Post Category → family

memorizing moments

Soon I will write about the night Beatrice came to join us.

But recalling pulls me away from this moment, and living this moment is begging for all my attention these days. Each fleeting moment of baby fists curled like rosebuds, of cheeks-so-soft and lips-so-small, of new baby smell growing fainter and fainter, of tiny body sleeping on my chest. My sweet girl.

This morning we woke to gray. Dark eyes fluttered open next to me, the little bundle nestled in the crook of my arm suddenly squirming and awake. 6:30am, we slip from our bed, leave the daddy sleeping, and make our way to the kitchen. Jameson joins us, and for two hours, the three of us snuggle in the armchair together — Beatrice nursing, then awake and just soaking in the world, now drifting off into dreamland; Jameson watching Little House on the Prairie, cooing to his adored baby sister (“Beatwice Ewaine”, in sing-song, will melt my heart all day long), and then slipping down to build a train track; me just studying this new little lady on my lap who is suddenly ready to be awake for two hours, and holding close this growing freckle-faced boy who is going to be five in a few short weeks.

Now he’s busy playing trains, and she’s fast asleep. It’s almost 9am, ready to start the day. A day together. A day to live in and give thanks for.

today

Today, I am three weeks from my due date. So, so soon, our family will change forever. We’ll meet someone we’ll love instantly, and who will change the shape of who we are.

Today, I am folding towels and sheets and washcloths and sealing them up, labeling them “clean”, and checking one more thing of my list of preparations. I am digging through a newborn box and finding receiving blankets and hats and tiny socks. Into the wash they go, too. Soon, a corner of my room will house these and other birthing items. Crazy.

Today, we did a few chores in the morning, then donned suits and packed pb&j and headed to the beach. I’ve been happy to just do pool time this summer, but the boys love sand — and since they needed baths, anyway, why not? When we left, I thought, we need to do this more. So fun.

Today, there is so much to do, so many piles — of dishes, of doorknobs in boxes, of crown molding, of tools, of books… But today is not the day for that, not really. And so I do what I can, put my feet up for a bit, and decide that we’re okay. (And tomorrow, I think I’ll paint my newly-finished closets and start putting away some piles as soon as the paint dries! Excited!!)

Today, I read Hello, Baby to my two boys, and watch as their eyes take on awe, wonder, and sparkle. A baby being born — even these little guys understand how amazing it is. Jameson volunteers in a hushed voice, “We will help you, Mama, when the baby is born.” William just smiles.

Today, I peek into their bedroom as I pass by and have to stop, just for a minute, to take in their sweet sleeping faces. Pink cheeks, fair eyelashes bleached by sun, parted lips, and little bodies that aren’t so little anymore. Today, I want to cherish these little lives. How precious they are.

lunch with my boyz

We converse. Sometimes it sounds like this:

J: (holding index finger and thumb an inch apart) When you were two, were you this big?

Me: No! When I was that big, I was still in my mama’s tummy!

J: Oh

[pause]

J: Did you have fun in there?

Mostly we eat. It looks like this:






being mama

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.

I still don’t quite feel like I qualify as “Mother.” More like, “Girl With Babies.”

But mother I am.

Last night my baby grabbed a sweatshirt and stood before his adored daddy, eager to go outside and do something special. But my baby was tall and slim and boyish, his hair already sun-kissed bronze and tousled, his cheeks and nose no longer rounded with the chubbiness of a toddler, his cut-off shorts and freckles screaming: BOY. Growing boy. On his way to young man. My heart squeezed. I love him. I’m proud of him. And I miss my baby.

This morning kicks and flutters woke me, and I patted my tummy in response. Our secret little code that says, “I know you’re in there, and I love you!” My mind absently turned to weeks and months and due dates and I suddenly realized, I’ve got three months left. Three months! Didn’t I just begin the second trimester? Where did it go? Only three months before this becomes more than just pregnancy’s anticipation, and there is a new baby. And I am a mother times three.

And then a little hand rubbed my back: the chubby boy who is still the baby, for now. I roll over and smile at my little bed-mate, the one who still comes in every single night, the one who is like a heat-seeking missile, stirring over and over all night long, wedging his little body as close to mine as he can manage. He smiles at me, caresses my face, gives me a kiss. He talks so much, telling me about “one time, Mama…,” making up his own little jokes, and he follows close behind his brother’s heels, happy to explore the meadow and woods and play Star Wars with the big boys. Somehow, right under my nose, he grew from my sweet baby William into a little boy, and I don’t know when or how.

Mama. Mother. That’s me. And I feel like it should be Mother-in-Training, but to these little people, there’s no training about it: it’s real life. Every day, I’m really their mama. And they grow. And I grow.

And it’s the best thing in the world.

baby news

Baby #3 is growing — fast! There are so many kicks and wiggles these days, and my belly is huge already! Before I know it, summer will be in full swing, and it’ll be time to dust off the Moses basket and wash the teeny tiny diapers.

Since moving back to upstate NY last year, I’ve had my ear to the ground regarding birth options, knowing I’d have to cross that bridge sooner or later. A few weeks after this baby made himself known, I started looking for real — and wasn’t very encouraged. I followed every lead I had. I scoured the internet, using every search engine and forum I could find to locate an upstate midwife. I really, really wanted a homebirth. I just kept holding out hope, but by week 18, it was getting pretty hard.

I was trying to come to terms with what seemed like the only option: finding a cooperative doctor and hoping for the best in a hospital. I knew I could trust God in that scenario. But I was so disappointed.

Finally, realizing that if I didn’t act soon, I wouldn’t get accepted by anyone as a patient, I started making phone calls and scheduling preliminary appointments.

And then Ryan had a brilliant idea: “Why don’t you call your old midwife down in NC and see if she knows of anyone who’s running under the radar?”

Sure enough. After searches that said the closest licensed homebirth midwife was in Ithaca, I found out there’s one in Canton, NY. My jaw dropped.

Too good to be true?

We tracked down her phone number (Ryan did, because she’s no where on the internet), and just a brief chat — her mellow voice, her pace, her no-nonsense brand of friendliness — made me jump up and down a little.

And when she came — because all of her visits are house calls!! — I almost cried. The first time we heard the baby’s heartbeat, I was laying on my own couch, with Ryan and the boys and this incredibly easy-going woman who just sort of slipped into the family room like an old friend.

She dots her i’s and crosses her t’s. She’s careful and cautious and courageous. She’s incredibly informed. She’s been through the wringer. She’s everything you expect from a lifelong advocate of natural childbirth.

And most of all, this has the distinct fragrance of gift from the Lord, dropped right into my lap. Really. A little miracle, just for me.