I Don't Want to Be a Sports Mom and I'm Against Children Growing Up

 I have entered a new season of motherhood. I think this would probably be hard for every mom – no matter how much you love seeing your kids become great people. I’m finding it especially difficult to navigate, though, because having crossed the threshold with one foot, I still have the other foot firmly planted in the old season of motherhood.

If you want me to cut to the chase: HELP. SOS. What do I do? Please?!

If you don’t mind me talking through it: I have had a baby or toddler in the house for the last eleven years. I know how to parent babies and small children. Bottles and naps and snuggles – love it! Cute little two year old running (you know what I mean!), running to the bathroom for the potty-training 3 year old, snacks and books and more snuggles – love it! Elementary school kids with easy homework, sight words, incredible amounts of sweetness with a bit of stinker buttness – love it!

And I love how my 11 year old daughter and almost 10 year old son are becoming – not just big kids! – but young adults. Twice this week Ben has lit the charcoal grill and made dinner (brats one night, burgers and corn on the cob tonight). L regularly bakes and creates awesome desserts. Ben mows the lawn and takes out the garbage. L does the laundry. And they are funny and kind and figuring out who and how they are, if you know what it means. And it feels like such a privilege to not only watch it but to be an active part of it happening.

But part of having this big family, with a 6th grader and a 4 month old and six more kids in between, is that at times we feel like less of a family. This maybe just means I need to adapt my image of what our family looks like and does, but how many deaths do I have to die?!

For our family to have dinner together we have to sit down, without Travis, at 4:30. He pops in and sits down to table shortly after 5 and by 5:15 he and Ben are gone for JFL. L takes off a bit later for cross country and things will only get more complicated as more and more children are old enough for sports and other extra curriculars. Family dinners will probably be like this for the next 18 years.

Now, I will admit that part of my problem is how much I don’t really like sports and the way they dominate families’ calendars. And the way that parents and coaches sometimes talk to the kids – ugh! And I hate how much money it all costs. But sports mean a lot of my (coach of a) husband and he insists that our kids will play sports if they want. I can see the good that comes from them. Ben and L both have benefited and become better people from being involved. Yet I still want to chop the Thunder Oak which is Kids’ Sports (CSYSK reference) because even with very limited involvement (one sport per kid per season and all will be school sports except for JFL) we are crazy busy.

I will admit, thought, that a lot of this is blame shifting. It is, perhaps, easier to blame sports than life. Because really, my kids are getting older and it breaks my heart a bit that I can’t have them all in my home, in my yard, at my table, in my arms. So life is happening, and I’m trying to cling to my kids as best I can for as long as I can.

But I still hate how sports can dominate. Seriously.

So if you have ideas or tips for me, please share them. And if you just want to commiserate, go for it.

Baby Stephen

 

Introducing: Stephen Paul
Born Easter Tuesday, April 23rd at 2:59pm
7lbs 15.2oz 20.5″ long

When we learned that we were pregnant for the ninth time Travis and I were happy. We laughed with joy. We texted friends. We hugged and laughed and said, "EIGHT kids!" We were so excited to meet our newest little one. 

While we were filled with wide-eyed excitement for the new little life growing inside of me, at times his pregnancy wasn’t easy. He moved around so much that it was often hard to find his heartbeat with a doppler – sending me into regular panics. Then, towards the end, my gestational diabetes numbers could not be controlled and I was carrying a “severe” amount of extra amniotic fluid, both of which led to worries of pre-term labor leading to umbilical cord prolapse and / or uterine rupture.

But I loved feeling him move inside me and watching him kick and punch. Tee would put his hand on my belly and say, “Baby kicking?” and MJ would shout with gleeful surprise when she watched my belly rise and bump. Resa sighed about how long it was taking for “that newborn baby to be born” and all the kids fought over if the baby was a boy or girl. It was the best.

The full eight months were spent discussing names. The boy name didn’t come until the very end, while the girl name came more quickly. After a short time dabbling with Alice Elizabeth we settled on Elizabeth Victoria. Elizabeth would be to honor my confirmation saint, Elizabeth the mother of John the Baptist, and Victoria would be in honor of Our Lady of Victory.

An incredible amount of boy names were rejected over the months. Henry, John, and George were all discussed but in the end we chose Stephen for the deacon and first martyr of the Church. Paul was chosen to honor his godfather, who has the same middle name, and St. Paul, patron saint of run on sentences. (That’s my title for him.) However, we didn’t settle on the name until after I was prepped for the c-section (but before they took me to the OR).

Stephen’s due date was May 13th, the Feast of our Lady of Fatima. But with my growing list of complications the due date was moved up again and again. Finally, the c-section was scheduled for 37 weeks and 1 day, on Easter Tuesday, the Feast of St. George.

This was my third, scheduled c-section. Travis and I knew the plan and while I hate getting spinals I don’t mind the rest so much. In the past I’ve chatted with the nurses and doctors, even cracking a joke or two while the surgery is underway. I wasn’t looking forward to a third c-section, but I wasn’t as afraid as I had been in the past and felt rather confident that once the spinal was done everything would be fine.

Plus, I was so eager to meet my baby. I had been waiting for 35 weeks to have Travis look at our newborn child and tell me the gender. I couldn’t wait to hold my baby for the first time there in the OR. Travis and I smiled every time we talked about it.

The c-section, however, did not go well. The spinal didn’t take like it had with my previous c-sections and as the nurses and anesthesiologist did their poke test I insisted that once they got above my belly button I felt more than just pressure. Everyone insisted that I felt only pressure, no pain, and they decided to go ahead and begin the surgery.

Meanwhile, Travis was waiting to be escorted to the OR and growing increasingly worried as more and more time went by. When a nurse finally arrived she told him that I was unconscious and intubated and he would not be allowed to see me. Fearing the worst, he demanded to see me, at which point another nurse arrived. She brought him back to the OR where I was awake but worried and already cut open.

I felt nothing during the incision but as they began pulling and tugging I felt pain and yelled out. I knew it was different than what I’d experienced before but everyone continued to insist, “It’s just pressure.” The anesthesiologist then said that I was too anxious and he was going to give me medicine.

Travis told me that the medicine made me loopy and sluggish. I don’t remember anything that happened once the medicine was given so Travis had to describe things to me.

When our baby was born, Travis told me his name. I didn’t smile. I didn’t say anything.

Our son wasn’t breathing well and Travis was nervous, but I didn’t notice and couldn’t care. The doctor gave him oxygen and Travis was able to cut the umbilical cord but I don’t remember any of it.

The next thing I do remember is waking up on the operating table with Travis, my baby, and all but a few nurses gone. I asked where my husband was. I asked about my baby – girl? boy? healthy? where are they? I tried to stop my quivering chin, not wanting to cry in front of the nurses and I wondered if I was beginning to cry because the drugs were making me crazy or if something bad really had happened.

In the recovery room Travis came to me and told me about our son and his birth. And when I cried Travis told me I had every right to cry because I had something very real to mourn.

Eventually I was taken to the nursery and allowed to hold him. So sweet, so snuggly, just perfect.

For the next five days Stephen had breathing issues and we had to keep a careful eye on his glucose and bilirubin levels. He loved skin-to-skin and we sat together often, me resting and healing and him resting and healing, and both of us needing one another to improve.

On Divine Mercy Sunday we came home from the hospital. In the two weeks since we’ve struggled with nursing and weight loss but supplementing is helping and he’s finally getting bigger.

Stephen’s an incredibly sweet baby. He’s so handsome and snuggly and I find such comfort in holding him. We sit and watch the birds and squirrels in the morning and Parks and Rec in the afternoon and The Crown late at night. I stare at him and hold his hands and stroke his cheek. And while he does sleep well in his crib (3 hour stretches with a few 4 hour ones over the last few weeks!) his favorite place to sleep seems to be nestled on my chest.

His birth is not what I hoped for, but he’s here and he’s healthy and we love him so much. I think the sweetness of his snuggles are meant to make up for all the worries and tears and really I shouldn’t complain because, in the end, we have a beautiful family and God has been very generous.

Travis and I still look at each other and say, “EIGHT kids!” and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Things I Wanted to Tell You

First: HAPPY EASTER!

Second: My third c-section is scheduled for tomorrow. I’m supposed to go in at noon with the surgery beginning at 2pm CST. I’m 37 weeks today but there’s enough complications combining with my birth and medical history that if we wait too long we could end up with things like uterine rupture or stillbirth.

I hate things with my back and so I’m not looking forward to the spinal and I feel afraid. Afraid of the surgery, afraid of complications that could happen to the baby, afraid of the pain. I’d like to shift my focus off of my fears and so I would be very grateful if you would share your prayer intentions with me – either in the combox, on FB, or on IG. Please help me to focus on you in dialogue with Jesus!

Third: Did you notice that things are nice and snazzy around here? I’ve been blogging on Blogger for twelve years and it’s been a good twelve years of simple and easy. But I’ve been wanting something a bit more… grown-up… for awhile and now seemed like a good time.

My friend Bryce Garber moved A Knotted Life over to here and was such a dream to work with. Meanwhile, my friend Val, a professional make-up artist, came to my house and did my make-up so our friend Kara from Kara Kamienski Photograph could take beautiful new headshots. I love all their work!

Fourth: We’ve been watching Masterpiece’s Les Miserables and we have been loving it! On Holy Saturday night Travis had to put a bike together while I filled Easter eggs. I asked if he would do it in the garage and he replied, “No. I think I’ll do it in here (family room). That way I can watch Les Mis and drink a beer while I do it.”

I cracked up and said, “The man I married would have *never* said that sentence!” And it’s true, you guys. Travis didn’t drink any alcohol when we married and would have opted to watch a Bourne movie for the 45th time over trying a period drama. Marriage has been good to Travis. 😉

And finally: I am looking to build a fun, new, driving-with-the-windows-down playlist and I would love your suggestions. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

Alright, friends, the next time I check back in here I’ll have a brand new baby to tell you about. Please don’t forget to give me song suggestions and prayer requests!

xo!