A birth story was supposed to be written during the fourth week of Jeremiah's life. The first two and a half weeks were going smoothly, life was unbelievably good. I was so impressed with my transition to three kids. I was cooking, cleaning, playing, nursing, keeping up on laundry, making plans. I was superwoman.
And then. Oh, and then. Then came being compelled to be humble.
There has been silent reflux and terrible gas with bloating. There have been soaked burp cloths and long, crying hours. And most recently, there has been an outbreak of hives. Poor boy can't catch a break.
We have had heaps and heaps of soiled laundry still sitting in the hallway. We have eaten too many dinners of cold cereal. We have only had two spare inches of kitchen counter space due to the massive piles of dirty dishes. We have gone to bed while every toy and book still lay on the front room floor. We have watched movies, including Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer twice in one sitting.
I have prayed. I have fallen asleep on my knees after only a minute or two when I was supposed to be praying. I have hunted for causes and solutions. I have felt overwhelmed and spiritually numb. I have had days where I just hung in there only because there was no other option. I have been anything but superwoman.
But God always has a plan and opposition and adversity are not pointless experiences.
There have been supportive texts and phone calls. There has been divine guidance to understanding the root problems (forceful letdown and oversupply), leading to solutions that work (nursing while reclining, tummy massages, gas drops, baby swing). There has even been the gentle whisper letting me know that part of the solution (gas drops) was now becoming a problem (hives). There have been days where all three little ones napped at the same time. There have been friends checking in to see what they could do for me. There has always been a husband doing everything in his power to hold me up, rescue me and still provide for our family.
I have felt strength come when my own was at its end. I have heard a heavenly encouragement to just go to bed when I have fallen asleep attempting to pray. I have learned to savor the little moments and put the household duties in their proper place. I have felt a hunger for spiritual things again, cutting through the indifference and dullness. I have gained a new appreciation for my two oldest little ones and just how good they are. I have started getting baby smiles and coos regularly.
I have become a more patient mother, a more grateful spouse, a more thoughtful friend, and a more humble woman. And Jeremiah is only 7 weeks old. Maybe next week I'll write that birth story.