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Monday, July 17, 2023

Bodily Function TMI

I have the tiniest bit of boob leaking. Not a big deal at all. Some of the ladies in my due date Facebook group have been stashing colostrum for weeks, lots of other ladies haven't seen a drop. There is a continuum of human experience. 

Still, I found it to be very, very exciting! I did absolutely nothing to make that happen. It happened on its own. My body is doing its own set of preparations while my conscious mind is just out here living my life as normal (or worse, to be honest, my nutrition has a little bit, um, lapsed recently). 

Then I had a few dribbles of fluid down my leg. I mean, could be anything. Pee, vaginal discharge, bath water, or . . . amniotic fluid??? Once the thought had arisen, my conscious mind was playing things out. WHAT IF THIS WAS IT???

On the one hand, I would be so happy to have him in my arms tomorrow. I worry about him in there. I wish there was a portal that I could peek into his space to check on him. Part of me wants him to exit ASAP because I have it in my head that I will worry about him less when he is on the outside--but of course that is a fallacy. I can't keep him alive; God sustains him. 

The other hand, the wiser part of me acknowledges how much easier he is to care for on the inside: no crying, no diapers, no feedings. He deserves the warm, comforting enclosure of his womb for as many more weeks as I can give him. And I am in no hurry for the trial of labor. 

But this is what the leaking and the dribbling taught me--first the dribble. It made me imagine with sincerity, for the first time, that moment when my water actually does break. And I realized I am sooooo not mentally ready. (Well, of course not, I am 34 weeks, after all.) My prevailing emotion was panic. 

Then I remembered the leaking, and it made me realize, my body can do all kinds of things without me. When I read in my birth book that pushing is quite involuntary, I have to suppress the impulse to scoff at that--it can't be true, right? But the leaky nips really reassured me--some things really can happen on their own. 

That is not to say there isn't corruption in our DNA. There is a reason I struggle to trust my body. It has let me down before. In His mercy to humanity, He gave us science and medicine and hospitals, because there is a need for them. But the fallenness of the world does not mean it is good or right or true to assume that my body will wholly stop functioning as it was designed. 

Monday, June 26, 2023

On nights that I don't sleep well, I wake up with the overwhelming fear that my baby died in the middle of the night. That I slept too long on my back and the restricted blood flow suffocated him. That all of the meds I took all these times I got sick during the pregnancy created a developmental abnormality not detectable on the ultrasounds. Or that it's just a freak tragedy. I woke up on Sunday feeling that way. 

I focused on my womb willing him to move, and while the briefest rustle confirmed he was still in there, it was not robust enough to clear the cobwebs. I was so tired and feeling nauseated from being so tired, Peter questioned whether I felt up for going to church. The entire ride I perseverated over my morbid anxiety--what could I do to get some relief? We arrived a little late, but we were in time to join the congregation in the hymn that closed out the worship set:
'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus
Just to take Him at His Word
Just to rest upon His promise
Just to know, "Thus saith the Lord"

O for grace to trust Him more
In a rush I felt a release, a comfort, a peace. It's not that God has said to me that my baby will live. We are not promised our earthly preservation, although I think I have permission to expect that! But I felt the anxiety drop away. Because whatever happens, it cannot change who Jesus is and what He has promised. 

The pastor taught on the passage where, after Lot was kidnapped and Abraham rescued him, Abraham gave a tithe to Melchizedek, and how Melchizedek is a Christ figure from the Old Testament. While the exposition was interesting, I wasn't sure how the tithe connected until the very end, when the pastor gently reminded us--every single thing we have is from God and we are freed so that we can give it back to God. 

He is Your baby, God. I feel so responsible, because my body is hosting him for a time and my actions and choices affect him. But my responsibility does not change the prevailing truth that his fate is more in Your hands than in mine. You designed human reproduction. You put the blueprint for growth in his DNA. You placed his soul in his cells and You have already seen his whole life. 

My hands feel more open. My heart is comforted. 

Tuesday, March 28, 2023

Toughening Up

Last night Peter and I watched a sample birthing class where the instructor taught a hypnobirthing technique for pain management. I am considering a natural birth because of my fear of needles (and forget about needles in my freaking spine!), so I have been watching a lot of birthing stories and reading a lot of blog posts about how to cope with a natural birth. Ironically, what I have found has not inspired a lot of self-confidence. 

On Sunday, Peter and I also attempted a 60 second cold shower on the advice of Dr. Andrew Huberman and I was appalled by how challenging that was for me. I joked before I got in that this would be a coaching tool for natural birth, practicing relaxing through discomfort for the approximate duration of a contraction. I regretted drawing the comparison almost immediately. I finished the 60 seconds feeling demoralized. It was so hard! And that was only cold! Not pain! 

So when our birthing class instructor told us to grab some ice, I knew what was coming. As I squeezed the ice cube in my palm, I did my best to go to Station 18 1/2 at Sullivan's Island beach. I tried to remember dodging the jellyfish as I ran, I tried to remember watching the freight coming in and out of the harbor, I tried to remember sitting in the shallows while it thundered and lightning, I tried to remember hiding my frose in the sand . . . but I couldn't go there. I was sitting on my couch with little stabs of cold shooting up my arm. Meanwhile Peter was on the side of me radiating bliss. "I'm in Hawaii!" 

It's been a while since I have embraced physical discomfort. Marathon training is a well I go back to as I try to hype myself up for what my body can do, but the truth is that it's been months since I've been on a really good run. Even the road race we did last spring was a struggle, not triumphant. The nausea of the first trimester felt intolerable, unbearable--I slept during the day, something I hate doing, just to get some escape from it. I even stopped taking the stairs! (I am back on my stairs-only wagon now, but it is so much harder than it once was!) 

I feel like a weaker, softer version of myself. I don't think of myself as a mentally tough or particularly disciplined person, but I thought I was stronger than this! I thought I could power through the feeling of my body quitting on me, but I remember that it took two marathons, not one, and hours and hours of training to be fit enough to do that, and it was still really, really hard. I used to be able to smell the salt coming off Shem's Creek and the sugar drifting out of the praline shop, but now when I need those memories, they are out of reach and all that is in front of me is the unpleasantness, discomfort, and pain.

And if you are thinking I sound dramatic right now, I would tell you I am not being dramatic enough. If I feel this way now, how am I supposed to handle it when I actually do feel like my insides are being ripped apart??? Feels like it might be more realistic to mentally train to cope with an epidural than mentally train to cope with a natural labor. 

The one thing that comforts me: I still have time to prepare. I have time to prepare my body physically with walking, and stairs, and strength training, and endurance training, and raspberry leaf tea. I have time to prepare my mind to focus on the beach instead of the contractions. I can learn all the Lamaze breaths and the other hypnobirthing strategies and maybe even successfully meditate. I think I have a lot of cold showers ahead of me. (Today I cheated and only put my legs and arms in, and it STILL hurt!) 

I tell myself this decision is about my fear of needles, but I think it is also about my desire to challenge myself, to feel accomplished. Of course, I think I will feel accomplished whichever way this baby gets out of me. I already feel accomplished. Hayley 10 years ago thought she would never be able to tolerate the discomfort and indignities of hosting a person inside her body. Yet here I am. And Hayley of 10 years ago is still with me in this ethos of chose the hard thing. 

Wednesday, February 1, 2023

Finally getting pregnant after one miscarriage and 30 months of trying does not cancel out or somehow negate the pain of those experiences. Even standing in my doctor's office with a sonogram photo after just being reassured that, yes, my baby had a heartbeat, even then I cried for the baby I never got to meet. 

Thinking now about who we want to tell and how we want to tell them, I remember how others' pregnancy announcements landed. My sister-in-law's birth announcement came on the day I started my period after our first month of trying. Now I am embarrassed that I could even be so hopeful and expectant after just one month, but in that moment her happy news felt like an exclamation point on my empty womb. 

We learned of another friend's pregnancy just a month before we got out own first positive pregnancy test. She had been very careful about talking about it because she had had a miscarriage just a few months prior. I thought of her and so many other friends when we learned our baby had died--I was comforted in a small way by the knowledge of how common miscarriage is. There are many of us who have walked through this grief. 

I took a break from Instagram about a year ago because I felt so much guilt and anxiety about what I knew and didn't know about people's lives. I feel like I can enter a social interaction now and ask with sincerity, "Tell me what's been going on!" and not feel the temptation to pretend I know what's been going on since I saw it on the socials. 

I also feel that I can share the happy things and the sad things with more trust. It is lovely to receive affirmation and encouragement from strangers and acquaintances. But something like a pregnancy announcement, I know from my own reactions how fraught it can be. As much joy as I felt for my friends, I felt an equal proportion of sadness, loss, and maybe a little envy. And as much encouragement as I received from hearing my friends' struggles with fertility, I am not sure I have sufficiently processed my sadness to share such personal information for mass consumption. 

The people who love me can hold their happiness for my happiness in tension with their own complicated feelings on this topic. The people who love me can suspend judgment about my journey and engage with my dual grief and joy. The people who love me want to know these Big Life Updates. And I am so thankful to have people in my life who readily carry that mantle for me; I hope I can do the same for them.  

Monday, October 3, 2022

Loss

It is good to remember: 
This is common
This is not your fault
This is making life in a fall world
This is God's design for our bodies
This is painful--and you should not deny yourself the pain

It is good to grieve:
I hope you will not feel ashamed of your sadness
Or ashamed of your hopefulness which made this news such a surprise
The brevity of this life does not mean its loss is without consequence
And your hopefulness to try again does not dishonor the loss
Somehow it feels good to have the tender parts of your heart be tested

It was true before and it is true now: I have gifts all around me

Wednesday, December 29, 2021

30 Books

One of my goals for 2021 was to get back into reading. It's strange to me how reading used to be such a regular part of my life and an activity I defined my identity by back when. But mid-way through my twenties the punishing reading schedule of law school combined with the siren song of television stamped out any appetite I had for recreational reading. 

But in actuality, my mom had resolved to become "a reader" (although her delineation did puzzle me, since I have always considered my mom to be a reader) and in sharing her Audible password with me, she opened the door for many mini book discussions on my weekends home. Then, my sisters plus an honorary sister successfully launched a more formal book discussion group, which has successfully selected three titles in 2021. We are getting it done the way that works for us. 

For attribution purposes, many of these titles were recommended by the Modern Mrs. Darcy book club; this is not my own curation. 

It has been life-enriching to be consuming books again. Many selections have assisted me in considering certain topics anew. The Cold Millions, for example, read just before the George Floyd protests broke out, forced me to reexamine the role of direct action and peaceful protest. Codependent No More gifted me so much wisdom about why I struggle in certain ways in certain relationships. I listened to Americanah while I worked on a Nigerian asylum case and I listened to Sparks Like Stars while Kabbul fell to the Taliban.

I noticed when reviewing the ground I had covered this year was how each title evoked memories from when I had been reading that book. Even though the vast majority were consumed while driving, I remember those trips: stopping for Chick-fil-A in Virginia while listening to The Silver Chair; getting a speeding ticket in Roscoe while listening to The Other Black Girl; blushing through Beach Read on a flight back from Mexico; hunting for the Mercer Williams House in Savannah before starting Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Usually my memories feel very slippery to me, but sharing these books with other people (Peter, my mom, our book discussion group, our travel companions) has helped me hang onto not only the stories themselves, but also the slices of life that was happening while I encountered these stories. 

This is the full list of books I finished in 2021:

Monday, April 19, 2021

I warned my husband, "I am becoming radicalized!" Between watching The Trial of the Chicago 7, reading The Cold Millions, watching the news, and being an immigration attorney, I have sensed my simmering rage begin to bubble at the reckless, repeated, callous, and unrestrained violation of rights by governments. 

In particularly, I have been considering an Instagram post by @literally.noam.chomsky that articulated the following observation about inducing political change:
Many people seem to think that the process of political change through peaceful protest looks something like this: (1) People peacefully protest, (2) ?????, (3) Political change happens. In reality, it looks something closer to this: (1) People protest in a way the government is unable to ignore, (2) Protestors are unjustly beaten, teargassed, and shot at in a public setting by the government, (3) The general population witnesses the violence, becomes outraged, and sides with the protestors, (4) The government gives in to the people's demands on the threat of mass revolt.
The post concludes that emphasis on peaceful protests is really requesting that people become martyrs for their causes. This is partly the goal of one of the protagonists of The Cold Millions, a young pregnant labor organizer is distressed to receive bail, because she had intended that her imprisonment would galvanize respectable people to care about Spokane's anti-speech law. This is what Tom Hayden meant when he spoke about blood running in the streets--let America see the brutality! I guess this is what I mean that I cam becoming radicalized, that I am increasingly comfortable with sacrificing my safety or blood for what is right. 

But I don't know if that really works, you know? I want to raise awareness. I want people to know about famine in Yemen, about gang rule in the northern Central American triangle, about political prisoners in Senegal, about the injustices of the immigration system, about how scary and inhumane jail is. There is plenty of outrage and awareness out there already, but what has it done? I think about Pete Coones and Derek Chauvin, and I wonder what I'm doing with my law degree. There is just so much that is broken, and I feel really powerless. 

There are no answers inside myself. In church the pastor reads Psalm 2:1, "Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain?" To my surprise I saw I had highlighted this verse, it must have been at least 3 years ago, but still I'm asking this, why? The psalm goes on to say, "He who sits in heaven laughs, then he will speak to them in his wrath." That same morning we sang, "Shake the mountains, break the walls apart, open the Heavens, Almighty God, You are Overcomer, by Your power, the oceans open wide, Your fire falls down, Heaven and Earth collide, Your power and Your presence break strongholds, when You speak, mountains move." The pastor asks us, "Have we lost our reverent fear of the power of God?"

I felt sobered but comforted leaving church. Awed by the reminder that my God decimates kingdoms. Convicted by the reminder that my God has already sacrificed his body to make broken systems righteous. 

Monday, March 1, 2021

Bits and bobs accomplished this Saturday. 

I had ordered some hydraulic hinges for the bed frame on Amazon, and we had attempted to install them last week, but it was bumpy going. I was concerned that the ones I had chose just wouldn't work with our space and set up, but Peter is the ultimate problem-solver! He got those bad boys installed all by his selfie, and our bed opens (practically!) on its own now! Very sturdy. He shaved some more wood off the edges of the frame so they are not scraping against any of the walls. He also added trim along the edges of the frame so the mattress won't slide out. 

In the bathroom, Peter attached quarter round in the shower wall seams. He added faux tile board to the side of the bench seat that meets the shelf under the window. And he started building the shelf under the window! Shower needs to be caulked and the drain secured, but it is really looking like a real shower. 

We got the missing female elbow joint for finishing the plumbing for the shower distribution, and Peter finished installing that. He carved out some of the stud with the multitool so the elbow can sit securely in there. Reattached the outer wall and put wood putty over the screws, sanded, and it's ready for paint! 

We tried to install the bathroom light. It is a 120v fixture, but we attempted to convert according to the instructions and, no dice. The wires are live, and the fixture worked when we tested it at my parents' house, so perhaps the problem is the bulb? 

I busied myself with sanding: the last window frame is ready for its paint, and I patched some holes with Bondo now that it is warm enough for that. I took the knobs off of the window lifts so I can get the paint off those and get them shiny again. I opened up the Capt'n Tolley's to try sealing some rivets. Might try treating the windows with it, too. Weatherstripping and scouring the aluminum might be my next little project. Peter is the woodworking Michelangelo, so I need to find little prettiness projects. 

We are going to try to get it inspected next week, so next Saturday will be for getting it up to snuff, e.g., attaching the belly pan in the back, checking the license plate light, tightening the lug nuts. I am hoping the inspection station will be able to give me a checklist. Once it passes inspection we should be able to get it registered! We are looking to move it to my parents' house by March 15.