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?

The Daunting Task of Parenthood and Christmas

I'm going to be a mom in a mere fifteen weeks, approximately. The thought of it is thrilling, yet daunting. Technically, I'm already a mom, what with the gymnastics going on in my stomach that didn't start until bedtime and the consequential need to implore my husband to sing to our little girl so that I could sleep. That's parenthood, right? The bedtime fight? (The singing actually worked, by the way. She stopped her flip-flopping and got still so that I could sleep. She likes her daddy's voice, thankfully).

But parenthood is so much more than that, and the real test comes when I have to figure out what to teach my little girl. That, indeed, is the daunting part of this task I have been handed. I remember sitting in the living room as I received a long-winded speech about the pitfalls of my actions from my mother. At the end of it, inevitably, was the ever-present reminder: "It is my job to train you up in the way that you should go, so that when you are old, you will not depart from it. Because one day I will stand before the throne of God and have to be accountable for what I taught you. So I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to be your mom." I even once jokingly told her that I was going to put Proverbs 22:6 on her gravestone because she said it so often and it was like her life's motto.

And now, soon, it will be my turn. It will be my job to take the torch and carry it forward to another generation. I just have one problem. There are some things that I'm standing on the fence regarding what I believe about them. The fence isn't the greatest place to be. It's a bit unstable and I often feel like I'm about to fall. But regardless, I will be responsible for what I pour into this child, and I value the position I have in her life very highly. To me, it's quite a serious matter....what I teach her. I feel that it is both the most rewarding and the most heavy responsibility that we have as parents.

I'm not so worried about the easier things like ABC's and school and tying shoes. Rather, I'm apprehensive about the bigger things that I'm not even sure about. For instance....Christmas. Today is actually Christmas day, and while I understand that I won't have to teach her about all the ins and outs of it for a couple of years, when she will comprehend what I am saying, I also realize that sometime before then I need to decide what it is that I actually want to teach her about it. A few years back, I did a bunch of research and discovered the depressing truth that Christmas had entirely pagan roots. I stopped celebrating it. I still don't plan to, but I am nevertheless stuck with a dilemma...do I emphasize the pagan roots in teaching her about it, or do I emphasize the charitable spirit that Christmas now has? A year ago yesterday I was working in a bakery and refused to promote Christmas in any way. I wouldn't even put the colors red and green together on a cake or cupcakes. I attempted to avoid the cake orders that were Christmas-y. I dreaded the moments when people walked in and wanted me to write Happy Birthday Jesus on a cake. I sometimes passed it off to another bakery worker. Didn't they know that he was actually born during the Jewish feast of Sukkot in September/October? They didn't celebrate their own birthdays two months later....why His? And it was well documented that December 25th, the time of the Winter Solstice, was the feast of Saturnalia and the birthday of the sun god Tammuz. Why was everyone celebrating this and fine with it? It was pure pagan. I was excellent at judging everyone and their dogs (who often wore Santa suits).

All Done! by Roxanne Ready licensed under CC by 2.0

Now it's a year later and I am seeing things completely differently. Yes, it used to be pagan and they literally worshiped another god during this time. But that was nearly 2000 years ago. What does it look like now? I don't see any gods being worshiped except Yeshua, who deserves to be worshiped anyways. I see a whole bunch of people thinking, at least for this one time a year, of those less fortunate. I see people volunteering at homeless shelters and sending gifts to children in other countries who lack the most basic of necessities. I see smiles EVERYWHERE. People are actually nice to strangers on the street during this time. Families come together and look forward to spending time together. Differences are set aside. There is so much joy. So I have to ask myself....does Christmas today even remotely resemble its pagan past? I have to answer no. There are no public orgies. People aren't running off to temple prostitutes. Messianics during this time constantly hold up Jeremiah 10:2-4 for all to see. It fits so perfectly with the Christmas trees seen going up during this time...until you look at the second half of verse 3: "A tree from the forest is cut down and worked with an axe by the hands of a craftsman". We Messianics conveniently forget that part. It is quite obvious from this that what they are talking about is literally fashioning an idol out of this wood from the tree. They are not talking about putting up a whole tree in one's house. Additionally, I have never seen anyone who celebrates Christmas bowing down and worshiping their trees. Not once. People can have idols in their hearts, yes. But it is between them and God whether or not they are taking the Christmas season further than just enjoying it into worshiping it. 

Still I waver on what to teach our little girl. What does God think of this season? Does He look down at all the joy, all the charity...pure and wholesome...and abhor it because of its past? Does he hate it because it was once a completely different celebration to a completely different god? And, what if we didn't have internet? Would we even know about this? More than likely not, unless we were historians. Are we now obligated to hate this holiday simply because of the advancement of technology? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

No matter what I end up teaching my daughter, it's important that I teach it with a clear conscience before my Creator. I may not get it perfect, but I can at least do my best. Perhaps that's what parenthood is...doing your best and being willing to apologize when you fail. What are some things you have struggled with about being a parent?

It's A Whole New World

Sometime after one of my many trips to the inner sanctum of porcelain where I go to present my previously-nearly-daily sacrifices of food, I had a weak moment. I dissolved against the yellow diamond checker patterned bathroom wall and proceeded to weep tears of hopelessness. After seven full weeks of losing my lunch, I felt pretty down. I was losing hope that it would all magically end in a mere week with the onset of my twelfth week of pregnancy as if someone flipped a switch in my body that lets the baby know that they can now begin the process of actually receiving nutrients from me.

I managed to compose myself, however, and did what any sane person does these days: ran to Google. I typed in "Why didn't anyone tell me pregnancy would be so hard?" and gained a treasure trove of information. The one that stands out to me the most was a blog that had me laughing so hard at how relatable it was and bursting out "Yes! Exactly!! Somebody gets it!" at random intervals that I was inspired. The idea of writing a blog so that somebody, somewhere would know that they were not alone appealed to me.

Desmond Tutu by BK licensed under CC by 2.0

When my husband got home, I said to him, "I think pregnancy may force me to write a blog". His face lit up as if he was a child and I had just told him we were leaving for Disney World in five days. "You should! Do it! Do it! You should totally do it!" he responded as he barely refrained from jumping up and down.

But I was reluctant. What would I say? What did I possibly have to offer the world except boring anecdotes from my wonderful life? What kind of impact could I possibly make on anyone's life? Then I started comparing. He happens to have a blog. It's all religious and beautiful and perfect. I am not that kind of person. I am real and raw and excruciatingly honest. I shared this with him and he tells me that this is a good thing, that people like that.

I'm still hesitating. Do I really want to do this? Tell the whole world my thoughts and hope that they can take something from it that just possibly helps them? That's a scary thought. I am so so so way too honest. Something is going to one day flow out of my fingers and everyone is going to see it and I am going to regret it and then it's going to go viral and then....

See? This is my issue. I worry too much. So I continued to procrastinate until one day as I do schoolwork, my husband walks up to me and asks for my email password. I'm currently quite focused on the paper that I'm writing for my business class and give it to him. I wonder momentarily what he's up to before I quickly get distracted as is often the case (I'm like the dogs off of "Up") and refocus on my intense paper.

Soon, I'm done with school and he's pulling me over to his computer. "Look!!" he says with that same look of delight on his face.

The boy has started a blog for me. I don't know how to react. I am secretly happy and excited but there is no way I can let him get off the hook so easily.

"Oh no...you didn't. Please tell me you didn't. You....you MADE me a blog?"

"Yes! Isn't it great?!" he lifts himself onto his toes and quickly sets himself back down again to emphasize the last word.

Now I'm obligated. I'm happy, excited, nervous, and worried all at once, but here I go. I took it on, changing the name to what I wanted, playing around until I found the right colors and font to fit my personality. I got excited, adding my description and really making it my own. I dabbled until I found my way around the place, and in just a few short moments, I became a blogger. I may stumble and storytell my way through, but at least I can be an encouragement to other moms the same way that blog was for me. This will be an adventure unlike any other. Won't you join me?