…On Parenting

My son Jude, age 27 months, will be going under the knife tomorrow morning.  It’s nothing serious, really, except I’m opting to have him circumcised.  I’m still freaking out about it.  And maybe more so now since he’s a toddler and usually this is a process that is either done soon after birth or forgotten about because it was not opted for during infancy.

I’m experiencing anxiety about this, mostly because I feel like a bad mom for a) not deciding to do this earlier or b) deciding to do it at all.  When Jude was a baby I just didn’t feel circumcising was necessary.  To me, what would excess skin really do?  Why would a baby need to be strapped to a board and cut, without anesthesia?

Well, as I embarked on furthering my nursing education, I had a lightbulb moment.  It was during the Reproductive Unit in my Pathophysiology class that my stomach felt all funny and immense guilt washed over me about my son’s uncut penis.  Staring at me were words like “increased risk for cancer” and “complications with care”.  Why, oh why, hadn’t I truly researched this?  Why had I taken a laissez-faire approach to something rather crucial in a boy’s life?  I tried to ignore my feelings, reassuring myself that the health decision I’d made for Jude upon his arrival was the right one.  His first dad wasn’t altered, so why should he have to be?

A couple weeks after that small seed was planted in my brain, we found ourselves at the local nurse practitioner’s office for a check-up and pre-dermatology consult (for an entirely unrelated issue).  It was discovered at that appointment that Jude’s er… equipment wasn’t being managed as well as it should.  There’s actually work involved in having a non-circumcised boy.  And I wasn’t keeping up on the whole foreskin-management thing.  Talk about embarassing.  There I stood, wanting to believe that I had made the best choice for Jude in not making him be chopped by a knife and the ARNP was telling me I hadn’t taken good enough care of the penis because his foreskin wouldn’t retract.  I felt horrible.  How could I have failed Jude like this?  Not to mention his right testicle doesn’t entirely descend without some manipulation.  Recalling my textbook, I knew that these two things put Jude at an increased risk for penile cancer and other anatomical complications.

I heard myself saying the words “Yes, I’d like a urology consult” before I actually realized what that meant.  I’ve been told that the older a boy gets, the more a circumcision hurts.  Oh great.  Not only have I failed to manage my son’s foreskin but now I’m going to cause him unforeseen pain?  The urology consult fell on a date that I was in class.  Without second thought, Kane did the fatherly duty and took Jude and later relayed information to me.  It’s probably best that way, because I’ve had moments where second (and third and fourth) thoughts flash through my mind and I want to back out of the procedure.  I want to spare Jude whatever pain awaits him.  I’m scared that his penis will be disfigured.  I’m scared that my advanced two year old is going to wonder ‘Why the hell did my mom do this to me?!’ I’m scared that changing my mind about something so critical in a boy’s life means I was irresponsible about the whole decision in the first place.  Mostly, I’m tired of feeling like I have to explain myself, which is mostly explaining of myself TO myself.  (Does that make sense?)

Besides the fact that I’m entirely responsible for Jude’s health and well-being, I think what strikes as most ironic about this situation is that I don’t even have a penis and I’m obligated to make a decision about one.  I felt so strongly about not circumcising Jude as an infant that doing a 180 is almost a dose of humility.  To say “As I learned more about this my opinion has actually changed” is not always easy, especially when you’re talking in the context of being a parent.  As a parent, I want to believe that the decision I made and the instructions I gave the first time around were the right ones and that I didn’t fumble (if not completely drop) the ball in regards to my children’s lives.  As a mom, it is my duty to always do what’s best for my son (and step-daughter in waiting) and realizing that I didn’t quite make the most informed decision (for me and my beliefs) is a big pill to swallow.

Melodrama aside, Jude will go into the procedure room around 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.  He will come out being my same smart, sassy, sweet, sweet boy.  Someday I may explain to him the internal struggle this had caused me.  I may not.  Someday he may come to me asking parental advice about something that’s a big deal to him and his wife.  I’ll simply tell him “Parenting is a journey.  It is both a solitary journey of growth and learning and a team journey you take with your children, who teach you and catalyze your growth.  Parenting is the singlemost challenging and rewarding thing you may ever do in your lifetime.  Listen to your brain and your heart in equal doses.  Always remember that the little pair of eyes looking at you is watching and abosrbing how you learn and handle situations.  Children glean from you your grace and dignity, so even if you change your mind about something (which you are entitle to do), show them that you are confident in every choice you make.  Show them also, that every choice you make is with their best interests at heart.”

Please pray in Jesus’ name for a safe and speedy procedure tomorrow and for God to give me the words to speak if Jude asks “What happened to my winky?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Disclaimer: I am fully aware that parenting views, thoughts and opinions vary greatly.  For some, circumcision is a controversial topic.  If I have offended you in any way, please know that is not the intent of this post.  This is merely a personal story about my personal journey as a mom.  Please do not offer criticism to this post, as I’m not interested in it.  Thank you for reading and happy parenting to you (if applicable)!

A Thursday Letter written with gratitude

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Kane,
Wow!  Can you believe our first Christmas together is done and that 2012 is on its way out?  I reflect a lot on “this time last year…” and when I think of the year’s end last year, I remember feeling kind of downtrodden and feeling a little like the pieces of my life didn’t quite fit.  I looked expectantly to 2012 although I had no idea how quickly things would change early in the year. 
When I signed up to enter the RN program in February, I kind of did it on a whim.  I had been toying with the idea of going back to school and once my mind was made up it was on!  I went to Kaplan because I love the school and the structure, but I chose Urbandale because I had intentions of moving to Ankeny.  Coming home to Marshalltown in 2010 was kind of hard because I had made a life in a city far enough away from that dinky town, and coming home kind of felt like taking a couple steps back.  I wanted to move to Ankeny because it was to be a brand-new city for me- a place where Jude and I could start fresh, you know?
February turned into March and Kayla kept telling me “My brother’s talking about asking you on a date”.  The first couple of times she said it I was giddy and told her I’d very much enjoy that.  By the fourth time I replied “Well, when??”  I chuckle now, thinking how funny that dialogue was in regard to you, because it’s a lot like how we communicate now.  We banter and toss around ideas and I’ll bust out a matter-of-fact question.
March turned into April and then our story began.  The chemistry between us has been undeniable, and I know we talk about this a lot.  But what amazes me the most about our relationship is how much and how often we grow, and how we grow together.  Things happened at a rather accelerated rate with us and that can leave room for “Oh, boy, did we jump in too soon?” to run through a woman’s mind.  But regardless of our obstacles and regardless of how big the lesson, we work things out.  And we get better each time, which pleases me to no end.
The thing that has been on my mind the most lately is how easy it is for you to love me.  When I regard you as my partner, the term couldn’t be truer.  Your support and teamwork in parenting is a big deal to me.  Sometimes I wonder how I even managed as a single mom!  It’s really a luxury to have someone change that crappy diaper first thing in the morning and I don’t thank you enough.  Beyond that, the way you back me up with the kids means a lot to me.  It solidifies our partnership and I love it.
I am amazed at how you rarely sweat the small stuff and how it’s of no question to supplement my needs.  (And you can ask anyone in my family- I need someone who doesn’t get bent out of shape over details to balance my sometimes-high strung personality. Ha!)  Your “if you need it and I can help” attitude is the stuff good people are made of.  My life goal is to be a good person, and having one by my side helps that journey along.  Your genuine heart and willingness to help is one of the reasons I love you. 
I write this Thursday Letter with a heart of gratitude.  I want to thank you for the beautiful Christmas we have just shared together.  I want to thank you for all you do for me, day after day.  Thank you for supporting my education, my career.  Thank you for your hard work and energy exerted for our family.  I am blessed to call you mine and love you so, so much. 
Yours,
Bre

The Thursday Letters

I love books.  I don’t get nearly enough time to do any “free reading” (as my teachers in grade school called it), but still can recall many novels I’ve read.  I love that snippets of stories can be carried with you forever and ever.  I love that words can summon emotion, stimulate imagination, still your heart.  I simply love them.

I read a book a few years ago titled The Wednesday Letters, written by Jason F. Wright.  It is a beautiful love story in which Jack writes his wife, Laurel, a letter of love every Wednesday.  I won’t give the story away, but their three children discover these letters and the story unfolds from there.  (You can read more about the novel at www.thewednesdayletters.com.)

The sparks between Kane and I were tangible on a Thursday night in April.  I don’t know why this sticks with me, but week after week on Thursday I think to myself “Wow, another week in the books.  I can’t believe how fast time flies!”  And for some reason unbeknownst to me, I think “I should start writing him letters on Thursdays”, wanting to start a romantic tradition and recalling The Wednesday Letters  and remembering what a compelling story it is.

Words are forever.

And here is my first “Thursday letter” for Kane:

                                                                                                                                                                                                   December 20, 2012         

Kane,

The time we’ve shared together seems so short, especially when I think of what adventures lie in wait ahead of us.  I love to daydream of our future together, both near and far.  In the short term I envision us in a photograph standing side-by-side, proud of our first home purchased.  I daydream of speaking the most important “yes” of my life.  I allow my thoughts to venture far and even imagine a third pair of “pitter patter” under our roof.  Closer to the present, I can see your smiling face in the auditorium on my graduation day, hear your praise after learning I can legally sign “R.N.” after my name, can feel your hug of congratulations on a new job with my new title.  I visualize vacations, I see summer’s evenings on a patio, I can hear the trickling of a creek nearby on my first camping excursion with you.

In the far future, I imagine what it will feel like to no longer be 25.  How will you look with gray hair?  How will I look with laugh lines and crow’s feet?  I wonder what we’ll be up to in our 60′s?  Knowing you, you’ll probably be apprenticing up-and-coming photogs, out of love for your work (and love for camera equipment).  I picture myself volunteering and keeping my quarter horse spoiled.  I imagine us getting some hair-brained idea and just going for it because we have nothing to lose.  Together, we will concoct fun. 

I think of how fast eight months has gone.  Every once in awhile I get nervous that we sped through some of the stages of dating.  When I really recount the tale of our connection, I am always reminded that you have felt right from that moment on Thursday night that your hands held mine.  You took my breath away that night.  You gazed into my eyes and warmed my heart with that touch.  I recall that look often, especially when we are not jiving or time and busy schedules starts to wear on us.  I remember always how you told me you loved me the first time, and how I felt like I was floating up the stairs to my apartment.  I love the way you listen to me and are committed to finding a solution to our disagreements.  I love the way you pull me to you first thing in the morning, the way your tone changes when you say “I love you”. 

Though I’ve been snowed in away from home, you’ve been on my mind all day.  I can’t wait to spend our first Christmas together and look very forward to being home with you and Jude as soon as possible.

I love you, Kane.  Thank you for all you do for me, with me, because of me.  Thank you for your committment to our family and our future. 

Yours,

Bre

Cowgirls Don’t Cry

Photo courtesy of http://blackmtnranch.com/horse-quotes/.

 

I have a lot to say, but can’t really formulate the intricacies.  So pardon me if this seems a little disconnected.

Ladies, this one’s for you.

I know that women have fought tooth and nail to gain this badge of armor we call “WOMAN”.  Sometimes we take that five letter word and feel like we have to “ROAR” because we are one.  We’ve protested, both nationally and inwardly, burned bras and divorced cheating husbands.  We’ve cowgirled up to become independent, smart, able beings who don’t need anybody to take care of us.  But on the inside we’re all the same.  You and me, we’re fragile.  Underneath our rugged exteriors, there’s a story.  There’s a 14 year old girl waiting for her Prince Charming, daydreaming about all of the things he is, and how he’s going to save me. 

At the root of every girl’s daydream about being loved and finding that amazing guy is one universal theme: loyalty.  And for me, I want fierce loyalty.  I have spent too much time in my past putting myself on the back burner, trying to save ex-boyfriends.  I have spent too much time bending and making concessions because I thought “maybe if I loosen up a bit, this could be it“.  Like any American girl, I have daydreamed of finding true love. 

I’m blessed enough to say that I’ve found it.  I couldn’t ask for a better soul to be joined to mine.  Truly.

But ladies, I need your help.  How do you relay to your One that through a shitstorm, sometimes the best (and simplest) thing he can do is have your back?  How do you express to him that even though you wear your Cowgirl persona like it’s going out of style, that you’re still vulnerable and just need a little TLC sometimes?  That no matter how petty the conversation or opposition, all you want to hear is “I love you, and you matter enough that I’m not going to allow this to deflate you”?  Or that regardless of what’s being said, he’ll take a stand and say “She may not be 100% accurate on this one, but I will not allow you to disrespect her, because she means the world to me”? 

[Nothing crazy has happened in my relationship, don't go letting your mind race.  I'm just noticing that in general, women want these things from their mate and the guy brain says "Hey, if you're wrong, there's not much I can do" or even worse, "It's not that big of a deal, I don't know why you're taking it so personally".  Men and women communicate differently, and I'm using this platform simply to vent.]

I just want to be championed for.  I know it sounds frilly and old-fashioned and maybe even a little oh, why don’t I say it: dramatic.  I know.  But you know what?  At the end of the day I’m just a girl.  With a heart…  With a story…  And I just want to know that no matter how large or small of a deal it is, my back’s covered.  I want to know always that wrong or right, somebody will advocate for me when I’m too upset or appalled to speak the words myself.  I want to know that when somebody speaks crossly at me I have “You will not disrespect her in this conversation” on my side.

Maybe I’m asking too much.  Maybe I should shut the Hell up and be grateful for what I have: a home, a healthy son, a beautiful stepdaughter-in-waiting, an amazing man.  I have my education, my career, my family.  I have my health and Jesus.  I am living a dream, I am.

But I’m wracking my brain wondering why men don’t see this as a big deal?  Can anyone enlighten me?

The Story of the Day You Were Born, the Jude Michael edition

Jude’s Nanna started a tradition.  She tells her kids “the story of the day you were born”.  I’ll admit I used to think it was kind of quirky, but it’s endearing.  You can feel the love in the story when it is being told.  And now that I’ve been part of the miracle that is childbirth and motherhood, I know how it feels to want to tell the story, more than once a year.  And I do, because, well, the end result of the story is magical!

The Story of the Day I Met Jude:

I arose around 5:30 in the morning.  I got up with an imminent need to relieve my bladder (as most pregnant women do, not to mention the ones who are past their due date).  I returned to bed, flipped the pillow twice, threw my leg over the body pillow and tried to settle in.  I wanted to get some more rest before I had to get up and get ready for work.  I noticed my back was aching.  I thought nothing of it, tried to shift my position a bit and closed my eyes.  The back ache subsided.  The back ache came back.  I repositioned my body again.  This cycle repeated once more before I realized “OH GOD, I’M HAVING EARLY CONTRACTIONS IN MY BACK!”

I laid there, debating on whether or not to call or text Melissa (Jude’s nana, and my Lamaze partner aka Mama Bear).  She was about a 40 minute drive away and I didn’t want her rushing to my apartment just to sit and watch me do nothing.  With that logic, and instructions from the Lamaze instructor I decided I would get up and eat something before deciding.  I heated myself a breakfast sandwich and settled in to the recliner.  The contractions moved to my thighs and I talked myself through them.  I decided to text her at some point when my breakfast sandwich was in the microwave.  When she came in the door, I had the recliner fully extended and was grunting through a contraction.  I could hardly talk through them.  She dutifully timed them (after unloading what seemed like a truckload of miscellaneous stuff in the nursery) and then it was decided we should go to the hospital.  I remember putting up a stink about wasting gas or something because I literally lived right across the street from the hospital.  We drove.  …after I vomited my breakfast sandwich in the alley.

The next 2-2.5 hours were the fastest and most emotional ones I’d ever had.  As time wears on, the exact details fade, but I remember being surrounded by all women until the very last point, at which Dr. Dowell came to deliver Jude.  My nurses were fantastic and they medicated me just correctly so that I wasn’t drugged feeling or in intense pain.  Jay’s mom and my mom were both there, encouraging me to do my best.  I had to wear oxygen during the last part, and push only every other contraction because Jude’s heartrate was dropping during them.  Then they saw how big his head truly was and how little my body and had to assist him out.  (I’ll tell him when he’s 12 that they got the Eureka and vacuumed him. LOL)  After what seemed an eternity of them measuring, prodding, cleaning and swaddling him I got to hold him.  He was here.  He was mine, all mine, and beautiful and everything in my world changed the instant I gazed into his blue eyes.  His father called soon after he was born, and I held the phone to his ear.  Jude knew the voice, and in that moment I was at peace.  (Sitting here, typing this and listening to Jude play and interact with Kane brings me a new color of peace.)

Jude Michael, you’ve helped me become a better woman.  You’ve taught me how to love unconditionally and how to see the beauty in the world.  Through your eyes, anything is possible.  When I look at you, I know God is real and He is merciful and graceful.  I love you to the moon, Jude, and am proud you’re my son.

For the love of Jude

I don’t feel like delving into details, because they are so erroneous and far-fetched that it’s asinine, but I feared I would lose Jude this week.  It’s amazing how a person can make up a story and call an authoritative figure and launch an investigation.  It’s sickening that lies can be told because feelings have been hurt.  It’s downright scary to feel like you may be driving into your doom, envisioning being forced to hand your son over to a man in khaki chinos who works for the Department of Human Services. 

I was terrified that this would be my reality on Wednesday.  I was shaking and dizzy and crying like Jude had just died.  I was so, so scared.  And why?  I’m a fine mother who provides for her son in the best ways she knows.  I cherish my son.  Why, then, would I be so scared if I have nothing to hide?  Because the simple fact that someone can take Jude from me scares the shit out of me.  Since I was pregnant I’ve had an odd (and maybe irrational) fear that someone would try to take my son from me.  Fear can overpower any rationale.  Fear can stop time in its tracks.

But I’m not afraid anymore.  The entire time I was driving and crying I was also praying.  I was talking to Jesus, trying to make some sense of this mess.  I am not allowed to know who my accuser is, but I’m pretty good at puzzles and have settled the equation.  The individual I suspect is not a member of my family (nor Jude’s).  This person is just a sick, mentally ill individual who is lashing out and using Jude as a way to get even.  Like I said, it’s sick.  It’s wrong.  It’s horrible.  But it’s all false.

Why am I airing my dirty laundry, you may be wondering?  Well, firstly, I’m a blatantly honest person.  Secondly, it’s because I’m learning lessons in this shitstorm. 

It’s come into sharp focus how very important it is to surround Jude with people who love him.  Of course, this has always been my goal but I’ll admit, I’m kind of selfish about who I’ll let take him for a visit or when I allow this to happen.  He’s my son, after all.  But I’m not feeling that way much lately.  I’m feeling like Jude is all of ours, he “belongs” to everyone who loves and adores him.  On Wednesday every single person I looked to for soothing words and emotional support was able to give that to me.  Every person I heard made sure I knew I’m a good mom.  Every person I dialed loves Jude to the moon.  And that’s when it clicked.

Jude is the linchpin in a lot of my relationships.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it now: Jude saved me.  He saves me every day.  He teaches me to appreciate the beauty in life.  He teaches me to be calm in a scary situation.  He teaches me to embrace giggling, just to hear laughter.  He teaches me that no matter what is thrown our way, we will always have each other.  He is my world.  He makes the sun to rise in the morning and hangs the moon in the sky at night.  He can quell any ache with a “kiss, all better”.  He is my heart, walking outside of my body.

I’m so thankful to Jesus that Jude has so many people in his life.  Jude’s grandparents all love him, and the bond my dad shares with my son is truly beautiful.  Jude’s aunts and uncles think he’s the best.  My friends love him like he is theirs.  Kane is filling a void that Jay and I knew would exist but never knew how it would play out.  Jesus knew what he was doing when he put each and every one of these people in Jude’s life.

I thank you all for your love of Jude.

Full Circle

In sociology I’m learning about all of the social aspects that make us human.  Words like “status symbol” and “master status” come up in the textbook.  I read these things and make connections to my own life.  It’s crazy to me that over the past 5 years I’ve been a traditional college student, a professional in my career field, labelled a criminal and treated as such for 6 days, a broke single mom without a clue where she was headed next, a single mom in college and returned to being a professional in my career field again.  Wow!  What a ride.  And sociological terms can paint my very adventure.  But I really don’t care to talk terminology.  I want to talk about faith.  And mercy.  Textbooks don’t teach people how to recognize those things.

In the midst of Jay’s absence, I found my faith.  Throughout the months that he’s been away it has only deepened.  I’m still a baby in my faith, with lots of experiences still to be had.  I do know for sure, though, that God leads us to where we need to be.

I took a break from nursing when I moved home in 2010.  I was searching for a job in my hometown to continue to practice, but things just weren’t adding up.  Being pregnant and living in my aunt and uncle’s guest bedroom, I became desperate for an income.  I called the Arby’s where I’d worked during high school and was basically guaranteed a job.  After Jude was born I was promoted to Assistant Manager.  Did I like that I was college prepared in the medical field and working at Arby’s?  No.  But it meant that I had a paycheck, and holidays to spend with my son in his earliest months of life.  God provided for me, even though it wasn’t what *I* had in mind.

When I started toying with the idea of returning to school, it was like the Universe picked up on it.  I was getting junk mail flyers from nursing schools in the Midwest that I’ve never heard of.  But you know what?  They kept that idea current and fresh in my brain and before I knew it, I was driving to Des Moines four days after talking with an academic advisor, interviewing to secure my spot in the ADN (RN) program at Kaplan University.  God planted a seed and sat back to watch it blossom.

Here we are now, 15 weeks into my RN program.  I’m working at a long-term care facility again, signing LPN after my name.  When I started chewing on the idea of searching for a nursing job I printed off six copies of my resume.  I had been fixated on this one facility in my mind, though, and was sure to make it my first stop.  It turned out to be my only stop.  I had an on-the-spot interview with the Director of Nursing and the next day was interviewing with she and the Administrator.  It is without doubt that I say that God directed me to that facility, that DON, that Administrator.

It was a drawn-out process to be hired.  Paperwork and checks and balances were starting to look ominous.  I was afraid I had been silly to get my hopes up and dream of being a nurse again.  I had to keep reminding myself that God put me there for a reason.  I requested prayer for my faith to stay strong.  Everyone has been so patient with me throughout this process– a true blessing.

There is beauty in struggle.  The beauty comes when you can look retrospectively and understand that you toiled for months and months so you could grow and learn and evolve into a better you.  I’m grateful for second chances and even more for God knowing just when to push me to do things.  It’s been a crazy road to get back on my feet but I made it!  With the mercy and prayers and help of some very special people, I have arrived.  I am, to date, the best version of me that I’ve ever been.  I’m grateful for the life experience it took to shape me, because, by God, it didn’t kill me– it made me stronger.

Full circle is the best term I can use to summarize my journey.  I’m continuing my education, able to work in a field about which I’m passionate, have a healthy son and am expanding my family.  I’ve met an incredible mate and my faith is solid.  Here I sit, in the middle of my full circle with a big, grateful smile on my face.  God is so, so good, all the time.