On Rocking and Babies

I rock. Back and forth, all the time. Not in a crazy frantic sort of way - it's a swaying type motion, a constant light movement. 

I can't tell you how many people have come up to me and said something along the lines of "You need a baby to rock!".

We've wanted another baby pretty much since Brooklynne was born. I treasured every second of her being a baby, I loved the smells, the sounds, every little milestone. I've always been a baby person. As the oldest of 7 kids, I think its par for the course. But I'm REALLY a baby person. The kind that has 40 questions for an expectant mom. The kind that can't stop staring when a little one catches my eye. The kind that is so desperate for a child, I'm afraid its starting to show. I never imagined I would have a hard time getting pregnant. 

Brooklynne was an absolute surprise, and I had the dream pregnancy with her; so, I just planned on getting right back to the business of baby as soon as we wanted. I remember while I was pregnant with B, I would read peoples' stories of infertility, or the quest for a baby, and the sad, lonely road it had taken them down. I would rub my belly and think absently "how awful, thats so sad", then I'd go order some more hair bows on Etsy for my little baking babe. I was detached because it wasn't MY reality. I totally understand now, and I really wish I didn't. 

I couldn't comprehend their sadness - the way their hearts and minds could think of nothing else. Admittedly, I remember thinking; "I bet if they just let it go for a bit, it would happen." Month after month now, I've been in their shoes. I'm now the one that holds the sink in the bathroom sobbing when another test turns up negative. I've been the one to look at Facebook with bitterness when yet another girl I know announces she's pregnant in a cute way. I am the one that reads infertility boards and stories of success and cries out to the Lord in every way shape and form.

At first, I sort of knew we weren't getting pregnant because we simply couldn't take one more life turn. Parts of our journey had Cooper and I on totally different paths - simply going through the motions of our marriage; carrying unbelievable amounts of stress and hurt, shooting daggers at the other while trying to hide our gaping wounds. 

I wanted a baby, sure, but I also wanted a distraction. When things get hard, I tend to throw myself into something, anything, other than what needs to be done. Especially when it comes to changing mind and heart sets. I avoid confrontation and don't love making waves, so I go the way of the ostrich. I duck my head in the sand and wait for the worst of it to be over. 

My dad called me this summer, and thanked me for being a pioneer for our family.  I could easily be touted as the most reluctant trail blazer of all time, but it was indeed true- I walked a path few had before me. He said he was sorry he and my mom didn't see how much I was hurting, then and now. I'm great at taking the blame, and I was really good at putting one foot in front of the other, okay or not. He said he was excited for me to start floating. He told me he saw me as the figurehead of the boat- the mermaid at the front of the ship leading the way on every wave. 

I was sinking, gasping for breath, and could barely see before the next wave came crashing over me. But I'm an ostrich, so I never thought to stop the ship, to say; "Hey! I'm not okay! Things need to change. I need help. There has to be another way." I just stayed tethered to the front of that ship and rode it out. He let me know it was my time to float, or better, to captain my own ship. To live daringly, almost selfishly, to do what I wanted to do. 

You all know what came next- tears. Lots of them. I vowed to live more intentionally and to really start to live my life on purpose. Cooper and I still needed some serious healing, and our finances were tight to say it politely. Yet, I thought that was the invitation and acceptance my body needed to welcome a child. No such luck. Then, later in the Fall, Cooper and I had a life altering change in our marriage. He finally realized the hurt he was harboring and how it had let our lives spin out of control. I vowed to be lighter and more carefree; he promised to stay emotionally aware and life has been 10,000% more enjoyable. The very next thought after "thank you, thank you, thank you, Lord" was "please please please, Jesus."

I will be the first to admit I'm a control freak. Even on things I clearly have no control over, such as this baby deal. I have read every book and article on the topics of fertility and baby making. I've done all of the weird diets and worked with the herbs and oils. I've been checked several times for issues, and they all come back the same. I'm healthy as a horse, it's simply gotta happen on its own. At times, I wish the doctors could find something wrong with me, so we could fix it and move on. It's a lot harder to accept infertility when its simply "not your time." I know I should be thankful Jesus didn't answer my cries for a baby when we didn't have two pennies to rub together, and our marriage was simply two broken people with the same last name. I was not in a good place, and that baby would have entered this world in absolute turmoil. Garth Brooks knows what he's talking about when he sings; "Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers."

However, it can be so hard to hope when you can't control the situation. I know that sounds petty and obvious, but this is my first journey down the road of real acceptance in conjunction with faith. I've always either gotten what I wanted, or the Lord showed me a better way. This baby deal requires higher level involvement, though. This requires devotion to faith, and casting down fear and focusing on what is right and true, and changing what I can when it's wrong. 

It can seem like a full time job, staying hopeful and content. Contentment is one of my constant struggles anyways, but when it comes to very clearly not having what I want, sometimes it takes everything I have just to stay present. I list my praises and thanks, sometimes with tears streaming down my face. I look down at my sweet, beautiful girl and look at her with such amazement. I don't want to ever seem ungrateful. Lord knows, I've seen my fair share of miraculous changes and healing, but this longing I simply can't shake. 

I know in my mind, if God only had Bird for us, it would be okay. It would be more than okay- she brings such joy to our lives and my heart, and certainly keeps me busy. I know God would make it right. But in my heart, that thought scares and upsets me. I know in my head He has the very best for me, but when it doesn't line up with what I want on my own timeline, I have to work hard to not be discouraged. 

In the most basic of terms, I want what I think is best for me, simply because that's what I can see. That which I pretend I can control. If I can have what I can imagine I want, then God and I will stay on good terms. When I don't get what I want, like most anyone else, I have to work at our relationship. I have to remind myself it's never God that moves when I'm feeling distant or far from Him. I am always the one pulling away or holding out. 

I called my mom one day and said, "Maybe I do want just Brooklynne. It makes sense. It would be financially responsible. Maybe I'll just do that." She treaded lightly, she's always good about doing that, and said; "Well, if that's what the Lord has for you, then fine. But, I don't think that's what He has for you. I think that is your control talking. You would be sad when your sisters had 3 or 4 kids. You'd be upset when Brooklynne went off to school and you were on your own. You need to let it happen. You need to do the work spiritually. You have to let go." I told her I couldn't do it anymore, I just wanted to give up. She asked me the dreaded question: "And then what? You give up, you throw in the towel, and then what? You still don't have what you want, and you're still not happy. You are in the same exact predicament you're in today, except now, you are doing it without God's help. So what are you going to do? What does giving up get you?" 

She is well versed on this subject. I've watched her and my Dad weather storms that completely broke my heart for them. Moves that shook her to the core, job changes that felt like a slap in the face. She's had to ask herself that question a time or two, I know. I never take her words lightly, but especially not when it comes to wavering faith.

So now, I'm still waiting. I'm still longing, and begging, and sometimes looking at the calendar trying not to plot ovulation days and due dates. But I'm working towards hope. I'm leaning into my faith. I'm doing the hard work. And I'm still rocking.

Earning My Stripes

Brooklynne and I were having one of those days. It's February in Chicago, so that means we've essentially been inside for 5 months straight. We were bored of our toys and our games and our shows, so I thought we could waste away the afternoon in the bathtub. We were sitting in the tub and having a fun time. We played and talked and snuggled a bit, it was really a sweet time. Then Bird looked at me with a puzzled face and rubbed my stomach. With big questioning eyes she asked " Mommy, what happen to djur bawwdy?!" She was of course referring to my stretch marks.  I was mortified and flustered and just started rambling through an answer that didn't make any coherent sense. She lost interest and went back to playing with her bath toys, but I was numb. My body has always been a sensitive subject for me. I've been chubby, overweight, normal, and fit throughout my life, but mostly on the larger side of the scale. I've always loved eating and can't remember a time I didn't count down the minutes until dinner. I was my heaviest in high school. It had to do with terrible self esteem, and poor eating habits, but also, oddly, looks preservation. I stopped working out because I didn't like to sweat ( it made my hair frizz). I woke up at 5:00 to do a full face of makeup and straighten my crazy curly hair within an inch of its life EVERY SINGLE MORNING FOR 3 YEARS. I ate what my girlfriends ate, but more. I exerted no energy, and fell into a deep depression. I tried to keep myself mentally busy by chasing boys and lying for attention, but I was starting to unravel a bit. I was making bad decisions, I was terribly unhappy, and I really didn't know how I was going to turn it all around. I was embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror, but couldn't stop being so superficial. It was an odd Catch 22. Moving to Baltimore seemed like the worst thing in the world at the time, but I thank the Lord I was given that get out of jail free card. Going to an all girls school let me finally stop caring about what I looked like, and start working on it. I went to the gym religiously, wore my hair in messy curls, and started eating healthy. I will forever keep St. Tim's on a pedestal for all it gave to me, but also for who it let me become. I lost the rest of my baby fat and unwanted lbs the beginning of my freshman year at Baylor, and loved how I felt. Soon after, I started dating Cooper and the rest is history. But my body image really never changed. I always saw myself as the chubby awkward girl, and that has honestly been the stumbling block in my head for years. Its wrapped up in self loathing and feeling less than and a terribly skewed self worth. When I got pregnant, I was thrilled to not worry about my eating so much, a little too much in the beginning, but it worked itself out. I maintained a decent pregnancy weight and lost the weight quickly afterwards. The stretch marks were indeed there, but not too bad. Then, Chicago happened. Chicago is like a holding pattern for our family; a sort of layover type place. It's where Singletary kids go until they get their next assignment. This was my second stint in layover land, but this turned out to be VERY different. We were here this time, unbeknownst to us, to work on our marriage. The cracks had started to show, and the Lord used this time, this place, and this house to bring out all of the ugly and lay it out on the table. Things were so hard for Cooper and I. He flung himself whole heartedly into fixing the house and ended up biting off way more than he could chew.  In his defense, I now know he was just trying to make this into our dream house, but we lived in sheer chaos for about a year straight. I was home here with Brooklynne without a car, and Cooper had a 3 hour round trip commute to a steady, but low paying job. We were making enough to just barely eek by, and there was no wiggle room at all. Both sets of parents stepped in and helped tremendously, but the day in and day out was brutal. So the only real indulgence I had was what I ate. Or how much, I should say. I ate pretty much all day, because I could, and I absolutely fed my sadness with Oreo's and strawberry ice cream.  I felt so deprived of a life I wanted so desperately I let myself indulge in the one thing I had control over. The same high school pattern emerged. It went on this way for about a year, and I hated it. Looking back, I'm so sad at how I spent that time. Brooklynne was my constant companion and while she laughed and played and was none the wiser to my pain, I know I wasn't as alive as I could have been. I let the pain dwell and fester, and those same old demons took over -" don't let anyone see, don't let anyone know how messy your mind has become. Don't ask for help, don't let them know you can't hack it. You're weak and fat, and that's simply the way it is." That mantra played in my head all day everyday for months and months on end. I look back at our trip to Hawaii this past summer and can see the thinly veiled pain in my eyes and swollen face. Cooper ended up not coming for a few different reasons, and that was the beginning of the end for us and our cold war way of life. We got home and fought like crazy until we got through it all. We sought to find answers and get to the bottom of our nagging issues.This autumn was a time of healing for me, and of reconciliation for us. By Christmas, I was back to my old self, my happy self, mentally. I finally bit the bullet and went gluten free, and have started to put myself on the agenda again. While I won't look like my college self or don an adorable bikini anytime soon, I am working on me again. My body may not be what it was, but it can certainly be better than it is. I look at my stretch marks not with admiration- I'm not that evolved yet- but I do appreciate what they mean. I became a mom, a good one, and have these left to show alongside my beautiful baby girl. Not that I'd show anyone other than my husband and sisters, but you get what I mean. It means I came through the other side better and wiser. No less wear and tear, but in some ways I'm lighter and brighter than I was before Brooklynne and Chicago: Round 2. So I believe I've earned these stripes, and until I'm done having babies and can get them lasered off (which I'm TOTALLY doing,) I'll wear them with pride underneath my one piece. Lest you think I'm all svelte and sane, I'll have you know I nearly passed out not too long ago because I wasn't willing to take off my drenched t shirt in my Bikhram yoga class. The room is set to a balmy 105 degrees, so most people are as naked as is publicly allowed. Not me. I'm in full yoga pants, a sports bra and a t shirt. I didn't want to see my muffin top in in the mirror, so I let myself sweat profusely to the point of nausea. I know my self image will always be my stumbling block, but I also know the Lord is changing my heart and mind day by day.When I am in tune spiritually I can begin to fine tune my physical self. I can challenge myself when I feel secure. Understanding I'm made in His image helps me to accept grace, and to think more highly of myself. As a daughter of the King, He calls us to no less. I'm gaining in knowledge and losing the pounds and I'm learning to appreciate this skin I'm in.