Thankful, "I Celebrate the Day"

I'd had this idea of posting 29 things I am grateful for this year: one blessing for each year I've been alive (say it isn't so). I was excited; it sounded so very thoughtful and poetic.

But last night I was listening to Christmas music while getting Ada ready for bed, taking in her smiles, her softness, her sweetness. The next song came on: I Celebrate the Day, by Reliant K. Now, anyone who's ever seen a chick flick with me (or has read this blog for any length of time) knows I'm not terribly sentimental; I'm practical, probably to a fault. I generally don't cry or get overly emotional about media.

But this song makes me cry--or at least tear up-- every time I hear it. This song captures the moment that we connect the birth of the Christ child with the scope and meaning of His life; that moment when a child was born and this world changed. It's a moment of reflection for all of us: Is this the relationship I want to have with my Savior? How have I improved since last year?

None of this is terribly remarkable as far as Christmas songs go. I am grateful for the yearly opportunity to count His atonement, His example among my most precious blessings. But what gets me every time is thinking about the births of my own children and thinking what their lives have done for mine. I think of sitting in my hospital bed of the maternity ward, staring down into their perfect and trusting newborn faces:

"And the first time

That you opened your eyes,

Did you realize

That you would be my Savior?

(Will)

And the first breath

That left your lips,

Did you know

That it would change this world forever?"

(Ada)

Becoming a mother shook up my world. I'm still reeling from the shock. This job is nothing if not demanding. It will bend you until you break, then break you again. It will insist on more even when you are in an emotional deficit. It will also make you feel like the sole winner of a billion-dollar jackpot. There is no experience to compare with the awe-struck marvel you feel when looking into your child's face. Even when they're being naughty and you're trying to not laugh. Even when your fuse is about to blow.

"The cultivation of Christlike qualities is a demanding and relentless task--it is not for the seasonal worker or for those who will not stretch themselves, again and again." Spencer W. Kimball

So many days I feel like I am on one side of a large field, calling out, "Hey! What happened to you?" to the pre-baby, care-free me on the other side. More often than not, the good days are the days when I turn my back on that girl, realizing my happiness is no longer in that field, but in the obstacle course on the other side. Having children has stretched me. It has made me feel like a stranger to myself.

I am thankful.

These children of mine: do they know this? Do they know that they have changed my life, my character so entirely? Do they know that I love them so much I can never be the same? Do they know what I never would have supposed, that they would save me from myself?

This Thanksgiving-Christmas season, I am thankful that I have lost myself, that I have the opportunity to re-build myself from the ground up. I am thankful for the chance to shake off of me the things I never liked about myself anyway. I am thankful for a husband who understands that I am interested in more than just getting through this job of motherhood; that if motherhood is going to demand something of me, I'm going to demand something from it in return. I am thankful for a 2-year-old boy who increasingly shows affection to his sister and the rest of us. I am thankful for the baby girl who looks up at me with so much love and trust. I am thankful for that baby, that child, that Man born so long ago who made all of these things possible.

Michelle Duggar

I read last night that the Duggars are expecting their 20th. Let the record show that when that child is born, these people will have 10x the number of children I do. Four x the number my parents did. That is a lot of children. Naturally, my opinions jumped to the same ones most people seem to be having. "Twenty children? Are they insane??? That poor woman. How degrading. How irresponsible. What a terrible message to be sending to the children she already has." Shock. Horror. Honestly? Disgust. I slandered her over my lunch out with my mom and sisters while one child slept in her car seat and the other ate his fries quietly.

And then I read this (scroll down a bit for the story). And this.

Michelle Duggar is not the worst mother in the world. She's not even close. She loves her children; she wants her children; she somehow takes care of her children. And weird as the situation is, her children seem to be turning out pretty well. Has this much press been devoted to the horrifying displays on Desperate Housewives or the too-numerous-to-mention reality shows spotlighting overly rich and underly principled housewives? Michelle Duggar is a far cry from the bleached-out, lipo-suctioned, half-plastic, melanoma-laden drunkards and addicts on these shows. And yet she's the one talked about as though she's some crazy, irresponsible, oppressed loon. By what standard is having children (even a LOT of children) more reprehensible than than these horrifying "real housewives?"

I remember watching an episode of Sex & the City (I know, I know) on TBS. They were at lunch, having their enlightened, liberal conversations when the topic turned to abortion. They'd all had at least one. It was just breaths away from becoming a contest over who'd had the most. How very liberated they were. It was sickening. I turned the channel and never turned it back. You want to talk about bad motherhood? There were four prime examples right there. Women who elected to kill their own children just because. They weren't victims of rape or incest or some other horrifying circumstance. I realize they're fictional, but they are also representational.

And let's talk about male oppression here for a sec. Michelle Duggar is having her 20th child with a man she's been married to for years. He stands by her even after her body has undergone the changes of 20 pregnancies, and she wants to have these children. You may not agree with their decision, but as a husband and wife, they agree with each other. Let's look again at these "liberated" real housewives and single glam-bots. They have surgically and otherwise ripped their bodies apart, begging to achieve an ideal for the sake of the men in their lives. They have been convinced that liberation means sexual liberation--meaning they should have sex whenever they want to men who are not committed to them even if they do become pregnant. Tell me which scenario sounds more like the evil machinations of a chauvinistic segment of the male society? Men get all the sex they want and none of the responsibility? They've even managed to convince women that children are an oppression and burden, so they'll never try to convince them to commit for the sake of a child? The abortion would even be the woman's idea?

Maybe a blog isn't the best place for discussing politics and other controversial topics. Maybe you'll never read here again because you're offended by what I have to say. But it needs to be said: When did becoming a woman become so messed up? Why must the standard for the "desired" life be the male standard of a job and a (perceived) lack of responsibility? It's the most sexist untruth out there.

Ada, 4 months

This girl is just too much fun. There aren't enough hours in the day to soak up her extra-special goodness. Stats first:

Length: 25.25 inches (83%!!!)

Weight: 13.5 lbs (46%)

Sweetness: Off the charts

*Had her first (and hopefully last) ear infection last week.

*Daddy's girl

*Has a smile for everyone, even people who aren't looking at her

*Rolls from stomach to back (well, she's done it twice, but I'm counting it!)

*Excellent fine motor skills; grabs at everything

*Acid reflux is mostly under control

*Had her first taste of apple juice today

*Hair at the crown of her head is super long--about 3 inches--and seems to be settling into a color similar to mine

*Loves to "chat"

*Has ticklish sides, neck and thighs (oh, those thighs!)

*Likes playing with Mr. Octopus, Mr. Frog, and watching W do whatever he is doing

*Went swimming for the first time today (and I forgot my camera!)

Can you believe those eyes? Big as big and blue as blue. She's such a sweet little baby.

Will, 2.5

This post is about a month late, but I wanted to document what W's up to at 2 1/2 years.

*Doesn't nap most days; has "quiet time" instead, during which he is supposed to stay and play in his room. He likes to use the drawers (and empty them all out) in his dresser as steps to climb on top, open the shutters, and look out into the city. There probably isn't a 2-year-old in this city with a better view.

*More "famine" than "feast" in his toddler eating habits (though he'd probably eat a lot more if I let him eat sweet things all day. Looks like he got my sweet tooth; seriously, we don't know where he gets his energy from).

*Is going through a funk of not wanting to pray on his own; he will occasionally agree to pray with help.

*Learning which letters make which sounds... sort of. We're working on it; mostly, he's fascinated by identifying letters when he sees them. He loves PBS Kids shows about the alphabet, like Super Why and Word World. He cries every day when WW is over, and loves to sing the "Let's Build a Word!" song for Ada.

*Counts very well.

*Is a great big brother. Makes sure Ada has her pacifier, sings her songs when she's sad, runs into her room when he hears her wake up so he can talk to her, pretends to talk to her on the phone.

*Loves doing whatever we are doing. He loves helping me cook and clean (let's all pray these stick with him, hm?), taking out the trash and/or recycling with Chris, helping with any project that involves any kind of tool. It almost doesn't matter his mood or the activity. If we ask him to help, he wants to help.

*Eyes have turned from crazy blue to a light blue-green-gray color.

*Loves snuggles and hugs.

*Great with compliments. He says, "Nice glasses, Mommy!" "Nice hair, Mommy!" "Nice pants, Mommy!"

*When he wakes up in the morning, he starts yelling, "Beeeeeeeeccaaaaaaa, where aaaaaaaare you? Chriiiiiiiiiiiiis, where aaaaaaaaare you?"

*Loves Costco, Target, grocery shopping; will frequently charm customers by singing songs as loudly as he possibly can. This child needs no amplification assistance.

I'm so grateful for this little man in my life. He has taught me how to love motherhood, a job I am blessed and happy to have. I love his endless smiles, his playfulness, his curiosity, his companionship as we run errands, his attempt to win every battle by "smizing." (Tyra Banks would be so, so proud.) Mostly, I love the rare moments I have him, still, in my arms or on my lap. He's getting way too big way too fast. I do love watching it happen, though. He's the greatest adventure; I'm happy to be along for the ride.