Stewarding Babies

I was digging through my posts and realized I had 24--twenty-four--drafted posts that I had started or even finished in the last 3 years and never posted. Oops. Most of them were no longer relevant and so I deleted them, though a few more are going to be posted in the upcoming weeks, ala my miniseries last week.

One post I didn't delete, from April 2012,  contained only this quote:

"Never let me forget, Lord, that though I am his mother you are his God."

I wish I could remember the context of this post. I know it was something I prayed over Roger but not the circumstances surrounding it. I do know that it's easy to try and make my kids convenient and only ever completely happy.

It's funny, because as I put the kids down for nap it was...interesting. See, the last week or so has included some AMAZING moments with our kids. There have been multiple instances of sweet snuggles, Roger on my right shoulder and Jules nuzzled into the left side of my chest. Jules has fallen asleep a few times and Roger would caress or pat my arm as we rocked in a quiet, dark room. My heart has been so full! I love my kids so much. I dreamed of being a mother my whole life, but I couldn't have imagined how amazing my kids would be or how enamored with them I would be.

A sweet moment with Roger showing his baby sister some affection.

Today...today was different. For one, I have a nasty cold. The kind where you don't get out of bed for a day or two and just sleep, read, drink lots of fluids, and pray you get better quickly. Instead, I am carrying the same load of work, chasing around a very active two year old and increasingly mobile seven month old. To top it off, Juliet is both teething and I think coming down with this same cold...which is to say, screaming almost constantly. 

So, as I was putting them down for nap, Roger was frustrated at Jules' crying. My normally happy, happy  Juliet was, per the usual, screaming. She kept trying to touch her brother--with whom she is obsessed--and Roger kept pushing her hand away, wanting to be left alone.  And then Juliet, who already had tears and drool all over my shirt, puked all over me (it was just spit up, but still unpleasant). And I thought to myself, "UUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH."

You know that quote, I think from Confucius, something about finding a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life? B to the S, I say. I LOVE my job. I would rather do nothing else. I do it for free. I do it with minimal recognition and children incapable of expressing any gratitude (yet, I hope!). But it. is. work. A lot of work. I work hard. I got up from that less lovely nap put down to go and rinse a poopy cloth diaper in the toilet, put horrible smelling cloth diapers into the wash, fold toddler and infant laundry, ruin my daily mocha protein drink (sigh...and frugal me refused to make another one), clean the kitchen, clean up from breakfast, wash dishes, and then spend an hour on the phone figuring out insurance and medical issues, only to have Roger wake up an hour early screaming.

[Though, side note, I didn't so much mind because I was just so grateful that he napped two days in a row after a week of no napping last week.]

Much happier--and creative--post nap ;)

Suffice it to say, rough day. But I am reminded yet again that my children are not my own--they are Jesus' first and foremost. I am their steward. Yes, I am their mother. No one will ever have a role with more impact than I will, not even Jason, because of the sheer quantity of time I spend with them. But I am not their God. I can treasure and adore my sweet babies, I can tell and model the Gospel to them, I can enjoy them and discipline them and pray for them and play with them, but I cannot control them. I cannot make them convenient. I cannot make their lives painless. I cannot make them sinless.

So, Jesus, thank you for this reminder today. Thank you that I am beloved by you and that you love my children far more than I can ever imagine. Thank you, thank you, thank you for grace that is new and sufficient for each day.

Eat, Baby [part III of III]

This is a 3 part miniseries on my breastfeeding journey, particularly with Jules. Parts I and II are here and here, respectively; they were written in late February but not posted until now(early May). Oops! For that reason, I added a part III, today's post, with how the last 2 months have gone and where we are now.

***

It was interesting getting back into my head for where I was two months ago: in my last post I talked about the peace I felt because at least I was mostly breastfeeding. In the two months since I wrote that my supply slowly waned more and more. Part of it could be because at 6 months I started really watching my eating and only eat 1,500 calories a day (I plan to write about that whole area--beauty, weight gain and weight loss, etc, so you can look forward to that in the new few weeks!). A part of it though is just that my body still struggles so much with making milk. Again, inexplicably (before I started eating less) I suddenly could only pump about 2oz at a time and Juliet would be frustrated coming off the breast except for the very first feed of the day. That got even worse when I did cut calories, but as you'll see in the forthcoming post I didn't feel I had a whole heck of a lot of a choice.

I finally just embraced it. I offered the breast at every feed, but the only one that satisfied her was the first of the morning, and even then I had to give her formula an hour later before her first nap. Even though she was only getting maybe 2-3 ounces of breastmilk it was at least something. But then I started feeling this nagging like I was holding onto something I shouldn't be, like it was time to be done nursing. Wouldn't you know it, my prescription refill for the lactation help was denied for some reason (still not sure why) and it just washed over me--Jesus clearly said, "We're done now." It's just one of those things where I know it's time. I was at a women's training day for church on Saturday and never nursed and there was no sign that I ever had nursed. No tenderness, no pain, no build up, nada. My body was just done.

Here's the thing: I can try every method. I can listen to every expert (self-proclaimed or actual) about nursing. But for whatever reason--my surgery? Just my body genetically? Some unknown?--my body struggles like heck to make enough milk to feed my babies on only breastmilk and then long term. I can claw at the air or I can accept it. After wrestling with Jesus and praying for a miracle I finally surrendered and accepted it.

This is an image that should never be a harbinger of shame but of gratitude for the grace.

Wouldn't you know it, now instead of guilt I feel gratitude. I am grateful for the first 4 months being exclusive nursing. I am grateful that Jules still got a decent bit of breastmilk until 7 months. I am grateful that we have a solid two months worth of pumped milk in the freezer to replace that first morning nursing session. And I am grateful for formula. Most of all, I am grateful that Jesus really does care, he doesn't belittle me, and this is important to him, too, because it's important to me and I am important to Jesus. What a beautiful savior to love, an honorable lord to serve, my Jesus is.

I still wonder if we have more biological children if the third time will be the charm. One of my husband's coworkers shared how his wife really struggled with babies one and two but babies three and four were exclusively breastfed and basically problem free. So who knows. Well, Jesus knows, actually, and one lesson I learned with Juliet is that I put my hope in those statistics about bodies producing 30% more milk with subsequent pregnancies. I pretty much begged Jesus to make me able to breastfeed and have ample supply and not a care in the world nursing wise with Jules. Had you asked, I would have said Jesus was my hope, but honestly, he wasn't. My hope was in those dastardly statistics. Not that it's their fault--the problem is my heart.

Here's what really matters: I am enough. My body is enough. I am the mother Jesus chose for my children, low milk supply and all. Even more importantly, I think for the first time (insofar as I can tell) I have actual true peace that Jesus is sovereign and good in his sovereignty even though I don't make enough milk. Plus I feel freed from worrying about what others think since I am resting in him. Someone may read this and think I didn't try hard enough, or say, "Did you know..." or, "Have you tried..." and I can listen, and say, "Thank you for your concern and desire to help, but I'm at peace with my situation and don't feel the need to try anything else but simply let things play out as they will." And I am finally truly ok with that. I am enough because my Jesus is enough.

I wish I could put into words how free I finally feel. Maybe struggles will return or I'll look back in retrospect and see what I can't now, but in this moment I am at peace. If the peace is fleeting then I'll have Jesus to cling to when it hurts that I don't get to nurse my baby girl to 12 months, 18 months, whatever. That's all Jesus and his work in my heart.

A precious shot of my beautiful girl during our last nursing session.

I wanted the memory saved for future reference to the grace it was.

And honestly, honestly, because of the ways he's worked in my heart to face my fear of man (letting others' words about what I "should" know or do rock me and haunt me and accuse me even if they didn't mean it that way) and to see my unbelief about his goodness in my trial, plus my identity as blood bought beloved daughter regardless of if my boobs make lots of milk or not...well, damn, I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't. I do still think it would have been amazing if breastfeeding had been a bountiful supply thing for me, but it wasn't and if bountiful supply meant not being redeemed and sanctified in the ways I have been then I just wouldn't change it.

I just wouldn't even change a thing.

Eat, Baby [part II of III]

You should know the drill by now: I have some posts from around 4-5 months after Juliet was born that I cranked out and forgot about. But I'm sharing them now! Monday was part I of a nursing miniseries. So here's part II of how nursing has gone this time around with an actual "now" update as part III on Friday. And though this is written in the present tense it's from late February :)

***

In my last post I began the story of how breastfeeding is going this time around, after a rough go with Roger.

Roger and Juliet at 4 months.

Though Jules looks chubbier, she weighs two pounds less despite only being 1/2 an inch shorter. 

I think her adorably chubby cheeks are deceitful.

After finding out that Juliet was underweight and falling off of her curve (one set by her growth in a weight-age chart) we started supplementing a little bit of formula--just 2-4 ounces at the 8p-ish feed. If she sleeps until 2am then I don't supplement but if it's one of the nights where she only sleeps until 11 or so then I do another 2 ounces. I always nurse her for the normal 13-ish minutes per side first to keep up the demand on my body. But in just a week she not only sleeps in 4-5 hour chunks at night (instead of 2, which was BRUTAL getting only about 90 minutes of sleep at a time for me) but she is more likely to sleep in at least one, sometimes two, 2-3 hour chunks during the day. She's also SO much happier, and she was already a super happy baby :)

So that moment I mentioned at the beginning of part I? Well, it was a source of joy for me that, up until a week ago, the only nourishment Juliet had ever had came only from my body. Not only was her nourishment in the womb solely from me but after birth she only ever had breastmilk. Due to extreme back-up with meconium that took almost a full month to clear out we had to supplement a little bit of formula with Roger at  5 days old. Poor little dude just did not poop :( But with Juliet we made it to the four month mark with only breast milk from mama giving her sustenance.

Other than her legendary cheeks, not much chunkage to be found.

Look how tiny she is in that diaper! Poor lady was so very hungry!

I expected things to be so painful when that was gone--I thought that first poopy diaper that wasn't purely from my breast milk would just break my heart. It was significant--but because I felt so much more freedom than with Roger. I didn't feel like a failure and I didn't feel ashamed. Maybe it's because there's more milk this time and we're still mostly nursing? I'm not sure. But, praise Jesus, instead of feeling shame and frustration, I feel freedom and joy that though my body still doesn't produce enough milk to exclusively breastfeed, it does produce enough to mostly breastfeed. Not only that, my sweet girl [who HATES the SNS we bought, so after many tries and much frustration on both of our parts we had to let that go] is growing, healthier, happier...just such grace that formula exists. And we still have an ok supply of breast milk that I'm storing up in the freezer (I'm able to pump 4-5 oz from one side in the morning again, I think because my body actually gets some sleep and a rest when Jason takes the 5-6am feed and gives her a bottle; it's amazing what happens when you don't get awoken every two hours to nurse a hungry, frustrated baby all night long!) so if we get to a point where my supply dries up then she can still get that first feed from breast milk for another month or more.

                                    

Sweet, sweet grace: the ability to pump in the mornings has returned! 

Grateful for a slowly filling freezer--this is just part of our stock!

One last thing: never underestimate the power of your words. A sweet friend of mine who is very much all about mothers breastfeeding as much as possible sweetly wrote and told me a phrase that has stuck with me in a major way. She said, "Your body isn't a lemon." I am so grateful, because there were tears shed at first. I just can't understand why my body won't do what it's SUPPOSED to do! But then when I would start to feel the, "Why is my body such a suckfest with breast milk production?" shame I would remember what she said--my body is not a lemon. Jesus made my body and I am fearfully and wonderfully made. These nursing supply problems don't surprise him and he's not only walking with me through it but he aches with me and gives me freedom to grieve and rejoice in kind as the particular day calls for.

So there you have it. This is all been rolling around in my heart for months now so I feel a gazillion times better being where I am and getting to write about what the last few months have looked like. Best of all, I see Jesus' grace all over me and my darling babies and for that I am grateful.

Come back Friday to read part III, the actual "now" (May 2013) update.