And the MRI Results Are In....

When my doctor's office called on Thursday and told me my MRI results were in, I was beyond ready to find out what they were. They did not tell me the results over the phone, as they usually do when a result is completely normal, so I figured there must have been something found. On the other hand, they did not ask me to immediately come in for a consultation, so I figured my brain would not be exploding at any given moment. They scheduled me to come in the next Tuesday, which happened to be today, so I went home and began the feverishly searching Google for updates on my demise.

My doctor probably thought I was pretty smart, because today I was pretty much an expert in the pituitary gland and its role in the endocrine system. I have slept thousands and thousands of times since my last biology class, so the free Google refresher course was pretty helpful. Of course, Google has a way of leading a person to health message boards, which are notorious for people who thrive on sharing their peculiar medical conditions. Sure, I read about a few average cases, but who isn't intrigued by the pituitary tumor wrapped around the carotid artery or the woman who became blind when a pituitary tumor pressed on her optic nerve?

So anyway, on to the results. Today I found out that I have a 6x6x7mm tumor on my pituitary gland. It is an adenoma, benign, and there is no way to know how long it has been there. The gland itself is about 1 cm in diameter, the size of a pea, so my 6mm tumor is a little more than half the size of the gland. My tumor is not perfectly round, but it has what seems to be a very awesome tail to keep things more interesting. I am thinking of the tail as a mullet of sorts, just to keep a little party in the back. The symptoms associated with it have been with me for at least 15 years, but it seems it is medically impossible to conceive a child with a pituitary adenoma large enough to inhibit FSH and LH production. Since I did conceive a pretty awesome child 4.5 years ago, it would make perfect scientific sense for this tumor to have formed after Lily was conceived. We'll never really know, but I have dealt with amenorrhea and an annovulatory system since I was about 20 years old. Figuring that in, there is no "logical" explanation for how we got Lily, but I am so glad we did.

It might sound a little crazy to be thankful for a tumor diagnosis, but I am actually pretty pleased with it. No, I am not a hypochondriac. I generally have to be convinced I am sick. I have thrown up in some very public places in attempts to convince myself and those around me that I was perfectly well.

Really, though, finding what is actually going on is a wonderful thing, and here are a few of the reasons why:

1. I will not be having my ovaries drilled. As excited as I was about marching into the surgery center wearing a "Drill, Baby Drill!" t-shirt and carrying a "Let My People Drill" poster, I am pretty relieved that I will not be undergoing surgery. I am bummed that I won't be getting those days of relaxation that follow the surgery, but avoiding anesthesia and the pain of recovery is a pretty good trade off.
2. I found out this pituitary adenoma has affected my prolactin levels, making them very low. This might sound dramatic, but one of things that caused me the most anguish was breastfeeding. I had read hundreds of pages in books, spent an entire Saturday in a pricey breastfeeding class, went through three lactation consultants, rented a hospital grade pump and tried every home remedy known to man. I just did not produce much milk. Instead of sleeping while my baby slept, I was pumping away to no avail. To be honest, I had always been able to achieve pretty much everything in life I had worked for, and there had been few things in life I was willing to work as hard for as breastfeeding. I kept trying and trying and prayed that no soul would ask me how it was going. According to my medical records, my prolactin levels have been off for a long time. I am finally letting myself off the hook on my breastfeeding failure, and it is pretty cathartic.
3. The size of my tumor is pretty significant, but not so much that they will be cutting through any tissue to take it out. It is large enough to cause some major hormonal upheaval, but small enough that I won't need surgery. Every time I dodge the surgery bullet I am pretty happy camper.
4. I finally know why I don't ovulate. That is huge. Knowing the "why" provides a path to the "how." My physician has a laid out some great options for us. After I follow up with an endocrinologist (my genius doctor is a reproductive endocrinologist), I will receive injectable gonadotropins to induce ovulation. My condition is rare, but my doctor has a 100% success rate in dealing with it.  

Most importantly, I have answers and I am so thankful for them. I have spent a lot of time in prayer during this time of trying to conceive a second child, and prayer naturally leads me to scripture. I have had the "barren" women of the Bible on my mind and heart and have found such empathy with them. Even as a child, reading their stories gave me a heavy heart, but during this time in my life I have begun identifying with them in even greater ways. I can feel their sadness, but most of all I can understand their unanswered questions. Even when I was vaguely diagnosed with PCOS, I knew there were some answers to be found in modern science. I could see my ovaries on an ultrasound screen. I could hope to benefit from modern medicine. I had answers and understanding of the complex reproductive system, while women like Sarah and Rachel and Hannah had to rely solely on the unseen. Because I have the blessing of modern medical science, I suppose I will never know how I would have handled my infertility journey without it. Of course, I do know one thing; my faith has made all the difference in my outlook and for that I am eternally grateful. I don't know what the future holds, but I know God's will is perfect. Tonight I take comfort in knowing that and in reflecting on a scripture that has led me through the best and worst of times.

"For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope."

Jeremiah 29:11

Pray, Love: If I were an MRI, where would I be?

I learned a few new things on Monday.

1) I can be still for 30 minutes.

2) I am not claustrophobic.

3) The MRI machine was not quite relaxing enough for that nap I've been wanting.

I went in on Monday morning for the MRI of my pituitary gland. Depending on the results, I will either undergo my ovarian drilling (most likely outcome) or treat the pituitary issue before the ovarian drilling. All in all, it was the normal medical procedure experience.  I had the eccentric waiting room people, the daytime TV exposure and had to go to the bathroom several times despite fasting.

There was a guy listening to various covers of "Seven Spanish Angels" at a very high volume in the waiting area. I still prefer Willie and Ray to anyone else. I did make eye contact with the wrong person during the Elvis Presley version and we did, indeed, laugh out loud. As would be expected, the guy with the music was oblivious.

Everyone was so friendly, but each reminder that this was a brain MRI was a lite disturbing. It sounds much better when you say we are "scanning the pituitary gland". They all worked very efficiently, so much so that I only caught part of The Price Is Right in the final waiting area. I don't see a lot of daytime TV because my job does not really allow that so this might not be news to anyone, but Drew Carey is skinny! 

Before I went in for the MRI, I had to run to the restroom. It would seem like having no food or drink that morning would have kept me from needing that potty trip, but I am thinking the gallons of water I consumed the night before was catching up to me. They directed me to the restroom and, seriously, give a girl a warning that when she turns the corner there will be 3 completely sedated people on gurneys in the hallway. I almost didn't need the restroom. Freeeeaaaky.

The gentleman doing my MRI was awesome, so much that I took down his name so I could pass along the compliment. It was not a bad experience at all and I never pressed the panic button. Most importantly, I was completely still for 30 minutes. This is a huge accomplishment.

I waited 24 hours for the results, then 48 before calling for results.

Oh, wait, they can't find my MRI. 

I am guessing this huge brain of mine completely baffled the machine. The other possibility is that someone was using the computer to  play on social media and deleted my MRI to make room for some of those dirty bathroom mirror self portraits. There is also the possibility that they will find it tomorrow. 

Tomorrow we shall see. If they don't find it, I will schedule a new on ASAP. Once we have results, I can go in for my surgery and get the ball rolling. Let's get to that ovarian drilling!

All in all, it comes down to the perfect will and timing of God, and perfect works for me.

"Wait for the Lord; Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord." 

Psalms 27:14 NASB

Pray, Love: Slight Change of Plans

What a change a day can make! I will still be undergoing in the ovarian diathermy, but it looks like we will be waiting 2 weeks.

I have always worked to be a bit of an overachiever, but sometimes I really outdo myself. I met with my OB/GYN/RE today and he had spent a lot of time studying my labs. He found that my luteinizing hormone (LH) and my follicle stimulating hormone (FSH) are very low and based on these findings, it seems that we will be taking a slightly different approach.

Basically, PCOS can originate from two different factors. In the end, you have much of the same result as far as the effect on the ovaries and reproductive system. Because the factors causing the PCOS differ, the ways of treating the two types will differ also. About 95% of women with PCOS have peripheral factor PCOS, where the syndrome is ovarian in origin. The other 5% have central PCOS, where the amenorrhea originates from a central endocrine problem triggered by the hypothalamus and/or pituitary gland. My labs reflect a central origin and I will need to have an MRI to take a look at my hypothalamus and pituitary gland before I have the ovarian diathermy.

We will still move forward with the diathermy and injections in two weeks unless something really crazy shows up on the MRI. It will set things back a couple of weeks, but all in all it does not have a huge effect on our timeline.

Here are a few things I learned today:

1. Although the central factor PCOS is much more rare, my doctor actually has a higher success rate in helping couples dealing with this type of infertility.
2. I won't be getting that nap.  
3. I am a little resentful that I had to do a pre-op phone call and tell someone how much I weigh. I have to do the call again in two weeks and will have to utter my weight again. Not cool.
4. People in waiting rooms are annoying. I was sitting in the waiting room with a couple obnoxiously speaking in a high volume whisper tone. My very loud 3 year-old's inside voice is quieter than the whispers these people were letting out and I had to work hard to maintain my composure. Suppressing your laughter for 30 minutes is very difficult. They got up and were replaced by gum popping couple. It was sort of like a SNL sketch, but much, much longer.
5. My new injection regimen will consist of FSH and LH, increasing the chance of multiples. Fortunately, my doctor will scan me daily during the injections to make sure we aren't getting too productive.
6. With the new likely diagnosis, my doctor is even more baffled that we have Lily. I am not sure how it can be scientifically explained that I ovulated for what might have been the only time in a 15 year period. I do know that I was earnestly praying and that she came at a time when we had significant loss in our family and she was a perfectly bright spot. What a special girl!

Thanks again to everyone for the prayers. That means more than you can ever know! I really struggled with the idea of making our infertility struggles public because I have never been the type to freely share my burdens with others. I had a couple of reasons for sharing. First of all, people naturally want to know if you are wanting another child or trying to have another child. I don't find it offensive when people ask, but when you reply by telling them you are struggling with infertility they naturally feel like they inserted their foot in their mouth. By being more up front and open about our struggles, I can save people that awkward feeling. The second reason I decided to share this struggle was to ask for prayers, because "the effective prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much." (James 5:16) Thanks so much for taking the time to pray for us!

Pray, Love: And We Are Drillin'

Drilling.

Ovarian Drilling.

Whoa.

I remember when I first started researching PCOS and infertility and I came across a thread on a message board covering the topic of ovarian drilling. I cringed, mainly because that is what I do when I give any thought to medical procedures. The cringing only increases when that procedure has a barbaric word like "drilling" in the name. It sounded like an archaic procedure and one I would never have to worry about. After all, we are in the 21st century and have so many less invasive techniques available. Drilling. Why on earth would I let someone drill holes in my ovaries?

So anyway, I am having it done on Friday. By Friday, I mean the day after tomorrow.

About a month ago, I was sitting across from my incredibly intelligent reproductive endocrinologist discussing my pregnancy with Lily, from the ease of conception to the ease of being pregnant. We then began discussing the much bigger picture. I had ovulated one time in six years. I gave Femara a shot and only ended up with a whole lot of little follicles. I am not getting any younger. He sensed that I love information and he began sharing the history of PCOS diagnosis and let me watch really cool slide shows about FSH and LH production. He began telling me about an old procedure used 80 years ago where a doctor would take out a piece of the ovary of a woman with PCOS for diagnostic purposes and the woman would end up having regular ovulation. Over time, the surgery has become much more sophisticated but still has very desirable effects, particularly for women who have dealt with PCOS since the onset of puberty and for women who have not responded to drugs such as Clomid or Femara. The procedure is now done as an outpatient procedure, it is laproscopic and they use lasers to drill the holes. They also call it ovarian diathermy now, which sounds a lot better than drilling. In the end, there are still holes, but I sure do prefer the word diathermy. The success rate, when combined with some FSH injections, is high. I'm in.

I was planning to have it done later in the month of August, but at an appointment on Tuesday I found out there was an opening for Friday, 8/2. I took the opening and am hopeful and prayerful that this will help us complete our family.

To break it down without the use of acronyms like PCOS and FSH and LH, here are the key reasons I am doing ovarian drilling:

1. Doug and I desperately want another baby and my doctor feels like this is a great opportunity for success.
2. Lily needs a sibling. She is constantly bringing imaginary siblings into our lives and they have names like "Buh-LIE" and "Lore".  She has chosen one of her baby dolls to be her baby brother and from time to time she tries to get him in trouble. She also attempts to make us feel guilty for neglecting our plastic baby. She will make a great big sister some day.
3. I need a nap. The way I understand it, I get to rest for like 3 days following this procedure.
4. I've always been a little curious about general anesthesia and how it would feel to be under. If I end up on YouTube while coming off the anesthesia, anyone responsible will not get to hold the baby I am hoping this surgery helps produce.
5. Ovarian diathermy has other medical purposes for me as well, so unlike most fertility treatment, this procedure is covered under insurance as an outpatient surgery.
6. I hear you get pictures from the surgery and, although my child is adorable, my Facebook needs something more exciting on the wall.
7. I have always avoided surgery like the plague, but the prospect of this helping us conceive a child makes it to great to pass up. Hannah was willing to promise God she would take her little boy and let him serve in the tabernacle, away from her, for the opportunity to bear a child (I Sam. 1 &2). What's a little drilling in comparison to that huge sacrifice?

I am going in on Friday and hope to have a smooth procedure, a speedy recovery and the positive outcome we so desperately want. Please keep us in your prayers as we take our next step in our journey to completing our family!

Pray, Love: Being Still

Still. Quiet. It's that special time of day when my husband and daughter are in bed and it is just me, reflecting on the day. I am so tired after a long day, but this quiet time is something I will gladly take advantage of in lieu of sleep. I spent years running from the quiet, but now I savor it.

This by no means makes me an introvert. I have taken the Meyers-Briggs personality type indicator many times beteween trainings for work and college classes. I have experienced some changes in some of my ratings, but I am always off the charts on the "E". The first indicator rates you as either an extrovert or introvert and my sky-high score as an extrovert leaves no doubt that I love people. I get my energy from being with others, my husband and daughter included, and I am a person who really needs people.

That being said, I am so thankful to sit in this quiet house and spend time in reflection and thought. I will give thanks for a Godly, hardworking husband. I will give thanks for an adorable child with a giant smile and sweet personality. I will give thanks for the caring family with which I have been blessed. I will give thanks for the faithful congregation of the Lord's church where we worship. I will give thanks a job I love, where my hard work is rewarded with a fullfilment in the work we do. I will be thankful for the quiet, a quiet that I have spent the better part of my life taking for granted, even hating at times. I will give thanks for God's word, for the wisdom it holds, and for the recollection God gives me of his word so that in times like these I can think on the things that matter.

"Be still, and know that I am God."

Psalm 46:10

 

 

Being a mother has brought me so many blessings. My heart has grown larger than I ever knew possible. My time has grown more valuable than I ever expected. My plate is more full than I ever imagined it could be. My life has more moments of joy than I realized could be fit in to a day. For me, motherhood has taught me to appreciate the "be still" part of that scripture. When I am still, I know God's blessings, providence and guidance. When I am still, I remember the blessings. When I am still, I know He is here in our midst. When I am still, I know that nothing in this world is as important as my relationship with Him, and that everything will fall into place when I am still and I know God.

 

 

My quiet time ends and I head off to bed with a clear mind and a full heart, ready to start a new day after a little bit of rest. I peek my head in for one last reminder of why those hectic days mean as much as the still and quiet and say one last prayer of thanksgiving for a full life. 



PCOS: Let's do this!

Hi, my name is Alison and I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). There, I said it.  I have PCOS.

Until recently, only my husband, mother and maybe 2 close friends had any idea that I struggled with PCOS. It's not that I am ashamed to have PCOS, but stories of cyst-covered ovaries and infertility elicit sympathy and I have a serious complex about sympathy directed toward me. Perhaps I have a psychological problem or some childhood trauma buried deep inside, but I doubt it; it feels more like good, old-fashioned pride. I hate for someone to feel sorry for me. Oh, sure I like to feel sorry for others. After all, I grew up in a little corner of the world where Texas and the South collide head-on and I love to feel sorry for other people. "Oh, bless her heart," and "I sure do hate to hear that" roll off my tongue with such ease. I just don't want to have any heart blessing directed at me. My life is, for the most part, an open book, but only a handful of people know about my struggle with PCOS.

I started my period at age 13 and vividly remember the mixed emotions that came along with that. On one hand, I was excited to grow up. On another hand, I was moody and did not yet understand why. On yet another hand (I get as many hands as I want because I am talking about female hormonal issues), I was pretty upset because the night before my womanhood began I had talked my mom into this really cute Guess skirt and had plans to wear it church the next morning and I was extremely paranoid about this whole period thing. Everything seemed to go by the book, but 28 days later I was without a period. My periods came when they pleased, but I don't think I ever had more 4 in a year. I was in great shape, very athletic, but not so lean and muscular that amenorrhea should be a problem.

At 16 I took my first trip to the OB/GYN. Before long I was having ultrasounds and labs done to see just what was causing the irregular periods. I remember hearing something about polycystic ovaries, but I was not particularly worried. After all, I was not sexually active and only having to deal with periods and all that comes with them only a few times a year seemed like a winning idea. When I went to college, I began gaining weight. Along with the weight came a new PCOS symptom. I suddenly had acne, a problem I had managed to avoid in my high school years. I went on birth control pills throughout my 20s to trick my body and keep these symptoms in check and did not think much about it at all. My OB/GYN made it sound so simple. He told me to take the pills to keep things going, then some day when I was ready for a baby he could give me another handful of pills and we would be good.

I married my husband, Doug, when I was 28 on 07.07.07 and we did not want a child right away. I went on birth control for nearly a year and a half and stopped taking the pill in October 2008. I had my "period" from the last pack of pills during the first week of November and then waited for another period to creep up. By early February, I had still not started and decided to see my OB/GYN to ask for an injection or pills to induce a period. She told me we would need to wait 6 months following the last course of birth control to induce a period and sent me on my way.

On the morning of March 20, 2009, I rolled over in bed and my breasts were very sore. I decided to take a home pregnancy test and received a positive result. I drank about a gallon of water and took another test an hour later. It was still positive. I remember calling my doctor's office to get in for a blood test and answering that awkward question about my last period. Um, November? I was about six weeks along when we found out and on November 18, after a very uneventful pregnancy, I gave birth to Lily.

I packed on weight VERY easily when pregnant. I was unable to produce much milk (another PCOS symptom I later found) and was not able to exclusively breastfeed, so I hoped I would manage to have a period. I did not so we induced one with pills when Lily was 4 months old. I dieted, exercised and couldn't see to shed any weight.  When Lily was a little over a year, I stopped the pill and continued to try to lose weight with no success. I am writing this blog post two years later and I have not had a natural period since giving birth. In fact, in the 5 1/2 years I have been married, I have only ovulated once. On the positive side, our success rate on fertilization is 100%!

After about 6 months of dealing with infertility after Lily, I found a fabulous new doctor who helped me work on getting to the bottom of my problem. He showed me ultrasounds of my ovaries covered in "string of pearl" cysts and studied my labs carefully.  He referred me to an endocrinologist and I have learned so much about PCOS since then. I was prescribed Metformin, a drug generally used to treat diabetes and spent about a year and a half on Metformin and was actually able to drop a little weight with the help of that drug. Just recently, I started more in depth research about PCOS, hormonal imbalance and the processes of the body and have decided to take a more natural approach. This is where I will share my journey.

Doug and I would like to add another child to our family and I would like to do so as naturally as possible. I will combining exercise, nutrition and natural supplements in an attempt gently coerce my body to have a regular ovulatory cycle. If you are reading this, I hope it can help you in some way. All I ask of you is to pray with me as I embark on this journey!

Pray: Toddler in Christ

I am not a morning person. Mornings do not come easy for me and never have. Before I had a child, I would shower, dress, fix my hair and apply makeup in about 30 minutes after snoozing for an hour, turning off the alarm clock and waking up to my back up alarm that was in reality, the only alarm that mattered. Although I am known as a gregarious person who will talk your ear completely off, I prefer not to speak to anyone before 8am. As you can imagine, a child rocked my world. I managed to set up a very nice routine; I would shower, then wake Lily up and let her watch a little Mickey Mouse and munch on a little breakfast while I finished getting ready. It was perfect. Then she began forming opinions, and not just any opinions. She began forming very strong opinions that left no doubt that she was mine.

At first it was easy stuff. She didn't want to take her medicine, so I used chocolate milk to persuade (or bribe, if you want to use that kind of language) her to swallow it. She wanted oatmeal instead of french toast sticks or a muffin instead of cereal, so I would give her what she wanted as long as it was nutritious. These requests were reasonable and they did not require much thought or negotiation on my part. I had this morning thing down to a science.

The beginning of the end came when she started having opinions about she would wear. How cute is it when your daughter gets into her dress up case and puts together adorably obnoxious ensembles of mismatched beads, hats and plastic shoes with a tutu thrown in for good measure? You tell her she looks beautiful and encourage her to continue using her imagination and creativity. I remember the first clothing fight well. Lily and I were going to the pet store to look at animals, then on to get a haircut. She came out of her room in beads, hair accessories and plastic shoes that caused her to shuffle around the house. I was good with all but the shoes, not because I wanted to stifle her creativity but because I did not look forward to carrying around a 30 pound toddler when the plastic shoes started to hurt her feet. I sent her to change and she protested a bit, but then came back with shoes that matched her outfit and she was wearing just enough dress up stuff to make it look like I had dressed her and was incapable of matching clothing.

That first clothing argument was a breeze. It was late in the afternoon, I had consumed plenty of caffeine and I had been awake for hours. The real challenge came that Monday when she brought me the outfit she was dying to wear. It was before 8 am, so I was not really in the mood to argue, but she had brought me a shirt that she had found in the dirty laundry. The shirt was so filthy that I am honestly surprised a roach colony had not taken over the hamper and feasted on the foods that were stuck on. Lily's morning personality is much like mine and we had what I will always remember as our first knock down drag out. Maybe I'll add that to the scrapbook. :)

I decided to outsmart my strong-willed 2 1/2 year old fashionista by hiding the filthy clothing, but she found them (probably tracked the atrocious scent) and did whatever she had to do to get them. That's when I decided to give her choices. I would hold up two mommy approved outfits and say, "Do you want to wear this or this?" It only took 2 days for Lily to beat me to the punch and confidently march into my room holding up two filthy, completely unacceptable outfits and say, "Okay, mama, THIS or THIS?" SHE was giving ME choices.

I laugh at the absurdity of my two year-old thinking she is capable of making better decisions about her life than Doug and I are. We provide her clothing and shelter and food. We protect her from danger. We meet her needs. Absurd right?

But seriously, how often do we, as God's children, think our way is wiser? I would like to think of myself as a mature Christian, more than a "babe" in Christ, but I often find myself exhibiting toddler-like spiritual behavior.

I know I am not alone, because the Bible is filled with examples of people like me, people who think they are wise apart from God's will. God instructed Jonah to go to Nineveh, but he refused and attempted to hide from the creator of the universe. When we do something that we know is contrary to God's will, aren't we in essence saying that our wisdom is greater than the the wisdom of our Creator?

He gives us food and clothing and shelter. He protects us and meets our needs. And we think we are capable than God of making wiser decisions about our lives. Absurd, right? Sometimes I am a lot like that strong-willed 2 year-old, wrestling with God. A toddler in Christ.

I find myself relating so much to the apostle Paul and I have to remind myself of the words God breathed through him: "Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men." (1 Corinthians 1:25 NASB)

Eat, Pray: heart-shaped sandwiches and love

Anytime my daughter carries a packed lunch, you can be sure of two things. It will contain a sandwich made with whole grain bread and said sandwich will be shaped like a heart...or a flower...or a fish. I can't stand the thought of sending her off with a square or circular sandwich or even a square slice of cheese. Sometimes I build an entire theme, like a fish shaped sandwich swimming in a blueberry sea. I've even done 2am searches on Pinterest for the coolest bento boxes for kids; while my Southern upbringing and Future Homemakers of America days fully prepared me for pound cakes and dumplings, those Mickey Mouse bentos look like they would require at least a year of culinary training. Since I have trouble finding time to paint my toenails, the year of culinary training is definitely out.

I know it is just lunch, but I come from a long line of people who express love through food. My own working mother would get up in the morning and pack me a lunch of turkey and mustard on saltine crackers. I didn't eat bread, and after finding a big hunk of a buttery cheese substance in my spaghetti I had sworn off the tray lunch in the cafeteria. I took my lunches for granted then; you tend to take a lot of things for granted when you are raises by Super Mom. Now I look back and can feel the love my own mother had for me and I think of it every time I am wasting bread edges and cutting out that sandwich with a cookie cutter.

It sounds sweet, right? Does my child really care? Probably not. So why do I care so much? Since I became a working mom, I have become obsessed with doing all I can to make every day special and to ensure that, while someone else is actually sitting next to her during lunch, there is some sign of "Mama" at the lunch table. It has become my coping mechanism. The daycare deposit pales in comparison to the start up costs I brought on myself. She needed a mat? I wanted to make sure she had a coordinating pillow, blanket and nap mat cover with her name embroidered somewhere on it. She had to have her name on her water bottle. Sure, a Sharpie makes sense, but instead I was drawn to these personalized bands that wrap around the bottle. I stressed about every last detail before her first day and I don't really think she cares. I do.

I don't have time for therapy, but after hours spent on the road for my job I have finally determined the reason for my obsession with heart-shaped sandwiches and personalized nap mat covers. It is the same reason I come home tired from work but drags self to the park or to blow bubbles in the back yard, the reason I want every second I am with Lily to be quality. It's the same reason I forget the quiet moments are important, too. I absolutely hate missing that time during the day and I grasping at ways to make the most of the time I do have. It's how I cope.

In the end, does it make me a better mom? No. Could I put away the heart cookie cutter tomorrow without Lily even taking notice? Probably. Will I do that? No way. I need it, and I hope one day she looks at that sandwich and realizes that I made it just for her, just the way she likes it, with sun butter, jelly and a mother's love. Like the turkey and mustard crackers.

Pray: Teaching our Children

Overwhelming. Huge responsibility. Must not fail. I remember the day Doug and I began discussing bringing a child into this world. We felt excitement, enthusiasm, anticipation and joy as we imagined what our child would be like. The awesome responsibility of parenting began weighing heavily on us from that very moment. How will we teach our child to let her light shine?

Every parent has grand and wonderful plans for their child. We all want the best for them and no matter how blessed our lives have been, we want even more for our children. I know for us, we want Lily to find things she is passionate about and to pursue them with everything she has. For the most part, we will not choose her passions. She may love music or sports or art. She may be an attorney or a teacher or a chef. Only time will tell. Some things, however, are so much more important than her choice to be a pitcher or a pianist or even president.  No matter what she chooses for her hobbies or her profession, we want her to be Godly. 

I often wonder how we are doing in instilling our spiritual and moral values in our child. My heart sings when I hear her singing "I Like to go to Church" or imitating her Bible class teacher as she lines up her cars and counts to see how many cars came to church. I am encouraged when she tells the checker at Target "tank you." Then I remember that she is 2, and that we have so much work to do to help shape the person she will become. 

I was recently reading an article on Dr. Sears' site about raising a moral child. More than once in the article, he referenced a window of opportunity in the first six years of a child's life. In this window of opportunity, children unquestionably accept the virtues displayed in the lives of their parents. We have six years to shape the hearts, minds and souls of our children and then our influence begins to wane. Six years. The awesome responsibility of parenting becomes heavier and heavier. 

The Bible (as usual) provides great insight. In Deuteronomy 6:4-9 we read the following:

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.
"And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates."

We must immerse our families in the love of God. We must immerse our families in loving God. We must do whatever it takes. In order to have children who love God with all their hearts, souls and strength, we must invite God into every part of our lives. Nothing can be more important. 

It is perfectly acceptable to want your children to succeed in other aspects of their lives, but our kids have to see what comes first in our lives. Children listen to our words, but they learn from our actions. If we want their love for God to be number one, they must see God being number one in our lives. It is so much more than having them at church every time the doors are open. They must see us being kind, loving our enemies, helping those who need our help. 

We want their lights to shine; let them learn that from us. 

 

Work, Pray: The Human Trapper Keeper

 I do not have a natural urge to have an organized life. I have had a tendency toward chaos and disorganizaton since I was a young child. I didn't line up blocks as a toddler. In school, the Trapper Keeper was my best friend because I could close it and trap the hundreds of loose pages in my notebook. My CDs (remeber those?) were never in the correct cases. On my computer, I have photos in my music folder and music in my documents folder. I have replaced no less than five drivers licenses because they ended up somewhere other than that little window pocket in my wallet. I am a complete mess. 

The funny thing is, I have always faked organizational skills very, very well. The Trapper Keeper was a metaphor for my life. When I was asked for an assignment from my terrifyingly messy notebook in school, I could always pull it out. When someone asked me to check something on my calendar, I could always find it. Problem is, it was not in the calendar. I am just really fast about searching my old emails for keywords or flipping through old receipts with notes jotted on the backs. Just because the photo I was looking for was in the music folder did not mean it was lost. Someone knew where it was. I knew where it was. There seemed to be some method of organization in my brain. 

I felt a certain pressure to be more organized. I spent money on this stuff. Remember PDAs? I forked over a pretty large chunk of change back in 2002 for a state of the art Windows based PDA. I think I entered two important reminders in the PDA. I also loaded up some games, Bible software and some mp3s on the handy little gadget. Then one night I forgot to plug it in. I found it, complete with dead battery, weeks later. Owning a PDA did not change my life. Losing a PDA did not change my life. I still made those two important appointments the same way I had made appointments in all the other years of my life; I just remembered. 

I spent a small fortune on file boxes, organizational cubes, daytimers and many other organizational tools. I am always so optimistic and excited about these new organizational tools. I start off with enthusiasm and within about three hours the enthusiasm wains. The file boxes end up being filled random papers, organizational cubes end up holding all the different types of junk I was originally trying to separate. The daytimers had no meaningful words written on them; instead the margins were filled with my doodling. I just relied on my memory. 

Occasionally the chaos would become overwhelming. I would go through my CDs and put them in their proper places. I would organize my messy notebook, often because it was being graded. I would rearrange the folders on my laptop. I would clean out my purse. I would write things in my calendar. I would go to the Container Store. Then it would all start again. 

I breezed through life on my memory, remembering appointments, assignments, meetings. Then one day the myth of mommy brain became a reality. I needed help. I needed organization. The way my brain worked seriously changed. I don't know anything about the science behind it, but I do know that in 9 quick months my daughter sucked half my brain power. I often say that she better be a smart kid since she took away so much of my intelligence. People laugh. It's as if they think I am joking. 

When Mommy brain set in, I knew there had to be a better way. I suddenly had what I perceived to be less brain with more stuff to put in it. I had to have important numbers handy, I needed to know when appointments occurred, I had to have the right foods for Lily to eat, I needed to have seasonally appropriate clothes ready for Lily to wear, I needed to know which meetings I had coming up for work so I could arrange my childcare and I had this little human being depending on me to make sure it was all right. I suddenly became a pretty organized person. Lily made me do it. 

There are still days I struggle with organization. Since I keep my calendar, address book and nearly everything else on a smartphone, one of those days came when Lily dumped my phone in the toilet. I still hae my Trapper Keeper moments, but most of the time everything is neatly filed away behind the correct divider.  I feel accomplished. I was able to change something about myself. I changed something that once seemed to be a part of my personality. It's funny how motherhood can do that to you.  

 

Love, Pray: MLK

 "I submit to you that if a man has not discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live."  Martin Luther King, Jr. 
Today is the day we honor the memory, the work and the accomplishments of Martin Luther King, Jr. He had passion for his cause and changed the lives of so many. His passion and courage inspire so many. 

Everytime I read this particular quotation, I am reminded of the words of Jesus in John 15:101-7:

"If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love, just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love. 
These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full. This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.  You are My friends if you do whatever I command you.  No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you. You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain, that whatever you ask the Father in My name He may give you. These things I command you, that you love one another."

Have you discovered the the something for which you would die? 

Work, Pray: The Working Woman of the Bible

Although I am in a two year sleep deficit and completely booked through the year 2027, I have decided to start a blog. I also plan to do my best to keep up with my blog and pray it can be a help to other working moms who have developed fever blisters and teeth grinding disorders as they work to balance the joys of family with the stress and guilt that come along with being a mom on the career track. However, there is a chance that another living soul will never look at this blog, and that’s okay, too. Anyway, back to this working mom thing…

Yes, I know it is 2012. I am aware that women have been working outside the home for decades and I should not feel any guilt about providing for my family. Believe me, I tell myself that every day. That doesn’t change the fact that I feel guilt as a mother, particularly as a Christian mother, about leaving my child for the day as I go off to work. I have the perfect setup. I leave my child with a grandparent or a close friend when I go off to work and I know she is nurtured and cared for while I am away. I do work from home whenever possible and take her along with me when I am able. Nevertheless, I still feel the guilt. Sometimes I am not sure it is only guilt; it’s also shame and, at risk of sounding dramatic, grief.

Before becoming a mother, I managed to be oblivious to the pressures mothers in the church face. Suddenly, the sermons admonishing mothers to be keepers of the home began stinging. Insinuations that families with two working parents were living beyond their means caused me to hang my head. Instead of being asked what I do for a living, I was asked if I stayed home with my child; the reply of no brought looks of disappointment and, even worse, pity. Facebook profiles of Christian friends listed their professions as SAHMs and I felt these twinges of envy that I had trouble overcoming. I wanted to scream to the world, “I want to be a SAHM, too, but my family NEEDS my paycheck!”

Now, I know the grief thing sounds pretty dramatic, but I think we all grieve dreams. I spent my adolescence and early adulthood dreaming of long days spent with my 2.5 children…well, 2 or 3 generally appeared in my dreams. I don’t make a practice of dreaming of half-children. Otherwise I would have already made a fortune writing horror novels. Anyway, I spent the first 18 months of my daughter Lily’s life grieving the loss of a dream. There are still times I find myself so sad to miss out on the little day to day things. When she was approaching a milestone, I would hope and pray she would have that particular first on my watch. I was blessed to ease back into the career world, following my maternity leave with part-time work until Lily was 18 months, but still I grieved.

One day I made a decision that I could cope with the grief, but the shame and guilt had to go. As a Christian, I have always found the Bible to be my source of strength. I have always looked to the virtuous wife of Proverbs 31:10-31. For so long I pictured this woman working away in the home, but the closer I read I find a woman who quite frequently works outside the home and it gives me hope, confidence and new energy!

She works with her hands, provides food for her household by bring it from afar, buys a field and plants a vineyard, makes and sells clothing and takes care of her family and those in need. It sounds like she spends some time working outside the home and somehow she is found virtuous and worthy of praise. I don’t think God intended for us to use Proverbs 31 to exalt mothers who work outside the home over those who don’t or vice versa. I believe we should look at this woman in the way of the obligations we have to our family and our community as Christian women.

Are our households provided for sufficiently? Are we teaching our children to be Godly? Can our husbands trust us? Is our family clothed and fed? Are we teaching our children to be kind and to honor God? If all these things are accomplished, then we are doing God’s will. Some may accomplish these things by working outside the home, and others will accomplish this by staying at home.

For me, working outside the home means my family has what we need and my husband and I are meeting our financial obligations. There are no reasons for guilt. There are no reasons for shame. Do I still grieve the loss of a dream? Sure, but that grief is erased daily as joy takes its place. God has blessed me with a loving husband, an adorable child and the comfort found in His word. For that, I am extremely thankful. :)