tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28855488534231148332024-02-18T18:15:34.949-08:00Life by the TablespoonA pinch of this and a dash of that...Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-78892792862602885552018-11-14T11:10:00.000-08:002018-11-14T11:10:07.612-08:00Anna Rogue's Birth StoryIt took a long time for Darrell and I to decide we wanted to add a third child to our family. Our two sweet daughters filled our hearts completely; we didn't feel a void or a longing in any way. And then one day, when our girls were four and a half and two and a half, we asked the question, "What if...?"<br />
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Ten months later, Anna Rogue was born.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha & Tessa, ages 4 & 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First ultrasound</td></tr>
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My pregnancy was rather uneventful, although uncomfortable. During the last trimester, I visited a chiropractor several times a week to try to alleviate some sciatic pain and to make sure I was in the best possible alignment for giving birth. Since Tessa spent quite a few of her last weeks in utero in a transverse position, and then was ultimately born posterior (sunny side up), my goal was to reduce the risk that this baby would follow suit. This was especially important because for the first time, I was going to deliver in a hospital.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">24 weeks</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning of the last trimester!</td></tr>
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My oldest was born in a lovely, small birth center in the middle of Amish country. My second was born at home in a city. Now we lived in the Adirondack mountains, an hour away from medical care. Despite my hopes to have another home birth, we decided to have this baby at the hospital since we lived so remotely. This was a very hard decision - after two incredibly amazing, supportive birth experiences I was nervous about going to the hospital for numerous reasons. I discussed these thoroughly with the midwives, and prayed a lot to calm my fears.<br />
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Anna's estimated due date was November 21st, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. The plan was that my mother-in-law would drive out that week to stay with Samantha and Tessa when it was time to go to the hospital. Since Samantha was born right on time, and Tessa was eight days late, I fully expected this baby to be born sometime after Thanksgiving. Which is why, when I started showing signs of labor nine days early, I was in denial.<br />
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It started as a strong ache in my hamstrings. It was a Sunday night, and we were hosting a game night with some of our friends who lived on campus. I couldn't sit down, my legs ached so badly. I had heard that sometimes contractions can manifest in your legs, but this was more of a constant ache than any sort of rhythmic pain, so I ignored it as best as I could.<br />
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The following morning, the 13th, I began having mild, very inconsistent contractions. Since I had had contractions for almost a week with Tessa, I didn't take these contractions very seriously. In the back of my mind I realized I hadn't finished packing my hospital bag, so I finished that up and then took the girls down to Glens Falls for my chiropractor visit. The contractions were much more noticeable on the hour long drive - anywhere from 5-10 minutes apart - but slowed slightly after my adjustment. I ran next door to Walmart to grab a pair of yoga pants to toss into the hospital bag to wear after the baby was born, and then we ran a few more errands and headed home.<br />
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I spent the afternoon resting, still with intermittent contractions. I texted my mother-in-law to let her know what was going on, but was hesitant to ask her to come out because I worried that these contractions would fade and she would be stuck out by us for a week or two. I didn't want to inconvenience her, especially with her wedding anniversary the next day. Still, she offered to drive out the next day, "just in case." At some point that afternoon, my sister (with whom I had been texting) told me to stop worrying about being an inconvenience and just ask my mother-in-law to come right away. Even though I was still in denial, I took my sister's advice and asked my mother-in-law to come out that night. She said she would leave around dinnertime and be there late that night. Unbeknownst to us, we would actually leave for the hospital before she arrived!<br />
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Of course, the contractions got stronger and more consistent as the evening progressed. In my other labors, I had moved around a lot to encourage labor, but this time around I felt no where near ready to give birth, so I spent the evening lying down and half hoping the contractions would stop and I would have more time. But babies will come when they want to come. Around 10:00, Darrell went down to work to take care of a few last minute things (again - "just in case"), and my water started to leak. My contractions were now 5-7 minutes apart, but because we lived so far from the hospital and this was my third baby, I called the midwives anyway. Fortunately, my favorite midwife, Carly, was on duty, and she told me to come in right away. My mother-in-law still hadn't arrived, but our friend Amanda, who also lived on campus, came up to stay with the sleeping girls while Darrell and I left for the hospital. We drove an hour over the mountain, with contractions now 3-5 minutes apart, and made it to the hospital without any middle-of-the-night roadside deliveries. (Admittedly, that would have made a pretty awesome birth story.... maybe much more interesting than this one... but I am very glad it didn't turn out that way!)<br />
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I was admitted to the hospital around 11:30 p.m. on the night of the 13th. I had originally planned to ask for the room with the birthing tub, but this time around, I just didn't really want to get wet. Honestly, I didn't want to do anything. While I was, somewhere in my brain, excited to meet my baby, I had a really hard time getting psyched up for this birth.<br />
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The first thing I had to do sit still for 20 minutes attached to the monitor so the nurses could see how my contractions were going and how the baby was faring. This, after sitting in the car for an hour, slowed my contractions way down. After an exam, Carly told me I was 80% effaced but only 2 cm dilated, which was extremely discouraging. She then joked that I had better actually be in labor, because she had told the nurses to admit me right away instead of just signing me in for monitoring as is the typical procedure, and she didn't want to do all the paperwork if I stalled out and had to go home. If my head wasn't in the game up until then, Carly sure knew how to motivate me. I hate to disappoint people! Someone was trusting me to be the expert on my body and how my labor would go, and I was not going to let her down!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About two hours before Anna was born</td></tr>
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<br />As soon as I was allowed to get up, I got moving. I walked around the room, did squats, lunges, and whatever else I could do to try to move that baby down. The contractions came back quickly, starting around every three minutes at midnight. Darrell and I played pirate farkle, our favorite hospital game (because yes, we have been in the hospital enough for other reasons to have a favorite hospital game), and then he napped while I binge watched episodes of the Great British Baking Show and did lunges, squats and hip circles until the contractions got too strong.<br />
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Because I had tested positive for GBS, I was supposed to have IV antibiotics. I had asked my midwife if it would be possible to receive an injection of the antibiotics instead of an IV. I am not great with needles, and I didn't want to be attached to anything. Plus, when my IV backed up when I was in labor with Samantha, I was able to receive an injection instead, so I assumed this would be possible again. Unfortunately, it apparently isn't so simple. My midwife had to communicate back and forth with the pharmacy several times - initially it was okay, then it wasn't, then it might be, then it was definitely not, etc. By the time she came back in to check on me a few hours later and give the final answer from the pharmacy, I was 100% effaced and 6 cm dilated. Carly felt pretty confident at that point that I no longer had the four hour window needed for the antibiotics to take effect.<br />
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I kept moving around to keep things progressing, and for a long time the contractions were very manageable, even in close intervals. I felt strong and confident; I knew what I needed to do and I trusted my body to do it. Then things got real. The contractions became much more intense. I stopped timing them, and then stopped looking at the clock altogether. Around this time the nurse had a hard time finding the baby's heartbeat, so I had to lay on my back for monitoring for another 20 minutes. Those 20 minutes were excruciating. The contractions were so much worse while I was on my back, motionless. As soon as everything checked out on the monitor, I got up on my knees and rested my head against the upright back of the bed. Darrell applied some counter pressure to my lower back, and I labored like this for a while. My midwife and nurse were completely hands off at this point, while Darrell supported me through the contractions and made little jokes to help me relax in between.</div>
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As things moved along, I switched back and forth between being on my knees and leaning forward, and lying on my side to rest. Fear completely took over at this point. Even though I had done this twice before - once with a large, OP baby even - my head just wasn't in the right place. I wasn't prepared, I wasn't ready. Maybe we never are? But I just became fearful and kept telling myself I couldn't do it. Darrell was very encouraging, but I still felt afraid. I couldn't feel any pressure from the baby's head, and I was exhausted. I didn't want this to go on any longer, but I also didn't want to do what was needed to get it over with.</div>
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Finally, I started pushing, and my water leaked and leaked. My last ultrasound had revealed a high level of fluid, so the relief that came when it started leaking was instantaneous. When it finally broke, I joked that I had lost ten pounds.</div>
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Because I had so much fluid, the nurses asked if they could change my sheets. I knew immediately that if I got up I was going to deliver the baby standing up. Darrell says I thought it so hard he heard it, but I know I didn't say it out loud. He just knew as I got up that I was going to have the baby right away. I got off the bed and squatted down. Carly and the nurses came over to the tiny corner where I had chosen to stand up, and five of us were crammed in this tiny space. If I had gotten up on the other side of the bed, we would have had ample room, but instead Carly was crouched down on the floor under me, Darrell was smashed into a corner while holding my hand, and a two nurses stood waiting to help. I pushed for another minute, and suddenly out Anna came, along with a lot more fluid. I will never get over the incredibly strange sensation of having a baby suddenly vacate my belly, and it was more intense this time around because of squatting. It was such relief! I remember looking down and seeing her back as Carly held her until I had the strength to take her on my own. It felt like eternity as I watched her little round back and listened to her soft cries before I realized I should take her.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna ~ 5 minutes old</td></tr>
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That moment of holding Anna for the first time was literally everything. I had held on to so much fear, all throughout the pregnancy and the birth. But as I held on to that sweet baby in the first few moments, it was as though God whispered, "See, I have taken care of everything." All of my worries and fears were washed away. </div>
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Unfortunately, the placenta didn't come out as quickly as it should have, so Carly gave me a shot of pitocin, and I nursed Anna, to try to encourage it along. That didn't work, so after a half an hour, Carly said she was going to have to "go in" and try to get it. This sounded horrendous, so I gladly accepted a shot of morphine first. I usually try to avoid medications and pain killers, but the idea of someone "going in" when my baby had just come out was too much. The shot of morphine in my thigh stung much more than I expected, and it was a sharp contrast to the pain I had just experienced in labor, which is a pain with a life-giving purpose. Fortunately, it didn't take much for the placenta to finally come out, and except for a few wobbly steps when I got up a few minutes later, the morphine didn't really have much effect.<br />
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Our beautiful Anna Rogue was born at 4:23 a.m. on Tuesday, November 14, weighing 8 lbs 7 oz. She was 20.5" long. She was my second heaviest baby, but my shortest. Her birth was probably my easiest physically, but my hardest mentally.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We did it!</td></tr>
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Because I wasn't able to receive the antibiotics in labor, we had to wait in the hospital for two days. It was hard to rest with the nurses coming in and out. Darrell stayed with me both nights, and the night they took Anna for her newborn screen, he paced the floor as nervously as if he was a first-time father. There is something so incredibly special about watching the man you love fall in love with his child. All three times it has always inspired me and made me love him more deeply and intimately than before.<br />
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I was ecstatic when it was finally time to go home. The girls had been to visit each day, but I wanted to get back to being a family. I wanted to snuggle my baby without interruption, and start falling into our new family routine. So, when discharge time came, I dug out the cheap yoga pants I had bought at Walmart just a few days earlier, and discovered that I had bought a youth size instead of adult! I felt so foolish. Fortunately, with a few snipping of seams to loosen them up a bit, I got dressed, put Anna in our traditional "going home" tye-dye onesie, and off we went. Home, over the mountain, to our little house on the lake, with the beautiful baby that less than a year earlier had only been a question of "what if?..."<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-88534586802037293642015-08-15T18:10:00.001-07:002015-08-15T18:10:22.606-07:00An Apology to Myself (Thoughts on a post-baby body)<div style="text-align: justify;">
My second daughter is 15 months old. While my pregnancy with her was relatively easy, waiting for her to arrive tested my patience. I felt huge and uncomfortable, which was not helped by her transverse positioning and being (supposedly) late. When she finally came, it was with a breath of fresh air. The waiting was over, and she was lying soundly next to me, nursing in her sleep as I curled my forearm around her tiny body with room to spare. It was beautiful and messy and challenging and wonderful, just as it was meant to be.</div>
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Her first year went by way too fast, overshadowed by the demands of her older sister. But she is strong and loving, silly and sweet. The year was full of the laughter of little girls and late night cuddle sessions. I have been tested, and often, I have failed. Some days I struggle to put together coherent sentences, let alone string up words of grace and encouragement for my children. Other days, I gather up the two little girls who exploded into my heart and we have great adventures, conquering leafy monsters in the woods or dancing like butterflies with rags from the kitchen.</div>
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Unfortunately, in the middle of this messy turmoil called motherhood, I wasted significant emotional and mental energy on something which robbed me of the joy of my little one's first year, and I see many other new moms dwelling on it as well: the state of our post-partem bodies.</div>
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Tess's birth coincided with a sudden health and fitness surge that spread through my friends. So while I was up in the middle of the night nursing a newborn, she and I both still squishy and soft in all the right places, I was also scrolling through social media and seeing picture after picture of my friends sharing their workouts, healthy meals, and new-and-improved physiques.</div>
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**I am going to be very clear about this so there is no confusion: I am thrilled for my friends who have found new life and new hope through their fitness endeavors. This is in no way meant to criticize them or the work they are doing; this is simply a reflection of how my personal feelings about my post-partem body were impacted by exposure to these things on social media. I love these friends and their spirits. I know their intentions are to help motivate others who are also looking to make changes, and I appreciate their enthusiasm for doing so.**</div>
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As a brand new mom-times-two, these fit and healthy pictures made me feel miserable. I felt like I wasn't measuring up; that to be a *good* mom, I had to make sure that I was as trim and toned as possible. I have to set the example for my kids! I need to impress my friends with how quickly I can lose the baby weight! My husband should be wowed at how awesome I look! I should feel amazing! (And if I don't, it's because I'm not putting enough work into it and I am making excuses!)</div>
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And while obviously these weren't the messages that my well-meaning friends (as well as various media outlets, advertisements, etc.) were intending to put out there, this is how my hormonal, sleep-deprived brain interpreted them.</div>
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Of course, the obvious solution would have been to take a break from social media until my brain was sorted out enough to read the messages as they were meant to be (as encouragement, not condemnation), or at least until I could stop comparing myself to every other new mother out there and their suddenly-six-pack-abs and twelve mile runs logged on Runkeeper. But I had a new baby and was spending a lot of time sitting and nursing said baby, and I just didn't have the willpower. Social media was my only outlet to the rest of the world - you know, the planet spinning beyond diapers and naps, where people actually discussed important issues or shared big news or even just silly things that make me laugh when I was so tired tears were just dropping out of my eyes for no reason.</div>
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So I didn't take a break from Facebook. Instead, I started exercising. And it was good; it really was. I started running, and when my daughter was a few months old I ran my first 5k. I was in better shape than I had been in years, and it was awesome. Only... it wasn't.</div>
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While I certainly benefited from the 30 minutes of "me" time every other day, and the release of endorphins, my spirit still suffered. The truth is, I wasn't exercising because I loved the release, or even because I loved myself. I was exercising because I had started hating myself, and, more specifically, my post-partem body.</div>
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We are so quick to dismiss the miracle of a woman's body once her baby is born, aren't we? The focus tends to gravitate quickly from "look how cute you are pregnant!" towards "your baby is cute; you need to get your body back!" As if our bodies <i>went</i> somewhere while we were creating new life within them. As if we are detached from these bodies that still contain curves where our baby slept and grew and kicked for 40 weeks.</div>
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I see it everyday on social media. Posts like:</div>
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"Only four weeks post-partem and already back in my skinny jeans!"</div>
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"First workout post-baby and I killed it!"</div>
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"I can't wait until the doctor clears me to exercise! Time to lose this weight!"</div>
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I have been guilty of writing similar posts. Sometimes as a horrible "humble brag", but usually as a disclaimer, so the world knows that <i>I am working on it. Yes, I have some extra baby weight, but I am working hard and I will soon be fit and acceptable in polite society again!</i></div>
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Just last month, a full 14 months after my daughter was born, I finally realized why I was so unhappy with myself. I needed to stop hating myself. I needed to stop feeling the need to <i>justify my body's existence</i>. I have stretch marks across my entire stomach and on my chest. My belly button is now a bit of a bottomless pit. And I have a "food baby" that makes me look four months pregnant the moment I even think about eating.</div>
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But this - <i>my body</i> - created two beautiful lives. It housed them, fed them, and carried them. It still works nonstop to provide milk for Tess, to cuddle Samantha after a bad dream, and to love these girls fiercely. I am not in the best shape for running a marathon, but I am in the best shape for soft snuggling. And I love everything this body has done for me and my girls. I love it even more when I stop thinking about how I <i>should</i> feel about my form and just embrace it for the beautiful, hard-working, living work of art that it is. These imperfections tell a story. My story. My daughters' stories. The story of the family that my husband and I have built. <i>Our love story</i>.</div>
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All bodies are different. Every mother is different. My body is different from my sister's body, which has birthed and nourished eight children. My body is different from my sister-in-law's body, which just birthed a second baby after a difficult pregnancy plagued with hyperemesis gavidarum. My body is different from that of my gym-fanatic friend, who bounced right back to her pre-pregnancy weight without stretch marks. The one thing that makes all of our bodies similar is that each one is a beautiful masterpiece, created by love and tears and laughter and pain.</div>
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It has been 15 months since Tess was born, but it has been far longer since I've truly loved and appreciated my body as it is. So today, I am going to embrace my soft, food-baby belly. I am going to stop trying to find clothes that make me look thinner than I am and that hide my imperfections. I am going to stop posturing about exercise. I am going to embrace who I am, embrace what it means for me to be post-partem. I am going to stop feeling guilty over food, or the skipped workout; <b>I am going to stop apologizing to others for the shape of my being</b>. The only apology I owe is to myself, to this vessel that contains my spirit and moves me around and carried my children.</div>
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My apology to my body looks something like this:</div>
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<i>I am sorry for not loving you the way you deserve to be loved. Thank you for working tirelessly for me and my children. Thank you for movement, for flexibility, for bending and stretching and hugging and jumping and loving extravagantly. From this point forward, I will love you unconditionally, I will accept you without reservation, and I will embrace every imperfection as a work of art.</i></div>
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<i>Sincerely,</i></div>
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<i>Sarah</i></div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-88884168362158830652015-03-18T12:12:00.000-07:002015-03-18T12:12:22.873-07:00On Not Being Enough<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Why am I never enough?"</div>
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This is the question that was posed on a mothering forum recently. It's a question that I know I've struggled with many times myself.</div>
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The woman who posted it was just having "one of those days." I've been there. The baby won't nap. The toddler had an accident. Someone wants to read a story (but it must be sung to the tune of a "Frozen" song - but not <i>that</i> "Frozen" song), or she wants to unwind a roll of toilet paper and then run with it through the house while the baby is nursing. Or maybe dinner is burning, my husband had a bad day at work, I just realized I put my underwear on inside out, and suddenly it's 9 pm and I'm collapsing into bed to close my eyes as quickly as possible to put the day behind me (knowing that it will only be a few hours before I'm up again to feed the baby.)</div>
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So I read this question and felt the pangs of inadequacy that this other mom was experiencing. And quickly the comments filled up with encouragement - you<i> are </i>enough, tomorrow is a new day, etc. And let me first and foremost say this - I am so thankful for this online community that is supportive and encouraging. Everyone needs community like this, and I think it's wonderful to be a part of a group that seeks to actively lift others up in their troubled times. (So please, don't misread what I'm about to say as me thinking that all of this encouragement was wrong.)</div>
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However, when reflecting on my own feelings of "I'm not enough," I came to two realizations:</div>
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1) <b>There are a lot of different roles to fulfill</b>. I am a mother of two littles, a wife, a daughter/daughter-in-law, a sister/sister-in-law, and friend. These relationships are all special to me and take different amounts of time and energy to balance. I am an entrepreneur, small business owner, baker. I am also a babysitter to two other little ones and a church volunteer. I am occasionally an athlete and a writer. And I am pretty much always a basketcase.</div>
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2) <b>I will never be enough</b>. Because in thinking about all of these roles (which I know don't seem like a lot compared to what some others do), I left out my most important one - <i>the daughter of a King</i>. And I am not meant to be enough, at least not on my own.</div>
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This realization wasn't discouraging; in fact, it was quite the opposite. In acknowledging that I will never be enough, all of the burden of expectation fell from my shoulders. Trying to be everything to everyone (or even just everything to two very little people) is seriously, seriously exhausting.</div>
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But I don't need to be perfect, because my Creator is perfect.</div>
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I don't need to be enough, because His grace is more than enough.</div>
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When I fight to do it all on my own, I fail.</div>
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When I submit to God's awesome power, I thrive. My family thrives. My relationships thrive.</div>
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When I admit my weakness and allow room for God to work in my life, my heart changes and my focus shifts.</div>
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Most importantly, I am reminded that I have a caring Father whose love is limitless and compassion is endless. And <b>He is enough</b>.</div>
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Even if my underwear is on inside out.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-86645600328873282992014-08-28T06:44:00.000-07:002014-08-28T06:44:10.771-07:00Tessa Ember's Birth Story<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Are you sure you're not pregnant?"</div>
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This is how it all started. S was 15 months old. My cycle had just returned the previous month, and we had decided to start trying for another baby - on the assumption that it would take a while since my body is pretty defective. I had really confusing and irregular signs, thought I had ovulated later than I should have, and then on the morning that D asked me this question, had realized (or so I thought) that I hadn't ovulated at all.</div>
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"Of course I'm not pregnant!" I told him.</div>
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And then I went home and took a pregnancy test. It was late September, and two little blue lines showed up. Clearly, a mistake. I had shown no classic signs of fertility - at least not in the order they're supposed to be.</div>
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So I took another pregnancy test. And, of course, there was no mistake.</div>
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By the time I got around to seeing a doctor, I thought I was about 11 weeks along. The ultrasound showed me to be at 13 weeks. Goodbye, first trimester! My EDD was set for May 19th.</div>
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We then began the search for a home birth midwife, since we no longer live near the awesome birth center where Samantha was born. We found a great midwife named Sarah who was about an hour away - she was really the closest one. So at 20 weeks, I began driving down the Millheim for my appointments. Samantha loved going to the midwife. Sarah would let her "help" take my blood pressure, and push the button for the doppler to hear the baby's heartbeat. (Samantha enjoyed these tasks so much that she started playing "midwife" at home, rubbing her hands together, rolling up her sleeves, and then palpating my belly to feel the baby's position.)</div>
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After a completely normal and healthy pregnancy, May finally arrived. The countdown began, with May 19th as the baby's estimated birthday. At 37 weeks, everything was perfect, and baby was head down. At 38 weeks, something changed. I went to my appointment knowing that the baby had shifted positions, and was most likely now lying transverse. Sarah confirmed my suspicions, but wanted to be positive. She knew that if she sent me to the hospital for an ultrasound, and they found out the baby was transverse so close to my due date, they would want to schedule a C-section. So she called another home birth midwife in the area who owns a small ultrasound machine, and sent me over there. Twenty minutes later, I was back in Sarah's office with the confirmation - my baby was suddenly sideways.</div>
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Here's the thing about transverse babies - they can't come out that way. There is a possibility that they will turn head down during labor, but there is also the possibility that they won't. So D and I began doing the research on planned C-sections, trying to mentally wrap our minds around the idea that we might have to have a surgical birth instead of the natural at-home birth we were hoping for. It was a stressful week leading up to my next appointment. I knew that if the baby wasn't head down by 39 weeks, Sarah would recommend transferring to her back-up doctor and scheduling a C-section. I did all sorts of exercises that are supposed to help turn the baby into the correct position. Samantha caught on and her new manrta became "head down, baby, head down!" D and I talked endlessly about how we could have a "gentle cesarean" to make the experience as stress-free as possible. (Side note: it is now possible to have a C-section and get to hold your baby immediately afterwards, as well as to delay cord-clamping, and some other neat improvements!) I won't go into all of the anxiety that swallowed our household during this week, but I was a nervous wreck by my next prenatal appointment. Even though I had finally let go of the need to control everything and turned the rest of my pregnancy and the birth over to God, I still wanted to be able to follow through on our planned birth experience.</div>
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Fortunately, my baby turned into the right position just in time for my 39 week appointment. I remember asking Sarah, "So, what can I do to prevent the baby from turning again?" Her response was a not-very reassuring, "She shouldn't have turned this late in the first place!" I tried to feel peace by reminding myself that the baby was in God's hands, and that any changes in positioning were for a reason (for example, if the cord was getting wrapped and being sideways was preventing some type of problem). And now it was time to wait. And wait... And wait...</div>
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The 19th was a Tuesday. I had planned out activities for the entire week, hoping to have to cancel them. But alas, even though I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for several weeks, there was no sign of impending labor until that Friday, the 23rd. I started having contractions in the morning, but they were all in my back. D went into work for a few hours to finalize things, and we thought we'd have baby sometime in the next day or two. My contractions were irregularly spaced and on-and-off all day, so we went out to the mall and walked around for a while. After we ate dinner, the contractions stopped altogether. </div>
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Saturday morning I went to a prayer brunch with a bunch of wonderful ladies. That morning, I had a bit of bloody show. I told everyone that I was pretty sure the baby would be here by the end of the weekend, even though my contractions were still so intermittent. They continued to be on and off all day, but never got any stronger. My sister suggested that perhaps the reason they were all in my back, and were starting and stopping, was because the baby was posterior ("sunny side up" - basically facing towards my belly instead of my back.) I started doing exercises to try to get the baby to turn around, since babies don't fit quite as well through the pelvis when they face this way.</div>
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Sunday morning, D had to go to the ER for chest pain. My contractions completely stopped. D ended up being fine, but I no longer had any signs of labor.</div>
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Monday was Memorial Day. We decided to test Murphy's Law and go hiking with friends. We went an hour away from home, out in the middle of the woods. We forgot to charge our cell phones. And our car started having problems. I hiked part of the Falls Trail - with lots and lots of steps. And yet, no contractions, no baby.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDz0OxOP-K55V4GLNsnx-mgsVXpwMcDtCmfXXvmC3lqlaxRBkvop2LARJuYTS9KGN3R1Yf1yY2RDCK2Q3GbSYHj-O8fZXcuAEeiDTgwh06OfNNoJvGso7CZ6IUmn2Ot8vM0PuqkGFAzk/s1600/10301069_656843738348_1581244213499755042_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDz0OxOP-K55V4GLNsnx-mgsVXpwMcDtCmfXXvmC3lqlaxRBkvop2LARJuYTS9KGN3R1Yf1yY2RDCK2Q3GbSYHj-O8fZXcuAEeiDTgwh06OfNNoJvGso7CZ6IUmn2Ot8vM0PuqkGFAzk/s1600/10301069_656843738348_1581244213499755042_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking at Rickett's Glen State Park</td></tr>
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Tuesday I went to yet another prenatal appointment, where Sarah confirmed that my baby was posterior.</div>
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My contractions didn't start up again until Wednesday morning around 7:30 - eight days past my estimated due date. They were stronger this time, but still in my lower back. They came intermittently. D went to work in the morning, and my good friend Becky and her son Ben came over to hang out. The kids played, and my contractions came more frequently. I kept waiting for them to stop again, but when Becky finally asked me, "Do you want me to be timing these?" I realized that they probably weren't going away. We went for a very slow walk around the block, and then Becky & Ben went home for lunch. I got Samantha down for a nap and called Sarah to give her a head's up that I might actually be in labor. I then tried to relax & lay down, but my contractions suddenly became very intense. During one, I felt a small "pop" and leaked a small amount of water. D came home from work, and our friend Beth came over to get Samantha. </div>
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Sarah arrived at 3:30 and checked me - I was already at 8 cm and 90% effaced! I was sure the baby was coming soon, but the contractions weren't as intense anymore. Lisa, the back-up midwife, showed up a little while later. Now it was just a waiting game. The contractions were more consistent, but still very manageable. D and I played Uno while I sat on the exercise ball. Sarah & Lisa sat and chatted in my kitchen and gave us plenty of space. I snacked a lot and we just generally passed the time hanging out. It was very relaxing, but it felt like everything was taking a very long time (especially since I was already so dilated, and because my water had already leaked a bit).</div>
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At 5:30 I got into the birth pool. It felt so incredible to be in the water. I could easily change positions, and I tried to be on my knees & leaning forward as much as possible during contractions to help the baby get positioned properly. For the most part, my labor was relatively easy, and for the next two hours D and I talked and joked between contractions. It was a really special time for us, and we were both generally relaxed about the whole process.</div>
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Then 7:30 hit, and everything changed. The contractions really started to pick up, and I started bracing a bit to get the baby to move down. I stopped being able to talk easily and just focused on breathing and trying to relax. I did a lot of "horse lips" to loosen up, and found they really helped (even though I sounded ridiculous). D spoke words of encouragement the entire time, and this made all the difference. His reassuring voice in my ear, as I leaned my head on his shoulder, gave me strength. I tried to speak words of affirmation as well ("I can do this, I <i>can</i> do this!"), and spoke to the baby. I got to the point where I felt like I couldn't do it anymore, and that's when I remembered what my sister had once told me - when you reach the point where you feel like you can't do it, you're almost done. </div>
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I started pushing at 8:06. Because the baby was sunny-side up, it was extremely difficult and so much more intense than my first birth experience. When S was born, her body came out without much effort, but this baby was very different! Her head emerged at 8:07, but because of positioning and her larger-than-average size, her shoulders took a while to squeeze through. She wasn't necessarily stuck, but it was a very tight fit. Sarah told me to reach down and feel the baby's head, and as soon as I did I felt a surge of power run through my arm and give me the strength to push her body out. Our beautiful girl was born in the water at 8:08 p.m., after two minutes of pushing (definitely the most intense two minutes of my life). She emerged with the bag of waters draped over her head like a veil.</div>
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Because her head was out for a full minute before I was able to push her body out, she was a little bit blue. Sarah and Lisa were completely calm, however, so I never sensed anything was really wrong. My sweet baby opened her eyes and looked at me, and I held her to my chest, relieved to be done and overjoyed at her presence. It wasn't until D asked about her coloring that I even noticed. (It wasn't until over a month later, when Sarah shared her notes with me, that I found out that her Apgar at one minute was only a four - low heart rate, no respiratory effort, pale blue... but because my midwives remained calm, her first few minutes of life weren't disrupted by panic.)</div>
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After two minutes of sitting against my chest draped in towels, with Sarah and Lisa massaging her limbs, my baby girl began breathing much better and pinked right up. By five minutes, her Apgar was a nine and everyone relaxed. We spent a few minutes cuddled up, with D learning over my shoulder and our baby against my chest, and for that moment, everything was perfect.</div>
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The cord was cut at 8:17 after it stopped pulsing. She weighed in at a whopping 8 lbs 14 ounces and was 22" long. She began nursing without a problem at 8:37, and we settled in for a little while to rest (and eat peanut butter crackers - I was hungry!) At 9:20, Sarah examined her and discovered that her gestational age was exactly 40 weeks, instead of the 41 or 42 weeks that my due date would have suggested. Looking at Sarah's notes, it is pretty cool the way that the gestational age is determined. They examine neuromuscular maturity and physical maturity, and use a scale which shows various possibilities - for example, on posture, wrist flexibility, arm recoil, what their ears/feet/skin/breasts/etc. look like. Then they total up all of the answers to figure out the baby's gestational age, and our baby scored exactly 40 weeks. Incidentally, this is what I had initially expected to be my due date, until the ultrasound told us different. So it appears that she was just big from the very beginning, and that threw off the dates on the ultrasound.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKr02mRvwJf7Tf-lPFhkMy7TpK_Yt8PNBo_IiYNVhfcqBrhqDrS_qgUNuVgraw9g_EOsY73M1Gp-FcQ1npYVxzIhui21jOj0CCIzFQG28ruI7AR4oR0PAqst5bhwTqbSpkVLLpakqYwIw/s1600/2014-05-28+09.24.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKr02mRvwJf7Tf-lPFhkMy7TpK_Yt8PNBo_IiYNVhfcqBrhqDrS_qgUNuVgraw9g_EOsY73M1Gp-FcQ1npYVxzIhui21jOj0CCIzFQG28ruI7AR4oR0PAqst5bhwTqbSpkVLLpakqYwIw/s1600/2014-05-28+09.24.30.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tessa's first few minutes of life.</td></tr>
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The midwives left at 10:00. We all slept well that night, and D went and got Samantha first thing the next morning. We still hadn't decided on a name for the baby, even though we had known for 22 weeks that she would be a girl. We had it narrowed down to three names, and finally we decided to both pick two and see which ones overlapped or if we could at least eliminate one. Tessa/Tess was the name that we both picked. It was originally a nickname for Theresa, but is now a common name by itself. It means "harvester." We had already picked the middle name Ember, so Tessa's name literally means "harvester of fire." Hopefully this won't invoke thoughts of pyromania, but instead of someone who cultivates passion and enthusiasm for life.</div>
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All in all, our first home birth experience was amazing. It was incredible to be in my own home, to have the freedom to move around, eat snacks, and spend quiet time with my husband as we waited for Tess to arrive. My midwives were supportive and present as needed, but virtually invisible when they weren't needed. Being in the water made a world of difference, too. Between Tess's size and her stubborn posterior positioning, I am honestly not sure how I would have been able to birth her naturally without the weightlessness that the water provided. I was able to move easily and get into the optimal position (and it also prevented tearing, which is a plus - especially, again, with her size & positioning being a bit unusual!) And it was absolutely heavenly to climb into my own bed to snuggle with my baby minutes after she was born.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdBRWRCK1Uwpfechw1x9eZn24bBxyXICQB9AwpYf4PKT9XerTmA4zyqjcZnxc_uVpNpsehuW-YjCB164HzG5dMgnz13C1Wy73JExv-o_U65rLCNTAQWQT4FSRQmvqgwEKAmIm-K8VLfE/s1600/2014-05-30+02.05.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdBRWRCK1Uwpfechw1x9eZn24bBxyXICQB9AwpYf4PKT9XerTmA4zyqjcZnxc_uVpNpsehuW-YjCB164HzG5dMgnz13C1Wy73JExv-o_U65rLCNTAQWQT4FSRQmvqgwEKAmIm-K8VLfE/s1600/2014-05-30+02.05.50.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tess at two days old - when we finally figured out her name:-)</td></tr>
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I am so thankful to have had this birth experience. My experience with S was also amazing, but in a very different way. Both births are full of special, unique memories - just as both girls are special and unique.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-27173918582045230362013-09-27T09:31:00.001-07:002013-09-27T09:31:48.657-07:00Evolution of a First-time Mom<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, I meant to write a big long post about S turning one (way back in June) and all of the exciting changes that have been happening since then (and by "exciting" I mostly mean "exhausting," because she is pretty much always on the go.) Obviously, I didn't get around to it. Sorry.</div>
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But last week, I started thinking about how my feelings about motherhood have changed in the last 15 1/2 months. You see, during my pregnancy, I was really focused on <i>the birth.</i> I learned as much as I could about the whole process, about possible complications, about relaxation techniques, about all that kind of stuff. I felt really well educated. It wasn't until S was born - after a (thankfully) completely wonderful birth experience - that I realized that I had not spent any time learning about what to do with a <i>baby.</i> I owned about half a dozen books about pregnancy and birth, but none on caring for an infant. </div>
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Fortunately, babies tend to have relatively few needs. The main goal with a baby is survival. So a little one needs food, shelter, and lots of love/touching. Of course, this might be oversimplifying a bit, but it's basically the truth. As a new mom, though, I started to obsess about <i>every single decision</i>. I obsessed about breastfeeding. I obsessed about cloth diapers. I obsessed about co-sleeping. And, let me be clear, I do not mean "obsessed" in that productive, Type-A way where everything has to be perfect, where I can make enlightened observations about the effectiveness of my decisions and adjust accordingly, and where the obsession really just manifests as devotion to my child. No, I obsessed in the sense that it's all I could think about and talk about. (My poor, poor husband.) I rationalize this by saying it is completely normal. I think most first time moms go through something like this. Somewhere in my brain, I tried really, <i>really</i> hard to remember that the entire universe was not spiraling around me and my little newborn babe. But ultimately, <i>my </i>universe did revolve around this little one, especially as a stay-at-home mom, and especially those first few months where I constantly felt like it was a miracle I was able to keep this sweet tiny being alive. So every little change became monumental, and every decision of vital importance.</div>
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Now, I am the mother of a very curious, very active toddler. I look back at those days with a newborn and, while they were definitely not "easy," the needs were much simpler. I didn't have to worry about things like discipline, or teaching concepts like "patience" or "sharing" or "no you cannot eat the entire block of cheese just because you saw it in the refrigerator." Every day has become full of "teachable moments." In the five hours that S and I have been awake today, I have already tried to teach her things like:</div>
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* When pointing to my eyes and saying "eyes," you don't actually need to POKE me in the eye. Likewise, smacking in the belly and saying "belly" is not cute. Even if you then rub and say "gentle" afterwards.</div>
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* When you pull all of the cooling racks out of the tupperware cabinet, and then get stuck in the cabinet and can't climb out because of said cooling racks littering the floor, a simple "help" will do. Screaming like a velociraptor is not necessary.</div>
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* When we are in the shower, no matter how much fun it might seem to play with the bath/shower switch and the nozzles that adjust water temperature, it is not appropriate to do so when I am trying to wash my hair.</div>
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* If you don't like my homemade applesauce (okay, okay, it was really gross), you don't need to hide it under your legs. Or discreetly drop it on the floor so I step in it barefoot. Just say, "All done!" and stop eating it.</div>
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* When it is time to change your diaper, that is not code for "run in the opposite direction and hide behind the pantry." Also, please note: diaper changing time is not the opportunity you have been looking for to practice going "kick kick kick" like we do in swim lessons.</div>
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* When I say it is time to come out of the bathroom, that does not mean throw a whole bag of dental flossers into the trashcan (where I also found a headband and a stegosaurus.)</div>
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* When a friend comes over to play, and you borrow/steal all of his toys, it would be helpful to go around and gather all of them up when they are getting ready to leave. Not hide them in parts unknown, only to pull them out to play with innocently the next morning. (Sorry, Becky and Ben!)</div>
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I realize this sounds completely daft, but I need to be honest about something. It was only a few weeks ago that this occurred to me: after all those months of planning/reading/preparing for pregnancy, birth, and infancy, that is the <i>simple</i> part. (Please don't misunderstand - I am not saying it was <i>easy</i>, and I think all of those experiences are absolutely vital and valuable in a mother's journey, and yes, they can be very, very challenging in many ways. But the needs themselves are much more basic.) It finally occurred to me that I am not simply helping sustain the life of a sweet little girl and getting lots of cuddles and laughs along the way. Instead. my task - my JOB - is to work with D and teach this little girl how to one day become a responsible <i>adult.</i></div>
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ADULT. The idea of my babbling daughter being an adult is weird, and terrifying, and awesome. I get so caught up in the "why isn't she sharing?" phase that it becomes difficult to remember that this is not a job with immediate results. I am helping to form a person. Not a cute little baby that I can put in dresses and people will go "aww how sweet," but a person who will be expected to be able to make responsible decisions, contribute to the world, and have some semblance of morals and ethics. Considering that I still don't feel like an adult most of the time, I feel completely unqualified for this task. It is totally overwhelming. I find myself exhibiting selfish behavior or a negative attitude, and then I see it mirrored right back at me in her chocolate brown eyes and chubby little cheeks. Every single day I struggle with making good decisions that will teach her and influence her as she grows. How on earth will I continue to do this <i>for the rest of my life?</i></div>
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I think: </div>
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<i>This is exhausting.</i></div>
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And:</div>
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<i>I am not good enough/strong enough/selfless enough.</i></div>
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Here is the beauty of motherhood. It is exhausting, and at times discouraging, and there are days when I go to bed just feeling broken. These are the days when I know I am NOT strong enough. Not on my own. </div>
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But with God, I can do anything. He makes beautiful things out of the ashes of sleep deprivation, tantrums (mine or hers), frustration, selfishness. He is taking all of these things stored in my heart, which I thought I had tucked away secretly but have lately been brought out into the open in motherhood, and he is transforming me, bit by bit. And that is truly and completely beautiful.</div>
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A friend posted <a href="http://www.godvine.com/This-is-One-A-Capella-Hymn-You-HAVE-to-Listen-to-You-ll-Be-Stunned--3994.html" target="_blank">this awesome video</a> on Facebook today, and it is a really awesome version of one of my favorite hymns. It sums up perfectly what I've been trying to say. (So you can just skip the entire <i>reading</i> part of this post, and watch/listen to this video!)</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-70107234468607545202013-06-09T09:00:00.000-07:002013-06-09T09:00:33.475-07:00Going on a Bear Hunt...<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am just going to put this out there: when someone is attempting to take their 11-month old camping for the first time, it is <i>not</i> helpful to flood her with stories about how many bears are running around the state park. Because I love nature, but the idea of trying to keep a curious little one from crawling into the fire or off a cliff, rolling in poison ivy, and eating rocks can be daunting enough. Trying to remember the proper procedures for dealing with a black bear (play dead? act big and scary?) and how to get a baby to cooperate with those procedures was enough to make me almost cancel the trip.</div>
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Fortunately, I didn't let my silly fears convince me to cancel. And on the first Saturday night in June, the three of us were able to get out for a night of fresh air and family time - both of which were very much needed!<br />
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We decided to go somewhere very close to home (Happy Acres Campground, right next to Little Pine State Park, which is about 30 minutes away) and to only go for one night. This way, if things didn't work out well with Samantha, or if the predicted thunderstorms did end up coming our way, we could just pack up and leave. We went with very low expectations. No pressure to hike five miles and then sit down to a gourmet campfire meal. No belief that Samantha would sleep... at all. No plans other than to just be together as a family, and to be outside.<br />
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I'm going to let the pictures tell the story, but there are a few things I learned. First, now that I no longer spend all of my days playing outside in the woods, I have lost my "bug tolerance" (seriously, those critters were everywhere and it was driving me nuts!). Second, I'm getting old, and no matter how many sleeping bags and blankets I pile onto the ground, I still wake up achy. And third, D and I still are most content, and most complete as a couple, when we are able to spend time together in the outdoors, without any distractions, schedules, or agendas.</div>
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Without further babbling, here is how Samantha fared on her first camping adventure:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0wNI7iVBaM-RBRxoHi4a41Yz625Wc_9lGOkpA1Z923raachxjgMyNLdIu2rtfqegiKMai4CLCAHvzQoaqXh1IUfkLfa2V-xTmILbEG7qdF1-Ev_RIqkV2UHAW8gD0f_v1gz_zQr4zYI/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0wNI7iVBaM-RBRxoHi4a41Yz625Wc_9lGOkpA1Z923raachxjgMyNLdIu2rtfqegiKMai4CLCAHvzQoaqXh1IUfkLfa2V-xTmILbEG7qdF1-Ev_RIqkV2UHAW8gD0f_v1gz_zQr4zYI/s320/005.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had a busy day before we left, so she passed out on the way there. She slept long enough for us to set up the tent without her trying to "help."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0q52agGJql7IE4o9Sy1PSFfegH5JxDEjk9vnIv5OmwvfznJ-OQADnVVZJFE81vKe5RdwmOGficXoV1QSF87qmrL0Dijmg5WoJaQd16sspVbMLecKn3Vc3EaYpFoyihL8aJsWwVlVDlaI/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0q52agGJql7IE4o9Sy1PSFfegH5JxDEjk9vnIv5OmwvfznJ-OQADnVVZJFE81vKe5RdwmOGficXoV1QSF87qmrL0Dijmg5WoJaQd16sspVbMLecKn3Vc3EaYpFoyihL8aJsWwVlVDlaI/s320/006.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping arrangements for the night. we made a little nest of blankets on one side for S, and brought a few comforts from home (her puppy and blanket).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYDrXmETVEkcmSAHIDrgnvQYsGJOR1ROhAdPSOh-cVJ9cdNfqFLg9EnyM2Kn1FCVfnA1PFue521hzmTu8RKgu5J4wV2V6_gWL5tD_0mpu_mszpADeRlDK2utr2BJG88NnZr8JmZja_4I/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYDrXmETVEkcmSAHIDrgnvQYsGJOR1ROhAdPSOh-cVJ9cdNfqFLg9EnyM2Kn1FCVfnA1PFue521hzmTu8RKgu5J4wV2V6_gWL5tD_0mpu_mszpADeRlDK2utr2BJG88NnZr8JmZja_4I/s320/007.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">D was excited to show her the tent as soon as she woke up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sEfD5lukdGzevl-uqpJ8tsbt2u6l1Gn-qLuUb2j37QMGJOVNESYw0lqecOQsCgnYBg5dQHS016U5PNoO6lUQ59IaJFHr0QohTiS3efSLtb3tN2Y6_1XE_RpActcu6funl5IYk8TaE6w/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sEfD5lukdGzevl-uqpJ8tsbt2u6l1Gn-qLuUb2j37QMGJOVNESYw0lqecOQsCgnYBg5dQHS016U5PNoO6lUQ59IaJFHr0QohTiS3efSLtb3tN2Y6_1XE_RpActcu6funl5IYk8TaE6w/s320/009.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I in a tent!" (words her father woke up and shouted in the middle of the night on his very first camping trip)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cdg9kKM_pOLfS-4XRuENvR5TJl7ho_Zw8CRhss2eC9tvWqm-ozBohmXJyOM8bVOc8n9Y5l1-L1uTHWE8fHiLDGhYPZuTrtD5xyti8OQ_kGuErgj80ITuDLlPgdL3CSJUjYvClwxddf0/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cdg9kKM_pOLfS-4XRuENvR5TJl7ho_Zw8CRhss2eC9tvWqm-ozBohmXJyOM8bVOc8n9Y5l1-L1uTHWE8fHiLDGhYPZuTrtD5xyti8OQ_kGuErgj80ITuDLlPgdL3CSJUjYvClwxddf0/s320/011.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hot day cooled down perfectly as a light rain fell and the sun shone through.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghf4F-zc1OKylWDtGQueQiM-7GGXfESMBo5tNUiwd3obS3_3YiN8hzA_wnHprqCS4bHezD23Fg2aKQXP-GHQ1uzWXwzq5gPwZLfwKrTPT8mx3423H5TtOeoqa9A3XcTrL-rjIMpkuIGiw/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghf4F-zc1OKylWDtGQueQiM-7GGXfESMBo5tNUiwd3obS3_3YiN8hzA_wnHprqCS4bHezD23Fg2aKQXP-GHQ1uzWXwzq5gPwZLfwKrTPT8mx3423H5TtOeoqa9A3XcTrL-rjIMpkuIGiw/s320/012.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhUxx7PL0hyB_Xti9waCU4acNDNu5fwaKvJPw3Jeukb-FyCQ4TL75ZsWnRc-pG69ElGQvORm5IzjOzuu5GKB_TMh1vL8xQ-BM0Qoy3IERz4lxyWBWM7KFnPmVhaQYv9juaMTYJEno8Ec/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhUxx7PL0hyB_Xti9waCU4acNDNu5fwaKvJPw3Jeukb-FyCQ4TL75ZsWnRc-pG69ElGQvORm5IzjOzuu5GKB_TMh1vL8xQ-BM0Qoy3IERz4lxyWBWM7KFnPmVhaQYv9juaMTYJEno8Ec/s320/014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Now what do we do?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QlVITEvbECA4P4t2TjoXHRULas-WDsOT6K-bEKQCUmW1onmct4fLyYYo9KtP5IJPVqhS3X7N547H_ywczBpqg79LtUNUBiK0luKk8Pnd01UYbz9PE9egCpB1fOG5ToJzjgGZyHOSlHg/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QlVITEvbECA4P4t2TjoXHRULas-WDsOT6K-bEKQCUmW1onmct4fLyYYo9KtP5IJPVqhS3X7N547H_ywczBpqg79LtUNUBiK0luKk8Pnd01UYbz9PE9egCpB1fOG5ToJzjgGZyHOSlHg/s320/015.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It took a while for the excitement of having such a large 'playground' to kick in.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4zpVtQexvk1L__NFC4vDNO0IKthfdasibG9suAzfdKnFsJ1my0AbDsbABv0m9HuVayYax1pc4RweDPBnZ0FOnWE8dfwQJ8w7wNzbfsm5X4rpn4s0H5aUM71pNPazV6HtoycxRu-gKa4/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4zpVtQexvk1L__NFC4vDNO0IKthfdasibG9suAzfdKnFsJ1my0AbDsbABv0m9HuVayYax1pc4RweDPBnZ0FOnWE8dfwQJ8w7wNzbfsm5X4rpn4s0H5aUM71pNPazV6HtoycxRu-gKa4/s320/016.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">D tried very hard to get her to stop eating rocks.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7r-PovhwoOgnX8Fdaj1uBcRYlf853WqtDREXrT9zSg16lY5cCaJfW5Taky5lEeIivfN2Q5p_o4SkSA_efik3DZng4OmKvCvpVZJ1rHm1FAdkeDAt4aO3UDTVsw5fILkh8PMTUkNasd80/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7r-PovhwoOgnX8Fdaj1uBcRYlf853WqtDREXrT9zSg16lY5cCaJfW5Taky5lEeIivfN2Q5p_o4SkSA_efik3DZng4OmKvCvpVZJ1rHm1FAdkeDAt4aO3UDTVsw5fILkh8PMTUkNasd80/s320/018.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But she's a persistent little girl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OF-1tY9iQRhCqS6rcp2pebqjEcTiFPbskYHANUMEf3s_X2P7ig1FdiNDYUiFsRMFdMImopEBKnQ6DW0wEKTDu6C5PB0fxM4yAhLa06b7zQ-7zOfYx0NMiQrnJZ2uWZ-fPup_-HmUGMI/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OF-1tY9iQRhCqS6rcp2pebqjEcTiFPbskYHANUMEf3s_X2P7ig1FdiNDYUiFsRMFdMImopEBKnQ6DW0wEKTDu6C5PB0fxM4yAhLa06b7zQ-7zOfYx0NMiQrnJZ2uWZ-fPup_-HmUGMI/s320/019.JPG" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got this camping chair at a yard sale for $3 that morning. She loved it! It was also the perfect distraction to keep her from trying to play with the campfire.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUOCk6TRAzEG-xLqm1VshHeXM5AJaU9UtFyvHShnFLear0qjokduaZX-jWopMxcKQazSr0GSSZdko7IJ7U2juF9Sj3DuCOO57vBVLPyqaZaAwwCOiEErArvjzqhaYQSNC7vSmDVXFRy8/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUOCk6TRAzEG-xLqm1VshHeXM5AJaU9UtFyvHShnFLear0qjokduaZX-jWopMxcKQazSr0GSSZdko7IJ7U2juF9Sj3DuCOO57vBVLPyqaZaAwwCOiEErArvjzqhaYQSNC7vSmDVXFRy8/s320/020.JPG" width="301" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrG7QhXv8B3CQUG1dMYh1RmNOQ-RMyQrSCaLbhk2GqjbIz2weyaaThbK-lchOPB4OCH88d36T-2XVqoj1Y6_tdBQPXSE8yFXnNT5xBalfjwanboPb2cK7UtWKwbnIQraQ1qC2u4hDeeo/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrG7QhXv8B3CQUG1dMYh1RmNOQ-RMyQrSCaLbhk2GqjbIz2weyaaThbK-lchOPB4OCH88d36T-2XVqoj1Y6_tdBQPXSE8yFXnNT5xBalfjwanboPb2cK7UtWKwbnIQraQ1qC2u4hDeeo/s320/021.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snack time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy4zPGHUm_CC-FWzYTXhSbLo9nLjSEp2caXht_huJH-P65zGInX9jVsV3TtT_7FvQsslA0Z9NT-PvKsdcKzVMSwnR_70zBToLmS__8pi6RJiqrJDSba3Rr_UBzVqNO4rGO8gjbJbiQPo/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy4zPGHUm_CC-FWzYTXhSbLo9nLjSEp2caXht_huJH-P65zGInX9jVsV3TtT_7FvQsslA0Z9NT-PvKsdcKzVMSwnR_70zBToLmS__8pi6RJiqrJDSba3Rr_UBzVqNO4rGO8gjbJbiQPo/s320/022.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to climb a hill full of pine needles... and slipping again and again.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC4z2AAZI9M18D-M1sxdtS1T7imQspoQ18LNqStFKaGW8yMu6AzsgV7mELz9tmahwZ0BEqAGQNjAP1e8NmiZV8QLFOUn7VUVK4k9nMpT43hvBrtSZK-iVcwjHDfNjSZT3SmWLxQ6Q7g0/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC4z2AAZI9M18D-M1sxdtS1T7imQspoQ18LNqStFKaGW8yMu6AzsgV7mELz9tmahwZ0BEqAGQNjAP1e8NmiZV8QLFOUn7VUVK4k9nMpT43hvBrtSZK-iVcwjHDfNjSZT3SmWLxQ6Q7g0/s320/023.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's a persistent little girl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPE1YIrehe1getK3N-anViZQmyTcs-3W13ejBJVRLPaUuD2cLspf8_ESvYNdZFRkdBA7z8r6D6zFodeDGFOpbCQ5ddSa4fl5UgGM1QhOj0IveoRLIcUTl0hwqXvss_MM4ut7C_JD9tO9M/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPE1YIrehe1getK3N-anViZQmyTcs-3W13ejBJVRLPaUuD2cLspf8_ESvYNdZFRkdBA7z8r6D6zFodeDGFOpbCQ5ddSa4fl5UgGM1QhOj0IveoRLIcUTl0hwqXvss_MM4ut7C_JD9tO9M/s320/024.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practicing our walking skills.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_cxhcqGIratd6cj7sfXz7Mwg_nfCBUmGUBRC8eiIRd2YhO8SpTpHzD4a1T3o116SLbzL7ET8Hy768EeICO8RIjBXfukR4u5F7KhM7ZY3EKfhh6lK9h_Sf2J6tR8o6qrwPVCQ30tNGvc/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_cxhcqGIratd6cj7sfXz7Mwg_nfCBUmGUBRC8eiIRd2YhO8SpTpHzD4a1T3o116SLbzL7ET8Hy768EeICO8RIjBXfukR4u5F7KhM7ZY3EKfhh6lK9h_Sf2J6tR8o6qrwPVCQ30tNGvc/s320/026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2MgyUTF5AOqVYK3O4-g97XJrVv31PTe8wOefhzZ442mWdI9jp_u1kgOEItMo1NOcPkcpQP1naA4eTfUyihOpl7VeJa77RejWqm3zAkOz3piDwdfYTOZNfVfwvJU2krktSnf47Vo81zc/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2MgyUTF5AOqVYK3O4-g97XJrVv31PTe8wOefhzZ442mWdI9jp_u1kgOEItMo1NOcPkcpQP1naA4eTfUyihOpl7VeJa77RejWqm3zAkOz3piDwdfYTOZNfVfwvJU2krktSnf47Vo81zc/s320/027.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fast asleep by the fire. Once I put her down on her "nest" in the tent, she didn't stir. Well, until someone's car alarm went off at 2 AM.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDnU5UUlHoj_HsL2ZLNCC9V9cn8lyZjnB7IHOMZiQAJqB9Q6oOfXHuzSMUrFQ8lQc17drwQc7DbonIONiodFIfwrHlH78oOUIWdXspo3olkmMTSrrjDwDmG7cccwu_4FIM4VapfJmi0Y/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDnU5UUlHoj_HsL2ZLNCC9V9cn8lyZjnB7IHOMZiQAJqB9Q6oOfXHuzSMUrFQ8lQc17drwQc7DbonIONiodFIfwrHlH78oOUIWdXspo3olkmMTSrrjDwDmG7cccwu_4FIM4VapfJmi0Y/s320/028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We enjoyed mountain pies for dinner, and warmed up some apple bread for breakfast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKz5vHmBJNLgIL0fklW5sOviEizAguY29NKGyoSk3Ugvq-lxDf3utEj9O8Ir2GUkNP1YY_RpYyYXVNVBlHHe3W23dgurDkP4nrPcnpptFChepVIMGFvN0ATHAprONObzkDx0PdHiH_3E/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKz5vHmBJNLgIL0fklW5sOviEizAguY29NKGyoSk3Ugvq-lxDf3utEj9O8Ir2GUkNP1YY_RpYyYXVNVBlHHe3W23dgurDkP4nrPcnpptFChepVIMGFvN0ATHAprONObzkDx0PdHiH_3E/s320/029.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmm... apple bread. Delicious when smothered with crunchy peanut butter or Nutella.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesgiYqKHsDwHJ6pmacZFldQwbFmPlFaJwUvCzx5EeWMctHfG_BC4gLyyuQdGaKQuK2Yycp4Aid6cDoRuQohBZG1u4JSped-h6gPS8ALihPpvaebsnw_S5bwNyYCZxSWPN_LK7fEOHuGo/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesgiYqKHsDwHJ6pmacZFldQwbFmPlFaJwUvCzx5EeWMctHfG_BC4gLyyuQdGaKQuK2Yycp4Aid6cDoRuQohBZG1u4JSped-h6gPS8ALihPpvaebsnw_S5bwNyYCZxSWPN_LK7fEOHuGo/s320/030.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S asks for more bread. It was the first time she'd ever had any, and she loved it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDEBJ1OVgLsEsMNQLpFuRYLrmdP1mEO6CzQyzQ_BzH2SQbjhJaBG18fKzv1xX_BoqQANTs11qmbE6QjYifyUUxcDYWtCSsOeEJyimExCx7n6G-PsYAcP8DDuXivolbNcmwtWnR-rGBvQ/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDEBJ1OVgLsEsMNQLpFuRYLrmdP1mEO6CzQyzQ_BzH2SQbjhJaBG18fKzv1xX_BoqQANTs11qmbE6QjYifyUUxcDYWtCSsOeEJyimExCx7n6G-PsYAcP8DDuXivolbNcmwtWnR-rGBvQ/s320/031.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast!</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjTksSLpkyRTEJglkYOh0xAGRSu0Ub92w7Y6GZRiZ74K7IG8XarjYODrUgdQS-PfWoUgd82VjSpOu9YS49PLTelL8WWwmqp4fLERHtOv-s8jLl5_fJpWsJc85UfWogktpAvzrfhI4zKag/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjTksSLpkyRTEJglkYOh0xAGRSu0Ub92w7Y6GZRiZ74K7IG8XarjYODrUgdQS-PfWoUgd82VjSpOu9YS49PLTelL8WWwmqp4fLERHtOv-s8jLl5_fJpWsJc85UfWogktpAvzrfhI4zKag/s320/032.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was trying to take down the tent to leave, and she refused to climb out.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1xp64m90LL5FV9EiCX7ZZTS2-Mi9GnDDnV4sJFkiG9CnznTkPu74_LfTHYPy_Iqa1FW4trqL_IuATpQOokBfbUaads9N2iOJm9lDGrxcdX9xyoCpihrQB5HQsYzOUsfl-e_P0V9KRVI/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1xp64m90LL5FV9EiCX7ZZTS2-Mi9GnDDnV4sJFkiG9CnznTkPu74_LfTHYPy_Iqa1FW4trqL_IuATpQOokBfbUaads9N2iOJm9lDGrxcdX9xyoCpihrQB5HQsYzOUsfl-e_P0V9KRVI/s320/033.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No bears, and we will definitely be camping again! :-)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-74451849623936318622013-05-02T15:07:00.000-07:002013-05-02T15:07:29.671-07:00How Does Your Garden Grow?<!--[if !mso]>
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It has long been a dream of mine to have an awesome
vegetable garden. Unfortunately, it has also long been a reality that I don’t
actually have a yard. So, instead of vegetables I’ve kept house plants, and
compromised by going to the local farmer’s market often during the summer
months to stock up on fresh produce.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This winter, I approached my landlord and asked if I could
dig up a part of the yard for a small garden. He was hesitant to say yes (for
good reason, I know), but instead provided me with several containers I could
use for growing plants. So I went to the library to look for books on how to
grow vegetables in pots. Unfortunately, all I found were books about how to
make your plants look good in various containers, and very little about having
your indoor/porch garden be functional. Honestly, I don’t care how it looks, I
just want to be able to eat it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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D and I spent several months reading gardening books (me),
searching for advice on the internet (him), and discussing our dream garden. We
made several lists of what grows well in pots. For my birthday, he gave me
several new containers to use to start our garden. And then, the entire month
of April came and went, and I still hadn’t started anything. So last weekend,
armed with my lists, I headed out to Lowe’s to see about getting started.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Now, here is where all of my best intentions fly out the
window. I will spend days/weeks/months researching something and coming up with
a game plan, but when it’s time to act on it, I tend to just wing it. This is
exactly what happened when I got to Lowe’s. After a leisurely stroll down the
lighting aisle (Samantha’s favorite), and the countertop aisle (daydreaming
about having my own cupcake kitchen), we headed out to see what seedlings were
available. My list, incidentally, was tucked into my back pocket. It might be
no surprise to you that it stayed there the entire time.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The selection was absolutely amazing… if you wanted
tomatoes. I had no idea there were so many varieties of tomatoes! Over one
third of the vegetable selection was tomatoes (okay, I know, tomatoes are a
fruit, thanks for pointing that out.) The other third was varieties of cabbage.
This narrowed down the selection rather quickly. So, without consulting anyone,
or asking for advice, I randomly picked a tomato seedling that looked healthy,
and also grabbed two bell pepper plants. I debated for a while about various
herbs – especially the “chocolate mint” – but decided pot space was too
limited.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I wandered around for a while looking for the seed packets.
And, again, without consulting my list, I bought things that I am rather
positive will not grow well in containers (carrots, spinach, onions). I even
splurged and spent the extra sixty cents on “organic” seeds, only to realize
once I got home that I am not using organic potting soil and the effort was
therefore wasted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Oh yes, the potting soil. Usually, when I repot my
houseplants, I run out of soil and have to keep running back to the store to
get more. I didn’t want to bother with that, so I decided to buy two of the
largest bags I could find. The problem? I couldn’t lift them. So I wandered
around for about twenty minutes trying to find someone burly to help me, to no
avail. The only employee in sight was a 16 year old the size of a pencil, and
she was swamped with the long line at check out. I tried to muscle it out. With
Samantha sitting in the cart watching with great amusement, I attempted to
wrestle the first bag onto the bottom of the cart. The soil inside was all broken
up, so it was like trying to manhandle an ornery marshmallow. I got it halfway
on the cart before it became stuck. I then went in search of one of the low,
flat trolleys to put the soil on. After several more embarrassing attempts, I
finally managed to get the first bag of potting soil loaded up onto the
trolley. I went to reach for the second, and found it oddly much lighter than
the first. At this point, I was really frustrated and didn’t stop to think
about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why</i> two bags of the same size
might have such a drastic weight variance. Samantha started to get antsy, so I
finally managed to push her and my seedlings in the cart with one hand, while
pulling the soil-laden trolley with the other, to the long check out line. We
passed the time with Samantha trying to eat the seed packets, and then trying
to climb out of the cart to play with the handle of the trolley, and then
finally made it to the cashier. We doled out enough money to have just bought
fresh veggies at the market all summer long, and headed to the car. I opened up
the back only to discover that it still contained the large jogging stroller,
the pack n play, and the pack n play mattress, and therefore had no room for
the soil. So I wrestled the soil marshmallows into the passenger seat and went
home angry and frustrated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The next day was beautiful and sunny and perfect for
gardening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of my previous
frustrations were gone, and I took Samantha down to the yard to sit happily on
a blanket while I worked. She was quite amused with the watering can for a few
minutes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORyweEtaCGN2kLxaNI1kXr6OEAjMLxJAVU6t0W2cb1XKoyEWgdUiTtKNCnH1eCkaeGWF8rWGiONa0o8EjdF8Xda6ocduIcf4IlhyphenhyphenWGkfM9GiIR4F2ORtHSNkxbC3n4iJUBDO2ZfKjDXE/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORyweEtaCGN2kLxaNI1kXr6OEAjMLxJAVU6t0W2cb1XKoyEWgdUiTtKNCnH1eCkaeGWF8rWGiONa0o8EjdF8Xda6ocduIcf4IlhyphenhyphenWGkfM9GiIR4F2ORtHSNkxbC3n4iJUBDO2ZfKjDXE/s320/001.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43tYViFLw-_FfTXoofvdXUaeuKtQ_LP1zEd5xHqXVZUHdCI2gwxCJd9e-cPuJxUqSdQrUmxyDHc_kHeLHt7jFkclhJEB3isuPSywHrGMypMoFj96J3A1ghBBSaXupzLy5BdMueISxCk4/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43tYViFLw-_FfTXoofvdXUaeuKtQ_LP1zEd5xHqXVZUHdCI2gwxCJd9e-cPuJxUqSdQrUmxyDHc_kHeLHt7jFkclhJEB3isuPSywHrGMypMoFj96J3A1ghBBSaXupzLy5BdMueISxCk4/s320/002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I started by breaking every gardening rule about gently
transferring plants, and immediately took all of my houseplants out of their
containers and laid them on the ground. This helped me see what space I had
available.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4gEPbpl0oxB0sPmeq_t_qlX-dINpIuKOK68XRxGoPNopiaLzoLazJ23l1X9zaRv_EYMhZZAj52UHVcC3Xrhgea5lhYKaXJ3Gl0FIvzY0zEro2st0tosbN2mfHWME5-IkUrFFprlAG-E/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4gEPbpl0oxB0sPmeq_t_qlX-dINpIuKOK68XRxGoPNopiaLzoLazJ23l1X9zaRv_EYMhZZAj52UHVcC3Xrhgea5lhYKaXJ3Gl0FIvzY0zEro2st0tosbN2mfHWME5-IkUrFFprlAG-E/s320/007.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Various spider plants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQMsWUiTxYGTvWRc28O0f5Gtdi0ArWY8DY1wE3CnKsEDf2sMqROCMEw_MBIdaTcclQQyN4fBXNL8kZYcMedFUVozPxTdrTflMiD7ngEzglDmhcw1RfZFRmIhDdf3kr5GESruYsNaqIpw/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQMsWUiTxYGTvWRc28O0f5Gtdi0ArWY8DY1wE3CnKsEDf2sMqROCMEw_MBIdaTcclQQyN4fBXNL8kZYcMedFUVozPxTdrTflMiD7ngEzglDmhcw1RfZFRmIhDdf3kr5GESruYsNaqIpw/s320/008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pathetic aloe plant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I then ordered the houseplant potting arrangement and opened
the first bag of soil to begin repotting. The first bag – the incredible heavy
one – turned out to be soaking wet. This, of course, explains the extra burden
of lifting it (it originally only weighed 30 lbs or so). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
While I worked on the houseplants, Samantha decided that she
didn’t like wearing a hat or staying on the blanket. Instead, she wanted to
play with a dandelion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, she wanted to eat it. But apparently it didn’t
taste very good.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQ2dGRP1WLajpUD_KA5gCZHD55X6UmHtP_f1FDVnoS5xVUrOx8K1YvBtwn9gLH7gh_dHSfk1xKGUmg5eKVi0qy1vtt4SW_0k23fl-K4j12OydFbxeLxMMceeS24SrqFp1CRH0T5Y258M/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQ2dGRP1WLajpUD_KA5gCZHD55X6UmHtP_f1FDVnoS5xVUrOx8K1YvBtwn9gLH7gh_dHSfk1xKGUmg5eKVi0qy1vtt4SW_0k23fl-K4j12OydFbxeLxMMceeS24SrqFp1CRH0T5Y258M/s320/006.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The neighborhood cat Twilite came around, despite my
best attempts to get it to go away. Twilite wanted to lounge on the blanket and
play with Samantha’s toys. Samantha got so excited she whacked the cat in the
face with the dandelion a couple dozen times. Twilite left shortly thereafter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOGoCQO4qQNfQfDigbGNnqw_qeu_TZx7U5xynFhXvwhfdQKi_xEvymreDQftGuVczLP4WHxDeJNTJ7W2d6rnuPF2KXEfwA5XbnI75EBoFGinS-_leFswZdHPj73EZeOt_zVgDqAUX_IM/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOGoCQO4qQNfQfDigbGNnqw_qeu_TZx7U5xynFhXvwhfdQKi_xEvymreDQftGuVczLP4WHxDeJNTJ7W2d6rnuPF2KXEfwA5XbnI75EBoFGinS-_leFswZdHPj73EZeOt_zVgDqAUX_IM/s320/009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I finished potting my houseplants in their new containers
and we took a short break. When we came back outside, I started tackling the
vegetables that may or may not ever grow. Samantha decided to explore the yard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8TBtkuOvvPowP8v2ERqrBAtnk-m45lpFtoNZUiTvB1olD1ONFYprxrsHlfMBp2dCRiy-lS4wSxfdWy0k6Z4wqECkrTJ-lWcqNEuKNrkDYSnVagJqaNMC5zNjDXLqwHuiI2Baqc9_AU0/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8TBtkuOvvPowP8v2ERqrBAtnk-m45lpFtoNZUiTvB1olD1ONFYprxrsHlfMBp2dCRiy-lS4wSxfdWy0k6Z4wqECkrTJ-lWcqNEuKNrkDYSnVagJqaNMC5zNjDXLqwHuiI2Baqc9_AU0/s320/011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSAE2gy3tX0oVkH1EMIjIo3MjUekLKcBbXvAtvDBHQNES4ZcpKrbD4eoyoqFzUJ0pwldl8rPAkn98WXH_bGpmNrORPRQ2FDBmiiG_Sbp3ln_hnJgg5KS8NKpRSatKVXNFBA4Jz_yCluA/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSAE2gy3tX0oVkH1EMIjIo3MjUekLKcBbXvAtvDBHQNES4ZcpKrbD4eoyoqFzUJ0pwldl8rPAkn98WXH_bGpmNrORPRQ2FDBmiiG_Sbp3ln_hnJgg5KS8NKpRSatKVXNFBA4Jz_yCluA/s320/012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then she sat for a while, conducting the music of nature
while singing to herself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaT5Th-lEHW6dNWG9Xolc1TR30ncT1x0KzhVzDOVGOIK4oAKjf1lxV7n5MjZheJZLS8hucWEf7wB3ogy2mg8O3fWT8Fg2ePzdR5weHweWdpnDAerfzgkrMn0p2yaI1DOTK49qrbgngBs/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaT5Th-lEHW6dNWG9Xolc1TR30ncT1x0KzhVzDOVGOIK4oAKjf1lxV7n5MjZheJZLS8hucWEf7wB3ogy2mg8O3fWT8Fg2ePzdR5weHweWdpnDAerfzgkrMn0p2yaI1DOTK49qrbgngBs/s320/013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few songs, she went back to doing what she does best
– eating nature.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbeVcYv-DfsiDGHTu_7ZfAYJ-muRAyQaJB3fGoyHu46uzFqNiiM5WjzS8Epj12a79XcWfamIGVJWS86k8nupHsjYumJKT5V6Yo6WDk-u0nb4PMV5v-QPUWn0dlt3_Pp1ug9tO7AxSShc/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbeVcYv-DfsiDGHTu_7ZfAYJ-muRAyQaJB3fGoyHu46uzFqNiiM5WjzS8Epj12a79XcWfamIGVJWS86k8nupHsjYumJKT5V6Yo6WDk-u0nb4PMV5v-QPUWn0dlt3_Pp1ug9tO7AxSShc/s320/014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you like my lilac leaf goatee?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I distracted her from eating all the lilacs in the yard long
enough to get her interested in what I was doing. She then wanted to help.
First, she had to inspect the containers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEeFEYy5sz3370doeW0kkAsyLxs32eR_PLNlhig-0zJ7FAzdFPRvGra3nD5seVitGPkTtDB7JGg89P7rnch9aoZ-7uYy5XJJiZ3haA3EZfSlSvdxrW4LSL3qUN2_GmWiG6Z900JST8-w4/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEeFEYy5sz3370doeW0kkAsyLxs32eR_PLNlhig-0zJ7FAzdFPRvGra3nD5seVitGPkTtDB7JGg89P7rnch9aoZ-7uYy5XJJiZ3haA3EZfSlSvdxrW4LSL3qUN2_GmWiG6Z900JST8-w4/s320/010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They look sturdy...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next, she wanted to help with the annoyingly wet potting
soil.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCzJC9yj51_Y-XZ-lI6onCOWe9HHjUbxuRfRZBypy2SRkKmMdojxsk1RnebwX8ZZB4voZoDqmmnRs9JygsD1bPI5Cp64_-2EpBQ58L2b3Dgxm-eVlhNwI_JwBUL1wrbI0ozGkhmXZJLk/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCzJC9yj51_Y-XZ-lI6onCOWe9HHjUbxuRfRZBypy2SRkKmMdojxsk1RnebwX8ZZB4voZoDqmmnRs9JygsD1bPI5Cp64_-2EpBQ58L2b3Dgxm-eVlhNwI_JwBUL1wrbI0ozGkhmXZJLk/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carefully reading the directions...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlh1jLPazrDw2K6jN5BifdK_vvYccwyJ77IZSNc0NNB3OA0N07_ap7UujueF5RP8-kRM2ZiAPZ3NSeyY5_c3e0RqWod8UjTZk7w3NDI9gIDvzGl6PFMAoAYjpCZSOug6IMStM4agTCIc/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlh1jLPazrDw2K6jN5BifdK_vvYccwyJ77IZSNc0NNB3OA0N07_ap7UujueF5RP8-kRM2ZiAPZ3NSeyY5_c3e0RqWod8UjTZk7w3NDI9gIDvzGl6PFMAoAYjpCZSOug6IMStM4agTCIc/s320/016.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approved</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I quickly tossed my seedlings and seeds into pots, filled
them with soil, and tried to avoid any further baby interruptions.
Unfortunately, I was not fast enough:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Vpg7745FBgSM72K5AsbZEWv7Gw_AbDFj3lU24JTCWzgILan7N-feHHgz9c6CHwUx4oZtDN0g6_hZ0iAkft3YWKjloEpKINxOa9e624E9KtjRjFnrkGUSVWxcMMqwbF1P9ElJdFKRygk/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Vpg7745FBgSM72K5AsbZEWv7Gw_AbDFj3lU24JTCWzgILan7N-feHHgz9c6CHwUx4oZtDN0g6_hZ0iAkft3YWKjloEpKINxOa9e624E9KtjRjFnrkGUSVWxcMMqwbF1P9ElJdFKRygk/s320/019.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's this?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFMn-cgFaXOgUOz1zUAVz6gp5ozHJ4d1Cfh8wQuqa7SKUsSy9L1d5d5jIyZRcH65j6JWJKib-DASjgW_Nt8ddmz7BhXouhuUlCGSF956rGlbGZMZnBQFUAaRP6k2Kkzb6dRL73_uVVgc/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFMn-cgFaXOgUOz1zUAVz6gp5ozHJ4d1Cfh8wQuqa7SKUsSy9L1d5d5jIyZRcH65j6JWJKib-DASjgW_Nt8ddmz7BhXouhuUlCGSF956rGlbGZMZnBQFUAaRP6k2Kkzb6dRL73_uVVgc/s320/020.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can I eat it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Mmmm… potting soil…</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, I finished all of the plants and set them out on the
front and back porches, (hopefully) ready to grow!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacHUGxlR2YMb7exJbkNNQaRW5loEVwiTNJQKkvKWZJpyUnP_f9GJRGvXYgC6jlItAIeNe1sPdThSWH8ta4fGJm8lNzyiDPXwBBqKeRYRakkOk7iu2MfO3VOd6bU24xRcM47d6VwtEaGg/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacHUGxlR2YMb7exJbkNNQaRW5loEVwiTNJQKkvKWZJpyUnP_f9GJRGvXYgC6jlItAIeNe1sPdThSWH8ta4fGJm8lNzyiDPXwBBqKeRYRakkOk7iu2MfO3VOd6bU24xRcM47d6VwtEaGg/s320/029.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijnWccMGPY9cCDZE-N08CvZSNPOfZn4rzOTaj8P01krOpq_MEY3wNubexLXgStZ2IrVcnkQNh_dQ-wpPtkgkxe8q6kKKhXmTmSQaUgCkEN4AtojXPEAsZvypGj2My9nD3s7TqAXv2mVw/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijnWccMGPY9cCDZE-N08CvZSNPOfZn4rzOTaj8P01krOpq_MEY3wNubexLXgStZ2IrVcnkQNh_dQ-wpPtkgkxe8q6kKKhXmTmSQaUgCkEN4AtojXPEAsZvypGj2My9nD3s7TqAXv2mVw/s320/030.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tomato plant, carrots, peppers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqd0yYJ51LfJiDBjz-_SUCEByp99GOrVCuZm2egPEBNFtnfmCwn2CHTLiQQZelVfjQnNLZtZqFvh4gC7gWxcTZlPETU5H9J_t_U71jsDvWvF4ScDABG-3LG23Wh45UyMWXtcrJfSeX19s/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqd0yYJ51LfJiDBjz-_SUCEByp99GOrVCuZm2egPEBNFtnfmCwn2CHTLiQQZelVfjQnNLZtZqFvh4gC7gWxcTZlPETU5H9J_t_U71jsDvWvF4ScDABG-3LG23Wh45UyMWXtcrJfSeX19s/s320/031.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Onions & more carrots (spinach not pictured)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I am thinking of this year as a big experiment. If things
don’t grow, I’ll be disappointed but not too dismayed (afterall, I completely
ignored almost every rule about proper gardening). If they do, it will be a
pleasant surprise. I have marked on my summer calendar in big, bold letters the
expected harvesting time for each plant (SPINACH! CARROTS! etc.) so I’ll know
for sure if this adventure was all for naught. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As for Samantha, she took the longest bath of her life, and
so far seems to have no lasting effects from ingesting the various flowers,
bugs, and potting soil. All in all, the day was a success.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSx-HEJh3Ne4g0nNw_HXEgTe57C-6kaSSGugrzUhoAL5yt4gAxgVHcEXLXbc6UsdNfjvKrd7qR4mrA42HMLsVNkALIAl3eUF1AopZxFYRM-NsxRifkhnfFrXXNVZSNvUz9sYAAx4ybmfg/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSx-HEJh3Ne4g0nNw_HXEgTe57C-6kaSSGugrzUhoAL5yt4gAxgVHcEXLXbc6UsdNfjvKrd7qR4mrA42HMLsVNkALIAl3eUF1AopZxFYRM-NsxRifkhnfFrXXNVZSNvUz9sYAAx4ybmfg/s320/018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-84534690179971887962013-03-04T07:59:00.000-08:002013-03-04T07:59:05.621-08:00Good Resources for Expectant Moms<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2885548853423114833" name="_GoBack"></a>I love talking about birth. It kind of
freaked me out when I was pregnant, but now I seriously love hearing how each
baby I meet entered the world. I especially love natural birth stories. I was
sharing a brief version of Samantha’s birth story (the full version can be
found <a href="http://lifebythetablespoon.blogspot.com/2012/07/samanthas-birth-story.html" target="_blank">here</a>) with some friends, and a mom of two recently asked me how I knew
“all this stuff” about alternative options for birth. My answer was quite
simple: my incredible sister has seven children, two of whom were born at home.
Throughout my pregnancy, she patiently fielded all of my questions and gently
provided guidance, support, and information. I was also able to talk freely
with my mom about her personal experiences “back in the day.” Between these two
awesome women, I was able to educate myself about the birth experience the way
women *used* to – by learning from their mothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins,
instead of from doctors with whom they had no prior relationship. But I realize
that I had a unique opportunity, and most women nowadays don’t have quite that
network of women.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There are literally thousands of resources out there now to
help guide women through conception, pregnancy, birth, and motherhood. This is
both a good and bad thing. It is fantastic that there is information available
in books and on the internet, but with so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">much</i>
information out there, a lot of it seems to contradict each other. Especially
when your brain is flooded with pregnancy hormones, it is difficult to filter
through all the differing opinions of what is “best” and make a decision based
on what is best for you and your baby.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
However, I think it is extremely important for women to
educate themselves about this incredibly special occasion. Most women spend
(significantly) more time researching and preparing for their wedding day than
they do for their birth experience. Of course, weddings are important events,
but birth is the act of bringing another human being into the world – it is THE
most important event (at least, in my opinion). So, just like most of us
wouldn’t hand over <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> the details of
our wedding to an “expert” (wedding planner, well-organized friend, whatever)
without at least getting the chance to veto the floral design or express our
wishes for the meal, we shouldn’t just go blindly into birth and assume that
everything the experts (doctors, midwives, nurses, whatever) want to do is what
is best for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>. None of these people
are experts on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your baby</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I would like to advocate here for women (and their partners)
to make informed decisions and be actively involved in the birth process. Disclaimer: I am
by no means trying to invalidate the experience of those who did not have
natural births (whether by choice or by chance). I believe each woman needs to
seriously consider what is best for her and her baby, and to make decisions
based upon that information. That said, I also believe that our bodies are
designed to birth babies – without medical intervention – the majority of the
time. I believe that pregnancy and birth are not illnesses to be treated and
managed by doctors on a schedule, but are experiences designed to transition a
woman into motherhood. These experiences are not easy, will rarely fit into a
perfect time table, and will, ultimately bring forth two new beings: the baby,
and the mother. It is the most awesome, terrifying, and empowering experience a
person can have.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, because I am always interested in discussing birth
with anyone who will listen, I have often been asked for recommendations on the
various books and resources that I have found helpful. I did a lot of reading
and internet searching while preparing for Samantha (and even more since she
has arrived), and many of these resources have been recommended to me by other
mothers. I wanted to share a list of some of my favorites. Most of these follow
the type of birth/parenting “philosophy*” that I adhere to, so if you’re not
interested in that, then you probably won’t find these recommendations helpful.
Please feel free to comment with other recommendations, as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*”Parenting philosophy” is a term I use loosely, since I
think trying to put everything you believe into one ideology/set of rules is a
sure way to set yourself up for frustration with a baby (and I can only speak
about parenting itself from my perspective with a particularly adorable eight
month old). However, if you’d like some clarification on how I would define my
“style” , I’d say part attachment parenting, part “instinctual” parenting, and
part “make it up as you go” parenting. It is not the easiest way to parent, and
probably not the most effective, but it’s what feels right to me and my
husband, so that’s what we do.*</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, back to the recommendations:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>For Pregnancy:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*The Pregnancy Book by Dr. Sears – this goes month by month
with what to expect. Dr. Sears is one of the main advocates of attachment
parenting, and I have read many of his books. The cover on this one is a bit
1980’s looking, but the information inside is solid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*What to Expect When You’re Expecting – this is probably the
most popular book. I read this side-by-side with The Pregnancy Book, each a
month at a time so I wouldn’t get overwhelmed. This book represents every
single possible spectrum, so it is good for pretty much all mothers, regardless
of what they are considering. However, I will say that while it discusses
natural birth, it is a bit light on some of the alternative options or other
more natural approaches to pregnancy, which is why the Dr. Sears book is a good
companion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>For Nutrition:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*Real Food for Mother and Baby by Nina Plank – I didn’t read
this until just a few months ago, so it wasn’t helpful to me during my
pregnancy, but I wish I had read it then! It follows the ideas Plank shares in
her book Real Food (simply: processed food, “low fat/carb/calorie/whatever”,
and things like “cheese products” are not, actually, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">food</i>, and that real food in its natural, complete form is quite
healthy and good for us… Imagine that!) In this version of the book, she gives
ideas for diets for increasing fertility and conception, for pregnancy, for
breastfeeding, and for feeding baby when s/he starts solid foods. While I was
pregnant, I did try to read “What to Eat While You’re Expecting,” and the Dr.
Sears book also had nutrition guidelines, but I have a hard time counting
calories, or protein/carb/fat intake, so this holistic approach to eating well
to help baby grow and help prepare your body for its biggest physical challenge
is simple and wonderful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>For Birth:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*The Birth Book by Dr. Sears – I think this book is
extremely important. What to Expect covers every single option for birth
available – from drug free to elective C-section – and that is all fine to
know. This book, however, while covering all of these topics, puts a lot of
emphasis on natural birth and alternative birth options. It discusses all of
the tests that will be done during your pregnancy (which, by the way, did you
know that you have the right to refuse any test or treatment if you want? This
information was the most liberating thing I learned while pregnant. While I
only turned down one screening early on – to see if there were any genetic
defects in the baby, since we knew we would have the baby regardless of the
results and the test can show a false positive and cause unnecessary worry for
the remainder of your pregnancy – it was still comforting to know that D and I
could be in control of our baby’s wellbeing from the very beginning). Anyway,
it also discusses putting together your birth team – selecting your
doctor/midwife, and choosing who will be with you (partner, doula, family,
friends) – as well as writing your birth plan. It discusses the pros and cons of various birthing locations (home, birth center, hospital). It also thoroughly explains all
of the stages of birth and everything to expect. Honestly, by the time I went
to my birth class, I knew all of the information already because of this book.
It’s a good read if you want to be really well informed. It might even help you
prepare yourself to avoid any unnecessary but all-too-common medical
interventions. Knowledge is power<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">, afterall.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
(Notice
there is only one book under this heading? Even though it’s the main topic of
my blog post? That’s because I only read this one book specifically on the
subject of birth [other books touched on it] and felt that I had all the information
I needed to make informed decisions throughout the process.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
*The Business of Being Born. This isn’t a book, it’s a
documentary. And it’s amazing. And okay, it made me cry when I watched it with
my fearful early pregnancy hormones, but it opened up my eyes to quite a lot of
information. Like any documentary, it has a specific spin (this is very
homebirth oriented), but I think it is <i>especially</i> important for those planning a hospital birth. It clearly demonstrates the effects of extraneous
medical interventions, as well as reveals some of the (now out of date) rather scary
aspects of medicalized birth history (twilight sleep, anyone?) It also shows how incredibly awesome and transformative birth can be. Be advised
that it does depict actual birth scenes, although none of that close-up
nonsense of the baby emerging (which, I’m told by my husband, is “crazy and beautiful and a
confluence of emotion that is hard to describe” when you witness it on a loved
one, but might not evoke quite the same emotions when watching a stranger on
the tv screen). These scenes are very… well, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i>, of laboring women, and if you’re getting ready to have a baby
and you have never seen a birth before, these are the ones to watch. They might
not be <i>pretty</i>, but they are absolutely beautiful. Honestly, if you only take one recommendation from this blog, I hope it is to <b>watch this movie</b><i>.</i> Seriously.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have been able to find most, if not all, of these
resources at my local library. As I said earlier, there are thousands of books
out there on pregnancy, nutrition, and birth, and I am sure each one has at
least a glimmer of good information. These are just the resources that I found
particularly helpful during my pregnancy, and that I routinely loan to friends.
I am very interested to hear what resources have been helpful to others during
pregnancy, so please comment with other recommendations! </div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-54005047462208225902013-02-04T10:58:00.001-08:002013-02-04T10:58:58.342-08:00When God Says "Stay"Yesterday I was rocking out to my oh-so-hip Audio Adrenaline Pandora station, and the theme seemed to be "go." I listened to the lyrics about going wherever God calls, looked down at the sink of dirty dishes I was washing, and thought, "But what about when God says to stay?"<br />
<br />
I love going. I love to travel, I love experiencing different cultures, learning new languages, and meeting new people. In general, I love big, scary changes that challenge me (as much as I might moan about them in the moment). A few weeks ago, some new missionaries spoke at church about being called to France. They wanted to follow God's leading, but until He made it very clear this is what they were to do, they had no burning desire to actually go anywhere. I, on the other hand, am filled with wanderlust. I found myself thinking, "Hey, I'll be a missionary to France!" (or Africa, or Toronto, or Antarctica, or wherever...) I would love to go somewhere new and try a brand new way of life. I've always felt closest to God when I am immersed in work for Him, especially on a 24- hour basis (read: camp), and my life has always felt so full during those times. Surely that is what it is like to be a missionary, right? (Note: this was my idealized thought process and in no way reflects reality for missionaries the world over.)<br />
<br />
There have been times when God has told me to <b>go</b>. God told me to <b>go</b> to a small camp in Virginia to run the waterfront when I was 19, and then blessed me with three wonderful summers of spiritual growth and ministry opportunities. God <b>sent</b> me to the mountains of Alabama, where five years ago I saved D's life and fell in love. Most recently, God <b>sent</b> me to a new city, along with my husband and then-two-week-old baby. God has told me to <b>go</b> for a new job, <b>go</b> for a new friend, <b>go</b> for family, and, always, <b>go</b> for Him.<br />
<br />
Now, my message is to <b>stay</b>.<br />
<br />
<b><b>Stay home, manage the house.</b></b> Make doctor's appointments and grocery lists. Mend clothes. Bake cookies. Divide
my time between laundry, dishes, sweeping, tidying, paying bills,
cooking meals, and running errands. Repeat daily, if not more often.<br />
<br />
<b>Stay home with Samantha.</b> Change diapers, wash diapers, fold diapers. Feed the baby. Bathe the baby. Put her down for naps. Comfort her when she cries. Make her laugh. Love on her endlessly.<br />
<br />
<b>Stay with D.</b> The physical logistics of this have never been in question, but the emotional part but can sometimes be a bit hazier. But God says stay with D in my heart. Stay connected, stay interested, stay engaged. Stay passionate when I feel haggard. Stay attentive when I am distracted. Stay emotionally faithful to the man who works so hard for our family.<br />
<br />
To me, today, God has said <b>stay.</b> <i>Stay and I will bless you with a loving family. Stay and I will show you a strong church family. Stay and I will provide for you, even when things seem bleak.</i><br />
<br />
The more I think about it, the more I know that God is with me whether I stay or go, because He will never leave us nor forsake us. But in this less-than-glamorous time of my life, I am starting to realize that <i>I</i> will not be with <i>Him</i> unless I listen, obey, and <b>stay.</b><i> </i> Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-65933963262097507912013-01-17T12:54:00.002-08:002013-01-17T12:54:55.832-08:00Food for Thought, or Thoughts on Food<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is about two weeks late, but... Happy New Year! Two thousand twelve was an adventurous year in our house, and we had the opportunity to end it surrounded by new friends. My ambitious husband has a list of 101 things to do in 2013 that will contribute to our family adventures (although hopefully in less "major life change" ways and more in a "hiking really cool mountains" kind of way), but neither of us really made resolutions for the new year. I never do anymore. I learned a long time ago that if I have to make a grand decision to change/add/remove something, I won't follow through with it. I think this is true for most people. It's why gym memberships sell out in January, and by March there is no longer a line for the treadmills and bikes. Also, in general, the things I want to change in my life don't normally happen around the turn of the year; instead, I generally identify a problem and start immediately trying to remedy it (or stubbornly ignore it.)</div>
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This year, however, timing and circumstance have conspired to force me to admit that there <i>is</i> something I want to change in the new year. It's something that's been in the back of my mind for a few years now, but I've never truly had the motivation to deal with. This year, I am going to stop eating (and feeding my family) junk.</div>
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It's true, we eat a lot of junk. By "junk" I mean processed and imitation foods. Sometimes, we don't even realize that what we are eating isn't "real food," because it's cleverly disguised to look and - almost - taste like the real thing. Unfortunately, most of these foods are packed full of preservatives, chemicals, hormones, and nasty, unnatural fats and sugars, and I think they are slowly killing us (or, at least, our taste buds).</div>
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I've read a lot on "healthy" diets, many of which mean counting calories, measuring out vegetables, eliminating taste... I can't get on board with any of those. I am <i>not</i> good at counting, measuring, reading labels, etc. And I love for food to taste good. Then I read one of Michael Pollan's books, and I liked what it said. But... I still wasn't quite motivated to make any big change. Sure, I tried to eat more leafy greens, but it was a half-hearted effort.</div>
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Last month, it was time for Samantha to start trying solid foods. I panicked. I <i>know</i> my diet is not ideal, so how was I going to model a healthy diet for her?</div>
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Then I read Nina Planck's "Real Food for Mothers and Babies." It's fantastic. It talks all about what to eat when you are trying to conceive, when pregnant, when nursing, and what to feed your baby as first food. And while I don't agree with <i>everything</i> she writes, I did agree with one thing: real food is best.</div>
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It sound simple, and it is. I can't do justice to all the knowledge she packs into that little book, so I recommend that you just find it and read it (if you're not interested in "mothers and babies," her first book is just called "Real Food" and I've heard is also quite wonderful.) But basically, it speaks to my traditionalist sensibility.</div>
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So, I've started making an effort to eliminate most of the processed food from our pantry, and to buy food in its original form. This is a slow process, but I've found that it has actually really helped these last few weeks as our grocery budget has also gotten quite a bit smaller.</div>
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For example, instead of buying individually wrapped chicken breasts for $1.99/lb (if I get the Club Pack at Wegman's, which provides me with about a dozen individual serving breasts), we instead bought an entire chicken for $6.00. D seasoned it up and roasted it in the oven, then sliced it up. We got a lot of meat off of that chicken, for only $0.99/lb. (Yes, half the cost of our club pack chicken breasts, with a lot less plastic waste). </div>
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Of course, we were paying for the bones, too, so you might say it wasn't worth it. But the bonus: we used the bones and extra skin to make homemade chicken broth, and had several soups the following week that were full of natural, no-preservative flavor. Homemade chicken broth (or chicken stock) is insanely easy. We only used some of the larger bones, but next time we will use the whole carcass. All you do is cover the bones/carcass with water, bring it to a boil, and then leave it to simmer for about 4 hours. Occasionally you need to add some hot water to make sure the bones stay covered. After about four hours, strain out the bones/skin/etc. I put a colander over a large bowl and poured the stock into it. Once I dumped all the large pieces, I put a dishtowel over the colander and re-poured. This strained out some the smaller pieces that were easy to miss.</div>
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I know this sounds silly, but it is really satisfying to use almost an entire animal instead of just bits and pieces. Just this one chicken and the stock we made from it provided over a week of diverse meals. For six dollars. Even if you aren't very good at math, it's easy to figure out that it's less than a dollar a day. That's the type of expense that my grocery budget can handle.</div>
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After the success with the chicken, we started thinking about what else we can make, both to cut back costs and to have "real" food in our house. Every morning, I love to eat wheat toast with peanut butter, and D takes a sandwich to work each day, so we tend to go through a lot of bread. And while we don't want carbs and refined flour to be a major part of our diet, the reality is that we like toast and sandwiches, and we spend a lot of money on bread. I like wheat bread, but D does not. Then I stumbled upon this amazing food blog (<a href="http://www.melskitchencafe.com/" target="_blank">Mel's Kitchen Cafe</a>) and her <a href="http://www.melskitchencafe.com/2009/11/tutorial-working-with-yeast.html" target="_blank">tutorial on yeast</a>. Yeast breads have always made me nervous. One, I didn't understand the differences between the types of yeast, so that was a big problem. Two, I've always found that homemade breads might be good for toast, but are too crumbly and heavy to make sandwiches. Enter this amazing <a href="http://www.melskitchencafe.com/2010/03/delicious-whole-wheat-bread-two-recipes.html" target="_blank">whole wheat bread recipe</a> - I tried the third recipe (although left out the Vitamin C because I bought vital wheat gluten that already had it added - oh, and I got it at the surplus store for only 29 cents, too!) She even has a photo tutorial on how to make this bread step-by-step. I gave it a try, and it turned out amazing! How amazing? This bread was so wonderful that not only did it make great toast, it worked well on sandwiches, and D loved it so much that he routinely would cut slices just to eat on its own. My white bread loving husband has been converted to a whole wheat bread fan, and I am thankful. And there is seriously something very satisfying about eating something you made entirely from scratch. I have found that half of that recipe makes 2 9"x5" loaves and that lasts anywhere from three days to a week.</div>
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<br />On a side note, since my success with the whole wheat bread, I have wanted to give <a href="http://www.melskitchencafe.com/2012/08/homemade-pita-bread.html" target="_blank">homemade pita bread</a> a try. Granted, this recipe is made with refined white flour instead of wheat flour, but sometimes you have to splurge. And while not all of my pitas puffed, some did and they all tasted great! The recipe is really simple and I managed to make them and get S ready for bed at the same time (yes, including bath time, story time, and nursing - all of which happened when the dough was resting), in addition to preparing this super delicious <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/chakchouka-shakshouka/detail.aspx?event8=1&prop24=SR_Title&e11=chakchouka&e8=Quick%20Search&event10=1&e7=Home%20Page" target="_blank">chakchouka</a> recipe. I felt like superwoman.</div>
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Of course, there is another big part of our attempt to eat real food - fruits & vegetables. I am really bad at this, and until Samantha started eating solids I usually threw these onto the plate as a side note. Now, I plan my meals around them because I like to make sure that, at least a few nights a week, Samantha has something new to smash into her hair. While spring brings a fabulous (albeit small) grower's market to Williamsport, D and I are hoping to plant a small garden to help supplement the fresh veggies. We are still working out what form this will take, since we rent a 2nd floor apartment. I am hoping to talk to our landlord about gardening out in the yard, since there is a small plot right next to the house that appears like it was once a flower garden and now has some sad shrubbery in it. It would be awesome if I could make that a small vegetable garden. However, we aren't sure how much longer we will be living in this apartment, so we are also discussing doing an indoor herb garden on some bookshelves, and planting a few vegetables in containers so we can take them if/when we move. I am still in the "research" phase of all of this, but I am excited about the prospect. My dad had a wonderful vegetable garden in our yard when I was younger, and I remember the pride he had when he harvested fresh green beans and broccoli for our family (not that I liked to eat them as a picky youngster, but in hindsight I am thankful.)</div>
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So, it isn't happening overnight, but slowly our packaged and processed food supply is dwindling (and not being replenished). I have had to get more creative with meals now that we are trying to include more "real" food, but it has been an enjoyable challenge. </div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-9931653406758951732012-12-27T19:22:00.001-08:002012-12-27T19:22:41.710-08:00Christmas Letter/Year in Review (in pictures)<div style="text-align: justify;">
I love getting Christmas cards. I <i>really</i> love getting Christmas cards that have family pictures in them. But I <i>especially</i> love getting Christmas letters. I am not particularly adept at keeping in touch with people, so these end-of-year life updates are my favorite.</div>
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Unfortunately, I am not very good at sending out my own Christmas letters. Last year, I was on the ball and sent out photo cards, but for various reasons a Christmas card was not feasible this year. I thought about doing an email letter, but I barely read anything that comes to my inbox, and I thought others might be the same. Especially if the email comes at a particularly busy or stressful time. Say.... Christmas? So I decided to take my non-Christmas-card-writing one step further and write my letter here, in my blog. It might seem lazy or impersonal, but this way I'm not cluttering up your email box, your real mailbox, your recycle bin next month, or your trashcan and a landfill if you're (gasp) not into recycling.</div>
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Anyway, here is my lazy/eco-friendly/poor girl's Christmas letter (you can choose which you want it to be). It's been an interesting year!</div>
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Last year around this time, you might have received a photo card announcing our big news:</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjomWw2tn35RopUCxFUoiM2d6OMRIoMbu7gHHOnMcN8p16guiEkSxMnHUez_M4aVPfwCh2qnlTjCC4jrgropVNPxYd9ag6kjYHRTh17fAgLFMBXNGj2u49y4_XBBWZxnpPTBLEn619vxi0/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjomWw2tn35RopUCxFUoiM2d6OMRIoMbu7gHHOnMcN8p16guiEkSxMnHUez_M4aVPfwCh2qnlTjCC4jrgropVNPxYd9ag6kjYHRTh17fAgLFMBXNGj2u49y4_XBBWZxnpPTBLEn619vxi0/s320/022.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Shelby Blevins Photography (for the picture on the card, not the picture <i>of</i> the card)</td></tr>
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The anticipation of the baby was preempted by another big life event. In late February, D had surgery to repair the massive hernia caused by the incision from one of his previous surgeries. Sorry, I don't have any pictures of that, although I did get to see CT scan photos of what my husband looks like bisected, so that was pretty cool. In early March, the hernia repair failed and D had another surgery, prolonging his stay in the hospital. (Again, sorry, no pictures of this one). He is now held together by Gortex, which sounds much more impressive than it probably is. On a side note, his doctors and nurses at Hershey Medical Center were absolutely fantastic. I was very impressed with the care he received there.</div>
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Spring brought a lot of preparations for transition. In April, I started working my last Outdoor Education season at Black Rock Retreat. It was challenging to stay energetic and focused throughout the day with a growing belly slowing me down, but I was surrounded by wonderful coworkers and friends who were very (VERY) patient with me.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9l0cREuEQAVPoa3gFYGjdmFVO83PHUHZIiMKV6Wd0PtK_xYbowAUd9NmV0OAjFsTXr-zKyzsnu_Og1YqXryTCzcU8bNCkA0Wd4WXy5Glr93eH2P2A7w0UMxpOTZ_BKpk1ZtdQsnr1v-E/s1600/pregnany+w+staff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9l0cREuEQAVPoa3gFYGjdmFVO83PHUHZIiMKV6Wd0PtK_xYbowAUd9NmV0OAjFsTXr-zKyzsnu_Og1YqXryTCzcU8bNCkA0Wd4WXy5Glr93eH2P2A7w0UMxpOTZ_BKpk1ZtdQsnr1v-E/s320/pregnany+w+staff.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Manda Phillips (not pictured, although she is one of the amazing coworkers mentioned above)</td></tr>
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D spent the spring working part-time at the Y and recovering from surgery. I kept working Outdoor Eduction, volunteering with the Teen Moms group at my church, and growing a baby.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQAfJKGG_Ry1WTQYy2Nm0jnb6_8SOUlzM67H54nU_ivD1LA5NxW9vV4oh4QjQeqwSDjCdnvVAUADTkAECQvMHfIxkIi3Ioachd2RT3W7MHDMbc5MY_s8EhPhjdmXI51MDr56SW38DsIU/s1600/pregnant.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQAfJKGG_Ry1WTQYy2Nm0jnb6_8SOUlzM67H54nU_ivD1LA5NxW9vV4oh4QjQeqwSDjCdnvVAUADTkAECQvMHfIxkIi3Ioachd2RT3W7MHDMbc5MY_s8EhPhjdmXI51MDr56SW38DsIU/s320/pregnant.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Shelby Blevins Photography</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEchotc7GEAID3CnleL-yfGrg8uxe2LUcgnAFxjowpb6NUamfCZ_KtyT2u_AoVqP0x-Dl6_Hksosy1ciquURaOg3HAQbQ7Jsi7bexhafqkx7ymcE9sLcUKi4a6_Z_RmSoFC2q3F49rOtM/s1600/pregnant2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEchotc7GEAID3CnleL-yfGrg8uxe2LUcgnAFxjowpb6NUamfCZ_KtyT2u_AoVqP0x-Dl6_Hksosy1ciquURaOg3HAQbQ7Jsi7bexhafqkx7ymcE9sLcUKi4a6_Z_RmSoFC2q3F49rOtM/s320/pregnant2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Shelby Blevins Photography</td></tr>
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On June 1st, two major things happened. It was my last day of work at
BRR. It was difficult to leave such a wonderful job, but I came home to
exciting news: D accepted a job in Williamsport, PA. He would start in
the beginning of July. We had one month to pack, find a place to live,
move there, and, oh yeah, have a baby.</div>
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My sister came up from Georgia to help with the birth. She brought her oldest son, Isaac (11), and her daughter, Rachel (1 1/2). She was also 7 months pregnant.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXphEA09NddyHgLOea_w1MY0IQUff26sRPdgt6Z1tqjv7hfUn7iRaBPUbK0AuAw1wC7EDnidHEdXX-lQYJ3MnitaQgo0Uvqnh-P3qen3DgtJkLwc_QuF1yv4a9zxoSKvfZmDrs1ZBL5o/s1600/belly2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXphEA09NddyHgLOea_w1MY0IQUff26sRPdgt6Z1tqjv7hfUn7iRaBPUbK0AuAw1wC7EDnidHEdXX-lQYJ3MnitaQgo0Uvqnh-P3qen3DgtJkLwc_QuF1yv4a9zxoSKvfZmDrs1ZBL5o/s320/belly2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Isaac Robinson</td></tr>
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Samantha Dare entered our lives on June 16th, one day before her due date. D and Erin were by my side for the entire experience, and Erin stayed a few extra days to help me get the hang of things. Since then, every day has been an adventure. Samantha is growing so fast, and it is awesome to watch her learn new things every day. At six months old, she is rolling over, sitting up, commando crawling, and rocking back and forth on her hands and knees (I think she'll be crawling in the next few days). She is also babbling up a storm, incredibly curious about everything, and her first tooth is poking through. My father calls her "the baby of many faces."</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Alexandra Wasik</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Esther Kanuchok</td></tr>
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We moved to Williamsport on July 1st, when Samantha was only two weeks old. The move went smoothly thanks to the help of many friends and family who helped us move out of our old apartment (pictured below) and move into our new apartment.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Manda Phillips (who also helped, along with others who are not pictured)</td></tr>
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In August, I was able to go down to Georgia to be with my sister during the birth of her 7th child, Gideon. It was an interesting road trip with an 8 week old baby (D had to stay behind in PA), but I am so glad I was able to be there!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha, 2 months, & Gideon, 2 days (Photo Credit: Erin Robinson)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha and all of her Robinson cousins</td></tr>
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D started his new job and is staying very busy running the pool at the Y. He also opened an Etsy Shop for his various crafts (<a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/RavenshadowDesigns?ref=ss_profile" target="_blank">RavenShadow Designs</a>) and writing short stories and children's stories. I am blessed to be able to stay home with Samantha, with only having to work a few hours a week (I coach a youth swim club and teach water fitness at the Y). I also opened an <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/AwesomeCupcake" target="_blank">Etsy shop</a> for Awesome Cupcake, and the last few weeks have had the opportunity for my cupcakes to be sold at a local coffee shop (Alabaster Coffee Roaster & Tea Company). I am hoping to continue baking and expand Awesome Cupcake locally in the next year.</div>
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So, that's our year in review! I am looking forward to the upcoming year. I hope that you and your family had a very Merry Christmas and will have a blessed new year!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas 2012</td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-88363045081483561952012-12-13T08:08:00.000-08:002012-12-13T08:08:49.495-08:00Redemption<div style="text-align: justify;">
Every morning for the past two months, when I walk out of my bedroom, the very first thing I see are all of my plants. They are spending the winter in a little alcove in the hallway to stay warm. Unfortunately, I was a bit late in bringing them in, and they suffered through a few frosts outside. When I brought them in, some were black and limp. There was absolutely no sign of life to them. This included my favorite plant, Cher. </div>
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Before you ask, no, I am not in the habit of naming my plants. The other plants are all " that aloe" or "Cher's babies." But I got Cher from my friend Michelle one summer while working at camp. Cher was a "baby" from her plant (also named Cher), who was a "baby" from her friend's plant (yet another Cher). The idea is to <i>share</i> the plant... hence the name. I've had my Cher now for about six years. She grew huge. I have shared her with many people over the years. And then, I killed her.</div>
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Or, so I thought. Suddenly, a few days ago, I woke up in the morning to walk out to this beautiful sight:</div>
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Sprouting up from the brown, dry leaves that once were my exuberant plant is new growth! Beautiful, bright green leave bursting through what looked like death. I was just about to toss out the dead plant. For weeks, I would take Samantha over to the plants and we'd pull out as many of the dry leaves as we could (she would then try to eat them, of course). I was hoping to make room for any hint of new growth, but weeks persisted where there was just constant dreariness and death. And then, suddenly, there was life!<br />
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I know Christmas is a time when we focus on Christ's birth, and not necessarily His resurrection. But every morning this week, as I've woken up and walked out of my bedroom, I have been greeted with this simple, beautiful reminder of new life. More importantly, of the new life that has been given to me through Christ. Because we have a God who loves us more than we can ever fathom. A God who died for our sins. A God who rose from the dead so we can be reconciled with Him. A God who gave up everything so we can have new life.<br />
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I don't know about you, but I have had many times in my life that have seemed black, dry, and dead. Hopeless. Where I was about to give up, and perhaps others were about to give up on me. But God consistently worked to clear all that away, even when I couldn't see it. And now, as a child of a living and loving God, I am full of hope, joy, and new life. <br />
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Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones. I hope that the beautiful reality of God's love for you - through Jesus' birth, life, death, and resurrection - permeates through everything you do this season, and that you, too, are made anew.<br />
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<i>"We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order
that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the
Father, we too may live a <b>new</b> <b>life</b>." - Romans 6:4</i><br />
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-17036315458675421492012-11-29T19:52:00.000-08:002012-11-29T19:52:21.122-08:00Baking with BabyIt's that wonderful time of the year... time to bake! Cookie exchanges, loaves of bread for gifts, cakes and pies for family dinners... is it any wonder that I love Christmas so much? When you combine my love of eating with my love of baking, December becomes my favorite month. Not only are there more reasons to bake, I also find that people tend to be less concerned with eating sweets ("it's only once a year" or "it's a special occasion"), and therefore I can get more people to try my latest kitchen concoctions.<br />
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Of course, I bake year-round. And halfway through this year, a major obstacle to baking success entered my life: Samantha. I'm not complaining, but it is extremely difficult to bake successfully with a baby in the house. So, for anyone else who has just entered parenthood and has the urge to bake massive amounts of goodies this Christmas, I thought I'd offer a few helpful pointers for "baking with baby."<br />
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First and foremost, accept the fact your baby will need you at the least opportune time. She might nap the entire way through the preparation, but wake up - very hungry - two minutes before your cupcakes/bread/whatever is due to come out of the oven. When I am home alone, this either means dealing with an upset baby for a few extra minutes, or ruining my baked goods. When D is home, this has often turned into a situation where he brings me a batter-loaded toothpick so I can gauge the amount of time left in the oven while simultaneously nursing the baby. (Read: "It needs about two and a half more minutes." "<i>You can tell that from a toothpick?" </i>... My superpowers are quite incredible, really.) <br />
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Secondly, you will need to entertain your baby. Sometimes Samantha will sit contentedly and play with her own toys, but usually she is very interested in what I'm doing. This is when passing her a clean spatula to "lick" is helpful (as I lick one of the batter-filled ones). Or letting her play with colorful cupcake wrappers. I often act out a cooking show for her. I explain each of the ingredients, its role in the baking process, and how much I'm using. I show her how to measure out flour, why it's helpful for ingredients to be room temperature, about the importance of sifting, and why we cream together butter and sugar. Sometimes, when she starts to fuss, I do this as a song and dance. This is always around the time my neighbors walk by the kitchen window.<br />
<br />
Third, if you're the kind of person who needs to be at peace for baked goods to turn out well, accept the fact that this will never happen. Usually, baking is my time of relaxation and enjoyment. It's like making delicious science, and few things can beat it. But with an extra little person in the room who needs me - often on a schedule quite contrary to what I planned to do while baking - that time is no longer my own. And for some reason, this really affects my outcome. I don't know if I am more distracted, or not as careful, but I have ruined more baking projects with Samantha than I ever did before her. (Let's be honest, though - it's worth it.)<br />
<br />
With all those challenges in mind, these are some helpful strategies for success:<br />
<br />
<b>Prep Ahead of Time</b><br />
Baking a batch of cupcakes has become an all day adventure. It starts in the morning. When S is napping or reasonably happy playing by herself, I sift together all my dry ingredients on a sheet of wax paper. If she's still doing well, I measure out my butter and sugar. If we're still good, I then measure out any liquid ingredients. By the time I'm ready to begin actually mixing, I usually have everything pre-measured and ready to go. This way, my mixing time goes a lot faster.<br />
<br />
<b>Timing is Key</b><br />
I've been playing around with the best timing for things. Even with everything measured out and ready, it still takes time to properly mix the ingredients, fill the baking cups/loaf tins/etc. And then to get them in the oven, wait the 15-45 minutes (depending on what you're making) until it's ready. And repeat if doing multiple batches. Keeping a baby happy for this long becomes a challenge. I first attempted to mix during naps, but as I mentioned before, she always woke up at the worst time. I now use nap time as "prep" time, and baking time begins immediately after she wakes up. I love on her for a few minutes, nurse her, and then get to work while she is happy, full, and well-rested. This allows me to be able to pull everything out of the oven just in time for her to take another nap. She is a quick eater, so I can usually nurse her again when things are in the oven if I start immediately. Otherwise, I wait until everything is out and then I can nurse her to sleep.<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>No Baby-Wearing</b><br />
Sure, when I'm making things just for me and D, I'll sometimes wear Samantha on my hip as I prepare all the ingredients. But when it's time for the oven, she goes into her bouncy seat or on the floor. I know this should go without saying, but please don't ever try wearing or holding your baby near a hot oven. Even if she's fussy. Scratch that - <i>especially</i> if she's fussy.<b> </b><b></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Keep It Simple</b><br />
Some recipes are much easier than others. If you're home alone with baby, stick to the easy ones. If I want to complete a batch of cupcakes all in one weekday, I tend to opt for a basic flavor with a basic frosting - no frills, no special ingredients, no advance prep needed. When it's time to make things that are complicated, I wait until Samantha has gone to bed (not just a nap), and D assumes "baby duty." If Samantha wakes up and fusses, he's in charge of responding. For example, tonight I made a batch of homemade caramel sauce. This is a time-consuming process that needs constant attention, or else the sugar will burn and the sauce will be ruined. My stove top is lame, so it takes about half an hour to make a good caramel sauce. It's not possible to do with a baby needing my attention. This becomes my half hour of "baby free" time, no matter what happens. (And since D loves my salted caramel cupcakes, he is more than happy to take care of Samantha without any back-up.)<b> </b>For things that are slightly less complicated, but still very time-consuming (example: toasting/flaming the marshmallow topping on S'more cupcakes), I can do this while Samantha is awake but only when D is in charge. They sit in the living and play games, read books, and sometimes pop in to see what I'm up to. But they don't stay long before they are banished again. This system works well for us, even if it means that I'm staying up a little later than usual.<br />
<br />
So, I guess with a little foresight, baking with a baby around isn't too much of a hassle. Especially if you are doing it intermittently. But if you are preparing for a big Christmas bake fest, be prepared to need help with the baby! And, of course, a big spatula for licking the bowl.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-14087299512172374062012-10-17T14:16:00.000-07:002012-10-17T14:16:14.602-07:00These Old Jeans<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have a pair of jeans that have been patched and re-patched
multiple times. The left knee is torn, the back pockets are about to fall off,
and the blue heart fabric patching up the worn places is ripping out of the
stitching. When I was packing away my non-maternity clothes to make room for
those that would accommodate my growing stomach last year, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">almost</i> threw them away. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Almost.</i> But I didn’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For years, I wore those patched jeans on a daily basis. They
are from American Eagle, back before they only stocked styles appropriate (and
yet simultaneously inappropriate) for preteen girls. These pants weren’t
patched back then; not even pre-ripped. When they first tore, I repaired them
and kept going. More holes appeared, and so did more patches. These jeans were
so comfortable that I just kept patching up holes whenever current patches
failed. But they are now beyond repair, and I can’t wear them outside the
comfort of my home. Yet, I still wear them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I first got these jeans my senior year of college. They saw
me through writing my thesis, studying on Front Quad, and graduation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wore them through a summer of camp in North
Carolina, and a lonely year and a half on my own in Ohio. I wore them as I led
hikes through northern Alabama mountains and pulled 5<sup>th</sup> graders out
of Split Rock. I was wearing them the day I met my husband.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’m not one to get sentimental about clothing, but these
jeans have been through a lot. These jeans remind me of who I used to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Today, Samantha is sleeping in my arms. Her mouth is open into
a small triangle and her head tilted back. With my book out of reach, I start
to think about how much has changed these last few years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I want to believe that I used to be fun and outgoing. I
spent most of day outside – since this was, afterall, my job. I wrote poems and
read lots of books. I had intellectual discussions with friends (even though I
was never nearly as well-informed as they were). I had opinions about world
affairs. I have never been cool, but I think I really came into my own in the
years immediately following college. I was comfortable in my own skin,
confident about who I was - even if I had no idea where my life was going - and
I was happy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Now, I spend my days literally covered in baby spit-up. Thanks
to hormone changes, my hair is falling out by the fistfuls. Dark circles have
taken up residence under my eyes. For want of conversation, I try to teach a 4
month old the importance of sifting flour when baking, or what type of mushroom
we see on our daily walks. I make up songs about washing the dishes and
changing diapers. I read books such as “The Portable Pediatrician,” and study
topics like breastfeeding, babywearing, and baby development. Some days are
really, really hard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I often wear my old jeans to feel like the “old” me, instead
of just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">old</i>. I match them with a tank
top and a bandana in my hair. This is what I am wearing as Samantha is sleeping
in my arms, because I woke up this morning feeling worn out and boring. I
wanted part of myself back – the energetic, creative, social me. But now, my
arm is falling asleep, and I don’t want to move it because my daughter is
simultaneously so funny looking and so adorable. I don’t want to ruin the
moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
When I think about it, I was very happy with my life before.
For the period of my early and mid-twenties, it was a pretty great life to
have. But this moment here - the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft
snoring, the knowledge that when she wakes up, she will smile her giant
toothless grin that’s just for me – this goes beyond happiness. It’s no longer
about my ability to carry on an adult conversation, or the creative outlets I
no longer have the time or energy to pursue. These things will come back,
eventually. But this moment in time, with my sleeping baby, will never come
back. Sure, there might be other afternoon naps in my arms, but none when she
is exactly the person she is right now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
One day soon I will have to get rid of my tattered jeans. I
am no longer single, no longer free to travel on a whim, no longer working a
job that requires me to hang out at the top of the zipline tower. But when I
look at who I am now - wife to an incredibly loving and considerate man, the
man that God made for me and for whom I was made, and mama to a happy, healthy
daughter who constantly amazes me with how much she learns and grows each day –
I know that life is full of change. Memories of joys and trials will fade;
sometimes during these last few years, I have felt pieces of my life ripping
apart. And yet this moment, the one right <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">here</i>,
is perfect and complete without patches.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXq6PjpRmKwi5b2P5YWuTZfA8zP_IrsHRCs7xmQnKX9YFwaE9xWSpOX8hKH6-uXQMsTpjHYH-qnkBPLOEchSMCT1lZhZj6IG4bZqak3mH6vA4FBtVe4GTB4cRPKNgtloib0I2xFCglFE/s1600/sleeping2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXq6PjpRmKwi5b2P5YWuTZfA8zP_IrsHRCs7xmQnKX9YFwaE9xWSpOX8hKH6-uXQMsTpjHYH-qnkBPLOEchSMCT1lZhZj6IG4bZqak3mH6vA4FBtVe4GTB4cRPKNgtloib0I2xFCglFE/s320/sleeping2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> One week old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HkSKLxEE103nEmYo4XY5j9WrCtwto0TMgCbtdOYjM_4b1rlzzVg7GrdK_-yrOzmaCqicHJN2SXRxA3GI-X9NphL_NtU6GBnuqO8gzOZh4HzaBo-2ofPwXjLRxjiHMoV1mNckg7JbxVw/s1600/sleeping3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HkSKLxEE103nEmYo4XY5j9WrCtwto0TMgCbtdOYjM_4b1rlzzVg7GrdK_-yrOzmaCqicHJN2SXRxA3GI-X9NphL_NtU6GBnuqO8gzOZh4HzaBo-2ofPwXjLRxjiHMoV1mNckg7JbxVw/s320/sleeping3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four months old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-49793786809313657552012-09-14T16:03:00.001-07:002012-09-14T16:03:53.061-07:00A Few New Things (Random Updates)<div style="text-align: justify;">
I haven't really had a chance lately to sit down and write, but a lot has happened these last few weeks. None of these things are big, life-changing events, but I just wanted to give a quick update on a few things happening here at the Fedchak house.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
First, the baby updates:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZinIy4oY5kcSB96s0spkwabaFYKekWcAYEt-wiSZoxXLmRLe2qwVph0HD7vkXlOnlfZpq___0gL2oyovCM3v4JHyxWd6ymxOjgVIxYgcbF_pTaacmiglT_VnL7PYBXBTFAgUDfoVbZA/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZinIy4oY5kcSB96s0spkwabaFYKekWcAYEt-wiSZoxXLmRLe2qwVph0HD7vkXlOnlfZpq___0gL2oyovCM3v4JHyxWd6ymxOjgVIxYgcbF_pTaacmiglT_VnL7PYBXBTFAgUDfoVbZA/s320/001.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 months old!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1) Samantha will be three months old on Sunday! She now weighs in at 13 pounds 8 ounces. She is very smiley, and is suddenly extremely interested in her mobile or anything that moves. Her favorite game lately is watching my hair flip around - yes, that's right - I put my hair in a ponytail and headbang, and my daughter is overjoyed and entertained for minutes at a time. Now that the overwhelming heat has died down, we spend time out in the yard each day playing with leaves, maple seeds, and anything else that crawls onto the blanket. The first day we did this, she plucked a handful of grass and shoved it into her mouth, which brings us to the next development:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2) Everything goes in her mouth. Her hands, my hands (when she grabs them), blankets, rags, toys, and anything else she can wrap her hand around gets pulled straight into her waiting open mouth. She will sit contentedly in her swing and just gnaw on her own fists, slobbering loudly. Oh, and with all of this gumming comes a lot of drool. We have started breaking out bibs, otherwise she goes through several outfits a day that just get completely drenched down the front.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutMTUtY1LcUIdsLU6XYfRQCiwVLmQMdEI6y9yOpGhmHmHUXvRGwaDqm0MN-7RwQnkiVJQzf5Dv9Y2TWLvsi5yaURolGmlNlfi46bTNAWwm3wU4dn3jG4mjI-sqiZfwm8pkTeXo1zSZNM/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutMTUtY1LcUIdsLU6XYfRQCiwVLmQMdEI6y9yOpGhmHmHUXvRGwaDqm0MN-7RwQnkiVJQzf5Dv9Y2TWLvsi5yaURolGmlNlfi46bTNAWwm3wU4dn3jG4mjI-sqiZfwm8pkTeXo1zSZNM/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chewing on her "cupcake crinkler."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3) In exciting news, she is now sleeping through the night! She has been doing so consistently for just over a week now. She goes to sleep between 9 and 10, and sleeps until sometime between 4:30 and 6:30 in the morning. Then, she doesn't even wake up - she just wiggles around and makes noise in her sleep until I bring her into bed and nurse her (while she still sleeps). Then she continues to sleep until between 7:30 and 8:30, when she nurses again. The last few days, she has even continued to sleep through these and not wake up until 10 am! I feel very fortunate to have a baby that sleeps through the night, even though I know this may change at any time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4) I am in love with diapering. I realize that must sound strange, but I simply love using cloth diapers. We recently switched over to using cloth wipes, as well. I bought some flannel ones on Etsy that are rainbow colored, and many of them match the bright Thirsties diaper covers that we use. Somehow, using bright, colorful diaper covers and wipes makes what is normally a less-than-pleasant job a lot more fun. Also, it is so much cheaper than going with disposable, and we create a lot less trash each week. I think it's a win-win-win when it's good for the earth, good for my wallet, and good for my eyes (with all the pretty colors).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kndguTBAe8oR_02AW2pM0W-AEk5J6vKpZ2U6d2d0elqqZ8-H7Ub0af0DcKI94pVoN1cignaLBzNpKegxJqqLwTRPSnhvkQhDxU2Xl1gZjgeuS96aRgzofJXsYF8OGroLaZA7Z7SmxxA/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kndguTBAe8oR_02AW2pM0W-AEk5J6vKpZ2U6d2d0elqqZ8-H7Ub0af0DcKI94pVoN1cignaLBzNpKegxJqqLwTRPSnhvkQhDxU2Xl1gZjgeuS96aRgzofJXsYF8OGroLaZA7Z7SmxxA/s320/001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flannel, re-useable wipes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As for non-baby things in my life, there have been a few changes:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
5) I officially have a job. Okay, it's only four hours a week, but it works out really well. I help coach the youth swim club at the Y for an hour and a half on Tuesday and Thursday nights. While I'm doing this, D has Samantha in his office right next door, so I can feed her right before I coach and then again right afterwards. I also teach a water fitness class for one hour each Friday morning. These are both new developments, but I enjoy having some time to think about something besides the baby, and I love that they are only short spurts of time. I am so thankful that I get to stay home with Samantha most of the time, but it is also nice to be able to have some time outside the house (and for D and Samantha to have "daddy-daughter" time without me there to "fix" things if she needs comforting - she needs to learn to be soothed by him, too!) </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
6) I am trying to get licensed to sell baked goods made in my kitchen, but the city of W'port is being ridiculous and not getting back to my inquiries about zoning. This means I can't fill out my application with the Dept. of Agriculture yet, and I'm rather perturbed. That said, I have re-opened my Etsy shop (and still follow all of the requirements for home food processing) while I wait for things to become official. (Shh... don't tell.) I am hoping to get some answers soon, because I would love to market locally here in town for bridal showers and the like. <br />
<br />
7) I have officially reached my pre-pregnancy weight! I gained about 30 pounds during the pregnancy. I lost about 10 of this when she was born, and another 10 within in the first two weeks (yay breastfeeding!) But the last ten has been a bit slower in coming off, until this week. My weight is distributed differently (still a bit flabbier around the belly area than I would like), but it's nice to be back to my regular size again. Now I am just working on toning up, especially my abs and back.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2F95pBQXsugNYsYrZQqidRHEgLXjea7QkKMq4S8n7nl_ZhrxP0hxp3B9vqlM1VI_RWw8-bLPOTRoMQQ6XupTym_EoUWYVl4Vp_fqKavx2Zl1iph_jFhkUgC-nmlsX3Y4tDwmktioYo0/s1600/belly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2F95pBQXsugNYsYrZQqidRHEgLXjea7QkKMq4S8n7nl_ZhrxP0hxp3B9vqlM1VI_RWw8-bLPOTRoMQQ6XupTym_EoUWYVl4Vp_fqKavx2Zl1iph_jFhkUgC-nmlsX3Y4tDwmktioYo0/s320/belly.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few days before Samantha arrived</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jMBlPPP6P5vwxmFtMZZonvLqVrfKkN1gbilHtZvALWh6j8SwWYWzqI8tPgSQehbp2f9Z6pwHA8dtHOODVjwsgzLuQvW2hEWls-h3oGF64dS_4Q5s9RxqnSaOrqQhfTNlWYpzQbSF5OA/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3jMBlPPP6P5vwxmFtMZZonvLqVrfKkN1gbilHtZvALWh6j8SwWYWzqI8tPgSQehbp2f9Z6pwHA8dtHOODVjwsgzLuQvW2hEWls-h3oGF64dS_4Q5s9RxqnSaOrqQhfTNlWYpzQbSF5OA/s320/002.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three months later</td></tr>
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I guess that's it for now. Hopefully soon I'll have some more interesting posts, but it's still tricky to find time to sit and think through anything of significance at this point. Thanks for being patient!</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-18033089582062556372012-08-24T19:28:00.002-07:002012-08-24T19:28:44.225-07:001,720 Miles in Diapers<div style="text-align: justify;">
I just returned on my first road trip with little S. Together, just the two of us, we traveled a grand total of 1,720 miles. We were away from home for 14 days, passed through eight states, made seven stops, and spent over 30 hours actually driving in the car (not counting the frequent pauses required for soothing, nursing, and changing an upset baby.) The reason for the trip was a good one - we were going to help my sister welcome her 7th child into the world. When I told people about the trip, most used the term "brave" to describe my endeavor; others were more forthright and just said I was crazy. In truth, I wasn't so sure it was a good idea myself when we said goodbye to D and began our journey, but we somehow managed to survive the trip. I thought I'd share some helpful tips I found, in case anyone else is pondering a solo long distance trip with a two month old infant.</div>
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<b>Plan ahead.</b></div>
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I spent several weeks planning the trip before we actually embarked. Driving from Williamsport, PA to Atlanta, GA takes about 13 hours. This is a trip that, in my pre-baby days, I would have made all at once, but fortunately I was smart enough to break it into two days. On the way down, we stopped halfway and spent a night at my alma mater in Roanoke, VA. Our first day's drive was about six and a half hours (a total of eight hours travel time with stops). This was S's first day in the car, and she did really well. On day two, I broke it up again - stopping after three hours to meet some friends for lunch in Charlotte. This gave little S a decent amount of time out of the car mid-trip, so the idea was that she would be cheerful when we reached our destination around dinner time. Unfortunately, even the best plans can fail - she screamed the entire way through South Carolina, and most of the way through Georgia. Yes, it's true - a baby really can cry for over 100 miles. But breaking up the trip both on the way down and on the way home helped eliminate any chances of even longer screaming sessions from my normally mild-mannered child.</div>
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<b>Be prepared to stop... often.</b></div>
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Typically, S would sleep through the first two or three hours of driving in the morning. But then she'd wake up hungry and cranky, and we'd have to stop about every hour or so. (Somehow, she did not get the memo that she needed to fill her belly every time we stopped, so sometimes she wouldn't nurse well and then we'd have to stop again sooner.) I left plenty of time in my itinerary for these stops, especially on the longer days of driving. To maximize driving time, I filled my gas tank whenever we'd stop to nurse so I wouldn't have to stop at all when she was sound asleep. On average, I think we spent about an hour at rest stops or gas stations for every three hours of driving.</div>
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<b>The bathroom question?</b></div>
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One of the biggest<b> </b>concerns that other people brought up when told about the trip was how I would be able to use the bathroom without someone to hold the baby. I obviously couldn't leave her in the car or ask a stranger to hold her. It seems silly now in hindsight, but I did spend some time thinking up strategies. Because of that, even though it seems a bit personal to discuss bathroom habits here, I am going to share what worked for me.</div>
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At first, I thought I would just keep her in the car seat and take it into the restroom with me. I quickly learned that she needed as much time out of the car seat as possible, so that plan never happened. I then thought I could utilize the baby changing stations commonly found in (most) fast food restaurant bathrooms. Some of these restaurants are awesome, and put the stations in the largest stall so you can strap your baby in, change her diaper, and then use the bathroom yourself with your child mostly secure and within reach. The majority of restaurants and gas stations, however, fall into one of the three categories: 1) no baby changing station at all; 2) a baby changing station that is not in the stall; or 3) a baby changing station with a broken restraint strap. On the entire two weeks of my journey, I encountered only three changing stations that were in the right location and had a working safety strap, allowing me to use the restroom without having to hold a baby. This became a bit of a crusade for me, and I now hold grudges against all of the places that didn't even have a changing station. (And just a shout out here to the McDonalds employee in Tennessee who climbed under the stall door to unlock the empty stall so I could have access to the baby changing station contained within - even though the station unfolded directly over the toilet.) Anyway, all that to say that the simple solution to using the bathroom with a baby can be found by wearing your baby. I put S in the sling and everything was great. Problem solved.</div>
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<b>Stay in familiar places.</b></div>
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With all of the uncertainty that comes with traveling with a baby (and with babies in general), I found it comforting to stop or stay in places with which I had some familiarity. On the way down, I stayed at the Alumnae House at Hollins University. Having spent four years roaming the campus, I was easily able to occupy the evening with S by wandering around. I got to tell her all of the stories that I will never tell her when she's older, I got some exercise, and we both got some much-needed fresh air. Oh, and most importantly, I felt safe. In Georgia, where I spent most of the duration of the trip, I stayed at my sister's house. What it lacked in peace and quiet (with seven children running around), it made up for in great company and the warmth of home. In Tennessee, I spent one night at a random hotel before embarking on our long journey home, and this was the least relaxing night of travel.<b> </b>I couldn't go out and walk around outside, so I spent a few hours watching bad tv and feeling restless. The next night, passing back through Virginia, I stayed with friends who live on campus and again enjoyed a nice evening of good company and the comfort and security that comes with knowing ones surroundings. When S got fussy late in the evening, we walked out in the front yard to listen to the the crickets and gaze at the stars. She calmed down right away.</div>
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<b>Find what makes you both happy.</b></div>
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Before our trip, I obtained a few items that were absolutely essential to the success of our endeavor. The first was a mirror that I could put in the car and see S in her rear-facing car seat. This eliminated the need for me to turn around and try to check on her during those long hours of driving - one quick glance in my rear view mirror and I could see that everything was okay. (Note: such mirrors have been labeled as dangerous for two reasons - they could become projectiles in an accident, and they could cause distractions to the driver. I solved these problems by purchasing a mirror that I could angle, and therefore would not have to hang directly in front of her, and by remembering that this was not "baby tv" - in other words, I kept my eyes on the road.)</div>
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Additionally, I stocked up on both audio books that I would enjoy, and children's CD's. I quickly learned that <i>The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society</i> entertained us both, since it is a well-written epistolary novel (which I enjoyed) read by many different actors with different accents (with S enjoyed). Bill Bryson's <i>A Short History of Nearly Everything</i> kept her entertained only for short periods at a time since it was only read by one author, but he had a British accent so that helped. <i>The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid</i>, while very entertaining for me, was read by the author in a dry humor sort of way. Since he had no foreign accent and did not speak excitedly, S was easily bored and it took a long time to get through this one.</div>
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As for music CD's, we brought our two Slugs & Bugs albums. These are great for when she's fussy. First, if she was fussy because she was bored, the music entertained her (at least for a time). And if she was fussy because she was <i>really</i> bored (as was the case by the time we hit South Carolina), the music helps drown out the sounds of a crying baby. The latter use is necessary for both sanity and safety in driving. We also received a CD called "Rain for Roots," which is a compilation of Bible story songs by four women. This was a lifesaver on the drive home, since the voices are beautiful and soothing (S slept more than ever when we were listening to this CD), and the songs blend well enough that I listened to it three times in a row in an attempt to keep S asleep and didn't grow tired of it.</div>
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The audio books and CD's were a great tool for us, not only because it kept me entertained, but also because S loves to listen to music and to different voices. Results may vary.<br />
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<b>Have realistic expectations.</b></div>
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Every time I passed a sign that indicated the distance to upcoming towns, I set mini goals. "I am going to make it the 30 miles to Winchester without S crying," is basically how it went every time we passed such a sign. Even though I couldn't control if she was crying or not, I felt some sense of accomplishment if I made it. I felt like I was making progress, even if I was stopping often.</div>
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There also just came a point where I realized that I couldn't stop every time she started to cry. I refused to make two stops within an hour. At every stop, I made sure she was well fed, her diaper was clean, and she had some time outside of the car. When I put her in the seat, I made sure nothing was pinching her or making her physically uncomfortable. If she was still crying after all of this, I just had to ignore it or else I wasn't going to make it anywhere. Besides feeding and changing my baby, my next priority was getting her to our destination safely. If I was constantly distracted by her crying, I was not going to be able to focus on driving. So even though it was hard, I just turned up the music or audio book and drowned out the cries. They always stopped as soon as I got her out of the car seat, and she doesn't seem to be permanently scarred from the experience. She spent the next 24 hours after the trip being a little extra clingy, but other than that things have quickly returned to normal.</div>
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So those are the things that helped us survive our journey. It was an awesome two weeks. In addition to being present for the birth of my newest nephew, and getting to spend almost two full weeks with my sister and her wonderful brood, S and I got to share lots of adventures. She had a lot of new experiences: meeting all of her cousins, going to the Tennessee Aquarium (which she slept through), her first time in the Central time zone, her first time at Nature's Classroom (where her father and I met), her first walk around the Loop at Hollins, her first painting experience (in making a present for D's birthday), her first stomach bug and head cold (simultaneously), and so much more. We traveled from Pennsylvania to Virginia, stopped in North Carolina, then continued on to Georgia. We then left and went to Alabama, Tennessee, back to Virginia, and finally home to Pennsylvania. And after 1,720 miles and many, many hours on the road, I can now say that no, it is not crazy to go on a solo road trip with an infant. If anything, it helped me be more confident in all of the things that S and I can do together.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-36910356089336210182012-07-26T14:22:00.000-07:002012-07-26T14:22:49.180-07:00How to Create a (non) Nursery on a Budget<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I wrote about previously, I wasn't able to "nest" at all during my pregnancy with little S. Instead, I was packing up our spacious two bedroom apartment and preparing to move... somewhere. Until two weeks before she was born, we had no idea where we were going. When D accepted the job in Williamsport, the great apartment search began. It became pretty obvious that we would only be able to afford a one bedroom apartment, which didn't seem ideal with a new baby arriving soon. Two days before S was born, D found our new home: a nice one bedroom apartment within walking distance of his work. I love our new apartment, but I didn't see it until we moved in two weeks after S's birthday.</div>
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All this uncertainty about our living situation meant that I couldn't prepare a space just for the baby, and this was hard. Especially with so many of my creative and organized friends posting pictures of their cute nurseries with matching crib sets/hampers/diaper bags and adorable wall clings. Yes, I had nesting jealousy (and still sometimes do!) But, in reality, our situation ended up being really good for me in several ways:</div>
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1) We don't have the disposable income to spend on decorating... well, anything. So no matter how many cute baby nursery ideas I stumbled across on Etsy, I was able to save tons of money and avoid the temptation simply because I didn't have a room to call a "nursery." </div>
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2) I wanted to avoid getting overwhelmed with too much <i>stuff.</i> We had several baby showers and were very blessed with many great things for S, but without a room to fill I had a good excuse for not getting all of the so-called "necessities" that baby stores try to push on you. I wanted to avoid the rampant consumerism that has become parenting (well, as much as possible...) and not having an actual nursery made this a lot easier!</div>
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3) It kept things in perspective. Sure, it would be great to have a separate room for the baby, where I could rock her to sleep and then lay her in her crib, turn the baby monitor on, and go spend some alone time with my husband. But that idea is a luxury; in many places around the world, families of many generations share a room out of necessity (if they even have a room to share). While this isn't as common in the US, I think my complaints about not having a second room just for our infant seems pretty minimal on the global scale of problems.</div>
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Anyway, all that is to say that one part of our bedroom is now designated as the "non-nursery." This is where I keep all of S's clothes, diapers, toys, etc. And when she no longer sleeps in our bed, she'll sleep in the pack n play, in our room. The best part about our "non-nursery": it was totally free. Everything we have in the space was either used elsewhere in the house pre-baby, or was a gift. Here's a tour:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3LsUqhujq2Abdn6F4tirIh5KdYThI5Ny4274BL1TyhgWu6XuNsklRFmH9vxYpWHKxwXf01s00TO4bNzKww_umskPBknjn2fCF7oplF3COe5kVs4JCeaWzufzsSovlrwT5lPc01rJzpg/s1600/IMG_0408%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3LsUqhujq2Abdn6F4tirIh5KdYThI5Ny4274BL1TyhgWu6XuNsklRFmH9vxYpWHKxwXf01s00TO4bNzKww_umskPBknjn2fCF7oplF3COe5kVs4JCeaWzufzsSovlrwT5lPc01rJzpg/s320/IMG_0408%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Non-Nursery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Oq0WLRSKJfCO5IIpQOxn5_m9XvhOOflD_W1ZmpeHmyt9Jf2uPDvfi_Yyzg6IPGtMWF6VLoqfQI-TmVl0pjsfn4Elfjbiu9fvtEt1wlpmDVd0HkGmAM3hVVwNs_hAAyOV2GprjP-5ZMs/s1600/IMG_0409%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Oq0WLRSKJfCO5IIpQOxn5_m9XvhOOflD_W1ZmpeHmyt9Jf2uPDvfi_Yyzg6IPGtMWF6VLoqfQI-TmVl0pjsfn4Elfjbiu9fvtEt1wlpmDVd0HkGmAM3hVVwNs_hAAyOV2GprjP-5ZMs/s320/IMG_0409%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cloth diapers in the blue bin (which used to hold hats & gloves), baby wipes, and all of her toys, extra warm blankets, and 6 month & older clothes in the white bin (which used to hold winter clothes).</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhna4Ii-lyctdjAZuZWcIGcICasWVf0gso1t7FPvInqP3TM0rxwe398sKWSbHooA2eRMFWce89zDJP8ipBxK3alaS2z8Myj6Ebg5dVgWEqwKmQzuHSBRbTez8FtOMNcCPfb2bgSjQ3uTfs/s1600/IMG_0414%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhna4Ii-lyctdjAZuZWcIGcICasWVf0gso1t7FPvInqP3TM0rxwe398sKWSbHooA2eRMFWce89zDJP8ipBxK3alaS2z8Myj6Ebg5dVgWEqwKmQzuHSBRbTez8FtOMNcCPfb2bgSjQ3uTfs/s320/IMG_0414%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This wooden stand we bought at a yard sale three years ago for $2 (it used to hold tools) is the perfect size.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTlU2Ods4wAaLZ9M2XGOQ4_8FxEVvNHAGCBVQl1D-TCyuzguH6LiFe4W7cgDykTcKQKuZfFyC3q48Gt6h33ZXqtIega7C_XdJy2w9WiLUn1tORNbiI6PIQ4XvS28-mn7T4hiBJCjQDZY/s1600/IMG_0415%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTlU2Ods4wAaLZ9M2XGOQ4_8FxEVvNHAGCBVQl1D-TCyuzguH6LiFe4W7cgDykTcKQKuZfFyC3q48Gt6h33ZXqtIega7C_XdJy2w9WiLUn1tORNbiI6PIQ4XvS28-mn7T4hiBJCjQDZY/s320/IMG_0415%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On top of the wooden night stand is a basket of diaper covers, a basket of socks & hats, and then some first aid supplies and the baby monitor.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qTszcm-jhbqydgzMa0-Ih7UPGPRCm14qnPWWY_sZJVwxpSqDIpxbpUvZtmkRKrG7H6DUuUTIb9gZ7Fzax7BlT6TQhtPcVR1UG17P7nEriI1l5iA6Pso58DVzVdbzidQrAnWGJxiowXI/s1600/IMG_0416%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qTszcm-jhbqydgzMa0-Ih7UPGPRCm14qnPWWY_sZJVwxpSqDIpxbpUvZtmkRKrG7H6DUuUTIb9gZ7Fzax7BlT6TQhtPcVR1UG17P7nEriI1l5iA6Pso58DVzVdbzidQrAnWGJxiowXI/s320/IMG_0416%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first shelf has wash clothes, towels, and light blankets. The second shelf has her clothes sorted out by size (a pile of newborn, a pile of 0-3 months, a pile of 3 months, and a pile of 3-6 months - everything else lives in the white bin for now, and will for the next few months.) The bottom are the sheets for the pack n play.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zsXiWOrAKqfqYoWjwev8aoW7lFn5WYwpxBi4Am15UJX3wN_3pGO32K776sOwlLnXCjkSVBxSYFSyNDuyTE7V5AqWMK6f8ZenJF7-aPTNeQzQewb_6yVGsma6n7oqkicYC4WfC8m4-oA/s1600/IMG_0411%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zsXiWOrAKqfqYoWjwev8aoW7lFn5WYwpxBi4Am15UJX3wN_3pGO32K776sOwlLnXCjkSVBxSYFSyNDuyTE7V5AqWMK6f8ZenJF7-aPTNeQzQewb_6yVGsma6n7oqkicYC4WfC8m4-oA/s320/IMG_0411%255B1%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are the only decorations in her space. The wall hanging was D's when he was born. The cross I made in college (it used to hang in the kitchen).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70W3mxhRctfFXwItkz-BMOtrxzDLVS4kgJwmW6zxVzQuVr93n5EPpr7GYrV0PKPLelq9kMIs7aQ46cQoAgcYsSjBqCOfy0TYhcbPBu-x2NfYnJBbRkLF3AGzSfo4uM8BGaF461fZPzfw/s1600/IMG_0412%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70W3mxhRctfFXwItkz-BMOtrxzDLVS4kgJwmW6zxVzQuVr93n5EPpr7GYrV0PKPLelq9kMIs7aQ46cQoAgcYsSjBqCOfy0TYhcbPBu-x2NfYnJBbRkLF3AGzSfo4uM8BGaF461fZPzfw/s320/IMG_0412%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Willow Tree figurines and the autographed plate were gifts, and add a little something to the windowsill.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmTRj8nWhYNX_6pUDuF-Si7iVQaM6M4povUPw2y0gacrzmP3nQDgQy54KO3WFwnyHSNIgO57cgop6XMGMG4rGV9w-qdmdmAwZRIx4qNafhh-Jt_hpZyVgdEgJfnEznMUz5lqszwlQLz4/s1600/IMG_0410%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmTRj8nWhYNX_6pUDuF-Si7iVQaM6M4povUPw2y0gacrzmP3nQDgQy54KO3WFwnyHSNIgO57cgop6XMGMG4rGV9w-qdmdmAwZRIx4qNafhh-Jt_hpZyVgdEgJfnEznMUz5lqszwlQLz4/s320/IMG_0410%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little S enjoying her dragonfly toy.</td></tr>
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We use a pack n play instead of a crib, because it didn't make sense for us to have a crib AND a pack n play stored away somewhere to use on trips.</div>
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This room arrangement works out really well for now. Since S sleeps in our bed for the time being, the pack n play is really only used for diaper changing and naps, but sometime in the next month or two we'll probably transition her out of our bed. (She'd probably be okay with it right now, but I love cuddling with her at night, and it makes night time feedings much easier!)</div>
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As for the baby items that don't fit in our room, they are scattered around the house (hopefully in a charming, well-organized way and not a "oh my goodness a baby exploded" kind of way.) The rocking chair and her swing are in the living room. We find this arrangement works really well because it allows us to rock her and still spend time together (or throw on an episode of Mythbusters during a fussy time and calm her without losing our minds). I nurse her wherever I am when she needs it; in the rocker, on the couch, or in bed. She has a bouncy seat in the kitchen, so when I'm cooking I can still talk to her and she can still see me. Her bathtub lives in an alcove in the hallway (our bathroom is too small for it), and any other items we have for her that she's not big enough for are stored in my closet.</div>
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Note: the two things that you don't see in the above pictures that are also in the nursery space are a trash bag for wipes and a laundry basket for dirty diapers. Since both had dirty items in them, I thought they didn't need to make it into the picture. Right now, I just use a regular laundry basket for her diapers because that's what we had, but I might transition to a closed bin of some sort if I get the chance (so I don't have to see her dirty diapers every time I walk into the room).</div>
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Here are some tips I found for keeping it cheap (or free) when preparing for baby:</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Register carefully</b>. Don't fill your registry with too many "frills." If you only put on what you need, then you will get exactly what you need and not have to spend money on your essentials. Of course, it's not a bad idea to think big when registering either. I knew we would need a baby monitor; I thought it would be helpful to have one with video. So I put that on the registry with a note that any baby monitor would really be fine, and ended up getting the nice video one I requested. (This doesn't always work - the stroller on our registry is super expensive, and we never got it. But since I wear S in a wrap most of the time, a stroller wasn't one of our top priorities and, especially at this age, I wouldn't use it much anyway.)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Figure out what your essentials really are.</b> We did this by not getting a crib and just going with the pack n play. When we tried to register at Babies R Us, they gave us a list of "necessities" that had over 100 items on it. I found this to be a bit ridiculous. Really, a baby doesn't need very much... it's the parents that <i>want</i> these things to make our lives a bit easier. Nothing wrong with that, but if you're on a tight budget and not blessed with overly generous family members, keep in mind that babies really just need to eat, sleep, and be loved on. Oh yes, and get lots of diapers (But that crib-side wipe warmer? Maybe not...) </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Re-purpose old items.</b> Shifting around some storage space gave me the chance to use some bins and baskets for baby items. Old t-shirts make great spit-up rags or diapers. Be creative! </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Hand-me-downs are your best friend.</b> S's first doll is a rag doll my mom made me when I had my tonsils taken out at age five. The wall hanging by her pack n play was made by D's aunt when he was born. Many of her blankets and toys were given to us from friends whose children had outgrown them.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Think outside the (matching) box (set).</b> Many baby things are sold in matching sets - sheets, blankets, towels, wall hangings, diaper holders, hampers, etc. If you don't have the budget to be all matchy-matchy, then remember that this nursery "ideal" is only ideal if it fits your budget. I am quite pleased with the way S's space looks, even if it isn't color coordinated or have a homogenous look. And if you do want everything to match, remember that many things sold for babies are most likely sold (cheaper) in other departments of the store.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Don't be afraid to be a bit "ghetto."<i> </i></b>If we had not received a pack n play, S's sleeping space would probably have been a laundry basket or a dresser drawer. I can guarantee she would not have known the difference. Also, while we got a lot of clothes for her, we got them in many different sizes. She only has so many outfits that fit over her cloth diapers and still fit her well at 5 weeks and 10 pounds (almost too big for newborn, still too small for most 0-3 month), and since she spits up after every feeding (or so it seems), we can go through several outfits a day. The solution? Naked baby! It's summer, it's hot, so whenever we're in the house she hangs out in a diaper. (Bonus: cloth diapers come in cute patterns so she's still adorable.) I dress her when we go out, but that's basically it. It saves me from having to buy her an excessive amount of clothing (and then having to find a place to keep it now, and then store it later when she outgrows it), and it also saves me from doing full laundry loads of onesies.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Don't compare your stuff to your friend's stuff.</b> This is probably the biggest tip I can give. I spent many a pregnant evening with the blues when I heard of other expectant friends picking out the paint colors for the nursery, coordinating crib sheets, getting monogrammed blankets, and so on. This led to a lot of unnecessary (hormone-related) doubt about my ability to provide a good home for my daughter. I know that sounds insane, and now that my hormones aren't nearly as haywire I am almost embarrassed to admit it. </li>
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I was nervous about not having space just for the baby, but it is working out really well. She has become a part of our lives pretty seamlessly, even with all the transition we've gone through. She is learning to sleep when there is noise, or when a light gets flicked on in the middle of the night (at least, for now). And because we all share a space, I believe this facilitates D's interactions with her, as well. When he gets home from work he spends a lot of quality time with her, but if she's napping he can still be in the same room with her without having to seclude himself from me.</div>
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I know a lot of people who are waiting to have children until the time is "right," usually referencing having more money or better living conditions (buying a house, getting a bigger apartment, etc.) To be honest, I am so glad we were blessed with little S before we thought we were "ready." If we had waited until our medical bills and student loan payments are manageable, or until we made enough to live in a bigger place or buy a house, we would have never had children! Trust me - I know I am only six weeks into motherhood, but it is entirely possible to have a baby and be happy without a lot of extra money (especially if you have generous friends and family) or lots of extra "space." After all, all a baby really needs space-wise is a pair of loving arms:-)</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-42735247101040424522012-07-17T11:21:00.000-07:002012-07-17T11:21:42.063-07:00Samantha's Birth Story<div style="text-align: justify;">
The night before Samantha was born, I took a long walk through the woods, made mountain pies over a campfire, and played a few rounds of Dutch Blitz. It was a Friday, and I had just come back from a midwife appointment where I had declared that nothing was happening with the baby and she probably wouldn't come until next week. I had been having some mild cramping since the day before, but thought it was stomach related and didn't process them as contractions. After my appointment at the birth center that Friday afternoon, my sister jokingly remarked that we should plan to return to the center either that night or the next morning to have a baby. I thought she was being rather optimistic, since I really had no other indications that labor would start anytime soon. It wasn't until about 6pm that evening that I realized the cramps actually were contractions, and they were coming every 8-15 minutes. Erin and I went for a long walk through the woods at BRR, and climbed the steps up from the lake (there are over 100 of them; steps are great for helping labor!). D and Isaac (my oldest nephew, who accompanied my sister on her trip) built a campfire and we made pizza mountain pies and S'mores. The contractions were still irregular, but weren't going away when I changed activities. I was trying not to get my hopes up; after all, I have heard so many stories of "false labor" or "pre-labor." I wanted to save my energy for the real thing. So we all played a few rounds of Dutch Blitz until about 10 pm. The contractions were getting stronger by now, but were still irregular. I still did not have any other signs that labor was coming, but it helped me to focus on the game (and yes, I did win) to get my mind off the contractions.</div>
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By around 11 I was pretty sure I was going into labor. My contractions were still pretty far apart, so I tried to sleep. I woke up at 1 and started timing the contractions. They were about 5-7 minutes apart now, but were starting to wake me up. At around 3:00, my contractions were 4-5 minutes apart. D declared it was time to call the midwife. As it turns out, there were no rooms at the birth center! The birth center only had two birthing rooms, and apparently the weekend that Samantha was born was the weekend for everyone else to have a baby, as well. Since my contractions were still pretty consistently five minutes apart, Mary Beth (the midwife on call) suggested that I take a warm bath or shower and to call back in a little while. A shower had never felt so good! Immediately a lot of the pain was eased just by having hot water running down my back. I stood in the shower for about twenty minutes as the contractions seemed to lessen in intensity. After that, I was able to fall asleep for about an hour. At 5am, my contractions suddenly got a lot stronger and were now three minutes apart. D called the midwife back, and she told us to come in. At the birth center, they were frantically preparing the staff room to improvise a third birth room for us. Fortunately (for me, at least), one of the women who was laboring wasn't progressing very fast, and she went home to sleep for a while before coming back in. This freed up a birth room right as we arrived, which means we had full access to the tub, the shower, and the variety of birth stools/balls available.</div>
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At 5am I was at 5cm. My sister arrived, and of course D was with me the whole time. I tested positive for GBS, so I had to have IV antibiotics. Honestly, this was the worst part of the whole experience (I REALLY hate needles), but that didn't confine me to one spot. I decided to get into the tub, since the shower had helped so much earlier. I changed into my "water birth" clothes (a birth skirt and a sports bra) and took off my glasses so I couldn't see the clock. I was mentally prepared to let things happen in their own time and to not feel rushed. I labored in the tub for several hours. I drank Gatorade and chatted with my sister, while D took a nap in the rocker (he had not gotten any sleep that night, and I told him to sleep now because I was definitely going to need him later!) The midwives switched shifts, and now Karen was attending to me. She came in every once in a while to check on me and monitor the baby's heart rate, but mostly just let things run their course. I was fully prepared to have a water birth - this had been the plan all along. But after four or five hours in the water (I think - like I said, I wasn't watching the clock), I was turning into a prune. While the buoyancy felt great for the first few hours, it got tiring to support myself after a while. I eventually got out of the tub to use the bathroom, and decided not to get back in the water. I changed out of my wet clothes into one of D's old T-shirts. Being out of the water meant that I was lot more exposed, but I eventually hit a point where I just didn't care about modesty anymore. I was getting exhausted. I tried sitting on a birth stool, and laying on a birth ball, but my legs just couldn't really support me anymore after all the hours in the tub. I tried to sleep between contractions as much as possible.</div>
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Eventually, I guess I felt the urge to push. This part is really all a blur. I remember Karen suggesting I sit on the toilet to try pushing. I thought this was awkward, and was determined not to have my baby on the toilet, but eventually just sucked it up and tried it out. D sat in front of me and held my hands, and this is where my water broke. The good news about the toilet: no mess to clean up!</div>
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Because women in my family have a history of quick deliveries after their water breaks, and because the squatting position can result in a very fast delivery that might result in tearing, Karen asked if I'd feel comfortable moving to the bed. I laid down on my side and tried to sleep some more between contractions. There was a bit of a relief here, although the hard work hadn't even begun yet. I was ready to be done, and was wondering why the baby wasn't coming as quickly as I had hoped. At noon, I was at 8 cm. In seven hours, I had only dilated 3 centimeters!</div>
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From this point on, I don't remember much. I remember D on one side of the bed and my sister on the other, each holding a hand. Erin would occasionally put some counter pressure on my back. Karen got out some lotion and gave me a foot and leg message, which I remember thinking was odd but really nice. I was really hot during contractions and freezing between them, so I kept kicking the blankets off and then pulling them back on. Everyone was incredibly patient with me. The midwife and nurse just waited, and occasionally monitored the baby's heartbeat. As it turns out, I am very vocal - and what started out as low moans meant to just help me keep my muscles from clenching turned into rather loud noises that even people in the waiting room could hear. I pushed for about an hour, with one of my legs on Karen's shoulder. She applied warm wash clothes to help my tissues stretch (and this, seriously, was THE most helpful thing since I was not going to give birth in the water - it felt good and the warm pressure helped alleviate the fear that I was also going to push out other things... I highly recommend it if you're not having a water birth!) I pushed for about an hour. The baby decided to move slowly, and when Erin and the midwives exclaimed they could see the head, I was hopeful that we were close. But really, they could only see the bulge of the head - pushing, then retreating, then pushing, then retreating. This was frustrating (even though it was for the best, since it was slowly stretching the tissues). I was exhausted and just wanted to be done! </div>
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And then, suddenly, I just got to this point of fierce determination. <i>I was going to do this.</i> I didn't rest much between pushing, I just knew I had to get past the pain and deal with it. It took an hour, but at 1:17 pm Samantha Dare was born. Once her head was out, Karen told me to stop pushing, and her body naturally followed. (This, along with the warm wash clothes and the slow delivery of the head, preventing any tearing or need for stitches afterwards). The baby was put immediately on my chest. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so she was a bit blurry. I was expecting a rush of emotion, and perhaps even tears, but I was too exhausted to feel much of anything. I just kind of stared at this little baby laying on my chest in disbelief. I was a bit traumatized by the whole experience, to be honest. It is amazing to me how strong our bodies are, and what they are capable of doing.</div>
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Once the cord stopped pulsing, D was able to cut it. Originally, he wasn't going to, but he changed his mind in the moment.</div>
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Not much later, I delivered the placenta (piece of cake, comparatively). The worst part of that experience was when they pushed down on my belly to get any clots out, but other than that it was fine (no one really talks about this stage of labor...)</div>
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Karen then showed me how to get the baby to latch on, and she started nursing right away. D, Samantha, and I were left alone for about an hour to nurse and bond. At no time did Samantha leave my arms during this time, and it was amazing! Even though I didn't have that flood of emotions that everyone talks about, it was perfect. (It took a little while before I really started to feel bonded to the baby, but the love was there from the beginning).</div>
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After she was done feeding, Samantha was weighed and measured. She was 7 lbs 7 oz and 20 1/2 inches long. We opted not to have a Vitamin K shot for her, or the eye ointment. She did have a bit of a tongue tie, but it didn't really interfere with nursing (we got that clipped when she was about 10 days old). She got to meet one set of grandparents (my parents, who arrived in time for the birth, but at that point I was already pushing and so focused that I didn't want anyone else in the room). Four hours later, we took our beautiful, healthy little girl home, ate pizza with the family, and settled into our new life!</div>
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At the time, the birth kind of traumatized me. I'd always heard that all the memories of the pain go away as soon as you see your baby, and that was not true at all. In fact, when Samantha was only a few hours old, I declared that she was going to be an only child. But, in time, those memories do fade. After about two weeks I found myself focusing more on the "I did it!" feeling from the birth rather than the pain. After a month, I am ready to (sometime in the future) do it all again, because it was well worth it!</div>
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D and I made the choice to switch to a birth center instead of a hospital about six months into the pregnancy. Looking back, here are all the reasons I am so very glad we did:</div>
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*In most hospitals, the idea is for labor to progress at about 1 cm every hour. It took 7 hours for me to dilate 3 cm. In a hospital, I would have been checked frequently, and, if found to not be progressing "on schedule," interventions would have been made (pitocin, epidural, etc.) I was only checked twice - at 5am and 12pm - at the birth center. At no time did I feel rushed or like I wasn't progressing.</div>
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*One of the interventions that likely would have happened in a hospital setting is artificial rupture of the membranes. At the birth center, this was allowed to happen naturally. This is particularly important for Samantha, because, as we discovered after she was born, the umbilical cord was not attached properly to the placenta. It's called a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Velamentous_cord_insertion" target="_blank">velamentous cord insertion</a>, where the cord attaches into the surrounding membrane of the placenta. This makes the blood vessels extremely vulnerable to rupture, and is one of the causes of stillborn babies. If my water had been broken artificially, there is a chance that the blood vessels could have ruptured and the baby could have bled out and died.</div>
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*The comforts of the birth center far outweigh those of a hospital setting. I gave birth in a bedroom-like setting, with access to a large jacuzzi tub, an awesome shower, and a variety of birthing aids (stools, ball, etc.) The queen-size bed was comfortable. The lighting could be adjusted. There was even a curtain to close off the tub area in case I wanted more privacy.</div>
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*Samantha's birth was considered a natural process. I had minimal checks, and the times they checked up on the baby never interfered with my comfort (they could even check the heartbeat in the tub). Most of the time, my midwife and nurse weren't even in the room (at least for the first few hours). When they were, they helped as needed but mostly just observed. This gave me the confidence that everything was going just fine, and it allowed D to step up into the role as my main support person so we could really share the experience together. (The only intervention I had was the antibiotics for GBS; I was given the choice as to whether or not I wanted them, but we decided the risk outweighed my aversion to both needles and antibiotics.)</div>
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*My baby was placed immediately on my chest, and we started breastfeeding right away. We were left alone to bond. She wasn't taken from me to be scrubbed down and measured. At no point did she leave my room (even when it was time for her to be weighed).</div>
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*We were able to go home after four hours. Some people asked me if this was overwhelming; it wasn't. It was wonderful. It made the transition into motherhood feel seamless (as much as possible). I wasn't stuck away from home for several days, and I didn't have a bunch of doctors and nurses coming to run tests on me and the baby. We were deemed healthy and sent home with an informational packet and the 24 phone number of the midwives (which I did call at 3 am with a question, and everything was just fine).</div>
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Overall, it was a wonderful experience. I am so thankful for a healthy baby, and for the positive support we had from the midwives and family (before, during, and after the birth). I am a bit disappointed that we now live in a new town and I won't be able to deliver any future children at <a href="http://www.birthcaremidwives.com/" target="_blank">Birth Care</a>, but hopefully we will find something else just as wonderful if we get to that point.</div>
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I believe nothing can truly prepare you for birth - no matter how well informed you might be! (Although I strongly advocate being well informed about all of your options and the decisions you want to make!) And in the moment, it sometimes seems terrible. But looking back, I gained so much confidence from the entire experience. And, of course, I got a sweet, cuddly baby out of the deal:-)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiiUcuscUjNnVYUuaLUMITehiKC7Yq2CaBUGAxgltbZV3u-FnNduOmAxXrUkaHbBGqrBzsIOHVC43Ln_xfdUF2sY9AxDQ1_REeWJ5e_Ur8rqnkZIAjEkAjYLpn93AOh6_-cTO3oNfFlk/s1600/IMG_0315%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiiUcuscUjNnVYUuaLUMITehiKC7Yq2CaBUGAxgltbZV3u-FnNduOmAxXrUkaHbBGqrBzsIOHVC43Ln_xfdUF2sY9AxDQ1_REeWJ5e_Ur8rqnkZIAjEkAjYLpn93AOh6_-cTO3oNfFlk/s320/IMG_0315%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha at five hours old.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha at one month.</td></tr>
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</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-25240686000567169982012-07-13T09:55:00.000-07:002012-07-13T09:55:26.292-07:00Meet Samantha DareIt has been about a month since my last post, and a lot has happened. I am no longer employed, we moved to a new town, D started a new job, and - oh yeah - I had a baby. Posts about all of these life changes are (hopefully) forthcoming, especially our little girl's birth story, but for now I just wanted to introduce my daughter and share the story of her name.
The naming process was a big deal for us. We talked about names almost non stop, but could never settle on one that felt permanent. We went into the birth with a short list of possible names and decided to wait until we met her before deciding. I was convinced we would name her Cora (my top choice from the short list). D liked the name Autumn, and we were both fond of Savannah. The name Samantha was not even on our back-up list.
But when our little girl was born, none of our names seemed to fit her. D was anxious to name her as soon as possible, but I was too exhausted to even think about it. Several hours later, after a hot shower and some baby cuddle time, the name Samantha popped into my head. I knew that D would go for it as soon as I said it, so I waited a bit before bringing it up. I have always liked the name Samantha (in no small part due to the American Girls character Samantha Parkington when I was a young girl), but both D and I know quite a few friends with that name. I didn't want to name the baby after anyone, so I never seriously considered it. But I just knew - my daughter's name was going to be Samantha.
Of course, D liked it right away. We looked up the meaning, and found that it means "good listener." Immediately after this, our midwife came in to check on us. She bent down to speak to the baby, and upon noticing the baby's alert reaction to her voice said, "Oh, she is such a good listener!"
We still weren't totally sure on the name yet though, so four hours later we went home with a no name baby. We didn't mention on our name idea to anyone else, but before my family left for the night my sister randomly commented that the baby looked like a Samantha. She and my oldest nephew spent the drive home coming up with various nicknames if we did pick that name.
So, with all these factors combined, we decided that clearly her name was meant to be Samantha. D calls her Sam, but I prefer the long version for now.
The middle name, though odd, was easy. It is a shortened version of D's name, and also something unique in case she (like her mother) goes through a phase where she finds her regular name boring. This name was my idea, and one I thought of back when D and I were dating. I just thought it would be sweet for her to be named a little after her Daddy. I didn't think D would go for it, and it took a while for him to come around to the idea, but the closer we got to the birth, the more he liked it.
So that is how Samantha Dare got her name. Occasionally I call her Squeaker because of the high pitched toy-like squeaks she randomly makes, but to the rest of the world she is Samantha:-)
My apologies that this post doesn't flow well; it has taken me several days to get through because I am typing it on the iPad one-handed while nursing the baby. When I get two hands back and a little more time, I will write about Samantha's birth story:-)Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-20600426223577042192012-06-08T15:47:00.000-07:002012-06-08T15:47:19.437-07:00Flooding (because when it rains...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have about half a dozen, meaningful posts that are half-written, but since I haven't had the mental capacity to sit down and finish any of them I thought I would do a post of the many changes going on right now. It has been raining down both blessings and challenges from all directions. Here's an update:</div>
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*I have officially left my full-time job at Black Rock Retreat, and have begun my new job as Director of Awesomeness at home. (To be clear, D is the one who picked my new title. It helped a bit with my emotional reaction to the transition of homemaker - which is my real job title, I suppose.) The transition was a lot more challenging than I initially expected. First, I loved my job at BRR. It is rare to find a job doing what you love in a place that is so supportive, caring, and positive. I don't know how D and I would have survived these last three years - especially through his health issues - without the help and prayers of my co-workers. I am so thankful for the opportunity to have worked there. Second, I am not good at cleaning or cooking. This makes my new position a bit daunting, but I woke up Saturday morning and started to tackle the mess that has been accumulating for three years and have so far made decent progress. I was afraid I would be bored at home, but so far I feel like the days pass way too quickly and there is still so much to be done. Boredom has not yet entered the picture.</div>
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*I'm almost entirely ready for baby (well, at least in physical preparations). I have done more loads of laundry these past few days than I think I have done the last few months. All the baby clothes up to size 3 months are washed, folded, and sorted. The pack n play (our crib for now) is set up in our room. The car seat is installed. All of the prefolds for the cloth diapers have been washed several times to help them reach their absorbancy (this might not seem like a big deal, but since we don't have a dryer and I have to wait for everything to air dry, laundry takes a lot longer than normal!) The birth bag is *mostly* packed (with a few things that will be added once labor actually begins - like snacks, my own clothes, etc.). All of the baby's other stuff is organized so it is (hopefully) easily accessible as I need it. And in regards to the baby herself, she is sitting low and just biding her time. She could make her appearance any day now, but I have a feeling it will be another week or two (she is due the 17th). We shall see!</div>
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*D accepted a full-time job in Williamsport, PA. This is very exciting, since I will be staying home with the baby full-time. He will be the new Aquatics Director at the downtown YMCA, and he is already busy planning and preparing for his role. He starts work the first week of July. </div>
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*Williamsport is three hours from where we currently live, which means we must move. We are now in the process of trying to find apartments in an area that has an exorbitantly high cost of living (at least for the quality of housing available). We went up on Wednesday and had very little luck. D will be going back up next week to try to search some more, and we are both trying to stay positive. It seems pretty likely that we will be moving into a small one bedroom apartment for the first year, so in addition to preparing everything for the baby, I am trying to downsize as much as possible. My de-cluttering project that I started a few weeks ago is still going full swing (although I haven't had much time to blog about it), but I'm still amazed by how much stuff we still have. Once one box of donations leaves the house, I start filling another.</div>
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*With moving comes not only the "get rid of all our junk" process, but also the packing puzzle. I am trying to pack up what I can, while still leaving out enough that our home feels like "home" for just a few more weeks. Also, "packing" is quite the opposite of "nesting," which is what I have been having the urge to do for quite a while now. So I am going against my natural inclinations to settle in and get ready for baby, and am instead putting pictures, books, clothing, etc. into boxes and stacking them in the corner. Most of the baby's stuff is still packed away in its original packaging so it will be easier to move.</div>
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So, with the old cliche of "when it rains, it pours," my world is completely flooded right now: leaving one job, transitioning to stay at home, preparing for baby, D taking a new job, preparing to move, trying to find a place to live on short notice, and trying to get emotionally ready to become a mother. It's all a little bit insane right now! But I am thankful for the support of friends and family. Starting next Tuesday with the arrival of my sister, we will have constant help up through the birth and until the move (my sister, my parents, D's family, and our friends who have offered so much already). We have a wonderful community around us during this crazy time of transition!</div>
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On a random note, I find comfort in the fact that I, too, was born into transition. My dad had just accepted a Y job in Massachusetts and had to move up there to start work. My mom and sister stayed behind in DC until I was born. My dad was able to come back down for my birth, and we moved shortly thereafter. So my parents experienced very much the same transition that I'm going through now (although they also had a four-year-old to consider!) and survived. I was no worse off for starting my life amidst major change, and I know my daughter will be just fine through this flood! I just need to remember the blessings we've already received and rely on God's faithfulness. Because He <i>is</i> faithful, even when I feel like I'm starting to drown! I know that all things are working together for good, and as long as I trust in that promise, my little family will get by just fine!</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-46004332707278352022012-05-26T04:39:00.000-07:002012-05-26T04:39:25.273-07:00The Robin Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For the second year in a row, a robin built her nest in my largest aloe plant on the front porch. Perhaps it is my own impending motherhood, but this year I feel especially attached to the little birds. It has become the highlight of my day to watch the babies grow each day. (Sorry, I didn't get around to taking pictures of the pretty blue eggs.) The babies hatched on Mother's Day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_1oZBaCs5rQZGqEMiIcl1xRdZo7WDal2CmMLmfLRHCfORG8XGJYXYrNlcHtO8UHH5vih7vpA9Ykd4epvApZxxQg6yX6AfdqOo23PmccwqTZj8vh42t5pZShkJVsQrOj6cZwJLFaCiwI/s1600/IMG_0256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_1oZBaCs5rQZGqEMiIcl1xRdZo7WDal2CmMLmfLRHCfORG8XGJYXYrNlcHtO8UHH5vih7vpA9Ykd4epvApZxxQg6yX6AfdqOo23PmccwqTZj8vh42t5pZShkJVsQrOj6cZwJLFaCiwI/s320/IMG_0256.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just hatched! Naked and blind.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdceUPhTWLuIFC1l0U7cyyIVU4_aaMPxctNW105l1vAPOP0JJgo_dZdJcV7M4O9o1yzPAeGrsNbn4QcmNpTIsku5STKj2p6XulHCOhETwfGuiU2qoy85T5q_l1M-A7YjwCuxpppLFIHI8/s1600/IMG_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdceUPhTWLuIFC1l0U7cyyIVU4_aaMPxctNW105l1vAPOP0JJgo_dZdJcV7M4O9o1yzPAeGrsNbn4QcmNpTIsku5STKj2p6XulHCOhETwfGuiU2qoy85T5q_l1M-A7YjwCuxpppLFIHI8/s320/IMG_0257.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feathers are starting to come in!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduWmPkhEDVfVI1fmaBrWnNicd_Xnu7hDiD6kzByCR4VV3yOxO7QdUfbKTGXjCVmNK61rkfEqPoLbrRHrvdf42uWdDJ0AZbsaX0W1_0yYoL68AJnvzZDp9A-7odlDQ5rgGhBsGr2Lg1vs/s1600/IMG_0259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduWmPkhEDVfVI1fmaBrWnNicd_Xnu7hDiD6kzByCR4VV3yOxO7QdUfbKTGXjCVmNK61rkfEqPoLbrRHrvdf42uWdDJ0AZbsaX0W1_0yYoL68AJnvzZDp9A-7odlDQ5rgGhBsGr2Lg1vs/s320/IMG_0259.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of them have open eyes!</td></tr>
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Two weeks after they hatched, disaster struck: a neighbor's cat found the nest. At 3am, D and I heard angry chirping outside the front door. The aloe plant had been tipped over, and only two of the birds were left in the nest. The mama bird was no where to be seen. And the two birds that were left in the nest looked a little worse for the wear. One was splayed out awkwardly, but wouldn't tolerate us touching him to help him get in a better position; the other was curled up on the bottom of the nest, apparently sleeping through it all (at first we thought he was dead, but after some mild poking he started moving a bit more). I took the flashlight down to the parking lot below our porch (we live on the second floor), and found one of the other babies just sitting by our car, as calm as can be. She immediately climbed onto my hand, and snuggled up as I held her close to keep her warm. <br />
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We returned her to the nest with
her brothers and restored the aloe plant to its rightful place. About 15
minutes after going back to bed, D heard a thump on the porch and ran
out to scare away the cat, who had returned for a second helping. He (D)
then proceeded to stand guard at the front door for a few hours to make
sure the cat didn't come back, while also looking up ways to take care
of baby birds in case the mama robin wouldn't return to her disturbed
nest. (Fortunately, she did come back by the morning). We lost one baby,
but three survived the night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmMR78X04dP_D2l5M5IR9zjjQ4B7jcSjpFYBxOdmahPGxYPgnG3byP7i7OAn8vwmntXeTek3jDpGqZ2gIjmZZM6idNeMWn9-1MJRxMGHlNGZKQK5FPTOl7GfdhBr1u9iqgnzZznmrJaw/s1600/IMG_0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmMR78X04dP_D2l5M5IR9zjjQ4B7jcSjpFYBxOdmahPGxYPgnG3byP7i7OAn8vwmntXeTek3jDpGqZ2gIjmZZM6idNeMWn9-1MJRxMGHlNGZKQK5FPTOl7GfdhBr1u9iqgnzZznmrJaw/s320/IMG_0267.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting to get too big for their nest.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost ready to fly!</td></tr>
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We continued to keep an eye on the birds, especially at night. D worked on ways to "cat proof" the porch. His natural night owl tendencies were helpful in keeping watch over the little ones, since the cat only came around late at night. The birds continued to grow and their feathers started filling in nicely. D named them - Amelia, Orville, and Wilbur. (Amelia is the one I rescued from the parking lot, Orville is the awkward gangly one, and Wilbur is the sleepy one).</div>
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But then, D went out of town. The first night he was gone, the cat came early. I ran outside to see Mama Robin facing off with the cat in the parking lot. My mom suggested I sprinkle chili powder on the steps to deter the cat, and that seemed to work well for the first night.</div>
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But this morning, I woke up to this sight:</div>
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It seems that sometime after I went to bed, the cat came back. I'm not sure exactly what transpired, but my guess is that the cat probably got at least one of the birds. I'm hoping the other two were strong enough to fly away in time. There are two white clumps on the porch that indicate that perhaps two of the babies were just knocked out of the nest, spent a little bit of time wandering on the porch, and then were able to fly away. I'd like to say that all three flew away, but clearly the cat got into the plant at some point. I wasn't awakened by furious chirping from either the baby birds or Mama Robin, and Mama Robin isn't sitting on the telephone wire loudly lamenting the loss of her babies, so I am fairly confident that at least one or two of the babies were able to fly to safety. Or, at least, that's what I'm telling myself. Of course, I'll never really know. But the journey was interesting while it lasted.<br />
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Here are some fun facts about robins: While Mama Robin is the one who builds the nest and sits on the eggs, Papa Robin does help care for the babies after they've hatched. He assists with feeding and protection. The parent robins remove any waste from the nest (the avian version of a diaper change) so it doesn't get messy. It takes about two weeks for baby robins to be able to leave their nest, and even then they can only fly short distances. They hide in bushes and follow their parents around, still depending on food for another few weeks. It turns out that only 25% of robin chicks will survive the first year. The good news for Mama Robin is that she can lay up to three broods each season, each with 3-5 eggs. She'll use a new nest for her next round of babies, so I won't get to watch the new little ones grow up, but hopefully she'll move into safer territory next time.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-67890428387433073772012-05-24T19:05:00.002-07:002012-05-24T19:05:47.651-07:00I Can't<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've always been told that pregnancy is a great way to prepare yourself for the sacrifices of being a mother. After all, you are sacrificing your body, space, personal comfort, and sometimes dignity while growing another human inside of you. I understand the point (although sometimes I find it a bit disheartening, especially when I'm struggling with the sacrifices of pregnancy), and I'm not a pregnancy expert by any means, but I have taken away something completely different from this experience: <b>sometimes, you just can't</b>.</div>
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What do I mean by that? I mean, you can't do it all. Or even half of it. Or sometimes, any of it. Forget the elementary school mantras of "you can do anything you put your mind to," because when you've suddenly gained 20+ pounds and can't remember where you put the milk (in the pantry) or the cereal (in the fridge), your mind and your body are two entirely different organisms working against each other. Sure, you can <i>think</i> about all the things you used to be able to do with ease, and for the first few months you can (usually) still accomplish them; but as time goes on, this ability quickly diminishes. And that's hard.</div>
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What makes it challenging is that we're always told that we can do <i>anything</i>. If we just try hard enough, push through, persevere, believe enough, wish enough, work enough, we can accomplish anything. The only thing holding us back is ourselves! As a ropes course facilitator, I have had the chance to see people of all ages push through mental blocks to be able to overcome great physical and emotional challenges. I know that, with the right mindset, a lot of things are possible. But there are also those people who really just <i>can't do it</i>. For whatever reason, they start to climb the ladder and they simply cannot go on. Of course, once they return to the earth, we always encourage them in their efforts and tell them they did a great job challenging themselves, but a small part of me has always thought, "If you had just pushed a little bit harder, you would have been able to make it all the way up and had a great time."</div>
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I've now discovered that this simply isn't true, and I've discovered this the hard way. I spent the first 2/3 of my pregnancy trying to do everything I used to do, just like I used to do it. Sure, I took precautions (or, at least, I tried to). I even tried to think ahead. While continuing to work in a very active job, I made some accommodations: I stopped leading hikes (although I still "take up the rear" - very slowly - behind the kids); I asked other people to help me carry the big box full of rocks and minerals; I didn't teach more than one class in a day. I tried to "cut back," but felt guilty about it. I felt like I was wimping out - after all, wasn't there a woman a few months back who ran a marathon and then gave birth a few hours later? If she could do that, why couldn't I climb this ladder to tie up a rope? Why couldn't I jump up and down leading silly songs at a campfire?</div>
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So I tried to navigate through the small ways that I cut back, while still putting as much effort into proving that I still could<i> do anything if I just tried hard enough</i>. And then this week, my body simply said NO. Actually, it screamed it.</div>
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It started on Sunday night, when a cat attacked the baby robins on my porch at 3 a.m. I wasn't sleeping anyway, so D and I were able to go out and rescue three of the four birds. But this resulted then in anxiety about the future of those poor birds (because I'm pregnant, and have an odd emotional attachment to animals who have no idea I'm alive.) So that meant little sleep. Monday brought a busy day at work, followed by a picnic in the evening. Tuesday was another busy day that required me to be a lot more physically active than I have been lately - hiking back and forth to the creek and the lake. Oh, and I was still not sleeping because I have been so concerned about these darn baby birds. So by Wednesday I was exhausted. Unfortunately, this coincided with one of my long days where I was supposed to work until 10pm leading students in high energy activities. It also happened to be the day that all of the mistakes I've been making lately started to show up. Remember what I said about your brain and your body being totally separate? That might be because, at least for me, my brain has completely dissolved. I can no longer problem-solve, I miss important details, and I can't think through anything far enough ahead of time to make it useful. It's not even that I'm off daydreaming about the baby; it's really just that I'm not able to think about anything. This became apparent Wednesday morning, and unfortunately my inability to think through and communicate these details were going to make everyone else have to work a whole lot harder to make up for it. So I was upset with myself, exhausted, and facing a very long day.</div>
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D picked me up for our prenatal appointment that afternoon, and the moment I got in the car and he asked how my day was going, I burst into tears. And I cried the whole way to the midwife. I sat in the parking lot for 15 minutes before my appointment trying not to cry - with little success. I knew I was just plain exhausted. My body was angry with me for not letting it rest, and unfortunately that manifested in ugly, snot-dripping sobs. My midwife recommended some herbs to help me sleep, and told me to start taking it easy. One of the nurses cautioned me about working too much or too hard, and how she did never took a break and her when baby came four weeks early, she was almost too exhausted to be able to care for her son. When I got in the car to go back to work, I knew I couldn't do it. I did not have the energy to stand up in front of a group of students and be excited for another six hours. Instead, I took the night off. This ended up putting added pressure on the two other staff who were working that evening. Their night was more demanding, and this of course made me feel guilty. But ultimately, I could not do it. I had to get to a point where I could say, "I can't."</div>
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Perhaps part of the reason it is so hard to admit this conclusion is because I know there is a part of me that loves being lazy. I try to fight this instinct as much as possible, but it's still there. So I feel guilty when my motivation is laziness; I don't want to cop out of something just because it's hard or I'm not really feeling up to it. But there is a difference between between being lazy and not wanting to do something, and literally being unable to function. I hit the latter this week, and it has been humbling.</div>
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The good news is, despite all of my efforts to be able to do ALL things and falling short, God does not consider me a failure. Even without pregnancy to remind us of this, it is only when we get to this point of admitting our weakness and our inability to do something that God can work greatly in our lives. He is strong when we are weak. Sometimes, we just have to throw our hands up in the air and cry out, <i>I can't do it anymore!</i> These are the times when God works in big, wonderful ways. It might not happen immediately, or even in the way we expect. I find, for myself, I don't even recognize it until later. But He is always at work, and it is these times, when we are absolutely unable to function and need to cease our own efforts, that He shows Himself most. This is the time when God shines big.</div>
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I hope, once this pregnancy is all said and done, that I remember this the most: <b>I can't.<i> </i></b>I will not be "super mom," I will not always be happy and cheerful, I will have dirty dishes and dirty diapers and dirty floors. I will have times when I will not know how to comfort the baby, or when to call the doctor if she's sick. I will not know how to show love to my husband when I am exhausted. I am sure this list could go on and on and on, but through all of these times when I can't do something, I hope that I remember to step back and let it go. Because it's not always a case of mind over matter. It <i>is</i> a case of God over me. And when I hit that wall - physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually - it will not do me any good to keep on banging my head against it in self-defeat. Instead, I just need to admit that I can't do it and then turn it over to God. Because all of the greatest stories ever told all have the same theme: <b>He can.</b></div>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-62374539067210418452012-05-20T17:39:00.000-07:002012-05-20T17:39:34.985-07:00Sunday Morning Doughnuts<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Sunday morning routine around here is pretty standard. I tend to wake up with tons of energy, and I jump out of bed ready to tackle the long list of household projects and chores I've neglected over the course of the week. I always start off with laundry and dishes, and then usually begin to tackle some bigger, more intimidating projects. I am able to do all of this because we don't go to church until 11:00, so even if I sleep in until 8:00 I have several hours to get stuff done. It is also pretty standard that D sleeps in on Sunday morning, and wakes up at some point after 10:00 (Saturday nights for him tend to be designated to staying up late and working on various woodburning projects). This allows me plenty of time to get stuff done without having to worry about being in his way (or him being in mine). It's a pretty good system, with the only flaw being that by the time I get home from church at 12:30 I am ready for a nap and have lost all motivation to continue my projects, so they sit until the following Sunday morning when I can tackle them again.</div>
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This week was a little different. I slept in a little later than usual, and, since I've been battling a lot of weepiness on Sundays lately, decided to take it easy in the morning in the hopes that I would not be an emotional mess by the time I arrived at church. In hindsight, I didn't really do too much differently; I still did laundry and dishes, and I cleaned the clutter off my desk. But I dedicated some time to writing in my prayer journal (a new tool I've discovered thanks to my mom that has really helped me think out/pray about some of the heart issues I've been dealing with). And then, something crazy happened: D woke up early! I was pleasantly surprised, because it gave me a great excuse to do something I have been wanting to do for a while now: make breakfast. And by "breakfast," I clearly mean "doughnuts." Okay, I don't really consider doughnuts to be a great breakfast, but it's a nice treat every now and then. I have a great recipe for baked doughnuts that I rarely use, so today I busted it out and made a handful of homemade doughnuts. They are quick and easy, and taste great (and are slightly healthier than fried doughnuts). Here's the recipe:</div>
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*1 1/4 cups cake flour, sifted (sometimes, like this morning, I cheat and use all purpose flour - and don't get any complaints)</div>
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*1/2 cup granulated sugar</div>
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*1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder</div>
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*1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg</div>
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*3/4 teaspoon salt</div>
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*1/2 cup buttermilk</div>
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*1 egg, lightly beaten</div>
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*1 1/2 tablespoons butter, melted</div>
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Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Spray a doughnut pan with nonstick spray.</div>
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In a large mixing bowl, sift together flour, sugar, baking powder, nutmeg, and salt. Add buttermilk, egg, and butter and stir until just combined. Fill each doughnut cup about half full. Bake 4-6 minutes or until the top of the doughnuts spring back when touched. Let cool in pan 4-5 minutes before removing.</div>
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This recipe made 9 regular sized doughnuts (it is actually the "mini" doughnut recipe, and apparently makes 24 of those). And yes, I use a doughnut pan... I am not sure how to make them without that, but I'm sure there's some kind of way. (Perhaps piping the batter in a circle on a baking sheet?)</div>
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Once the doughnuts are out of the oven, you can begin the fun part: deciding how to glaze them! I think my personal favorite is to dunk the top in melted butter and then sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar. You can also melt chocolate chips to make a chocolate glaze (add some butter for a smoother look). To make a vanilla glaze, mix together 1 cup confectioner's sugar, 1 tablespoon milk, and 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract until sugar is completely dissolved. You can also take a hot doughnut and toss it around in a ziploc bag full of confectioner's sugar to make powdered doughnuts.</div>
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I ran out of granulated sugar when making the doughnut batter, and powdered doughnuts tend to be too messy for me, so I decided to improvise on a topping. I mixed a half cup of melted peanut butter with 2 1/2 tablespoons of confectioner's sugar to make a makeshift peanut butter glaze (I don't like it too sugary, but others might prefer it sweeter). I dipped each doughnut in the peanut butter glaze and then sprinkled it with chocolate cookie crumble. They were delicious!</div>
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The lighting in my kitchen isn't very good for taking pictures, but I promise they tasted better than they look! Baking something easy like this was such a great, relaxing way to start the day:-) If you try out the recipe, I'd love to hear how you glazed them!</div>
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<br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-74926662859866354462012-05-17T06:43:00.001-07:002012-05-17T06:43:31.841-07:00Cut the Clutter: Part 2 - The Kitchen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I wrote previously, clutter drives me nuts. We have clutter in every single room of the house, but the worst culprit was the kitchen. D and I both lived on our own before we got married, and therefore we had two apartments worth of dishes, silverware, and appliances to combine. We also got quite a few of these when we got married, with the idea that the new, matching sets we received would replace our older, chipped, stained, and outdated dishes. And we did pretty well, at first - we got rid of a lot. But, we still held on to quite a bit.</div>
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And then I discovered one of the biggest argument catalysts in our marriage: dishes. We both hate to do dishes, and don't own a dishwasher. So, with an excess of dishes, we would go through about a dozen plates (yes, for just two of us) before either one of us would be motivated enough to do dishes. The sink would be overflowing, and the counter tops were covered in dirty dishes. And then, of course, doing dishes took even longer because it had been a week or so since either one of us had done them. It was annoying and causing a lot of unnecessary stress and resentment. </div>
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We came up with a simple solution. I picked out six plates, six cups, and six bowls and put them in one small cabinet. I took all of the other dishes and put them in a larger cabinet with a sign reading "do not use." For the last year, this system has worked miracles! Even if we use every available dish in the small cabinet, it still takes less than 10 minutes to wash them. When we had guests over, we used the "other" dishes, but even then it was rare that we opened that large cabinet since 6 place settings was usually enough anyway.</div>
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So now, with the decluttering project underway, it was time to really examine all of those "extra" dishes. I started quite simply: I took everything out of the "other" cabinet and laid it on the counter, just to see what we had in there. Here are some pictures of all of the "extra" dishes we've been holding onto the last year:</div>
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Now, some of these dishes are "special occasion" items - such as the champagne flutes from our wedding. And no, I did not end up getting rid of all the items shown here. But it did help me realize what an excess we have been holding onto! So we sat down to go through the piles, and after much negotiation, we sorted out two full boxes of dishes and appliances (not pictured) that we would get rid of. D's younger brother is getting a new apartment, so those boxes are going to help him set up his new place. All of the other dishes we decided to keep (special occasion items, mostly) got put with our regular dishes. We now have one dish cabinet instead of two. This opened up space to move some appliances around (many were stashed in bottom cabinets and difficult to reach - especially as bending over is getting more and more difficult for me these last few weeks). I have now completely reorganized the kitchen so that everything is easily accessible and has its own spot. I know it seems like such a minor thing, but it really has helped eliminate some stress (when you're trying to stack your food processor on top of your crock pot which is on top of your cupcake pans, you've got a bit of a problem). And even though we'll be moving out soon, we now will have a lot less to pack and move when we go!</div>
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I don't think this would have been nearly as easy if we had not previously sorted out our "extra" dishes and gone over a year without using them frequently. I highly recommend this strategy for anyone trying to get rid of excess (although you might not need to wait a full year - it just took me this long to get motivated!)</div>
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On a side note, right after I reorganized the kitchen, I scrubbed it down until it sparkled. And then... the kitchen was the only clean room in the house. I found myself going in there just to stand and look around at how clean it was when I was feeling stressed (and D admitted to doing the same thing). There's something about everything having its own place that is really refreshing, especially when everything else in life is chaotic!<br />
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So now the question is... what room is next?</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885548853423114833.post-69511901050877439202012-05-06T17:20:00.003-07:002012-05-06T17:20:50.410-07:00Cut the Clutter: Part 1<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hate clutter. Nothing ruins my mood faster than tripping over unnecessary items scattered about the house. I hate when things don't have a place (even if I don't actually take the incentive to put them there - it's nice to know they have a "home"), and I hate useless <i>stuff.</i></div>
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Now, I've seen the tv shows where they go into the home of a complete clutterholic and it's absolutely horrific. My home is not even close to that bad. In fact, if I was a cleaner person in general and kept my house tidy, you probably wouldn't even know that I had so much clutter hidden away. But I do. It's lurking in cabinets, cupboards, and drawers. It's under the bed and in the closets. It's stashed in the attic. And yes, some of it is out in the open because I have simply run out of room. There is clutter <i>everywhere.</i></div>
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On the flip side of the clutterholics I see on tv, I have also read blogs and stories about people who have completed the 100 item challenge. The idea is that you get your personal belongings down to only 100 things. Some people did this quite literally (3 plates, 2 bowls, etc.), while others had general categories (plates = 1, bowls = 1)<i>. </i>I was drawn to this idea for a while, but I think that putting a number on it would stress me out even more.</div>
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I have also heard about the strategy of putting things you aren't sure if you want to get rid of but hardly use into a well-labeled box (listing the items and the date they were put inside) and putting it in the attic/basement. If, after a year, you still have not opened the box, then just take it to the nearest thrift shop and donate it. Don't even open it. I like this idea, but have never really had the follow through to do it. (Although we have a lot of stuff in the attic that I have no idea what it is, so I'm pretty sure that a lot of it will be donated anyway). </div>
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The truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, I LOVE stuff. I love having trinkets and decorations. I like the memories that come from old quilts or the painted wind chimes my nephews made me. So yes, "stuff" is important to me. Or, at least, some of it is.</div>
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But there comes a time when <i>too much stuff</i> becomes a bigger problem than finding storage space. It's when you become dependent on stuff and stop seeking out provision from God alone. I have been struggling with this with many of the things that I've been holding onto. For example, I had two bed skirts (you know, the ruffly things that go around the bottom of the bed so it looks pretty and you can't tell what hidden stuff monsters are lurking underneath). I bought them years ago (when I was single and living alone and cared about things looking pretty) because I couldn't decide what color I wanted. Here's the thing: I only have one bed. And I've been holding on to both of these bed skirts, but only using one. Ever. The other is in its original packaging. This might not seem ridiculous to those who don't move very often, but I have moved several times over the past six years and have moved this unused bed skirt around with me. (Note: for about two years of this time, I was living at camp and not using my own bed - or either bed skirt). <i>What if I changed my mind about the color? What if something happens to the other one?</i> Okay, I'll admit that this is a silly example, but the point is I hold on to things because I want to be prepared for the "what if." I want to make sure that I am never without. So, instead, I am drowning in excess. Even though I don't have financial abundance, I have materialism out the ears.(Does that sentence even make sense? I only used "ears" because I am not sure of the correct spelling of "wazoo.") And while this may not be true for some people, for me it comes down to a lack of trust. I don't always trust that God will provide for my needs. So I chain myself to <i>things</i> and seek out provision from various items that I buy or collect. <i>I own eight million blankets - I will never be cold! (or ever have room in my cedar chest).</i> I depend on all of this stuff, as if it is some sort of demonstration of my ability to survive and thrive. This is when clutter stops being a physical issue and becomes a heart issue. </div>
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We have officially turned in our two months notice on our lease. In the middle of July, we will be moving out of this apartment, and at this moment we have no idea where we will be going. We might be moving into a different apartment, or we might be moving in with family. Regardless, the idea of packing up some of this stuff and moving it started to seem a little pointless. So I am embarking on the great decluttering of 2012!</div>
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I woke up this morning all excited for my project. I decided to tackle the kitchen first (more on that in a later post). I was going to free myself from this addiction to <i>things</i> and make some much needed room in the cabinets. It was going to be liberating! I only forgot one important thing - to tell my husband what I planned to do. So today, D woke up and got blindsided by my giant piles consuming the kitchen. It turns out, I failed to explain to him why I felt the need to get rid of things, and he wasn't quite prepared. Lesson learned on my end. Fortunately, we worked it out and the Clutter Elimination Project is well under way. </div>
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There are some areas that we have agreed not to mess with. For example: books. We both love books. And while I periodically go through mine and get rid of the ones I no longer want, we still have hundreds of books, and many more on our wishlists. But, as a family, we have decided that reading is extremely important to us and we want our children to have a vast library from which to choose their reading material. So the books, as cumbersome as they are, are staying (at least for now). But there is definitely stuff that needs to go, and needs to go <i>now.</i></div>
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Confession: I still have office supplies and craft supplies from college. I graduated in 2006. So for six years, I have been holding on to mismatched envelopes, post-its, craft paint, and sequins, waiting for the chance to use them. And sometimes they do get used - about once a year. And yes, I don't want to be wasteful and just throw it all away. And buying new paint every time you do a project can be expensive. But, if you're only doing a project once or twice a year, and you have a box larger than your tv set full of miscellaneous paint colors... it might be time to do some prioritizing. These are the kinds of things that I hope to start eliminating from my house in the coming weeks - especially as new baby stuff keeps piling in. Because for me, this isn't simply a house cleaning or pre-baby nesting. It's a way to prepare my heart for all the uncertainties of the future; to let go of my need for <i>things</i> and focus on my need for God. It's already a lot more difficult than I thought, but I am excited to see what happens. Wish me luck!</div>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16972448451136142269noreply@blogger.com0