My New Christmas

When I was a little girl, I used to make little things into special things in my mind. I would get all sentimental and romantic in an Anne of Green Gables kind of way, and somehow, through my imagination, little things like arranging the nativity set became a magical and ceremonial happening.

 

Few things really are that magical, of course, even celebrating Christmas. Except, it is. This year, even though today is only the second day of December, Christmas is already magical.

 

And this is why.

 

 

Have you even experienced the birth of a child, reader?

 

I don't mean the awful video from high school sex ed that made you swear never ever to have a child. I mean really. Have you given birth yourself, or seen your wife give birth? A best friend or sister, perhaps? Or as a medical student, on your first delivery?

 

If you haven't, stick with me anyway. But if you have, you know what I mean. Because I now have, Christmas is a much fuller and more beautiful celebration to me.

 

The real miracle of Christmas reader, is not that a virgin had a child. The real miracle is that the child was God. The Almighty, the Highest of all High Kings, the Maker of heaven and earth, the eternal, unchanging and perfect God shrunk himself, condescended not only to being a human, but being born a baby human.

 

The miracle is that He loved us enough, while we were still His enemies, to humble Himself, limit Himself to the lowest form of earth-bound man. He would experience physical pain, physical hunger, emotional heartbreak, hormonal changes, puberty, disappointment ... but first, He had to learn how to nurse. He had to learn how to lift His head, to roll over, to use His hands. He had to learn to crawl and stand and walk and speak.

 

God. God had to learn all those things. Because He came to earth as a baby.

 

Singing Christmas hymns in church this morning and holding my crowing, smiling boy, I was suddenly overwhelmed.

 

The birth of any baby is a miracle. The rush of emotion that steals your breath and brings unexpected tears to your eyes, because even though you knew in your head that that round lump of belly hid a human child, actually seeing and holding that child somehow still is incredibly amazing. It's almost a surprise.

 

But Jesus -- He was not only a miracle because He was a baby human with tiny, wrinkled toes and a rooting reflex. He was a miracle because He was a baby human and God with tiny, wrinkled toes and a rooting reflex.

 

And because He was God, because He was sinless, because He loves us more than we understand, because He died as a human and now is raised in a new body that we will one day experience, because all these beautiful, complicated and simple gospel truths, Christmas is magical.

 

Look at the next baby you see. Imagine knowing that tiny human is God, and would redeem your soul from sin and death.

 

That truly is a miracle, and worth celebrating.

 

 

Joy to those who long to see thee,
Dayspring from on high appear
Come thou promised rod of Jesse,
Of thy birth we long to hear
O'er the hills the angels singing,
News, glad tidings of a birth
Go to him, your praises ringing,
Christ the Lord has come to earth

Come to earth to taste our sadness,
He whose glories knew no end
By his life he brings us gladness,
Our Redeemer, Shepherd, Friend
Leaving riches without number,
Born within a cattle stall
This the everlasting wonder,
Christ was born the Lord of all 

 

Tuesdays with Jude

I should be editing essays to earn some money, or packing in preparation for driving down to Chattanooga tomorrow ... but I'd much rather hang out with Jude.

 

Almost three months old!

 

 

 

We practiced sitting up in the Bumbo this morning, which, with a little help from a pillow, went over really well.

 

Then, he got a tired from all that work holding his head up, and was ready for a nap. But first, a little cuddle-and-pacifier time.

 

 

 

 

He's figuring out his hands, so he loves holding our fingers (or my sweater/scarf/necklace...).

 

It's been a good morning.

I even got to drink my coffee.

 

 



My First Pinterest Craft

I don't claim to be amazingly crafty like the many talented bloggers out here.

 

But, Andrew went hiking on Saturday, and Jude napped all afternoon, so I got my crafty hat on and made a pretty.

 

This was my inspiration:

 

Image from Style Me Pretty

 

And this is my front door now!

 

 

Joy

We're doing this thing, this parenting thing. Andrew and I look at each other in wonder every now and then and realize that, day by day, we're making it. By God's wonderful grace, we are making it; and we are growing and seeing the joys more each day.

 

It was hard, especially at first, to see much (or any) of the so-called "joys of parenting" that you hear about. We felt cheated, lied to. There are no joys in inconsolable screams or removing a diaper just as he decides to pee, or waking up every hour to feed a baby who refuses to wake up to eat. Doctor's orders.

 

But, mercifully, time passes.

 

And there are joys. And these joys will multiply as Jude grows, and as we grow as parents. Joys are coming in his infectious smiles, sweet conversations of coos and gurgles, in those eyes that gaze with such trust when we give him a bottle or a bath. Joys are coming in a little hand curled up as he sleeps, and as his newborn onesies are almost too small already, we realize he's growing and healthy.

 

He's already changed so much. From this:

 

 

(This was literally when they first handed him to me. I still had that wretched oxygen tube up my nose...)

 

To this:

 

 

Five weeks old!

 

I keep being reminded that parenting, like marriage, was created for our joy, yes, but much deeper, for our sanctification.

 

I'm so glad God knows what He's doing.

 

Say Cheese!

Happy October! It's raining and chilly, so I am celebrating appropriately with sweatpants and a giant cup of coffee. I would be celebrating with a giant nap, but the man-cub may or may not allow that. He's dozing right now, and he keeps waking up and then fighting the sleepiness; it's adorable to watch his little eyes closing and him trying so hard to keep them open. But I think the sleep will lose this battle. He's much too interested in the world to nap.

Jude will be one month on Wednesday, October 3!Times flies when you don't sleep much...

He's started to chub up on his cheeks and thighs, and although he's much more interested in crawling than holding his head up when it's belly playtime, he loves to hold his head up when you hold him on your shoulder. He's becoming incredibly conversational, responding to us (and asking for attention) with a variety of coos and aahs and adorable baby noises.

And, best of all, we're getting smiles. Seeing him like this helps make the grumpy days (like today) much more bearable.

 

See?

The truth about parenting: Three week update

You know, I think if starry-eyed young couples really knew how hard the first weeks with a newborn would be, the human race would've died out ages ago. But we have the amazing capacity to forget the hard things and so you hear sweet words from older ladies like, "Cherish every moment!" because they've forgotten what it was like to have a brand-new baby.

It's 3 in the morning and he's screaming. I don't want to cherish this moment. I want to go to sleep and forget it and pretend I don't have a baby so I can sleep more than two hours at a time.

Just being honest.

It's been a rough first three weeks. It's not Jude's fault. He's a tiny human, and crying is his only way to tell us he needs us. So, he cries. Actually, he's a very happy baby 80% of the time. Seriously. He spent practically all day yesterday on his little playmat, happy as could be to watch the world around him. But the screaming quickly escalates, and it's only trial-and-error to figure out what he needs to stop the screaming, let him know we're taking care of him... I think that's the hardest part for Andrew and me. We so want him to know he's loved and taken care of, but he's only three weeks old and still learning to trust us. So, he screams.

The doctors weren't pleased with his weight gain the first couple of weeks, so they put us on a crazy stressful feeding schedule, which took over all of our time and prevented either Jude or me from getting any actual sleep. They sent me to the lactation consultant multiple times, gave me supplimentary feeding tubes, told me to pump after every feeding... oh, and make sure you get some rest, too. That's a good one, doc.

It's startling how it stings to think that you can't provide for your baby, that maybe your body just can't do enough to help him grow. It hurts. It's personal. It makes you cry.

But, as of Monday, he's gaining weight well, and maybe after next week we can let him set the eating schedule, instead of waking the poor kid up in the middle of the night.

We love our man-cub fiercely. I just wanted to let you know that parenting is hard work. Literally, physically hard work.

So, pray for us, reader. We're adjusting and learning and struggling, because we're selfish sinners who want a convenient baby who fits our schedule and doesn't disrupt the comfortable life we had before he arrived. Silly. Babies are never convenient. Sanctification is never comfortable.

We want to love Jude well. We want to teach him the gospel well. And I guess that starts with being reminded every day that we need it, too. I certainly do.

Hey, Jude!

A week ago today, Andrew and I were playing Settlers of Catan with our buddy Bogle and listening to the Avett Brothers' new album when I realized I should probably start timing my contractions. Seven minutes. Seven minutes. 

We went to bed, still timing. I slept a few hours until the contractions began to wake me up at about 1:30, so I paced our bedroom for a couple hours, watching my phone clock. Five minutes. Three minutes. Slow, cleansing breaths.

At 4:30, I woke Andrew up. We packed our last few things, checked and re-checked our list, left a house key for Bogle and stuck our heads in the guest room to tell him we were headed to the hospital. 

By 5:00, I was dressed in a hospital gown (Andrew: "Oh, what a pretty dress!"), checked in, 4 cm dialated and 100% effaced. Time to have this baby!

My pregnancy was so uncomplicated that I expected a rough labor, just out of principle. As the nurses came in to check on me, and as Bogle and my friend Christen arrived to stick out the day with us, I kept being told, "You're a strong woman!" My OB told me I was stoic. Honestly, reader, it just didn't hurt that bad. I wasn't putting on. No worse than a bad period cramp, and about the same pain level as my miscarriage.

Two hours later, I was at 5 cm. My doctor came in and informed me that this was probably as bad as it would get. "Getting to 5 can be the hardest part." If this is as bad as it will get, I can do this! I was feeling pretty proud of myself for handling the pain so well. 

And as we all know, pride goeth before a fall.

I was at 5 cm for hours, reader. And as surely as my body wasn't progressing, the pain was. Suddenly, it hurt. Intensely. And I wasn't even halfway done having this baby. I had planned on getting pain medicine through an IV if I needed it, because epidurals are terrifying. (Seriously? You're going to put a giant needle in my spinal cord?) But the IV is only temporary; they take it out before you start to push. Plus, as the doctor put it to me, if I wanted an epidural it was now or never: the anesthesiologist was about to go into a procedure that could take hours. Now or nothing. 

Okay. 

Fifteen minutes later, I was hooked up.

Still not progressing. The doctor broke my water and stretched me out to 8 with her fingers ("You could never do this to a woman without an epidural." No kidding.) 

At 1:00, Andrew's family arrived, having been driving from Tennessee since we called them in the wee hours. Fifteen minutes later, my parents arrived, also having been driving all day from South Carolina. Fifteen minutes after that, it was time to push. 

I had been told repeatedly since checking in at 5 that baby's head was really low. "You shouldn't have to push very long! He's right there!" Okay, maybe I can do this...

Two and half hours later, I was still pushing. He was still not crowning. I was so exhausted, I was falling asleep between contractions, which I could still feel despite the epidural, just not excruciating as they surely were without. Again, a now-or-never decision from the doctor. "Well, you can keep pushing for another hour, or we can try suction, or you can have a C-section." 

Why do I have to make important medical decisions in this mental condition?

Let's try suction. A section scares me about as much as an epidural. I push and do 90% of the work, the doctor pulls the other 10%.

He never crowned, Andrew says. His head went from being totally inside to being totally outside in one push. His cord was wrapped around his neck, so Andrew had to cut it quickly and then one more push -- and...

I'll never forget the sound of Andrew's voice, full of exhaustion and tears and exhilaration: "You did it!"

Jude Smith Sweeny. Welcome to the world.