Too Busy Not to Pray: Conviction and Confession

Once upon a time, or should I say once upon a year, roundabouts January 1st, I make this little resolution.  Correction: large list of resolutions.  Including blogging, writing, hobbies, what have you.

What can I say?  I start the year with good intentions.  And then, somewhere around January 2nd I am reminded that I have a village house full of little people.  Ages 6 and under.  (Translation: well-meaning, sweet, very unhelpful children in areas including tidying, cleaning, cooking, laundry, anything household related.)  I have a hard time accomplishing things like laundry, grocery shopping, and cooking.  You know, essential things and such.  And at the risk of sounding boastful, I must explain that this is not for lack of organization or laziness on my part.  I am at peace with the fact that this is simply reality at this point in my life, due to the aforementioned small people and their lack of help in said essential things.

Anyway, back to my point.  Or to my point.  You can't come back to something you haven't started.  As I was saying.

There's something about turning the calendar to January.  Something refreshing.  Something inspiring.  Something thought provoking.  And something convicting.

This year, January brought on this recurring thought and conviction about prayer.  I don't pray enough.  I don't pray well enough.  I dump this frantic wish list at the Lord's feet when I don't know what else to do and feel like I can't deal with whatever the issue might be.

Somewhere in the midst of these thoughts, I was also told that the spiritual giant known as John Piper made some comment about how Facebook/Twitter/Social media are all evidence of the fact that we are not too busy to pray.  I haven't even verified that quote.  Haven't needed to.  Whether he actually said it or not, or someone else did, the whole idea has been deeply implanted in my memory.

So I made this small change in my life.  I decided in the moments that I spend each day, every three hours, feeding the newest Nielson would be devoted to prayer.  Specifically for her.

Now that's not a major thing, by any means.  It's even a little humbling that it became such a revolutionary idea for me.  You see, prior to this revolution, I had spent that time on my phone.  Not talking, but doing all those other things that phones are now used for:  Facebook stalking, Words with Friends, emailing, maybe even shopping.  In fact, I had been so pleased with how technology has changed middle of the night feedings since my oldest entered the world 6 years ago.  No longer was I struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night during feedings because I was busy emailing, texting, gaming, etc.  I was plugged in and proud of my multi-tasking skills.

So I made the conscientious decision to put my phone down and spend some time with my babe and the Lord.  And let me tell you, in her short time with us, she has given me plenty of things to discuss with Him!!!  Wowza.  And let me tell you, in her short time with us, He has given me plenty of opportunities to see answers to specific prayers!!!

I have had no shortage of simple, very unspiritual requests for this little lady.  Help her to sleep well.  Help her to cooperate while we do __________ (fill in the blank).  Heal her belly button.  Help her reflux.  Help her not to suck her thumb.  Etc., etc.  And over and over, the Lord has shown me and reminded me that He does indeed hear our prayers.  Even "small", simple, unspiritual prayers.

And every once in awhile, I remember that although all these things seem so important in the moment, what really matters is that this little one grows to know Him.  To love Him.  To follow Him.  To point others towards Him.  And every once in awhile, I remember to pray for these greater picture things in life.

But I must confess.  Even though I have made this commitment to use these moments to converse with the Lord, more often than not, my prayers go something like this:

"Dear Lord, please heal Charlotte's belly button...Hm, I wonder what it looks like today?...Hm, I need to remember to scrub her shirt from yesterday that's a little crusty from her belly button...Hm, I wonder if she has clean clothes left in her closet?...Or diapers, does she have any clean diapers left?...Hm, I wonder if Phoebe has clean diapers?...I better remember to check them when we're done here.  Oh yeah, here we are, and I was supposed to be praying.  Lord, as I was saying..."

What can I say?  I'm a work in progress!  But this post is my reminder to myself to continue to be challenged to spend that time with the Lord on behalf of my sweet little lady, who is a constant testament to how He answers prayer, and how much He loves each of us and how He loves her more than I ever could!!!

November 4, 2011: The Birth Story

Have I ever mentioned that Fridays are my favorite day of the week?  Probably not because that isn't particularly relevant to this story, but it's true.  It's Tim's day off, but the older kids are in school, so it ends up being a relatively low-key day for him and I to spend some time together.

Thursday night went just as every other night that week had.  Contractions through the night and then nothing by morning.  So we went through our usual Friday morning flurry of getting kids ready, getting the trash to the street, and Tim & I going separate ways with separate kids.  We met back together at home, and decided to go for a walk to see if we could make something happen.  We walked up to a neighborhood bakery/cafe for a little morning treat.  Tim got a very large cinnamon roll, and I ended up with a smoothie.

That should have been my first indication that something was happening.  I never pass up the opportunity for a leisurely cup of coffee, but after debating very long and hard, I just wasn't feeling the coffee that morning.  So we sat and enjoyed our treats, and then eventually decided to head home.

We were about halfway home when it happened.  I felt a rather large trickle run down my legs.  I doubled over, in an attempt to stop it.  Without thinking, I told Tim, "Either my water just broke, or I'm peeing myself!"  Time: approximately 11:15am.

He, of course, doubled over in laughter, telling me that was the funniest thing I had ever said.  At the time, I forbid him from repeating the story.  Ever.  Every other time my water has broken, I have been in the throws of labor and very in tune to what was happening.  But this time was so confusing because other than the fluid running down my leg, there was nothing happening.  Nothing.

We headed home, and again split ways to pick up different kids from different schools.  By the time we had finished lunch, the contractions had resumed.  This was the first time I had really felt much during the day.  But I had been faked out so many times already that I was still texting some of our very closest friends, making plans for them to head our way for dinner that night.  And at this point, I wasn't feeling like there was much I wanted to eat for lunch.  I think I had an apple.  

I did put Tim on kid duty for the afternoon so I could lay down and get some sleep.  I retreated to the couch for a nap.  Unlike my night time episodes, I was having occasional contractions, but I was able to sleep between them.  I did my best, but then once kids started rousing from their naps, I wasn't getting much sleep.  About 4:00, I started telling Tim we should consider getting in touch with our friends who would be watching our kids while we were in the hospital.  That alerted him enough that he was ready to take the kids right away.  I told him we weren't that desperate yet, but that we should at least give our friends a heads up that it might not be long.

By 5:00, our friend was on the way to pick up our kids.  Which turned into a major blessing, because it sure was a hassle this time to figure out transportation for our kids plus our friend's kids.  And I knew it must be time, because by this time, I was having somewhat of a hard time dealing with contractions and kids.  Sophia asked at one point, "Mom, what are you doing?"  I had no good answer for a 6 year old, nor did I feel the creativity to come up with one.  

I helped load the kids in the car, said my good-byes, and then decided maybe it was time to start paying more attention, so I finally started timing contractions.  I know that sometimes a good hot bath can speed up the ordeal, so I hopped in the tub with my phone/stopwatch nearby.  Only about every 5-6 minutes at that point, and not all of them very intense.  The bath wasn't doing it for me, so once again, I suggested that we should head out for a walk.  Time: shortly after 6pm.

There is a nice little path around a large pond right near our house, so we headed in that direction.  Sure enough, that's what it took.  As we started, I'd have a contraction every few minutes or so.  I'd lean over, hands on my knees, and do my very best to breathe through it.  At one point, a young-ish (I never got a good look for a more accurate guess) skater asked us if we needed any help.  He was ready to call whoever he needed.  Tim made very pathetic jokes that it was just some bad Mexican food I had eaten.  It was at this point that I knew we were getting somewhere because I found no humor in the situation whatsoever, and was less than thrilled with his joke.

We made it maybe a third of the way around the pond before I decided it was time to head home.  Tim had been saying for the last hour that we should go to the hospital, but I protested.  There is nothing worse than being stuck in a hospital bed in the thick of labor.  At this point, though, I knew we were getting closer.  We made our way very slowly home.  We got to the busier street right before our house, and made a break for it when the coast was clear because by now, the contractions were frequent enough that there was the possibility that I might not make it across the street without having one.

Once we got home, I made a quick trip to the bathroom, and then knew that it was time to make our way to the hospital.  By the time we got to the car, the shakes had started.  I think I like that part less than the actual contractions.  It's such a feeling of being out of control.  Your body just shakes and shakes, and you want to control it, but you are anything but in control at this point.  We quickly loaded into the car, and started out for the hospital.  Time: 7:02pm.

The trip to the hospital was not as bad as the last time.  I was very aware of all that was happening, and very aware of the feeling that I couldn't handle much more.  But I was afraid there was so much more to endure.  The contractions were maybe a couple of minutes apart, but they were not on top of each other, so I thought I had a ways to go yet.  By the time we got to the hospital, I didn't know how I was going to make it from the car inside.

But I did.  And we became quite the entourage making our way up to the labor and delivery floor.  They kept pushing for a wheelchair, but I wasn't having it.  I would much rather walk than sit.  We had a nurse escort with us, but she wasn't a labor and delivery nurse, so she didn't know quite what to do with me.  She kept trying to touch me, but I would very emphatically remind her, "DON'T TOUCH!"  I don't know exactly what it is, but touching makes me crazy.  I think it's because I am not in control when someone else reaches out to touch me.  (Now I should clarify that's not on a normal day, just at the final stages of labor!)  As we slowly proceeded down the hall, we passed an actual off-duty L & D nurse who decided maybe she would just join our little party.  I was very grateful she did, because she fended off the other nurse escort who didn't know what to do with me.  There was conversation the whole way, and in spite of being in the heat of the moment, I was not only cognizant, but participating in all of it.

"We don't want you to give birth in the elevator."  

"I don't care where it happens, I just want this baby out."

"You're a really great coach for this."

"He's a really great dad.  That's how/why we're having 4 of them."

"This is my kind of mom, come on in and drop that baby right out."

We went immediately into our room, and by this point, I was begging/screaming/threatening for the epidural.  Get that anesthesiologist in here: STAT!  Time: 7:40ish, but I'm totally guessing at this point.  It couldn't have been before 7:30, but with parking, checking in, and making our way to the room, I'm guessing about 7:40.

Our nurse came in, strapped me to the bed with the fetal monitors (the part that makes me nothing short of CRAZY), opened up the hep lock for an IV, and attempted (unsuccessfully) to draw blood.  She finally got to the part where she checked me.  6 1/2 centimeters.  That was it?  Seriously?  Get the drugs in here NOW.

She left the room.  I almost literally ripped the monitors off my stomach, rolled onto my hands and knees and felt the overwhelming need to push.  IT WAS TIME!!!  Screw the anesthesiologist.   Tim, all in a very strategic attempt to encourage me in the way I needed most, was saying, "It won't be long now.  We're going to get to meet Charlotte any minute!!!"  First time we had called her by name.

The doctor and nurses made a quick appearance, there were a handful of pushes, and there she was!

Charlotte Ruth Nielson

11.04.2011, 8:11pm

7 pounds, 5 ounces

20 inches long

Beautiful.  With a full head of DARK hair.

I ended up loosing quite a bit of blood, and we had to call the doctor back in and I got quite a few more meds, and it made for a fairly scary couple of hours afterwards, but it ended up being short lived, and by the next morning, all was well.

And we were in LOVE!!! 

 

Week 39: CONTRACTIONS!!!

contractions

is this for real?

What a week this turned out to be.  In 3 previous babies and birth stories, I had not experienced anything like this.  Turns out this baby really wanted to keep us on edge.

The week started out with Halloween Day.  As eager as I was to meet this baby, I was very thankful that first off, her birthday did not end up being Halloween, and second, that I was able to enjoy the day with the kids.  I would have been disappointed to miss out on their dressing up and enjoying the festivities.

Sophia was a doctor this year, Noah was a dinosaur, and Phoebe was a little piggy.  They were so sweet in their costumes, it wasn't hard to forget that I was very anxious for this baby to venture into the world.  We took them out to a Trunk or Treat event at their preschool, and then stopped to trick or treat down one street on our way home.  It was the first time that they did the traditional trick or treat experience, and they just kept saying, "I love Halloween.  It's all about CANDY!!"

It turned into a late night for us (big surprise), and so we put the kids to bed in a fog of exhaustion and collapse on the couch.  Not much later, we headed to bed.

Turns out, I didn't stay there long.  If I thought that night last week was a trick, this night was almost miserable.  The contractions started shortly after midnight, and weren't close, but fairly regular, about every twenty minutes.

I spent the first couple of hours trying to sleep in between.  After hours proved this was a futile effort, I got up to finish the last final things I wanted to have done if we would be leaving for the hospital before long.  I switched and folded some laundry, sent some directions to our kids caregivers, made a list of last minute things I would need to grab, threw a few final things into my suitcase.  And then sat on the couch and waited.  And waited.

For nothing.  Contractions slowed...and then stopped.  I crawled back into bed in a heap at about 5 am, for a very quick hour of sleep before it was time to get rolling for the day.

The rest of the week progressed in much the same way.  Contractions during the night, nothing but complete fatigue during the day.

I went in for my appointment that week to hear that I was about 1-2 centimeters dilated and about 50% effaced.  Not quite what I would have hoped for or expected, but progress none the less.

People kept asking me this week what the plan was for next week (meaning once I passed my due date without a baby).  I have yet to have made it to a 40 week appointment, and we hadn't talked about it at all, so I wasn't sure.  There really wasn't a plan.  I was thinking I probably should have asked, but I had just never had the need before.

And that was how week 39 went.  Until Friday.  But that's a story in itself!  :)

Week 38: 24 October, 2011

I had pretty much forgotten what it's like to be at the very end, and then to wake up every day wondering, "Will this be the day?  Are we going to get to meet this baby today?"

I hadn't had many very regular contractions since that night of my last appointment.  I did go in this week, but there was nothing to check and therefore nothing to report at this point.

Wednesday night was the beginning of the little game this little peanut played, just to tease me.  I had to work on Thursday, and so I was making an attempt to get to bed at a reasonable hour on Wednesday night, so that I could be as rested as possible before my o' dark hundred alarm went off in the middle of the night morning to start my work day.

Our sweet and loving little girl had different plans for the night, though.  That was the first night that I was awake through the night with contractions.  They weren't regular enough that I made an attempt to time them (mainly because I was still clinging to hopes of a good night's sleep before work).  After my fair share of labor and delivery stories already, I know that they number one thing they say once contractions start is to get as much rest as possible, because you just don't know how long it will last.  So I kept telling myself this, and was very valiantly waging a losing war with the proverbial sleep sheep.

I have no idea how much/little sleep I got that night.  All I know is that there were several contractions that made me think we'd be headed to the hospital before the day was done, I felt like I didn't sleep much at all, and once the alarm finally did go off, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed to get ready for work.  And once that happened, the contractions stopped.  So I headed in for a very unproductive day of work.

Week 37: The Home Stretch

After last weeks "scare," I now feel like this baby can come any time and we will be thrilled.  And since I am now at 37 weeks, it literally could be any time.  I am into the "safe" zone, at which I am considered full term, and there would be no stopping labor.  It's funny how that that mental milestone makes me feel so much more prepared and eager.  
But I had totally forgotten the feeling of wondering every day if this is going to be the day.  It's funny to wake up every morning and think, "What's the date?  Will this be my baby's birth day?"

I have decided to do my best to live in the moment, in spite of being anxious to meet this baby.  There isn't a whole lot of time left as a family of 5, and once this little girl arrives, life will most likely be pretty chaotic for awhile.  Who knows what kind of time I will get with my other 3 favorite little people once I am spending a good portion of my time feeding, changing, diapering and soothing a newborn.  So I want to cherish the moments now, and to make the most of our time together.  I want to savor the moments when I feel like I have life under control.  I want to love on and nurture each of my 3 special little people every chance I get.

I am also reminding myself that there is a good chance this might be the last time I am pregnant.  With that in mind, I want to hold on to the good things about it.  I want to enjoy feeling this baby move inside of me.  We all know that's by far the best part of pregnancy anyway, and I know that there will come a time when I will miss it.  Even though it sometimes keeps me from very restful sleep right now, I know that down the road, I will look back and wish I could experience that feeling again.  So I'm trying to savor the moments before they are gone forever.

Now, that's not to say that I am not fully looking forward to gaining full mobility once this baby comes out.  This time, more than any other, that is what I find myself most anticipating about not being pregnant- being able to have full range of motion, so to speak.  Full movement, flexibility, agility, whatever.  I just look forward to feeling "normal" again!

And now that we really truly could have a baby at any time, Tim has finally caught the name fervor.  We have been having more frequent discussions about who is going to win the great name debate.  I am not sure that we are all the way decided yet, but we're finally beginning to make some progress.

Week 36: Ready?

The 36 week mark means the end of my monthly OB appointments.  (After this, we move to two weeks, and then every week for the last couple.)  Since Tim is off work on Fridays, I usually try to schedule my appointments for then so that he can be home with the other kids.  Life is much easier if I don't have to take them into the OB's office with me.  :)
Before this appointment, I took Noah and Phoebe over to the museum across the street with us to spend the morning with some friends from church.  We were there for the better part of the morning, and then we had a picnic lunch at the park.  Usually, we take either the wagon or the stroller and walk on over to the museum.  If I were ever to time it out, I am sure that it would take longer to get everyone loaded in the van, strapped in, drive over to the museum, unbuckled from carseats, and then situated in the stroller than it does to just walk on over.  Well, for the first time in 5 years, I actually contemplated driving to the museum.  As I pulled the wagon full of Noah and Phoebe and a blanket and our lunches and water bottles to the end of the driveway, I found myself questioning if I could even make it across the street!!!

Somehow, I managed to survive the day on my feet.  We made it home just in time for me to gulp a glass of water (in preparation for my regular pee test) and head out the door for my appointment.  The best part of this appointment was a super speedy ultrasound to make sure this baby girl is headed down and out.  They had told me at my last appointment that they would also do an exam this time to see what was happening.  The sonogram revealed that our little girl has "assumed the position" and is just where she needs to be.  But since I said that I hadn't had any contractions that had me "excited," they would skip the exam at this point.  Which was fine with me, since it's all relative anyway.  She'll come whenever she's ready, no matter how ready my body may or may not be at this point.

Funny thing is, after the nurse practitioner left the room at the end of the appointment, I had my first contraction that stopped me in my tracks.  I had to pause for a minute and let it pass before I could gather my things and head out of the exam room.  And actually, then once I got home for the night, I sat down on the couch and realized I was having regular contractions throughout the evening.

Now, as much as I thought I was ready to have a baby and be done being pregnant, this freaked me out.  I wasn't "ready" like I wanted to be.  I still had stuff to get done.  Nothing major, but things like washing the carseat and getting it ready.  Dealing with all the baby stuff in bits and pieces that were scattered throughout the house at this point.  Deciding on a name for this little girl.  Washing some clothes for her to wear.  Making sure I had at least a few diapers on hand so that we wouldn't have to go to the store unless we wanted to.

So the next day dawned, and I found myself in a flurry of activity to take care of all those little loose ends so that I could actually be "ready".  And sure enough, at the end of the day, with the carseat assembled and ready, the clothes washed, diapers in hand, I felt so much better.  And "ready."

Now, if only we could agree on a name...

Week 35: "Poor Boy"

It's kind of ironic how at this point in time, my posts seem to write themselves in the sense that each week, I seem to find a very common theme to many of my conversations.  A couple weeks ago, it was the "when are you due?" question.  Last week, it was the "what are you going to name her?" question.

This week, it seems to be the "Poor Boy" theme.  The conversations about whether we are having another boy or girl have become very predictable.

"What are you having?"

"Another girl."

"And what do you have at home?"

"Girl, boy, girl."

"Oh, poor boy."

"BUT, he'll sure know how to treat a woman someday!!!"

That's become my canned response to this overplayed conversation.  After all, I have found that a boy who grows up surrounded by girls is actually a pretty rare gem.  So much so that I married one!