Month: April 2014

Mind of a Mom

lindseygendke4 Comments

IMG_0680Someone asked me recently what it’s like to be a mom, and I said: “It’s like having my mind scattered in pieces all around me.” Gone are the days of setting my mind to one task and hammering away until it’s done—or one idea and thinking it entirely through.

When you sign up for mom-hood, you sign away your ability to focus entirely on any one thing, except your child(ren). What results is a scattered bunch of thoughts flitting through your mind—and a smattering of baby toys, burp cloths, laundry, and paperwork dotting your furniture—that hang in limbo for days on end without resolution.

Just because (mostly because I can’t think of an otherwise coherent post), here are a few pieces of my mind lately:

I’m really sick of not fitting into anything but yoga pants. Despite daily walks with baby and exercise videos a couple times a week, I’ve only lost half of what I gained during pregnancy. (That puts me at twenty-five pounds to go. FYI, Sam is three months old now.) So it’s time to bring out the big guns. Hubby and I are going to (try to) start doing P90X four times a week after baby goes to bed.

He (the baby) is doing pretty well on that front. I’m happy to report that he’s sleeping a seven- or eight-hour stretch every night, with a 3:00-ish feeding, then sleeping two or three more hours. Can’t complain about that.

But I do still complain. I really wish he’d sleep until 7:00. He gets up anytime between 5:30 and 7:00. My hubby gets up for work at 6, and I get up with him to have my morning devotions—if Sam hasn’t gotten me up first. Until Sam stops the middle-of-the-night feedings, I told God I really don’t want to get up before 6; so if he (God) wants me to spend time with him, please let Sam sleep long enough for me to do it.

On that note, I still obviously have control freak tendencies. I still want to control my life entirely too much, not letting God be God. So that tells me I better NOT skip my devotion time. I need God to set me straight every day.

I am constantly toying with when and how to accomplish my to-do’s during the day, including Bible time. I still haven’t figured out when to write on any weekday but Monday, when my sis-in-law watches Sam. By the time I’m done with baby care and basic household upkeep, there’s no time left for writing. I’ve been logging Sam’s naps and feedings for the last week, hoping to spot patterns around which to build my day. Happily, he has some, but they are “loose” patterns—really too loose for much scheduling.

Most frustrating for me about being a SAHM (stay-at-home mom) is that I feel my talents are going to waste. My weaknesses, not my strengths, are called forth every day. As I’ve written before on this blog, I get little to no satisfaction from housekeeping, because it’s a never-ending task with non-lasting rewards. Anything I accomplish is quickly erased by more dirt, dishes, dogs, or laundry. The blessing here—and it’s a big one—is that my investment in Sam is and will be rewarded. I get to watch him grow up (smiles and laughs are awesome rewards right not), and then, hopefully, to become the godly kind of a man my hubby and I are trying to raise.

I suppose these special moments with Sam cancel out the maddeningly mundane ones. A child changes a person like nothing else can. It’s hard to believe that when he was born, I felt awkward talking “baby” to him. Now, it just flows out of me. What’s more, I can’t be away from him for a few minutes without picturing his chubby cheeks and bright eyes. Hubby and I got a sitter today for five hours so we could clean out our garage, and by the end of it we were both dying to see him.

So, what to do with these pieces of my mind? Right now I tote them around, trip over them once in awhile, and pick one up to do something with when it’s imperative (before tossing it back onto the scrap heap). But for the most part, besides damage control and baby care, I don’t get much done.

It’s a love-hate life. I love caring for my baby. I hate having my mind cracked into gazillions of pieces.

What does it mean that I started seriously thinking about a second child last week? I told hubby it meant I wanted to get our target two kids out of the way so I could return to other parts of my life more quickly. He told me it meant I was selfish. But I already knew that. Just look at my divided mind!

Ah, me. I hope I won’t look back on these years only to realize I missed out on the good times.

And that’s a look into the mind of a mom.

Returning to Writing

lindseygendke6 Comments

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With the help of a generous sister-in-law, I have returned to writing my book. One day a week until the end of the school year, she babysits Sam so I can write.

How has it been, reentering this manuscript I put aside three months ago?

There is the feeling of visiting a foreign country, as well as the feeling of returning to terrain I know very well. Above all, there is a clarity about the message of my book—and with that clarity, knowledge of what to cut and what to add. I surprised myself by spending most of my recent writing time cutting unnecessary chapters or scenes. Whereas several months ago I couldn’t have imagined cutting these scenes, now, there was no doubt about it: they had to go.

These cutting decisions signal so much: not only a writer’s process, but also a woman’s healing. Let me explain.

One of the standout tips I received from my professional book consultant last fall was: After the first few pages/chapters, cut the crying! (She elaborated: instead of describing your crying, describe for readers what made you cry). And related to that: Add in scenes with other key characters so we are not left alone with you and your brain for 300 pages.

In recent months I’ve thought a lot about how this advice relates to my memoir, which means I really have been working—thinking, planning, pondering—if not actually writing. I realized I had lots of crying in my book—in lots of solitary scenes, and my consultant helped me realize that this was not the best approach for a general audience. The types of books most people want to read are built around action, not a person sitting and thinking (and crying).

As I thought about why my first draft was sopping wet, I realized I wrote it for myself, and perhaps for the handful of friends and family members who read it last fall. Writing all those solitary crying scenes was a way for me to acknowledge how alone I felt in my pain. Having several loved ones read that manuscript allowed me to share that part of myself—and it felt good. Now I feel vindicated: that part of myself has not been shoved into a closet. However, that part of me (though present in the book) will not be the book’s focus.

What I am working on now is describing more of my healing, less of my hurting. To set the stage for why I became so broken (as requested by my consultant), I had to write over 100 new pages for the book’s beginning, just so readers could understand what led to my suicide attempt, eating disorder, sudden move to Texas, and shotgun wedding. But I am trying not to draw out the personal anguish after that (plenty of other memoirs excel in that area). As suggested, I am trying to show myself in contact with others—how I began to relate in more healthy ways to my family, and how I eventually extended my healing insights to others: my high school students, and then women in my church.

The new theme of the book, and maybe the new title, is “breaking silence.” I want to encourage readers who have suffered not to stuff their pain, but to get it out and deal with it—in the proper venues, of course. I believe I could have healed much faster had I not learned to hide my issues from friends, close family, and church family. What good are friends and family if we can’t tell them what’s going on? What good is religion and faith if we can’t get healing for our brokenness at church, and/or among our Christian friends? With my revised memoir, I hope to paint a picture of how honesty with ourselves, with God, and with certain loved ones is the right thing, the healthy thing, and the healing thing to do. Readers can take my advice or leave it, but for my book and my own health, I’ve learned honesty is a must.

He Slept Through the Night!

lindseygendke4 Comments

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This is a headline every new mom wants to publish, but my announcement is even more gratifying because it came as an answer to a Bible promise I claimed two weeks ago. You see, two Sundays ago I sat down and wrote a blog post about lack of sleep that I never published…because I got too busy to polish and then too tired to post it. (As I’ve written more than once, sleep deprivation is one of the biggest drains on new mothers.) But now I can publish that post with a happy ending.

Two weeks ago…

In a recent post I wrote that I was having trouble with my God time, so I fasted from secular books and TV last week. The fast is over, and it was a blessing, but I also realized it’s not enough to fast. You also have to refill what you’ve taken away. As if mothers have a need to fill any more time! This is where it takes a conscious effort to include God in your day.

My husband took Sam for the afternoon, and I was tempted to take a nap. However, after lunch and a delicious lactation smoothie I’m trying this week [after two weeks it sadly hasn’t helped much], I was revived enough to sit down and talk to God. I told him that I was frustrated. It’s hard for me to focus on the Bible right now. The Bible seems too vast, plus, unrelated to my daily mommy mire. I told him I wished there were a Bible, or a gospel, specifically for mothers of young children. Sometimes I don’t want to sift through the biblical language to find a personal application.

I asked God what he would have me do. He told me he wasn’t asking me to be a Bible scholar, just to be faithful with the time I have. I was impressed to continue reading through the Psalms like I’ve been doing, and to memorize at least one verse from my reading each week.

In the past, the Psalms have spoken to me even when I had little mental energy for Bible study. The themes are simple—God is in control; the righteous prosper, the wicked die; God created me and cares for me intimately; God is the creator of everything—but beautiful and reassuring. Just like they were good for a frazzled first-year teacher six years ago, they are good for a tired mommy today. And you know what? As I looked over the Psalms I read last week, searching for one verse to memorize, one jumped out.

“I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety” (Ps. 4:8). My Bible commentary told me this section pertained to when David fled from Absalom and feared for his life. The fact that he can lie down and sleep shows absolute trust in God.

As far as I can tell, my life is not in danger; but with a two-month-old, I crave to sleep in peace. It occurred to me that I could claim this verse for myself. I can trust God that he will help me sleep in peace, because he provides for my needs, just like he provided for David. I know it’s a somewhat silly comparison, but this verse made me feel loved by God.

I recited that verse several times a day for over a week…and within two weeks, Sam, eleven weeks old, slept 9 ½ hours two nights ago and then 7 hours last night. I was able to sleep in peace. God came through!

I am so thankful to serve a God who meets me where I am—even when that is a pathetically sleep deprived and droopy state. May he help me to continue honoring him with my time. If Sam keeps this up, it looks like I’ll be getting some quiet morning hours back—and I will do my best to spend them with God.

 

Got Milk?

lindseygendke2 Comments
Photo Credit: "Trouble Breastfeeding?" at brixy.com
Photo Credit: “Trouble Breastfeeding?” at brixy.com

I don’t. Not really. Nonetheless, I’ve tried to nurse for eleven weeks, with minimal success. Now I regret that I have continued, because this trying has messed with Sam’s schedule, and my self-confidence.

There are those moms who dream of breastfeeding at all costs. I never did. What I did dream of, after I read a book entitled Preparation for Parenting by Gary and Marie Ezzo, was getting my baby on a schedule and having him sleep through the night by eight weeks. The book promised my baby would do this, if I followed the schedule they outlined: feed every 2 ½ to 3 hours, and follow the pattern of feed, waketime, sleep. Then I was supposed to wake the baby and start the cycle again. With this pattern, he should have been sleeping through the night by now. But Sam is eleven weeks old today, and he is still waking one to four times a night.

What happened?

A commitment to breastfeeding, no matter that I had a low supply, is what happened.

I blame myself, and a few others, for encouraging me to keep going no matter what. They told me that mothers’ milk works on the demand and supply principle: the more I nursed, the more I would produce.

I nursed exclusively for three weeks. By the end of three weeks, Sam’s weight was steadily declining. It was at our third weight check that his pediatrician, with a worried look, told me to start supplementing. She also told me to call the lactation specialist one more time and see what tips she could give me. (I had already worked with this person twice. She determined that Sam was latching well, and my milk—what milk I had—was transferring.)

Here I could have just stopped nursing, admitted I had given it a valiant go, and switched entirely to formula. Neither my hubby nor I wanted to quit yet, though.

I called the lactation specialist. What she told me made me cry.

“Take a breastfeeding vacation. Just take a Sunday and lie in bed with the baby and let him nurse as much as he wants. And make sure you are latching or pumping at least eight to ten times a day. You can try lactation cookies, and fenugreek, etc. etc.” She gave me all the advice I’ve read in various other places.

I told her, barely holding back tears, that we’d exclusively breastfed for three weeks; I just didn’t think I could produce the milk. As far as the breastfeeding vacation, the thought made me want to scream. Did she mean to tell me I should start getting less done than I already was? With my house in a shambles and my body bloated because I had no time to exercise? With thoughts overcrowding my mind because I had no time to write and sort them out? And even if I devoted my life to increasing my supply (which was, essentially, what she was asking me to do), there was no guarantee it would even work.

No ma’am, I couldn’t do it.

I decided to do what I could reasonably (and sanely) do. I continued nursing before giving bottles and pumping when Sam allowed me an extra fifteen minutes. I started taking fenugreek because a relative had given me a bottle. I tried a daily sesame seed smoothie recommended by another family member.

Last week (ten weeks) I estimated I was producing around 25% of what Sam eats, and I asked my hubby again: Do I continue?

Again he said, “I really think you should. He’s getting good stuff from you, and who knows what will happen, if we will still need it in the future?”

Even I agreed that the calming effects of breastfeeding were still valuable for fussy times.

But my hubby hasn’t had to deal with the constant self-doubt I face every time I breastfeed. He hasn’t had to deal with those sleepless nights when Sam drifts off at the breast before getting the bottle, then wakes within an hour hungry again. He hasn’t had to, first, give up several hours of his day to breastfeeding, and then, give up several more when bottle feedings, bottle washings, and pumping were prescribed. He hasn’t agonized over how much formula to give (because doesn’t feeding more formula mean producing less milk? Yet how else can I be sure Sam is getting adequate nutrition?). He hasn’t had his sleep interrupted and his whole day thrown off because he can’t decide how much to breast- and how much to bottle-feed (therefore he keeps trying different combinations). He doesn’t agonize over this daily like I do, when I wake feeling exhausted yet again, or when Sam rejects a bottle, or rejects a breast, or acts different at every feeding.

Today, when I again considered how much time and effort this whole feeding thing was taking, how most of the rest of my life is on hold, how confused I still felt about feeding time, and how far from a pattern I still felt (I had just bought the ingredients to try lactation cookies—maybe they would help?), I felt utterly discouraged.

And I asked myself for the millionth time: is it worth it?

My gut told me, like it had weeks ago, No.

I know all the wavering back and forth has not been worth it, purely because it has destroyed my self-confidence and my ability to plan my day. Because of this mental unrest, I cannot settle myself into a pattern, much less Sam.

I’ve asked myself, Did reading the Ezzo book ruin me, where I expected too much too soon? Where I thought that breastfeeding should come so easily, and a schedule along with it? I cracked it open again today to see if their advice was really that bad…and found a section I didn’t remember reading before. The authors said that about 5% of women physiologically cannot produce adequate milk, and in that case, they should implement the feeding schedule with formula. Simple.

So…I will finish eating this batch of lactation cookies (sadly horrible for weight loss). I will finish the new bottle of fenugreek I bought today. And I will continue to latch Sam as much as I reasonably can. I figure on a week. But after that, if my supply doesn’t go up, I’m done.

Why didn’t I listen to my instincts before? If I had taken one course or the other, Sam might be on a schedule today, and we might all be sleeping through the night.

People will always have strong opinions on all things mothering, but as far as breastfeeding and this low-supply mama go, I’m learning not to cry over scarce milk.