A Wife Loved Like The Church

Maybe, just maybe I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

This week has been a whirlwind. Starting Monday night, Julia decided she wanted to cry, a lot. She cried most of the day Tuesday and Wednesday. Yesterday she gave me a bit of a breather, which I really needed! Jonathan and I spent the first two days try to narrow down the reasons for her crying and we think (and could be way wrong) that Jules has a intolerance to legumes. Our reasoning behind this idea is that I ate peanut butter for the first time since she was born (on Monday and then on Tuesday) and that’s when her crying all started. And I’ve had this gut feeling ever since we got home from the hospital that she didn’t take well to beans whenever I ate them. Now, like I said, this is all just new parent somethings-wrong-with-my-kid-what-is-it hypothesis. Who knows, maybe she’s just a talker. Which in all reality she’ll have to be to survive in this family.

I’ve come to the conclusion that being a mom is the world’s hardest job. I’m sure brain surgery is pretty tough, but I’m still going to say mommyhood is tougher. See, brain surgeons at least get training. Me, I got nada. I had younger brothers I baby sat, but nothing like this. And there is this since of panic when you realize that you and you alone know more about your child than anyone else in the world. HA! Are you kidding me? My understanding of the way Julia works is about as great as my understanding of brain surgery. So, that in of itself is what makes this the hardest job ever. That and the pee.

I’ve never been peed on and puked on more in my life. I know little boys are notorious for peeing on you, but girls?! Yep, Julia has now successfully peed on my four times in the last 30 hours. Twice she even had on a diaper. Stupid Huggies. And she’s puked on me more times than that. The crazy thing is, she seems more upset about all of this than me. She pees all over and then starts crying. She pukes and looks at me like “Holy smokes, what was that?! Help me!”.

But somehow through all the pee, puke and endless crying, there are some amazing moments. Like this morning. After her mid morning feeding, I had Julia propped up on my lap on some pillows and she was just staring at me and smiling (I know it was probably gas, but this momma is pretending it’s a real smile) and just looking absolutely beautiful. And in that moment I thought “This is why moms do it. We do it because through all the rough times, the sleepless nights, the crying, the peeing, the puking, we get to have this sense of what God must think about us. Through all our messiness, we look up at Him with total admiration, total love, and smile at Him with awe for how He provides and cares for us through it all. And as we are looking at Him, He’s staring back at us with a heart filled with more joy and love than we will ever know and more wiliness to continue cleaning us up, fixing our lives and making us whole.”

…I’m going to make it.

In review of the last week, things are getting better. I’m slowly starting to get my head wrapped around all the ideas of motherhood and my confidence is growing, even if a millimeter a day.

Today was a really good day. We went back to the doctor and Julia has gotten back (and passed) her birth weight. She’s gained a 1/2 pound in one week, which is super good! We also went by my old work to introduce her to my co-workers. And while she screamed like none other at the appointment, I just started to realize, “Hey, babies cry, people will get over it.”

Also, the feeding thing is getting smoother. We’re still getting adjust to it, but like one of the nurses said today “Well, I bet the feedings are better than a week ago, and a lot better than two weeks ago.” She’s right. They are. And they will continue to get better.

While I could sit here and think, “Sarah, you’re a great mom. You rock” all I can really think is, “Wow, God. You are a great God. I couldn’t do any of this without You. Thank You.” And it’s true. Every day, good or bad, is a blessing from God. Today was good. Yesterday was rough. Tomorrow could go either way. But God is the same, His grace is the same, His love is the same. And that alone is worthy of my praise.

So, thank You, God. You rock.

As I am sure everyone knows, Jonathan and I had our daughter, Julia Mabel, on Friday, November 23. She weighed 8 lbs, .03 oz. She is a beautiful, precious, adorable gift from our loving heavenly Father. I can’t even begin to express my joy when I hold her, feed her, love on her. I have no doubt that she will continue to be a joy and delight in my life forever.

Now, a little about her birth: (FYI, this might be TMI)

Jonathan, my mom, my brother John, and I went shopping around 6 am on the 23rd. We hung out at the Coral Ridge Mall till about 9 or so, and then came back home. I planned on resting for a little while but decided to do a little house cleaning first. About half way through vacuuming, I felt a leakage. Deep down I knew it had to be my water or something like it, but wasn’t totally convinced. Then around 10:30 I started having some bad cramping, like what I’d get with a period. They weren’t coming to close, but I asked my mom what she thought. She said, “Well, sweetie, I think you’re in labor”. So, we called Jonathan (who was still out shopping) and told him he’d better plan on heading back soon.

By noon my contractions were coming about 5-10 minutes apart and lasting about 30-45 seconds. Jonathan and I took a walk around our cul de sac before deciding it best to leave for the hospital. By 1:30 we checked in to Labor and Delivery. Now, forgive me, but this is the part where things get a little fuzzy for me. I was put in a triage room and the nurse hooked me up to two monitors; one for my contractions and one for Julia’s heartbeat. The on call doctor checked me and found that I was 5-6 centimeters dialated and 50-60% effaced. I was monitored for about 30 minutes before I asked to walk around, as I’m not one to be okay with being confined to a bed. Jonathan helped me waddle down the hall, met up with my family and take a 20 minute walk before I decided that I was 1) too sleepy to keep going; 2) in even more pain since the contractions were coming even sooner.

We made it back to the triage room just to find out that in the 1 1/2 hours that I had been there, I’d already gone to 7-8 centimeters dialated. And this, this my friends is when the pain kicked in.

Before I left the triage room, the urge to push had already started. Then to top it off, the water that I had been sucking down came back up (way gross). I moved over to a delivery room and this is where my story ends. No, honestly, I really don’t remember a whole lot more. But I can piece some things together for you:

1. My doctor, who was in Burlington showed up.

2. The urge to push was growing. And so was the pain.

3. The urge to push was still growing. And so was the pain.

4. At some point I asked to go to the bathroom. Jonathan helped me along, when the urge to push hit. Ok, so look, when you want to push and you aren’t allowed to, yeah, that’s the hard part of labor. So, here I am, sitting on the pot, needing to push, not being allowed to push, just wanting to push. That’s when Jonathan stepped up to the plate. He squatted down, and said “Sarah, do you know why you can’t push? If you push, you will cause damage to yourself. You will tear and be in more pain than you are now. So, you need to obey. You have to obey. You cannot push until we tell you.”

5. Back in the bed, still wanting to push. Now, I start asking for some drugs. Anything. I really don’t care. And again, Jonathan steps up. He just keeps repeating. “You can do this.” And then when I’d want to push, he’d keep repeating “Sarah, you have to obey”.

6. I think at some point I actually blacked out. I say this only because I remember “coming to” and not realizing where I was. And then I had a contraction. And then I remembered.

7. My mom. I love my mom. Before I went into labor I wasn’t convinced I wanted my mom to be there with me. I have issues with modesty, and frankly birth isn’t very modest, so it seemed weird to me to have her there. But at some point you just stop caring. And really, my mom was amazing. Did I mention that she’s had 6 kids and was a Labor and Delivery nurse for 20 odd years? Well, yeah, needless to say, she was a God send. She really helped me to know what was coming next and what to expect. She reminded me to breathe. She got me to start focusing on Jonathan instead of closing my eyes the whole time. I’m not sure I paid too much attention to everything she said at the time, but I couldn’t have made it through without her.

8. The doctor, or someone, gave the okay to push. Holy Smokes. This is the best part of labor. All this time you can’t do much other than breathe and not push. But now, now you can actually do something productive.

9. Julia Mabel is born!! There lots of other things that happened between the “you can push” and Julia actually arriving, but perhaps that’s too much for people. All I know is at one point I became very good at yoga.

10. Grace. Selflessness. Humility. God is going to be teaching me a lot. It’s true what they say, God gives us children to shape our character, not just theirs. I’ve really been struggling for the last 10 days. But, you know what, God has really provided. Now, I need to just let Him keep providing, keep leading. I have way more questions than answers. I feel really lost with this whole motherhood thing. I cry a lot. But I think this is good. It breaks me. It makes me rely on God, on my husband and my friends. I’m not one to ask for help, yet I think that will change. I like perfection. I like routine. I like having things in place, on time and smooth. God’s got something big in store. And I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be routine, in place, on time or smooth. However, it will be His will for my family, for my life, and that’s what is most important.

**If at any time you want to toss up some prayers for us that would be great.**

I’m slowly going out of my mind. Literally. Sleep has been pretty scarce the last week, and it’s taking a toll on my body/mind. The hard part is, the baby still hasn’t arrived so it’s not as though I’ll be getting a lot of sleep with her around anyways.

And speaking of her… God has a funny way of stopping me in my tracks.

For several weeks, no make that a couple of months, this fear that my daughter is actually going to come out a son has been lurking in my mind. Like normal, I’ve learned to suppress my thoughts/feelings on this issue until they hit me upside my head. Last night I had a long conversation with one of my dearest friends from back home, Rabeea. Her sister just had a baby, whom everyone thought was a girl (confirmed by two ultrasounds) and turned out to be a boy. During that conversation I realized I need to get some things right before the Lord.

I am not entitled to a daughter. I am not entitled to a son. Frankly, nowhere in the Bible does it say I am entitled to anything other than being a child of God. And really, we could stop right there and life would be complete, but our Father wants to bless. And so He has. I’m pregnant. Becoming pregnant was a fervent prayer of mine for over a year. And here I am, finishing up what has been a wonderful pregnancy.

Then last night I fully realized I’ve been obsessing over having a daughter ever since I found out she was a she (I know I would have done the same if I was told from the get go it was a he). People have made comments like “Well, you never know, it could be a boy” and I found myself getting angry with them. I took it as a personal attack and found myself being upset and defensive each time someone dared to second guess our ultrasound.

But the Lord knows that we will break. He knows that we will fall and come crawling back to Him. And because He is a good and loving God, because He has compassion, He holds us, dusts us off and never complains that it’s taken us far longer than it should to humble ourselves.

And that is what I am doing. I was up for most of the night crying and praying. I want nothing more than to have a daughter. I want it because I have everything I need for a girl. I have formed a bond with what I know to be my daughter. I call her by name, speak prayers of blessing over her, and have spent much time just in thought over how God will use her in her life. But, really, what if I have a boy? What if through all this time, through my delivery, my doctor says, “It’s a boy!” how will I be? Will I rejoice? Or will I question God? Will I wonder why He has provided everything for a girl just to give us a boy? Or will I trust that just as He provided once, He will provide again?

It is my desire to trust the Lord with all my heart and all my understanding. But I’ll be honest, I don’t. I live in fear. I live in doubt. But, last night God met me where I am and I realized that I don’t need to come to Him in completeness, I need to come to Him broken. He wants me to step out in faith amid doubt and to surrender even when I feel like I can’t. He wants me to surrender my daughter. And so I did. It was hard, harder it seems than when I surrendered getting pregnant to Him. I’ve spent too much time believing and trusting in the wrong things. It hurts to have to die to your flesh and your desires. And I haven’t fully. I’m still praying that if it’s God’s will everything will hold true and we will deliver a health baby girl. But God’s grace is good, and even in the last 18 hours I’ve come to more fully trust that He is in control and I am not. That He knows best and I do not. Just like with my miscarriage, His thoughts and ways are higher than mine, and while I didn’t understand why He allowed what He did, He knew. And it was, and still is, simply my responsibility to trust Him and continue to follow after Him.

So, I rejoice! And if The Windhams end up with a son instead of a daughter, you can count on him being loved beyond what my heart can even comprehend right now.

I’ve got eight days until my “due date”. I use that term very loosely for several reasons.

1) I’ve been given three due dates. And today was actually one of them. The official date is the 23rd, but I’m liking today more than that one.

2) Just because you’re due on a date doesn’t mean the baby is coming. It’s not like a wedding. I mean you can still count down, but it’s not gonna happen just because Google says you have eight days left.

Anyways, I’ve come to the point that I’m ready to move on to the next stage. I’ve really enjoyed this last week of “freedom”, but I’m thinking I’d rather see my little girl now. We had an appointment today and actually prayed in the waiting room that we would go into labor this weekend. Now, it’s God’s will and all when she arrives, but Jonathan and I would both be thrilled if this weekend lined up with His will. So yeah, maybe this is a prayer request via Blogger… prayer for a healthy, safe delivery and that it could come this weekend.

Last night Jonathan and I went to dinner with two of my co-workers. We had a really great time and tried out the Texas Roadhouse that just came into town. Nothing like a steak… Matt E jokes with me that our daughter is going to come out demanding steak and potatoes. I really wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

Anyways, moving on. We meet up for dinner then went to see a nearly 3 hour movie. By the last 45 minutes my back was hurting so bad I figured I was either in labor or my daughter was making me pay for sitting for almost five hours total.

I went home and pulled out the heating pad and fell asleep sitting almost upright. This morning I woke up and thought “Wow Sarah, the only people you know who sleep upright with heating pads are people over the age of 75.”

And so, I’ve decided that pregnancy is one of God’s ways to prepare women for old age. We can’t hold our bladder, our backs hurt, our hips hurt, we enjoy going to bed before the sun goes down, we walk about 3 times slower than anyone else and we get a little cranky if not properly feed.

My tinker finally hit the 9 month mark. 4 weeks left and counting.

There are a few things that I’ve come to realize over the last month:

1. No matter how high your self esteem is, when you can’t get out of bed on your own you tend to think maybe you’re a tad on the “big” size.

2. When you walk into HyVee and hear someone say “Wow, you’ve gotten really big” you automatically think they are talking about you. Only when you turn around do you realize they are talking to a 5 year old.

3. If you go on a weekend getaway with your hubby, don’t be surprised if the people running the B&B give you the name and number of the local nurse “just in case”.

4. Even though you might forget at times that your pregnant (maybe it’s just me, but I’m a rather forgetful person and can even forget I’m pregnant… if for all of 2 seconds) you are rudely reminded when you try to do the following:

A. Wash dishes
B. Do laundry
C. Get up from a chair
D. Sit down in a chair
E. Walk
F. Try to jump up on a counter top to sit (yes, I actually did this last night. Don’t ask why I thought I could do it, but I think it’s because I honest forgot about the basketball I have under my shirt).

5. Laying down has never been so scary. I can’t even recline in a chair without my breathing being cut off.

6. Mostly, I’ve come to realize that while my body is no longer my own, I can’t begin to express the joy I have when I feel my daughter move, hiccup, kick or anything else. It really has been an amazing 36 weeks, and I am truly grateful to God for every last minute of it.

This morning I went over to Jonathan’s office to drop off his phone that I forgot to give him before we left the house. Then we decided to walked down from the 3rd floor of the hospital to the 1st to put a few letters in the mail. Before we left I needed to take a potty break.

I went into the girl’s bathroom, thinking “Wow, did they change this since the last time I was here? It’s a lot smaller than I remember”. Nevertheless, I do my business. Surrounding me are some rather inappropriate comments, and the thought passes through my brain “Man, girls are kinda vulgar”.

I leave the stall to wash my hands, only to come face to face with a urinal. That’s right, I was standing in the men’s restroom. I quickly turned around and went straight for the door. When I came out Jonathan looks at me funny and we both look at the sign next to the door that clearly says “MEN”. He’s response, “Did you just go in the guy’s room?”. Yes, yes I did. I am a genius in a dunce hat. But it’s okay, I’m still awesome.

I never grew up really celebrating Halloween. I went trick or treating a few times, but nothing worth while. Once I was older, well, I was older, and who goes knocking on their neighbors’ doors for candy at 25?

However, every year since I’ve moved to Iowa I’ve attended a Halloween party. My co-worker loves Halloween and goes all out each year with a top notch gathering. Since this will most likely be our last year to attend (as we’ve decided Baby Dubya won’t be partaking in Halloween), I figured I needed to go all out with my costume and big belly.

Here are some of my personal favorites:

I’ve thought about being a redneck with a big ol’ beer belly; wear some tattered jeans, a white shirt that shows the bottom of my stomach, get a mullet wig and carry around a beer. Maybe Jonathan could be my “woman”.

I don’t usually voice my political opinions. There are several reasons for this, but mostly I’ve come to realize that they are, after all, only opinions, and therefore shouldn’t be argued over. I surprise myself by saying that, given how outspoken I was during college, but a lot has changed in the last 3 years.

However, every now and again I come across something that demands my attention and voice. An article that I read today in the Sojourners Magazine really spoke to me. It was from their November 2006 issue, entitled “Hearts & Minds: Who Will Protect Us From Him?“.

The article touches on a lot of questions I’ve had over the last 5+ years. It really made me beg the question “How wrong are we“? I don’t really care who is for or against our current administration, there is nothing we can do about that for another year. What I do care about is how we are damaging our faith by having a skewed view of God. In Christianity there are rights and there are wrongs. The same holds true in an ethically moral world. But can we really say we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong? Can we really say that God is on our side 100%? I don’t really think so.