Jesus First

One might say that Phoebe has "come into her own." This little exchange occurred the other night while Bethany put lotion on Phoebe after her shower.


Phoebe, please stand up.

Hmm, I'm going to need to ask Jesus first.

Phoebe takes her spiritual fervor seriously.

The Higher Calling

I love women's ministry. Everything about it just calls to me: the word of God; real fellowship and community with other imperfect women willing to be vulnerable; transparency and accountability to grow in my personal relationship with Jesus Christ; and the laughter that reaches beyond age or season to envelope everyone in the room. Yep, it is good.

I also have a particular connection to women's ministry because God has graciously allowed me to teach bible study in many different settings and churches over the past 19 years. Preparing, studying and planning are simply a part of my life - like breathing.

I assumed, like breathing, that it would always be this way.

Someday I'll stop making assumptions.

You probably picked up on this long before I did, but in between my passion for teaching women and changing diapers I somehow missed the amazing serendipity (I love that word - even though I don't believe in happenstance or mere chance) of birthing six daughters. Six little women! As my daughters came I pictured us enjoying deep, theological discussions together. I imagined them in bible study as adults, but somehow I completely skipped over adolescence. After all, that was why churches had youth ministry and not simply men's or women's ministry. The needs of jr. high and high school ages created such an altogether unique dynamic that it required an entirely different model of discipleship.

Or at least that's what I assumed. (See note above about what I need to do with my assumptions.)

Hannah (14) - Phoebe (3) - Me

My eldest daughter joined our church's official youth program a couple of years ago. At that time my husband began to serve as a leader in the youth group. Week after week I quizzed him on what was being discussed during the teaching time for Hannah's class. Week after week Christopher shared with me the gist of the topics and conversation until I began to see a pattern in my reaction. I loved that Hannah was getting a chance to hang out with her friends. I thought the games the youth played were often imaginative and developed great team spirit. I was glad she was being challenged to think on her own about concepts from the bible. But I also recognized a growing disappointment that the lessons often scratched only the surface of genuine Christian character and godly lifestyle choices. 

The group was mostly made up of other boys and girls from similar backgrounds. Many of them were churched meaning they, like Hannah, had grown up attending Sunday School and VBS and usually knew the "right" answers. They were also questioning, often for the first time, the concepts taught them through childhood and beginning to decide if the faith their parents ascribed to was going to be their own. This all seemed normal. And so did the awkward, embarrassed, sometimes confused ways the group interacted as the individual trajectory of puberty and personality began shaping each member into their own unique person. But the very same factors that made it "youth" ministry were also keeping it from being entirely successful in effective ministry.

How transparent can I expect my daughters to be in front of a bunch of kids who are struggling just to understand their own bodies, let alone their deeper purpose and unique calling in this world? Growing and maturing takes discipleship. Or at least it does if I want my girls to transition through adolescence  gracefully and without unnecessary heartache - which I do. So, mentoring becomes invaluable. I want my darling girls to learn about femininity from the heart of great women (and men) before they have it compared to the likes of Lady Gaga. I want them to engage in open conversations about difficult subjects with candor and respect before they learn all the street slang for what they should do if they really "love" that boy. And most importantly, I want them to understand what the bible says about the beauty and value of their womanhood before their peers define it for them. 

Youth ministry, alone, can not achieve these goals. Why? For the same reason elite athletes don't train with amateurs, and why virtuosos don't practice with beginners - we can not grow in maturity when consistently surrounded by people as immature as ourselves; and we do not learn to stand out by working hard to fit into the mold. One or two adults working to shepherd a roomful of rambunctious teenagers isn't a ratio built for success. 

Bottom Center & Clockwise:
Phoebe, Hannah, Mary, Leah, Bethany, Me, Evangeline

So, I'm quitting what I love in order to love what I'm called to - women's ministry. The ministry of making women... making godly, honorable women who are strong, capable thinkers in a world filled with relativity and subjectivity. By the grace of God I have the privilege of sharing my passion with six of the most amazing girls I have ever known.

Photographer

Phoebe is a photographer in the making! She got ahold of Hannah's iPod Touch and took these amazing photos:

I deleted the 27 other identical ones so as not to overwhelm you with her exceptional eye for staging and proportion.

Cows and Throats

Phoebe walked up to me this morning and said:

Mama, my froat is broken.

You're throat is broken?

Yup. Listen... *she tried to cough to clear the gravelly sound from her voice but couldn't quite manage it*

Hmm, you must be sick.

Yeah, my voice is a cow.

You're voice is a cow?

Uh huh. Hear it? *she picked a note that has never been written on any musical score, ever, and proceeds to 'show' me how her voice is a cow by holding that singular sound for several seconds*

I see. I'm not entirely sure I understand how it is that your voice is a cow.

'Cause it is. *the answer that our idiosyncratic child defers to whenever her logic is questioned*

Phoebe walked away from our conversation leaving me a bit befuddled although greatly entertained. It wasn't until several moments later that I realized she was trying to say that her voice was hoarse.

Dun 45

Phoebe asks this morning if she can watch Dun 45. She is quite insistent and excited about the prospect of this movie. It took me and Christopher a few moments to catch on to what she was saying.

Phoebe calls Darth Vader, Dun. It is the sound we use to sing Vader's theme and she picked up on it. With a 9 year old brother how could she not? She now calls the entire movie Dun. However, she knows that Caleb is only allowed to watch the original episodes. Our younger children are only allowed to watch 4 and 5. Phoebe decided she was now old enough to be included in the younger children and asked if she could watch Star Wars episode 4 or 5.

Dun 45.


Dun, Dun, Dun, Dun, Dun, Dun, Dun, Dun, Dun.

Sitting Trust

Our children were recently taught the game Trust. It is a pretty simple concept. One person stands behind another while they fall straight backward, like a board tipping over, and are finally caught under the arms just before they reach the floor. I don't think it takes a genius to figure out where the game gets its name.

This evening my middle children were entirely engrossed in playing Trust when Daddy decided to join the fun. Being much more reliable than their siblings, each child grew more and more bold in falling backwards. Finally Phoebe wanted a try.

Christopher explained to her that she needed to stand with her back towards him and fall. She watched a few more sisters take the plunge before deciding it was her turn. As she set herself up we all watched with anticipation. Christopher took her through the motions with verbal directions and then even worked a bit of the plan with pantomime. At last she was ready to take the plunge. Holding his hands just barely away from her body he counted down for her to fall.

She sat straight down and then laid herself flat on the ground between Christopher's legs.

She was tickled pink that she had survived the game!

Gibberish in Idaho

My husband is leaving for a joy-ride to Idaho in just a couple of days. My children have caught the excitement in the air, and are playing that all-famous game, Idaho.

Yeah, I know. You loved it as a kid, too.

Today, Leah was leading a rousing rendition of Idaho when she called out from the playset, "Vamos y capore tunishia!" Phoebe excitedly followed suit, waving her hand frantically from the sky bridge and shouting, "Yunishia vamoshy gotoreshy!"

Obviously Josiah was somewhat dumbfounded by what his next move in Idaho was to be. Thankfully Leah provided a translation. "I just said hello and welcome to our boat to Idaho. I also told you I would not forsake you. That means I won't hurt you."

I'm glad she clarified. Phoebe just kept waving.

Well, It's True!

We have a section of highway close to our home called the cutoff. This little nickname is supposed to inspire confidence in you because it "cuts off" time from your journey when traversing our peninsula. What isn't readily expressed in the name is the twisting, winding, vortex of terror that is the road. Add to it the sheer drop off around every bend and you can imagine my children's delight when we must drive on it. Every one of my older seven little people have begged for mercy at one point or another.

Tuesday night was Phoebe's turn.

From the time we were half through the cutoff until we were 10 minutes on the other side of it my precocious 3-year old gave our entire family this running commentary:

That was a scary, dark, twisty road. That was so scary. It was dark and a twisty road. Yep, that road was dark and it scared me. It was twisted and dark. It was scary because it was dark. I was scared of that twisty road. It was too dark.

I finally interrupted her soliloquy and sagely turned her mind to scripture.

Phoebe, the bible tells us to think about things that are lovely, excellent and worthy to be praised. We should think about those things that are pure and honorable and true above all else. I'd like you to think about Jesus. What can you tell me about him?

Oh, Jesus! He died on a cross on a day that was dark and scary.

Our entire van erupted into laughter and Phoebe responded with complete innocence and clarity.

Well, it's true!

The Order of the Universe

The earth spins on its axis once every 24 hours.

Toilet bowl water turns counter-clockwise in the southern hemisphere.

Matter always expands.

And Evangeline is Phoebe's baby.

Communication

Phoebe has a way of expressing herself. Mostly it uses loud vocalizations punctuated with demands. If she weren't so cute it would be altogether intolerable. Occasionally she reaches the even exaggeratedly lenient point of breaking for her daddy. However, she has a nearly extra-sensory ability to recognize the warning signs and pull off a coup d'état. Her most recent exploit is quickly turning legendary.

Christopher needed some Phoebe love and was trying to get her to oblige him when she turned to him, entirely without guise, and said, "Pop queezing my shurtle!"

For those not in the know it translates, "Stop squeezing my shoulder." It not only succeeded in ending the offensive attentions of her beloved father, but caused us to both erupt in a flood of laughter as she stood neatly facing us. 

Once again her demands were entirely met.

Dude Looks Like A Lady

This is a "commercial" that we produced for an event at our church last month. Many of you have already seen it, but it bears repeating. Enjoy!

.

Sleep

Phoebe sleeps in her own bed. She has always slept in her own bed. Recently, however, she began showing us that she didn't like that plan so much.

Because our home is rather tight on bedrooms (3 of them for 9 people) we tend to get creative with our sleeping arrangements. For Phoebe this means going to bed in a pack-n-play at the foot of our bed until we can transfer her to a crib in her own room. Why can't she simply start in her own room, you ask? Because she goes to bed when her sisters are still awake, and would never actually fall asleep if she could watch their antics. She also must nap in our room so that the other four girls can have access to their bedroom during the day.

But I digress.

This system was working excellently until a few weeks ago when Phoebe discovered that she could fold the bottom pack-n-play "mattress" into a triangle, and made a fairly handy step stool out of her playpen and onto our bed. The first time it happened caught me quite by surprise. I was sitting on the couch in the living room when I thought I heard the fast-busy sound of the phone when it has been left off the hook too long. Sure enough, I checked the phone (on the table immediately to my left) and the screen indicated that it was in use. Funny, since I am the only one old enough to use the phone without permission. I took a quick mental count of my children, and their locations.

Hannah: school

Bethany: dishes

Caleb: trampoline

Leah & Mary: littlest pet shop

Josiah & Phoebe: naps

Then I heard Phoebe babbling from my room. In her preverbal ranting I could easily make out the intonations of a conversation. I slipped down the hallway to see what had her gander, only to be met with a peek at an empty playpen. Pushing the door open wider, I saw Phoebe sitting contentedly on my bed chatting away on the phone while it beeped back angrily. She saw me and grinned. My entire nightstand was a disarray of books and papers. Christopher's alarm clock was missing entirely from the other side of the bed. Someone had been busy.

Laughing, I scooped her up and took her out of the room. Nap was obviously not going to happen that day. Oh well, I thought, she just wasn't tired. She'll sleep tomorrow.

Ha! I seriously doubt I need to elaborate on the last two weeks.

And so my story reaches tonight. Up until this time we always managed to win the game by either: a) taking her out of the room until she was more tired, or b) redepositing her into the pack-n-play until she stayed in it. This evening it seemed that route b was the winning ticket. She eventually fussed at the grievous misfortune of being forever daunted in her quest for freedom, but the room silenced soon enough, and we knew she was asleep.

Christopher went in to transfer her. The first thing he noticed was the dark room. We always keep a small light on to help us see through the transfer process, but for some reason it was not lit. Then he bent over the pack-n-play, and there was no one inside. Startled, he shot a glance around the room until, his eyes adjusting the dim light, he saw Phoebe.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Is it true? Does absence make the heart grow fonder? If it does, then you should be absolutely enamored with me right about now! So, what has kept me from my adoring fans? Note my tongue in my cheek.

Life.

Yep, that about sums up all the stuff. There have been so many times I wished that this blog could simply stream from my thoughts. Alas, it has to actually be written. So, here is a summary of my thoughts surrounding life, and the details that have kept me from writing them down.

Phoebe.

No, really. She has taken my life by storm, and does not seem remotely interested in giving it back to me. I thought that I would have this whole infant thing cracked after 6 babies. How difficult could a seventh child be? Wow, was that the wrong question to ask!

Phoebe is proving to be my humbler. She evades all my best efforts at parenting, and reduces me to a blubbering pile of jell-o. Schedules and routines - out the door. Independence - not even remotely. What happened? Where did all my best intentions of a well-ordered home go? At nearly 16 months she still doesn't consistently sleep through the night. She won't regularly eat well. It is anyone's guess whether she is going to play contentedly or whine in frustration through the afternoon. And to top it off she insists on climbing onto anything vertical. Anything. Vertical. The result of all of this sanctification is me spending much of my time wandering the house bleary-eyed and confused. Should I try to get her to take a nap, or try to feed her? Should I rock her, or leave her be? Should I...

So, my blogging life continues to get pushed to the back burner. I continue to promise myself that someday I will write to my heart's content. Someday I will post every day. 

Yeah. And someday I won't think that leaving the house with only one spot on the front of my wrinkled shirt counts as, "dressed for success."

Sleepyhead

Phoebe was just agitated. We couldn't figure out the problem. All through dinner we tried to coax her into contentedness with crackers, a water cup, her pacifier, and any number of crazy faces and words. She would have nothing to do with any of it. Exasperated, we finally gave up and prepared to battle our way to the end of the meal with her fussing in her high chair. At some point she quieted down, but by then the rest of our children were making such a ruckus trying to talk over one another that we didn't even notice. The last child finished, and all the kids eagerly asked to be excused. As soon as I gave the word 6 chairs went sliding across the wood floor in unison, followed by the clatter of 6 plates and glasses being cleared. On the way back into the dining room for more dishes Bethany said, "Ah! Look at Phoebe!"

We all turned towards the high chair to discover the reason for her blissful silence.

Bless-Up'ed

Phoebe did the oh-so-cute sneeze with a little hiccup yesterday morning. As most babies her age can testify, it is hard business, and requires at least a teaspoon full of milky spit-up to complete satisfactorily. Mary watched her then announced:

Watch out, Mama! Phoebe bless-up'ed.

Growing

Phoebe began turning from tummy to back a couple of days ago! I can hardly believe she is big enough to have these milestones already marked in her baby book - or at least they could be marked in her baby book if I actually got her baby book out and marked them! The point is, Phoebe is growing, changing, moving through her little world of discoveries with each new first just around the bend. I adore watching my children grow. It is easy to see the changes of little people when they are very young. One day an infant suddenly flips over, sees the world from a whole new vantage point, and breaks into a grin. But my older ones are changing with no less mind-boggling rapidity. Everything from the sudden realization of fingers to the conscious recognition that delayed gratification isn't a monster, my children keep me humble as they pursue life with a passion.

Hannah is starting 5th grade! Since when did I become the mother of a nearly 11 year old daughter? Her sense of style and personality are blossoming, as more and and more she discovers ways to express herself through choice of wardrobe and accessory. She has gained so much perspective in the last year, and continues to work tirelessly alongside of me with all the other little ones. Hannah is growing in selflessness, and love for her siblings, and respect for her parents. She sacrificially owns her position as eldest in our big family.

Bethany is barely containing her joy at beginning the 3rd grade. This is mostly due to the fact that I do not assign rigid academics until this grade level. I strongly recommend, and practice a school of thought called, "Delayed Academics," which is an entire post in itself! I mention it only to give background for why this school year, in particular, has Bethany fired up, because she now has real assignments, with real homework, and real lessons! She is growing into her academics with real enthusiasm. Where once she did not care much for prolonged reading, now she constantly steals opportunities with her current book. The written word has begun to open its treasure chest of booty for her. Bethany is growing in enjoyment of academic study.

Caleb never stops growing. He daily mounts an attack against the civilized world, daring it to surrender its finest discoveries. Most recently the new frontier is Legos, and the magically limitless combination of ways you can build all manner of war-making machines with these gems. I remember when Duplo blocks hardly held his attention, with the fine motor skills required to fit the pieces together nowhere near engaging enough for his interest. Now most afternoons find him parked in front of a sprawling expanse of tiny blocks, working to engage just the right torque on some lever as to render the Lego villain headless.

Leah is growing through some tough spots. She fell back to needing her thumb-guards, stubbornly holding onto the habit of sucking her thumb at night. And while she cries just about every time we remind her of their necessity other areas have seen huge improvements in her maturity. I never thought I would be able to allow her freedom away from the strict confines of our house for fear that her natural curiosity, and total lack of impulse control would carry her to Neverland before I could stop her. I am happy to report that she can be trusted (mostly) in the front yard, and knows the distance between Miss Voula's and Miss Pee's house is fair game for running amuck.

Mary is no longer, "babyish." This is her word! Shortly after turning three she wanted to know when she would be old enough to turn four. I answered that she had to grow for an entire year. She took this to heart, and each day reminds me that she is, "not babyish today. I can be four soon!" It breaks my heart on some days to think of my Mary Ellen as a four year old. I know it will come too soon. In the meantime I am enjoying all her wonderful 3 year old-ness! I love this age, when all things adult are mimicked with no end to the comedy. I nurse Phoebe, she nurses her doll. I cook dinner, she creates plastic culinary art. I grab my purse to run an errand, she struts around the living room, sans clothes, carrying her prized Coach.

Josiah has transformed from my chubby baby boy to a full-blown toddler overnight. Running through my house, terrorizing all of us, Josiah fears nothing. Or almost nothing. Josiah is learning the rules! I didn't think it was possible, but this blazing ball of energy has actually begun to take seriously our voice commands for ceasing and desisting many activities. He no longer runs away at breakneck speeds when confronted with impending discipline, either. His language development continues to refine itself, and I am positive we may yet receive intelligible communication from him! Until then his positively dashing good looks will easily keep him in my good graces.

Yes, each of these magnificent human beings is changing, growing every day. They remind me that life is not dull, fixed, or boring but something to be experienced afresh each new morning. Time changes me, and I grow through the years right along with my children. I am so glad for their lives, and the way God's grace sovereignly chose to place their soul in my heart.

Wisdom

James 1:5 says, "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." I need that truth in my life, right now.

Phoebe has a sensitive tummy. That's polite for saying she fusses... after every feeding, in between feedings, before feedings, and occasionally even during them! She screamed almost the entire car-ride home from the hospital as a newborn. That's saying quite a bit considering it takes 45 minutes to travel from the hospital to my home! It wasn't long after that when the idea that she might be allergic to milk surfaced. I greatly reduced my own consumption of milk, and finally switched to a non-dairy formula for the supplementing I need to do. Sure enough, the very next nursing saw her dramatically improved. Great! Problem solved. Or so I thought.

But Phoebe continues to be more fussy than any of my other newborns. She just can't be totally content outside of being held. And she is even persnickety about how she is held, preferring those positions more closely related to burping than snuggling. Also, her sleep is interrupted more often than I think necessary. And finally topping everything is that niggling mother's intuition telling me that something just isn't right. After all, I have completely removed dairy, chocolate, most eggs, citrus, and many spices from my diet along with using a dairy-free formula for any supplements, and she still is not guaranteed to be a happy baby after a feeding.

Yesterday I decided it was time for another switch in formulas, as well as a severely restrictive diet for me. I hauled myself to the pharmacy for a thimble sized can of formula costing the better part of Christopher's yearly salary when my eye caught something on the shelf. Here is where the truth of James 1:5 started to play a major role. Previous to the, "I spy with my little eye" game I was playing in the aisle of Walgreens I had asked God to lend me insight, and wisdom for Phoebe's feeding dilemma. I asked others to pray on my behalf. I was fully convinced of God's understand of Phoebe's need, and knew that he could communicate that to me if I was willing to be still, and listen.

So there I stood, listening. Rather than just grab the brand I was prepared to purchase I lingered, reading the other options for GI sensitivities. I don't know when you last went formula shopping, but if you think finding a bathing suit is hard work you ain't seen nothing! Overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of options, I noticed one brand which was dairy based, but lactose free. I suddenly remembered that Hannah was highly allergic to soy as an infant, and during our formula trials with her we had switched to a soy-based brand with disastrous results. Hmmm... could Phoebe be allergic to soy, but also lactose intolerant making both the original dairy based formula, and the soy based alternative we were currently using equally unappealing to her little tummy? I also noticed the price tag for the lactose-free was less than half the cost of the hypoallergenic brand I was already holding. Could God be opening my eyes to see this option in order to provide health to Phoebe, peace to me, and a little extra change to my pocketbook all in one fell swoop? Knowing that God was still good even if the lactose-free was a flop, I purchased both brands and headed home.

Phoebe's first feed using the new formula went off without a hitch. She actually sat contentedly in her swing for over an hour simply watching, then slept well during her nap. For the remainder of the day she ate well, showed no signs of gastrointestinal upset, and generally made her father and me happy as punch! I am on day 2, and still showing no signs of the irritability previously accompanying so many of her feedings. Yippee!

God really will give me relevant wisdom for my life's needs.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

We sat down with our 6 children on the eve of delivering babe #7, and asked them for suggestions for a girl's name. We were already set on Luke, but we were at a quandary for a girl's name that everyone liked. So our table discussion the night before my planned cesarean was focused on pink.

Several options given included Dorcas, Tabitha, Rebekah, Jubilee, and some more colorful options like, Ravioli. Then Mary came forward with what she concluded to be a shoe-in...

Itsy Bitsy Spider.

After laughing ourselves silly we tried to explain that we were serious about our request. We really wanted their opinions since we were stumped. But we only got the same list as before - mostly names which the kids had heard us discuss, ad nauseam, and which we still could not agree. So I left for the hospital the following morning a little nervous about the delivery, and without a single clue as to what we would call a girl should we deliver one.

My delivery went incredibly well! I can not thank those who prayed on my behalf enough for their faithfulness in interceding for me. The anesthesiologist was an "old friend," having worked at the hospital where several of my older children were born, and was actually in attendance for 2 of my previous births. He is noted, by most on the peninsula, to be one of the best in his field. He was perfectly willing to allow Christopher into the OR during my spinal administration. And while I am recognizably a "difficult stick", Dr. Arakaki did a beautiful job of limiting my discomfort to as little as possible. The delivery itself was fairly straight-forward, with very few complications, and it wasn't long before our obstetrician was telling Christopher to prepare himself for the announcement of birth, and gender.

"Oh my goodness, honey! It's a girl! We have another girl!"

We were both speechless, and not just a little emotional about our newest addition arriving in perfect pinkness to match her gender. At 7lbs, 1/2 ounce and 20 inches long she was our smallest baby, but her tiny features were absolute perfection, topped with swirls of dark hair. The pediatrician asked us what her name was...

We didn't know. We looked at one another in blank surprise that somehow we had arrived at this moment, and still were without a name. The answer suddenly became clear. 

Itsy Bitsy Spider. 

And so she was (for over 24 hours) until Christopher realized, with certainty, that we held in our arms, Phoebe. He was right. It fit her beautifully.

Phoebe Grace.

Flexibility

I really like having things established, fixed, predictable, standardized. When I make a plan I want it to stay put. I don't want it to move, shift, or change. Spontaneity is great, when it is planned. Last minute ideas are marvelous, when they fit into my pre-established schedule. I am flexible, when it doesn't make me bend.

God is working on showing me the need to stay a little more open to change.

I was under the impression that my cesarean date would be sometime during the week of April 20-24th. I wasn't sure exactly when, but several conversations with my OB, as well as my understanding of my gestation all pointed to this timeframe. I even told my mother in law that she could purchase tickets based on this window. Then, at an appointment just a few weeks ago things were turned upside down when my obstetrician said that she thought waiting until the 27th was a better option. After looking more closely at my chart, my typical gestation, and the need for me to avoid labor it became apparent that letting baby bake until the beginning of the next week would be best. I called Christopher, he called his mom, who in turn called the airport to shift her tickets. I called my childcare providers, made new plans for care starting on Monday, adjusted my schedule for another week of commitments, appointments, and to-dos.

Things were set.

Or so I thought.

My spreadsheet was finalized, friends had taken off work, we had all begun to trust the "planned" cesarean date. After all, if you have to know the date of your baby's birth you may as well take advantage of it... until the rug is pulled out from under you. I received the first phone call yesterday afternoon that the charge nurse from the hospital I was scheduled for delivery with had called to say she was uncomfortable with the pain management technique I was choosing. My OB and I had worked so hard for this opportunity. I was disappointed, to say the least. One of my biggest goals for this delivery is to be free from intravenous narcotics. But even more important than that is the freedom to bond with my baby during those initial moments after birth. After discussing the options with my OB we both believed it would be best to change hospitals. After all, I had 3 days before my cesarean. 

After several more phone calls back and forth between my doctor, the new hospital, its staff, and me again we were confirmed for delivery, but as an added bonus the date for the cesarean would need to change. Of course. Now, rather than delivering on Monday at noon I am set for Tuesday at 8am.

I am now in the middle of changing all those established plans - again. Time off work, childcare options, and final preparations have all been revised. My spreadsheet needs to be completely reconfigured. But, I am working to embrace the freedom that comes from accepting change. Apparently God is trying to teach me that it is inevitable. *wink*

Coming Soon...

I am really excited that several loose ends are finally coming together, and just in time! I am a smidge over 36 weeks pregnant, and until several days ago was still up in the air about a few, rather important details - like the date of my cesarean. Well, the much anticipated arrangements are set, and I am scheduled for delivery on April 27th at noon. I am thrilled that it isn't at 7am, like some of my other babes!

More good news is that my OB has finally made significant headway with the new pain management system I requested. After 5 cesareans the 2 things I detest the most are the administration of my anesthesia, and the postpartum pain management procedures which include intravenous morphine - basically putting me into drunken stupor for the first 36 hours - then the frustration of staying on top of which nurse initiates my pain meds, and which ones wait for me to call. Breakthrough pain on an abdominal wound approximating 10 inches long is really not something I enjoy. I learned about an older, but incredibly overlooked method of administering pain medication directly to the incision site through a soaker-line sewn into the incision, and attached to an external pump. A representative from the company making the product is scheduled to come to my doctor's office next week, and teach her the procedure for utilizing the technology. Nothing like waiting until the last minute, eh?

I am finishing up the painting this weekend! I actually took the stripes planned for the girls' wall down a notch. So, rather than making them variegated and mulit-colored I will alternate equally between the light pink of their other walls, and a darker pink. I can always go back and add more, later.

Christopher is making racks to house our nearly 2 cords of oak he cut down for next winter's heat. He should finalize that "little" project this weekend. He already organized the tools and fasteners that were strewn between 3 boxes in a haphazard manner left over from the move. All the outlets and switches in the house have been replaced with gleaming white new ones. And he only has a few more boxes in our room which need his direct attention.

Yep, things are coming together! It always does.