And Another Thing I Learned in the Hospital

What do you think about yourself, honestly, in your heart of hearts?
I think I am capable and strong and smart and totally able to do everything perfectly and incredibly lazy. I think I should be able to take care of everything and everyone and that when I fail it's because I didn't try hard enough--I didn't do my best.

Stupid My Best.

I know, logically, that this is a completely illogical train of thought. I know that perfection is impossible. I know that I can't be expected to know everything and be everything, and that no one expects me to know and be. Except I expect it. I hold myself to a much higher standard. And I beat myself up like a champ when I fail, which is ALL the time, because I am mortal.

So when Buster was born almost two months early due to severe preeclampsia on my part, I beat myself up because I failed at carrying him to term.

And when Buster wouldn't latch on, I beat myself up at nursing.

And when we found out he had a tongue tie, I beat myself up because I didn't notice it sooner.

And when we went to the doctor and found out he hadn't grown in two months--not even an ounce--and was diagnosed as Failure To Thrive, well, there were some serious beatings.

Here is what I would tell someone who had gone through this:

"Are you kidding me? Your body held him inside for the most important part of gestation! You almost died holding and growing him. HE is the one who broke you, not the other way around. You are an amazing mother!"

"Of course he couldn't latch--he had a tongue tie! And he was tiny! And your milk SAVED HIS LIFE. It doesn't matter how he gets it, only that he got it. You didn't sleep for longer than 90 minutes in a row for six months in order to feed this boy. You are an amazing mother!"

"You know who should have noticed his tongue tie? The nurses and doctors that cared for him for thirty days. You saw him for only a fraction of every day, and he never even opened his mouth for you. There is no reason that you should have noticed it. And there is nothing that would have changed about it, anyway, because he is too small to have it fixed. Quit it, you are an amazing mother."

I would tell a friend this, and I would mean it--so why can't I tell it to myself and mean it? Why do I think that I should have done better?

I think that part of this comes back to the issue of pride. I tell you, I have pride in spades. And every single time I fall, it is because of this same issue. As a kid, I thought pride was boastful, haughty, being enamored of possessions and accomplishments, but I have learned that my trial is of a much different shade. While I always seem to be able to give credit to God for my accomplishments, I tend to blame myself for my failings, and that is where the pride hurts my growth and my soul; when I hold myself to the same standard as my Savior (ie perfection) I am completely tossing aside the Atonement. When I punish myself for not being perfect, I am essentially saying that what the Lord achieved is totally attainable for me on this earth, by myself.


Let that blow your mindgrapes for a second.

Resolution: Remember that there is a huge difference between doing my best and doing it perfectly. And that My Best is not an absolute scale; some days the bar is higher than others. And that, in order to grow and progress in this life, I will have to use the Atonement instead of my own force of habit. Possibly tattoo this on my arm so as not to forget.

Fear not, little flock

One of the benefits to having a baby later in life is that I have been privileged to watch all sorts of people raise their own children, secretly (or not) judge them, and plan out what/when/where/how I would rear my own family.

One of the benefits to living so far from friends and family is that they are forced to mind their bidness and I don't have to hear about what I am doing wrong in the child rearing department.

And one of the greatest pleasures that I have encountered is the lessons I have learned, time and again, that God knows my kid, knows me, and knows what we need. Even if my family, friends, and even my brain tells me it is wrong.

Tonight it took me three hours to put Jooj to sleep. Actively putting her to sleep, not just letting her drift off on her own after she played around for an hour or two.

First, I tried the way I decided on three years ago--and the way we had been doing it for three years-- after watching friends and family do things. It resulted in screaming, hitting, and kicking.

Then, I tried the Super Nanny way, wherein I just keep putting her in bed, without talking to her. I did this fifteen times. It resulted in her having an honest-to-goodness panic attack, screaming "Please talk to me Mami! I need you! I need you!"

Then I switched my prayer from "Please help her to go to sleep" to "Please let me know what to do with her." And I had one of those pure-knowledge, instant relief moments. I realized that what worked before was not going to work now, because she is different now. She is older, with a vivid imagination, and she has not left my side in a year. I realized that she has been away from her father for one year, this week, and even though she doesn't seem to be bothered by his absence, she feels it deeply. I remembered the other day when she just burst into tears for no reason at all, and I realized that she had been keening for him. That she feels my grief and my stress, and it piles onto her a little bit. And I felt her personality--just felt aspects of it. Insights and quirks and things about her that all of a sudden made sense. I just suddenly became wiser about my child, because she is His child, first and foremost. And He needs her to go to sleep and grow and bloom and He needs me to be her mother--specifically her mother.

And then I knew exactly what to do: I held her for a while. I put her down, rubbed her legs, and whispered to her the litany of people that love her. Twice. And she fell right to sleep.

Consider the lillies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and to morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?

And seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind.

For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.

But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.

Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

Luke 12: 27-32