Making Peace With Change

I'm 13 weeks pregnant with my 7th baby. The nurse taking my information at the first appointment pauses when she sees it, that word on my file like a scarlet letter. "I see here you'd had a few, um, homebirths. Is that your plan this time?"

Time seems to stand still as I spiral down memory lane. That first one, Jonah, our only baby that we didn't know the gender until birth, surprising us two weeks early in a wild three hour labor, born still in the amniotic sack. The next one, our Peter, born while the kids were all away on various summer trips, a whopper at 9lbs 9oz and my very favorite birth. Then Rosemary, born after a night of laughing through labor with my closest friends while J brought everyone coffee - more of a girls night than a birth day.

Yes, I answer. Three.

And this time? Her pen pauses and she looks up. Where are you planning to deliver?

The hospital, I say. And I feel it, that unanswered cry deep inside me to I hush to deal with later. Not here, not now.

I'm thirteen weeks pregnant with baby number seven and I need to make peace. But first, I need to grieve.

Ever since our pregnancy announcement, we've been asked why we have chosen the hospital this time. The reasons are varied and complicated, but the short answer is this.

1) Our wonderful midwife who gave us the gift of her time and care during those three pregnancies has moved on from her practice. For my own reasons, she is the only local midwife I would be comfortable birthing with. I completely respect and support her reasons for leaving baby catching behind her. The days we had with her were a blessing and I'm full of nothing but gratitude for the tender way she cared for our family.

2) There is nothing unhealthy or strange or unnatural about a healthy young woman having seven babies, but certain risk factors do go up after a certain number of deliveries. I am in excellent health and there are no concerns about my ability, but that factor, held with my midwife's departure, lead us to our current choice.

The local hospital.

Permission to grieve freely.

"It'll be fine." Friends assure me. "You're older now and have had more babies than the last time you were there. They will respect your wishes more." I smile and nod and bite back any retort, swallow back that lump in my throat. I birthed three children in that hospital. I know it's not hell on earth, nor the employees there some kind of awful people intent on ruining my birth experience. In fact I truly do believe that I will have a fine experience there. I'm not afraid. Despite wondering if I'll be able to manage the mental peace required for me to make it through a natural birth in an unnatural space, I'm not overly worried. But then, what is this?

There it is again, deep in my heart. That little plaintive cry. The one that is wrapped up in all the warm memories of the past three deliveries that no hospital can replicate through no fault of their own.

Again come the reassurances. "You can make it as much like home as you want. You can wear your own clothes, bring your own pillow, play your music, invite your friends. It'll be almost the same."

Yes, and no. How can you explain to those who haven't experienced it? No clipboard questions or triage beds. No "just because" heplocks, digging around for veins while labor. Not a soul you didn't handpick to walk that path with you, no strange nurses or aids you've never met who don't know you. No bands around your belly to "get a strip" before you're allowed to move. No eye drops or injections in your baby when they are fresh out of the womb and want only your arms. No mandatory 24 hour stay before you can take yourself and your little one home to where everything feels right.

Homebirth has been a beautiful gift in my life. A warm cocoon with which to usher in new life in quiet peace and familiarity, away from the rush of the outside world. A space and a place so intimate and personal that I can hardly verbalize it.

There's nothing wrong with hospital birth. I know I'll leave there bursting with gratitude at the lovely nurses and doctors we work with, holding my newest love all wrapped up in my arms. It will be fine. It might even be nice.

But tonight, tonight I'm giving myself permission to grieve. To sit with the hurt that comes from knowing a door to something you love is firmly closed. To think back on and relish the beautiful experiences I've been given. And to prepare my heart for what comes next.

I'm linking up with Transparent Tuesday.


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Taking Offense (A Gentler Approach)

Somewhere, deep in my mom's photo drawer, there is an old photo my sister and me. My sister is sweetly smiling at the camera. I am looking at her with literal open-mouthed rage. My little five year old brow is blackly furrowed and my mom calls my expression "I have never been so insulted in all my life!" The honest portrayal of an apparent bruised emotion leaps right out of the photograph. I laugh every time I see it. 

I don't remember what upset me so badly that day, but I can guarantee it was something that felt life shattering at the time. Offenses feel like that. Irrepairably devastating. 

I think about that photo today after talking to a friend about hurt feelings and treating one another well and figuring out the balance in living authentically while dealing gently with the people around us. 

My mom always taught us to take no offense where none was meant. It's a  good rule of thumb, something that makes good logical sense there on the page. But life doesn't always feel logical. Emotions don't follow rules of conduct.  If I'm hurt, it hurts. If someone accidentally knocks you off your bike, it still hurts -even if it wasn't meant to. 

It's a good reminder for me. I'm not the sensitive type, generally speaking. I put my foot in my own mouth often enough to know that accidents happen, spoken and unspoken. I tend to hold my mom's exhortation up as an excuse for myself. I don't mean to be objectionable, so people should just get over it. But that doesn't address the reality of hurt. That pain is pain, knowingly inflicted or accidentally fumbled. 

In the mama world, offenses are rampant, both intended and accidental. Someone posts an article we don't agree with and suddenly we wonder if that mom is secretly judging us. Someone else chooses a different path, or doesn't take our advice, and it can be too easy to feel slighted, rejected or found wanting. 

Sometimes we make assumptions which are just as damaging. "She home schools so she must think I'm evil for sending kids to school." "She works so she must think I'm lazy because I don't." Instead of investing in an actual relationship, we wall ourselves in with defenses. 

Mothering is so personal, so tied up in our self worth that we can get a little crazy with the defensiveness. I know. I've done it. 

The answer isn't a blanket statement of "take no offense where none was meant!" It's not "don't have an opinion because it could hurt someone's feelings!" The answer, for all moms, for all women, and dare I say for all people is simply this: 

Be kind. Understand that your perspective may not be the only one, or the only right one. Be gentle. Treat each other the way you'd like to be treated. Ever make a mistake? Me, too. Let's give each other grace, yes? Don't be afraid to apologize and always, always forgive. It's alright to sit with the pain of a slight, but know that harboring those feelings long term only breeds further discord. Take your time, but move toward letting it go. 

The world is a more gentle and peaceful place when we can live together as beautifully varied people and learn to love the differences. Even if I'm pretty sure I'm mostly right. At least some of the time. 

High Hopes #MindfulMotheringMondays

I had high hopes for this fall.

After a couple years where frost froze apple blossoms before they had a chance to bloom, I was looking forward to taking my kids back to the orchard. One of my favorite childhood memories with my parents and something my kids ask about each year. I thought maybe this would be the year we'd make costumes for Halloween - my gang has been chattering about being characters from the Narnia books we've been reading together. And I've got about a million patterns queued on my Ravelry page with Christmas ideas. Projects for cozy late nights at home in the deep darkness of Fall.

But this year looks a bit different. This year I'm finding myself once again sidelined. Not quite up for dragging six kids and huge bags of apples through the orchard. Not even thinking about costumes yet. A bit nauseated by knitting, which is cruel and unusual, but also too tired at night to stay up and attempt more than a row at a time anyway.

It's enough to squash those hopes right up, like a rotting apple under a toddlers shoe. All sickeningly sweet and so not what you're looking for. I just wanted a lovely fall, full of all the stereotypical fall things that I unabashedly love. Instead my house is a mess, fieldtrips impossible, days exhausting. It's disappointing and, worse, guilt inducing.

There's nothing quite like a side of Mommy-guilt with your morning sickness. Ask me how I know. 7 pregnancies and I still struggle to see past the worry that the big kids are shouldering too much or not getting enough. That we are missing out on everything good and it's all my fault. Because that's how it feels some days.

But on a cold Sunday afternoon when the kids had asked to go apple picking and we said no, no because Mama is tired, no because the babies need naps, no because it's just not a good time, my Jonah took matters into his own hands. He brought down a blanket from the upstairs cupboard and spread it over my knees on the couch. Then he went and made a little snack plate for me, slipped a movie in the Blu ray player and cuddled right up beside me. "You never watch movies with us," he said. "I like it when you do."

These kids teach me so much. Remind me so much. Show me so much mercy and point me to the right answer in more ways than I can count.He found a way to make the most of the day we had and worked within the circumstances to turn it into something special.

Life doesn't just happen within the parameters of planning. Sometimes just keeping your hands open to whatever life has to offer ends up blessing you more than you could have anticipated. No matter where we are and what we are up against, today there is a way to make the most of it. To choose joy, to choose fun, to choose love. To choose to cut loose expectations receive unexpected graces instead.

Finding ways to love the moments you're in is the way to unlock more joy than a perfectly posed photo of all six kids in front of an apple tree ever could. After 7 pregnancies, I'm still learning just this: Today is alive with more grace than any of us could ever fathom.

I can choose to focus on what isn't going my way - but to do so is to choose blindness. Instead, with the help of these kids? I'm keeping my eyes wide and hands open. There is goodness to be had in this moment and place and I don't want to miss a drop.



{It's Mindful Mothering Mondays, a day to take a deep breath and write out your mothering journey, whatever form it takes. A day to link up for encouragement from others who are in this same phase of life. A day of writing out the trials and triumphs and what you're learning right where you are, right now.

You might post recent struggles or thoughts. Maybe just a picture or a quote. Or maybe you'll just come here and read the links that others post. Whatever form your participation takes, this is a day for you.
We are all in this, together. Together, we can encourage and build one another up, be honest with our shortcomings and strengthened by community to keep fighting the good fight.

I chose Mondays because what Mama doesn't need a little encouragement on a Monday?

I hope you'll meet with me! Here's what to do ~

Link up your post below in the comments. Remember to put the link to the exact post you want to link, and not just your blog url. Include in your post a link back here so others who want to join in can find us! And visit some other Mamas who have linked up.

Post the community graphic within your post, so people who are reading your Mindful Mothering post can come back here and find the rest of us! You can use the hashtag #MindfulMotheringMondays on Twitter and Instagram to connect further.

Invite the writers of your favorite blogs to join in!

Share this meme with others on facebook and twitter. This community is for all moms, and the more that participate, the more we will be able to enjoy!!}

Grab the graphic here:

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Chasing Joy

{Joining with my friend Mel for her first ever link up, Transparent Tuesday. Something all of us need from time to time! Check out her blog for more information and to link up!}

Sometimes I feel like I do many things, but none of them particularly well. A girl of many interests, when passion strikes - I'm sucked in. So I learn to knit and bake and sew and sing and manage to get to a mediocre level of ability before flitting off to the next thing I want to try. I've been this way my whole life. I remember telling my sister as a kid - "I truly believe I can do anything. But I'm really good at nothing."

I am blessed with a variety of friends. The type A types, with impeccably decorated homes and seemingly endless energy for and interest in new modes of organization. The creative types who always have one (or ten) projects going at once and seem immune to stress from the mess.  The active ones, who love pushing themselves to the limit and give every indication of leaping out of bed each day, thrilled with nothing more than running a half marathon before breakfast. The fun ones, with as many kids as possible running through their homes each day while they look on with relaxed enjoyment.

I love and am inspired by each one of them, but often I wonder where on earth I fall in those categories.
It all comes down to choices and priorities. Whether I'm being intentional or not, I'm making choices. The choice to stay up late reading keeps me in bed later into the morning, bumping my workout time out of the picture. The choice to have 6 children in a small home. The choice to knit, or catch up with a friend or watch my babies play. I fool no one but myself when I use my choices as excuses.

Occasionally I am so inspired by a friend that I give their priorities a try. "If she can do it, so can I!" I think, gritting my teeth and trying to shoehorn my multifaceted personality into just one area. It works, for a few days, and then I slip back into old patterns. Because really, this is me.  This is how I live. I'm a little undisciplined and a lot open to living my day as it presents itself. Sure, it could be tidier and quieter. I could be more toned and organized. But I'm a girl who loves falling into a book and emerging hours later. I can be creative when and only when the mood strikes, and when it does, I am helpless to resist. I adore handing out sticky popsicles to a long line of dirty summer kids and shrugging off the ensuing mess. I love long talks with my best friend even if it means that I don't get to the laundry or wind up ordering pizza for dinner.

The world needs all types of people. I'm so blessed by my many friends and their many strengths and abilities and personalities. They inspire, they encourage, they make my world more beautiful and intricate by being their amazing selves.

When I think about it, I realize - I'm a joy chaser. Wherever there is happiness and love and fun, that's where I want to be. I want to live in the center of all things good. Even if that means doing nothing particularly well.

I choose joy.

A little mess, a lot of mayhem, and a heaping dose of  (imperfect) joy.

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