January seems an appropriate month to write about change; the expectation of welcoming a new baby to the family within the next few weeks makes it even more so. In The Young Unicorns, Madeleine L'Engle has some challenging thoughts about change and acceptance of our roles in life. She argues that "only obedience . . . is perfect freedom." At times it seems counter-intuitive, but perhaps accepting our roles and what is demanded of us does provide a sense of freedom in our lives.
One of L'Engle's main teenage characters, Vicky, struggling with change, complains to her father that she wished they had never moved from the country to a big city. Her father responds that "we aren't free to remain static, to refuse to change. That isn't freedom. That's death." L'Engle is not arguing for change merely for the sake of change; rather, she suggests that when requirements are placed on us, we must respond appropriately, which sometimes requires great change. A wise and trusted Rabbi in the novel states that "to be demanded of gives us dignity." Refusing to respond is not freedom, but "apathy," a loss of one's humanity.
Sometimes the demands made on us seem trivial or less prestigious than what we could be doing otherwise. I can relate somewhat to Mrs. Austin, a mother in the novel, who gave up a singing career on stage when she married and had children, choosing instead to work in her home and be present with her family. She herself does not view the change as a lessening of her potential or a waste of her talents, though others think so. Instead, she sees it as one of those necessary changes placed upon her by the demands of life. From L'Engle's perspective, these demands come from a sovereign God who ordains the plans for our lives and requires us to respond humbly with obedience.
Staying home with small children, changing diapers, sitting still and nursing a newborn for the better part of the day, interacting with a two-year-old and her baby doll as though that baby doll were alive, cooking, grocery shopping, folding laundry, and taking naps may all seem like small and insignificant tasks when compared to the types of work that are generally lauded in our society. We value intelligence, creativity, ambition, hard work, and making a "mark" on history or leaving a great legacy. These are fine things. A quiet and simple life is also a fine thing (1 Thessalonians 4:11). I struggle with change, like Vicky, when new chapters begin in my life. Having a new baby gives me trepidation (to put it mildly). I need others to remind me, and I need to remind myself, that the demands of life can bring dignity and freedom when I accept them obediently, setting aside my own agenda and routines.
Since a loving and good God sees fit to place on me the demands of new motherhood, I should accept the changes brought by the newborn with as much flexibility and energy as I can muster, rather than stubbornly kicking at the goads, as it were. Whatever the yoke He places on me, He's taking part in pulling with it as well (Matthew 11:28-30); what a wonderful promise! What restful and dignified freedom, to do my work actively with Him rather than struggling in vain against it.
Jan 14, 2018
Dec 9, 2017
Good Silence
It's the most wonderful time of the year, and one of the busiest. Of course, there are the holidays, which line up together in close succession so it seems impossible to grasp one before it slips through your hands and the next one is upon you. In my family, there are some additional celebrations that cause there to be even less breathing room between events: my husband's birthday, my birthday, and our anniversary all fall within a period of time from less than a week before Thanksgiving to less than a week before Christmas. Life can quickly feel hectic instead of joyful at this time of year.
For a week or so I have noticed myself making "to-do" lists in my mind any time there's a moment of silence (when my two-year-old is not asking me "why?"), and even in the midst of conversations. Perhaps this busyness in my brain is the reason a small passage from The Young Unicorns by Madeleine L'Engle resonates with me so strongly. Along with L'Engle's character, I "underst[and] silence, that good silence comes from inside, not outside, and that little, unimportant things can break it more easily than the big ones."
I understand that inner silence, akin to peace, cannot easily be broken by things like "buses and taxi horns and ambulance sirens" (L'Engle), "big" sounds, but I let those insignificant things like worry about the meal plan or whether or not I have time to finish making a Christmas tree skirt or answering my daughter's twelfth "why" of the day barge in and destroy my mind's silence, "break[ing] it up into noise" (L'Engle).
Those insignificant things should not have the power to ruin the silence, the peace and joy, that can run through each day and color it with brilliance. In the end, we'll eat. Decorations come and go. My daughter is a person going through a stage of learning, and I can help her through it. My perspective on our circumstances will affect my approach more than the circumstances themselves, so why shouldn't my perspective be one of contented peace? Paul says, "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). Meditating on such a promise, founded in the truth of a good and sovereign God, my mind and heart can be at peace, resting in good silence, this season.
For a week or so I have noticed myself making "to-do" lists in my mind any time there's a moment of silence (when my two-year-old is not asking me "why?"), and even in the midst of conversations. Perhaps this busyness in my brain is the reason a small passage from The Young Unicorns by Madeleine L'Engle resonates with me so strongly. Along with L'Engle's character, I "underst[and] silence, that good silence comes from inside, not outside, and that little, unimportant things can break it more easily than the big ones."
I understand that inner silence, akin to peace, cannot easily be broken by things like "buses and taxi horns and ambulance sirens" (L'Engle), "big" sounds, but I let those insignificant things like worry about the meal plan or whether or not I have time to finish making a Christmas tree skirt or answering my daughter's twelfth "why" of the day barge in and destroy my mind's silence, "break[ing] it up into noise" (L'Engle).
Those insignificant things should not have the power to ruin the silence, the peace and joy, that can run through each day and color it with brilliance. In the end, we'll eat. Decorations come and go. My daughter is a person going through a stage of learning, and I can help her through it. My perspective on our circumstances will affect my approach more than the circumstances themselves, so why shouldn't my perspective be one of contented peace? Paul says, "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). Meditating on such a promise, founded in the truth of a good and sovereign God, my mind and heart can be at peace, resting in good silence, this season.
Nov 12, 2017
Weaning and Dreams
It's been a special dream of mine since my daughter was a few months old to one day tandem breastfeed my toddler and a new baby. At first when my daughter was born, nursing was extremely difficult because of some anatomical issues, and we had to use a hospital grade pump and supplement with formula for about a week or two. After that, she was able to nurse, but it was still quite painful for a while. When my husband, in his online research to try to help our situation, stumbled across a style of breastfeeding called "laid back," my world changed. Nursing became more of a pleasant experience that both my daughter and I enjoyed.
At some point after that, I learned that when breastfeeding a toddler (for those who want to let their children nurse until they are ready to stop or for those who just want to wean at some point later than the one-year mark), some women who then get pregnant and have an infant choose to nurse the baby and continue nursing the toddler. This style is called "tandem" breastfeeding (moms of twins do it, too) because the mother is nursing more than one child at the same time (not necessarily simultaneously, although that's possible, too). I read about how lots of moms experienced tandem nursing as a wonderful bonding experience for the older child and new baby, and that some even held hands while nursing together. This amazed me and touched my touch-loving heart (physical touch is one of my strongest love languages). I've been hoping to achieve this tandem nursing since learning of it.
Baby number two is on the way now, due in late January, and my daughter and I plugged away at nursing all through about the first half of the pregnancy. She had expressed no desire to stop just because she turned two (why would she?) and I was happy to continue. But then, as morning sickness and physical tiredness set in, I decided it was time to night-wean. The pregnancy turned out to be exactly the catalyst I needed to stick with this decision and make it through the rough nights with my toddler for a while, and in the end I believe this helped her start sleeping a bit more soundly, something our whole family needed. (As a side note, my daughter, just a few weeks ago, at about two years and four months old, started sleeping through the whole night by herself for the first time in her life.)
I began restricting nursing to three to four sessions a day, which was really fairly in line with what my daughter was doing on her own anyway. It seemed to me that this plan would be a good balance between nourishing a growing baby and maintaining the breastfeeding relationship. My midwife had mentioned that some nursing women experienced a dramatic drop in milk supply later in pregnancy, but I wasn't expecting my milk to completely go away. I also never expected nursing during pregnancy to be so extremely painful. I knew about "aversion" to nursing that many women experience during pregnancy, but the discomfort and irritation I felt while nursing my toddler, especially in more recent weeks, took my by surprise.
Yet these are the things that have happened. My sense is that my supply has gone away due to pregnancy, and that simultaneously my daughter has lost interest. Who knows whether her interest dropped because the supply dropped or if it was the other way around, or whether my restricting her nursing times caused her to gradually lose her desire to nurse? The nursing was so uncomfortable anyway that it became a relief to have her say "no" to it.
Whatever the cause (I'm sure it is actually a complex mixture of many factors), my daughter is effectively weaned now, at about two years and five months old. She still asks for "nurse nurse" occasionally, but then doesn't really latch on and leaves me after a few seconds. This is not what I ever expected, and I still don't know exactly how she will respond when baby arrives and the milk supply returns; she may see baby nursing and want to participate alongside (I'd love that!). Or she may have no interest at all by that point. In any case, my dream has to be held in open hands. The pain of nursing has helped me respond to the weaning process with much less sadness than I had anticipated feeling (and that lots of women feel) during weaning. My daughter seems perfectly content with cuddles and other types of connection time with me. All in all, breastfeeding my firstborn has been a satisfying experience, whether or not there is more to come.
At some point after that, I learned that when breastfeeding a toddler (for those who want to let their children nurse until they are ready to stop or for those who just want to wean at some point later than the one-year mark), some women who then get pregnant and have an infant choose to nurse the baby and continue nursing the toddler. This style is called "tandem" breastfeeding (moms of twins do it, too) because the mother is nursing more than one child at the same time (not necessarily simultaneously, although that's possible, too). I read about how lots of moms experienced tandem nursing as a wonderful bonding experience for the older child and new baby, and that some even held hands while nursing together. This amazed me and touched my touch-loving heart (physical touch is one of my strongest love languages). I've been hoping to achieve this tandem nursing since learning of it.
Baby number two is on the way now, due in late January, and my daughter and I plugged away at nursing all through about the first half of the pregnancy. She had expressed no desire to stop just because she turned two (why would she?) and I was happy to continue. But then, as morning sickness and physical tiredness set in, I decided it was time to night-wean. The pregnancy turned out to be exactly the catalyst I needed to stick with this decision and make it through the rough nights with my toddler for a while, and in the end I believe this helped her start sleeping a bit more soundly, something our whole family needed. (As a side note, my daughter, just a few weeks ago, at about two years and four months old, started sleeping through the whole night by herself for the first time in her life.)
I began restricting nursing to three to four sessions a day, which was really fairly in line with what my daughter was doing on her own anyway. It seemed to me that this plan would be a good balance between nourishing a growing baby and maintaining the breastfeeding relationship. My midwife had mentioned that some nursing women experienced a dramatic drop in milk supply later in pregnancy, but I wasn't expecting my milk to completely go away. I also never expected nursing during pregnancy to be so extremely painful. I knew about "aversion" to nursing that many women experience during pregnancy, but the discomfort and irritation I felt while nursing my toddler, especially in more recent weeks, took my by surprise.
Yet these are the things that have happened. My sense is that my supply has gone away due to pregnancy, and that simultaneously my daughter has lost interest. Who knows whether her interest dropped because the supply dropped or if it was the other way around, or whether my restricting her nursing times caused her to gradually lose her desire to nurse? The nursing was so uncomfortable anyway that it became a relief to have her say "no" to it.
Whatever the cause (I'm sure it is actually a complex mixture of many factors), my daughter is effectively weaned now, at about two years and five months old. She still asks for "nurse nurse" occasionally, but then doesn't really latch on and leaves me after a few seconds. This is not what I ever expected, and I still don't know exactly how she will respond when baby arrives and the milk supply returns; she may see baby nursing and want to participate alongside (I'd love that!). Or she may have no interest at all by that point. In any case, my dream has to be held in open hands. The pain of nursing has helped me respond to the weaning process with much less sadness than I had anticipated feeling (and that lots of women feel) during weaning. My daughter seems perfectly content with cuddles and other types of connection time with me. All in all, breastfeeding my firstborn has been a satisfying experience, whether or not there is more to come.
 |
| Baby Girl |
 |
| Growing Up |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)