When Mama Bear Sees Red

What do you get when you cross a crowded parking garage, a screaming infant, and cars who won't let the car with said screaming infant out?

A mama bear who sees red. 

Y'all, I have been processing a certain incident that happened last week. I alluded to it on Facebook. I've thought about it in the shower, muttering as I slammed my shampoo bottle on the ground. I've seethed about it as I've creamed eggs and sugar together to make cookies.

I've tried to see it from the perspective of the three women who were in the car. I've failed.

Here's a brief summary of the incident:
Hubby and I (with our four-month-old) attended a basketball game last week. This basketball game was a BIG deal and had tons of attendees, so we had to park in a parking garage on the second level. After the game, of course, said garage was basically at a standstill as people tried to leave.

Our four-month-old was doing okay, but after sitting in the car not moving at all for fifteen minutes, still stuck in our spot, she started SCREAMING. Like, choking on her saliva, sounding like she was going to spit up screaming. Not just crying. I can deal with her crying, people. It was a scream I had never heard before, and it shook me to my core.

I sat there, thinking that SURELY we are going to escape our parking spot and be on our way home. "Should I just get out and stand in front of a car so they have to let us out of our spot?" I asked my husband multiple times. He didn't really reply.  I was unsure of my other options, unsure of how long we were going to be stuck there, unsure of how to handle this situation. Meanwhile, the screaming continues and escalates until I.cannot.take.it.anymore. We have to get this baby home.

So, I get out of my parked car and approach the car that could, if they so desired, let us out in front of them.

In the front passenger seat is a former coworker. In the back is a current coworker. I don't know the driver. The passenger side window is cracked a couple of inches, so I smile: "Hey, I have a screaming infant in my back seat, so I was wondering if there's any chance y'all would let us out in front of you?"

Eye contact with front seat passenger is made. She says not one word and looks back down at her phone. Back seat passenger and driver do not make eye contact with me.

Me: *awkward pause* "Um okay thank you!"

I get back in my car.

And not only do they not let us out...they immediately pull up, making it very clear they're going to ensure we cannot get out. I was LIVID. Not because they wouldn't let us out. But because I felt betrayed. I KNEW these people and thought I had a positive relationship with one of them. I mean, I knew they weren't driving, but to not even be acknowledged? That STUNG, y'all.

But...I'm not here to talk about them. Because I can't control them.

I'm here to talk about me.

I have examined my motivation for asking them--was I trying to take advantage of them? Was I rude?  Was I unreasonable? I didn't think so. Maybe from their perspective I was, though.

I have examined my reaction to them which, admittedly, was NOT a positive one at first.

But perhaps most importantly, I have tried to consider what I would do in a similar situation. Because I can be spiteful. I can hold grudges. I can refuse to do things just to show people they don't have power over me or just to prove that I do what I want. And maybe that's what this car did to us, I don't really know.

What I DO know is that I want to model BETTER for my daughter. I want to go out of my way to be strong but not spiteful. To be kind but not be a doormat. To strike that balance. To teach her that YES, we can be kind to strangers (the Good Samaritan story comes to mind) and also have boundaries.

So Katherine, someday if a desperate first-time mother asks you to stop your car and let her out in front of you because she has a screaming infant in the back seat, I hope you'll let her out. Not because you have to--you don't. It's not the law. But because you WANT to because you are compassionate and loving. And I pray that you learn those traits from me and your dad. I pray we do not fail to model those for you.

In this world of tension and strife and defensiveness, I pray that I can examine my own heart and actions and model for you kindness, goodness, courage, and love. And when I fail, I pray I can apologize and do better next time. 

Mama Bear saw red last week, it's true. But Mama Bear also knows that she is to love her enemies, pray for those who persecute her, and forgive seventy times seven.

She's still working on all of that... :)

The Post I've Been Sitting On For a Year...

Honesty: I am scared to hit "publish" right now.

I have wanted to address this issue for a year.

 But I didn't know if I should. If, as a white woman, my thoughts are even relevant. So, to anyone who's reading this, please hear my heart and know that this is written with the utmost thought, compassion, sympathy, and love. It is written with a burning desire for peace and unity. It is written with confusion about what to do, if anything, and how to help, if I can. It is written knowing that I am painfully ignorant and imperfect. I have so much growth still to do.

I mean, what right do I as a white woman have to be sitting here at my laptop bawling over this issue, one that isn't even "mine" to be upset over? By writing this post, am I "making this about me"? But if I'm not writing about my own personal reaction, am I then trying to write about something I don't understand?

Reading this poem gave me the final push to pen my thoughts and push "publish":

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a Socialist.Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

No, I'm not black. But I will speak up. So please hear my heart.

I watched the (sensitive) video of Terrence Crutcher's death. Someone's son. Someone's friend. A music student at a local college. A church goer who sang in the church choir. All I could think was, "My God, that could be one of my students."

When I was watching the video just now, I was thinking of my kids...

The ones who have accidentally called me "Mom."
The one who wants to be a computer programmer and has started teaching himself how to write code.
The one who told me, "When I grow up, I just want to be a better man someday. I want to have a wife and kids, and I just want my kids to be better than I am, because isn't that what every parent would want?" That kid is 16 years old.
The ones who hug their teachers when they see we are having a bad day or who offer to help us carry supplies in from our cars or who help us pack up our classrooms.
The one who told me he'd fight someone for me because another kid disrespected me.
The one who held and bounced my infant daughter at a basketball game.


...the list goes on. The majority of my students are people of color. Well over half. We have had some honest conversations about their truths and their experiences--the way society views them, the way they view the police, and so much more.

So, society sees a black man. The media writes the story of a man who "was no angel" or who "was not compliant" as if those two things are death sentences. They're not.


And damn it, watching videos of black men being shot dead by police makes me terrified for my students, and then it makes me feel pathetic for feeling scared, because I can't imagine how they must feel. How their parents must feel. While I can understand on a cognitive level, I can NEVER truly understand. I know that.


I do want to express a few thoughts that some people think are contradictory:

1) I am befuddled at the people who argue that "failure to comply" with a police officer's commands justifies killing them. I'm sorry, what?
2) I am confused by people who equate every single police shooting of every black man. They are not all the same. Oversimplification of  a complex issue is dangerous. The details of each case are different.
3) I am dismayed by people who judge all police based on the ones who are racist or use excessive force. Police officers do so much good. Many of them do protect and serve. I am so thankful for them. I respect them, and I know they are valuable members of our community.
4) I am confused as to why we as a society are creating false dichotomies- I can only be "pro-black lives matter" or "pro-blue lives matter" but not both. That's very untrue, but I guess humans are more comfortable with simple categories instead of wrestling with complex, nuanced, layered issues.

So, I could blog about any of those points. But today, I want to focus on point number one: people who don't seem bothered by these deaths because they're too busy justifying them.

It disgusts, angers, outrages me when people, especially my fellow believers in Jesus, respond to the loss of life with excuses, justifications, and lack of empathy. "Oh, well he had a rap sheet." "Oh, well he didn't comply with officer's orders."

OK. Those things should still NOT be a death sentence. Where is your compassion? Your sympathy? Oh you who are so "pro-life"- are you only pro-unborn life? Because that is sure how it seems sometimes, to be quite frank with you. And that is completely inconsistent with the Jesus we Christians claim to worship and follow.

The taking of a life should never be done lightly. Ever. Life is sacred. We are made in God's image, each one of us, and the utter lack of sympathy is disturbing.

I could ramble forever.
I want to be an ally. A safe person. I don't know what to do or how to help. I don't even know if this post is "allowed" or "politically correct" in today's culture. But it's my raw, honest heart, and it's a part of my journey, and so I'm sharing it in faith that it will speak to someone, somewhere.


Jesus,
I am imperfect, but I long to be like You. Give me Your heart for people. Let me always see them through Your eyes.

Mesh Underwear and Dirty Diapers

My husband has never been one for grand romantic gestures. I'm pretty sure he didn't buy me flowers until five years into marriage, and even then, I think I had to specifically tell him to do so explicitly. I used to get jealous of women whose Prince Charmings scattered rose petals all over their houses and drew candlelit bubble baths for them.

Now? I don't give a rat's fart about flowers, bubbles, or candles.

Want to know what's romantic?

A husband who rubbed my sore, aching back every night during the third trimester of pregnancy. Even after he had worked a 12-hour shift. Without complaining.

A husband who rubbed my back during labor, sprayed me with hot water during contractions to help relieve the pain, held up my Harry Potter Tervis cup between contractions so I could stay hydrated, and held up my leg as I pushed and pushed and pushed with all my body weight to bring our daughter into the world.

A husband who held the barf bag while I bounced on a  birthing ball during labor and had contractions and vomited.

A husband who waited to eat his own dinner and fed my dinner to me in the hospital (and after) because I was CONSTANTLY nursing our baby girl. He only made airplane noises one time...

A husband who helped me pull up my totally unsexy mesh underwear after my first shower so I wouldn't rip my stitches

A husband who changed almost every diaper in the hospital.

And perhaps most romantic of all, a husband who said "I'll take her for the night. You go get some sleep." Literally the most beautiful words I've ever heard uttered from his lips.

It's incredible how our definition of "love" keeps growing and expanding. When we first started dating, it was long distance because he was off at college. I was 17 and in high school. So "love" was trusting each other, late night AIM conversations, and holding hands at church. Then it was saying "I do" and me giving him time to play computer games and him understanding my Starbucks addiction and us holding each other crying after the loss of a grandparent or a child.

And now, he has seen me at my absolute most vulnerable. There is something so raw and primal about childbirth (or at least there was for me), and that's just the beginning of the painful vulnerability. The early newborn days brought out the worst in me. I basically went three days in a row with no sleep. As I've share before, breastfeeding was incredibly painful. And, of course, my hormones were wackadoodle.

But this incredible man has loved me and our daughter with a tender, steadfast love. It's overwhelming. He is the perfect example of what Christ's love looks like in a marriage. He is the perfect example of what a respectful man looks like in a  relationship, and he is going to show our daughter how a woman should be treated.

Now...if only he didn't like the Redskins...

Boobs Are Food, Not Friends

I cringe when I see blogs titled something like "Ten Things No One Told Me About Breastfeeding." Girl, maybe no one told YOU...but maybe you didn't ask the right questions, talk to the right people, or read the right books.

I knew breastfeeding would be hella hard. Other people told me, and I did lots of reading and research. I took a class. And I'm so thankful for these many resources because without them, I feel certain I would've quit by now. I was mentally prepared, and it is STILL the hardest thing about being a mom so far.

I have always wanted to breastfeed. The research I've done is pretty clear about its benefits for baby and for mom. I'm not going to get into a "breast is best" or "fed is best" debate here, but for ME, breastfeeding was SO important. I did my very best to educate myself so our breastfeeding journey would be successful because I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a quitter.

Well, the first five or six days of breastfeeding almost turned me into a quitter. And here at almost six weeks, there are still days I consider it, if I'm being perfectly honest.

When our little girl was born five and a half weeks ago, she breastfed pretty successfully from the beginning. On night two, she clusterfed like a boss (I literally fed her the entire night at the hospital). The next day, it looked-- and felt-- like I'd dragged my nipples through the Amazon River and let piranhas feast on them. Cracked, bleeding nipples that stung when they came into contact with cloth. Or water. Or air. 

See, I knew how latching was SUPPOSED to work. I'd watched videos and practiced with a baby doll. But the baby doll didn't have hands that flung into its mouth or dragged razor sharp nails across an already bleeding nipples. I suspected something was wrong with Katherine latch, but when the hospital lactation consultant watched her, she commented that everything "looked good" and that I was likely just experiencing pain because Katherine's mouth was still small. 

Maybe true... but by the time I got home, nursing was so painful that I found myself thinking I'd rather go through unmedicated labor again. Because at least with labor, the American Academy of Pediatrics doesn't recommend you stay in labor for a year.

Here's what I did on my own to try to relieve the pain:

-Ibuprofen every eight hours (and y'all know I HATE medicine. And swallowing pills)

-Watching tons of YouTube videos to correct her latch

-Lanolin

-Hydrogel pads (which I low key HATED because you have to rinse your boob off before you feed again, and that took time, and the water stung) 

-Rubbing breastmilk on the nipples and air drying them
-Reading kellymom.com (best breastfeeding resource I've found)
-Begging Katherine to stop using my nipples as a chew toy...you're not a puppy, little girl. 

But despite my best efforts, my snorting, starving newborn still managed to cause me immense pain every single time she latched. I cried--we're talking BAWLED-- at least 50% of the times I nursed- a mixture of pain, frustration, exhaustion, and hormones. 

Finally, I decided to reach out and get some help. Three things have salvaged our breastfeeding journey: a lactation consultant, Newman's prescription nipple cream (which we had to get through a compounding pharmacy, and the chiropractor. 

1) Lactation consultant. We met with a fabulous doula-recommended lactation consultant when Katherine was only a week old. I'm so glad I didn't wait any longer. She came to our house and helped me get our sweet pea to latch. 

Admittedly, Katherine is a bit of a show off already and latched perfectly for the LC the first freaking time. Seriously, kiddo? It was a little harder to get her to latch deeply after the LC left. BUT having someone come in person and show me what to do was a thousand times more helpful than any YouTube video or book I'd read. The LC also followed up with me several times after her visit. Having some in-person support was so encouraging.

2) Prescription nipple cream. I wish I'd left the hospital with this prescription in hand. We had to have it called in to a compounding pharmacy, and it cost over fifty bucks, but it was so worth it. I don't know what's in this stuff, sometimes known as "Newman's Nipple Cream" or "APNO". Maybe it's unicorn dust or the tears of a leprechaun. Just kidding; here's the list of ingredients. I am CONVINCED using this stuff is the only reason we haven't had thrush or an infection, considering my boobs had open wounds on them for a week.

3) Chiropractor. The amazing chiro I saw throughout my pregnancy (who performed Webster's technique on me and made sure my body was all aligned and ready to give birth) saw Katherine. She noticed a couple things that might be affecting her latch: Katherine's neck is a little tight, especially moving to one side in particular. Her neck is scrunched up and her shoulders are a little tense. And her occipital bone is slightly caved in. None of these things are irregular for a newborn- apparently they can happen in utero or during pushing.

Anyway, Dr. Anna gently adjusted Katherine (as much as she would let her) and her latch was immediately better. Not a 10/10 but like a 7/10. And we're going back in a few weeks. 

Our chunky milk fiend shortly after her arrival. 

I'll be honest- her latch is still not great. Sometimes it's better than others. BUT it is INFINITELY better than it was when she was chewing on my nipples like they're Hubba Bubba bubblegum.

And me? I may not love breastfeeding the way a puppy loves his or her owner. I might not get excited when Katherine snorts and root and starts her heavy rapid breathing that says, "I'm hungry, Mom! I'm trying to gain five pounds a week so I can be a sumo wrestler someday!" I'm still having vasospasms.

BUT... I am amazed that I have sustained this little girl the way God intended. I am in awe of how content and sweet she is when she's eating. I love when she latches on and sighs serenely, covering her chubby cheeks with her tiny hands and closing her eyes in bliss.

So if there are "things no one told you about breastfeeding," I'm sorry- but even knowing all the things like I feel I did, it was still SO hard. Kudos to you mamas who stick with it! I hope I can be one of you!

Dear Future Me: Remember the Newborn Days

Dear Future Me,

I started writing this letter in the middle of pregnancy and slowly added to it. Now, at almost a month post birth, I'm publishing it. I didn't want to forget the important things, the annoying things, the trivial things. It's amazing how quickly we forget experiences and feelings.

So, future me, in the years to come when you encounter pregnant women and new moms, keep the following in mind:

1) Don't touch pregnant bellies without permission. Enough said. Some women (you) don't really mind it. But some do. You wouldn't randomly touch some dude's beer belly, would you? Okay then- don't touch that future mom, either, even if your hand gravitates towards her belly like a child's hand to a cookie jar. Leave her be.

2) When you drop off a meal or visit, don't linger. Every minute you are in the house is one that the exhausted mother isn't sleeping, showering, eating, or doing something for herself. As much as you want to snuggle and see that new precious baby, it is not about you or your feelings. Drop off the meal (in disposable containers you won't need back) and quickly slip out. If you know the mom well, maybe do a load of laundry or the dirty dishes in the sink. Visitors are emotionally exhausting, and Mom needs to protect her new family first and foremost.

Don't impose, don't be pushy, and respect her wishes. It's not personal, and it's not about you- you'll get to meet that sweet baby later. Remember that the baby isn't on a schedule, so Mama may need to nurse or diaper change, and the longer you're there, the more likely it is you're disrupting the new family's flow. So be respectful of their time.

And always text or call before coming over!

3) Remember how hard nursing is. Remember the cracked, bleeding nipples. Remember the stress of trying to get a baby to latch (especially with people around or noise in the background). Remember the tears of frustration when a crying, hungry baby just couldn't latch successfully. Be supportive of your breastfeeding mom friends. Kindly and humbly recommend a lactation consultant, if appropriate. Tip them off the Newman's prescription nipple cream (a lifesaver). Remember they have a right to feed their baby whenever, wherever. Don't stare. Don't talk to mom while she's focusing on getting baby to latch. Let her nurse in peace.

4) Motherhood isn't a competition or pissing contest. You're no better than anyone because of your experiences or choices. Having an easy pregnancy doesn't make you less of a mom. Having a natural, unmedicated birth doesn't make you any more of a mom. Being able to breastfeed doesn't make you better than anyone.

It's not a competition, and all of us moms are just trying to do what's best for our babies. Support and uplift Mama. Tell her she's doing amazing because she is.

5) Getting Mom a gift card instead of a "real" gift is totally fine and probably very helpful. And always give a gift receipt and tape it to the gift. And remember that not all babies will even wear "newborn" sized clothing. And if the baby was born in December, buying newborn sized summer onesies isn't really appropriate.

6) Don't say, "Oh, you think you're tired now? Just wait." She knows she's not going to sleep after the baby comes. She doesn't understand yet, but don't rain on her parade. That's not what she needs to hear right now.

7) Don't forget about Dad. This is a huge adjustment for him, too, and he is tired and frazzled and trying to care for a wife and new little one. Support him, too.

8) Don't give unsolicited advice. Ask first. Don't be a condescending know-it-all. And if mom wants to share about her desire to cloth diaper or co-sleep or something else you don't agree with, don't criticize her.

9) Don't judge. Her baby, her choices. You don't have to agree with her. She's doing the best she can, just like you are.

10) Don't take what a new parent does personally. It's not about you. They're just trying to do what's best for their newborn. They ask you to wash your hands? They don't think you're dirty. They're just trying to protect their little one. They don't let you hold the baby? There's a reason. Maybe baby is super fussy. Maybe they are being protective. Their baby, their choice. Don't disparage her for being a first time mom. You were once, too.

I know these all seem SO obvious right now, but someday, future Christine, you're going to forget this stuff. When you do, think back to the first few sleepless, painful, emotionally exhausting weeks and remember that what you needed most was a listening ear, food that could be eaten with one hand, pumpkin spice lattes, sleep, showers, and brief hugs.

Love,
New Mommy Christine

Katherine's Birth, Abridged Version

I just knew our daughter was going to be born late. The entire pregnancy had been too easy: no gestational diabetes, no preeclampsia, perfect measurements and heart rate every time... I just KNEW our little girl was going to make me wait forever to meet her. It'd be too easy if she came on time.

Swaddling her "drunk octopus arms," as our lactation consultant called them, has helped us on our breastfeeding journey. That journey deserves its own blog entry! 

The day before her due date (August 24th), I was up at school setting up my classroom, battling a sore throat and what I thought was an oncoming cold. I should be back tomorrow,  I thought, to help with Freshmen Orientation, but just in case...I'll leave a to-do list on my desk for my sub. Not that he'll need it. Because I'll be back. 

I didn't come back. 

That Wednesday night, I woke up every.single.hour with cramps. I knew it COULD be pre-labor stuff. But I didn't want to get my hopes up. I'll bet she's still going to be late, I kept telling myself, repeating it over and over. 

I skipped freshman orientation. The cramps were coming every 20-30 minutes. I brought my birth ball upstairs and bounced on it while watching The Good Place on Netflix and trying to eat a protein bar and drink some water. 

No sleep, no make up, but heart bursting with joy because this little girl made my dreams come true. 

The cramps were getting closer together. I still denied that they were real contractions because they weren't that bad. It almost felt like gas or bad period cramps. So I stayed at home and coped. 

A hot shower (or two...or three) on my knees so the hot water would rain down on my back.  

A text to my husband around noon: "I don't think I can drive myself to my midwife appointment at 2:00."

A short bout of vomiting. 

More The Good Place to try to distract my body as I bounced on my purple yoga ball. 

At the midwife, we learned I was already 3 cm dilated and completely thinned (I guess other women who've had kids will know what this means and the rest of you will just shrug or Google it). "I wouldn't be surprised if you have this baby tonight or tomorrow," quipped the midwife. 

And then it finally hit me: this baby was coming out. Soon. Much sooner than I thought. Was I ready? Did I actually have everything in my hospital bag? What if my water broke in the car and got the seat all gross? What if my phone died and I couldn't listen to my birthing affirmations during labor? 

After the midwife appointment and continuing contractions, we toyed with the idea of getting a hotel room close to the hospital. At this point, I just felt like labor was progressing pretty quickly. I then (not surprisingly) changed my mind and was like, "Nah, let's drive the 30 minutes home and I'll just labor there where I'm more comfortable."

Should out to my AMAZING midwife, Brenda, and my fabulous nurses. We met our goal of meeting the baby! 

Needless to say, we were back at the hospital three hours later...to check in and have a baby! 

I remember but won't subject you to all the details. Like the nurse who tripped over my IV cord and almost ripped it out of my hand while she chatted happily at me while I was in the middle of contracting (I'm honestly glad she got off at 7:00). Or the super deep, warm tub I labored in while my husband sprayed my back with hot water. Or the birth ball I bounced on while leaning over the bed. 

And then it was pushing time. I remember my primal moaning and thinking, "If someone walks by this room, they're going to think they're at a freaking zoo and someone captured a dinosaur." 

Hearing "Relax your face" and wanting to relax my fist into the wall. 

Hearing "You're so close! I can feel her head!" about twenty times and wondering if I was being lied to. 

Watching the nurse check the baby's heartbeat during contractions and secretly panicking: What if my baby's not okay?

And then, finally, hearing the midwife say, "Look down!" 

And there she was. With a full head of hair, covered in goo, and absolutely perfect. I heard my husband gasp in awe (or maybe something else, but I'm going with awe), and then she was on my chest. 

Katherine Olivia was 8 pounds, 9 ounces, 20 inches long, and born at 10:01 p.m. on her due date. 

And thanks to the support of my husband, doula, nurses, and midwife, she was born naturally- no epidural, no pain meds. 

In fact, right after she was born, I apparently said, "Take that, haters." Aimed, of course, at the people who doubted that I could follow through on my goal of a natural birth. Although, to be honest, I doubted myself multiple times during labor. I was exhausted and dehydrated. I literally hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. I frequently said, "We're adopting the next one. I can't do this. I'm so tired." 

But here she is, rocking our world, eating like a champ (more on that later), enjoying snuggles from Nana and Pop Pop and Daddy, and freaking Minion out a little bit. 

First photo as a family of three (those cheeks and chins, though!) 

I didn't cry when she was born. It wasn't until later that night, in the silent dark of the hospital room, as I was nursing her... I looked down and saw a precious gift from Heaven. I saw the embodiment of a dream come true and prayers answered.

When Randy suggested the name "Katherine," it was only the second girl name we agreed on. Name meanings have always been really important to me, and Katherine means "pure." Her middle name, Olivia, means "olive tree," and in the Bible, olive branches are a symbol of peace. I absolutely love the meanings of her name because they embody all my hopes and dreams for our little girl. 

When I prayed for and then became pregnant with Lila Grace in 2015, the life verse I chose for her was from 1 Samuel 1:27: "For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath given me my petition which I asked of him." As most of you remember, we were heartbroken when we lost her at 12 weeks. It then took us 13 months to conceive Katherine Olivia. 



In closing, here is Katherine's life verse: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." John 14:27 


We love you so much, Lovebug! <3 

Dear Baby Girl-10 Things You Need to Know

Dear Baby Girl,

I haven't written to you yet because every time I think about what to say, tears flood my eyes. Like now. I never knew it was possible to love someone you've never met SO MUCH that it consumes you.

Before you arrive, there are some things you should know:

1) We want you. Every baby is a blessing, even ones that are unplanned. But your dad and I wanted you, desperately, and tried to conceive for a year. "Excited" doesn't even begin to describe our feelings about meeting you. You are so wanted and so very loved.

2) Our biggest hope for you is that you know how much God loves you, choose to follow Him, and show His love to the world. In our society today, that's an unpopular thing to say. But it's true. When you know how much He loves you, you will be compelled to love others.

3) Your dad and I are hilarious. Please laugh at our jokes. No, seriously. We're funny people. For example, your dad once typed a resume that merely said, "Hire me *waves hand*" Don't worry- you'll understand after he forces you to watch Star Wars. I will try to rescue you, but the Force is strong with him, so... no promises, baby girl.

4) Be an includer. When you see someone sitting alone at lunch, go sit with him and ask him about his day. When you see someone being bullied, go hug her and let her know she is precious. The absoulte best example you have of someone who included others is Jesus- follow His example. Always.

5) You will have a hard time finding a date. Not because you won't  be beautiful, smart, funny, caring, and so forth. But because you literally have like ten uncles who have all promised me they will fight off any guy who tries to get near you. Your goddaddy Kenny says, "When she gets older, I'm going to scare away every boy that comes her way." He's 6'7". Your Uncle Jason says he is going to fight off all the boys and keep them away from you: "Duh." He's only 6'1", but he's pretty feisty. So yeah, I plan on keeping in touch with those boys as much as possible over the next few years so they can help me look out for you.

Just kidding.

Or am I...?

6) We can't wait to meet you. Sure, I'm 20 weeks pregnant and still haven't booked any childbirth classes or started on your nursery. But I still can't wait to meet you. I apologize in advance if you come home from the hospital in a Redskins' onesie- your mom lost a bet, and she is VERY sorry. She knows you will be a Cowboys fan someday. Or any team, really. It's your choice. Don't let your dad draw you into the Redskins fan cult, ok? Make your own choices (but Dak Prescott is a pretty great quarterback and role model, just sayin').

7) I really did think you were a boy. And I am not at ALL disappointed you are a girl. I thought I would be, but I am so thrilled. You see, women are incredible. We are strong. We have ability to carry life and bring life into the world. I mean, how amazing is that? And now that I know you're a girl, I can't imagine you being anyone else, and I wouldn't want to.

8) If you want to play basketball, I know plenty of people who will teach you. See those mentioned in number five above. But honestly, if you want to be in drama or take art or dance or cheer or be on the robotics team or play football, that's cool, too. I was a tomboy, but you're not me. So you be you. Do you. Your dad and I will support you 100 percent.

9) Love yourself. You are amazing. I hope by the time you're old enough to read this, we will live in a world that values you. Always value yourself. Be kind to others, but be assertive. Don't change who you are or what you like or believe to impress others.

10) I will always be here for you. Of course, we are going to butt heads. But when your boyfriend or girlfriend breaks your heart someday, I will be there to hug you and make you brownies and wipe the snot and tears from your face. When you make questionable decisions (we all do), I will love you unconditionally and listen to you when you are ready to talk.

This doesn't even begin to skim the surface of everything I want to tell you. But I just got really hungry (thanks to you, probably), and my leftover dijon chicken is calling our name, and I'm kind of craving a pink vitamin water.

Love you always,
Mom (mom, mom, mommy, mommy, mommy- I have heard that you will never say my name just one time, so I'm preparing now)

Yes. I do love "those basketball boys"

I feel like I've written about this before, but I just have to say it again: I sure do wish people who comment about me teaching at Varina would come into my classroom for just ONE day. ONE day. And see how awesome my kids are. 

Recently, I was engaged in one of those painful "small talk" conversations, and naturally, the person to whom I was speaking asked what I do for a living. "Oh, I'm a teacher."
The next question is always, "What grade do you teach?"

When I answer, "I teach 11th grade English at Varina" the usual response is raised eyebrows and wide-open eyes. About half the time, the person asks something along these lines: "But isn't that hard being so young/being a young female/teaching teenagers who are bigger than you?"

I never know quite what to say. Because I get irritated. Because there are so many underlying assumptions being made, both about me and about the school at which I teach.

First of all, if you know me AT ALL, you know I am NOT intimidated. By anyone. Or anything. I will go toe to toe with anyone. I am feisty as hell, and I don't back down easily. So no- I am not scared of my students, whether they're a 5'2" girl or a 6'7" boy.

Additionally, you don't know my kids. I chose to teach at Varina for a reason. I choose to stay there every year for 120 reasons: my kids. People have said, "You'll have kids anywhere you go. They're all the same." I don't think so. I interact with kids from other schools, and I'll take my Varina kids any day.

Here is a prime example: our boys' basketball team.

I've had the privilege of teaching half of the team (literally), so naturally, I became pretty invested in their games this year. In fact, I think I only missed two or three.

The best part about these young men for me, though, is not that they can almost all dunk or that they play tenacious defense or that they have an impressive win-loss record.

No way. It's the people they are off the court.

Our amazing academic advisor and dear friend of mine sent out an email asking teachers to write "good luck" notes to these boys because they made it to STATES (first time in 16 years for our program). As I began to pen my notes, I realized I may as well just write one to every kid on the team.

So earlier this week during 5th block, some of the boys were swinging by the room to pick up their notes. After reading them, they were like, "Aw, thank you, Mrs. Suders! We appreciate your support!" and gave me side hugs and asked me, "Are you coming Friday?" They played  in the State quarterfinals in Hampton last night.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I answered.

When the boys left my room, my class commented with somewhat of an attitude, "Wow, you sure looooooove  those basketball boys, don't you?"

I paused for a second. Then: "Yes. Yes I do. And do you want to know why? They are polite to me. They are kind to me. They are respectful to me. They let me know they appreciate my support and love. They are great kids. So yes, I do love them."

I left out the part where they found out my mom and dad were coming to a game. "What's your dad's name? George? Can I call him 'Mr. George' and your mom 'Miss Anne'?" And they came and greeted my parents after their game, and they shook my dad's hand and hugged my mom.

They greet me on the sidewalk and ask how I'm doing.
They open doors for me if my hands are full.
The other day when I was carrying four bags of snacks to my room, one of them shouted across the sidewalk, "Mrs. Suders, can I help you?"
They ask me to help them study for their SAT and ACT tests.
When I give them mini lectures about their manners or their choices, they (usually) listen and admit I have a point.
Two of them made a special trip  to my room the morning after my 12-week midwife appointment to ask how it went and if the baby was ok.
Four of them are currently debating who gets to be my baby's uncle, cousin, godfather, grandpa, coach...
Almost all of them spoke to me and the other teachers (and my mom) after a tough loss in the state quarterfinals last night. "Thank you for coming." " Thank you for your suppor this season." "Thank you for everything."

The fact that they happen to be talented athletes is icing on the cake. Y'all know I LOOOOVE sports. I love the competition, the athleticism, the underdog story, the Cinderella story. I thrive on it. So, yes, it's awesome to be able to attend their games and support them.

Honestly, though, the basketball boys have my love because of the PEOPLE they are. They are sure not perfect (ask my student who gets his phone taken on the regular, haha).

But they, like the vast majority of my students, are hella good kids whom I love to pieces and would do anything for.

And I bet you would, too, if you knew them like I do.

In Which I Defy Societal Norms

I am so nervous about hitting "publish." But here goes....

It's strange how far I've come in the past 17 months, since August of 2015, the month I miscarried our first baby (that post here). 

At first, I was eager to hop back on the baby making train. It only took three months the first time we tried. My midwife and nurses and friends all seemed SO confident I'd fall pregnant in NO time at all. And, I mean, it's fun to try, right? At least, that's what well-meaning friends offered as a placation. 

After about three unsuccessful months, I began to fret a bit. So the acupuncture began. The herbal supplements. The ovulation predictor tests (some months; it made me obsessive and I had to limit myself, lest I become a legitimately crazy person). Later, the strict diet and increased emphasis on fitness. I wanted to exhaust all my natural options before succumbing to the pressure I was feeling, mostly internally but sometimes from outside sources, to see a fertility specialist. 

I set mini-deadlines for myself. If I'm not pregnant by Thanksgiving, I'll go see a specialist. But I didn't feel at PEACE about that. That was ME imposing MY timeline on God and HIS timing. 

So this fall, I started to pray differently. I started to pray that God would open my heart to seek His will more and mine less, and I felt nudged towards adoption. Sidenote: If you look at my "List of Things to do in Life" from 8th grade, you'll notice adoption is listed on there, so clearly I've always had this desire. 

Anyway... I began to research. Met up with an adoptive mom for coffee. Prayed a lot more. Checked out a lot of books from the library. 

I searched for foster children online and watched their videos and read their stories and cried when I saw that they've been without a forever home for years. I joined adoption groups of Facebook. 

I finally breached the subject with my reluctant husband, who agreed to pray about it and revisit the idea with me this summer. 

Peace. Acceptance. I finally had them. Maybe biological children weren't in my future, but having a family was, and my heart was open to that process. So open to that. Older children, siblings, children of color, you name it. My heart began to grow as God showed me His love for children who are not in their forever home. I started taking screenshots of children who were up for adoption and praying for them, sometimes to the point of tears. 

During this time, James 1:27 rooted itself in my heart: "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." 

So...perhaps you can imagine my absolute and utter shock when this happened on December 19th: 

That's a pretty solid second pink line. 

I still thought the test was lying, so this happened over the next couple days: 

And when I still didn't believe those, I bought a digital one just so I could see that coveted word: 

Every day is a struggle to stay optimistic and hopeful. Even though I know there is an 80 percent chance the baby will be fine, I can't help but worry. 

I also worry about sharing this blog. What if people judge me for announcing too early? What if I do miscarry again? What if I can't handle all the unsolicited advice I'm going to get? What if people think this is a cry for attention? 

The first time we got pregnant, I was going to do the "traditional" thing: wait until second trimester to announce. This time, I want to celebrate and love and pray for this child, and Randy and I want to invite all our friends and family to join us in celebrating this new life. We are cherishing every moment of this pregnancy (even the nausea and fatigue and heartburn and insomnia). We are sharing this news to celebrate life and to share our story in hopes that it will give other women who want to announce early courage to do so. 

In short: we are so excited to meet our rainbow baby*. 

*Rainbow baby: a child born after a miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death or infant loss.




Dear Lord, Creator of all things,

Thank you for creating a new life within me. I trust You to give this baby health and divine protection, to knit him/her together perfectly. In those times when fear tries to creep into my heart, increase my faith. May Your unfailing love rest upon me as I put my hope and trust in You.

Draw Randy and I closer to You and to each other so that our faith may increase and we may show our child Your unconditional, everlasting love. We know you have a plan for our child, and we thank you for what you will use him or her to do for Your glory.

Give me Your joy and peace throughout this pregnancy. Let me be a witness of Your goodness and faithfulness. I give thanks to You in all circumstances and thank you for allowing me the blessing of being this child's mother. Fill me with Your spirit and prepare me to nurture and raise this child in the way You desire.


In Jesus' name,
Amen.

"This or That"

I struggle with the false dichotomies we human beings create.  As if there's no third option, or as if you can't like two things that people say conflict with each other.

But we do this in our society all the time, don't we, despite the fact that I think we can all think of times when there are more than two options?

I see it with politics.
I see it with religion and science (people think you either believe in religion OR in science. Ok, people, talk to my husband, the devout Christian chemist).
I see it when it comes to law enforcement or race- as if I cannot be BOTH supportive of police officers AND people of color (black people, African Americans, whatever you deem the appropriate term).
...and so many other issues.


Issues are complex. People are complex. When we create false "either/or" choices, we ignore these complexities.

False dichotomies are dangerous.

They encourage closed-minded thinking.
They alienate us from each other.
They prevent us from seeking reasonable solutions or more creative options.
They discourage logical, intelligent discourse.
They ignore different contexts and variables that should be a part of our considerations about a variety of issues.
They are logical fallacies. Just ask my AP students.

But I guess it's easier to pick one side than to take the time to examine all the different angles, elements, facts, and outcomes of beliefs and situations. So maybe we're just lazy.

Or maybe when we take a "third" side, we are all by our lonesome, on an island by ourselves. We'd rather be part of one group or the other so that we're not alone. That's what I discovered when I started becoming more vocal about voting Libertarian: I got attacked and sometimes just politely questioned by BOTH Republicans and Democrats. There were very few people to rally around me. It was a bit exhausting.

Can we admit that some issues are complicated? Can we admit that people don't always fit into two neat categories?

Because if we can, I think we'll be more balanced, empathetic, and understanding, and THOSE are all attributes our world could use a bit more of... don't ya think?