Nail Clippers and the Joys of Failing

I would consider myself a pretty relaxed parent (besides the constant washing of my child's hands, and reading labels on toys to make sure the plastic is BPA free, and still not allowing food, formula, bottles, or pacifiers in her mouth) but there is one thing that sends me into a mild panic attack.

clipping Hope's fingernails.

And because she is growing at the rate of Great Dane puppy, nail clipping is not a once every 10 day excursion.

It's multiple times a week.

So, as I look at her nails getting longer and longer, I have this mental battle within me. "Maybe I should wait...but they're collecting dirt....maybe it's not such a big deal...but she'll scratch herself in the face with them." And finally I give in and get out the nail clippers.

The first time I clipped her nails, I had Matt hold her when I did it. Here's the deal. Babies are small. Thus, they have REALLY small fingernails. It's a really tedious job. It is sort of like that game Operation I used to play as a kid, except instead of getting a red blinking nose when you make the wrong move, you get a screaming baby.

Babies definitely have different cries. There's the "I'm frustrated" cry, and then there's "I'm tired" cry. But then there is the, "I am in pain" cry. And that cry is by far, THE most pitiful cry in the entire world. It makes you want to curl up in fetal position and just give up.

So, you can guess what happened the first time I clipped baby Hope's nails. I got through 9 of them safely. The last nail, the left thumb. She was sleeping like a baby (obviously) and I thought I had it, but it took me about 1.35 milliseconds to realize that something had gone TERRIBLY wrong.

Her eyes shot open and she let out this pitiful cry of agony. I hurt my own child. So now, of course, this sends me into hysterics. So here is poor Matt, trying to console not only Hope, but me as well. It was a mess.

Eventually after Matt telling me about 20 times that I was not the worst mother in the world and that Hope in fact did not hold an everlasting grudge against me, I was able to continue with life.

All too soon, nail clipping came again...and again...

Okay, at 16 weeks, it's a bit easier. I clip her nails when she is on the toilet (yes, my 4 month old uses the toilet; she's been doing it from around 6 weeks), and when I feel like I can only get a good angle on 4 of the 10 fingers, I just let it be. My obsessive compulsive self just has to take a backseat and let go of the fact that my child has 6 super long nails and 4 short nails.

And as with EVERY STINKIN THING in the world of parenting, there is a lesson learned. For me, the lesson is that I am not a perfect parent. Sometimes we mess up when we're clipping fingernails. Sometimes, when we're putting children into car seats, we accidentally bump their heads on the car door frame (yes this has happened too, and yes my child cried, and yes the car guard looked at me like I was the most irresponsible parent in the entire universe).

But it's not going to end there.

When she's 3 or 4 it will be a careless word towards her.

When she is 5, it will be a frustrated look towards her when all she really needs is patience.

When she's a teenager, it will be suspicion when what she needs is confidence and belief.

Being a Christian is so much more real to me now than it ever was before Hope was born. Before she was born, I perceived that I didn't really need God because 9 times out of 10, I created a pretty good life for myself. Sure, I had a relationship with Him. I liked Him. I had no qualms with Him. I believed He was real (it just made sense). And I needed Him in theory.

But I didn't really need Him.

In these early stages of the journey of parenthood, it's more than obvious that I'm not going to be receiving the perfect parent award. And so daily, I have to throw myself at the feet of God and beg Him for mercy and beg Him to work through me. I am utterly dependent on Him to raise my daughter.

I am SO thankful that I don't have this parenting thing down. And I pray that I never deceive myself into thinking that I do. I hope every child I have is so unique and different to the previous ones, so that I can never rely on my own understanding in the world of parenting.

Because in my true neediness for Christ, I've seen Him show up in ways I've never experienced before.

Help! I go to a mediocre church!

Well, I don't really go to a mediocre church. I actually really enjoy my church [I'm not paid to say that], and I really do enjoy waking up and seeing what Southpoint Church has on the cards each morning.

But let's be honest, it's REALLY easy to slip into the mentality that your ministry or your church of your small group or your bible study or WHATEVER just isn't doing it for you.

And then maybe you voice this to your spouse, or your roomie, or whoever will listen to your commentary on how the music was a bit pitchy today or so-and-so is actually just such a know-it-all and you just wish that they weren't in your group anymore or the pastor sort of did a prooftext today and technically that verse was out of context and blah blah blah.

And then it just sort of just becomes this wildfire of complaining and everyone thinks that by complaining the world will be a better place.

I was talking to some friends the other day, and we decided that there definitely IS a place for constructive criticism (I'm not advocating walking around with rose colored glasses when your church is about to implode on itself), but in my case, I tend to criticize for the sake of...well...criticizing.

It's sort of like when you get a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream (Phish Food flavor for me) and in certain contexts it would be good to have like a couple of spoonfuls, but you actually just end up sitting there, scooping it into your mouth, bite after bite, until the pint is empty. Then you want to vomit everywhere and you realize, that wasn't a really gratifying decision, but it seemed fun at the time. That's sort of how criticism goes in my life.

I read this quote the other day by A.W. Tozer in the classic "The Pursuit of God" (which everyone in the whole world should read) and it sort of sums up in my mind what makes a great church. And the thing that I realized was that great churches and great small groups and great ministries don't start with the program; they start with the people.

Tozer says the following:

"Someone may fear that we are magnifying private religion out of all proportion, that the "us" of the New Testament is being displaced by a selfish "I". Has it ever occurred to you that one hundred pianos all tuned to the same fork are automatically tuned to each other? They are of one accord by being tuned, not to each other, but to another standard to which each one must individually bow. So one hundred worshippers met together, each one looking away to Christ, are in heart nearer to each other than they could possibly be were they to become "unity" conscious and turn their eyes away from God to strive for closer fellowship. Social religion is perfected when private religion is purified. The body becomes stronger as its members become healthier. The whole Church of God gains when the members that compose it begin to seek a better and higher life."

Wow. It's simple. It's obvious. And yet, it's SO difficult for me to internalize.

So when I wonder, why is [insert Christian event here] so mediocre? I'm going to ask myself first and foremost, "Is it because my relationship with Christ is just...mediocre?"

Second (and secondmost?) I'm going to start to pray for the PEOPLE instead of the program. Imagine if you had a small group of people who were all tuned to God in their private lives...what would that group look like? Or on a bigger scale, what would a church or a ministry look like if everyone was tuned in to God on a regular basis?

I don't actually know what it would look like, but I think it would be a pretty spectacular sight.

I'm So Sorry

Dear Friends, Family, Acquaintances, and people I don't even know:

I owe you an apology. It's long overdue.

I'm sorry for the way I've talked about you. Chances are, if you are in my close circle of friends or family, I've cast judgement on some decision you've made in the past couple of weeks, and I've probably shared that commentary with my husband in some other circle of friends of which you are not a part. That way, it won't get back to you.

You may have frustrated me recently, but you wouldn't have known it. I would have just smiled and then mouthed off about you either to God, to myself, or to some other friend who won't tell you. Rather than going to you and sharing how I feel, I'd rather just keep the frustration inside because I'm too cowardly to talk to you and be transparent. Rather than believing the best about you when do something upsetting, I am suspicious of your character. Maybe I've shown you that I'm slightly upset by being passive-aggressive, but I probably would deny that there was a problem even if you asked.

If you are a friend from the past or an acquaintance, I pass judgement on you, too. I look at your pictures on Facebook or hear stories through the grapevine and offer a commentary to my close friends about how stupid you are or how I would have done things differently, using your failures to elevate myself and prove to others that I'm better than you.

I've probably told your secret to someone, even if it was just my husband or my mom. Even though my better judgement tells me to keep my mouth shut, I ignore it more often than not. If I haven't told your secrets, it's not because I am a faithful friend, it's probably just because over time, I forgot what you told me in the first place.

To those of you I don't know, I read the news and I pass judgement on you and I talk about your incompetence. I look at the beggar on the street and first assume that he probably deserved to be where he was. I maybe even use my theology to justify what I'm saying and feeling. Maybe there's truth to what I'm saying about you, and maybe there would even be value to speaking that truth in certain contexts, but I mostly speak these "truths" with the hope that people will think I'm articulate, smart, or witty. I use your demise for my own gain.

Of course, I usually pass all of this off as venting or sharing prayer requests or philosophizing. That's how I live with myself every day. I've created a carefully woven paradigm that allows for me to perpetuate the way I speak about you and feel minimal conviction that how I speak is even wrong in the first place.

I just want you to know that I'm sorry. Not only am I sorry, but I am ready to strip my mind and heart of this way of living and thinking and speaking.

I wish I could say that I am turning a new leaf and that is that, but the truth is, I will revert back to my old paradigm. I will talk about you again behind your back. I will cast judgement on your decisions. I will use your own mistakes and failures to elevate myself even if it means dragging your name through the mud. I'm pretty clever and have learned by now how to make sure that none of what I say gets back to you, and I'm too much of a coward to admit to you when I do mess up.

But I am trying.

So when we're sitting together over a latte or talking over Skype or chatting after church in a big group of friends, and when I begin to revert to this way of speaking, just gently nudge me and remind me of what it is that I'm REALLY doing. I'm not just sharing the latest news; I'm not just sharing genuine heartfelt concern for others; I'm not just venting; I'm casting the first stone; I'm removing the piece of sawdust from the eyes of my friends before I remove the plank from my own eye.

And it may be hard for you to remind me. It may feel awkward. You may be younger than me and it may feel strange to bring this to my attention. God forbid, you may be interested in hearing this nugget of information that I'm about to share with you and ready to proverbially stone the person with me. But think about the wellbeing of the people that I'm about to slay with my words, and remind me of my potential sin for their sake. Because tomorrow you may be the person that I target with harsh words, and you'd want want the person listening to me to stop me before I even begin.

Thanks for listening.

All kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and creatures of the sea are being tamed and have been tamed by man, but no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water. James 3: 7-12

Theology and Childbirth?

I once heard a rumor that Katie Holmes wasn't allowed to scream during childbirth because it was against her and Tom Cruise's religion...

I don't know if that is true, but if it is true, and if I were Katie Holmes, I'd be in big big trouble.  

Apparently there is such thing as a painless childbirth.  Mine wasn't one of those.  I experienced a lot of pain, both during and after the birth itself.  Now, granted, a lot of that pain was what I'd label "manageable".  Some people look at me in disbelief at the fact that I was in labor for 16 hours sans medication.  I can't really toot my own horn over that fact.  The first 14 hours were very much manageable and simply could be controlled with a mind over matter mentality (it reminded me a lot of my years as a dancer.  There were plenty of times where I didn't get that lambs wool in my pointe shoe just right and suffered the consequences of my toes scraping against the side of my shoe as I balanced my 120 lbs on top of it.  Alas, the show must go on, despite bloody, blistery toes...that's mind over matter for you.).  

But...those last two hours were unprecedented pain in my book.  Mind over matter went out the window at that point and it just became survival mode.  I mean, I seriously thought it would never end.  I felt like I was at the end of my rope and that I just couldn't go on.  

When all was said and done and Hope was here with us on the outside, my thoughts immediately gravitated towards the spiritual aspect of childbirth.  The Bible talks about childbirth and uses it to paint a picture for its readers.  Now, don't ask me how Paul was fully acquainted with the pains of birthing children when he wrote this, but now that I've experienced it first hand, the following verses take on a fresh perspective for me.  

...that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies...

There's very few times where life is painless.  There always seems to be something, doesn't there?  You can call it life, you can call it bad karma, or anything else you'd like.  I call it sin.  We live in a broken world run by broken people.  We can literally feel in our bones (more often than not) that something just isn't right.  And like childbirth, we try to numb the pain (but talk to any mother who has had a medicated birth, and she won't tell you that it was painless, either).  No matter how hard we try, we can't get away from the pain.  We'll never be able to numb it enough, ignore it enough, or tell ourselves enough that it's just mind over matter.  At some point in our lives, we'll sit where I sat in those last 2 hours, wondering if the pain will ever end.  

I think that's why this picture in the Bible is so encouraging now being on the other side of birth.  Because I know...the pain does end.  And when it ends, nothing else matters.  

You see, the beauty of childbirth, which can't often be said for other painful experiences in life, is that the reward after the pain is instantaneous.  I sit in pain for 2 hours, wondering if I will survive, and then a miracle is placed on my chest.  I forget the pain and it's all a dream.  My life that was completely entrenched in this pain is but a vapor, and my new life with this beautiful gift is here.  

I imagine that is what it will be like when we meet Jesus.  The pain in our lives, in our bodies, and in our souls will be like a dream.  It won't matter anymore.  The pain that so often defines our lives, the pain that we spend so much time trying to drown or numb or ignore will mean nothing anymore.  

So...what have I learned from all of this? 

I don't want to spend my life trying to numb the pain life will inevitably bring.  I don't want to try and drown it out with money or entertainment or stature.  It's not worth it because I know that while it's not as immediate as the gift of a child, there is a great miracle waiting on the other side of this life.  

Rather, what I want to do with my life is embrace the fact that there is pain and trust that God has given me the grace to endure it.  

My pain is gone and my reward is here...Hope.  But maybe if you're reading this, the pain of life is still here and there's no light at the end of the tunnel.  If you're of the persuasion that there's anything to who Jesus said he was, then I hope you remember that there is a miracle waiting for you, and it very well may not come in this lifetime, but when it does come, all that pain will be but a distant memory. 

My Birth Story

One blog does not suffice to cover the many lessons I've learned already in this new journey. But I think it's important to share these lessons publicly for a few reasons.

1) Documentation and conversation about lessons learned helps us better grow as people.

2) Positive stories encourage others.

3) My story is atypical.

So, I'll begin by documenting my actual birth. I think it's important to share my birth story because one of the most encouraging things for me when I was pregnant was hearing positive birth stories. I don't know if everything ever goes 100% planned for anyone, and there's no point on dwelling on things that didn't go according to plan in a birth, so my story is mainly in hopes of giving yet another perspective to those in the future who will give birth.

During my pregnancy, I was conspicuously absent from my blog, mainly because the road was so difficult and I didn't have much to say about it. So, I plodded along in silence, wondering what childbirth and parenthood would have to bring.

I spent most of my days being a student of birth, learning about different types of birth and reading all the schools of thought (and there's a lot, and there are diehard advocates on all sides). I decided that I wanted to try for a natural birth, but from what I had learned, the desire for a natural birth doesn't necessitate that it is carried into reality.

So, I started doing various exercises to help strengthen my body for a natural birth, going to antenatal classes with Matt, reading various books with Matt and spending hours in discussion with him about what we hoped to happen and how we could best achieve those hopes.

At the end of the pregnancy, I felt as if I'd done all I could do, and I just had to go forward with whatever happened, trusting God with the rest, whether it was what I expected or not.

Monday morning (27 December) at 6am, my water broke. I figured it would either then be today or the next day that our baby would be born. Matt and I began timing contractions and spent the morning cleaning up the house. We eventually phoned our midwife around lunchtime to let her know that she'd probably be spending the evening with us.

Hours went by and finally our midwife phoned us and asked us to come in the hospital at 4:30pm to check out and see what the baby was doing. If all was good, then she'd send me home where I'd continue my labor until it intensified. At this point, contractions were 6 minutes apart and lasting about 45 seconds, and they were very much manageable. At the hospital, the baby's heart rate, my temp, and my blood pressure all checked out. So, my midwife sent me home.

After a dinner of delicious burritos (around 8pm), my labor kicked in with contractions 2 minutes apart, 30 seconds long. Matt and I decided that it was time to check into the hospital. Contractions were difficult, but still manageable. During earlier contractions, I could still talk through them and move around a bit, but with these, I had to focus until they passed.

At the hospital, I continued to labor in a birthing tub and then with a birthing ball. Around 10:30, the pain became what I would consider unbearable. I fought while laboring for about a half an hour and then began to beg for medicine. My lovely husband, remembering my desire for a natural birth, helped me put off medicine for another half an hour, but finally allowed me to consider medicine after much begging and pleading from my side :)

At this point, an epidural was out of the question. I was a centimeter from pushing. But, there was an injection that I could have that would help my cervix finish dilating. The only problem was that my midwife had to give me the injection SLOWLY and I couldn't move. Ironically, right when she began the injection, I also began a contraction, and so she got through less than 1/4 of the injection before she had to stop and take out the needle (try sitting still during a contraction...it's near impossible).

Then, she said I could breathe some pain killing gas during a contraction to ease some of the pain. So, during the next contraction, I tried, but after 2 breaths, I hyperventilated and had to stop the gas. So much for medicine.

They say that during labor there are different stages, and that one of these stages is where you want to give up and think you can't do another contraction. This stage of labor is also the shortest stage and gives way to pushing, which, in some ways, is easier. Even though I knew all this in theory, I really wanted to give up. I didn't know how I would make it through another contraction.

But, just like the textbooks say, right when I was ready to give up, I was ready to push. Pushing a baby out with no meds is hard work, and I really cannot take any credit for my whopping 20 minutes of pushing or lack of need for stitches. That credit goes all to my amazing midwife who knew how to coach me and my amazing husband who stood with me and encouraged me with every contraction.

After all that pain, all that self-doubt, all that wondering as to whether it was worth it, the moment of culmination arrived. I remember screaming because it hurt so much and then a split second later my midwife saying, "Rachel, hold your baby," and she plopped this wet, warm little creature up onto my chest. Her eyes were open and she didn't cry. She just looked at me and Matt and moved around a little bit.

After 9 months filled with nausea, insecurity about my not-so-skinny self, self-doubt about choosing a child over a career, and wondering if I was crazy in the first place for getting pregnant at such a young age, it all culminated in this one moment. The nausea is but a memory. Yes, it was worth every stretch mark. Yes, a baby is worth more than any career could be for me. And no...I was not crazy for getting pregnant at a whopping age 23.

So, I guess what I'm saying in all of this is that pregnancy was no bed of roses, and neither is a natural birth (although I'm happy I did it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat-but that's another post for another day), but what great miracles require no pain? I can't think of any. Hope Brianna Hastings is no different. It was a painful journey for me (and I'm sure it was for her too!) but she is our little miracle and she was well worth it.

Book Review/Life Review

Now that the nausea has abated, I'm back into my habit of daily reading.  I just finished up a great book by Donald Miller titled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.  In a roundabout way, you could categorize the book as a "guide to story writing" but it's more about life than anything else.  

The question that permeates the pages is, "What kind of story are you writing with your life?".  In his usual amusing and thought-provoking manner, Miller challenges the reader to live more than just a boring life focused on comfort, but rather to embrace difficulty and conflict and to write a life story bigger than one's self.  

The book spoke specifically into my life as I prepare to bring a new life into this world.  One of the quotes I loved was the following:

As I've said before, the main way we learn story is not through movies or books; it's through each other.  You become like the people you interact with.  And if your friends are living boring stories, you probably will too.  We teach our children good and bad stories, what is worth living for and what is worth dying for, what is worth pursuing, and the dignity with which a character engages his own narrative.  

Whether baby Hastings likes it or not, it's getting thrown into the middle of my story, a story that will drastically affect this little baby for better or for worse.  And while I am well aware that an aspiration of perfection is delusional, it has at least caused me to critically think about the "WHY" of my story, rather than just the "what".  

So, thoughts such as the following have floated in my head over the past few days...

• Why do I shy away from conflict and confrontation? 
• Why do I spend my free time mindlessly reading news articles on the computer (or on Facebook)?
• Why do I get so worried about making people upset?  Why am I a people pleaser?
• Why do I worry the way I do?
• Why do I refuse to engage with certain emotions that I feel?

And so while I've learned to live pretty comfortably with these realities (many years of practice), baby Hastings is a blank slate.  And when baby Hastings watches how I react in a conflict, it will learn from me.  When it watches how I spend my free time, it will follow suit.  When it watches me worry...well, you see where I'm going with this.  

Like I said earlier, it's the "why" rather than the "what" that I've been mulling over.  I'm not as concerned with what exciting things I'm doing or what adventures I experience, but rather why I interact with life the way I do, regardless of circumstances.  

So, there you go.  If you want  thought-provoking, easy reading, then take a couple days to chew on A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.  Whether your in a situation like me, about to move into completely uncharted territory, or if you're in a season of consistency and stability, this book is one that will challenge you to live for something bigger than your own personal comfort.  

23 and Pregnant

This has been an interesting 5 months in the Hastings' home.  The biggest news in our lives is that I, Rachel, am pregnant with our first child!  

I've been conspicuously absent from the blogging world due to a 2 month stint of perpetual morning sickness (which, by the way, is by no means confined to morning hours).  

During the months of August and September (as the nausea abated a bit), I rebuilt my chaotic personal life, friendships, and home.  Sadly, the blog was just one of those last priorities, but I think it's time to reenter the blogging world. 

I figured I'd begin with a post about some interesting aspects of pregnancy.  I imagine that at least SOME of you are curious about what it's like to be pregnant.  I mean, statistically, I'm very much a minority.  I'm a 23 year old married girl who is planning on raising a child in 2011 and beyond.  Crazy, right?

So, here's what I've learned thus far...

1) EVERYONE'S experience is different.  I have a great friend who is pregnant as well, and boy have we had COMPLETELY different pregnancies!  My friend hasn't been very sick during her pregnancy.  I, on the other hand, have probably thrown up more during a two month period than  I have in my entire life combined.  Furthermore, everyone has a suggestion of what worked to curb their nausea during pregnancy; those suggestions, by no means, are prescriptive suggestions.  You just can't put pregnancy into a strict formula...

2) Your body does strange things.  Seriously, if you have questions about this, ask me in private, because something tells me that I should not get into my bodily function issues on my blog.  But your gastrointestinal tract, bladder, stomach, and brain just do a lot of really really strange things.  And many times, those changes are uncomfortable and sometimes painful.  

The common factor, though, is that you're not in control of a single one of those changes.  Being young and healthy, this has been an interesting change for me, and I can't say I've dealt with it gracefully at all times.  People often laugh this concern off when I express it with them.  "But you're carrying such a wonderful miracle in you!"  they say.  And while theoretically I am very aware of this, it doesn't lessen the reality that I am out of control of my body.  

The implications of that truth have genuinely tested my paradigm.  Where do I place my value?  Is it in what I look like?  In other words, do I equate my value with what I look like and what I'm able to do?  Unfortunately, if I value myself because of my body shape or physical capability, my perceived value proves quite unstable, as it is contingent on outside circumstances.  

3) Pregnancy is a TWO person journey.  I know there are plenty of single moms out there, and I honestly don't know how they do it.  You are my heroes; my respect for you is just out of this world.  

If I didn't have Matt here, I think I would have just curled up in fetal position and given up.  There are days where he'd come home and my day pretty much consisted of me laying on the couch holding my stomach in pain.  No housework done, no shopping done, no dinner planned.  So, after a nice 8 hour day, Matt then played housewife.  

I really don't have the ability to overstate the contribution Matt made to our partnership during those rough months of nausea.  It was really a time where Matt had to give 200% because I was giving 0%.  But, being on the other side of that dark season now, my respect for Matt's character has grown exponentially.  He's a good guy.  

4) Do the research yourself.  Really, don't get me started on this one.  This is my soapbox of note.  I am an avid researcher, so I had been researching pregnancy and birth well before I was pregnant (Sept./Oct. 2009).  

Sometimes I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone because I've literally watched the motherhood and pregnancy articles that pepper mainstream news transform before my eyes.  How is it that no more than a year ago, once you'd had a C-Section, you'd always have a C-Section?  Now, though, the latest "research" is that it's actually BETTER for the majority of women to try to have a natural birth after they've had a C-Section?  Why, all of the sudden, is mainstream media taking an unprecedented interest in breast milk and its benefits over formula or skin to skin contact immediately after birth or the increased number of induced labors in America?  

I know many of those on the natural end of the spectrum would love to equate it to the many grassroots movements that promote natural ideology, but this research isn't groundbreaking or new.  Dr. Bradley, among others, has been saying this stuff since the '70s (Husband Coached Child Birth by Dr. Bradley is a great read, by the way).  

Sadly, I tend to subscribe to the philosophy from Aladdin that whoever has the gold makes the rules.  Whoever has the gold also spins the news.  More specifically, whoever has to fork over the gold for expensive medical procedures spins the news...and you can read into that whatever you'd like.  

The point of this all, however, is to just do the research yourself.  There's so much raw data and studies from decades of research available at your fingertips!  Don't just let someone else tell you how this entire pregnancy and birth thing is supposed to go down.  

and finally...

5) It's okay not to feel attached to this stranger in your belly.  I really struggled not feeling any emotional attachment to this baby.  I saw so many of my friends who were pregnant and they seemed so excited about their growing babies.  I honestly can't say that I feel like that. In one sense, I know there is this separate being growing inside of me, with a completely different volition than my own (I mean seriously, when I want to sleep, the baby wants to be awake.  Even now, I can't make this being do anything!), yet I don't feel any attachment to it.  

I felt rather worried, so I did what any mature, independent woman would do.  I called my mom.  Looks like you never stop needing a mom :)  She really eased my fears, telling me that she sort of felt the same way while she was pregnant with me but that once I was born, her mothering instincts kicked in.  That's good to know, because I don't feel very "instinctive" at this moment in time.  

So, I've sort of accepted my emotions toward the baby for what they are.  I'm not worried anymore that I don't feel like this baby is MY BABY.  I still wrestle with the idea of loving someone that I've never met before, but I don't expect myself to understand that yet.  

.......................

So that's what I've learned so far.  Take it or leave it.  It may have been completely different for you, or it may be completely different for you one day :)  

It's been a season of reevaluating my paradigm.  It's been a season where God has revealed Himself in new and very real ways (for me, unprecedented ways).  I wouldn't label it blissful or even enjoyable, but I would call it special, and I wouldn't trade it.