Thanks

So, I realized that after I emotionally threw up all over you guys, I never posted any follow-up or let you know how it was going now.

I started feeling much better (albeit still weepy) after laying it all out there in writing – it’s so cathartic.  And then I started praying a little harder, especially at night – that Berry Baby would sleep well, but if he didn’t that I would be patient and gentle and be able to help him without having my own meltdown.  I’m kind of a terrible pray-er.  I lack the discipline and much of the confidence.  But I’m thankful that God chose to hear me anyway.

I’m pretty sure that some (or most, or all) of you were praying too, because I really felt…better.  In fact, I think that since Easter I have been yelling much less and keeping my temper more.  And I’ve been enjoying the boys more too.  That feels good.

We put Berry Baby back on his reflux meds, and I’m pretty sure that has made a big difference for him too.  It didn’t right away, but lately he’s been sleeping through the night more often than not, and usually if he does wake and cry, it’s short-lived and I rarely have to go in to settle him.

So on all fronts, it’s looking much better, and I’m planning to talk with my doctor next week about trying to get off the antidepressant.

I’m just really thankful.  Thankful for all of you who were encouraging and supportive, and understanding.  And I’m thankful that our Heavenly Father hears and cares and answers.  I’m really not sure where I’d be otherwise.

True Confessions

Prairie Chick doesn’t know it yet, but her post today gave me a proverbial kick-in-the-pants: “Let's all open our eyes and realize the gifts that He has so graciously granted us in this day, in this moment.”

I have to confess, I’m struggling to see them lately.

Berry Baby has us up at minimum two times per night lately, even since completely ditching the bottle, which I was sincerely hoping would *solve* our night-waking problem.

Night-wakings are certainly NOT a new thing around here, but they have developed a new degree of difficulty.  Not unlike Berry Boy’s “Tonka” computer game…if I EVER get him past this next level it will not be soon enough…ahem.

moving on.

Before, Berry Baby was waking a lot, but he was easily settled.  Now, not so much.  His waking is now accompanied by shrieking, and when we get him up to calm him he puts up a huge fight.  He doesn’t want holding, he doesn’t want to be left, he doesn’t want a drink…nothing.  It’s taking us at minimum 15min to get him to stop screaming AT us and to get him laying back down in his crib.

I’m stressed.

And I’m very tired.

And weepy.

And I’m yelling a lot.

And I’m trying hard not to slap him while he’s screaming at me.

Which makes me more weepy.

And I can’t remember when I last had a *good* day that didn’t involve some sort of meltdown on my part.

Also, consider that it had been my goal to ditch the antidepressant right around now.  I don’t see it happening.

So today, and yesterday, and the day before that, I am praying.  For gentleness.  For patience.  For God to hold on to my temper for me, since I am unable to do it myself.  And I will now add to that prayer that I will be able to open my eyes and realize the gifts that He has so graciously granted me in this day, in this moment.

thanks PC.

Conflicted

I love being a Mom.

I love being at work.

Herein lies the dilemma.

I started my job two years before we decided to start our family, and it’s a job I really enjoy.  However, when Berry Boy was due to come along, Berry Guy and I both felt that it would be best if I were able to stay home full time with him and not have to return to work – our finances were tight but we made it work, and neither of us has ever regretted that decision.  I would not trade those years with Berry Boy for anything.

When Berry Boy turned 3, I returned to work part time.  They asked, they offered hours that I could definitely live with, and “Granny” (my MIL) was willing to look after Berry Boy for 2 days a week while my sweet and wonderful friend was willing to take him for the half day per week.  And I have never regretted this decision either.

Now, since having Berry Baby, I work basically part time, but my employer is gracious enough to allow me to work most of that from home, and I put in 2 mornings per week in the office.  And Granny takes care of Berry Baby (Berry Boy is in Kindergarten on these days).

This is soooo ideal, and I love it.  But I still have this conflict inside.

When I’m at work, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.  I’m driven, I work hard, and I want all the things that go with that – I want to work my way up, learn new stuff, maybe get that “prime” cubicle space…

When I’m at home, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.  I love taking care of my house (even though this is monotonous at times), I love being with the boys, I love being home when Berry Boy gets off the bus, I love having time for coffee with friends, I love being able to fit my run in whenever I need to…

I don’t know how to reconcile these parts of me.  When I’m at work, I wish that I could be there more often and do more.  But when I think about what would be sacrificed for that, my heart absolutely rebels.  But when I see co-workers training in stuff that I had anticipated training in (before babies), or new employees getting nicer digs than me (it wouldn’t pay, really, on 2 mornings a week, for me to ask for a prime spot), I feel anxious.  Or sad.  Or something.

So how do I reconcile all this?  I want to be at work, and yet I don’t want to be at work.

I have angst.

I think I’ll have a brownie with ice cream.

Or a run.  

But probably the brownie.

True Confessions

In an effort to continue to be "real", I have this issue rattling around in my brain and I think that if I can just put it down for once then maybe it will either (a) make sense; (b) go away; (c) make me realise how stupid it is.
However, having written it all down, I am now wrestling with whether or not to post it. Is there ever a *good* time to bare your heart? Will I feel embarrassed? (well, probably...)
Anyway, I may as well just throw it out there, so here goes...

Bear with me as I try to make this make sense.

We already know that I have issues with prayer in general - I'm not good at it, not convinced that God *hears* me, but am convinced that even though He *can* do something He most likely *won't*.

Case in point - Berry Baby. And really, this is where it all comes to a head for me. Berry Baby has been an extremely difficult baby for me. Especially in those first few months when he was crying all the time and we didn't know why. Especially in those first few months when he was waking about every hour, every night, for nights and nights on end.

I prayed a lot during that time. And I prayed hard. I prayed that Berry Baby would stop crying. I prayed that he would start to sleep. When we learned that he had reflux, I prayed that God would correct the problem so that Berry Baby would not be in so much discomfort/pain. When none of that seemed to receive an answer, I thought perhaps I was asking too much. So I asked for less - I asked that Berry Baby would just be able to sleep. Then I whittled it down some more. I asked that Berry Baby just be able to sleep for 3hours in a row. Just 3. I really really really needed a stretch of sleep. And I would not even be done praying (begging really) and Berry Baby would already be screaming again.

At one point, I do believe I told Berry Guy that God hated me, which earned me a sharp rebuke so I didn't say it again, but I certainly thought it. However, after my doctor started treating me for PPD I regained a bit of perspective and rationality, and I know (logically) that God doesn't hate me, but I still have that nagging thought that either I am praying *wrong*, or not saying the right thing, or am just so sinful that God cannot hear me.

So as time has passed I have pushed all this to the background . I mean, I get it that God is soveriegn, I have no problem with that. He is not obliged to explain anything to me, and His reasons for not answering my prayers during that time are His and who am I to question Him. However, I still can't understand why He didn't step in. It would have been so simple, and He knew how little I was coping. And I get that worse things have happened to better people, and in the grand scope of things having a not-sleeping reflux baby really doesn't compare, but bear with me.

So I think I have a handle on this, and it's not like I'm thinking about it all the time, but then Berry Boy comes up to me a couple of weeks ago telling me that his foot is "tingly" and it won't go away. He is limping a bit and this seems odd. Then he says to me that it "sure would be nice of God to make my foot better wouldn't it Mom", and then asks if maybe when we go to church that day (it was Sunday) he could ask our pastor to pray for his foot.

And my first reaction to this? Am I glad that my little guy wants to ask God for something, that he is demonstrating the beginnings of his faith? Nope. I feel my heart sink. Because deep down I don't believe that God will answer this prayer, and I don't want my little boy to feel the same disapointment that I am feeling, and have been feeling. How sad is this.

So, I don't know what to do with all of this. I mean, as I've said, I get that there are worse things happening in the world, and I get that this pales in comparison. I also get that God is God and I am not one to question why He does or does not do certain things. I just don't know how to reconcile all this in my heart. I don't know how to make logic meet emotion.

Can anyone help me out on this?

In Matters of Prayer

I've been repeatedly asking Berry Guy to replace the lightbulb in the hallway - it's been burned out for weeks now and we both keep forgetting about it until it's evening and we need to turn on the hall light. So the other evening Berry Guy finally got to work replacing it. Berry Baby was playing in the hallway at his feet as he started to do this job.

Now, our light fixture cover is frosted glass, about 12" square and flush with the ceiling. As Berry Guy pulled this cover down a bit to get at the lightbulb, the whole thing came down and fell square on Berry Baby's head, shattering glass everywhere around him. Berry Guy yelled, Berry Baby started screaming, I came running and found my baby in the middle of broken glass with the rim of the fixture hanging around his neck. All I could say was "oh God oh God" repeatedly.

Miraculously (and I do not use that word lightly) Berry Baby is absolutely fine. There is just the TINIEST scratch on his precious little cheek. After the glass was cleaned up and dusted off and we knew he was ok, reality kind of hit and I felt like throwing up. That could have been SO much worse. Every time I think about it I get nauseated.

The reason I'm telling this story though is not really to share what a horrific experience that was. This is really more about praying.

I believe in prayer. I absolutely believe that God answers prayer - I've SEEN Him answer prayer many times. I just do not believe that God answers MY prayers.

It seems to me, however incorrect it may be, that if Berry Guy prays for something, God will for sure answer. If I pray for it, most likely nothing happens.

Now I didn't say that my thinking isn't completely flawed - this is just my struggle. And to be honest, it's been a MAJOR struggle since Berry Baby was born. It seemed that through those first horrible 4.5 months God deliberately did NOT answer any of my desperate prayers, to the extent that I have stopped praying altogether. At least by myself. I still pray with Berry Boy, and I've made it part of Berry Baby's bedtime routine to pray with him too.

Which brings me to why I am telling you this whole saga.

Berry Baby's bedtime routing goes like this: bathtime, pjs, bottle while snuggling in the rocker, then we stand up, snuggle by the crib, and I pray a little prayer which almost always goes like this - "Dear Jesus, thank You for giving us a good day. Please give Berry Baby another good sleep tonight. Guard his heart and his mind, keep him safe and help him grow. Amen"

Now this is kind of a routine prayer, but apparently God honors even routine prayer. Because the only reason Berry Baby wasn't horribly hurt in that accident is because God answered my very routine prayer and kept him safe. Just like I ask. Every night.

So I guess I'm out of excuses.

Thank You Lord.

True Confessions

I have been racking my brain to come up with a really brilliant "first" posting, and so far, NOTHING. Which surprises me because I am quite brilliant (I am of course being sarcastic - still not sure how to write sarcastically...)

So I guess I'll start with being "real"...I have a lot of things I COULD write about if it weren't for the pressing issue that I am avoiding, so perhaps I should start there.

My Bible is sitting here beside me waiting for me to open it and do some reading. I have not intentionally cracked open my Bible to do devotions/quiet time/timewithGod, or whatever you like to call it, for probably over a year. And to be quite honest, it hasn't bothered me at all...until lately.

It has finally occurred to me that some of my "problems" might in fact be due to the fact that I am a bit spiritually "empty" right now (duh) and that perhaps it is time to find some type of guide to follow. So I have found said guide thanks to a good friend, and am now procrastinating on the actual DOING.

I have no shortage of excuses - I don't have a proper "journal" to put my thoughts, the kids are up and distracting me, I'd much rather be on the computer/reading a book/watching TV/drinking my coffee/running - basically ANYTHING other than what I "should" be doing.

So today it is my mission to (a)purchase the "proper" journal (because I am just anal enough about stuff like that for it to be a major issue) and (b)MAKE the time to actually do this.

So, if anyone actually reads this and is so inclined (which I know will be you Prairie Chick ;) ) please pray for me - I think I will need all the help I can get.