Meltdown

The first week with our new baby girl Rachel was amazing. We sat and played with her; we cuddled her, fed her, bathed her, rocked her and sang to her. She was quiet that first week, taking us in and looking around at her new life. She met so many new family members, so many happy faces and open arms. I think how overwhelming it would be for me to meet dozens of new people while living in a new place and being looked after by strangers – crazy! And yet our girl took it all in her stride, quietly confident and slowly becoming more happy and affectionate.

As for me, the change from wife to Mom caught me off guard. I was prepared, as prepared as you can ever be, and yet I was thrown once she was here. You can never fully understand what the transition will be like until you are in it. And with the stress, life change and lack of sleep came some emotional moments. Moments when I became overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation and had to have a good cry.  And there is nothing that can make you feel better than a good cry. Expect maybe a cup of tea, chocolate and a cuddle! Don’t get me wrong, I loved having my baby girl with us, but some things just hit me hard.

Meltdown 1: A week after Rachel arrived I sat on the couch after putting her down for the night and burst into tears. I couldn’t explain it to my husband other than saying “she’s here forever, she’s not going away!” It hit me then that this was forever, she would be there tomorrow morning when I woke up, and the next day, and the next. This was life now, utterly and permanently changed. And so I had to mourn my old life, things like shopping for hours, sleeping in, and spontaneous dinners with friends. It is such an adjustment in such a short period of time that it threw me. Even though I was expecting it, it still hurt.

Meltdown 2: Happened about 10 days after Rachel was with us. She had slept through the night the first week and we were thanking our lucky stars, and then on the 10^th night she was up at 2am. Moaning and tired, but not sleeping. I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I rubbed her tummy, I picked her up and rocked her, cuddled her, swaddled her, I sang to her and hummed to her. Nothing worked. After an hour my husband walked in sleepily saying “is everything ok” and I asked him very nicely to take over (ok, in reality I said “I can’t do this anymore” and walked out). I sat on the bed and cried. I was SO tired! I was exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically. I was crying because it dawned on me that I would not be getting uninterrupted sleep anymore, or sleep-ins, or mid-afternoon sleeps. And how I love my sleep! And so I had a break down and felt sorry for myself for a little bit, and then fell asleep. (And wouldn’t you know, it only took Mike 5 minutes to get her to sleep after all my work!)

Meltdown 3: One month in and I overheard my husband making arrangements with some friends to go on a hike one afternoon. I held it in until we got home, then ranted emotionally at him. I couldn’t understand how he could make a plan with friends when it would mean firstly I would not see him the whole afternoon, and secondly that I would have to look after Rachel alone. I realized that the reason I was upset was because my life had changed so completely, and his life could still look a little bit the same. He got to go to work and see his colleagues, he could go for a run, and make a plan to go on a hike; his life still had patterns of life before Rachel. Me, well there was nothing of my old life. I wasn’t at work anymore, I couldn’t go to gym or the shops without it being a mission, even seeing friends was different as I could not give my undivided attention. And when I knew Mike had time off it meant that I got a bit of a break because we could tag team with Rachel, so if suddenly he wasn’t around when I thought he would be, I freaked out. We talked about it (mostly because he didn’t even realise I felt that way), and made plans for how we would navigate making decisions to see friends in the future. But it helped to cry it out, to explain my feelings, and to get a cuddle and an “I understand” from someone who loves me.

And so this time of parenthood that I have been ushered into has brought on many exasperated tears and emotional outbursts. This is definitely the most difficult thing I have ever done, raising a child. And yet, it is the most amazing, marvellous, worthwhile and blessed miracle too. I have moments when it’s all too much, but mostly I’m smiling because my daughter gave me a hug without my prompting, or because she is giggling to herself while playing, or because she looks at me and smiles. What joy!

P.s. I have learnt that just because we adopted, doesn’t mean my hormones and emotions aren’t all over the place, and that it is normal and ok to feel happy and sad and overwhelmed and exhilarated all at once. I also have Mommy brain, in that I keep forgetting mundane and important things like house keys when I go out, or coffee dates I have made with friends. I am learning to have a humble heart and an apologetic spirit, but that it is ok to not have everything together right now… I just became a Mom!

Fail

Failure. It stings. 

When we do something wrong, when we try and it doesn’t work out, when we put ourselves out there and we don’t succeed. Failure is a part of life and yet the hardest pill to swallow. Pride has such a huge part to play. We want to believe that we are able to do anything. We are told “you can do anything you set your heart on!” We believe that we could do most things if we tried. But how often do we try? We run the risk of failing, of not matching up, of not hitting the mark. Fear keeps us in our seats, keeps our hands at our sides, keeps our thoughts hidden. But every so often we find the courage and we go for it. We put ourselves out there, on a ledge, and try at something with all that we have. And more often than not, we succeed! There is a truth in pride, the truth that if you work and try it does pay off.

But, sometimes, it doesn’t. And failure happens. That moment when you know you didn’t quite do what you meant to. You stuffed up, you made a mistake, you failed. You hit the ground hard, and you bruise your backside. The idea of yourself, that proud image of the god-you is broken, and you are reminded again that you are but man and you are made up of mistakes. When you have done something wrong you can apologize, you can right it, but you know deep down that it is ‘my bad’. And that always hurts a little. But without failure we do not learn how to succeed. Without it we cannot experience humility and the knowledge that there are people that are better than us everywhere we look. A sobering, honest relieving thought. We would not learn to rely on others, not put all the weight on ourselves.

Failure hurts because we want to succeed. And how it hurts when you are trying to achieve a worthy goal. Trying to succeed, trying to fall pregnant. Every month, you try try try. You try to eat the right foods, you try to have sex at the exact right time - you try to have sex all the time (just in case, you can never try too much). You try to have faith, you try to think positive. And then you fail. And you think, “what did we do wrong?” Was it bad timing, where you not in it, did you not TRY hard enough?

When we found out I had poly cystic ovaries I felt like such a failure. All along you are trying and wondering “am I the one that is failing in this?” I was devastated to discover that there were numerous cysts in my ovaries (due to an increased level of testosterone in my ovaries) that meant my eggs were either not being released or being released too early or late. I felt like I had failed at one of my purposes as a woman, child bearing. It is not an infertility sentence, I can fall pregnant, but it would involve more work and possibly medication. And it was the main reason why after a year we had not succeeded.

There is a moment in life when you realize that you are just you, and there are better people and a bigger God out there who is so much more than you could ever be. The sobering thought that you will not always get it right, no matter how hard you try, because you are broken, fallen, sinful. But at that moment, when God comes around you, you can also feel more loved than anyone in the entire world. More special than all the others, because you were created to be you, warts and all.

Failure is an emotion, an action, a headspace that I want to inhabit. I want to be okay with not getting it right. I want to be at peace with tripping up. I want to be humble in my spirit so that when others around me are getting it right when I am wrong again and again, it’s ok. I want to celebrate in another’s achievement, and share with another’s load of grief. I want to be lifted up, not brought down.

I have come to terms with my failings. I trust God in my circumstances. I would much rather know where my weaknesses lie than live with blind spots that consume me. I am content with my body, no matter what failings I find. Because I know I serve a God that is bigger than my body, or my mistakes, or my circumstances, or my feelings. And so I walk wounded, but still standing. A failure, on the road to success.