Posts Tagged → Beatrice

beatrice’s quilt

“Handmade” wouldn’t exactly describe this past Christmas — or much of anything relating to the last few months! (Well, at least not as typically understood. This home and the kids in it are cared for and made “by hand”. Right?)

There was one handmade gift, though, that I was really wanting to pull off by December 24th: a quilt for the baby. I’d had it on my mental calendar since last spring, knowing that I’d want to wait to discover the gender before moving ahead. I also figured that by the time I finally got a little groove, but wasn’t totally out of the newborn sleep zone, Christmas would be a good deadline.

Then the debate about what to make. I bookmarked so many quilts. Thought about so many fabrics. Finally bought a whole stack of half yards (brand new! full price! oh my!), cut out every piece, laid it out on my table — and decided it wasn’t me. Then I asked every person who walked through what they thought, and it was unanimous: it wasn’t me. Bummer. I hate being stuck.

So I finally pulled out an old button-down shirt that was worn by Brietta, then by me, and finally tucked away because I loved the print that much. I kept pawing through my (beautiful new) closet of fabric bits and pieces and — ta-da! — a linen skirt, a linen curtain, some leftovers from this and that, and I had a quilt top! I guess that’s just the way I do projects: rummage and scrounge.

It was quick, simple, “modern”. 10 hours, perhaps? Even the hand-sewn binding went on quickly, as did the yellow running stitch embroidery I added to some of the solids (which I’d had in my head as the only must have for this quilt!)

So, for those of you curious (SAM!), here’s the quilt. And the baby. Because let’s face it; she’s way more fun to look at than any quilt!

2011 thoughts

[A post written for my benefit. Bear with me!]

Here we are, almost to the second week of January. Wow. Really?

New Year’s Eve caught me unprepared (as it seems to have done for several years counting.) Where did the year go? Sand slipping between my fingers — it can seem like a vapor. And yes, in some ways, it is. But how good it is to know that God saw those days, and the service that filled them, as seeds sown.

And a pause, laying in bed on New Year’s Eve, gave me a chance to recall the year.

2011 began with a bang. Literally. Josh and Carson showed up with sledge hammers and trash bags that first week and started the huge project of renovating the front rooms of our house. Some weeks of big progress, many weeks of chipping away, and by August, our floors were oiled, our walls painted, and it was all done enough to settle in and be ready for a new baby. (Not that she needs a new music room, but having the grand piano out of our bedroom seemed like it would be a nice idea!)

Olivia moved in that month, too. She lived in our yellow guest room for 9 months, and was sunshine to our family. She befriended William when he was still hesitant about anyone but Mama, and watched him grow from baby to boy. She joked with Ryan, played Legos with Jameson, read books to William, and quietly slipped alongside me to fold laundry or set the table or just smile. We loved, loved, loved her.

January also found me sitting in a chair, sleeping on the couch, and generally hiding from the world as much as possible. Morning (or day) sickness took all the unction out of me, but somewhere in February, I started to feel like myself again. And then in March, somewhere around week 18, I found Regina Willette and a homebirth was planned, again. Once again, my pregnancy passed with no complications, and anticipation and excitement grew along with my belly — which was, once again, huge!

The spring was beautiful, if a bit slow at times, and we passed the time with lots of garden rehab and walks and preparations for CFA’s Cinderella and The Glass Slipper. William enjoyed his first year of being a “big boy”, and he and Jameson played outside for hours, finding favorite spots in the yard for their pirating and cowboying and other exciting things. And bikes, of course. For hours.

We had a visit from our friends Emre and Sevi in January, and then Ryan and I flew to California in March. Besides enjoying the chance to see our very-missed friends, it was also our first overnight travel without kids since pre-Jameson!

Trips to Maine and Long Island and Montreal, buying our neighboring field and a new roof and chipping away at the renovation, lots of trips to Beans’ pool and Nana’s yard and quiet days at home — all of this, and the summer was over. How quickly it goes!

Beatrice was born, William broke his arm, Olivia moved back home, Jameson had a bonfire birthday, Louissa and Josiah prepared for and then celebrated their wedding, William turned 3, and we eased into a bit of “real” Kindergarten work.

CFC began meeting in two locations, we began hosting a large and exciting Young Couples meeting, and Jameson started attending Friday School (and was quite pleased to be in the Christmas concert!)

Washing machines spun, the refrigerator was filled and emptied, filled and emptied, and dishes were washed at least 3 times a day. Bedsheets were changed, diapers outgrown, manners taught, attitudes addressed. Lego towers were admired, Playmobil carriages assembled, and dress-up creativity applauded. Sometimes I got out of my pajamas before 7am, and other days, I just put clean ones on before bed. Some days lists were crossed off with vim and vigor. Some days we barely got through bare essentials. Every day we did our best to love one another and honor Jesus. And two, then three, little people grew and grew and grew.

So, yes, sand between my fingers. Vapors. But somehow, in His economy, beads strung on the thread of time, all adding up to more than we can measure. I look at this past year with this confidence, and it shapes my perspective on the year to come:

Do not be deceived; God is not mocked. For whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.

beatrice, and a bit of amy

I realized that I haven’t written much about Beatrice. Beatrice, who confounds and delights me daily. The fact that I can lay her on the couch, and she quietly stares at the ceiling fan and then finally dozes off for a 2+ hour nap is simply a marvel to me. I loved my boys, yes I did, and didn’t begrudge them any of the hours we spent nursing to sleep (only to wake up 15 minutes after being laid down.) Babies are meant to be cared for, whatever that may mean. But this Baby Beatrice — she is definitely easier! She loves to suck her thumb, and with the free hand she either squeezes her own chubby cheek or plays with her ear. She loves to laugh and smiles freely at anyone who will simply look her in the eye. In the late evening, she breaks into a stream of babble that is quite delightful. And her brothers can’t get enough of her — or of her girly wardrobe with ruffles and rosettes and ballet socks!

She’s growing so much. I realized the poor thing has rather been denied in the arena of toys and such, as I still have it in my head that she’s far too young for such things. Not true! Time to replenish the baby toy stash. Maybe her Christmas stocking won’t be so empty after all.

I absolutely love this little doll of mine.

*******

This letter, written by Amy Carmichael, has been often read these last two weeks:

I have been thinking of you as you begin work today. The story of the man who said, “I have nothing to set before him”, has been helping me this morning (not for the first time). It says so exactly what I so often feel. “A friend of mine in his journey has come to me and I have nothing to set before him” — no, not even a crumb.

I expect you also often feel like that. I can well understand how the devil will make you feel like that poor man who had nothing to give and went in the night to borrow three loaves. But the end of the story is very comforting, “He will rise and give him as many as he needs.” As much as you need to do His will and help others, these travellers in life’s difficult journey, will be given to you to give. There will be no shortage from the heavenly point of view. So meet the devil’s depressing whisper, as I pray this morning that I may, with that dear word, “as many as he needs”, and be at peace.

i’m here.

I’ve never, ever gone this long without updating my blog. Never. But for whatever reason — busy, foggy head, other thing to do, can’t put it in words, first I’ll download all my photos — I haven’t written here in so long that I actually forgot the url to get here. Just for a second, but still. I forgot it.

And yes, we’ve been busy. I know we have, although if you ask me what we did this week, you’ll get a strange blank stare in response. I have no idea. But here we are, at the end of another week. And the three littlest of us are bigger. Hopefully I’m a bit smaller. I’m only three months postpartum, you know.

We’ve started kindergarten. Is it okay that I sort of smirk when I say that? Because how can this be school? Sitting at the table all together for an hour or so, littlest boy putting together puzzles all by himself (William’s achievement: learning diligence), coloring, putting an entire sheet of stickers on a small square of paper; bigger boy thumping his pencil in rhythm on his new book, carefully writing what looks like the distant relatives of what you might recognize as letters, quickly and without any teaching at all whipping through math pages. All of us with heads together learning about the Titanic and volcanoes and picture books just for fun. Pointing at the globe to find the Yangtze river, France, Ohio, and Maine. Coloring, painting, collecting leaves. Taking brisk[ish] walks and talking about geese. Making a list of things to cook just for fun this winter. And the much-anticipated Little House reading at naptime. (They were so sad to leave Laura when we started Farmer Boy, but I think they’re starting to come around.) And (my favorite part!) going to the library to collect the lovely pile of books that are waiting for us. Goodness, I love the internet!

Of course, that’s just part of our day. There are daily chores, the morning routine that takes forever. (How does it do that? Dressed, showered, laundry, quiet time, breakfast — and it feels like the day is gone!) There are meals, errands, visits, baths. Some days it feels like I’m drowning in an ocean of things-to-be-done. (And so I sit down and cry.) Some days I tell the ocean that I just don’t care, and those days go much better. (Although the ocean is still there, and I’m still not quite sure what to do about it. Besides live for 20 more years. That always seems to help with perspective and things-to-be-done.)

William has turned three (and I never even wrote about him — I just realized that!). It is the best age ever. I love every funny little thing he says, the quirky observations about life, the faulty logic that seems so very logical to them. Just love it. Fridays are our morning together, and we read lots of books. Both boys like to hear stories, but William will quite happily sit through a huge stack of books and be perfectly happy. Today we also went out to The Big Rock. Because it’s a beautiful day. At least, that’s what William said when he was trying to convince me to go out and play with him. Who can resist? That is not faulty logic.

Beatrice is big. She is, I know it, try as hard as I may to ignore it. She smiles and coos and absolutely is a love.

And me? I am loving being here in the North Country. There are so many wonderful people, so many new people, just so many people. I love getting to know them, having them in my home, learning their children’s names and their occupations and where they grew up and what puts the twinkle in their eye. People are important. People are fragile. People are worth it.

That’s what I’m thinking about right now, anyway.

And maybe I’ll write again soon. Because there’s lots more to think about.

memorizing moments [three]

Dear Number Three Child,

I suppose one day you’ll be grown, and notice that your Number One Child sibling has far more photographic memorials to his childhood than do you. You might make jokes about him being the crowned prince, you being the lost-in-the-shuffle third.

And I just want you to know: If there are fewer pictures of you, it’s not because I’m busier than I used to be and don’t have time for such things. (Though, yes, I’m busier.) It has more to do with the fact that I am wiser than I used to be, and why get up to grab a camera when I could just sit for a moment longer with you snuggled on my chest? Your sweet head will only smell like this for so long. The rhythm of your fast baby breathing will someday slow, and you won’t need to hear my heartbeat in order to sleep. Excusing ourselves from the busy world to a comfy chair where you can nurse, one little fist wrapped firmly around my finger — how long will we do that for? Two years, two and a half at the most?

I’ll do my best to capture your baby sweetness, allow you to look back at how doting your brothers were, how quickly your cheeks grew chubby. But mostly, if it’s okay, I’ll just hold you. Okay?

beatrice’s birth

Beatrice was born 5 days after her due date; this was her giving us a clue, I suppose, that something was different this time (Jameson was born hours before his due date, William hours after.) Everyone who’d been guessing “girl” all along was even more sure, I suppose. I still didn’t have a clue about gender. All I knew was that I was overdue, and there was no telling how long I would be pregnant for. I settled in for the potential long haul.

Tuesday morning Ryan announced that I would have the baby that day. “I can feel it in my bones!” he declared. I don’t know why he thought that, but it was true that there were signs of labor — though I didn’t worry too much about them, knowing it still could be days or weeks away.

We dropped Jameson off for a tent overnight at Papa’s house, then drove to Kevin and Liz’s house for dinner. Somewhere between bites of yummy pork loin and sweet corn, I began having contractions that felt legit — not too intense, and spaced far apart, but worth noting. After walking downtown for ice cream cones, I finally said something. I knew I needed to get home and go to sleep, just in case this was for real.

Mom was already here when we pulled in the driveway, washing dishes and straightening things up and telling us to get to bed. I got to read a bedtime story to William, hugging him tight and enjoying one more “baby” William moment. Then I headed to bed.

And, oddly, my contractions started getting farther apart. I had never experienced that before, and didn’t know what to think of it. Rather than worrying too much about it, I just tried to sleep.

At 11:30, a very intense contraction woke me up completely. Ryan immediately noticed the difference in my breathing. We timed a few (still not very impressive, I thought), and he called Regina to let her know things seemed to be intensifying.

And that’s when time sort of stopped. Just like with both boys, as soon as labor began in earnest, it went into overdrive. I tried to walk around more than I have in the past, though I have no idea how long that lasted for. It seemed that in no time, the contractions were longer than the space in between. I became aware of people arriving, lamps being switched on, candles being lit, and equipment being arranged, but mostly, I was just aware of waves of pressure, Ryan, and my mom.

It was so intense. I know that goes without saying, but then again, what else is there to say? Labor is so much work on so many levels, but for me, the most important work of labor is staying on top of my thoughts and attitude. Relaxing is so important, but it would be impossible without first getting control of my thoughts. This time around, as I’d prepared for the birth by re-reading some favorites, I was impressed by a story of one rather scared first-time mom, who overcame her fears by realizing her body was incredibly capable of making way for this baby. She chanted to herself, over and over, “I’m going to get huge.” I thought of her as waves of tension rolled over me. It feels like everything in you is being squeezed and compressed, but I know that what I need to concentrate on is opening — relaxing completely and willing my body to open stronger, faster, more efficiently. There were a few peaks when I just wanted to lose it — scream and yell and curl up in a ball and be done. And I had to tell myself to just hold on, or I’d waste a perfectly good contraction, and why on earth would I prolong this agony when I could actually help it along?

And so, wave after wave, with Ryan gently touching my jaw, my shoulders, my palms — reminders to me to relax — and my mom pushing so hard on my lower back through the worst of the contractions, I just pictured OPEN.

I could feel the baby moving down, and the pressure on my spine mounted. My third baby, and still, I could not believe how ridiculous that pressure was — but then again, even as I was thinking that and wanting to be a bit angry, I realized a little body was pushing against my spine, trying to make its way out, and you know what? Suddenly the pressure makes sense. (I’m pretty sure that’s when I started moaning “ba-by”, and Ryan thought I’d gone coo-coo.)

Wary of premature pushing, I laid on my bed and just endured as much of that as I could before finally being sure that, yes, it was time. We’d planned on kneeling at the end of the bed, but Regina really wanted me to try laying on my side — a gentler option for someone who has a tendency to bleed too much. She must have seen worry on my face, because she gently reassured me that she didn’t think it would mean more work for me. I trusted her completely, and suddenly there was a little flurry as everyone got ready for the big arrival — and I silently wondered if I could remember how to push. For the first time, Regina took control, coaching me clearly through that climactic and somewhat crazy finale. I utterly amazed myself by being able to not push at her command, something I thought I would never be able to do. My waters broke, the head crowned, a pause, then the head, and finally — oh, the most wonderful feeling in the world! — the last push, and a baby. “A girl!”, Ryan announced.

A girl! I sank into my pillows in utter exhaustion, overwhelmed by a wave of thankfulness for making it through, and wanting to weep with joy over this new wonder — all in the circle of excitement and joy of sisters and friends, mom and midwife, and of course, Ryan. What a welcome to the world Beatrice had!

4:52am. Slivers of pink were lighting the sky outside the bedroom window. She cried immediately, and then nursed like a pro. The birth “party”, who had all watched so quietly, now sprang into action, bringing me Shepherd’s Purse tea, juice, warm towels for my shaking legs, wool socks, a hat for the baby, watching timers for the apgar scoring, massaging my stomach, and cheering me on for that last stage. They were amazing. It was amazing. My body delivered a baby! Isn’t that just amazing?

I couldn’t say enough about my experience with Regina. This delivery was, by far, the most gentle on my body, and it’s all thanks to her. She had me pumping iron-rich foods and Floradix for months to prepare my body for a blood loss, and, between that and her hard work after my delivery, what a difference it made! Twelve hours after giving birth, I was standing in a shower by myself, shampooing my hair. I have never been able to even come close to that before. And thanks to her wisdom regarding delivery positions, and her coaching, I didn’t tear at all. I was amazed by how phenomenal I felt. I was walking back and forth to my living room the very next day!

And of course, I can’t say enough about giving birth at home. I am so thankful to have found Regina. Laboring in my own house, being surrounded by supportive friends and a capable midwife, and feeling no pressure to do anything other than follow my body’s cues — it’s just so amazing. No cakewalk, of course, but amazing.

A healthy delivery, a healthy baby — blessing on blessing. I am so thankful.