Mommy Is Wonder Woman

lovesprogressnotes's avatar December 9, 2017

“I’ll be Supergirl. Cady will be Batgirl. Baby will be Destroy Baby. Daddy will be Superman. And you’ll be Wonder Woman.” My 4 year old has recited this tale since she was not quite 3. She creates scenarios of her superhero family fighting the bad guys and helping each other. I find her name for me endearing and chuckle when I hear it. I don’t think of myself as fitting the Wonder Woman type. A mighty superhero would not come to mind if you met me. I’ve never been athletic, I’m kind of petite, and I’m quite the nerd. I don’t even consider myself to be a supermom. I’m not an overachiever, I’m never ready for a selfie, and my house is always a little messy. Supermom status is not something I’ll ever achieve nor is it something I covet. And here I was preparing to have my third surgery. It was something I was hoping not to have and was not on my Christmas list. I’ve had surgery after every baby simply because of the strain that pregnancy does to my body. Who else does this happen to? Certainly not Wonder Woman. I had known there was risk of surgery if I had a third baby but chose to anyway. Who does that? Quite possibly a mad woman.

As disappointed as I was, I started to focus on the reality that I couldn’t change it and wouldn’t change it. I had three beautiful babies that were worth every second of discomfort and pain. I would give my life for them, and I would make those choices again without hesitation. Sometimes, in life, we can’t choose our path, but we can choose how to walk it. I had to prepare for the worst and pray for the best. I began asking around for help during my recovery, completed much of our Christmas shopping, and went to town cleaning my house. I could be down for at least 2 weeks. My thought “of course this would happen” began to transform to “I can handle a week of complete misery. I’ve done it before.” My doctor informed me that my surgery could quite possibly be more invasive than the other two and that I may be out of work longer than before. That didn’t stop me from asking God for an easy surgery and fast recovery. Here’s to hoping for the best.

On the morning of my surgery, my 4 year old began to cry and asked to come along. She also asked if I would be ok. I knelt down and hugged her and said “Mommy is going to be fine. Remember? I’m Wonder Woman”. I had never called myself Wonder Woman, but in that moment I believed I was. No matter what I was facing, her mom was going to handle it.

At the hospital, I surprisingly felt very calm and peaceful. I joked around with the nurses about asking my doctor to throw in a tummy tuck, liposuction, and a boob lift. With my IV in and waiting to be wheeled in, I declared with a smile on my face “I’m ready”.

Moments later, I struggled to wake up and asked my husband what happened. I was anxious to hear how big the incisions were and how much extra time I would have to take off of work. He simply said, “you had the best case scenario.” I had a minimally invasive surgery, and my prognosis was a very quick recovery time. My doctor jokingly said it was a Christmas miracle. But for a mom, it was no joke. Sometimes, you get what you pray for, sometimes, you get what you fear, and sometimes, you get a strange mix of the two. I have the 10 scars to prove that.

So, when life throws some good punches, will I be Whiney Woman and feel badly for myself or will I be Wonder Woman and face the challenge, even with tears in my eyes? Will I believe in myself or believe my fear? We mothers are amazing. We can do things no one else can. We are superheroes in our children’s eyes. We can take away pain and fear. We bring life and magic. We give everything we have willingly. So, I may not be Wonder Woman to anyone else but to my 4 year old. And I’ll gladly live that role.

Grandpa Will Fix It

lovesprogressnotes's avatar November 26, 2017

“Grandpa will fix it”, my 3 year old replied anytime something broke down. My dad can fix almost anything and has never been afraid to try to fix something new. Nothing stops him from trying, even if he has to do a little research and make a few attempts to succeed. The bravest thing I’ve ever seen him try to fix is his drinking. My dad began drinking at a young age. By the time he married my mom, he was an alcoholic. He did the things addicts did like saying and doing hurtful things, making excuses for his drinking, shifting blame, and lying. We would give him the message that we didn’t approve. Once, a can of beer got knocked over on accident, spilling beer on the carpet. My brother replied, honestly but humorously, “it wouldn’t have spilled if you weren’t drinking”. My dad even chuckled. He knew it was true. He was a good person, had a great job, was active in our church, loved God, and he loved us. I have amazing memories with my dad when I was a kid. But he had a problem, and his brain, processing alcohol differently than most, wouldn’t quit telling him to drink more. And more. He attempted leaving alcohol for good, and his sobriety would have a good run for a couple of months. But, then, small hands and small eyes would usually find the evidence. “But if I don’t say anything, maybe it won’t be true”, reasoned an innocent and hopeful heart. For my dad and his attempt at sobriety, there was more than one failed attempt. And our hearts grew sick.

Then, one day, he quit one final time. It was a day that seemed to come out of nowhere. We didn’t know then that it was the final time. But God knew. He poured out all of the beer into a bucket in his favorite drinking place: the garage. He was going to show my mom and make a declaration of a promise. On his way, he tripped and spilled the beer on himself. There was spilled beer again, but this time it came with tears of joy and amends. So, when he tried talking with her, she thought he was drunk. That was the rough beginning of his sobriety.

Recovery requires admitting your problem is bigger than you but not bigger than God. It involves taking an honest look at yourself and making amends. Rebuilding hope and rebuilding trust. It takes courage, transparency, risk, humility, and grace. Recovery is a lifelong battle but a daily choice. It doesn’t come easy, and it can take years to rebuild the things that were damaged. And sometimes you have to build a whole new thing. Pour a new foundation. It took a long time for my parents to learn how to be married as husband and wife instead of alcoholic and enabler. For us to have a dad that was connected and dependable. But my dad, no matter how difficult it was, never gave up. No, not this time. His run of sobriety has lasted 25 years and counting. He’s into repairing things now. He’s the handy man, the problem solver. He’s the one I call when I need strong, solid advice. And he’s dependable to answer. He continues to be transformed by his Heavenly Father to be more like Him. And when I hear my kids say, “Grandpa will fix it”, I hear a truth that is bigger than they realize. I hear that they confidently and without a doubt trust him with his word. No questions asked. When Grandpa says he will do something, he means it. And the father’s word is everything.

Missing Sweetie

lovesprogressnotes's avatar October 7, 2017

“Where’s Sweetie?” That was the question we were asking several times a day. Sweetie was my toddler daughter’s soft, pale yellow and white giraffe she had since she was a newborn. She had three other giraffes, all with names, but Sweetie was her favorite. We couldn’t remember when we saw Sweetie last or where. We searched the house and vehicles several times. No Sweetie. We moved onto family members’ homes. Still, no Sweetie. I had become very much like the woman with the missing coin. I was not going to give up until it had been found and back home. It’s unlike me to lose things, so I was certain we would find Sweetie if we kept looking. So, we moved our search to public places we had been. We made phone calls and visits to the library, stores, and doctors’ offices. We had a couple of leads, but none of them were Sweetie. My heart was crushed. I felt responsible. I believed it was my fault we lost Sweetie.

How could this happen? I had been in a fog and didn’t quite realize Sweetie was missing. A couple of weeks prior, I had miscarried on my husband’s 30th birthday, unexpectedly. My mind had been busy replaying the moment where I awoke in a panic, stumbled with my jelly filled legs, as my eyes filled up with a dark, starry sky, and my weak body fell to the floor. I wasn’t just missing something: I was missing someone. And with losing Sweetie, I felt I had let two children down. I should have noticed Sweetie was gone. What if I had done something differently? Maybe, we would still have Sweetie. But no amount of mom guilt could change reality. Sweetie was gone. During those weeks, we began to search for a replacement Sweetie. We searched online and even emailed the manufacturer with no response. We discovered they no longer made Sweetie, and we couldn’t even find one used.
Those months were a delicate balancing act of acceptance and hope. I could not change the loss that happened, but I had hope that God could restore me and give me more than I had lost, even if that didn’t happen this side of Heaven. Sometimes, things happen outside of our control no matter how much we love and care for our children. Our love is bigger than circumstance and reaches beyond outcome. We must forgive ourselves where our motherhood fails and simply let go. Months later, I found out I was pregnant with what they call a rainbow baby. A promise fulfilled after a flood of tears. A couple of weeks after that, my husband glanced online and found someone selling a Sweetie in almost perfect condition. We bought it not caring that it cost more than double of the original. It would arrive just in time for Easter, and our baby was due just in time for Thanksgiving.


Sometimes, I still wonder what happened to Sweetie. But it is without fret, because I rest knowing our lost baby isn’t truly lost. He has been found in his eternal destination by the One who doesn’t give up searching for us until we’re found. And he’s peacefully waiting for us without fret.

Meant To Be

lovesprogressnotes's avatar September 22, 2017

On our wedding day, our pastor had us repeat a phrase throughout our ceremony: “we were meant to be together”. This phrase has resonated in my heart throughout our marriage, even in moments when it has felt like we couldn’t be any more different. God brings people together. We participate in choosing our spouse, and most of the time, we have no choice in the children we have.

Several years into our marriage, we had two gorgeous girls and were happily expecting our third baby. But we found ourselves sitting in a waiting room of my specialist’s office after receiving news that something appeared to be wrong. We heard a number of concerning findings, potential diagnoses, and all the unsettling statistics. As we looked at the ultrasound pictures of our beautiful baby, we tearfully promised we would do whatever it took to care for our child, no matter the condition or disability. Finding out the gender ahead of time was not my thing. I enjoyed surprises, but this was not the surprise I was looking for. That day I couldn’t go home with just bad news but needed to go home with wonderful news. And that’s when we heard it. “It’s a girl!” All we could do was just laugh. My wonderful doctor replied, “it doesn’t matter. They all grow up and leave anyway.” He was wisely speaking from experience, as he raised three girls himself.

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Through all of our appointments, ultrasounds, good news, and concerning news, we had a beautiful image of hope. Anytime I was afraid for my baby, I would hold on to that image of that beautiful tiny girl. As we began sharing the good news, we heard a variety of condolences for her being another girl, especially for my husband. Her gender was the least of our worries. It wasn’t a worry at all. My baby could be born with a genetic abnormality or a serious health condition. Those are real worries. But even so, born healthy, with a disability or challenge, boy, or girl, who am I to argue with God about His wonderful craftsmanship, His ultimate plan, or His sovereignty? She was fearfully and wonderfully made. End of story. God gives us the children we are meant to have, and we are given as a gift to our children. What a wonderful exchange of gifts. Finally, the wonderful day came, and she was born healthy and amazingly beautiful. Another gorgeous girl. Thank you, Heavenly Father.

So, if you come across our simple little family with three girls, please don’t give your condolences. We have too much to celebrate for that. It feels too right for sympathies. I’m not a mom without a son. I’m a mom raising 3 amazing daughters. My husband is not a dad with a disappointment. He’s a man entrusted with three gifts. They aren’t girls without a brother. They are sisters that have each other. We are forever grateful and blessed, because we were meant to be together.

Enduring Love

lovesprogressnotes's avatar August 27, 2017

My mom quietly and calmly pushed through the ER curtain to see our infant daughter, whom was being admitted for a medical concern. It was already a challenging week as my dad was in the ICU at another hospital. We had been reaching out in support to our mom and asking what she needed. Yet, there she was comforting me and my daughter, praying and offering kind words, singing our baby’s favorite song “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and wiping little tears away as nurses struggled to get her IV in. She found the ability in her weary arms to extend love and strength to me, a distressed mom trying to comfort her own baby. What an amazing mom. What a wonderful grandma.

Love from a mom is a beautiful thing. It brings strength in our weakest of times. It is designed to reach when it’s been overextended. It gives peace during life’s unexpected storms. And most of all, the love of a mom never fades and never ends.

Enjoy The Bloom

lovesprogressnotes's avatar July 14, 2017

I was dropping off my young children at my parents’ home so I could head to work. As I slowly pulled out of their driveway, I admired their beautiful flower garden that extended the side of their home. I thought about my own flower garden that was a quarter of the size and pitiful with weeds. I thought , “I wish I could grow a flower garden like that.” I heard a response that humbled my heart say, “but you already are growing a beautiful flower garden.”

It was true. I was raising two beautiful young girls. I was sowing into their lives each day with affection, attention, and life lessons. Moments with little ones cannot be bought, replaced, or redone. They are precious and limited. But in a moment of frustration, I had begun to think of all the things that my current life would not allow. The heartfelt volunteer project, the complex DIY project, the remodeled and spotless home, and that beautiful flower garden.

Between tending to my kids, growing a career, and maintaining a deep rooted marriage, there was not much time left over to accomplish other things. The other things would have to wait. Just like in a well planned flower garden, not everything in life blooms at once. Spending my time wishing for the summer lilies while the spring daffodils are in bloom, only brings regret later. Right now, I have the chance to enjoy cuddles, bedtime stories, and catching fireflies. Later, I’ll be part of college visits and weddings. Instead of wishing for the life in a different season, I should connect with the present, love my kids, and enjoy the bloom.

Heartstrings

lovesprogressnotes's avatar June 13, 2017

“Mom, I miss you when I’m at school”, my new Kindergartner said with tears in her eyes. I reassured her with hugs and shared an illustration with her. “There’s a string that connects from my heart to your heart. It stretches and bends all the way from home to your school. And it stretches when Mommy goes to work. When you think of Mommy, it’s because I tugged on that string when I was thinking of you and missing you too. Go ahead. Tug it as hard as you can. See, nothing can break it.” Each day, I kept reassuring her by helping her picture what our bond looks like. Her discomfort with being away from home and her family gradually disappeared each day. Then, one day, she didn’t seem to miss us much and looked forward to seeing her friends at school. Success.

Our bond with our children is strong and endless. When we take the time and meet their daily needs, they feel secure and safe. We are their sole source of safety and security. We cannot spoil them by building them up and loving them. This secure and safe feeling allows them to become more independent and confident. Confidence is necessary in making healthy choices, developing healthy relationships, and pursuing a successful future. The more we can find ways to promote safety and security in our children while they are young, the more successful in life they can become. Strengthen those bonds and build them up so they can fly.