Quinoa Turkey Nuggets

The last couple months have been travel, virus, cut a tooth, rinse, repeat.  This has turned my little Miss Piggy into Miss Picky.  Mealtime is a struggle these days, and if your toddler doesn't eat, sleeping schedules are askew and patience is thin.

Last night I stuffed some peppers with a quinoa, turkey conglomeration, something that my girl used to devour.  She spit it out (at least on her plate this time).  I had a whole lot of the stuffing left over, so I threw together some nuggets from it that passed the toddler test.

Forgive me.  I hate math and measuring, which is why I hardly ever post my own recipes.  I love to just eyeball and throw things together for the fun of it.  Here is a rough recipe of the ...

Quinoa (prounounced "Keen-waah") 

Turkey Nuggets

Mix

Cooked Quinoa

Cooked Ground Turkey

Spinach (cooked or not)

Cheese (I tore up a slice of Havarti, but Parmesan would be great)

1 egg 

Garlic Salt

Pepper

Coconut Flour

All Purpose Flour

Set Aside

Coconut Oil

Dipping Sauce(s)

Made 1 dozen, enough to share

*Please note that all the ingredients are pure, organic, and unprocessed.*

Coat your pans (I had 2 going) with a standing layer coconut oil or other oil you like.  

Medium Heat.

Roll your Nugget mix into balls and flatten.

---- If your mix is feeling a little dry and/or falling apart, add more of your quinoa/turkey, maybe even another egg if you have a big batch.  If it's sticking to your hands, coat your hands with flour and/or add more to your mixture. ----

Place them in the heated pans.  Cook on both sides till golden.  I turned mine after about 6 minutes, but your burners may cook differently.  Check them after a few mins and see if they are to the level of crispiness you like.

Done.

Transfer to a plate with paper towels to soak up (not much) oil.  Or not.  Coconut Oil is GREAT for every system of your body.  My daughter takes a spoonful straight out of the jar every morning with breakfast.  It's a powerful probiotic.

Don't forget your dipping sauces.  I wanted to have greek yogurt with some lemon juice, but it wasn't thawed.  I opted for homemade honey mustard and ranch, which was a hit with the girly.

Full tummies.

Nice nap.

Good Day.

Our Sensory Techniques

This is the concluding post on the Sensory Processing Journey:

After the initial fear and shock of understanding what was going on with our son, I tried to educate myself as much as possible on what he might be experiencing and how a sensory disorder might make things more challenging for him.  It's taken a while for me to create an example, but I think I've come up with a way to describe what things might be like for him.

Imagine your body as a snow globe. Now put yourself in a situation where your senses are bombarded from all directions.  For me, I imagine myself shopping at Target during the Christmas season.  I picture the smell of the popcorn, of other people's perfumes/colognes/lotions, the heat of the store, the flashing lights of the electronics department, the colors and sounds of the toys...you get the idea.  Just thinking about it makes me feel frustrated. In that situation, my snow globe has been shaken, and my senses are responding like the million bits of snow swirling in a frenzy of reaction. For most of us, we have coping mechanisms for when things are beginning to overwhelm us.  You might not even realize you are doing it.  I take a deep breath and walk over to a vacant corner of the store to let things calm down.

Now imagine that scene through the body of a sensory kid.  It doesn't take nearly as much for their bodies to be thrown into the flurry of snowflakes.  Something as small as the tag on the inside of their t-shirt could already have their snowflakes in a tizzy.  The problem comes from the fact that they might be unfamiliar with the coping techniques needed to get their snow to settle down into a nice calm again.  When those techniques aren't utilized, a full fledged meltdown is on the way.

The job of an OT is to help those kids learn the coping mechanisms they need to help their bodies process sensory input in a way that isn't overwhelming.  We do jumping and crashing at our house.  My son will jump on either an exercise ball or my bed (he's not too big yet) with me holding his hands.  He will count his jumps before crashing into a pile of pillows.  We then get a pillow and squish him.  All I am doing is applying deep pressure to him.  He loves it.  I can not tell you, if you have not experienced it, the difference jumping and crashing makes for my son.  Night and day.  We go from meltdown mode to manageable calm within minutes. It is amazing.

Of course there are situations where jumping and crashing isn't an option.  If we go to a baseball game, or other situation where noise will be a problem, we make sure to pack a small MP3 player for him to retreat to when the crowd is too overwhelming. It calms him instantly.

One of the biggest challenges for us is food.  Most parents of sensory kids know the struggle of mealtime.  As a mom, I want to make the most of my family's meals.  I want to nourish them, to help give their bodies the chance to reap the benefits of a balanced meal.  How do you do that when the texture of certain foods literally makes your sensory kid gag? We brought the issue up with our interim OT when our usual one was out on maternity leave.  He spent the next couple of months playing with food and trying new things.  At the end of their session my son had decided that green beans weren't too bad.  And the heavens rejoiced.

I let my son take the lead on how his food is arranged.  I let him tell me where to put things, and we let him use a plate with separate compartments when he wants to.  He doesn't want some foods to touch each other. I don't mind this.  I also let him decide how to assemble his food.  Does he want marinara sauce on top of his pasta or beside it? We've found that giving him more control of his plate makes mealtime more successful.  That doesn't mean we are experts in the field by any means.  I still get frustrated knowing that at certain meals, there is nothing he will really eat. I do try to always have yogurt and some kind of fruit to go with his meals just so I know he is getting something good out of it. It is still very much a work in progress with us.

We've also been very careful to limit sugar intake.  We could most likely all stand to do this, but for a sensory kid, sugar overload gets messy. I also try to avoid artificial flavors and colors. Red #40 in particular has been shown to increase behavior issues in children. Why add more fuel to the fire?

If I could just add one more thing, it would be to please be patient with others.  Please don't assume that the kid bouncing in the library and speaking loudly is anything less than amazing.  A child having a meltdown isn't just a spoiled brat not getting their way.  Mom and Dad, or other caregivers, aren't just enabling nor doing a poor job just because their child is loud or seemingly out of control.  Give some grace.  We have no idea what the other person is going through, so let's not just assume the negative about each other. Sometimes even doing the best we can is still loud and messy.

I am immensely thankful to our OT for helping us understand my son's quirks and differences.  I used to think that SPD was a life sentence for him, and honestly, there will be some situations that will most likely always be a challenge for him.  But we now have the knowledge of how to either prevent situations that are too overwhelming, or the techniques to help alleviate some of the chaos inside him.  Some days, I confess, leave me so tired. When it's a bad sensory day, it can be so difficult to pull out of the tailspin.  I doubt myself as a mom, doubt that I am doing all I can for him.  But then I stop and think about just HOW FAR WE'VE COME, and we jump and crash. And we chew some gum. And we just keep exploring this amazing journey together.

Here is a short video that gives a quick explanation of SPD:

http://youtu.be/6O6Cm0WxEZA

Conceiving Naturally - Against the Odds - The Role of Hormones

If you're new to this blog and trying to conceive, I would encourage you to read the sections you missed, in order.

Series Intro
1. Prayer and Submission
2. Finding the Right Doctor
3. The Role of Hormones (you're on it!)

Sections to come:
4. Diet - Hers
5. Diet - His
6. Herbs, Extracts, and Supplements
7. Exercise
8. Chiropractic
9. Acupuncture
10. Massage
11. Timing: Ovulation Calculators, Ovulation Predictor Test Kits, and the Rhythm Method
12. The Fun in Trying :)

If you are trying to conceive naturally, and you have not had your hormone levels checked, it is time. 

I would also like to remind you that this is my own personal experience.  I am not a Doctor or Naturopath or Dietician.  I am just a girl.  A girl who's gone through PCOS and infertility, only to prove that it is indeed possible to not only get pregnant naturally, but to be cured of PCOS.  Medical websites will say, "although there is no cure for PCOS, there are effective treatments..."  This was unacceptable to me.

So, after step 1, and 2, I was told I had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.  If you click PCOS, you can educate yourself on the array of wonderful things that 1 out of 15 women experience.  My Doc could tell me without an ultrasound that I had it, but I got one anyway.  The images showed my ovaries were irregularly shaped with what looked like a pearl necklace of cysts all the way around them, being worse on my left.  Interestingly, most of my aches and pains are worse on my left side.

She scratched over the surface of the remaining steps that I cover and will cover, which hey, most doctors wouldn't even touch.  She had to inform me that after all that, chances were I still wouldn't be able to get pregnant, and if by some chance I did, miscarriage was probable.  Of course, there were drugs which would "help" as well.  Oddly, I felt relieved.  I finally had some answers and a gentle reminder from God that He is the great physician.

Now that I was armed with the knowledge of what was happening in my body - that my hormones are way out of balance and I have PCOS - I threw myself into the VAST research that is balancing hormones.

My dear friend Jaime asked my once, "What in the world did we do before we had our babies?"  "We tried to have them," I said. 

The next section will cover diet.

Broken and Spilled Out

"Broken and Spilled Out" is a title to a song that came out when I was about 3 by a guy named Steve Green.  If you're a church kid of the 80's, I bet your parents loved him as much as mine.

This entry isn't really about the song, but it has been on loop in my mind for the last week. 

You see, a couple weeks ago we were expecting our second child and now we are not.  I've been struggling with the fact that I feel God pressing on me to blog about it.  I keep getting this tap on my shoulder and He'd lay a thought on my heart to share.  This is just so personal and part of me didn't even want to talk about it with those that are closest to me because it would make it more real.  So, I am going to share my experience.  The reason I started this blog was to help mothers and those who long to be mothers.  Miscarriage is a such a brutal part of motherhood and I am still raw from it.

It's a little graphic, but the theme in my house for the last week and half has been "blood."

We drove up to Dallas for Easter weekend and while we were there, I was having a lot of back pain, but chalked it up to just a lot of running around.  I starting feeling crampy, but I had felt that way when I was pregnant with my daughter at the same stage of pregnancy, and just brushed it off...not mentioning it to anyone for fear of speaking what might be happening into truth...like I had any control of that!  I can only thank God for letting us celebrate Easter and getting back to Killeen before it all unfolded.  I thought I was 9 weeks pregnant and people were still giving us congratulatory hugs and my heart was still soaring.  In God's tender mercy, He let us soak up time with people we love and visit our old church, The Village that we love and miss.  With Easter comes a lot of soul searching.  The songs and message about Christ's gruesome death and glorious resurrection shake me where I stand.  I do love Christmas.  The hope in that child ... but Easter celebrates the completion of what Christ came to do and reminds me of what sacrifice truly is and how nothing I can do, or will ever have can save me or make me whole.  Only Him.  The spotless lamb who willingly gave himself up for the glory of His name.  The Bloody.Horrific.Tragic.Scandalous.Death on a Cross.Covering sins.

So this man...Jesus...he knows my pain, having bore it.
     
On the 3 hour drive home, the pain became harder to ignore.  I asked God who made me and my baby, who knew my pain, to lift it, and quickly.  He would answer that.  Just not how I'd hoped.  Right before we got home I told Tim I was hurting.  Right after we got home I had to tell him I was bleeding.  Some texts went out and prayers went up as we went to the hospital late in the afternoon for a blood draw.  I would have to wait till the next day to get results and an ultrasound.

A lot of people say that words are futile at time like that, but I was greatly encouraged by my close family and friends.  I knew statistics and stories.  This was not uncommon.  However, I also know myself and the last week or so I had been down.  Something had changed and I kept telling myself that it was hormones.  I was short-tempered, worrisome, and not myself.  I'd look in the mirror and think that my glow was gone then shrug it away.  I also couldn't get my step dad out of my mind.  He passed a little over 2 years ago and I just kept wondering what he was doing.  Wishing he was still here...missing him.  I thought I was carrying my baby, but perhaps he was carrying him up on his shoulders in those moments.  He liked to do that.

That night I took everyone's advice and just put my feet up.  All the while sweating through the fact that part of me knew that come November, I wouldn't be bringing home a soft little baby bundled in a blanket.

Tim and I with our 14 month old daughter waited for what seemed like an eternity to see a doctor.  I lay there on the exam table asking for a miracle and God lifted my chin and directed my gaze to my intuitive, stunningly beautiful, healthy, smart, funny miracle.  She was staring right at me.  "There's one, right there," God said.  Tim and I tried 4.5 years for Lily Sue and we got her just when we were supposed to.  Sometimes I think in my infinite pride that I was the one who created my daughter.  I was the one who got us pregnant naturally...with all my research and striving.  It certainly didn't hurt.  Those things we implemented were GOOD gifts from God, but it was not me or Tim or herbs or acupuncture.  "It's out of your hands," God whispered.  Peace rested on me in that moment.  The doctor came in and after looking at my blood results, announced with a sweep out of the door that my HCG level was good for 9 weeks and he'd be right back with an ultrasound.

It doesn't matter what a blood test says when an ultrasound shows your baby has no heartbeat.  He said dates could be wrong.  It may be to early to tell, but the baby measured 7 weeks 4 days and you can see a heartbeat at that point.  He scheduled me for another blood draw and ultrasound in the morning, but told me that we should prepare ourselves for a miscarriage.  All of a sudden I wanted to be a jerk and say sarcastically, "yeah. ok," with a dry laugh.  I wanted to punch him in the face, but he was actually very kind and he made Lily smile so I made it home before I got violent.  Tim had to go back to work, Lily wouldn't eat...or nap.  While she was fighting a nap, I got in a fight with some mixing bowls in the middle of unloading the dishwasher.  Throwing things and cursing didn't help or put life on pause.  I had to turn around and pick up the dishes. 

The bleeding and pain progressed pretty rapidly in the hour after Tim left.  I called him to come home and my mom made her way down.  I was laying on our bed, when I heard Tim groan and call out from the living room, "Lily is bleeding!"  I threw off my blanket and ran in.  She had cut her finger on a wooden crate (we think) and there was blood all over her puzzle pieces and the white sofa.  It was such a tiny cut, but she managed to spread it around pretty evenly on the couch.  She didn't even know she was hurt.  So yeah.   Parenting is: and then picture what was happening in my house.  I was losing a child and doctoring another.  I was bandaging her finger and googling how to get blood out of a white ikea sofa.  It worked. 

By the time my mom arrived it was pretty evident the blood work and the ultrasound the next day would be a formality.  Some might say "Oh ye of little faith!"  I knew God could, in any moment bring the bleeding to a halt.  The next day I could see my little baby's heartbeat.  I knew this could happen.  It has for some.  I prayed and hoped it would for us.  I imagined Tim and I sharing the miraculous story to our future son or daughter.  However, who am I to know the future?  Who am I to make proclamations about what God was doing?  There was only one thing I was certain of.  He had it.  Whatever the outcome, it was going to be okay. 

Tim and I spent the next morning at the hospital.  Waiting.  If you ever want a taste of what government healthcare is like, go hang out at a hospital on a military installation.  That issue is for another day on someone else's blog.

I will not go into details of my physical miscarriage that unfolded during that very long wait.  It was my worst nightmare come to life and I was nothing but a broken woman at that point.

To keep my mind from wandering into despair while we sat in the waiting "room" (I use quotes as it's a larger area than the average house, and full of pregnant army wives), I read.  I started The Explicit Gospel by Matt Chandler on Easter weekend and wouldn't you know I picked it back up in a section leading into the depiction of the bloodbath that was animal sacrifice.  The law.  We humans just can't keep it.  We are defenseless without a scapegoat.  I had to put it down and ask God, "What's with all the blood?"  I just kept reading.  It's good.  

Once we got to a room and a doctor, my body had almost passed the baby.  Another 5 minutes, and I would have lost him in the waiting room.  Up until the doctor saying the words, "and you're miscarrying now," I prayed and hoped for this child to hang on in there and not come out till November.  It wasn't so and there he (I use "he" only because of grammar rules) was in a plastic cup with a lid.  I couldn't really see him through all the tears and all the blood.  The nurse carried him out of the room to take him to some lab for some tests that don't matter.  I felt panic and regret for letting them carry him away.  I had asked beforehand if I could take the baby home and he (a different doctor than the day before) said, "Take it home?  There's nothing there."  I couldn't even respond at that point.

He left the room for a moment and I told Tim I really wanted to take the baby home.  Our baby's life was gone, but his body wasn't.  Some mommies can't bear to see it and that's okay.  Some mommies don't even know they are passing their baby, it gets flushed away, and that's okay.  Some mommies want to take their baby and have a memorial, and that's okay too.  It should be offered instead of assumed that we don't mind you carrying off a person we've been carrying in our body.  He was not a specimen.  He was not "stuff in a cup" as I heard you call him out in the hall.  He was knit together by God for some purpose.  He didn't get to be in my belly for long, but he is my baby.  He didn't have a name but we called him/her "Apple" because it's our daughter's cutest word.  Now when she says that word, my throat seizes up. 

What I have experienced since that finality has been all over the board, but never anger.  I walked out of the hospital under my husband's arm and what must have been a whole herald of angels because I already had flickers of joy and anticipation for the day when I will get to meet the person who was in the body I then carried in my purse. 

My mom stayed a few more days and she took me to a nearby nursery to see if they might have an apple tree to bury our baby under.  They were all too big and I wanted something we could transplant when we move.  We settled on a fitting Sweet Memory tree with bright purple and white blooms and cascading red and orange berries.  They attract butterflies and smell like bubble gum.

I will never lose the image of my husband down on his knees in his work gloves spreading soil so gently and smoothly around that big planter.  It was so beautiful.  My mom held Lily and I took our "Apple" out of the cup and wiped away the blood from the placenta that was still holding everything together (and so FIRMLY!).  He looked perfect.  He was a whole person at just 7 weeks and 4 days, with little hands and feet and a face.  We could see his soft little spine through his see-through skin.  I could have looked at him forever in wonder.  I had to let him go down into the dirt to nourish the roots of our Sweet Memory.  Not many words could be said at our service, other than Tim's "It's our apple tree."  That sentence is burned on my heart and I hear it every morning when I open the blinds to look at our tree.  I knelt there with bright red blood on my hands clinging to the solid promises of my Savior.  My child was His all along.  The same God who so carefully and miraculously made him come alive in my womb took him back at the exact moment He intended to. 

A few days ago, we gave our very scruffy wirehair dachshund a military haircut.  We nicked him a little and after his bath he ran to the living room and unbeknownst to us, began scratching and rubbing his wound all over our white sofa.  This time we knew what to do and the stains are washed away again.  Kind of a reflection of something, huh?  I know you all think I'm insane having a white sofa, but I don't mind the washing because I love a fresh country cottage.  That night while I rocked my daughter to sleep I had to ask again, "What's with all the blood?"  Immediately, He put these lyrics to a song "Oh Worship the King!" on my lips I hadn't sung in ages:

"Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
In thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail;
Thy mercies, how tender, how firm to the end,
Our maker, defender, redeemer, and friend!"

Life is short.  Eternity is long.  I, along with every other person am a fragile, breakable being.  I can do nothing but let God carry me through the mountains and the valleys till the day, I too am put in the ground.

I thought waiting 18/20 weeks was a long time to find out if Lily Sue was a boy or girl.  I don't know how long I will have to wait to find out about Apple (and I pray it's a very long time), but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that that whole person who's body is buried in that soil on our patio will be waiting to greet me in Heaven.  I'm still jealous and sad that I am not the one who is caring for him, but the One who holds my life and all life, is holding him.  What a comfort.  What an undeserved miracle of life.

The Journey into SPD

I still vividly remember the day we went in for an annual checkup. My son had a thing about squeezing his arms and, of course, they checked his blood pressure for the first time that day. It undid him. So the rest of his appointment was spent trying to console him and get him to calm back down. The doctor was making friendly banter with the kids...Will I find Cookie Monster in your ear? It works. They laugh. But, when we mentioned some of our concerns with our son, you could actually see the shift in her demeanor as she went straight into doctor mode. A litany of questions followed. The two that I most remember:

-Do tags on his shirt bother him? (Yes.)

-Does he like so snuggle/hug? (Only with me.)

She gave us a referral to see an Occupational Therapist so they could observe him. I left the office feeling more afraid than when we got there. The doctor had just confirmed my fear. There was something different about him that we needed to address.

We had an appointment with an OT at Our Children's House. I have to admit, I was even more afraid when we got there. I felt completely out of my element as I wondered what in the world we were doing here. We were surrounded by children in wheelchairs that couldn't move, some that could barely speak, and some that had various tubes still attached to them. I had NO idea what an OT did, and even less of an idea as to what she might do for us.

Our OT was a woman about my age named Brooke. I am so thankful to have met her and can not imagine a better fit for our family. She observed him for almost an hour and a half, making notes, doing small tests with him. We were still so new to this world, we had no idea what all she was looking for.

At the end of his evaluation, she pulled us into a room and told us that she was noticing some definite sensory behavior and that we would get our evaluation in the following weeks. We did leave that day with a name: Sensory Processing Disorder. I felt shell shocked, still not knowing what was going on and what this meant for my son's development.

When the evaluation finally came, it was so very hard to read it. He was significantly behind in fine motor development. He was four at the time, but had the coordination of a two year old in some areas. It was looking at that paper that broke my heart. What would that mean for the long run? Would he always have challenges? What would that mean for school? My husband has an amazing way of calming me down. He looked at the evaluation as a set of areas where we need to improve, whereas I saw it as everything my child lacked.

At this point we still didn't really know what was going on and what Occupational Therapy would do for him. But we committed to going back and soon began our journey into finding out all we could about Sensory Processing Disorder. I'll continue to share more about our discoveries, challenges, and victories as we made our way into that world.

Life With a Sensory Kiddo

There are secret fears that nag at a mother's heart. It's inevitable. When you've helped create this small being, or chosen them to be your own, you have opened up your heart to a world of joys and fears, triumphs and sorrows. I think parents always have a running dialogue in the back of their minds as they watch their child develop. Is this normal? How are they doing? Is this quirky behavior, or is it something more? Is this a phase?

I am a proud mom to two beautiful children. My precocious, logical daughter, who is never without a book and an observation, is now 8. After a week spent in the NICU after her birth, life and growth have sped right along for her. I also have a superhero in my family who is quite passionate about the difference between good guys and bad guys. He turned 6 in January. It is my superhero that I would like to discuss.

When he was two, we started noticing some behaviors that we thought were just quirks. They were funny, and made us chuckle, and of course, love him even more. His sister got new shoes for Christmas which he immediately took and put on his feet. Even the silver sparkly ones. He wore them ALL the time...at night we would walk in his room and remove them as he slept. We figured it was a phase he would outgrow.

Other quirks began to show up when he turned three. He would only wear khakis, he never wanted to wear shorts, even in the summer in Texas, and he always, ALWAYS had to wear shoes. I remember watching him around his peers at preschool, thinking something was just off. In the back of my heart I felt questions trying to surface that I was not ready to face.

It was in the spring just before his four year check up it became apparent that something might be going on with him. He began to smear, um, pooh, on the walls and into the carpet. I tried talking to him, I tried pleading...asking other moms if their sons were doing things like this. I knew. In my heart, I knew there was something else going on. After the third day in a row of him smearing stuff into the carpet, I remember being on my knees scrubbing it clean, and fear overwhelmed me. I sobbed as I realized out loud, Something is wrong with my son.

I have said it before, and I will say it again: Nothing on earth is as heavy as a mother's heart. When you see an area where your child is delayed, where they aren't thriving, the instinct to protect has a way of forcing you to ask the questions you fear. It pushes you to acknowledge their differences and to take action. You willingly accept the role as an advocate for your child and begin the process of figuring out what is going on and what there is to do about it. My next post will show the beginning of our journey into life with a Super-Sensory-Hero.

Loving Last Place.

For me, the last few months have been like a mini-mester on Life 101.  This mommy-hood thing isn't for a degree, people.  It doesn't stop.  A shadow of the truth of all truths.

Dropping everything (again) and restarting (again) in supporting a husband who joins the army at 30 and then gets you pregnant is like the breaking ground for the shifting tectonic plates of your soul.

Before we got pregnant, the "hierarchy" of my family flip-flopped.  The majority of the time, I put myself first.  This is such a base and broad statement, that I am looking at it and not liking it (mostly because it's true).  This does not mean that I did not have a growing relationship with my husband or friends or family or Jesus.  I know that in all those respects, my relationships blossomed in ways and wilted in ways.  They just could have been so much more ... especially in regards to my God and my husband. 

If you know me, you know that by worldly standards, I am not a "materialistic" person.  Too much literal baggage bothers me.  I like to make old things into new things.  I enjoy simplicity.  I try to invest my time and money in what lasts.   

Being numero uno wasn't about getting and having, it was about deciding and power.  However you put yourself first, it's naturally fun, but it left me unsatisfied and terribly wanting.

A child is not the answer to this or a cure-all, but a daughter was a catalyst for great change in my personal priority pyramid and how I view it altogether.

It began with seeing my body with different eyes.  My body didn't just belong to me anymore.  What I ate, what I read, what I watched - it always mattered.  Now just differently.  I began to pay closer attention to my physical and spiritual reactions to influence of all kinds.  If they were not positive reactions, it was an easy choice to drop them. I also saw my physical body with different eyes.  For the first time in my life I LONGED for my belly to bulge.  I took photos of my abdomen almost every day and sent it to my husband overseas.  This is the same abdomen that months before, I would look at in the mirror and frown because it didn't measure up to the photo-shopped version it was "supposed" to be.  Now, you better believe I used the stretch-mark oils and creams and wasted plenty of worry over what I would end up with after this child had pushed my stomach out farther than I thought humanly possible.  Even amidst the concern about the impending doom of the hanging belly and crinkled skin, I smiled.  This body of mine is a temporary tent.  A tent that got to carry my living, growing child.  No one but her and God know what my heart sounds like from the inside.  That is a gift, and then so are the physical changes.

The way I prayed and the amount of praying changed drastically.  The ramblings I would fill God's ears with about my personal needs faded into pleadings on my knees to keep my baby healthy, and moments of stillness - in awe of his mystery and wonder that was taking place in my life. 

Still in my first trimester, at a midwife appointment, she was having trouble finding the heartbeat with the doppler.  She moved that thing and pushed so hard on my bladder, my ribs, my HIPS!  Nothing.  We took a breather because my blood pressure was rising.  We tried again.  Nothing.  We took another break and she said if she couldn't find it, that I would need an ultrasound.  I prayed like I never had before, or have since, laying on that table with my chest open to the sky.  "Oh Lord!  Take my heart!  Give it to this baby."  My longing to just be a mom was gone.  In it's place was a longing for whoever this person was.  For them to see the sun.  To run, and even scrape their knees.  To keep on being a light in someone's life, not just mine.  To hear their own child's heartbeat.  The midwife came back and seeing that I was falling apart, told me, "Be strong.  You are someone's mother now."  She put that tiny microphone on my tummy, and just like that...there was little Lily Sue's heart.  Beating loud, and soaring strong, right along with mine.  I will never forget that day.  I was changed.  I was so much less of me.

Since then, moment by moment, experience by experience, my self has been emptying.  Not my identity.  I have not lost that.  It's still me, and it's better.  Still the same heart and hobbies and loves.  The proportions have just been shifted ... and although, sometimes I need a day to myself, having myself in last place is the place I find the most joy.  Putting my husband and child's needs before mine does not rob me.  It's rewarding in every way. 

Now, Reader.  Just putting yourself last does not automatically make everything peachy.  You are not the only one in your family.  This doesn't flow very well if you are the one only putting yourself last.  Your husband's position is high in your priorities, just as your position should be in his.  If your husband is putting you before himself, and you are putting him before yourself, then you are secure.  You are taken care of.  You are blessed and free to bless.  Your child - regardless of age is learning this and can only be taught this principle by example.

It goes without saying that a newborn takes so much of your time, you barely have time to breathe.  Lily Sue is a taker.  She was born that way.  She takes our time, our money, our space, our freedom.  I can't tell you the number of times I think about poop on a daily basis.  There is no choice in the position of a baby.  Their needs have to be met first or no one gets any peace whatsoever.  This is why it is so important that you and your spouse take care of one another. 

I do not like numbers.  I do not like ranks.  However in this case, this hierarchy is what will ultimately be the most rewarding.  I think the "I am Second" campaign almost got it right. 

1. God*
2. Spouse
3. Children
4. Others
5. Self

*If you do not believe in God and/or do not have a place for him on your list, just put a 1 in front of spouse and keep the rest in order.  I can guarantee that if you do life in this order, God will show up and start throwing a wrench (or wrenchES.  He's persistent) in your list.

If both spouses aren't doing it this way or even in different orders, it will fall apart.  The great thing about this is that even though the ranking lowers, all parties are equally blessed!

You might say, "but my baby has to be fed before my husband."  "My children can't even wipe themselves!"  I am speaking on a different level, here ... your heart.  Their rank in your life.  Deep, at your roots, who should be your guide if not your creator?  And who should be your partner, if not the one your creator has given you?  I am not saying to toss your child on the floor when hubby's on his way - rolling out the red carpet that leads to a beer in a frosty mug next to a steak grilled exactly to his liking.  If you wish to do that (without tossing a kid) wow!  Do it!  Imagine a life where he'd do something equally amazing (like join Pinterest just to look at your boards - yes my husband is this awe-inspiring).  Most days here with a 1 year old, Tim comes home to a wife wearing one of his T-shirts with some kind of food on it, her hair is in a messy bun, and down on the floor WITH the baby.  No red carpet, today buddy...and hey, you said you liked me scrubby, so enjoy.  Doesn't mean his place in my heart is less.  He has made a way for me to be on the floor with the baby all day.  He comes home and scoops her up and makes her laugh.  For me, this is gold.  The two of them together in the same country, under the same roof, looking at a book while I make them dinner is more than I ever deserve.  My hair can wait ... along with the laundry.

So, this is my time to myself.  My daughter is taken care of, and I can plug into my outlet.  It's naptime, and here I sit.  Looking down at my toes that have the last bit of purple polish from when I was in a wedding 3 months ago.  I've been meaning to get after it with some remover.  Just haven't found the time for myself.  My toes really need some attention before sandal season (which, in Texas is basically every season.  Why do I put my spring and summer away?  It's February and it's shorts weather).  I'll take some time and get a pedicure soon ... and I'll think how Tim gives a better foot massage and wonder how much Lily Sue will like the color.  Or maybe I will save the money and just do it myself.  Maybe go visit my mom and we can do eachother's toes.  I look forward to doing that with my daughter someday.  All these people.  They give me more and mean more to me than me.

So I hope you will try out settling into last place.  See how it fits.  I think you might end up seeing more of God in you ... and that is the prize in this race, after all.