Eclipsing Belly

Just the other day I lost sight of myself
Beneath my rounding belly
Except with a mirror
I would not reappear
Despite all my efforts at bending.

For what have I lost sight of myself
And why do I not miss it more?
For my growing boy
I attempt to enjoy
This giving of myself to him.

This includes the space in my belly
And will soon include a space in my home.
And I will give
Anything to live
Watching his life eclipse parts of my own.

Teetering on Eight Months

Baby is on the edge of being eight months old! This weekend, our son will be at the beginning of his eighth month. Last week was a pretty dramatic week and we thought little baby boy might join us a little early, but thankfully he is still baking happily. We want our bun to be thoroughly done!

I thought I would write a little update explaining what the next month or two look like for Derek and me. You may not hear terribly much from us because we are going to be running all over the place, including half-way across the country.

This Thursday we have a doctor's appointment to check up on baby after last week's worrisome contractions. This weekend Derek and I are hosting a prospective MB Biblical Seminary student, picking him up from the airport and taking him to church. Next week we have our regular two-week doctor's appointment. Next weekend is the annual trip to Yosemite, which we have yet to decide if we are attending. The Tuesday after Yosemite (April 29th) Derek defends his thesis, which means that between now and the 29th he's got to finish it! The weekend after his defense we are planning on being in Shafter for our son's baby shower. And the week after that is my last week of work! Then Derek and I have one week off together when we intend to pack pack pack. And on the 18th of May, my husband will graduate from MB Biblical Seminary with his Masters in New Testament.

We intend to cut out of Fresno with as little delay as possible after the graduation. We will load the car, a trailer, and head down the road, hopefully arriving in Winkler, Manitoba with at least three weeks to spare before the arrival of our son! He's expected to arrive on Father's Day, although he's a little smaller than average and may give us a few extra days to move into our new house on Roadrunner Bay in Winkler!

Derek will start working for WBS Construction and jump right into the summer heat. I will start preparing for baby, and stay in the air-conditioning as much as possible. My dreams of owning my own photography business will hopefully hit the ground running as soon as we settle in. In July my parents are coming out to visit us, and will probably end up helping us put the finishing touches on our house.

Thanks for your prayers and thoughtfulness. We are excited to be rounding the bend...in so many ways!

The Squirrels Almost Burned My House Down

A story from Rachel Regier, dramatically retold by Laura Thiessen

I don't know how I made any friends in college. I had anti-squirrel propaganda up all over my walls. And if anyone was brave enough to take my personality for a test-run, the first thing they found out was...there was a story behind the anti-squirrel propaganda.

One day when I was eight years old, I came home from school to an empty house. I hadn't been home for long when I started to hear noises coming from the ceiling. There was scurrying and scuffling, and every now and then, a thud. I wasn't brave enough to open the door to the attic, which was in my bedroom. In fact, I wasn't even brave enough to stay upright. I hid under the bed and called my Mom. Within a few short hours the culprits were caught. Two rather large and menacing squirrels were removed from our attic and their entrance was sealed.

Now whether he found a new hole, or had been hiding out in the attic while his family members were "removed" is still a question. But within a few days, the scuffling returned. Help was called in and the attic door in my bedroom ceiling was once again opened. But when the door was opened, there was not a passive sweet little squirrel waiting. A huge, hissing squirrel stood with teeth bared and talons stretched, ready to launch itself at the executors of his dear ones.

You can imagine what kind of impression this left on me.

And the story doesn't end there.

Seven years later I innocently ran back and forth on the tennis courts in the heat of summer, enjoying one of my favorite activities. When the fire engines raced past I didn't think anything of it. Lots of grass fires start in the hot Kansas summer. Before long a car sped into the parking lot and darted between parked cars, pulling short in front of the tennis courts and a breathless man said, "You'd better get home, girl!" I tossed my racquet in the bag and took off for home. I could not at that moment guess what awaited me.

The front lawn was black and the side of the house, scorched. Firefighters stood wrapping up their hoses and surveying the wall for smoke and heat. My Mom ran down the front steps with tears on her cheeks and said, "Oh honey it's okay. It's not as bad as it looks. The squirrels almost burned down our house!" And so they had. A firefighter explained to me later that squirrels had been jumping on the wires from the power poles and had jumped and chewed so much that the wires fell into the dry grass and started a fire. I could just imagine the nasty little critters fiendishly eyeing my house and taking turns jumping up and down on the wires, waiting for them to snap...knowing that when they did, the house would be downwind of the sparking, snaking wires.

For years afterward I noticed headlines stating, "Squirrels Cause Power Failure" and "Wire Damage Caused by Squirrels" and was certain that when we removed those first two squirrels from our attic, we had declared war. Now, if I wanted friends badly enough I'd say I know they didn't do it intentionally...how could they? Those fuzzy, sweet, little hopping rodents.

Easter and Incubation

Easter is this weekend! My Easter memory-bank is brimming with tales of egg-hunts in gramma's backyard, crisp clean dresses with matching hats, colored eggs, chocolates and drooping branches of the banks rose. Other more recent memories seem less vibrant, dimmer and subdued. But this year I have a new Easter experience that parallels one from my childhood.

One year I decided to incubate eggs and my Mom was a patient enough woman to allow an incubator to sit on her counter for three weeks! She was also incredibly confident in my ability to oversee this venture with very little supervision. Every day I would check the temperature of the incubator. Every six hours I would turn the eggs, just like a mother hen. Every moment I was away from the incubator's tiny viewing window I was wondering how my eggs were.

I had done my homework, but not done the math. 21 days after those eggs were put in the incubator they hatched, and it was purely by coincidence that day 21 fell on Easter. I remember sharing the joy of birth with my grammy. I ran into the kitchen shouting that my eggs were hatching and Plain 'ol Grammy came back to the porch and watched with me as the tiny wet-looking birds flopped and flounced around their broken shells. Within a few hours, all the eggshells had been conquered and ten very unique chicks fluffed and dried and huddled together.

This year I am incubating again. Once again I did not do the math. This tiny life will not be ready for his debut on Easter, as were the chicks, but he's bravely launching into the last trimester of his incubation on Easter weekend. Every day I stop and remember how blessed I am. Every few hours I feel him kick. And every moment I am busy with other things I am wondering how my little one is doing. This year I will share the joy of birth with my husband Derek. And it will be a gorgeous day when we see him fluffed and dried and hugged against my chest.

Doctrine

I love the church
of the osprey, simple
adoration, no haggling
over the body, the blood,
whether water sprinkled
from talons or immersed
in the river saves us,
whether ascension
is metaphor or literal,
because, of course,
it’s both: wings crooked,
all the angels crying out,
rising up from nests
made of sticks
and sunlight.
- Todd Davis

Waking up With Boys

When Derek and I got married I had a very rough time getting used to sharing a bed. And it was even harder learning to share a bed with a boy! Boys are BIG, and this particular one had yet to learn to share the blankets. This new boy sharing my bed has yet to learn when it's time to sleep and when it's time to dance...

Well this morning I woke up and there was not ONE boy, but TWO boys in my bed! The first boy sighed, rolled over, and got up to shower. The second boy flailed around, rolled over, and started tapping his foot against my hip. "Whoa!" I said out loud. The first boy looked out from the bathroom at me and said, "what?". I responded, "You left the bed, but there is still a boy in bed with me!"

I breathed deeply to expand my belly and he took advantage of each breath by flailing some more. His feet were at my hips and his hands were just under my ribs. I put my hands over him for a moment and he settled down. I breathed deep again and again he kicked and punched. I think he was doing the celebration dance I learned in high school.

Fear, Tension, Pain

Monday night was Derek and my first childbirth education class in a series of six. I hate to admit it, but I have been, as long as I can remember, petrified of giving birth. Not in general, but for myself. I fear the pain of labor and delivery more than almost anything else I can think of...except maybe dropping and breaking my camera in the middle of a big job. I know it is not rational because I cannot tell you what horrible thing I think is going to happen or why. I can't think beyond the fear to some rational conclusion like, "It's going to hurt because my blood will clot and I will die". I don't have any fears of anything unusual or dangerous happening. No, this fear is more like, "It's going to hurt! I can't do it! I won't do it!"

In our class the teacher talked about the "Fear Cycle", which goes like this: You fear the pain, tense up (which allows less oxygen to your muscles), and makes the pain more painful (and last longer), which leads to higher levels of fear, which leads to more tension, etc. etc.

Noting this cycle, and relating it to past experiences dealing with my needle phobia, helped me feel much more confident about giving birth to a child. In the past I have clenched my fist when the nurse says to, but I have a horrible time trying to relax my fist when they ask me to release it. When I relax my hand, there's usually less bruising. And when I am able to talk (read: breathe) through the needle, I am much more likely to be able to release my fist.

I guess I'm still scared of the pain, but with five more weeks of class, and a husband who is very good at keeping me focused, I am beginning to form more rational expectations about the pain of childbirth. Perhaps I've even begun to drop off the last part of that exclamation and only say, "It's going to hurt!"