Another great post by Randy Alcorn

Randy Alcorn writes about the pro-life issue. Because it’s important.

John McCain wasn’t my first choice for president. But at least McCain’s a hero, he suffered for his country and fellow soldiers. And at least he thinks innocent children shouldn’t be slaughtered, and has consistently voted that way. And he’s chosen a running mate who not only professes to be prolife but lived it out by valuing a precious Down Syndrome child that 80% of people would have aborted. McCain and Palin are far from perfect. But I believe they would honestly stick up for the most oppressed and violated people group in this nation, unborn children.

Of course, these days it’s especially not cool to support a Republican, even if he would defend innocent children, because Republicans are part of the party of George Bush, someone who is hated by cool people. (Nobody mentions that the Republican Party was the party of Lincoln, that opposed slavery; they were hated for that too.)

I am deeply concerned about the one, two or possibly three Supreme Court justices to be appointed in the next presidential term. If you listen to the candidates, it’s obvious that McCain/Palin would make a concerted effort to choose justices likely to reverse Roe v. Wade and it is equally obvious that Obama/Biden would choose justices most likely to uphold Roe v. Wade. . .

The blood of week and needy unborn children is precious in God’s sight. Please don’t tell me abortion isn’t the only issue. Of course it isn’t. Treatment of the Jews wasn’t the only issue in 1940 Germany. Buying, selling and owning black people wasn’t the only issue in the United States of 1850. Nonetheless, both were the dominant moral issues of their day. Make no mistake about it. In our own day if we support a candidate who defends abortion, who is dedicated to that cause, we are supporting the killing of children. Yes, even if he’s the coolest candidate to come along in decades.

We will stand before the judgment seat of Christ for our decisions, and a vote is a decision in which we assume responsibility for the known beliefs and moral positions of the candidate.

This is not speculation, it is not a spin, it is demonstrable fact: Barack Obama IS adamantly committed to continuing the legalized killing of unborn children in this country. . .

We may want to show the world that we Christians are cool enough to support the coolest political candidate who’s come along in decades. I really wanted to. But I just can’t get past child-killing. That’s a price for coolness that’s just too high. . .

i’m still here.

It’s been a quiet week here. Somehow the days slipped by, one after the other, and I didn’t do much more than get through to the end of each one. I’ve been exhausted and not quite myself. Someday I won’t be so overwhelmed, so always close to tears, and so unbelievably tired. This is what I remind myself of.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying an evening on the couch. The Red Sox are tied with Tampa Bay. My slippers are comfy. Jameson is on his way home from an evening with friends. (Thanks, friends.) I spent approximately four hours just sitting with Ryan and an afghan. A baby kicked now and then and made me laugh at my lumpy tummy. Made me wonder… who’s in there? Made me marvel… in days we’ll know.

Will they need this…

…or this?

nesting and nesting and nesting and nes…

Tonight I excitedly threw a load of brand new kissaluvs into the wash. A few more cycles, and they’ll be fluffed up and ready to go. They’re tiny and soft and squishy… and I can’t wait to put their softness on my new baby!

This morning, getting ready for church required tidying the entire house, wiping down the bathroom, starting laundry, you name it. I was suddenly frantic about the cluttered state of things. I mean, what if I go into labor? What if I go into labor and the bathroom looks like this? What if I go into labor, the bathroom looks like this, and my mother isn’t here yet???? The afternoon’s activities were motivated by similar thoughts.

Today’s grocery shopping included a lot of “what would be good to have in the house… in case?” You know. In case I go into labor. In case I go into labor and my mother isn’t here.

I don’t remember having any days like this when I was expecting Jameson. Is it because I wasn’t having a homebirth? Because my mom and sisters lived within yelling distance of our apartment? Because I just didn’t know better? Not sure. At any rate, I’m wondering how I can stay ready enough to allay these fears of throwing up in a dirty bathroom (worst, worst, worst thing imaginable!), but not be worked into a constant state of waiting. I do not want to live in some clean-the-house holding pattern for the new few weeks.

But you never know. I just may.

Of course, I could occupy myself by working on boy names. Because we don’t really have one. Ugh.

The continuing request for input: What’s your advice on going from one to two? (Kids, that is. Not jeans size. Ha!!)

me and my buddy

On Wednesday evening, our midwife came for the home visit. This was when she explained to us what was in the birth kit that I had dutifully ordered, took a tour of our home (including closets with extra towels and such — how often do yo include those in your tours?), and talked with us about how we envision this birth happening. It was so fun to have her here, and suddenly this coming baby is so much more of a reality.

That night I dreamed I went into labor and delivered the baby with only two pushes. Obviously I’ve got pushing on the brain.

So my days of late alternate between huge nesting urges, exhausted and hormonal do-nothing days, and days of wanting to just be with Jameson. More and more I’m realizing our time together, just the two of us, is coming to an end. He’s been my little buddy for over two years (I still can’t believe that!), and I have loved every moment of it. Of course, I’m looking forward to another little love joining the family, but, well, that’s all still very future and hypothetical in some ways. What’s very real to me right now is that I love taking walks with Jameson’s little hand in mine. I love sharing special lunches, just him and me, talking about trains and birds and squirrels and bikes and whatever he happens to see. I love pretending his little games, and being his playmate of choice (when Daddy’s not around, that is.)

I bet if I were to ask my mom about the days when it was just her and me, she’d find the recollection a bit fuzzy. And so I guess I’m just feeling the urge to crystallize, as much as possible, these special memories.

****

All that said, the saddest part of having Jameson was when we brought him home from the hospital, and there was no one there to care. Shameful! Every baby should be welcomed by hurrahs and kisses from siblings, and I can’t wait to introduce this baby to a brother who already loves them.

****

One more thing: I’ve been meaning to send this question out into the blogosphere and hear what you have to say. Any tips as I transition from one to two?

mothers, daughters, and homebirths!

When I tell people I’m having a homebirth, one of the most common reaction is, “You’re so brave!”

(When we told one of Ryan’s co-workers, a young single man, his eyes bugged out of his head and he asked incredulously, “Can you do that?” I smiled. As though a hospital room somehow is a necessary part of a woman giving birth!)

Brave? Perhaps. Crazy, maybe. I’ll let you know when it’s all said and done.

But the idea of having a homebirth is hardly daunting to me, thanks again to my mother, who had three.

These are the impressions I was left with after being a part of those three births:

When Jamie was born, I was only 5. I watched, but don’t remember a thing except that he was big, a bit purple, and had only two little specks of blood on his shoulder. I also remember that Mom got a beautiful new nightgown and matching robe, which she put on after he was born, and that she got to eat New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream in the dining room, where we all gathered to celebrate his birth. (She’d not been allowed sugar during that pregnancy, so when the grocery run was made, ice cream was on the menu!) It was the first time I’d ever tried Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Homebirths were all right with me!

With Louissa, I was 7 — old enough to be much more aware. I half watched, half hid behind Mrs. Tallo, who was there for the show as well. She assured my sisters and I that Mom wasn’t angry, just uncomfortable. She had to say that, because Mom was yelling at the friend who was trying to coach her through pushing. I still remember seeing Mom grit her teeth, get in Lauren’s face and growl, “I am pushing!!!” Louissa was born the day before my birthday, and I thought that was as special as it got. That evening, after everyone was in bed, I snuck downstairs to my parents’ bedroom. I climbed into bed between them and held my brand spankin’ new baby sister. Her eyes were dark, and she stared right at me. Another homebirth homerun.

Julia came along when I was 10. She was, unfortunately, born very early in the morning, and came a bit faster than my parents anticipated. The entire birthing team was assembled to help, and all of the siblings were woken to watch, but my mom ended up having her in the bathroom, which was only big enough for my dad. The rest of us had to be content with the nosebleed seats, trying to peak in the door around everyone else who was peaking in. Julia was round and chubby, and Mrs. Colbert called her Butterball until she had a real name. Mrs. Colbert also was in charge of cleaning her up and dressing her, because Mom and Dad had rushed to the hospital when Mom wouldn’t stop bleeding. That episode, unfortunately, put an end to homebirths for my mom. Still, for the next two babies, she made it a point to stay at home as long as possible, and to get back home sooner than possible. I say sooner, because it took me 24 hours to get those nurses MOVING after Jameson was born, but Mom was always in her own bed within several hours of delivery. I suspect that she must have been doing softshoe on the hospital beds or something in order to convince them to let her out.

At any rate, homebirths to me don’t necessarily mean “brave” or “crazy”. What comes to mind, rather, is “relaxed,” “comfortable,” and “celebratory.” It’s birth the way you see it in the old movies, when Mama and baby are wrapped snugly in their own bed, and the rest of the family showers them with love and jubilation.

And the part before that? The actual pushing? Well, that’s pretty much not a cakewalk no matter where you do it, and I’d rather be doing it in my own bedroom, thankyouverymuch.

mothers, daughters, and childbirth

“Perhaps our children will grow up familiar with birth and knowing it to be a positive, fulfilling process, but for most of us that discovery, and a corresponding effort of deconditioning, must occur when we become pregnant or are contemplating having a child.” (Rahima Baldwin, Special Delivery)

I read that line last week as I flipped through what I still think is one of my top picks for birthing books. I couldn’t help but think of my mother, who shaped my entire concept of pregnancy, birthing, and babies. She was the one who put forth the effort of being reconditioned, and as a result, I was the child who grew up familiar with birth, and thinking of it as hard, yes, but hardly negative.

One of my mom’s life messages, whether she’s ever set out to preach it or not, is, “What is God’s design?” She’s a true Creationist. What I mean is, the decisions she makes day in and day out reflect her firm belief that God made our bodies, and that His design is good. Pertaining to childbirth, this means that she actually believes God made a woman’s body to nurture and sustain a baby for nine months, and then to deliver that baby.

(As an aside, Ina May Gaskin writes that jokes comparing childbirth to forcing a golf ball through one’s nostril sort of upset her, especially when told to a nervous first-time mother. That’s simply not a fair comparison, because while our nostrils are not intended to fit around a golf ball, our bodies are intended to deliver full-grown, healthy babies. I thought that was a brilliant point!)

This, then, is the idea that I was raised with. Mom didn’t spout negativity about labor and delivery as the date approached, although she would occasionally admit to moments of panic! Rather, we saw her dutifully stretching, walking until the last day, eating well, and generally approaching delivery with determination and preparation.

My midwife commented to me last week on how well I’m moving about still, and how many women, by week 37, are incredibly awkward and stiff. Huh, I replied. Well, I guess I just grew up watching my mother, and she never slowed down a bit, and so perhaps that’s my idea of how to handle late pregnancy?

Yes, I’ll give credit to my mother for that, too.

In fact, more and more I realize how much effect Mom had on the subtleties of my attitude towards birth. I am so, so thankful. So thankful. There has been no deconditioning for me to do. I simply reaffirm the thoughts and ideas that are already well planted and watered by a courageous, faith-filled mother.

I write all this largely to communicate what a gift we give our children (and especially daughters!) when we tackle the issue of fear in childbirth. Yes, I can’t overstate what a gift I esteem this to be.