Moving Home

A house is concrete, wood, and windows. And yet there is so much sentiment tied with a home. Fourteen months ago K and I purchased our first home two days before our wedding. We quickly moved in and set up what we could. I remember my best friend A and her husband flooded our home with candle light, roses, and rose peddles. It looked like the movies and must have cost them a fortune. When we followed the path through the house to our bedroom, on our bed was the quilt all of our guests signed at our wedding as they prayed over our union. There was champagne and chocolate and strawberries. It was our first night together as man and wife in our own home, in our own bed. It is a night I will never forget.

Over the last fourteen months we painted every room. We replaced the roof, stained the deck, planted grass, tulips, and lilies. We picked out rugs and pictures, and my favorite thing, our fireplace. I had never been sick before we moved in that house. K had never even seen me sneeze. To be so ill not long after moving into the house was a shock to both of us. Yet, it reassured me I married the right man. The first round of sinus infections and ear ached lasted over eight weeks. Rounds of antibiotics, becoming allergic to new antibiotics and the cycle that went with that was tiring. Our vows were put to the test. He tucked me in afterwork, picked up the slack around the house. He was wonderful. Winter came, as did drier weather, and now the roles reversed.

K was in pain. He didn't want to go to the doctor but I made him. A hernia. He could leave it, but it would only get worse or he could have it operated on. He wasn't prepared to be put on a 10lb weight lifting restriction for a month. To have to stay home over a week and have to work from home. To be unable to wear pants for 10 days because they cut into his staples. Once in bed at night it hurt for him to move and I had to get up all night long and replace his ice packs and give him his pain medicine. Our marriage grew stronger. Our love grew deeper as we cared for each other and made these memories. I couldn't imagine anyone I'd rather go through these trials with.

The memories weren't all dramatic. I hosted my first family Thanksgiving with both his family and mine. Oh, how I stressed to make it perfect. K hates cooking, but he helped clean and set up the house just how he knows I like it. Our house was a home. Family was there. I have a tradition that on my nephews birthday they get to pick a night within a week of that day to have a slumber party with me. They all were able to stay at our house this year. Gingerbread houses, making pasta from scratch, movies, crashing on the coach together after a long day at the waterpark. Those are memories we have in this house. Setting up our Christmas Tree, K getting up on a shaky ladder to hang lights because he knew it would make me smile. This was our home.

Once spring came and the humidity was bad. I was sick again. To find out there was mold and I was allergic to our home was difficult on both of us. To move in with my amazing parents was a gift, but we lacked privacy. We lacked because their home wasn't ours. We couldn't invite people over, my parents would have allowed it, but it wouldn't have been the same. We couldn't chase each other around the house naked and make love on the living room floor. But the wait is over. We have put sweat and tears into gutting, treating, and repairing most of the basement (we are waiting to redo the guest bedroom and bathroom downstairs for awhile to save up for that, so that is simply treated concrete). Buckets of concrete were hauled out after we jackhammered up the floor. We brought in bucket after bucket of rock, and bucket after bucket of new concrete. We treated the concrete. And treated it again to be sure. We had air vents cleaned and air purification systems installed. Finally tonight we get to crawl into the same bed where we consummated our marriage. We get to lay as husband in wife in the house with so many first and wonderful memories.

It feels like a miracle to finally be moving back into this specific house of concrete, wood, and windows. Because this is the house that God gave K and I to turn into a home, and we have done just that.

Backwards Thinking in Todays Society

When it comes to opinions on childbirth opinions are strong. Opinions vary. Judgement runs rampant. I hate to say it, but I'm a part of it. After I obtained a masters in counseling psychology I received two specialties. One in adolescent and child counseling and on in infant/parent attachment therapy. My career as an infant parent attachment therapist helped shaped many opinions I never thought I would have. Most of my clients were families who received too many medical interventions and drugs during the birth process. Some of these clients had no choice but to lose a loved one or have these procedures. For several others, it was a choice. As I studied the neuropsychology of what happens in the brain during birth I was astounded by how amazing God is. How he gave us natural hormones to combat the pain that are not released if we take synthetic drugs. I learned how these hormones affect attachment, and decrease postpartum depression.

Therefore, I often sit and bite my tongue as not to offend friends or family members. After all they are not clients seeking advice. As they tell me about doctors willing to induce and have C-sections early so they have less stretch marks, or the drugs they will take because they hate pain I wince inside. 30% of the birth is our country are C-sections. The highest of all industrial countries and yet we have the highest mortality rate.

If you are induced it leads to side effects and these side effects have to be treated and one intervention leads to several more. In today's society many people do support essential oils and natural methods, but most people scoff. I was nervous to become pregnant. Nervous I wouldn't find a provider in the rural area where I now live who supports a natural birthing process. I shopped around for providers before we even tried to conceive. I found a pair of midwifes who fully support me trying a no IV, no electric monitoring, using essential oils natural birth where I choose the position. I found a doula to partner with my husband and I. I feel incredibly supported. Yesterday at the 10 week check up my husband and I expected a 30-45 minute appointment like a typical doctor's visit. We knew most of our appointments with our midwives ran 45-60 minutes but that is when we were trying to conceive. Two hours she set aside for us. Answering questions, sharing stories, developing a relationship and as they said the best thing they can do is make sure we are comfortable and trust them as our providers.

Last year I listened to a family member talk about their provider saying they would give them whatever drugs they wanted, plan a C-sections if they wanted, go ahead dye your hair, live on twinkles etc. I also heard them say we would like a doula, but are scared to ask our doctor, offend him and lose him. I bit my tongue so hard until I was in the car when it unleashed on my husband. They didn't even feel safe enough to tell their doctor their wishes. How is that healthy? And naturally with all of the chemicals she had a difficult time attaching to the child, feeling resentful and depressed needing more medication after the birth to feel okay. Now I realize postpartum happens to women who birth naturally too, but the studies show receiving medication doubles your likelihood of being affected by postpartum depression. But medical professionals don't care, because if you are depressed later their is another pill for that. So one fix leads to needing another fix. They keep us happy in the moment, not healthy long term.

So now As I talk about searching for chemical free disposable diapers that my child can use at the daycare I have found and like, I see eyes rolls. But the more I learn about chemicals the less I want them in my or my future child's system. As I talk about how my doctor is willing to use essential oils to massage them on my uterus some on the tummy and some inside to reduce tearing I am excited to have found someone to support me in this and I see people look away and bite their own tongues. As I talk about how I'm excited that I get to drink juice boxes and eat crackers during birth to keep up my strength (Like most women in other countries) I get but you'll get sick or what if you need a c-section. But the chances of throwing up due to receiving anesthetic are slim to none, where as women who eat during birth and labor typically have a labor 60 minutes shorter than the average woman. They also report less pain. And I receive my information from medical journals not from baby community or what to expect when expecting.

I guess being natural is backwards in today's society. I'm scared but excited for this next step in my journey. A natural birth. Nothing gets more primitive than that. I am a wimp and I hate pain. My doula and midwife have assured me they have seen many wimps who hate pain make it through a natural childbirth and they will be there to support me and my husband who will hate seeing me in pain. We both agree that the benefits of a natural birth are worth me feeling this pain, but it doesn't mean it will be easy. And as much as I prepare, read, and do the prenatal yoga that is suppose to build up strength for labor the small fear is still there. Because of this fear I understand women turning to modern medical practices, but I still don't see it as right.

I guess what bothers me, isn't drugs or medicine, but human's deciding they always know better than God. He created us with natural hormones to help us have children. Yes, less women die now that their are interventions. However, now interventions are used when they aren't needed. And then it is interfering with how God designed our bodies to naturally release hormones to reduce pain, increase love, increase attachment, decrease depression in new moms and babies. And God calls us to be courageous people. He never says to choose the easy path. I know that these may seem taken out of context of scripture, but I still think about it. When did taking the easy way become so acceptable. When did giving into fear instead of standing tall and being brave become the everyday for people in this nation. I have my scriptures ready to meditate on during labor. Bible verses to remind me where my strength comes from. Bible verses that remind me not to fear, but to trust.  Because the most backwards part of all of this is that I'm relying on God and how he created me and I'm being brave and trusting in that.

Help me Understand, Why Women Don't Reach Out.

When I moved out of state for college at the age of 19, I had no idea how many friends I would make. I had no idea how much the people in this new city would mean to me. I stayed there for 12 years. The entire time I lived there I was 8-9 hours from home, depending on where in the city I lived. I missed family. I missed holidays. I didn’t make it to a single sporting even in my brother’s high school career. At that point I hadn’t made it to one of my sister’s yet and she was about to be a senior.  I’d missed the birth of all three of my nephews, and hardly new my brother’s bride-to-be.

It literally took a head injury I sustained to make me realize how very important family was, and what I was missing out on. So I made the decision to move home. It was the right move for me. I immediately met my husband. I love my family. But now I have the opposite issue. I miss my friends. I’m in my 30’s. I don’t have children and I’m not in college where it is easy to meet people.  People my age are busy with their own families and hardly have the time to have coffee with a stranger, they would rather spend their precious time having coffee with someone they already have a relationship with.

For this reason I spend more time than ever calling old friends, writing letters, writing emails. I try to stay connected.  Last night I was on the phone with an old friend of mine she said that since I moved away our old group hasn’t gotten together at all. This morning I received an email from a different friend in that group and she said “I miss you. You were the glue that kept the group together. We never get together anymore”

Was I? I hadn’t thought about myself that way. But just the week before I was talking to a different friend from a different group and I asked how the other girls were. She said busy with their own lives. That she talked to me more than any of them. That she hadn’t seen a friend in months in person and she is craving girl time. I remember thinking how odd. With this group we got together almost weekly for at least happy hour and one drink on the way home from work. We were all busy and didn’t have that much time, but now that I think about it. I sent out the emails and text. I made them fit girl time into their schedule.

I’m not saying it is right. I’m not saying it is wrong. I don’t have children so I’m honestly curious. Why do women let go of friendships. I hear so many of my friends say they miss girl time. They miss friendships. They feel lonely. They love their children and husbands, but they miss conversation and connection with their female friends. I’m pregnant right now and I honestly had hoped that I would make friends with parents of children my child’s age. But I’m looking at my friends lives and I see friendship becoming a last priority, while they cry out over the phone feeling isolated and lonely.

The odd things is, I’m an introvert. Every quiz I’ve ever taken has said so. I need my alone time to recharge. I prefer small intimate gatherings to large parties any day of the week. Yet, I can’t let go of friendships. It hurts to let them go. It hurts not having them close by. It hurts that I haven’t made any close friends that I connect with where we lift each other up and have fun together.

Most of my blogs have a point. Today, however, I’m just perplexed. If you are lonely why not reach out and connect with the friends you have?

Apple Crisp

Currently, my husband and I are living with my folks. After discovering mold I was allergic to in the basement we needed to gut the basement. As soon as the air ducts are cleaned out we can wash up all of the concrete dust on the walls and floors and move home. We are fairly excited.

The most difficult part of living with my parents has been sharing a kitchen. The kitchen in my home is my spa. Whether I need to feel reinvigorated or rejuvenated the kitchen is usually where it happens.

Cooking is an art to me. It energizes me. I love to make recipes and slave over a meal and present it. Baking on the other hand is methodical. I measure everything out exactly as it says. I follow steps and practice mindfulness skills in focusing on one thing at a time. If I'm stressed by the time I put a dessert in the oven I feel my shoulders have dropped, my forehead furrow relax, and the big stress filled thoughts seem smaller and manageable.

Without my kitchen and my tools my stress level has been slightly more difficult to manage. I hate digging and searching for things. My mom and I organize our kitchens entirely differently. I was thinking about how little time we had left living with my parents and feeling guilty about wanting to "just get out of here" when it wasn't that bad and my parents wanted us to stay longer. Life wasn't bad, but I felt discontented and felt guilty for feeling that way. God had been so good to us. My life wasn't that bad. I prayed God "I just want to feel your peace and joy tonight". I looked out the back window and I saw an apple tree.

Apple Crisp. Immediately there was a smile on my face. I was outside picking apples and inside cutting them up in no time. In the background I could hear K playing with my nephew and my parents doing laundry in the basement, but I was focused on the measuring. I was focused on the steps. Soon the layers were stacked and the dish placed in the oven. The weight of the guilt and stress melted away.

Soon the house smelled of fall. Apples and Cinnamon. And I felt the joy and the peace I had prayed for and had an apple crisp to show for it!