A friend of mine just had her third baby. (Yayyyyyy! Congrats Mama!) Her husband brought their two older kids to Church while she stayed home to rest (since their baby was born 2 days before) and while I was busy trying to congratulate the new Papa, I overhead a comment that made me want to lose my mind. While patting him on the back, an older gentlemen repeated more than once his congratulations, while reminding the new Dad, who was joyfully caring for his two older children solo, that he shouldn't really be congratulated on the birth as he had done NOTHING. I still have steam pouring out of my ears over this comment. I know for a fact that if my friend had been there, she would have sung the praises of her wonderful husband, but as she wasn't there he, cool as a cucumber, smiled very modestly and praised his wife for her excellence in all things.
So why am I, a woman who has personally pushed out 4 children, so upset? This couple's labour experience is %100 not my business, but I find the attitude that men have no job or place in the delivery room (or if you're super cool and do homebirths, in the living room!) so archaic and sexist. Yes, our husbands will never have to push a baby out their business, but that's okay, because they're not built to do that. Although my husband has said more than once that he would gladly take the pain rather than watch me fight through it. But that's not his job during labour. His job during labour is to stand by me, and be my rock. And he is. I have no idea how I would have survived my 4th labour without an epidural if he wasn't next to me, holding my hand, encouraging and empowering me, praying with me, and doing pretty much any reasonable thing I asked him quickly and with joy. The heart of service my husband shows me while I'm giving birth is nothing less than saintly. Beforehand, he also did every thing he could to learn about my needs and desires for labour, so that when I was in la la land during contractions, he could be my advocate. Nobody touched me let alone gave me an intervention without having to go through him. The doctors would have had a better chance doing something he knew I wouldn't have wanted if they had asked a hungry tiger while wearing bloody zebra steaks for coats.
Gone are the days of men puffing cigars in the waiting room while waiting for doctors to let them know how their wives fared. Fathers of this generation know all the lingo for labour, have educated themselves on what the mothers of their children want, and are there in the delivery room doing all they can to make sure all she has to worry about is getting through the next contraction or push. By the time we're done having kids, my Husband will be able to write a PhD thesis about labour, and give practical courses on massage therapy and how to scare the crap out of medical staff who don't show respect. And let's not forget that in the case of 2nd, 3rd, or 4th siblings, Dads go home after no sleep and an emotional roller coaster wilder than the wildest theme park, and get back to the business of parenting while waiting for Mum and the new baby to be released from the hospital. While some would call that "babysitting" (and if you do in front of me, I apologise for the fact that I may accidentally punch you in the throat), I call that real parenting.
Anyone who knows the real men, the real Dads of this generation and how hard they work for the women they love wouldn't dare say that they don't do anything during labour and delivery or afterwards. These are modest good men not looking for any praise, but that doesn't mean taking a swipe at their dignity and contribution to the life of their family is right. It's absolutely shameful that anyone should assume they have to right to even joke like that with the Dads of our generation. Men who would think to say that men like my husband or my friend's husband did NOTHING during labour, have a lot to learn about what it means to be a real man in this day and age.
Showing posts with label Daddy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daddy. Show all posts
Friday, 11 January 2013
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Misdiagnosis
In case you hadn't heard, my husband had major abdominal surgery today. For the past week or so I have been haunted by the idea of the what ifs for this surgery. He also has a condition named gastroparesis which is a kind of paralysis of the stomach. That means that he is more likely to vomit and asphyxiate under general anaesthesia. Not really a good feeling having this knowledge while my husband is in surgery and I'm at home with four young children. So, I've been freaking out. Maybe a lot. But I haven't JUST be freaking out. I promise! I have been praying up a storm for him and for the doctors who would be operating on him.
This morning when the sun had barely risen my father came to whisk him off to the hospital, leaving me in a very quiet house. The kids were still sleeping so I was left with my thoughts. Just as the thoughts were taking a dark turn my phone rang. Clearly God was whispering in my Dad's ear because he was calling to invite me to Mass this morning. So, while my husband was in surgery, being carefully sliced open by the surgeons, we were walking to Church in the early heat of the day. The sunshine and delicious breeze were a beautiful distraction for both myself and the kids. When we got to Church we had the pleasure of praying for him, and hearing a beautiful homily all about how having faith in God doesn't always mean we trust Him, and that we should seek to place our trust in God with great abandon. It was without a doubt exactly what I needed to hear.
Not too long after we got home the phone rang and my heart skipped a beat. As I walked the few steps to the phone my heart was pounding and my brain traced through the series of possibilities waiting on the other end of the line. To my endless joy, we got the good news that not only had the surgery gone well, but that my husband was coming home a full two hours earlier than expected. When we greeted him at the door the kids were practically bouncing off the walls, and I have to add that I was tempted to join them I was so full of gratitude. I realise I totally blew this surgery out of proportion, but I think it's only natural when someone we love so deeply is ill and facing even a small percentage of death, we act as though it's already happened. Luckily God worked through the hands of the surgical staff and anaesthesiologist and he's back home, safe and relatively sound. He has many weeks of recovery ahead, but that's far better than the alternative.
Once he was through the door and I'd put the kids down for a much needed nap, my husband gave me the run down of what the surgeon had told him post-op. We both fully expected some explanation of the mesh used to repair his hernia, as well as the magnitude of the hernia. As it turns out, the reason his surgery had taken so long (and the recovery so little) time was that when the doctor cut him open, he couldn't find a hernia. Rather than using a scope as he had hoped, the doctor ended up having to cut a larger incision to explore the area in hopes of finding the hernia. The doctor was clearly confused as he himself, as well as no less than three other doctors, had diagnosed an advanced hernia in the area he was looking. My husband's description of his symptoms were also concurrent with the symptoms of an inguinal hernia that had reached an advanced stage. And yet there was the doctor, cutting him open a little more and a little more trying to find this mystery hernia. Eventually he found the cause of all my husband's pain: a little ball of fat that had been there long enough for the nerve and muscle to encircle it. (The idea of my very slim husband with a ball of fat anywhere on his body is kind of hilarious to me!) The ball of fat had been pushing against a nerve center causing intense pain below and above its location. This tiny, seemingly insignificant ball of fat has been causing my sweet husband chronic pain since before we met. I can think of so many unexplained symptoms that lead back to this one problem. For the first time in many years he is regaining some feeling in his right thigh, which has been gradually going numb from his upper thigh down toward his knee. This is important because the fat ball is located at the spot where the leg started to go numb. Not to mention all this business with his digestive tract! They told him early this year that the nerves in his stomach had gone numb, thus the diagnosis of gastroparesis. Everything is finally starting to make sense.
I firmly believe that if my husband hadn't been diagnosed with a hernia, and his pain hadn't been so severe as to implicated a dangerously incarcerated or strangulated bowel, he never would have seen a surgeon so soon. Now, it is my hope that once he's recovered in six weeks, his quality of life will increase dramatically. I can't help but feel excited because I know that when he's back to full strength he'll be able to be the father he wants to be without worrying he'll get hurt. With that in mind, and with the blessing of the misdiagnosis that still led to the proper surgery so quickly, we cuddle up as a family around his chair tonight and said our prayers of thanksgiving. I don't doubt God's hand is in all of this, and it gives my heart so much consolation to know that God is watching over our little family with special care. Today more than ever I will whisper the prayer:
This morning when the sun had barely risen my father came to whisk him off to the hospital, leaving me in a very quiet house. The kids were still sleeping so I was left with my thoughts. Just as the thoughts were taking a dark turn my phone rang. Clearly God was whispering in my Dad's ear because he was calling to invite me to Mass this morning. So, while my husband was in surgery, being carefully sliced open by the surgeons, we were walking to Church in the early heat of the day. The sunshine and delicious breeze were a beautiful distraction for both myself and the kids. When we got to Church we had the pleasure of praying for him, and hearing a beautiful homily all about how having faith in God doesn't always mean we trust Him, and that we should seek to place our trust in God with great abandon. It was without a doubt exactly what I needed to hear.
Not too long after we got home the phone rang and my heart skipped a beat. As I walked the few steps to the phone my heart was pounding and my brain traced through the series of possibilities waiting on the other end of the line. To my endless joy, we got the good news that not only had the surgery gone well, but that my husband was coming home a full two hours earlier than expected. When we greeted him at the door the kids were practically bouncing off the walls, and I have to add that I was tempted to join them I was so full of gratitude. I realise I totally blew this surgery out of proportion, but I think it's only natural when someone we love so deeply is ill and facing even a small percentage of death, we act as though it's already happened. Luckily God worked through the hands of the surgical staff and anaesthesiologist and he's back home, safe and relatively sound. He has many weeks of recovery ahead, but that's far better than the alternative.
Once he was through the door and I'd put the kids down for a much needed nap, my husband gave me the run down of what the surgeon had told him post-op. We both fully expected some explanation of the mesh used to repair his hernia, as well as the magnitude of the hernia. As it turns out, the reason his surgery had taken so long (and the recovery so little) time was that when the doctor cut him open, he couldn't find a hernia. Rather than using a scope as he had hoped, the doctor ended up having to cut a larger incision to explore the area in hopes of finding the hernia. The doctor was clearly confused as he himself, as well as no less than three other doctors, had diagnosed an advanced hernia in the area he was looking. My husband's description of his symptoms were also concurrent with the symptoms of an inguinal hernia that had reached an advanced stage. And yet there was the doctor, cutting him open a little more and a little more trying to find this mystery hernia. Eventually he found the cause of all my husband's pain: a little ball of fat that had been there long enough for the nerve and muscle to encircle it. (The idea of my very slim husband with a ball of fat anywhere on his body is kind of hilarious to me!) The ball of fat had been pushing against a nerve center causing intense pain below and above its location. This tiny, seemingly insignificant ball of fat has been causing my sweet husband chronic pain since before we met. I can think of so many unexplained symptoms that lead back to this one problem. For the first time in many years he is regaining some feeling in his right thigh, which has been gradually going numb from his upper thigh down toward his knee. This is important because the fat ball is located at the spot where the leg started to go numb. Not to mention all this business with his digestive tract! They told him early this year that the nerves in his stomach had gone numb, thus the diagnosis of gastroparesis. Everything is finally starting to make sense.
I firmly believe that if my husband hadn't been diagnosed with a hernia, and his pain hadn't been so severe as to implicated a dangerously incarcerated or strangulated bowel, he never would have seen a surgeon so soon. Now, it is my hope that once he's recovered in six weeks, his quality of life will increase dramatically. I can't help but feel excited because I know that when he's back to full strength he'll be able to be the father he wants to be without worrying he'll get hurt. With that in mind, and with the blessing of the misdiagnosis that still led to the proper surgery so quickly, we cuddle up as a family around his chair tonight and said our prayers of thanksgiving. I don't doubt God's hand is in all of this, and it gives my heart so much consolation to know that God is watching over our little family with special care. Today more than ever I will whisper the prayer:
Jesus, I trust in You!
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Finding Joy
Things here have been hectic to say the least lately. My husband is sick with some sort of unknown illness and has been in and out of doctors offices and the emergency room for weeks. All we've been able to figure out is what it's not. They've prescribed him an army of medications that all seem to be doing just this side of nothing for him. It's gotten to the point he can't work a full day most days because the pain gets so overwhelming. He's doing his best to grin and bear it, to hide the intensity of his pain but as the days wear on it's clear he's falling apart at the seams. He is truly the St. Joseph of our family, working hard and doing all he can despite his own setbacks to take care of the family God has given us. Suffice it to say this has been really stressful for both of us and the kids, who are too young to understand why Daddy can't play pony today or why his energy is so low. In all of this I'm struggling, struggling to find a voice for my prayers, patience with my children when I'm distracted by worst case scenarios, and most of all I'm struggling to find joy.
These days even a small moment of joy is enough to fuel me through the rest of an unpredictable day. I'm holding on to my little moments tightly, doing my best to remind myself over and over again how lucky I am. With four children these moments come surprisingly often (mind you they are perfectly balanced with the complete pandemonium that four crying, screaming kids can bring). Each child has their own unique way of reminding me of why it is I keep getting out of bed each morning to jump into the fray, especially on my weaker days.
Today, as I lay in bed giving baby girl her first feed, she fell asleep next to me, and giggled in her sleep. She has a deep chuckle for such a little girl and I could barely stiffle my own giggle watching her smile at whatever hilarious dream she was having. I've struggled so hard with breastfeeding and these little moments remind me why I fight every day to keep that relationship strong. It's helping me to grow my already strong bond with my baby girl.
Our eldest, the little princess, has had the honour of giving me a reliable moment of daily joy for 10 days. She's signed up for a charity campaign where she draws a picture on a chosen theme for 30 days and people pledge to support her. My 4 year old artiste has already raised $150 in support of an AIDS/HIV charity. That's wonderful enough, but to add to this I have the joy of watching her mind work through the idea of her challenge for the day. She usually ends up chatting her little heart out and gets completely distracted before I remind her of her drawing. I then get to watch her bend over her paper with great intensity as she fulfills her task.
Our oldest boy is my little button pusher. He's the screamer, pusher, and definitely the go-to guy if you have a question that demands an answer of "no". I love his spunky and independant spirit even if he drives me a little crazy sometimes. For all of his spiritedness he's truly a gentle soul, and is becoming a doting older brother to his roommate, his little brother. He's started this little habit that I have no intention of breaking (for so many reasons): whenever we get home from being out he gently asks his brother to sit down, then he very carefully takes off his brother's shoes for him. Then, if he can get him to stay still he'll take off his brother's coat. So precious. Some day I think he'll make a great Daddy.
Now our little man, Daddy's shadow, can't help but be adorable. He's on the small side for his age and has just started climbing all over the furniture, a feat his stature had denied him previous. Besides this, he's also started forming full sentences and the results would melt any mother's heart. A lot of what he says involves his brother, running the gamut from "Brother, where ARE you??", "Brother, play with ME!" to "NO, brother. NO!". It's great to see him coming into his own and even better to see that he adores his roomie. I must say though, what really gave me a little burst of joy seems so inconsequential from the outside, but was for me another memory to store in my heart for the lean teenage years sure to come. My wee 20 month old boy, covered in markers, came up to me with a look of the greatest trust and earnestness and, holding up a marker in his perfectly formed little hands, asked me in the sweetest voice: "Mommy, please help me with this. Please!" He wanted me to help him uncap his marker, no biggie. The best part was right after, completely unbidden, he followed up with a big smile, a hug and an unmistakable "Thank you, Mommy!" before he ran back to drawing with his brother and sister. Melt.
I'm writing these little moments as much to help myself remember in the tough times as anything. I want to soak up these moments, live in these moments and treasure them as the precious miracles they are. These moments also help me appreciate the personalities of each of my children, which is a blessing in and of itself. I thank God that He keeps giving me these little moments to get me through and remind me that there's always light in the dark places, I just need to keep my eyes open.
These days even a small moment of joy is enough to fuel me through the rest of an unpredictable day. I'm holding on to my little moments tightly, doing my best to remind myself over and over again how lucky I am. With four children these moments come surprisingly often (mind you they are perfectly balanced with the complete pandemonium that four crying, screaming kids can bring). Each child has their own unique way of reminding me of why it is I keep getting out of bed each morning to jump into the fray, especially on my weaker days.
Today, as I lay in bed giving baby girl her first feed, she fell asleep next to me, and giggled in her sleep. She has a deep chuckle for such a little girl and I could barely stiffle my own giggle watching her smile at whatever hilarious dream she was having. I've struggled so hard with breastfeeding and these little moments remind me why I fight every day to keep that relationship strong. It's helping me to grow my already strong bond with my baby girl.
Our eldest, the little princess, has had the honour of giving me a reliable moment of daily joy for 10 days. She's signed up for a charity campaign where she draws a picture on a chosen theme for 30 days and people pledge to support her. My 4 year old artiste has already raised $150 in support of an AIDS/HIV charity. That's wonderful enough, but to add to this I have the joy of watching her mind work through the idea of her challenge for the day. She usually ends up chatting her little heart out and gets completely distracted before I remind her of her drawing. I then get to watch her bend over her paper with great intensity as she fulfills her task.
Our oldest boy is my little button pusher. He's the screamer, pusher, and definitely the go-to guy if you have a question that demands an answer of "no". I love his spunky and independant spirit even if he drives me a little crazy sometimes. For all of his spiritedness he's truly a gentle soul, and is becoming a doting older brother to his roommate, his little brother. He's started this little habit that I have no intention of breaking (for so many reasons): whenever we get home from being out he gently asks his brother to sit down, then he very carefully takes off his brother's shoes for him. Then, if he can get him to stay still he'll take off his brother's coat. So precious. Some day I think he'll make a great Daddy.
Now our little man, Daddy's shadow, can't help but be adorable. He's on the small side for his age and has just started climbing all over the furniture, a feat his stature had denied him previous. Besides this, he's also started forming full sentences and the results would melt any mother's heart. A lot of what he says involves his brother, running the gamut from "Brother, where ARE you??", "Brother, play with ME!" to "NO, brother. NO!". It's great to see him coming into his own and even better to see that he adores his roomie. I must say though, what really gave me a little burst of joy seems so inconsequential from the outside, but was for me another memory to store in my heart for the lean teenage years sure to come. My wee 20 month old boy, covered in markers, came up to me with a look of the greatest trust and earnestness and, holding up a marker in his perfectly formed little hands, asked me in the sweetest voice: "Mommy, please help me with this. Please!" He wanted me to help him uncap his marker, no biggie. The best part was right after, completely unbidden, he followed up with a big smile, a hug and an unmistakable "Thank you, Mommy!" before he ran back to drawing with his brother and sister. Melt.
I'm writing these little moments as much to help myself remember in the tough times as anything. I want to soak up these moments, live in these moments and treasure them as the precious miracles they are. These moments also help me appreciate the personalities of each of my children, which is a blessing in and of itself. I thank God that He keeps giving me these little moments to get me through and remind me that there's always light in the dark places, I just need to keep my eyes open.
Friday, 21 October 2011
Yes, They're All Mine
Whenever I go out with the kids I pump myself up mentally for what I'm about to face. The words, the comments, and, for better or for worse, the judgements. It usually starts with a glance, then a double take, then an opening comment. Sometimes it's just "Woah". We get that a lot when my husband is with me too. We are clearly a family. A crazy, big, happy family! If we're not moving too quickly we get a follow up comment. First an amusing "Your hands are full!" which often has the corollary "They must be twins!" while pointing to either our oldest two or the boys. Now that we have our baby girl the next comment is inevitably "Oh! There's another one!". Apparently she wasn't visible from the snugli. All this is well and good, if not a little bit tedious.
Now when I'm out alone with the kids I get the same repetitive series of small talk. There is however another series of comments to follow. It's starts sigh "Are they all yours?" followed by "You must be busy!", and, my favourite, a variation of "Well, you must be happy to be done now!". I reply as patiently as I can but it's gotten to the point I'm thinking about making t-shirts, or buttons... Or a large flashing sign I can attach to our stroller. You know, some kind of subtle cues for strangers that would inform them immediately all the salient information they clearly require to satisy their curiosity about our circus show.
What do you think about these?
1. Yes, They're ALL Mine
2. I've Heard of Birth Control
3. I'm Not an Accident (but I may have just had one)
4. We're a Handful!
5. I'm with Mom
6. We're Not Twins
7. Less Small Talk, More Coffee
Any more ideas?
Now when I'm out alone with the kids I get the same repetitive series of small talk. There is however another series of comments to follow. It's starts sigh "Are they all yours?" followed by "You must be busy!", and, my favourite, a variation of "Well, you must be happy to be done now!". I reply as patiently as I can but it's gotten to the point I'm thinking about making t-shirts, or buttons... Or a large flashing sign I can attach to our stroller. You know, some kind of subtle cues for strangers that would inform them immediately all the salient information they clearly require to satisy their curiosity about our circus show.
What do you think about these?
1. Yes, They're ALL Mine
2. I've Heard of Birth Control
3. I'm Not an Accident (but I may have just had one)
4. We're a Handful!
5. I'm with Mom
6. We're Not Twins
7. Less Small Talk, More Coffee
Any more ideas?
Thursday, 11 August 2011
How We Do It
Ever since we found out we were pregnant with our 3rd child we've had friends, family and strangers asking how we do it. It, I assume, is how are we not spending all day crying while living in a small cardboard box eating sunflowers for every meal. Or something less dramatic. For some people it is a financial question, for others a time management issue, for others it's a question of how we propose (and I'd like to think manage) to raise relatively well adjusted children. My rote answer has become "By the grace of God". And I really do mean it. There have been times that I've been ready to pack up my meagre, chewed, drooled on, or broken possessions to book into the local looney bin until the youngest is at school. In those times when I most want to give up and give in something happens to lift me back up.
This year has been a great example through and through. We've made some amazing new friends, been given the gift of slowly taking over my parents' mortgage, and my husband got a new job which fulfills his need for creativity, perseverance and respect. Nothing is ever perfect (try moving while hugely pregnant!) but everything is always beyond my hopes and dreams. Just yesterday I was lamenting (okay, okay, complaining obnoxiously) that I didn't want to cook because I was tired and couldn't think of a thing to make. In waltzed our new friends who sneakily dropped off a delicious casserole on our doorstep while we were resting. I could have cried. Alright, I did because I was so overwhelmed and touched. Bonus: The kids loved it. They ate pretty much every bite and laughed through the meal. If that's not the grace of God I don't know what is!
I have also been blessed with a husband who will work himself ragged all day (even working overtime to bring in a little more money when he can), come home and be super Daddy for hours and who has stood by me through 5 years of marriage that has seen 4 babies, 6 moves, 3 vehicles, ample poor health, and more love than I would have hoped for in 50 years. I have not been a perfect wife, but I know that regardless of how crazy life gets we keep clinging to each other and saying our prayers of thanks for all of it. 3 kids and one due any day has made our lives busy. Beyond busy. Yet I wouldn't change a thing. He knows as well if not better than I do most days how lucky we are. We have never suffered a loss of a child, never wanted for food, and have never been homeless. He has no problem telling me that it's not because of our hard work, although that helps. We have been blessed by God with people who will catch us no matter how crazy our leap of faith. We also have each other which makes even the leanest times seem full of riches.
When people imply we got ourselves into this mess by not spacing our children I can't help but wonder how different our life would be. Which child would we space out? Our daughter who single-handedly calmed the one year old by singing "Hey Jude" to him? Our oldest boy who loves to sneak up on me just to give me a hug and say "I love you"? Our one year-old boy who has the biggest, silliest smile you've ever seen? Or maybe this un-named, un-seen baby, all limbs moving right now, who we've been waiting (impatiently!) to meet for over 9 months? All I see when I try to imagine how different my life would be is a series of aching gaps where love given and most of all received should be.
So, if you really want to know how we do it, I can show your our budget, tell you about our routine, our values, and all the support we have all around us. All of that would be true and I'm forever grateful that life is working out for our good. I will also always say "by the grace of God" because without that support nothing else would matter.
This year has been a great example through and through. We've made some amazing new friends, been given the gift of slowly taking over my parents' mortgage, and my husband got a new job which fulfills his need for creativity, perseverance and respect. Nothing is ever perfect (try moving while hugely pregnant!) but everything is always beyond my hopes and dreams. Just yesterday I was lamenting (okay, okay, complaining obnoxiously) that I didn't want to cook because I was tired and couldn't think of a thing to make. In waltzed our new friends who sneakily dropped off a delicious casserole on our doorstep while we were resting. I could have cried. Alright, I did because I was so overwhelmed and touched. Bonus: The kids loved it. They ate pretty much every bite and laughed through the meal. If that's not the grace of God I don't know what is!
I have also been blessed with a husband who will work himself ragged all day (even working overtime to bring in a little more money when he can), come home and be super Daddy for hours and who has stood by me through 5 years of marriage that has seen 4 babies, 6 moves, 3 vehicles, ample poor health, and more love than I would have hoped for in 50 years. I have not been a perfect wife, but I know that regardless of how crazy life gets we keep clinging to each other and saying our prayers of thanks for all of it. 3 kids and one due any day has made our lives busy. Beyond busy. Yet I wouldn't change a thing. He knows as well if not better than I do most days how lucky we are. We have never suffered a loss of a child, never wanted for food, and have never been homeless. He has no problem telling me that it's not because of our hard work, although that helps. We have been blessed by God with people who will catch us no matter how crazy our leap of faith. We also have each other which makes even the leanest times seem full of riches.
When people imply we got ourselves into this mess by not spacing our children I can't help but wonder how different our life would be. Which child would we space out? Our daughter who single-handedly calmed the one year old by singing "Hey Jude" to him? Our oldest boy who loves to sneak up on me just to give me a hug and say "I love you"? Our one year-old boy who has the biggest, silliest smile you've ever seen? Or maybe this un-named, un-seen baby, all limbs moving right now, who we've been waiting (impatiently!) to meet for over 9 months? All I see when I try to imagine how different my life would be is a series of aching gaps where love given and most of all received should be.
So, if you really want to know how we do it, I can show your our budget, tell you about our routine, our values, and all the support we have all around us. All of that would be true and I'm forever grateful that life is working out for our good. I will also always say "by the grace of God" because without that support nothing else would matter.
Friday, 17 June 2011
Why my Husband is an Amazing Father
In honour of Father's Day, my gift to the love of my life is a little list of why I'm proud that he's the Father to my children. It's not much, sweetheart, but I want you to have it, in writing on the internet where it will stand as a testimony to your dedication and love for our children.
1. Pregnancy: Every time we see that positive test your first reaction is joy. None of this can we afford it business. You love to sing, talk to, and lovingly poke my belly from day 1. Our babies are whole and lovable in your heart before they can hear you (let alone see you). I will always cherish the memory of you rocking out on your guitar on my belly when we were pregnant with H. And the way she did a full jumping jack kick for you on Father's Day. Don't get me started on the fact that you would be a complete slave to my whims during pregnancy if I asked. I do my best not to take advantage too much but I appreciate your completely self-giving love always bookended by comments about it being the least that you can do, what with me carrying our baby and impending labour.
2. Labour: I couldn't ask for a better supporter and partner during labour. If you could push for me you would. You are my advocate when I'm too out of it to care, and quietly do everything you can to make me feel as comfortable as possible. You're also fearless. Despite early indications that you would stay at my head during the tough parts, you always jump in to hold my feet, hold a mirror, give important progress reports, all while whispering constantly in my ear how much you loved me, how proud you are and how gorgeous our baby will be. Then, when baby finally pops out you proudly announce gender and cut the cord. After a quick cuddle with Mommy I'm proud to watch you hold our little baby, bundled up warmly. You're the first thing baby sees and I can't imagine a warmer, more loving welcome to the family!
3. Parenting: You aren't afraid of the nitty gritty. You change diapers, give baths, wipe up spit-up (and wear it) and are always handy to give me a break during those rough nuthouse days. You are all the kids' first words and you earned it. Even though you work 7-5 M-F, when you're here they are your world. You play every game, no matter how silly (or how tired and achy you are). You are the boo-boo kisser, the toy fixer, the cuddler, the tickler, the listener, the cheerleader, and according to the talking crowd, the best best friend. Ever. I love that you can be firm and help with discipline, but also know when to be gentle when I've spent my day being severe. You are always the perfect balance to me as a parent and I thank you for following my lead as much as you lead the way. You trust our kids and always want to see them have new adventures. You are a perfect example for our boys but are also never too busy to dance with your Cinderella. (I promise I won't tell anyone you play dollies and tea party, although I find it totally charming). You are not just a Father, you are a Daddy. And a darn good one.
4. Us: What makes you not just a good Father but an amazing one (besides all the stuff I already said) is how much you love me. The kids can't help but feel secure in our family because they will never have a reason to doubt your love and fidelity to me. Although we argue like everyone else, we always make a point to make-up in front of the kids. Affection comes naturally in front of their watchful eyes. They also see that even though you work all day you jump right in and help me with any task I have going. I'm proud that our children will see in us a marriage of equals, friends, and most of all two people who are more in love each day. You also joyfully share faith with us. Our faith is what brought us together and you have made a point to let it grow in us as a couple and as a family.
The best thing any parent can offer their child is emotional security, support for their dreams, real and trusting faith, and unconditional love. In front of my eyes, I watched you become all these things the day we saw those two little lines on our first positive pregnancy test. I feel privileged to have witnessed you welcome each of children and become their Daddy. Thank you for sharing with me a life worth celebrating in a way worthy of our many gifts.
I love you. Happy Father's Day!
1. Pregnancy: Every time we see that positive test your first reaction is joy. None of this can we afford it business. You love to sing, talk to, and lovingly poke my belly from day 1. Our babies are whole and lovable in your heart before they can hear you (let alone see you). I will always cherish the memory of you rocking out on your guitar on my belly when we were pregnant with H. And the way she did a full jumping jack kick for you on Father's Day. Don't get me started on the fact that you would be a complete slave to my whims during pregnancy if I asked. I do my best not to take advantage too much but I appreciate your completely self-giving love always bookended by comments about it being the least that you can do, what with me carrying our baby and impending labour.
2. Labour: I couldn't ask for a better supporter and partner during labour. If you could push for me you would. You are my advocate when I'm too out of it to care, and quietly do everything you can to make me feel as comfortable as possible. You're also fearless. Despite early indications that you would stay at my head during the tough parts, you always jump in to hold my feet, hold a mirror, give important progress reports, all while whispering constantly in my ear how much you loved me, how proud you are and how gorgeous our baby will be. Then, when baby finally pops out you proudly announce gender and cut the cord. After a quick cuddle with Mommy I'm proud to watch you hold our little baby, bundled up warmly. You're the first thing baby sees and I can't imagine a warmer, more loving welcome to the family!
3. Parenting: You aren't afraid of the nitty gritty. You change diapers, give baths, wipe up spit-up (and wear it) and are always handy to give me a break during those rough nuthouse days. You are all the kids' first words and you earned it. Even though you work 7-5 M-F, when you're here they are your world. You play every game, no matter how silly (or how tired and achy you are). You are the boo-boo kisser, the toy fixer, the cuddler, the tickler, the listener, the cheerleader, and according to the talking crowd, the best best friend. Ever. I love that you can be firm and help with discipline, but also know when to be gentle when I've spent my day being severe. You are always the perfect balance to me as a parent and I thank you for following my lead as much as you lead the way. You trust our kids and always want to see them have new adventures. You are a perfect example for our boys but are also never too busy to dance with your Cinderella. (I promise I won't tell anyone you play dollies and tea party, although I find it totally charming). You are not just a Father, you are a Daddy. And a darn good one.
4. Us: What makes you not just a good Father but an amazing one (besides all the stuff I already said) is how much you love me. The kids can't help but feel secure in our family because they will never have a reason to doubt your love and fidelity to me. Although we argue like everyone else, we always make a point to make-up in front of the kids. Affection comes naturally in front of their watchful eyes. They also see that even though you work all day you jump right in and help me with any task I have going. I'm proud that our children will see in us a marriage of equals, friends, and most of all two people who are more in love each day. You also joyfully share faith with us. Our faith is what brought us together and you have made a point to let it grow in us as a couple and as a family.
The best thing any parent can offer their child is emotional security, support for their dreams, real and trusting faith, and unconditional love. In front of my eyes, I watched you become all these things the day we saw those two little lines on our first positive pregnancy test. I feel privileged to have witnessed you welcome each of children and become their Daddy. Thank you for sharing with me a life worth celebrating in a way worthy of our many gifts.
I love you. Happy Father's Day!
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Moved
After months of waiting we finally moved into my parents' old house. Life is ever changing and I think always for the better. We payed movers, which made life so much easier, but then promptly got to the work of ripping up the million year old carpet on the main level ourselves. A week and a half later, with the help of hubby's Dad, almost all the new laminate is down. We also discovered that the stairs are read solid wood stair-tread underneath. With a little TLC they can be returned to their natural glory. We've discovered some mold (from a leak that a previous contractor swore up and down he fixed), some questionable plumbing (no Mom, duct tape is not the answer to a mis-matched pipe for the sink. Nice try!), and an some trim in the living room that is painted no less than 3 colours in our pumpkin orange living room. I feel like hubby and I are finishing up a lot of half-started projects my parents had once dreamed but never had the time to get to, but in our own way. My parents finally have their dream house, and we, many years younger, have the bare bones of ours and the will and talent (though maybe not the cash flow all the time, haha) to create ours. We're doing our best to make lots of little improvements where we can to make our home our own. Thanks to my parents we have some leftover flooring from their (dare I say gorgeous???) renovations that will help us over the next year to have many full weekends doing over hallways and bathrooms without any financial cost to ourselves. The living room and dining room (which are attached) are getting all the real attention as we want it safe and ready for our kids, playdates and some dinner parties with dear friends we sorely missed.
While our house is blossoming around us, it's hard to ignore that the kids are blossoming too. With more room to roam and bigger bedrooms their imagination and creativity are growing faster than my belly. This is going to be a great summer. We're finally next to a big, useable park that they can just run their wild energy off in, we're walking distance to the library, and best of all we're a 5 minute drive from the greatest friends a family could ask for. I'm also closer to many old friends and some new ones just down the street. Our beautiful, friendly, little neighbourhood from the past 2 years was perfect for our family before, but this is starting to feel right now. Already we've seen more of our friends than we did for months on end at our old home. The visits from my boys' future wives (just kidding!) and my girl's best friends and their parents, truly great friends to us, has made this not just my parents' old house, but our home. Once everything is unpacked and set up I can't imagine how much more comfortable we'll feel!
And then there's the other matter of our marriage! After some struggles to figure out what our family would become, I find myself closer emotionally than ever with my dear husband. He's been working himself to exhaustion day and night to bring home the bacon, and then he works nights and weekends to make good of our renos. His father has been no less than a saint helping him lay down the flooring and I can't thank him enough. I have the best intentions, but being ponderously pregnant I'm about as useful as a bag of hammers with our renos. So, thanks to Hubby's Dad! Meanwhile hubby himself has been quietly doing his best to accomplish the hundreds of necessary little tasks to makes this all work. While I sit in the recliner complaining about Braxton-hicks he's got an open ear while he plods away taking out an outdated and useless closet he will make into a hutch/display cabinet/toy storage. I love him more in his quiet dedication to our home and our family. He is truly the King of our family, and it shows in the eyes of our children. He is now the preferred parent for boo-boos, story time, and play time. Being big and preggo this of course suits me fine. Seeing our wee boy reach up with little squeals of "Da! Da!" is the finest moment of any day. We are so blessed to be a family.
After a lot of rambling I'm left with the profound sense of how blessed I am. Blessed with shelter, family, friends and a wonderful marriage. My complaints and rants (trust me, I've had a few) are overwhelmed by my sense that Providence has always been with us and always will be. With God so clearly leading us through our sorrows to constant joy we will surely be fine!
While our house is blossoming around us, it's hard to ignore that the kids are blossoming too. With more room to roam and bigger bedrooms their imagination and creativity are growing faster than my belly. This is going to be a great summer. We're finally next to a big, useable park that they can just run their wild energy off in, we're walking distance to the library, and best of all we're a 5 minute drive from the greatest friends a family could ask for. I'm also closer to many old friends and some new ones just down the street. Our beautiful, friendly, little neighbourhood from the past 2 years was perfect for our family before, but this is starting to feel right now. Already we've seen more of our friends than we did for months on end at our old home. The visits from my boys' future wives (just kidding!) and my girl's best friends and their parents, truly great friends to us, has made this not just my parents' old house, but our home. Once everything is unpacked and set up I can't imagine how much more comfortable we'll feel!
And then there's the other matter of our marriage! After some struggles to figure out what our family would become, I find myself closer emotionally than ever with my dear husband. He's been working himself to exhaustion day and night to bring home the bacon, and then he works nights and weekends to make good of our renos. His father has been no less than a saint helping him lay down the flooring and I can't thank him enough. I have the best intentions, but being ponderously pregnant I'm about as useful as a bag of hammers with our renos. So, thanks to Hubby's Dad! Meanwhile hubby himself has been quietly doing his best to accomplish the hundreds of necessary little tasks to makes this all work. While I sit in the recliner complaining about Braxton-hicks he's got an open ear while he plods away taking out an outdated and useless closet he will make into a hutch/display cabinet/toy storage. I love him more in his quiet dedication to our home and our family. He is truly the King of our family, and it shows in the eyes of our children. He is now the preferred parent for boo-boos, story time, and play time. Being big and preggo this of course suits me fine. Seeing our wee boy reach up with little squeals of "Da! Da!" is the finest moment of any day. We are so blessed to be a family.
After a lot of rambling I'm left with the profound sense of how blessed I am. Blessed with shelter, family, friends and a wonderful marriage. My complaints and rants (trust me, I've had a few) are overwhelmed by my sense that Providence has always been with us and always will be. With God so clearly leading us through our sorrows to constant joy we will surely be fine!
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