Monday, December 29, 2014

The 9-Letter "S-Word"

I am a fighter. Stubborn. I fight just about anything and everything. If something is not my idea, or not part of my plan, I fight it. And I don't back down. Being a fighter can be good: I push through difficult runs, accomplish goals because I won't give up when the going gets tough, I get over illnesses fairly quickly. In those cases, I might be considered driven, resilient, persistent, or determined. But I don't always know when not to fight, even if it would be good for me. And sometimes I fight things that aren't worth it, just because they're not in line with what I had in mind.

For example, a few weeks ago Rob, Olivia, and I went on vacation to California with my family, and we flew. I was talking to my mom about getting to the airport. Here's how the conversation went down:
Me: What time are you guys coming to pick us up if the flight leaves at 8?
Mom: Your dad and I thought we'd leave our house at about 6:30
Me: Well, I think it should be more like 6, since we have all Olivia's things, we've never flown with her before, it'll be holiday traffic, etc.
Mom: I think we should be fine at 6:30, your dad has express check-in, and we can help you with all the things for Olivia.
Me: But everything takes longer with her. We should really actually get to the airport by 6. And what if you guys are running late? Then you wouldn't even get here until like 6:40.
Mom: Your dad does this all the time, I'm sure 6:30 will be fine. But I can talk to him if you like.
Me: We'll just get ourselves to the airport.

Ahem. Insert foot in mouth when my parents beat us to the airport later that week. Why did 30 minutes matter so much to me? It didn't. It was that I wanted things to go my way. And that is just one instance where fighting something minute did me no favors, and just amped up my anxiety - like I really need to be more anxious about anything!

While on said vacation, I was up in the middle of the night, feeding Olivia, and praying. My prayers are more like conversations with God: "Hey buddy, thanks for this beautiful baby. She's pretty awesome. But I guess you knew that, huh?" You get the gist of it. While I was musing to God about this and that, a word popped into my head. I like to think it was God talking to me, but I was taken by surprise by the word. It was enlightening and frustrating at the same time, like I was being called out by God:

Surrender.

That's my 9-letter "S" Word. I rarely say it, let alone think about it. And practice it? Well... See the above conversation. But it was a two fold lesson. First, I need to do it more. I need to learn to surrender to the process. To God's plan. And second, that I actually have been doing some surrendering lately, and it's paid off for me.

When I say I need to surrender more often, I don't mean that I think I'm meant to roll over and become a doormat. There is a difference between intentional surrender and giving up. I believe I am who I am because I'm meant to be strong-willed. But I need to learn when not to be stubborn. When to give in to the ebb and flow of life. How to let go of the minutiae and embrace the journey so I can be in the moment and enjoy life a little more. I need to give myself permission to relax - something that might make people who know me laugh, because you all know how high-strung I can get, and it's hard to work myself down.

Surrender. Such a powerful word for me right now.

Upon reflection, I realized I have been slowly embracing the act of surrender, and much of that centers around my baby. After all, babies don't care if you have a plan for the day, or want to sleep in, or try on one more pair of shoes. They just want to be fed, and changed, and rocked, and loved.

My first surrender came at her birth. 2 hours into what ended up being a very fast labor, I was in agonizing pain. I had wanted to wait for the epidural, because I wanted the freedom to walk around. The doctor said, "Let's just have the anesthesiologist come up and have a chat." By the time he got there, I surrendered. I believe I said, "I know you have to explain all of this to me, but the answer is yes, just do it. Please. Now." As soon as he did, I relaxed, and Olivia's delivery went quickly but smoothly.

When she came home, I wanted to do so many things with her - go to the pumpkin patch, help my family in the yard, go to our friends' tailgate parties. I didn't always nap when she slept because I wanted to be a part of the adult world again so badly. But I was so tired. I pushed myself to the edge of exhaustion and became so weary that all I did was cry and snap at people and cry some more. And Olivia had a hard time too. I surrendered. I focused on just staying home and learning about my baby. She stopped crying so much. My body calmed down. I took a deep breath. Life seemed better.

At about 5 weeks, I was desperate for sleep. I researched sleep training and "no tears" methods for getting babies to sleep. I stayed awake a precious few minutes after she went to sleep reading about how to get her to stay that way. I tried setting a sleep schedule. She hated it. I hated it. We both cried all the time. My poor husband had two exhausted, screaming women on his hands and he handled it so well. I went to the doctor and sobbed my eyes out at my 6 week appointment and hers. Both doctors listened and reassured me, and both said the same basic thing: "Surrender." Neither actually said the word, but my doctor told me to slow down and stop reading - just trust my own instincts. "You really can't do it wrong if you're feeding her and keeping her clean and loving her." Oh, yeah. That. I can do that. Her doctor said I could try whatever I wanted, but that honestly mommies just need to "hang in there" for the first 3 months. Oh. I can hang in there, I guess.

And I did. I just let go. I surrendered to Olivia's schedule, whatever that was. I took things one day at a time. And I survived. I even began to feel like I was getting the hang of things. Some days, we never left the house. Other days, we ran errands or went to play group. She got older and started sleeping longer stretches. I napped when I could. I showered - daily! I even put on makeup some days. That was a Big Deal.

Surrender.

It's so hard. It's still hard. Sometimes I yearn so badly for "my old life," but every day it gets harder to remember what that was like without her. I am so happy with her. Yes, it is possible to be sleep-deprived and happy at the same time. I'm still exhausted. I'm still unsure of myself. I still find myself getting trapped in cycles of self-doubt, and obsessing over minutiae. I couldn't enjoy Christmas Eve dinner because I thought Olivia needed to get home and go to bed or we'd go back to sleepless nights because her routine - the one I'd worked so hard to surrender to - was getting turned on its head. Do you know what she did? She went right back into her pattern the next day. I can't do that night over again. But I can learn from it. Surrendering to life, to fun, to participating in "my old life" activities is OK. She will live. So will I.

Tonight, as I put my sweet daughter to bed, I cried. This is my last week at home with her before returning to work. Next Monday marks the end of the longest consecutive time I will likely ever have with my daughter for the rest of our lives. Summer breaks are 10 weeks. I've had 14 with her because of Winter Break. When I go back to work, I will be missing her all day long. She might roll over for the first time without me. She might sit up by herself for the first time without me. I might miss her first real laugh. Now I know how my husband felt when he went back to work when she was just 3 weeks old. He will continue to work, part time, in the evenings. That will be hard for him, too.

I'm trying really hard to surrender to this process too. Even though it was my idea, and my husband and I both have to continue to work in order to make ends meet, it is hard. I find myself clinging to every moment with her. I don't want other people to hold her right now. I just want to hold her little hands and stroke her little head, and kiss her cheeks and rock her to sleep forever. When she did fall asleep tonight, I almost didn't put her into her crib. I thought about just holding her all night.

Don't get me wrong, I love teaching and I do miss my students and I miss doing what I believe is a calling, not just a job. I just wish I could split time so I could do both. I know that if I surrender to the process, I can make it a little easier on myself. The first days will be so hard, I will probably cry at work, I'll forget something for pumping or wear mismatched shoes, or only shave one leg. But for now, I'm just going to let myself fight it. I am going to live in each moment with my baby girl, hug her and cling to her and cherish these last few days, so that when I go back to work I can focus in, finish the year strong, and look forward to summer, when I get to be with her again.

Amen.


Sunday, November 23, 2014

Olivia's Birth Story

Olivia was born on September 27th, three days before her due date, so I was 39 weeks and 4 days pregnant when I was induced. But we thought she was coming 2 weeks early, then one week, then finally, she came several hours earlier than we anticipated with the induction. Here is her story:

At 37 weeks pregnant, I went to the doctor for my weekly routine check-in, and arrived a few minutes late. My blood pressure was high enough to land me on bed rest, and when we went in for our first round of tests, we thought we might induce that day. But we didn't. Instead I was put on bed rest for a couple of weeks and my doctor monitored both of us very closely. At 39 weeks, babies are considered full-term, and induction is an option. "She won't give us a choice," my husband and I said to one another, "doctors just make those kinds of decisions because of the mother's health or the baby's."

Imagine our surprise when I walked into my 39 week appointment and my doctor cheerfully asked, "So, what would you like to do?" I think I recall her lifting my jaw up off of the floor for me. Suddenly, I was faced with a HUGE decision regarding my daughter's life. My husband had met me there, and he was as surprised as me. We asked my doctor (who, by the way, I love so much, and would recommend to anyone) if we could think about it, and she said yes. I was due in for another test the next day, so we went home to talk.

I fell apart. On the one hand, I was so, so, SO, SOOOOOO done being pregnant. Like, so over it. But I felt like that wasn't a solid enough reason to induce, because I knew that the longer she was in there, the better for her. However, the doctor did say it would be OK. And some babies come naturally that early. And really, what difference does a few days make? But then again, what's a few more days of being pregnant? Really, I'd made it this far, I could make it a few more days. But then I was terrified of going into labor at home. But people kept telling me how awful pitocin is. Around and around it went.

Now, the ultimate decision came down to two factors, and you can not judge me for the second one. I'm baring my soul here. The first deciding factor was something Rob said to me when I mentioned what a big decision it was: This is just the first of many big decisions we'll have to make for our daughter, and we can't go around second guessing every decision we make for her. The second factor was not so deep: We could induce on a Friday night and be out of the hospital by Monday, and the Ducks were on a bye week. Yes, we timed the birth of our child around a Duck football game. I said you couldn't judge me. We don't regret it.

So in we went on Friday night, September 26th, to be induced. My doctor had explained that I would receive several doses of one medication in order to ripen my cervix and help me dilate before the pitocin the next morning. "Most people sleep through it, so bring books, music, overnight stuff, and I'll come visit on Saturday morning." The nurse even gave me an Ambien to help me sleep because so many moms are too excited to sleep, but need the rest. At 9:45pm, I was given my first dose of the dilation medication, and settled in to read my book. Rob put in his headphones and laid down on the couch. My parents had come to visit, and had gone home to sleep, with plans to return late Saturday morning. We planned on having a baby Saturday evening.

As I was reading, I felt what I assumed was a particularly strong Braxton-Hicks contraction, since I'd had those. I breathed through it and kept reading. But then there was another, and stronger. And another. This time, my breathing was strong enough that Rob looked up from his music. I realized I was clutching the side of the bed. It was 11pm. We called in the nurse - surely it's not supposed to be this intense yet? How do people sleep through this? They kept coming. The nurse (who I call Jessica the Angel) checked me, "Nope, still just 1cm." The contractions were still coming. "Try to relax," said the nurse. She said she'd be back to check on me.

I tried to relax. Suddenly, the contractions were coming stronger and faster, in sets of 2 and 3. They were so painful. (Duh). But I had no time in between to recover. We called the nurse back in. It had been an hour. She checked me. 2 cm. I screamed, "All that for 1 centimeter?!" I wondered how I would make it to 10. We tried everything - changing positions, a birth ball, I tried to walk. Nothing helped. I was stuck on my side, writhing, crying, panting. Rob and Jessica did all they could for me, applying pressure when and where they could, soothing, praising, acknowledging.

Soon it felt like there was absolutely no time between contractions - they were nearly constant. The doctor on call came in to check on me. By 1:00 I was at 5cm. At that point, everyone was surprised how quickly things were progressing. She suggested that the anesthesiologist come just to consult. I agreed, exhausted, in pain, and panicked. Rob sent a text to my parents: "Not sure how things will continue, but she went from 1cm to 5cm in 2 hours." Fortunately, they decided to get up and come in. By the time the anesthesiologist got there, I was at 10cm. Fully dilated. I remember his face, and words coming out of his mouth. Now that I'm done, I know he was getting consent and explaining what he would do, but at the time, all I remember was saying: "Yes. Yes. Yes, just do it. Yes." He tried to wait until a time I was between contractions, but after waiting several minutes, I asked, "Can you do it without waiting for them to stop?" Yes, he could, and that's what we did.

Instant relief. I felt the contractions happen, but the pain was gone. I think I might have slept, actually (Thanks, Ambien!). Rob said it was "trance-like." All I knew was that after hours of non-stop contractions, I could relax. Kind of. I still had to birth a baby. At some point my parents and sister arrived, I think around 3am. I faded in and out of "sleep," while everyone got settled and Rob gave updates. The doctor came in a few times. It was not my doctor, but another one from her office, who I happened to already know, and I was well cared for by her too.

There was a short period of time during which they were concerned about Olivia's heart rate. It would go down after the contractions in a way that they didn't like. They said this showed signs of stress, and if it continued or got worse, we'd look at other options (C-Section). So they hooked her up to a better monitor and kept watch. Soon, Angel Nurse Jessica said that when I felt a contraction, I could do some practice pushes. So I did. I could feel Olivia's little body moving down. Even with the epidural, I could feel some things, which I actually liked. I would ask the nurse, "Can I do another practice?" "Sure," she'd say, as long as you feel up for it. So I figured we'd just do that for a while.

I remember her saying, "Oh, wow, she's coming fast, I'll call the doctor." But whenever I'd ask if I could do another push, she'd say yes, so I would. Then I heard her sounding a bit more urgent on the phone-thingy to get the doctor in the room. Then, all of a sudden, there was a ton of activity. The doctor swooped in, and as I pushed I remember saying, "Was that her head?" and they said that yes, her head was out. The doctor had hardly gotten into the room! Olivia's head was already out by the time the doctor got there.

A few more push sessions and Olivia had entered the world. They handed her to me, purple, wiggling, wailing, and - not kidding - snorting. Snorting like a little pig! Rob cut the umbilical cord, and they threw a little hat on her head. Everyone was smiling and laughing, my family was crying. I didn't cry, and neither did Rob. As he says, he "blew a happy fuse!" I was just so in awe that after so many months, I was finally meeting my baby. I felt her resting on my chest, and even though the nurses and doctors were busy working on me and taking care of us both, all I saw was my beautiful baby daughter, and her little wiggling frame.

Olivia was 6 pounds, 15 ounces and 19.5 inches long when she was born at 5:18am. She had a full head of hair, and has kept it all and then some. Like my doctor said the next morning, "She basically birthed herself!" Olivia was the 8th of 10 babies to be born that night. The doctors said her head was so round because she barely spent any time in the birth canal - no cone head. The nurse asked if I wanted to hear her stats as they were giving her her first bath. I didn't care. She was perfect to me, and alive, and healthy. Rob listened to them, and my mom took pictures of her first bath. My dad and sister cried and hugged, and came to hold my hand. We spent a few nights in the hospital getting help with everything from breastfeeding to swaddling. We had some hilarious, delirious, first parent moments together in the middle of the night. We still have those.

I was so happy with the care we received from the doctors right down to the CNAs. We were happy, safe, and as comfortable as one can be after giving birth, and we got so much help. It was a wild ride, but so worth it. Our Olivia Mae Anne is thriving, and we are so thrilled to be the parents of such a wonderful little lady.

Olivia in the middle of the night her first night. Staring quietly out at me from her crib.




Thursday, November 20, 2014

Parents Leading Faith by Example

Recently, I joined a group at my church for parents and young children. It's a time for the parents to get together for fellowship, and for the children to play, and participate when appropriate, in faith discussions or learning opportunities. At least, that's what I've experienced so far. I've only been a few times.

A few weeks ago, our priest, the leader of the group, posted an article about the role of parents in the faith of our children. Specifically, that parents are ultimately the most influential force in their children's lives for those children having a strong faith themselves and maintaining their faith into adulthood. The article can be found here:

http://livingchurch.org/why-parents-matter

While it may seem like a no-brainer that parents are the strongest faith influence, it's not always apparent, especially in the teen years, that anything parents do or say is noticed, let alone viewed as influential. What that means is, even if our children have the best priest(s), the best services, the best youth leaders, and the best experience, it's really what we do as their parents that solidifies their faith. Specifically, how do we lead by example?

We started talking about the article one week, and actually continued the discussion into the next week, because of how important it was to us. Our first discussions were based primarily upon observations: "My parents made sure I came to church with them" or "I don't see a lot of the teenagers from our parish stay after they complete the Sunday School programming. Why?" We talked a little about what made us stay in the church as young adults. After all, many of our peers stopped coming after high school, and although we have returned after college, many of us feel we are the exception to the rule among our Sunday School classmates.

The next week was a bit more challenging, as our priest pointed out that because parents are the strongest influence on our children's faith, we need to actively develop our own faith for ourselves. How can we lead by example if we don't have an example to lead with? So he took it in turns asking each of us what specifically we do to develop our own faith.

Silence. Lack of eye contact. Attempts to change the subject or deflect... Surely one of the kids needs a diaper change or is misbehaving? No dice. We had to think about it and come up with an answer.

It turned out to be the hardest part for us. None of us felt that simply coming to church each week and making sure our kids were there too was enough. Granted, if you have small children, just getting to church on a weekly basis is very difficult, and if you make it on time and in one piece, you deserve to pat yourself on the back. But somehow there was a feeling that an hour or so per week, led by someone else, wouldn't quite cut it in the long run.

I believe I came up with something that must have been rather hollow, because I can't remember now what I said, and it was only 2 days ago. The longer we thought about it, the more we came up with other ways our own parents had led by example, further proving the point that what parents do matters. My mother used to sing the hymns at home, especially around Christmas and Easter, but really throughout the year. She still does it. When I was a teenager it drove me crazy - "Mom, WHY are you singing right now?!" - but even then I realized she could sing them because she knew them and they brought her joy. Church was an important part of her life, even when she wasn't physically in the building. As a young adult, I watched my dad's faith grow as he attended church with us. His way of developing his faith was to be member of the Vestry, and to be an Usher on Sunday mornings. Participation and service were his ways of fostering faith.

I thought about my own faith, and what I do to enrich it. Well, unintentionally, I have started praying more as a new parent. Often they are not exactly complex or deep rooted prayers, more like, "Please, God, let my child stay asleep this time!" But other times they are a bit deeper than that. I pray for our little family to survive these sleepless nights (weeks, months), especially as we as her parents try to endure the trials that come with raising a child. I thank God for the help of our families and friends, and for everyone helping us, from good healthcare to groups like the one that got me started on this.

But ultimately, I realized I don't do much other than around Christmas and Easter to fulfill my own need for faith. Even then, it's mostly still "Sunday Stuff." Throughout the year, I go to church as regularly as I can, although lately some weeks sleep has taken precedence over attendance (surely it would be worse to fall asleep during the Nicene Creed than to just stay home?). I don't know many of the Bible stories I feel like "everyone knows," or at least, not to the level of detail I should. And by that I mean, I actually wish I knew more Bible stories, verses, parables, not that I feel like there is some "standard" that I should have memorized for the sake of memorizing. Because what good is knowing them if you don't take the meaning from them?

Because of this little group of ours, this short article I read, I have been inspired to find ways to enrich my own faith. Maybe I should have found a reason to do it earlier, but now I have one, and a good one: my daughter. I want to deepen my faith for myself, and if having a baby is what gives me the push to do so, then I can be at peace with that. Many people are inspired by their children all the time, to do things like lose weight, or quit smoking. Actively fostering my own faith is something I can do for myself which will have a lasting effect on my daughter as well.

I still haven't decided what I will do, but I would like to adopt a regular practice of... something. Something do-able, but something meaningful, that can be shown or that I can do privately. Maybe I need more than one thing, I'm not sure. But when I figure it out, I'll know, and I'll hopefully be able to share it with my daughter someday, not as something I do alone, but something we could do together.

My parents, pre-babies! Such strong examples of faith for me.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Olivia's Name Story

Olivia Mae Anne Baker
"And though she be but little, she is fierce." -Shakespeare

Before we knew whether we were having a girl or a boy, Rob and I started talking about names for our baby. It was one of the first decisions we made, and we actually came to it quite quickly. We had a few requirements for a name:
1. Family significance. Each of our families had naming traditions, and we wanted to stick with that as much as we could.
2. Since we both work with kids, and have for years, some names were immediately off the table. 
3. Nothing too hard to spell or pronounce, both for the child and for future teachers, employers, etc.
4. Nothing too easy to make fun of - again, we've worked with kids for a long time. Their "creative abilities" when it comes to teasing know no bounds.

Given those rules, we started thinking and talking. Let's start with the first two names: Olivia Mae. Rob's paternal grandmother's name was Ollie Mae. She passed away when Rob was young, and his grandfather, "Pa," remarried the grandmother I know, Grandma Pat. We really liked the name Mae, and the spelling, but didn't want it for a first name. So, as a nod to Ollie Mae, we chose Olivia Mae to honor Rob's father's side of the family. For further significance, and a little tidbit, the digging I did shows that the first use of the name Olivia in English is attributed to Shakespeare, in "Twelfth Night," and may have been inspired by the masculine "Oliver" or from the Latin word for olive, "olivia." Although the quote above is not from Twelfth Night, she is certainly living up to it so far!

For her middle name, Anne, there are two significances, both stemming from my side of the family. First, my maternal grandmother, Dianne (pronounced Dee-Anne) Smith (married to become Dianne McMurren), had two sisters, Suzanne and Marianne. The tradition of including Anne in the name began with them, and continued with my mother, MaryAnne, and my sister and I - Meredith Anne and Sarah Anne. It was important to me to continue this tradition, as my maternal grandmother passed before I was born, and I wanted to honor my mother's family in this way. Additionally, my paternal grandmother, Annabelle Currie (married to become Annabelle Sprague), went by Ann. So with her second middle name, Olivia Mae Anne honors my side of the family in two ways.

Olivia has one first name, two middle names, and one last name, and we will make sure she knows the story of her names and her family. We tried hard to make sure her name followed all our rules, and I think we pulled it off. In any case, we're happy with it, and she seems to fit her name well already. 3 weeks in, we're so proud of our little lady!


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

A Letter to My Daughter: Our Journey to You!

My darling Olivia Mae Anne,

I have been starting this letter in my heart for years. God has always had you in His plan for me, and for your daddy. We have loved you for so long, even before we knew you would be ours. We have always known we wanted to be parents - it was one of the things that brought us together. But we also knew we wanted to be ready. We needed to prepare mentally, physically, and emotionally for all the changes you would bring. Is there ever a perfect time? No, but once you became a reality, we knew you would be the perfect fit for our little family.

Your daddy had his plan for you, and I had mine. Daddy said there was an order to things: Cat, Dog, Kid. I wanted to accomplish a few things before we tried to provide for you: a career, a healthy body, and adventures with just your dad that we could cherish together forever. We traveled. We bought a cat. We did silly, stupid things that we loved. We got jobs. We worked, and worked, and worked some more. We moved. We stayed up all night, we partied, and then we did it again. We got a dog. We had a wonderful life before you.

But something was missing in our hearts. We watched some of our friends have babies, and we loved them. And we got scared - they were so tiny and needy! Could we really do this? But the answer kept coming back to us: Yes, and we were meant to do so. We had our sequence: we had a cat, and a dog. We had done lots of things together: camping, playing, traveling, working, and settling. We were ready for a little life to enter ours. Someone we created together, who would be so loved and so wanted, and bring so much joy to our lives. So decided to try for a baby.

Something you should know about your father and I is that we are both driven and determined. When we put our minds to something, we expect it to happen, and we work to make it so, on our timeline, in our way. Well, having a baby isn't that way. We decided in September 2012 that we wanted a baby. We were so excited! Surely by October, I'd be pregnant, and by summer, we'd have a little nugget of our own, and I could take all summer to be with you, then take my leave in the fall. It would be perfect timing for a teacher. There is a saying that begins with the words, "Even the best laid plans..."

The first time it didn't happen, we were surprised, but we were both young, and hopeful, and continued on trying for you. Sometimes nature takes a while, we thought. We had months where we knew it wasn't going to happen. And times when we were so sure I was pregnant, that we would start talking baby names and looking for new apartments. But we only told a select few people of our plans. One thing we knew we couldn't endure was well-meaning friends and family members asking, "Are you pregnant yet?" So no one knew but 2 of my friends, and one of your dad's. And that turned out to be a wise decision as we continued on this adventure.

Months went by. I began to read everything I could get my hands on that gave advice on getting pregnant. I became obsessed. Several friends became pregnant on accident. I had to listen as they told me, some panicked, some thrilled. I endured baby showers where my own mother, unaware of what was going on for us, would coo and fawn over the pregnancies and babies of friends and family. She and other maternal figures in my life would hint and inquire, "When is it your turn? How long have you been married - isn't it time for a little baby?" It hurt so bad. It wasn't their fault, they didn't know, but it still hurt. I became bitter, angry, desperate. "How is this possible?!" I remember thinking to myself. "How can it be so easy for some people?" I would cry at every negative pregnancy test, month after month. Then it was a year. Still nothing.

All manner of terrifying thoughts went through my head: Could something be wrong with one of us? What if we couldn't get pregnant? Would I have to undergo fertility treatments? Did insurance even cover that? What if we can't afford them, or adoption fees? Surely God meant for us to be parents - we both had that longing. Was He testing us? Was there something God was trying to tell us that we just weren't seeing? I couldn't imagine my life without children, but I felt that my dream was slipping away from me. I needed you, little one, and I couldn't figure out how to make that happen.

I went to the doctor. I tried really hard not to cry as I told her how we'd been trying for a year - a whole year! - and how I was afraid something was wrong with me. She smiled. I'm sure she had heard it all before. She asked me about my age and my health, and some other related questions. A year isn't that long, she said, even though you've read online that you should come to me after that. Have you tried these methods? she asked. No, but... Try them, she said. Come back to me in 6 months if this doesn't work. That was November of 2013.

So we kept trying. I still cried every time the home test was negative. But we followed the doctor's instructions. We tried to relax. We went to the beach over Christmas, and came back energized and refreshed. We had some snow days this year - So many that the furlough days our district had planned for Spring were cancelled. I knitted and read books, and your dad took care of some things around the house, and got caught up on work. We had friends over who had to stay overnight because they got snowed in. Then the weather got beautifully sunny - cold, but sunny. So we went hiking on the weekends, all bundled up, talking about our plans for the future. We booked our camping trip to the Wallowas for August, for daddy's birthday, like we always do.

One Friday night, we had plans to go out for a friend's birthday. We were really close to finding out if I was pregnant, and wanted to play it safe, so I took a home test. Something strange happened - the little line to show pregnancy was very, very faint, but it was there. I read the directions again (as if I hadn't done so about 5000 times already). They were very explicit: if the line is not bright and solid, you're not pregnant. I sighed. Oh well, next month we try again, right? We went out. We had some drinks. And I had wine with dinner the next night. We went for a hike on Sunday, and I remember talking with your dad about what to do differently this next month.

By Tuesday, my period hadn't started. Which had happened countless times before, but that faint line was nagging at the back of my brain. What if? And here I had gone out and been reckless all weekend. People who know me will tell you I never wake up early, much less before my alarm. That Tuesday morning, I woke up at 5am - no alarm. My eyes popped open, and I went into the bathroom to take the last test in the box. "Don't get your hopes up," I told myself.

3 minutes later, there was no mistaking the solid, bright pink line on that test. "NO WAY," I thought. I woke up your dad. "Rob, Rob, you have to come in here, right now!" I was shaking him awake. "Did it snow again?" he asked, sleepily. I showed him the test. "I'm not dreaming, right? You see that too, don't you?" It was true. I was finally pregnant. You were officially a reality. I was so excited that day I could hardly function. I called the doctor and scheduled my first appointment. After a blood test, it was confirmed: We were going to have a baby!

We tried to keep it a secret. We ended up telling our closest friends and family at 6 weeks. At 10 weeks, the world knew. Your 10 week ultrasound was on my 28th birthday, March 6th. It was the best birthday present I could have asked for. You were kicking around and twitching, just a tiny little peanut. But I loved you. More than anything I've ever loved in my life. Your daddy held my hand as we watched you on the screen. He couldn't speak. I cried. I showed the pictures to anyone and everyone - yep, I'm that mom. I was convinced that I had started showing at 8 weeks. I'm pretty sure it was somewhere around 15 or 16 that the rest of the world noticed.

Our family had a hard spring: your grandpa Jeff (my dad) got hit by a car while riding his bike in California. So your first road trip out of Oregon was when I was 12 weeks pregnant. We spent a little over a week taking care of him. And when we got back, your grandma Cora (your dad's mom) got very sick, and we visited her in the hospital.

But things started to look up. After long searches, we found a house. The house you will come home to and grow up in. I finished the school year and spent the summer preparing for you. Your dad and I set up your bedroom. Your grandma MaryAnne and auntie Sarah painted the room for you, and your dad moved the heavy things around for me. For what may be the only time in your life, all your diapers and things were organized beautifully, meticulously, and then reorganized as more toys and clothes were added, and I felt stronger and stronger urges to "nest." Your room could not be perfect enough. Some days I would just go into your room and stand in the middle of it, imagining what our days would be like together once you were born.

We had baby showers - so many baby showers! One from my work friends, one on each side of the family, and one for books from my great-godmother. You were more than just showered with gifts - it was an Oregon downpour! Weeks before you were due, we had everything we needed and then some. We were so blessed.

This past summer was one of the hottest on record for Eugene, and it lasted well into October. Some days I would come home from work, fill the bath tub with cold water, and just sit there in the cold water. Other nights, I would go to bed hugging an ice pack. I did go back to work in September, teaching a new class of kids. They were wonderful, but the stresses of starting the school year proved to be too much for me - my blood pressure got too high, and my doctor put me on bed rest. I had to stay home from work, resting, and waiting for you. It was hard for me, but we did it. As long as I rested, my blood pressure stayed down, which meant you stayed safe.

Finally, when I reached 39 weeks pregnant, my doctor gave us a choice: induce or wait for you to come into the world naturally. Your dad and I talked it over, did some reading, and kept talking. We couldn't decide! I stayed up what felt like all night (little did I know, I'd find out soon what staying up all night would really mean). Then, when I went in for one more test the next day, my blood pressure was back up. I talked to my doctor again, asked her some questions, and we decided: we would start the induction process on Friday, September 26th.

I'll save your birth story for another time, but on the morning of Saturday, September 27th, you came into the world, beautiful, screaming, wiggling, and perfect. And a whole new journey began for daddy and me, and now you. We are so happy you're here, and now that you are, we can't imagine life without you. We love you, baby girl, and you are truly our little miracle. Welcome to the world, Olivia :)





Monday, September 22, 2014

Bedrest

I just woke up from a dream where I ran a 5K while 9 months pregnant, and while running, I bragged to all the other runners about my pre-pregnancy weight - something which, until I became pregnant, I never fully appreciated. I miss running, and, apparently, I miss my waist. I have been on modified bedrest since September 12th. My child is due September 30th. Let me just say that I have a short time to endure, and I can even get up a bit, and I already feel this is some sort of torture. If you know someone on full bedrest for any length of time, reach out to her, she needs you, this is crazy-making stuff!

A week and a half ago, I went to the doctor for a routine check-in. School had started, and though I was tired and felt really puffy, I thought things were going well, and was all set to continue working up until about 4 days before baby's due date. I had not started my sub plans. I had not cleaned off my desk. I went to our usual tailgate and chatted with our friends a few days earlier. I had a meeting right before my appointment, and it had gone slightly over, so I was running late. I arrived to the doctor's office a few minutes late and was chastised by the receptionist, who assured me that although my tardiness was hardly forgivable (we're talking 8 minutes!), somehow they would squeeze me in. 45 minutes later, I was still waiting. Needless to say, I was pretty frustrated.

When I finally did get in to see the doctor (who, I learned, had asked the front desk to call me after 10 minutes, and they did not), I wasn't in the mood to hear the nurse's excuses for why I hadn't been seen sooner. Long story, but they basically thought I didn't show up even though I had checked in, so they moved on with their day. I didn't care. They made me wait, I had to pee, I was chastised, it was their fault, etc. I'm 9 months pregnant and I had been patient with 26 first graders all day. I was past the end of my rope. I digress.

Once in the doctor's office, the nurse took my blood pressure. Usually, she smiles, tells me exactly what it is, and says, "Nice and low!" and happily continues with the rest of her questions. This time, she says, "Huh," frowns, and says, "That's high..." and goes straight to the computer, no eye contact. Me: "High? That's surprising... High enough to cause concern?" Nurse: "Um... We'll let the doctor decide that." And leaves the room. Excuse me?! What?! I'm their low-blood pressure girl! I'm sure they talk in amazed tones about my marvelously low blood pressure when I leave! ("Oh, there she goes, that lucky pregnant lady with the low blood pressure. She must do prenatal yoga...") Surely it's just because I'm so livid about having to wait so long, etc, etc. I guess that the doctor will check it again when she comes in - and I'm right. But it's still high, even after I relax a bit.

So my doctor prepares me for the next steps: she will take a blood sample, then based upon that, there may be more tests, which will require me to stay home from work for a day. OK, I can handle that. And, she says, if the tests come back positive for preeclampsia, I will likely be induced that weekend. Here's what I heard: "If things are bad, you get to meet your baby early, and be done with being pregnant!" I have never, EVER, prayed so hard to have a health complication. I actually rejoiced a little when she called me at work the next day to tell me there would be more tests.

Gross out alert: the additional testing was a 24-hour urine sample. Which, if you've never done it, goes from nerve-wracking to humorous to humiliating in a very short amount of time. First they hand you this bucket and these instructions, and a little pot to pee in. Then you go home, and every time you pee, you have to collect it in the bucket, which you have to keep in your refrigerator, next to your cold cuts as if it's NBD. So first you're really careful about it, following the instructions to the letter. Then, your husband gets home and you guys laugh every time you go to the fridge, because of the frequency with which you go to the fridge. Then after about 5 trips of laughter, it's not funny. And it's really not funny in the middle of the night because you're pregnant and you have to pee and you're half asleep and you have to remember to pee in the little pot then pour it in the bucket and you can't miss any.

After 24 hours of this, we go to the hospital. We have packed our bags, arranged a dog-sitter, and alerted the appropriate family members of the possibility of a baby within 48 hours. Not wanting to jinx things, we leave the bags at home, for Rob to come get once I'm admitted. I hand over the bucket-o-pee to the nurse, get hooked up to some monitors, and we wait. They take my blood pressure again. It's disappointingly normal, but I hold out hope that we're not leaving until this baby is out. My doctor is on call that afternoon, so she comes in and says that if the tests don't come back positive for preeclampsia, we can induce at 39 weeks. 39 weeks! That's not so bad, I can do that, even if it's not tonight.

We get sent home. Seems being home from work all day Friday helped me relax and brought my blood pressure back down. When I go to the doctor for a non-stress test to check on the baby, I'm back down to normal levels... and I have lost 2 1/2 pounds in about 4 days. Baby is fine. I go back for another check on Wednesday, and ask about setting an induction date for the 39-week mark. I hear what I thought I'd hear, and what I knew would be best but really really REALLY didn't want to hear: we don't need to induce at 39 weeks as long as your blood pressure is back down and baby is doing fine. Actually, according to the doctor, baby is pleased as punch and "having a little party" in my belly now that I'm on bedrest. At 38 weeks, I'm sick of carrying this thing around on the inside, and I can't even move around to make it better! I left the doctor's office devastated. Irrationally so, and I knew that, which didn't help my mood. Obviously, we want a full-term baby, and what's best for her is to make her way out on her own.

So I've been on modified bedrest since we started the testing. I'm fine. Baby is fine. 2 things I am grateful for. And as I've been on bedrest, some really interesting thoughts have occurred. Here's how about a week and a half of bedrest have gone:
  • This is awful. She told me I'd be rid of this thing on Friday, now I have to wait until 39 weeks.
  • A non-stress test? What is that?
  • Oh, it's really boring. I should have brought a book. I can't reach my phone. Crap.
  • OMG, I have to do more of these? But why, this one was fine. Baby is fine. This is dumb. See you on Thursday.
  • HBO, you are failing me. All these shows won Emmy's, and none of them hold my attention.
  • Hello, House of Lies! I'll just watch a few episodes today.
  • Oops, I'll have to watch that last episode again. I just woke up from a time-warping 2 hour nap. Will I be able to sleep tonight? Yes.
  • Wait, I'm already done with Season 1? But it's only been 2 days. Oh, man.
  • Back at the doctor. I feel like I live here. You really don't know my name by now? Baker, birthdate 3/6/86. No, my address hasn't changed since yesterday.
  • What? Now we're not going to induce? I have to endure more of this bedrest? I understand that it's modified. No, I don't think you really are sorry that I can't work. You don't seem very sorry.
  • How long can I be upright for modified bedrest?
  • Oh, that was too long, I can feel it. Here comes another 2-hour nap.
  • Pinterest for daaaaaayssss...
  • Jamba Juice. I really want Jamba Juice.
  • I have literally opened my Facebook so many times today, nothing in my news feed is new. C'mon people, do stuff so I can stalk you from my couch!
  • How many times in a day does a cat need to go into the garage?! I think he goes in there specifically to wait until I sit down, then cries to get back in the instant I'm comfortable.
  • People keep asking me what I need. You mean other than for my baby to decide to head out? 
  • Haha, I just made a labor joke. I crack myself up!
  • What could I do to make my blood pressure spike again? Maybe then they would induce...
  • FitPregnancy has a "Bedrest Workout" on their website. Yesss!!!
  • Oh, it's all things I'm already doing. Sigh.
  • Hmmm... app store, what games do you have for me? 
  • The only time my blood pressure was high was that one day. Couldn't we call it a fluke and I could go back to normal life until she's born?
  • Friends and family come to visit! I do exist! I know I said I don't need anything until the baby is born, but this is really great.
  • How much gossip can they handle before they get really tired of me? 
  • No, don't leave! OK, bye, yes, you're still on some sort of schedule which requires you to be places at certain times.
  • Another NST. OHMYGOSH I GET TO LEAVE THE HOUSE! Time to bust out the hair dryer!
  • How many different ways can I sit or lay down on the couch?
  • My blood pressure is fine. Baby is fine. Couldn't I just go to work for like, a couple days?
  • Perfect weather this morning. No, dog, I can't take you for a walk in it. I know. It sucks.
  • Krackle bars are like the pretzels in the bag of Munchies: no one wants them but the company throws them in anyway. Just own your bad idea and stop making Krackle bars!
  • How much is a trip to Hawaii over Spring Break? Oh, wow, just kidding.
  • If I can't go for a walk to bring on labor, maybe sitting upright will help gravity work its magic. I'll sit up for as long as I can today.
  • Haha, we just put a onsie on the dog. Hahahahaaaaaa!
  • Flicking, tapping, and patting the belly. Maybe we can annoy her out.
  • Why are there so many Apple Cinnamon flavored oatmeal packs in our cupboard?
  • Oh yeah, because that is the worst kind of oatmeal there is. Gross. I wish I could redo breakfast.
  • Super weird dreams. SUPER WEIRD.
  • At some point in the day, no position is comfortable - laying down, sitting up, feet propped, legs crossed, standing, nothing. Bedrest is not restful when you're frustrated and uncomfortable.
  • Wait! Was that a labor contraction? No... Was that? No.
And so many, many other random, silly, crazy thoughts you have no idea. Thank you to those who have been there for me so far, and for those of you other moms who have reminded me that this really is the right thing for both of us. Honestly, for all three of us. Rob has been great also, and I know this process has been hard for him too - no one wants to see their spouse and child go through scary medical stuff, even if, in the grand scheme of things, it turns out to be OK. So even though I can't wait to meet my little bundle of joy, it seems she is content to finish "baking" (another pun!) until at least her due date, as long as I'm resting up.

I don't think I'll be running any 5K's anytime soon, regardless of my dreams, so for now my bedrest exercises will have to do. Happy Monday, friends.



Sunday, September 7, 2014

Say What?!

Here they are, the list of funny, shocking, and crazy things that have been said to pregnant mamas. Enjoy! No names to protect the innocent ;)

1. "Don't put hot sauce on your food, it's really bad for the baby!"

2. "At the pool with my niece, a toothless, hairy man rubbed and patted my belly and said, 'Nuther one in the oven, I see!"

3. "You shouldn't count on anything going the way you want during labor, because nothing went right during mine."

4. "You must be so hot! And you still have so much summer left!" It's worth mentioning that this was said by an aging man who did not know me.

5. "At 36 weeks, a woman asked me how much longer I had. When I told her, she said, 'Oh my GOD! That doesn't even seem physically possible!'"

6. From a kid: "You look like you have a basketball in your stomach... Well, actually, more like just a half of a basketball..."

7. "Have you peed your pants yet?"

8. "Are you sure you aren't having twins?"

9. "You're not going to find out if it's a boy or a girl? But HOW will you plan?!"

10. "Get rid of your cats. They will suffocate the baby by trying to take the milk from their lips."

11. "My blood pressure was really high when I checked in to the hospital in labor. The nurse asked me: 'Are you really nervous or something?' Well, yeah!"

12. "Wow! You're so big! I can't believe you're here right now!"

13. "Don't let the cat sit on your lap. In fact, don't even let him touch you."

14. "I was walking down some stairs in public, and a friend of ours shouted, 'Watch out, she's gonna blow!'"

15. "How much weight have you gained? I was only allowed to gain 18 pounds. Be careful you don't gain too much."

16. "Your feet aren't that puffy... Oh, well yeah, I guess they are."

17. Several variations of, "Why are you still working?" or "I can't believe you're still here!" or "You're so brave to keep working."

18. With hands already touching the belly, "I forgot to ask. Can I touch your belly?"

19. "Once you give birth, your husband won't want anything to do with you because of what childbirth does to your lady parts."

20. "You must be having morning sickness, you look awful!"

21. "At the grocery store, a father with his two screaming toddlers walked past my husband and I. A lady walked by just after and looked at my pregnant belly. 'Is this your first?' She asked. We smiled and nodded, and she pointed to the screaming kids and said, 'Just keep that in mind!'"

There they are. If you have any to add, let me know!

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Change

Change is a funny thing. Sometimes I embrace it, push it, suggest it, crave it. Other times, I fight it with every fiber of my being. There is a joke about Episcopalians and change, and I always find it funny, because it is very true of me. Whether it has to do with my Episcopalian-ness, or just me, I like it. It goes like this:

"How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?"
"1, and then a committee to meet to talk about how much they liked the old one."

Today was a day filled with changes, and perhaps being 8 months pregnant has something to do with my placing a great deal of significance on today, or perhaps today really was significant. I had so many ups and downs today, you'd have thought I lived on a roller coaster. And let's just say, I don't think I handled any of these changes well.

I woke up this morning with a feeling of loss. My last summer as a woman with no children is officially over. Yes, I've been going in to work all month, but that was by choice. Today was required. And as I showered, I thought about all the things I didn't do this summer but could have, should have, and all the free time I will never ever ever have to myself again. Ever. And yes, I do know that I entered into this new change approximately 8 months ago, and did so by choice. That was not lost on me, and the guilt I felt as I continued to feel regretful didn't do anything to help me.

On the other hand, I'm 5 weeks away from welcoming the biggest, greatest, most significant change in my life to date. As I chatted with folks today about the upcoming due date, I found myself saying things I haven't said in a while. When asked, "How are you holding up?" I would answer things like, "Pretty well, actually," and "I'm really excited!" rather than "Hot, tired, sore, and cranky," which has been my unofficial mantra for about 4 months. The people around me are supporting me and are happy for me, and that has lifted me up and given me something to hold onto. The light at the end of the tunnel probably doesn't hurt, either.

I worked all day, and didn't get nearly as much done as I had hoped. And I'm exhausted. And nowhere near ready for anything I had wanted to be ready for. I was working well until lunchtime, when I went home to feed my dog. When I got back, I found out that the substitute I had arranged for last spring had come in while I was gone to inform my principal that she had taken another job and would not be covering my maternity leave. If you've ever tried to find a substitute for Spanish Immersion, you have some idea of how I felt. If not, I have a favorite metaphor that I use: I am now officially up Shit Creek without a paddle. Finding a bar in a dry county might be easier than finding someone to cover a maternity leave at Spanish Immersion who a) speaks good enough Spanish, b) can tolerate little kids, and c) is able to work that long without already being booked for several other jobs.

But then I put out a plea for help to my Facebook Universe: I can't move things in my classroom and more than about 10 minutes of physical activity either exhausts me or causes some part of me to swell uncontrollably. I need help. And help came. Quickly, generously, enthusiastically. And I may get to see some people I haven't seen in a very long time. I was amazed and overwhelmed by the kindness of the people who care about me and their willingness to work in my classroom during their own last days of summer break, even if I can't be there with them. I cried a little. That's par for the course for me lately, but still. It means a lot to have that kind of deep support.

As I was preparing to leave work for the day, I encountered a small personal crisis not related to school or pregnancy. So of course, I panicked, lost my marbles, shut my door, and sobbed. Then I problem solved, and sobbed a bit more after getting off the phone with some very rude individuals who acted like I was the reason for their mistakes. I'm not exaggerating. Other people really were to blame for this, and I had to deal with their problems, and they acted like it was my fault. After that, I left work. I put on my sunglasses (inside), held my head high, and marched out of school. I had to be done. My body was officially telling me I was past my limit.

When I got home, I showered, napped, and my husband and I went to a newborn care class. We have been attending childbirth classes, hospital tours, and doing research on several other things. It has been overwhelming. Lots of information, lots of surprises, lots of uncertainty. I tried not to dwell on how crazy I felt the day had gone. The car was quiet. Rob turned to me and said, "It's going to be OK. Our baby will arrive, someone will cover your class, we will be good parents, and we will figure out everything we need to figure out. You don't want to believe me right now, but it will happen." And I almost cried again. He is right. Of course.

The newborn care class was 2 full hours. But, I didn't find myself surprised, or blindsided, or worried. I'm sure that will all change when she's "on the outside," but from what we heard and saw tonight, not only will our child survive, we will too. Heck, we have a good chance at... dare I say... doing a really good job? And even maintain our sanity?

As scary and new as pregnancy has been for me, one thing I know is that I can do kids. Babies to toddlers to elementary, I actually have a good deal of knowledge and experience. Have I ever breast fed? No, but I have swaddled, shushed, rocked, and bathed a baby. I have communicated with a toddler. I have soothed a 4th grader. I have even provided a listening ear for a teenager or two. I won't be a perfect parent, there's no such thing. But at least I can go to bed tonight feeling like I have a leg up on the whole baby care thing. And when I wake up at 3am to pee for the millionth time, I can hold on to some hope for tomorrow, too, because my husband also has knowledge, experience, and courage. So together, something is bound to go right.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

On Depression and Anxiety

It's not lost on me that I am yet another person who is using the death of a celebrity to air my opinions about mental health, moral values, or other soapbox topics. However, I was touched by the death of Robin Williams for a few reasons, and can't seem to stop thinking about it. There are things about Robin Williams to which I can relate, which pertain to my own life, and which speak to me.
Robin Williams was an Episcopalian, like I am. While I liked him before that, I always thought that was a cool connection. He had a great stand-up bit about being an Episcopalian that was so spot on, my family and I still quote it to this day.

Robin Williams was incredibly gifted, intelligent, and talented. Gifted individuals have the ability to be incredibly perceptive and reflective; so much so that it can cause a great deal of pain. I don't have specific citations or articles to share with you right now, but I do know that there is a high correlation between gifted folks and mental health issues.

By now, it has basically been said that Robin Williams was battling depression and his death was from suicide. Now, here is where I struggle a great deal with some of the responses I've seen to his death. I've come across articles, blog posts, and opinions which basically state that Robin Williams doesn't deserve to be mourned or respected because he committed suicide, and that doing so was his choice, and he was being selfish. I want to be very clear about something: I do not condone suicide or believe it is ever, ever the right option for anyone. However, I would like to raise 2 questions:

1. Does the way someone died determine whether or not their life deserves to be honored, or the loss of their life to be mourned?

2. Before you decide that suicide is truly a choice, do you understand what depression and anxiety really do to a person's brain?

The point of the first question is this: in the case of Robin Williams, whether or not you agree with how he died, that does not negate the brilliance of the entire 63 years during which he lived. He was a human being, a soul, a life. He happened to be a public figure. And he wasn't perfect. But here's how I think of it: when I die, however it happens, do I want the people who are still around to judge whether or not my entire life, and eventual death was "worth it?" If I have a heart attack, will people say, "Well, she really should have exercised more," or if I get cancer, will people say, "That's what happens when you put chemicals in your body. She should have eaten more organic foods." Is that what will dominate the whispers following my funeral? I want people to talk about my contributions, my personality, my family, my life. I don't need to be glorified, but I certainly don't need every aspect of my life to be criticized, either. And the same goes for anyone else. No one deserves to have their every decision, habit, or personality trait discussed and dissected posthumously for the sake of... of I don't even know. It's just disrespectful. They're gone. What point will we make by discussing their flaws?

Secondly, I will get onto my soap box for a bit. Depression and anxiety are issues close to my heart, with a particular emphasis on gifted people with these struggles. I happen to know several people battling depression or anxiety, or both, nearly all of them gifted. I am among those people, and have battled bouts of both throughout my teenage and adult years. Gifted or no, depression and anxiety present the brain with challenges against which even the strongest, smartest, most logical, or most determined person struggles. Some of us can hide it, some of us are not aware that it's happening to us, and everyone's struggles manifest themselves differently.

I think it helps to think of depression and anxiety as holding the brain hostage. When a person is depressed or anxious, our brains are flooded with chemicals which cause us to come up with thoughts that the rational, or polite, or smart, or socially appropriate parts of us would never consider. And sometimes those resulting thinking errors override our abilities to make healthy decisions.
All people with depression or anxiety are far from convinced that death is the "way out," or the only way to find peace. But some people are unable to stop their brain's process from spiraling, even with counseling, medication, or some combination of treatments. The chemicals flooding their brain are causing them to focus upon the pain and the despair.

At the point that someone contemplates, attempts, or completes a suicide, the decision was no longer really theirs - their brain was overtaken by forces stronger than their efforts to heal. Suicide hurts the people who are left behind. It's confusing for us. We tried to help them! They were getting help! Why couldn't they just wait it out? But please, before you accuse someone of being selfish for committing suicide, consider that the more powerful force at work for them is that of their love for those of us that care for them. The person most likely considers themselves a burden to those they care most about, therefore is made to believe that rather than finding peace for themselves, they are removing pain from those they love. Yes, it's backwards to those of us who aren't going through that. But for someone that deep in sadness, it makes some kind of sense.

The good news is that we can help the people we know are struggling. The harder news is that it won't be on our time. It can be exhausting caring for someone with depression or anxiety. It takes so much time, and so much patience. We begin to feel defeated ourselves, because we feel like despite all our efforts, this person is just not "getting better." But remember, it's not about the caregiver. If we are to be truly helpful, we have to let ourselves be vulnerable and patient as well. We can't take depression away from someone we love, no matter how strong we are or how much we want to. It is a process each person has to go through for themselves, on their own time, in their own way.

Patience is the best gift you can give to someone you love who is battling depression or anxiety. Reserve judgement. Let them come to you. Listen. Don't be bossy by claiming to know what they need to do. Just be. Pray for them, with them. And know that even if it's not expressed, they (we) are grateful.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

What Summer Means for Teachers



Aaaahhh, Willamette Valley summer. That glorious time in our little slice of Oregon when the sun is out, the weather is pretty consistently nice, and we all turn red like lobsters trying to work on our "tans" because for the other 9-ish months, we are inside wearing sweaters or outside wearing a rain jacket. Because in Eugene, from about mid-September through June, you just never know when it's going to rain, but there is usually a pretty good chance that it will. Which is what makes our valley so green and beautiful (and allergy-ridden for several weeks, but that's another topic for another day). And why we all love spending time outdoors.

Summer for teachers has another, deeper meaning than just nice weather. It is a time to collect ourselves and gear up for another year. There is an image that I particularly like and identify with as a teacher, because it seems that no matter how much we master, no matter how organized we are, or at what stage we are in our career, this is how our year goes:

teachers end of school year reflection
It's a funny image, but the thing is, it's true, and we all know that's how it's going to be. And we're OK with that. For approximately 6-8 hours per day, we are 100% focused upon doing right by 30+ kids who are not our own. We care for them, we laugh with them, we hurt with them, we try to motivate them, and we try to make each of them feel special, try to get to know them all. Oh, and on top of all that, we have some information and skills that they must learn after finishing their 9-ish months with us. We chose this path. Not only that, we choose to come back to it year after year.

Every year, someone or some entity, be it government or district or society or school team, comes up with another expectation to place upon students. Another goal for them to meet by the end of the year. Which means there are constantly more demands placed upon teachers. After all, kids can't teach themselves, and they need someone to guide them through the learning process, keep them focused, and support them as they learn and grow. And with all those demands, less and less time is left for play and exploration, regardless of how creative we become as teachers. Can learning be fun? Absolutely. But when you get down to the nitty-gritty, school is not just the teacher's job, but the kid's job as well. It's hard work for teacher and student, and the students are not just little sponges in a classroom, absorbing what comes out of their teachers' mouths. They have responsibility to the work too. And that wears upon their little brains and bodies, as it does on ours. So kids need a break.

But teachers need summers just as much as kids do. Teachers and students both need time to recharge, play, have Free Time - like, Real Free Time, with capital letters, which means there's not a 15 minute time limit with 3 choices of educationally themed activities, during which we still can't shake that guilty feeling that even though the both we and our students need it, there is some specific lesson we could be spending more time on instead. Free Time, to go swimming and eat junk food, visit friends, stay up late, take a nap whenever you want, break from the schedule, and truly relax. Kids need to do that, and so do teachers. We need time to remember why we show up in September with our own new school clothes and haircuts, and beautifully organized and planned curriculum, armed with new strategies for behavior management or reading interventions.

Free Time is necessary for teachers, because guess what we end up doing? Working. Yeah, I said it. Teacher friends, don't even try to deny it, because you know it's true. I am the first to embrace summer for all its glory: camping, lounging, recreating in all forms, spending time with family and friends. But what only a few people close to me know about me is this: more often than not, you will find me, on most days in the summer, devoting some amount of time to the following school year. And I know the same is true for most of my colleagues.

For example, this June, a team from school and I decided to spend the first 2 days after school was officially closed wrapping up some work we had started earlier in the year. School had literally just gotten out, and we were back together, planning and discussing and organizing. I was signed up for a training later that week, which I only ended up not attending because of a family emergency. But several of my colleagues did attend that training. I have gone into the school a few times this summer to pick up this curriculum book, or check that lesson plan that I had left, and every time, there has been at least one other teacher there, doing something similar. "Oh, I'm just popping in for _____, I'll be leaving in a minute or two," is the standard interaction. Half an hour later, we're both still there, caught up in some little thing that we'd rather just get done while we see it than to wait until the first week back. We always laugh, because we know that's just how it is.

We all have our ways of setting our limits. I, for example, do not enter the school building at all during the month of July. There are times in June after the year has wrapped up that I have left something at school and need to go back, or I'll think of something I need to check on. August is when I start thinking about the new year, so I'll go in just to jog my memory as to how I left the classroom the year before, and if I need to order anything, I make a note of it early August so that I start the year off with all my supplies. I often spend the second half of June recalling what could have been improved the previous year and jotting it down in a Google Doc so I remember it again when I return to planning. In August I do return to planning, spending several hours daily creating new documents, revising old ones, writing lesson plans, and getting as much ready at home as I can before I really have to go in to the building itself and do some physical work. But in July, I make myself stay home. I won't say I don't do a little bit of work in July, especially if you can count Pinning ideas on Pinterest as work...

My July rule has a purpose. The purpose of my July rule is to remind me that I have to do some self-care and create some balance. Yes, teaching is a passion of mine and it makes sense for me to devote lots of time to it, since it's also my livelihood and my career. I am rewarded for my planning often, and believe that the work I do over the summers improves my teaching. However, I also have family and friends, I love to run and be outdoors, and I like doing art projects. While I manage, for the most part, to stay connected to people in my life during the school year, the time I spend with them in the summers is precious to me. It is not just Facebook statuses or half-conversations or time that gets scheduled around my need to go home to finish working before the weekend is over. I have more time to slow down in the summer. I do things on my own time. I rest. The stress and the demands of the school year melt away, and eventually I start to hear that soft, familiar voice in my head. The one that says, "Hey, maybe today we look at our plans for the school year."

So I do, but wait until August. Slowly at first, and some days I only look for a few minutes, while others I spend hours poring over books and plans and ideas without realizing just how much time has elapsed. But there is something liberating about being able to do that on my own time. In August, I have 4 hours to work with the new teacher at our school in the middle of the day, 2 hours to allow my mind to wander as I look at creative new ideas for organizing my lessons or creating a seating chart, 5 minutes to read a teaching blog. In August, I can let my computer sit all day long without picking it up once with no regrets. I have the leisure to work as much or as little as I want, when I want to. I have time to be creative and thoughtful, without the pressure of finishing priority work that is vital to my survival the next day with students. August is concept time, and I love it. Some of my best ideas come to me in August.

Of course, there has never been a time where I get everything done before, or even during the school year, that I dream up in August. Some things are immediately eliminated as I realize they are just unrealistic in practice. Other things evolve and become more developed as the year progresses. Still others are forgotten until it's too late. Better luck next year.

One thing, however, is certain: No matter how beat down, discouraged, exhausted, frustrated, or jaded I become by June, something magical happens in those summer months, during which I both play and work. I once again become excited and ready for the next group of students. I think about all the hope we have for the coming year. I look forward to bonding with a new group and caring for each of them.

I know this happens for other teachers too, because we come back to work with smiles on our faces and a spring in our step. I hear music floating out from other classroom doorways in the hall, as my colleagues and I diligently work to set up our classrooms and organize our materials. We hug, we smile, and we bring one another treats in that first week back. And on the first day of school, we do show up in our pretty clothes and nice hair, and beautifully packed lunches, just like the kids. Because on some level, we're just as excited and nervous as they are.

I know several teachers who don't make New Year's Resolutions in January. It's all about September for us. That magical time when we have had just enough of a break to forget the weight of all the problems in the education system and all the stresses that make teaching more difficult than perhaps it needs to be. September is when we remember and look forward to what is most important: the day-to-day workings of our classrooms and students, and the hope we all harbor for a successful year.

That is what summer means for teachers. A time to relax, recharge, and the time to work on improving our craft for the sake of our students. For in caring for ourselves, we ultimately do what is best for our students, which is to ensure that we are ready for them as we embark upon a school year together. Isn't that also doing important work? A healthy, happy teacher is proven to be a more effective one, and if we don't take time to care for ourselves, how can we care for the students in our charge?

I always tell people, "Anyone who says teachers only work 9 months out of the year is seriously mistaken," because for teachers, the only thing that changes is the type of work we do and when we do it. Balance is important, and just because we're not physically in the classroom having student contact all day doesn't mean that we're doing nothing. We're never idle. Teaching is a career, but more than that, it's a calling. We do it because we love it, and because we believe we can make a difference in children's lives. How many people get to say that about their jobs? Teaching is so much more than a "job." And we wouldn't have it any other way.

So here's to summer, as another one begins to wrap up for teachers in Oregon. May we squeeze the last bits of relaxation out of this one, and begin the new year with a renewed hope and energy. Happy summer, and good luck, fellow teachers, as we all gear up for September and all it brings.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Pregnant in Beer Mecca - Bend in a different light

We love Bend, Oregon. There are so many fun things to do and see, and so many adventures to be had: The Bend Ale Trail, a tour of microbreweries and tastings, long hikes, rafting, stand up paddle, and kitschy shopping downtown. Most of the time when we go to Bend, we spend our time on long hikes during the day, and enjoying the beers we found in the evenings. We typically schedule 1 raft trip, stay up late, sleep in, and start all over again.

So this year, we headed off for Bend, full of excitement, but things would be different: I was 30 weeks pregnant! No beer, no risky rafting or stand up paddle, and no long hikes, unless there happened to be a bathroom in the middle of the trail in the wilderness! A few weeks beforehand, I panicked - how were we going to have any fun?! But I did a little research, and kept an open mind once we got there. What follows is a list for pregnant women (and their support systems) of things to do, what to bring, and how we had a great vacation exploring things we might not otherwise have discovered.

What to Bring

1.  Sunblock. Lots of sunblock. I don't know about other pregnant women, but I seem to burn in about 30 seconds in my pregnant skin. I put on SPF 55 every time we went out, and still got a bit pink on one of the days. But overall, I thought I did a pretty good job not adding to my discomfort by avoiding sunburned skin.

2. Bug Spray. This was a lesson to me. I did NOT bring bug spray, and wished so badly that I had. We found a hiking spot along the Deschutes with a bathroom at the trailhead, and I was really excited to hit the trail. Rob started getting a couple of mosquito bites, but we didn't think much of it. As soon as we hit the trail, we literally got swarmed! None of us were exempt, but as a pregnant woman, the mosquitoes came to me like moths to a flame. I ended up with more mosquito bites than I could count, one tick bite, and we actually ran out of the trail, slapping our arms, legs, and faces, and hid in the car for 20 minutes while we waited for my dad to get back from his mountain bike ride. Although the area is not notorious for mosquitoes, let this be a lesson: be prepared with the bug spray!

3. Hand Sanitizer. After all, you'll be using every bathroom you encounter, and there's no guarantee of the condition of said bathrooms. I felt at least a little bit better that I had some control of my cleanliness. Plus it smelled nice, which most of those bathrooms do not.

4. Several pairs of shoes, socks, and clothes. Although I did do all my hiking in my tennis shoes, it was really refreshing to take them off in the car and slip into sandals. I also liked being able to dress pretty if I wanted, or lounge in comfy clothes if I needed to. I found myself showering and changing clothes often on this vacation, and was glad I brought the clothes and shoes I did. We also had a washing machine, which is not something you can bring with you, but something to keep in mind when booking. We did laundry almost daily.

5. Your partner, or some other form of support. Rob saved our vacation. He patiently waited while I stopped at literally every bathroom, carried water for us both, took photos, let me sleep when I needed to, and supported me when I had meltdowns (there were several). I know that even though the baby is in my body, he is totally affected by the changes I need: I can't taste beers with him, I don't have the energy to go out or stay out late, I don't have stamina to get out into the wilderness like we used to, and I need to eat, like, all. the. time. If Rob hadn't have been there with me on our vacation, I would not have enjoyed it the way I did. My family, who were also there, was also wonderful.

What to Do 

1.  Enjoy the public parks. Bend has a great public park system, and most of them center around the river. We stayed near Drake Park, which is downtown, but Riverbend and Farewell Bend parks, near the Old Mill District connect to one another, and are very nice, beautiful, and peaceful walking areas. Most of the paths in Bend's parks are paved, and the parks are very safe. They also have restrooms which are both clean and conveniently placed. Farewell Bend park extends the path, although not paved, along the river and feels more "hike-ish" but still accessible, and gentle.
Here we are at Farewell Bend park. On the other side of the river is Riverbend park, and off to the left of the photo is the path that goes further along the river than the paved part goes.

2. Buy state and national park passes. We bought the state pass and my sister bought the national park pass. They hang in your car, so you can share, which we did. Between us I think the passes paid for themselves by the end of the week. We visited Smith Rocks State Park, Sparks Lake, Tumalo Falls, and the Lava River Caves. I recommend all of these places. Each has ample restroom availability, and plenty of beautiful scenery. I'll go into each of them briefly:
  • Smith Rocks State Park
Go in the morning. We went in the afternoon, and it was really beautiful, and definitely less crowded, but that's because it was scorching hot. Our dog got overheated, it was that hot! Also, best views of rock climbers are apparently in the morning, since the sun isn't on the rocks. Wear hiking shoes or other shoes with good grip, if you can. I wore my running shoes, which have great support, but felt very unstable on the way down into the canyon. Another plus: this photo was taken at a picnic bench just off the parking lot, so if you don't feel like walking down or exerting yourself too much, there are lots of great views and photo-ops without really going very far.
  • Sparks Lake
Sparks Lake was a very pleasant surprise. There is a paved path to a viewpoint which is very short, as you can see I was wearing sandals, and managed just fine. We thought the path looped around, and, eventually, it did... But we were glad of the detour we took. We turned a corner and found ourselves on a part of the path which winds through what I would call a "mini-canyon" of lava rock columns. The columns were only about 10 feet tall, but we were surrounded on both sides, and this part of the trail felt totally different from the terrain we had just left, and from the terrain we entered once we were out of the "canyon." It was really fun, and the whole path along Sparks Lake was pleasantly shady and quiet, despite the packed parking lot.
  • Tumalo Falls

Drive up Skyliners Rd. directly from Bend, and in about 20 minutes, you'll arrive at Tumalo Falls. We thought we'd be hiking quite a bit, but this is another great spot with a lookout and a bathroom. We went on a Saturday near midday, so it was pretty busy, but we still managed several photos and great views of the falls. Since it was busy, and since we had another activity planned for the afternoon, we decided not to hike around, but there appeared to be several trails of varying difficulties in several directions.
  • Lava River Caves
These were easily the coolest (literally, the caves are 42 degrees at all times!) adventure we had. First, you have to check in with one of the rangers to verify that you haven't been in any caves in California or Washington in the last 5 years, since there's a bat disease going around that they don't want spreading. You get a really awesome stamp on your arm. Then, if you didn't bring your own flashlight, you rent a lantern from the next ranger. One lantern for 2 people is doable, but we found ourselves using our phone flashlights several times. Bring a sweatshirt, since it is cold down there, but in the middle of summer for a pregnant woman, it feels AWESOME. The signs say to give an hour for cave exploring, and that's about accurate. We walked at a good clip, and it took us about an hour and 10 minutes. The exploring is really just walking about a mile into the caves, then a mile back out. There's only one way to go, and the path is quite clear, and the walking is not strenuous at all. At the risk of sounding really obvious, it's very dark, so watch your step, and hold the handrails as needed. The end of the path is anticlimactic - there's just a sign that says to turn around or risk your life and/or getting in trouble with the rangers. It's not even a cute or fun sign. Again, one mistake was that we went on a Saturday afternoon, and on our way out we encountered several large groups, which was annoying, especially because I really needed to pee at that point, and was sick of waiting for people to go past us. We also saw several people with their little ones - one toddler screamed the whole way because he was afraid of the dark, and a couple with an infant got stuck trying to do a diaper change and calm their baby in the dark, cold cave. Our thought was that we'd wait to take our kids until they could walk 2 miles independently and we could explain the darkness to them and they could verbalize their fears. But that's just us, and maybe we'll feel differently when our kids are those ages. Overall, this experience was really rewarding, and worth the drive.

In terms of buying the passes, we now have access to do lots of things around Oregon and any other drives we might venture to for the next year with our little one. She won't remember the places, but we will, and we now have some pretty accessible places to go for little money with our daughter during her first year, when we will want to go places as a family. Win-win!

3. Get a massage. I was gifted a massage while we were in Bend, and I will just give a quick shout-out to Jinsei Spa. I had an amazing prenatal massage in a very calming spa atmosphere. I had a very calming experience, the massage was great, and I highly recommend it.

4. Nap. We tried to keep up our adventure pace throughout the vacation, even though the adventures were different. Days that I napped, I slept so hard I knew I needed it. Days I didn't nap were days I really struggled to hold it together until dinner, let alone stay awake to enjoy our family time together. Some days I definitely overdid it. Napping helped to offset that. Plan time in your days to nap, that's what vacation is for!

5. Take the time to enjoy the people you're with. Rob and I had several moments where we just sat and took in the moment. Whether we were outside at a beautiful park, sitting on the couches watching TV, or roaming downtown with our dog, we made a point to appreciate what a vacation sans baby meant, even if it wasn't the same as our typical vacations. No, we weren't exploring breweries or enjoying mid-afternoon cocktails, and we weren't spending all day long outside, getting further from civilization with each step, but we also weren't chasing a little one around, waking up at 2, and 4, and 5, and 6:30 in the morning, or frantically searching for the closest store because we're out of diapers (again).

At the end of our week, we were ready to go home, which we always see as a sign of a good vacation. We enjoyed ourselves, wore ourselves out, spent time with our family, and did some new things. I hope this post can be helpful to others who might like to go to Bend, pregnant or not. I didn't know what to expect out of this vacation. But by the end of it I remembered why I live in Oregon and choose to stay in-state on vacation: we live in a beautiful place with so many things to do, it's worth sticking around, regardless of life status.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Moving and Changing

We live in a house. If you don't know us, you would think this is a strangely obvious statement to make. But for my husband and I, living in a house has always been a life goal and dream. We had lots of help, but we have done it, and now we don't just exist in a residence, or function out of an apartment - we live in a house. Our new home. And we are so happy.

We hate moving. Both of us do. That being said, we have moved a total of 4 times since we started living together. You'd think we would avoid moving, and we do, but sometimes you just have to. We had to move from a 1-bedroom to a 2-bedroom apartment. We had to move to Albany, and we had to come back home to Eugene. But finally, we are in a home that we could see ourselves living in, growing in, and staying in for the rest of our lives. I walk through the hall and see little ones running around. I sit on our back porch and imagine summer after summer spent gazing at the garden and eating outside. I stand in the kitchen and envision Thanksgivings and Christmases, Duck game watch parties and birthday parties. My husband has spent hours already making the garage his "man cave" and organizing what little amounts of tools and supplies we have. He has meticulously swept off every inch of our porch, and picked out a welcome mat. We love this house. I didn't think it was possible to love a place so much, but for us, it provides a feeling of place, a feeling of belonging. Even our pets are happy here.

We had so much help from so many people in making this house happen. From help finding it, to acquiring it, to moving, to painting and decorating, to arranging (and then rearranging) the furniture. And even though we hate moving, this experience has brought us together with some of the people we love the most, and has brought us closer together. I have been able to relax quite a bit about the baby, since we are now living in a home that can accommodate our needs as a family.

This move has brought about a great deal of change for my husband and I. Today is our 3-year wedding anniversary, although we have known one another for nearly 10 years. As I reflect upon all the changes that have happened in these three married years, I am amazed. We have gone through so much together, and grown so much individually and as a couple. Since being married, we have both completed a college degree, lived in a different town, gotten a dog (and not just any dog, an anxiety-ridden shelter dog), entered career track jobs, traveled, experienced times of trial and times of triumph, and we have now started a family. And we've done those things at each other's sides. Now we take on another milestone together: a house. It's going to be different and difficult, but we're in it together. And teamwork is something we're good at.

Today is a celebration of how far we've come, and an acknowledgement that we will grow and change in the future. Today is about being grateful for what we have and for the people around us. It is about hope. Today is probably also about housework, since we're not quite done with the move...
Happy Anniversary to my husband! Here's to many, many more!