Sleep Deprivation and the End of the World

I'm pretty sure I know what will be the cause of the end of the world....lack of sleep! I have some pretty morbid thoughts at 4am (usually the third but lately the 5th wakeup and feeding that my 8 month old demands of me) which are not very loving. So lack of sleep=lack of love=no compassion=anger=riots and violence=death=END OF THE WORLD. So you see, my mommy issues have just solved all the world problems. You're welcome.

Moms, You Are Not Alone

Motherhood is hard. It is by far one of the hardest things I have ever experienced, and I, somehow...only by the grace of God...survived foster care. Sometimes it's beautiful and wonderful. Sometimes it's exhausting and grueling. But mostly it's hard.

I made a mistake today.

5 Must-Haves for Every New Mom

When you are still pregnant with your first child, you really have no idea what you are in for or what to expect. That's where this post comes in. My little girl is almost 3 months old, and there are a few things (most of which I stumbled upon) that I have found to be absolutely essential to surviving the first few months. So, I'm going to save you a lot of time and crying (both you and the baby) and just tell you right off the bat so you can get it now. Or put it on your baby registry, as the case may be. Here we go!

How to Get Rid of That Pesky Pregnancy Itch Safely and Effectively

When I was pregnant with my first child, my stretch marks developed into PUPPPs (Pruritic Urticarial Papules and Plaques of Pregnancy), which is an incredibly itchy rash ALL over my belly that I have scratched so much as to now have open sores. It was supposed to go away after I gave birth, and it did for the most part, but it does still itch some. But I've found something that really, truly works to alleviate that itch for a while.

A Complete Guide to Birthing A Baby Naturally Is Right at Your Fingertips

The story of my first daughter's birth really starts months before when I was twenty-something weeks along and terrified of giving birth. I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to give birth in my purely petrified state. So one day while my husband, mother-in-law, and I were browsing a bookstore, I decided I needed help to get over the irrational fears that were going through my mind and taking me down. I found myself in the parenting section of Mardel and started rifling through books to find one that I thought would help. After looking at several, I stumbled upon "The Birth Book" by William and Martha Sears, plopped down, and started perusing.

Against My Will

Clock Face by Stevie Gill, licensed under CC by 2.0

I think I would probably be perfectly happy keeping this baby inside me until she was ready if I didn't feel so pressured by society. I love being pregnant most of the time. I love the little kicks and turns. I love knowing that while she's still inside me, I can protect her. As soon as she's out, I can only do my best where that's concerned, and it will never be a guarantee. I love just sitting and relishing the moments when I start thinking about her and she moves around, almost as if in response to the love that I am sending her way. I love imagining what she will look like. Who she will be. What she will love. But, for some reason, I am not overly anxious to meet her deep down inside. Deep down inside, I'm....content. I'm happy that I'm finally here...that I'm finally living my dream of being pregnant. It feels wonderful.

Not My Story

Walking out of the hospital, I felt discouraged, sad, and just a little bit angry. Ok, fine, a lot angry. I had become THAT woman...the one who walked into the hospital at 3am after 9 straight hours of pretty steady contractions convinced that this was going to go somewhere. Eventually. I hadn't counted on labor lasting so long. I had read the posts, knew the averages, and accepted that it was a possibility, but I forgot one little detail...they were talking about the average time for ACTIVE labor. This was not it. I knew that. But I was still hoping against hope that maybe, maybe, I could walk home with a baby in my arms. My contractions were textbook. They were coming 30 mins apart, then 20, then 15, back up to 20, down to 15, and finally 10 mins apart, which is when I decided to make my debut.

I hate that I fell for it. I promised myself that I wouldn't. I was going to be that impressive first timer who shows up at the hospital just in time for just the right amount of care without the risk of too many interventions. I've read the blogs. I've seen the criteria. I knew the 4-1-1 rule. I didn't even plan to go to the hospital until I couldn't talk through my contractions, just like all the books and blogs and doctors advised. But when I was there, in that moment...overly excited about the fact that these contractions were actually doing something...I lost my mind. I got so anxious to meet my little girl and kiss her tiny fingers that I couldn't help myself. I went to that hospital. And I became that woman.

I walked out angry and sad and disappointed, but I think I was the better for it. While I was there...hooked up to a fetal monitor in a hospital gown with an oxygen monitor on my finger and trying not to cry because I had made a fool of myself...I got a little pep talk from my husband. He told me about something he had read recently about how God had "interfered" with the Egypt plan, so to speak. He talked about how Abraham knew that his descendants would be exiled. His descendants knew it. That was all part of the plan. They knew deliverance would come, and it did...through Moses. But what they weren't expecting was Pharoah. Moses approaches Pharoah and tells him to let his people go, and what response does he get? "No. In fact..hey...give those people more work." "That wasn't part of the plan, God!" Moses and the Israelites might have thought. Why did their deliverance have to come at such a cost? Why couldn't it be easy? There's a verse in Exodus that answers that question. God himself says, "Go to Pharoah, for I have made him and his servants hardhearted, so that I can demonstrate these signs of mine among them, so that you can tell your son and grandson about what I did to Egypt and about my signs that I demonstrated among them so that you will know that I am the Lord." (10:1) That was it. That was the reason. Simply that God wanted everyone to know, for generations to come, that He was in control. That no matter how much Moses or anyone else looked like they were running the show, they were really just ambassadors on His behalf.

It's God's story. He's writing it. Our lives are simply a line of text in that story. He's the One Who is in control. It's something that I lost sight of as I sat around awaiting the arrival of our firstborn daughter, but it's a lesson that needs learning more often.

After my husband finished his story and analogy, I said to him, "I knew I shouldn't have prayed that a week or so ago that he would help me to quit feeling like I have to be so in control." We laughed, but in all seriousness...I'm glad I prayed that prayer. It may have meant I ended up in the hospital and looked silly, but hey....He got the message across, didn't He? I am just a part of HIS story, and that's what really matters.

Has there ever been a time when you wanted to be in control and learned that you weren't?

The Beautiful Burden of Binge Watching

This is What I SHOULD Be Doing

I have determined that there should really be some type of AA program for binge watchers. I mean, I seriously am in need of like a twelve step program or something. It is just ridiculous the amount of online streaming I can manage to fit into one day. Like, almost an entire season. I wish I was kidding, but if I time it right and count very carefully, I can totally pull off 16 entire episodes (there are 22 in a season) of 45 minutes in just 12 hours. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

But. That. Is. So. WRONG.

I haven't actually gone that far in quite a while, but three or four (ok fine, or five) a day is pretty normal at this point. Which adds up to somewhere around two to five HOURS of television. A day. That's as much as 25 hours a week, assuming I take a couple of days off to DO something. There are so many more productive things that I could be doing. Like writing a book. Or READING a book. Like the one about birth that I HAVE to finish before the baby gets here. Or sewing that skirt and those 3 pairs of jeans that I have been neglecting for a month but all have tears in them. Or making granola for my husband, who is fresh out of cereal for breakfast. Or making bread because we are now out. Or writing those papers for class so I don't have to write them when I'm sleep deprived and juggling the demands of school, a newborn, and household chores.

This has got to stop.

But I LOVE my 7th Heaven. I also hate it. I love the drama, the hype, and the way I get to escape reality. But I hate the way it controls me, how I just can't stop, how I'm so enticed to watch more. Even though I love how it lets me escape reality....I have no need of escaping reality, because I lead quite a wonderful life, actually. So what I really end up escaping is responsibility.

There. I said it.

It's not even that I don't have a plan. I totally have a plan. I have a wonderful planner wherein lies the assignments I need to accomplish for school and the appointments that I have to show up at. I have a chalkboard with a menu on it of food that I need to make for the next week and a half to two weeks. I also have laundry in the basket and dishes in the sink, neither of which are actually written down anywhere, but kind of serve as their own reminders.

The problem, I think, is that I take one look at the planner or the dishes in the sink, suddenly feel overwhelmed, and resolve this issue with the thought "I shall cope by watching a show", which of course turns into several shows and less time to accomplish things. That's one potential problem. Or it could simply be that I am flat out bored. I look at my planner and see all the empty space because I'm two months ahead in one of my classes, almost a month ahead in another, and at least two weeks ahead in each of the other two online college classes that I'm taking. Dishes take a total of maybe 30 mins to an hour a day and laundry is pretty easy, too. Who knows what the issue is. But in order to not think about it...7th Heaven here I come! Oh the excuses I can come up with to willfully rot my brain out.

But I realized something today. I am FIVE WEEKS away from GIVING BIRTH. To a human. Who I will be responsible for. Forever. That kind of hit me like a ton of bricks today. Do you know how much I legitimately have to do before she gets here? Way too much to be sitting around binge watching T.V. Granted, the every day stuff is pretty easy and even a little boring, but there are other, bigger things that I have yet accomplish that MUST get done. Meet Pediatricians and decide on one (at least we have a family doctor if that doesn't get done). Go to the baby shower. Put the car seat in the car. Prepare the room. Kegels. I don't even have the "Go" bag ready yet, people. Oh so many things.

So I decided to quit. Cold turkey. Just STOP binge-watching. Because I don't have time. But I'm not stupid. I know that I legitimately, honestly, can't do that. I am the obsessive type and I am really bad at directing my obsessions toward non-productive things (other than the class I'm two months ahead in....rather proud of that). Therefore, I know I need help. A lot of help. Because I can't just "quit" Netflix/Amazon Prime. That's like an alcoholic saying they can just "quit" alcohol. W-h-a-t-e-v-e-r. Not gonna happen. But I wish. I wish it was just as easy as saying "I quit" and then doing it, because I have a TON to do.

Ok. All this ranting has made me all depressed. So I think I'll just go watch some 7th Heaven to bury the feeling of helplessness and powerlessness that I now feel. (Not really, but it is, admittedly, mighty tempting. *sigh*).

What are some things you feel powerless to overcome?