flushed, mouth dry and feeling foolish and wordless in my very own locked bedroom, i knelt - because i do that sometimes... and i held my palms out just the tiniest bit... because it's how i'm most comfortable when i come to my Father... and then i blurted out something like, "God? i have no idea how angels work... and i feel stupid asking, 'cause it seems like such a crazy thing to say out loud, but do you think that you could send Archangel Michael to protect me?"
And then i started to cry.
i wasn't expecting to - as most of my thoughts were pretty shallow in those moments leading up to my pathetic little prayer...
But i cried and cried and cried as if a little dam had just burst.
My prayer continued and flowed like a river after the first spring thaw - all muddy and impatient and cleansing and raw... And He met me.
What a funny thing - that small change in posture brought... A reluctant willingness to make myself foolish allowed a brokenness and an acknowledgement of my Papa's goodness that could have happened no other way.
And when my time was up, i gathered myself up off the ground, wiped my tears and went down to my little ones. No angel appeared in flaming glory, no life-changing epiphany, no bright lights or rolling thunder...
But i learned - yet again - that if i am willing to humble myself - my Papa is so faithful to meet with me, to gently lead me... and He wants me to ask for His protection - knowing i'll find comfort there.

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." - 1 peter 5:6&7

Season of the hallelujah

Daddy has been gone for a week and I've only spoken to him once. And it was loud, and little hands kept reaching for the phone, and I couldn't hear or think... and so when he said, "I gotta go..."
I just let him go.
Little Elmer hasn't been sleeping, and so i'm sloppy with sleep deprivation - the little boys are getting away with more and there is mess and disorder and all that, and it's covered in the glaze of, "oh, but if I weren't so very, very tired... I would certainly do better..."
Last night, Elmer started his night wakings at 11:30pm. I had only shut my eyes at 10pm, and I couldn't believe my eyes as I looked at the glowing clock and realized that this was all I was gonna get.
And so we began what has become our nightly routine... my tiny son calls, and I go to him... I pull him into bed with me - because my bed is too big without daddy anyway. We nurse and doze, nurse and doze, nurse and doze... hours pass... i'm not sure how much I've slept and how much I've been awake... I pull his little body close. At three months he's several pounds smaller than any of his big brothers were at his age. He's still so little.
In a dopey haze, I feel little lips rooting at my nose. We must have fallen asleep again. Now it's 4am. I pull my face away from his pink mouth. It's dark in my room, but the light of the street lamp leaks through my window blinds and in the dim orangey glow, we make eye contact.
His smile lights up the entire galaxy.
My stomach flip flops and I want to laugh... loud.
He's three months old and he thinks it's funny that he was trying to latch onto my face... and I think it's funny too.
He coos and talks. And in my froggy voice... I talk back.
i'm glad in that moment that Neil's gone.... that we're not disturbing him... that he's sleeping peacefully in some hotel room on the other side of the country...
i'm happy.
i'm really happy.
i'm not all, "praise you in this storm" happy... but i'm genuinely happy... like "things are laugh out loud funny" happy.
And I know why - and I know how - and the first word in my mind is (I kid you not) - a little, "Hallelujah"...
Because He's speaking so loudly - and so profoundly - and it feels like one of those shifts that are so big that they permanently change you... like down at the very core of who you are.
He's calling me into the season of the hallelujah.
A season of praise.
It's as if He were in the room and the arrows are flying and fear is chasing me with his horrible throaty growl - and my Father flings a thick protective cloak over my shoulders...
What's this? I wonder - fingering the fabric and breathing in the fresh scent of it and recognizing the aroma of Spring that brings Life...
And it's praise... He's letting me be covered by praise... calling me to it... inviting me to live on it like bread and water... like air and the sleep that I lack in this temporal realm...
It's deeper than gratitude. It's lighter than obligation because it's fueled by love.

I do love Him.

And it's funny... there are parts of me that feel like a crickety old woman.  Is this what it feels like to be 80 years old, and to be called to fling wide your arms and dance for your King? What will it do to my wrinkled old brow to be called to laugh and cry and praise in what looks like an ugly howl to the world, but what my Father treasures because in it He recognizes my very heart? And it's like a morning stretch - and bones crack and muscles ache and it feels so good... to praise Him.

You are who you said You were... and that's who You'll always be.
It's worth a Hallelujah.

thoughts on going over

Found this post in my drafts folder... I guess I never went far enough over to get to post it - but there are kernels of truth worth remembering in this post...
Elmer, I loved carrying you...

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My due dates are approaching. I say due dateS 'cause I have the one from the ultrasound... and then the padded one that appears on my papers giving me a little breathing room for my babies that seem to need to cook a little longer.
As I was thinking about going over this morning, I was thinking how it's kind of neat how some women never get to experience those wild emotions and incredible anticipation that some of us go through when we carry our babes beyond the normal time frame. I remember that when I carried Sloanie *one day* past the expected "date" I broke down in heaving sobs on the couch... I wanted her to be in my arms - safe - so very, very badly and when she didn't come as anticipated, I was undone. I only ended up carrying her a few extra days - but each one was torture an emotional turmoil that felt like a marathon when I compare them to the 16 far more peaceful days I carried Ephraim past his expected arrival date.
So, there's no comparing experiences - even for the same mama... There are bits and pieces of our own stories that make our experiences unique. Sometimes we're struggling with health issues that make medical intervention and induction a safer and better alternative; and sometimes we're blessed with peace and health to carry our little ones until nature brings pregnancy to it's inevitable end.
So today, my musings on the good and the bad of carrying baby a little on the longer side...
First the not as nice... cause I wanna be honest... The anxiety is the hardest part of the end of pregnancy for me. I worry about carrying him too long, about his arrival, about his little home inside me, about labour, about meconium, about the timing of his birth and about every circumstance surrounding it. It's a daily, hourly battle for me to lay that down... It's also hard physically. Just this past week, it seems like all my ligaments and joints said, "Oh! Let's get ready for baby! Everyone, LET GO!!" And suddenly, things that were easy for me at 37, 38 & 39 weeks... are incredibly awkward and even painful. Things like walking, picking up a a cup (pregnancy carpal tunnel? Never had that one before!!), putting on shoes... (ahem... finding a pair of shoes that actually fit). These are parts of the 'hard' for me... Now for the 'nice'...
Getting to carry a baby past it's expected date usually means that things are continuing to go ok... Serious complications like cholestasis, incompetent cervix, pre-e... etc... those haven't been your issues. That's something to have a lot of gratitude for! There are a lot of ladies that would exchange the moderate discomfort of carrying baby for a little longer for healthier, more "complication free" pregnancies. It's exciting to carry past the expected arrival date... like waking up every morning, wondering if today will be the day. You've reached the "end" - and even though your brain tells you, "i'm never, ever going to have this baby...." that's just not true. All pregnancies end. Yours (& mine) will too... Any day now... and that's exciting. Going over also gives room for lots of contemplation and *absorbing* of those last sweet days of pregnancy.... As I type this, i'm watching my son wiggle, twist and turn in my belly... I won't be able to do that much longer - and it's an incredible feeling.

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And now, as I read this, he's wrapped in his soft blue blanket at my side. His pink feet are peeking out the bottom and the soft rise and fall of the blanket shows his breaths.
Grateful for each stage of life - for the One who gives and for the little one we get to raise.

darling babies - later-post

i picked up my computer a dozen times in this last couple of months to blog - and a dozen times I haven't been able to follow through.
Even now, I hear Elmer stirring upstairs and I doubt i'll get more than a line or so down before he calls with his gentle cry and i'll have to run to him. He's tiny and soft now - his baby rolls are just starting to form - and the feeding of his little frame has consumed us both these last weeks.
(True enough, this post had to sit half finished while I filled the needs of my tiny one who cries to be held - and rewards my efforts with giant gummy smiles.)
We're in some years that feel like a giant rollercoaster ride - or maybe it's something less civilized yet - this season that rocks and sways, brings us to terrifying heights and plummets us towards earth while our hearts pound and we wonder if we'll survive at all.
We have you, daughter entering your last year of highschool, and you, tiny son, just born - and six of you in between, all at various stages of growth and life. We have a daddy who travels  (who by the time I post this will have come and gone again maybe a dozen times...) and a mama who clings to Jesus - a family that is held together by love and grit... And a Saviour who holds us all.

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I can tell it's him - arriving home after a late night flight - because the door shuts softly. My sprite daughter won't be home from work for another half hour, and my tiny baby won't wake for his first night feed for another hour after that. He pads up the stairs, and I rub my eyes and struggle to sit up in bed.
He always looks so good to me when he gets home from the road. His shoulders are so broad and his skin so brown. He smiles that smile that melts me and starts to unload his suitcase. His voice is low and full of warmth - and mine answers his in sleepy-we-have-a-newborn-again tones. Our conversations wind gently around you children that we made together.
And the one thing that I feel like I did right is to love your daddy. We've fought and made each other mad and sad before... I made him want to pull out his hair, and he made me cry... but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I love this man who has borne the weight of this growing family all these years.
Cause it all comes down to relationships, little ones.
It never stops being about relationships.
You can try to do and you can try to be and you can give and cry and rage...
Or you can just love and open yourself up to real relationship.  The kind that bends without breaking, stretches without tearing and grows you stronger with the joy and the pain...
So I let him see me.. like... really see me. When he's gone, I text him my vulnerability.
"Be soft with me when you get home."
Because he's a big exhausted man who might miss the subtle nuances of a tender wife who has missed him desperately.
"I will. I promise." He responds.
And i'm heard.
And he does.
Babies... I love your daddy.
And together... we love you.
And this family - is a gift that none of us choose to take for granted.

posterior tongue tie - part 2

A week after Elmer's revision, his improvements seemed significant to me. I decided to wean him off the supplements. I decided if I just nursed him more - i'd have to pump less - and so I pumped less and less and nursed more and more - till I was nursing almost constantly. Within a couple of days, I realized that he wasn't pooping or peeing like he had been. He quit sleeping any longer chunks and was constantly fussing and rooting. I realized quickly that I needed to start pumping again, but those couple of days wreaked havoc on my supply *again* and I had to build it with constant pumping and nursing yet again. I finally awkwardly managed to figure out pumping and nursing at the same time to save some time - and as my supply returned, I found myself grateful that at least I *had* milk - even with the other trouble, I was grateful that it really could be so much worse.
By this time, I was two weeks past his revision... I went back to the dr. to check on his progress - and she confirmed that he was in no way ready to quit the supplements. She also wanted me to stay on the Domperidone - which honestly? It has a side effect that makes it impossible to lose weight - & unless i'm really careful, my body wants to gain weight... I know, I know... vanity... but I still have 10-15lbs leftover from pregnancy... and i'm used to it falling off at a nice pace... This little piece of my vanity makes me uncomfortable & it's not very fun... but... i'm a stubborn mama sometimes, and so the Domperidone stays - and apparently, so does the baby weight -  until we really feel that I can wean off of it... and I guess I can't just yet.
The dr. wanted me to continue pumping like crazy, building up my supply to the point of oversupply to see if it makes it easier for Elmer to nurse.

I also decided to contact Dr. Jack Newman on his website to see if he had any insight into my situation. When you contact him, you have to limit your question to a certain number of characters - and it was really hard to be detailed and brief at the same time. As a result, his answer wasn't as useful as it could maybe have been, but I did take from it a renewed interest in the idea of breast compression. I had been foregoing the breast compressions in favour of the tandem nursing/pumping. I only have 2 hands after all... and I figured if I nursed, I could pump more - and maybe the reverse was true too... But after reading Dr. Newman's response, I rethought my goal. My ultimate goal isn't to pump more - my ultimate goal is to have Elmer solely on the breast - so I decided to go back to breastfeeding with compressions and then pumping after the feed. This seemed to have an almost immediate impact. He was swallowing more at the breast - it was like I was pumping - and instead of going into a bottle, it could go straight into my babe...
The breast compressions were so successful that even though I was terrified to quit pumping for fear i'd have to rebuild my milk supply yet again, I decided to try again. When Elmer was 5 days shy of 2 months, I quit pumping. I weighed him at the beginning and at the end of the trial and he had gained appropriately, so I felt confident to continue as we were and to continue weaning off the Domperidone too. This is a really slow, laborious process. I was on the lowest dosage of 8 pills per day, but even so, you have to wean down 1 pill every 4-5 days and if you notice a drop in supply you have to go back to the last dosage that was working and stay there for 2 weeks before attempting to wean down any further. Needless to say, i'm still in the process of weaning off of it, but honestly? It looks like at 2 months post partum that there's a light at the end of the tunnel & that we've made enough progress to feel pretty normal (we're down to 3 pills per day). This is a huge step considering our doctor felt at his last appointment that his latch was still unorganized and weak - enough so that she didn't feel sure we would ever be able to wean off the domperidone as long as we wanted to continue nursing.
I know that this journey was one that I chose. Other women would have chosen differently - & that is totally cool. I just knew that *I* needed to listen to my mama heart and do everything in my power to make this work. Yes, it was a ton of work - and yes, I wanted to quit several times... especially in the middle of the night when I hadn't slept. Yes, it hurt. A lot. Yes, I got discouraged and wondered if maybe we just weren't going to be able to do this thing...
But i'm so very glad that we were able...
And i'm looking forward to the next months and years of our breastfeeding relationship with tender hope and awed pleasure.