No Help, Thanks.

Yesterday was my worst (or best) day in a very long string of bad days. My children tag team all night and it has been getting more and more difficult as the months drag on and the glimmer of hope I once had is fading. I am tired to put it mildly. I proclaim on a daily basis that I can do it no longer. Yesterday, I meant it. I was literally at the end of myself, my mind was racing to find a way out, a way to fix it, a way to change...and I was coming up with nothing.
Having confessed my desperation to my amazing sister-in-law at playgroup (which was quite enjoyable) she concocted a plan to help. It was a plan that involved sacrifice on the part of several people. As she told me her idea I was tempted, as dictated by my deep cultural regulations, to say "No, no. I'll be fine". We both knew, however, that aside from accepting help, I had no hope of making it another minute. I could only nod with both touched and humiliated tears streaming. She arranged for people to come and sleep with my kids so that hubby and I could sleep a whole night through.
I have accepted help in the past, a lovely girl from my Bible study watched my kids for a whole day while I did whatever I needed to do, my in-laws have watched the kids as well; but there was something particular about this time. The level of sacrifice was so great and in my normal state I would never allow people to do something like this. As I thanked them, they all said,"It's no big deal." But it is. It is a big deal to be willing to stay up all night with someone else's children. What they meant was, "It is a sacrifice I am willing to make because I love you." And as much as it hurts my pride to need help in the first place, it feels good to accept help and love in the sacrifice of another. I've allowed them to have a measure of power in my life, and in the end that is what real relationship is all about.
I feel like that night of sleep, given so graciously, is enough to help me carry on a bit longer. I have hope again. And I feel I have learned a huge lesson in what it means to love, help, and be helped. So, help? Yes, thanks.

Beer Lahai Roi

You are the God of Hagar, The God who sees...
Do You see me? As I weep on my knees...
Do You see me? As my fatigue grows fangs
Do You see me? As my list of victims grows

I am beyond myself by miles. Do you see it?
Did You know I can't take another step? But you demand it.
Did You see me stumble? Did You watch me fall?
I know You know it all... Did You know that?

Why do You make us wait? The waiting is killing us.
We wait for a time when things will be better, when night again will be friendly.
We wait for a time when things will change, when You will storm in, sword blazing, and save us.
We wait to sleep.

Oh God. The God who sees. See me.

The Story of my Life

My Brightest Diamond, an album given to me by a friend, is filled with highly personal songs. The singer screams about pain of loss, but also the beauty of it too. It made me wish that I could write an album just simply as an outlet for the things in my life that still haunt me. So, since I am not a song writer, I came up with some titles for an E.P. Of course it is not entire, just a work in progress. (Damn, I really wish I could write music.)


Blackhole of Years- A moody and despairing depiction of my years spent in the utter lost-ness of depression and suicidal tendencies.

True Love (Buttercup's Ballad)- A tender melodic description of my first encounter with real love in my soul mate, Chad.

The Artist's Widow- An angry recounting of my most painful introduction to being married to an artist.

My Beautiful First- An emotional song of the beauty, joys, and fears of the first pregnancy.

F*** U Hirschsprungs- (Not sure how I would get "Hirschsprungs" into a lyric, but with a little dedication, anything can happen) An orchestral raging about my first introduction to Neonatal units, diseases, and the aftermath. My son was born with Hirschsprungs disease, and we still battle many of the effects of it.

The Girl- A fun, and sunny song about how my daughter has stormed my life with her cheery disposition and has forced me to face myself and my view of all things "girl".

Where Does It Stop?

This morning a woman stood up in church and shared her story of losing her little son at 23 weeks gestation. She shared her agonizing and grief, her deep hurts and questions, and also her deep and abiding peace. Later, I spoke with a woman who lost her son in the recent fires. Another friend recently went to her mother's home country to bury her grandfather, and still another is battling an eating disorder. After my conversation with the grieving mother, I spoke with a friend about sex trafficking in Melbourne. I felt crushed. My heart is overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering in the world. I have carried it around all day and, honestly, I am crushed by it. I feel powerless against it all, and I don't want to know any more. I try to avoid the news in order to shield myself from the mighty weight of the world. But I do want to help. I so desperately want to fix everything for everyone. I want to save all the victims, and be understanding to the misunderstood. I want to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. But where does it stop? I am not able to do it all. Even with all the money in the world I can not fix it all. What is my role and responsibility? I crave to be bigger, more powerful, more influential, more energetic, more capable...but I am not. I am only me. So now, I suppose I will just weep. I am not able to do more.

A Moment

This morning, I had a mommy moment. I had packed the kids, a blanket and some breakfast to head out to the park for a brekkie picnic. My son inhaled half a piece of toast and then set about burning it off. He raced around the park with a huge grin on his face. His fuzzy little hair billowed around his head while he was yelling his running commentary about everything he did. All the while his pink face shown with his delight. As he raced, my precious baby girl busied herself investigating rocks and tiny plants. She dragged her little body as fast as she could to get as much rock matter in her mouth before I caught her. As I watched my children enjoying themselves, just reveling in their experiences, my heart surged with love for them. It flowed out my eyes as I gazed at my amazing kids. How is it, that I, of all people, could be abundantly blessed to have under my protection such amazing people? My blessings are too many to number.

Breastfeeding

Although I have already steered one child through baby-hood and should be an old pro, I feel way out of my depth with my second. Unlike her brother, she is a nature baby. She will take no dummy, she was solely breastfed, and came out the right hole. Also, unlike her brother, she struggles to gain weight properly and is very tiny. I was led to believe that breastfed babies are the healthiest, but all I have found is exhaustion on behalf of all of us. It seems that Piper has never really gotten enough and so she doesn't sleep well through the night. Breastfeeding is a beautifully emotional experience, and is intimately connected to my sense of myself. We bonded beautifully thanks to being able to breastfeed. She never really had any latching problems, but I have always struggled to make enough. I assumed that once she was eating solids that all our problems would be fixed, but as I relaxed about it, I made even less. As I have wrestled with whether to bottle feed or breastfeed I have become more and more obsessed and confused and not a little hormonal. I wonder now if the benefits of breastfeeding have actually outweighed the benefits of bottle feeding. Leif was a robust baby, despite his disease, and my little nature baby is still battling to gain weight and develop.
I have felt a little misled and disappointed. Piper at 7 mos is smaller than her 5 month old cousin (who was lucky enough to be breastfed and get sufficient amounts!) I adore her fat counter-part, but it always makes me a little sad. I wish that I could have made her fat too. Now that she is nearly entirely bottle fed, I hope that she can give up her battle to get enough food and just focus on sitting up and crawling!

A Woman's Glory

I have, for a long time, like most girls, struggled with my appearance. I was always too fat and didn't have the defined chin and cheek bones I craved. My true bane, though, has always been my hair. I decided that this year would be the year that I would really tackle my insecurities and do something I have always wanted to do, so on January 1st I shaved my head. This year, I decided, would be the year that my self-loathing would stop. After all, I have had a daughter and it would break my heart to hear her say things about herself that I say about me. I need to show her and my son the way. My hubby also reminds me that it would be good for him too. So, I have set out on my adventure of self-acceptance.

I would love to proclaim that I am well on my way and that I am learning to "inhabit" my body. I would love to say I have found a way to accept my thin and lifeless hair, but indeed I feel as far from these things as ever before. I feel frustrated that I can't accept what God has given me and just say thank you. I wish I could not think about it.

Since having had my daughter I have not lost a single kilo, and will not be able to try until she is fully weaned. On some level I am thankful to have this experience as a larger person. I realize that this is God's gift to me to be less judgmental and to learn to accept this gift of my body, the one that He chose to give me. But at the same time, often I just feel like I am wearing a fat suit. I hate dressing it everyday, I despise buying clothes that fit it, and I hate looking at it in the mirror or pictures. I wonder if this is how all overweight people view themselves. Trapped in a body that does not represent them. Somehow I am determined to find a way to make my fat suit fit me, without waiting to lose the weight.

So, although having no hair has allowed me a slight reprieve from the hair issue (which will be sure to resurface in a few months though I feel fabulous without it now), I can't seem to leave my fat suit behind...and it certainly won't shave off on our budget. I'm not really sure that I want it to. Otherwise how will I ever hold someone's hand as they go through the journey of self-inhabiting?