Extending The Sentiments Of Mother's Day To The Other Days

Yesterday, we celebrated Mother’s Day. We honored our mothers whether they are living or not, whether they live near or far, whether they be by blood or not, whether they raised us or not. We acknowledged the magnitude and the beauty of the role of motherhood. As we celebrated and honored, we also sympathized with those for whom the day is difficult, for various reasons. 

Now, mother’s day is past and I hope that the sentiment will continue. As we honored the mothers in our own lives, the mothers that we know and love among our family and friends, may we extend that honor, and care, and respect, to mothers whom we do not know, but whom we encounter at the grocery store, or the park, or a restaurant, or out driving. It has been my experience that, on Mother’s Day, we love and appreciate and respect mothers but the rest of the days, we don’t.

In our culture, we tend to be cold and judgmental toward mothers. I have countless experiences in public with strangers who would rather evaluate my mothering on a split second of observation, than acknowledge that they don’t know the whole story. My child is melting down in line at the grocery store. People around me think I should have done something to prevent the meltdown or that I should be doing something to stop it. They are less likely to be forgiving or understanding, choosing instead to pass judgement condemning the mother for her actions or inactions. In a culture that honored and respected mothers, it would be common place for strangers to make way for a mother with a fussy baby or toddler to move to the front of the line. They would perhaps, unload her groceries from her cart to the conveyor belt so that she can tend to the child and get out of the line more quickly. Instead they stare, they frown, they judge, they ignore. 

I put a “Baby on Board” symbol on the back of my car when I had my first child. I had precious cargo on board and I wanted everyone around me to know it. What happened over the next few weeks was a shocking welcome to the realities of the perception of children and parenthood in this country. My driving habits did not change, but the presence of that little sticker on the back of my car invited others, strangers whom I mistakenly believed would have some level of concern for the child in my car, to react according to their perceived inconvenience of a mother and child obstructing their hurried path. People began to tailgate me when I was traveling at or slightly above the speed limit, as I always had. People began to recklessly swerve around me to pass me in traffic. For weeks I refused to believe that this was happening because the presence of a baby in my car was declared by a caution sticker on the back window. I wanted to believe that they were isolated incidents, that it was a coincidence. Soon enough, I conceded that none of it was a coincidence. That people were behaving differently toward me on the road. That my plea for caution was eliciting the opposite of the drivers around me. My caution sticker was actually making the road conditions immediately around us more dangerous for myself, my baby, and other drivers, so with confusion and deep sadness, I took it down.

Just this past week, someone called out that I was brave for bringing all of my kids to Home Depot. I looked at our little group, the baby strapped on my tummy, lifting my toddler into the seat of the cart while the boys climbed into the front basket. I thought, I’m not brave, I’m scared to death walking in this store right now. I’m afraid of how my kids will act, will one of my children knock over a display, or throw a fit? Will the people I encounter be kind or rude? I was afraid that this shopping trip would be like so many others. That one of my kids would act, well, like a kid and that would elicit some sort of negative reaction from the strangers around us. As I looked down, I realized that though brave didn’t fit me in that moment, desperate might have been more like it, I looked over my brood of four little people huddled together around a shopping cart, and realized that I am awesome. I was carrying twenty pounds of baby on my chest while pushing about a hundred and thirty pounds of 7, 6 and 2 year old in a cart. We were a sight to behold I am sure. Most people, especially the judgmental ones, would be incapable or unwilling to do what I am doing.

I grew four babies, one at a time, inside my body. I gave birth to each one through excruciating pain before, during, and after each birth. I nursed each of my babies with milk made just for them. I held them for hours and hours over the early days weeks and months of their lives so that they would learn to trust the world around them because of the warm love and secure attachment we formed. I held them all night sometimes, even though I was so tired. I love each one more than life itself. More than they know. More than anyone could know.  

I encourage you to examine your own thoughts and perceptions about the mothers you encounter in public. Are you quick to judge or quick to forgive? Do you believe you know what children need and how they should act or do you respect that the mother nearby is the expert on the little child that she has grown and for whom she cares and studies every moment of every day? Are your actions making a mother’s task easier or more difficult? Do you feel that women and children are in your way or slowing you down? Have you ever considered that you are in her way? That she has little people depending on her and that she is likely in more of a rush than you? If you must look at her rambunctious children, are you giving a warm and understanding smile or a cold and judgmental frown. Kids will be kids, and their mothers are doing their absolute best. Please be kind and respectful and honor them for the awesome job that they are doing every minute of everyday. Most importantly, know that you do not have the whole picture, you do not know the whole story behind the split second you are observing. 

Allowing Him to Feel, Part 2

  This is a story about an ordinary day that took a turn for the worse. Summer is winding down and school will start soon, for all of us. We went to a splashpad in the morning and then to a movie. We pushed the limit on naptime, but the girls made it. I thought we would all rest when we got home, but the boys saw their friend, our neighbor, outside and asked to play. I said yes and put the girls down. After an hour, I called the boys inside. I wanted them to rest but I also wanted them to make their own choice, so I said they could help with a clean up job or read a book on their beds. They chose to clean up.

  The day before, Gavin's puzzle that he had been working on with Keith got torn to pieces. All 500 of them. Gavin had been really sad and I had comforted him while he cried about it. We weren't really sure what happened. Henry denied it and  blamed Everly. I think Henry did it and lied. 

  But the puzzle pieces couldn't stay on the floor because we have a crawling baby who would love to have a drooley feast on them. I asked the boys to clean up the puzzle and I went to the kitchen to make dinner. The baby played on the floor while I worked but she was on edge. She wasn't going to be happy for long. So I chopped vegetables and measured spices as fast as could and wondered why I had chosen such a complicated recipe.

  As I worked in the kitchen, Genevieve was getting fussy and I could hear Gavin crying. I knew he was getting frustrated with the clean up job and probably that Henry wasn't helping as much as he should. It wasn't fair. I didn't think about the day before and how disappointed Gavin must still have felt about all of his hard work on the puzzle destroyed. He cried and wailed and I didn't have much sympathy. I called him to come talk to me in the kitchen but he didn't come. I was at a critical point in the recipe and couldn't leave. Besides, the baby was getting fussy and I was going to attend to her before my 6 year old anyway. 

  This went on for several minutes. Gavin cried, I called him to come to me. He wouldn't come. I thought how ridiculous the whole thing was. Finally, the recipe was ready to simmer. I picked up the baby and went to Gavin. He was sitting in a pile of puzzle pieces crying. He said it was too hard. I told him that the work he  had done was good and we could finish later. He went upstairs. I fed the baby. 

  Twenty minutes later, I found him asleep in my bed. At dinner time, I woke him up to come to the table and he just cried. I tried unsuccessfully to cheer him up. I thought he would get over it soon but he didn't. He said he wanted to be alone so we left him and went to the table. His cries were distressing to me and I knew I couldn't just leave him like that so I went back and deliberately put my hands on him, I rubbed his back and stroked his hair and kissed his cheeks. 

 

  I asked him if he was hungry, he acknowledged that he was hungry but insisted that he didn't want to be around us. He took me up on my offer to eat at our other table but he kept crying. I checked on him periodically but he was not eating. Each time I checked on him I placed my hands on him to comfort him as much as possible. 

  Then he started saying he was cold. I wrapped him in a blanket and held him like a baby. At this point I decided that I needed to stay with him until he stopped crying. So I held him and rocked him and also fed him his dinner, just like I do for the baby. He was quiet while he ate so I was hopeful that he was winding down. But he kept crying. We eventually moved to the couch and I continued to hold him, wrapped in a blanket, just like a baby.

  The whole time this was going on, I had to resist the urge to just give up and leave him alone to cry or to actually punish him, spanking did cross my mind. I had to resolve not to allow myself to think that I was a failure for not stopping the crying. I realized that the frustration over the puzzle had probably joined some other frustrations and hurts and had become too much for him to bear. I held him and rocked him and fed him dinner. 

  I wish I could say that this ended with a wonderful breakthrough and a moment of standout parenting but that is not the case. After an hour, dinner was finished and I was holding Gavin on the couch. Keith turned on the tv for Henry and pretty soon Gavin stole a glance, quieted down, and became absorbed in the show. I slipped away as soon as I could.

  I made a huge mental list of all of the things I had done wrong leading up to this meltdown. I placed a heap of blame on myself for over exhausting him, for skipping an afternoon snack, for giving attention to the babies more, and on and on. If we had just had a nap, if I had just given him a snack, if I had just picked up the puzzle, etc. But the fact is that we are a big family. We are a busy family. Changing the situation may not have prevented this meltdown.

  The next day, Gavin woke up and was noticeably happier and more confident than usual. I was wearing some super soft orange sweatpants that I have owned for ten years and he came up for snuggles all day long. It was hilarious, I would walk across the room and he would run up and give me a hug around the legs and say how snuggley my pants were. Hilarious and sweet. 

  I am still working through some of this but the main thing is that this was hard. It was inconvenient. But we got through it because we took the time to accept his feelings and sit with him while he wept. So many times, I have brushed him to the side because other family members need me more urgently. So many times, I have minimized his hurt saying "That's nothing to cry about." I am learning that while he is my biggest boy, he's still a little boy. A little boy who doesn't have a lot of practice with dealing with big emotions. Besides that, he is more sensitive to tactile feelings so I suspect that he is more sensitive to emotional feelings. He feels physical pain more, so he very well may feel emotional sadness, disappointments, injustice, and frustration more than others. 

  I will continue to be very observant and reflective in my parenting as well as rely on God for guidance as I mother this little boy's heart. 

Allowing Him to Feel, Part 1

  I have followed a couple of pages on Facebook for parenting tips that fit my parenting practices, or at least encourage my ideal parenting practices. One is The Way of the Peaceful Parent managed by Genevieve Semperengham (absolutely unrelated to my daughter's name). I have been very impressed by the material that she posts to Facebook so I googled her name to find out more about her. In my search, I found her YouTube channel and one of the items on there caught my eye. It was called "Healing the Feeling Child" by Pam Leo. Here is the link:

http://youtu.be/CvFBbo2l6xs

  This is audio only and it is nearly an hour long. If this sounds like something you need to listen to, please make the time to do so. You could put it on while you are driving or wear earbuds while you fold laundry during toddler naptime. I listened immediately when I found it because I knew from the title that it would be information that I could use specifically in parenting  my second son, Henry, who is 5. I remember that it was (appropriately) pouring rain the day I listened and I had to start and stop as my kids were playing around the house and needed me from time to time.

 

 In the clip, Pam talks about acknowledging the child's feelings, allowing children to cry and supporting them while they do so.

  Basic marriage advice usually includes some version of pointing out that women simply need to talk about their problems but men think they need to fix the problem which sets off a crazy cycle of miscommunication. Here's a little video that illustrates this pretty well. It's Not About the Nail!

http://youtu.be/-4EDhdAHrOg

  Anyone who has suffered a loss knows that people can say the darnedest things to a grieving person. Things that are insensitive and completely disregard and invalidate feelings of sadness. You don't comfort a sad person by trying to make them happy or distract them from their sadness or tell them that things aren't so bad. But these are standard responses of adults to children in America. We can generally point out the mistakes that are made in relating to a grieving adult but we turn around and make these mistakes ourselves with children. Strangers will even intervene and try to fix a crying child's tears following one of these strategies without really knowing the child or having any real understanding of the situation.

  We have a really amazing picture from the book of Job of how to relate to a person in grief. Job's friends heard of his great loss and went to him. They ripped their clothes and put ashes on their heads.

"And they sat with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights and no one spoke a word to him for they saw that his suffering was very great." Job 2:13

They sat with him. 

No one said a word. 

They felt with him. 

They didn't say God must have needed a few more angels or that they could help Job regain what was lost. They sat with him and grieved with him.

  I think that in American culture, we're not the best at comforting those who mourn because we think that we have to stop the mourning. It bothers us to be sad or to be around sadness. So we try to fix it or we downplay it or ignore it all together. It's too hard to just be with someone as they mourn. We feel like failures when we can't stop the sadness. But emotional pain is not like physical pain. We can't just put a bandaid on it. With physical pain, we try to stop the pain to start the healing. With emotional pain, feeling must be endured, allowed, and supported for healing to take place.

  If we are bad at supporting adults in their sadness, we are worse at supporting children in their sadness.

  My five year old cries a lot so I thought I was listening to that podcast to better prepare for his inevitable display of tears, lots of tears, but as I listened I was confronted with all of the ways I was mishandling my older son, Gavin's, tears. 

  Henry forces us to acknowledge his feelings because he wants to be held when he cries. He throws himself on one of us and goes limp and whimpers and groans and really forces the issue of being held while he cries. I don't know how he does it. He is extremely persistent about getting the comfort that he needs when he is sad.

  Because Henry cries more, I thought he was my more feeling child. Gavin, on the other hand, doesn't cry as much but he  is more sensitive to tactile things. His shoes can't be too tight. His food neither too hot nor too cold. Textures bother him and Heaven forbid there be a wrinkle in his sock. Gavin's tears are usually because of something that is annoying to him. He doesn't seek comfort as often and generally cries about seemingly small problems.

  For very complex reasons which I'm sure both cause and are caused by the boys' different crying patterns, we have developed very different ways of responding to each. When Henry cries, he demands comfort by literally throwing his body into our arms. So, we comfort him. We hold him. When Gavin cries, it is usually very easy to pinpoint the cause. We try to fix the problem and stop the tears. As quick as we can. I say things like "Is that something to cry about?" I shut him down. 

  Furthermore, for very complex reasons which I'm sure both cause and are caused by the way we respond to the boys' crying patterns we have one boy who can generally cope in stressful conditions and one that generally cannot cope in stressful situations. This is hard to write. It is painful to recognize evidence of my own faulty parenting. But it is better to recognize problems and make adjustments than to continue, blindly, down a dangerous path.

  

  I listened to that podcast and watched the rain pour down outside my window. I realized that I could not continue on my current path if I was to raise emotionally intelligent men. I have been praying for God's help in this matter ever since that day. Some days I still make the same mistakes. Other times, I feel like God alerts me to say "This is it. This is the time to allow your child to feel." So I stop trying to fix the tears and I acknowledge the feelings. Some of these moments are small and seem insignificant and are easily forgotten. Others prompt an entire blog post.

  I had the following exchange with Gavin a few days ago. He came home from grandma's house limping. I knew he was exaggerating but that he needed me to acknowledge his hurt foot. He said "Do you know why I'm waking like this? It's because I hurt my foot." I said "Oh, what happened? Did you step on a Lego?"  "Yes! How did you know?" Lucky guess. I said "That must have hurt. Legos sure are sharp and pokey when you step on them." He slowly straightened put his foot and tested his weight on it. "Ok. I think feels better now. I can walk normal." 

  Then came a doozy of an emotional outburst. Gavin cried for an hour. It was hard to take but I feel strongly that this was a formidable experience for his emotional development. It actually requires its own blog post. I hate to leave you hanging but maybe you can listen to the You Tube link that I posted above sometime before I publish part two. 

What Does Good Parenting Look Like?

  The saying, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," is infinitely wise and deeply profound. It's an idea that can also be carried over to parenting. What is a good parent? That depends who's asking. 

  This morning, I recognized an example of change in my parenting. After dropping the boys off at school, I pulled into the garage, unloaded the baby and, with one hand unbuckled Everly and stood back to let her climb out on her own.

  Everly had her own ideas. She decided to use her regained freedom to climb around the Sequoia and stop to inspect all the interesting things to be studied on each of the three rows. Hmm, switches turn lights on and off. Hmm, my brothers' carseats are very cool. Hmm, oh good, a secret stash of Kleenex, I do need to wipe nose. Hmm, I was looking for this shoe. Henry's seat really is cool. I think I'll just sit here for awhile. Wonder what I have to do to get a seat like this. Wait, does this thing have cup holders? Oh good. Wow, they slide into a little hiding place. Out. In. Out. In. Nice. I really like this. Wait, do my cup holders pop in and out? Hmm. Let me try. No. Henry's seat is pretty much the best one in this whole car. Ok. I think I'm done here. Oh look, the neighbors are out. I think I'll go over and say "hi."

  As I stood outside the car, with the baby on my hip, I gazed at Everly in all of her glory. I had pulled her straight out of bed and put her in the car in order to get the boys to school on time. I completely shifted my idea of getting her into the house to eat breakfast and get dressed so the morning could proceed according to my schedule. I realized there was nothing that had to be done by a certain time on that particular day. I chose to let Everly decide when she was ready to get out of the car. After a few minutes, she had looked at everything she wanted to look at and climbed out on her own.

  If this had been Henry or Gavin, things would have gone very differently. For one thing, I was more busy and stressed when they were toddlers than I am now. I probably would not have had much time to spare and would have become irritated and anxious to get the toddler out of the car so that we could get on our way. I also felt that if I gave an instruction, like "get out of the car", that I must enforce it if they did not obey. I would have said "you may get out of the car yourself, or I will help you." I would have given them to the count of three to choose to mind, then I would have gently (or not so gently) removed a screaming, tantrum-throwing kid out of the car and then proceded to dress and attempt to feed a screaming, tantrum-throwing kid breakfast. 

  I would have gone through this routine thinking that I had to enforce a command. If I didn't, wouldn't I wind up with a spoiled, out-of-control kid? Now, I'm not so sure. I am highly motivated to achieve peace in my home. For someone with a quick temper and a low tolerance for frustration (I am talking about me) that is really a nice idea but with 5 additional personalities and 5 additional sets if needs and wants is really not realistic.

  I used to have an idea that if I just had a process for every detail of our life and if I just trained everybody well that everyone would always know what was expected of them and do it without complaining and then we would have peace and order in our home. The problems with this level of order are many and they begin with me and continue with my husband and spill out onto our children and onto the messy floor. 

  Besides drinking coffee and taking a shower every morning, I do not like to do the same things at the same time everyday. I've learned that it is impossible for me to order much of a schedule because I am impulsive and desire the freedom to be spontaneous. So clearly, I am not meant to run a household like a navy ship.

  The next problem with my idealistic orderly house and family is my husband. He has his own ideas about how things should be done and if he thinks his way is better, he does things his way. No discussion. We have had lots and lots of fights about meaningless household stuff. I'm done. I'll take all of the help I can get. If he wants to wash a load of laundry that is completely mixed up. Fine. It's not worth a divorce. Boom. Peace.

  Finally, my perfect household and family management ideals are squashed daily by four beautiful little angels aged 6, 5, and almost 2 and 6 months. They need what they need when they need it. They're little tyrants, actually. I used to think that managing their wants and needs to fit my wants and needs was good parenting. Kids need to learn that the world doesn't revolve around them and all that. But lately I have learned that enforcing lots of limits and schedules brings the exact opposite of peace to our home. It brings strife. It brings anger, hurt, resentment, and leaves me feeling worthless because I can never measure up. 

  So I take deep breaths. I notice times of peace and carefully examine the details surrounding that moment. Everly happily explored the car for five minutes before getting out. I let her have her freedom. I understood that she had been taken from a crib and strapped in a carseat and that those were her first moments to herself that day. Had I taken her out of the car and put her through additional routines, she would have protested. She would have cried and tantrumed and objected as a toddler objects. She would have felt injustice because it would have been unjust. Her real needs would have been ignored for the sake of perceived needs and it would have all felt incredibly unfair. 

  Instead, I chose peace. I didn't just slow down, I stopped. I noticed a beautiful child, in a beautiful, simple yet profound moment. Messy hair, pajamas and all. A child who needed a few minutes to touch and feel and experience the car more than she needed her hair brushed and to eat breakfast. I needed to enjoy my daughter's beauty and to marvel at her explorative spirit more than I needed to rush through a morning routine.

 

When Five Year Olds Act Like Teenagers

   Yesterday was a big day. My boys' school hosted their annual "Run for Fun" which is jog-a-thon which has evolved into a running event for which parents are expected to buy a hat. The funds are raised by selling hats for $25 each. What happened to the good old days? Remember when kids had to collect sponsorships from friends and family? Everyone pledges a certain amount per lap the child runs then the child (parents) have to go around and collect the money after the child runs. Too much trouble? Oh. That's why we just buy a hat. 

 

  The kids don't seem to know the difference. The run is still a big deal. I went to watch my boys run with my baby girls in tow. It was freezing cold with a wind strong enough to blow a small child away. The weather app had lied to us and we were dressed for spring not the dead if winter. Standing there in the freezing winds I was simultaneously being the best parent (to my boys) and the worst parent (to my girls). What kind of mother forces her toddler and newborn to be outside for an hour in that kind of weather? But it was important to my boys that I was there cheering them on. They were raising money for their school after all. Oh wait.

  After it was over, I went home, drank hot chocolate and changed into sweatpants. I ended up taking a nap with my girls that afternoon. When I picked up my 5 year old. He was tired and cranky. He admitted that he had not fallen asleep at rest time. On the rare occasion that this happens, I usually drive around for a few miles so he'll fall asleep in the car. A Henry without a nap is not the kind of Henry that spends a pleasant evening at home so it was important that he sleep a little.

  Henry did not like this plan. He did not fall asleep in the car and he whined and fussed the whole time. I was careful not to lose my temper with him because I have learned that showing my frustration with him does not work in my favor. With every whine he was proving to me a little more that a nap was really the only way to turn this afternoon around. Any minute now. 

  After 30 minutes of driving and relentless complaining and no sleep, I gave up and parked in the pick up line to wait for Gavin. The baby needed to nurse anyway. We had about a 30 minute wait. I was still holding out hope that Henry would fall asleep.

  Henry asked to get out of the car and I told him no. That's when it happened. A little voice in the back of the car said. "Fine. I'll just get a new house." He meant a new family. I didn't say anything while my mind raced about how to handle this. I wanted to punish him. Maybe lecture him a bit, send him to his room until dinner. I knew that this would just cause his resentment to grow. I could handle this wrong and really set the stage for bitterness and resentment to grow in his heart. I could also ignore him and let him think he could say things like that with no consequences. 

  I waited. He asked to get out of the car. I gently but firmly said no again. He said "Fine. You get a new house." He meant for me to get a new family. I knew that I could not ignore this but I had to be tender and loving in order to appeal to this little boy's heart. I said. "I don't want a new house. I think our house is perfect and our family is perfect. I can't believe how wonderful you are and Gavin is and Everly is and Genevieve is and Daddy is. Our house is perfect and our family is perfect. I would be so sad if any one of you were gone and I would be so sad without you, Henry. You are a very special boy and I love you so much."

  He was quiet. He didn't respond with words but he was calmed by my words. He stopped complaining and asking to get out of the car. After I put the baby down he came up to sit with me in the front seat. We talked for awhile and I asked if I could hold him. He climbed onto my lap and I held him like a baby for a minute then he sat up to play with the steering wheel and pretend to drive the car.

  It's times like these when I want to collapse and cry and wonder if I did the right thing. But this time, I think I did the right thing. He was testing my acceptance of him and I showed him that I love him, no matter what. A heart cannot be punished. A heart can either be wounded or made whole. Rather than telling him that he was wrong I helped him to see that he was wrong and his dignity and heart remained intact.

Why I'm Giving Up Facebook for Lent

 Several years ago, after Facebook had become more mainstream and not just for college students, I saw post after post of friends "giving up Facebook for Lent." I really thought this was ridiculous. Good for them, I guess. I thought you were supposed to give up chocolate for Lent. Why were they giving up Facebook for Lent?

  That led me to wonder why we give anything up for Lent. What is the purpose of fasting from something for the 40 days of Lent? My quick, easy answer is that it is to prepare our hearts to remember the death and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. So what kinds of things do people give up for Lent that fulfill this purpose? 

  I'll admit that I have been very judgmental about the things I hear from my friends or acquaintances and strangers are giving up for Lent. We have all heard of the people who choose something for an ulterior motive such as, giving up sugar in hopes that they will lose a few pounds over the next 40 days, or give up a bad habit because they hope to kick it for good.

  Something about me is that I desperately want the things that I do to have purpose. So much so that if I can't justify an action or a decision with a greater purpose, I end up frozen and paralyzed to take any action at all. For this reason, I have not done a Lent fast for many years. I knew that, for me, none of the typical things that I heard of other people giving up for Lent would really serve the purpose that I believed in of preparing my heart, so I did nothing. 

  The last time I remember fasting from anything for Lent, I was seven or eight and I gave up chocolate. At the time, my family had a tradition of going to Old Country Buffet for Kids Eat Free night on Thursdays. There was a dessert bar and I remember my favorite dessert like I'm holding it in my hands right now. I would take small dessert bowl and place a brownie in the bottom and then carefully pour soft serve chocolate ice cream on top and top it off with chocolate sprinkles. I know that every Thursday night during Lent, I wished for my chocolate creation but settled for some other dessert. I also remember the second Thursday after Easter when I realized that, not only could I have my chocolate creation again, but I could have had it the previous week too had I not forgotten that Easter had come.

  At that age, I was trying to do what my friends were doing. My friends at Wednesday night church had all been talking about what they were giving up for Lent so I joined them in fasting so that I could fit in. I had a very immature understanding of what it meant to fast for Lent. The problem was that as my understanding matured, I didn't really bring my actions along. Fasting for Lent was a big deal and if I couldn't do it right then I wasn't going to do it at all. Unfortunately, I began to mentally make fun of everyone else for not doing it right. The more I chuckled at others, the less I wanted to fast for Lent. 

  When I eventually became aware of people giving up Facebook for Lent, I thought that was the silliest thing of all. What? Not checking Facebook is going to bring you closer to God? Hahaha! I can be so mean sometimes. I thought Facebook was a silly little harmless thing that couldn't possibly get in the way of a relationship with God. I can be so wrong sometimes.

  In the past months, I have been in more constant communication with God through the Holy Spirit. I am correcting some things in my life that have brought separation from God. I am bringing him burdens that I thought were too small for God yet they were crushing me. I have been experiencing healing and renewal. I have also been convicted about areas that need to change. 

 I check Facebook a lot. I read my newsfeed several times a day and more when I am lonely. Now that I stay home with my kids, I feel lonely almost constantly. So I look for new status updates almost constantly. I want to see something interesting that someone else is doing but rarely do I find anything that I read on Facebook to be terribly interesting. The more I check it the less I get out of it but the more I want to check it. 

  What if, I didn't check Facebook when I was feeling lonely? What if, instead, I cried out to God? Sought his comfort, peace, and direction in my life? I think a lot of things would change. I think it would be transforming for me and for my family. I think it would bring more joy and less emptiness. Sign me up for that! 

  So, I take back everything I ever said about giving up Facebook for Lent because I am giving up Facebook for Lent. Instead, I will allow my loneliness or boredom to be filled with the love of God and the power of the Holy Spirit and the joy that comes with the forgiveness of sin through Christ Jesus. Amen.

  

Jaundice

  Jaundice is normal for many babies, mine included. Gavin, my first, had jaundice which was diagnosed at our visit with the pediatrician two days after we left the hospital. His number was 18 ml per something. I don't know the units but  the number refers to the amount of bilirubin in the blood. The placenta takes care of this for the baby in utero, but the baby's liver has to take over after birth. Sometimes this doesn't happen quickly and the amount of billiruben in the blood will rise. Gavin had a phototherapy bed that was delivered to out house and we had to keep him in it, except for feelings, for five days. His blood was checked everyday by a home nurse and we were able to stop phototherapy when his number came down. His billiruben levels continued to fall very slowly and his skin looked orange for about a month.

  Henry had elevated billiruben levels but not high enough to require phototherapy. We laid him in the sunlight from the windows a few times. Everly did not have jaundice at all. She was my only full term baby, my only natural birth, and she was born ready to nurse. She nursed very well from the first hour and my milk came in within 24 hours. I suspect that those details had something to do with it.

  Genevieve had jaundice the worst of all. Since our last baby was born, hospitals have started checking babies' billiruben levels at 24 hours after birth. She was 10.9. The doctor decided to start phototherapy at home, which was a very cautious decision as 10.9 is not terribly high but that was at 24 hours and her billiruben was likely to continue to rise. I could see the orange/yellow tint to her skin. A phototherapy bed was delivered to our house right when we got home from the hospital.

  We went to the pediatrician's office everyday and had blood drawn and tested. She had lost weight and was not gaining and her billiruben fell slowly. The first day at the pediatrician's office, she was at 18 and her weight was 5' 12". She had been 6' 7" at birth and 6'3" when we left the hospital. My milk had come in quickly with my other babies and they had all regained to their birth weight in only a few days. She was already my smallest baby and I was alarmed that her weight was down so much. Her number fell slowly and on day seven, it was 15.9. We could stop at 15 so the bed was picked up the next day.

  A week later, we went back for Genevieve's two week check-up and the doctor wanted to check her billiruben levels. Ideally, her number would have continued to fall and she would be around 10 by then. I looked at her and thought she looked very yellow. I told the doctor that I would be surprised if she was down to a ten based on her color. The test takes about 15 minutes and we had always waited for the results in the office. This time, the doctor said we could go and she would call us with the results. 

  I missed the phone call and an hour later saw that I had a voicemail. It was our doctor saying that Genevieve's billiruben was at 20. I knew from our experience with Gavin that 20 meant a return to the hospital for phototherapy. Our doctor said if she had known it was that high she wouldn't have let us leave but that we would try phototherapy at home that night to see if it made a difference. She said she hated to leave this information on my voicemail. I was glad it was on my voicemail because I was crying as listened.

  So I had a sobfest in my car and I went home and sat Genevieve in the sunlight until the home medical company delivered the bed. I worried that I wasn't feeding her well enough. Babies need to eat well and be making a lot of dirty diapers to help get the billiruben out of their bodies. Genevieve had not been gaining weight and took more than a week to go from miconium diapers to breastmilk diapers. She was always so sleepy that I had to work hard to keep her awake for feedings and sometimes we both fell asleep. 

  I worried a lot, felt like a bad mom, and wondered what was different this time comparing my first three babies to Genevieve. She was small to begin with. She was several weeks early. She was not eager to nurse. I had been sick with the flu or an infection the first five days home from the hospital. 

   I looked online for information. I read the .orgs and .nets but not the .coms. None of the sites I read discussed a rise in billiruben levels after stopping phototherapy. All of them said that jaundice cleared up in a few days. None of them talked about being a 20 at two weeks old. One mentioned the risk of brain damage if left untreated but assured that jaundice was always treated in time with regular pediatric care. There was discussion about breast feeding contributing to the rise in billiruben because it takes longer for a breastfed baby to start digesting and removing billiruben. 

  My doctor had suggested switching to formula for a few days while we got the billiruben under control. Not one of the sites I looked at endorsed that suggestion. All seemed to value breast feeding and all of its benefits. I knew that her billiruben was high, but I looked at her jaundice as temporary and breast feeding as long term. I have breastfed all of my babies for 9 months to a year and plan to let Genevieve self-wean. I knew that I had enough milk and that my supply was not the issue. 

  Though I was nervous about nipple confusion, I started giving Genevieve a bottle of about two ounces of my pumped breast milk after nursing. I was able to pump about five ounces usually in the afternoon. I would give her one bottle in the car while we waited to pick up Gavin from school and let Keith give her one before bed. This seemed to work as she gained a little weight and her jaundice came down enough to stop phototherapy by Friday, day four of our second round of phototherapy. The doctor and I agreed to continue phototherapy through the weekend, given our previous experience, and check her blood midweek, after being off the lights for a few days.

  That brings us to today. Genevieve was 3 weeks old yesterday. We went to the pediatrIcian today to recheck her billi. When I put her on the scale, it read 6'7", which was her birthweight. I can't believe it took 3 weeks to regain to her birthweight but I am so relieved that we are finally there. Her billi was 15.6. This is not dangerous, but it did rise since it was 14.7 last check. The doctor once again suggested formula for a day or two. She said we need to rule out breastmilk jaundice.

  Breastmilk jaundice occurs when something in the milk causes the billiruben levels to rise, breast feeding jaundice occurs when baby isn't getting enough milk to digest and get rid of the billiruben. I know that I make enough milk and especially since I started supplementing with pumped breastmilk, I believe she is getting enough. One blood test last week was sent to a lab to check for a whole host of other potential problems, but no other reason for high billiruben levels turned up.

  I hate the idea of feeding her formula when I have milk for her. But after three weeks of jaundice and worrying, I am ready to do what it takes to get her well. Last week, I would have advised another mother in my shoes to continue breast feeding. Today, I realize that I have avoided the formula as long as I could and we just need to go for it. 

  It's been 8 hours. I pump every three hours and freeze my milk then give Genevieve a two ounce bottle of formula. The doctor gave me 12 little sample bottles. I figure I'll use them until they're gone and go back to nursing. My supply is rapidly decreasing. I got an ounce less milk each time I pumped today. I think it will take some work to regain my supply when I return to nursing. 

  I long to nurse my baby. I am so blessed to be able to breastfeed. It seems so counter to what I know that breastmilk may not be best for my baby, that she needs formula to get better.

  As natural as breast feeding is, pumping seems very unnatural. This machine goes  "wooooohmp wooooohmp woooohmp." It doesn't feel good at all and no amount of Internet surfing on my phone can distract me from the nagging discomfort of using a machine to extract milk from my breasts. Now I am cursing my decision to buy a one sided pump and not the double. Whatever I saved, I would gladly spend now to be able to pump in half of the time. What was I thinking?

  I realize that I have a lot of pride in my ability to nurse my babies. I don't want to be prideful. I want to be humble and grateful because I know women who wanted to nurse and couldn't or who never made enough milk and supplemented with formula or who had to stop nursing before they were ready for medical reasons. These problems weren't their fault and my adequate supply is not by any skill or ability that I possess so my pride is misplaced. I should just be grateful and keep some space for empathy for other mothers who have different experiences with breast feeding than I do.

  Genevieve already looks better. In just a few hours of ceasing breastmilk and feeding her with formula, her skin has lost much of it's yellow tint. I did sit her in the sunlight from our front window all afternoon but the formula is the new factor. I can go back to beast feeding tomorrow and will continue to put her in the sunny window, we get about four hours of sun every afternoon. We will check her again next week. I am sure we will see improvement. I am so exhausted of this! I thought that her check today would be the end of the story.

Update:

  We went in to recheck Genevieve's billiruben. She was 4 weeks old the day of the appointment. She had really nice weight gain since the previous appointment - she was 7 pounds even! Her billiruben was down to 12. This was a relief because I thought she looked more yellow that day. What a relief to see that number drop. The doctor wants to continue checking until Genevieve gets down to 10 so we will go back in two weeks. I don't see why she wouldn't be down to a 10 by then. I've decided to stop worrying, I think we are finally kicking this thing. I have no idea if using formula helped or not.

Final Update

One week after dropping to 12, at about 5weeks old, Genevieve began to look worse. I could tell that the billi was rising but we had a lot of winter weather and absolutely no sun. One day, when I changed her diaper, I thought she looked as bad as she did when we needed the lights so I made a doctor's appointment for the next morning.

  I knew the doctor would say we needed to switch to formula so I went out and bought some and preemptively switched that evening and pumped to keep up my supply. 

  At the doctor, she tested 13. A rise, but still not dangerous and not as high as I had thought. The doctor said to go to formula for a week and called a friend of hers who is a liver specialist to see if we could get in to see her.

  The liver specialist did not think that we needed to come to her and that it sounded like we were doing what we needed to do.

  That weekend, I went to a conference and took the baby with me. It would have been too much trouble to pump while I was there, so I went back to breastfeeding. 

  The following Monday, I was thinking about our appointment the next day and hoping that we could be done with billi checks for good. I was really convicted that I hadn't really prayed for Genevieve with the expectation that God would heal her. My attitude was that this wasn't a big deal and though I prayed, I really didn't have the expectation and faith with that prayer. 

  So Monday, I prayed and I believed that the next day she would be below 10 and that we would not have to check her anymore and the jaundice would be behind us.

  That Tuesday, she was 6 weeks old. We went to the doctor. Genevieve's color was looking great. The nurses talked about doing extra blood work but when the doctor saw her she thought Genevieve looked great that we might not need to so the additional blood work. Sure enough, her billi came back at 9. Prayer were answered and the jaundice was behind us. I was so happy!