Roxie: Delivery Highlights as Told in Random Quotes

*Longest Post Ever Alert*

Roxie is two months old today, and that means I haven't posted to this blog in (checking my watch), oh yes, two months.

I spent the first month easing myself off of chairs and using my best Uncle Rico voice to declare that I "broke my coccyx."  Then I got this zany, sleep-deprived idea to tell the story of Roxie's arrival using various applicable (sort of) quotes.  Now, I'm not sure it's all that great of an idea, but it's been ruminating so long that I'll feel I've left something undone if I do not follow through.  So here's how it all went down.

"I swear, you need a passport to come [up] here."

I delivered Roxie about 5 miles from the Canadian border, and it so happens that my OB is French Canadian and has a delightful French accent that I've come to understand.  As she was not on call, the doctor who delivered Roxie was also French Canadian (and also now one of my favorite people), and his accent was less familiar to me.  So when things came to a screeching halt in my labor, he was talking about an epidural, but all I heard was "eh-puh-dyuhr-AAAHL," and before I realized what he was talking about, it made an already exciting time that much more exciting as I played "Decipher the MD code in a foreign tongue" between contractions.

"I-I-I-I love technology-y-y.  Noooot as much as you, you see.  But I sti-i-i-ill love technology-y-y, always and forever-r-r." 

With phones and Kindle Fire in hands, Jed and I were notifying certain folks whenever any major progress was made, including when I was about to push.  Now, we did have a slightly good excuse for the TMI because a very small glitch about halfway through had us contacting the prayer brigade who was then very interested in updates.  Even at 1 in the morning.  So, as a laboring woman with all the hormones and emotions that go into it, when I would look over at Jed on his chair with phone in hand, totally absorbed, I knew that right there was a sign of the times.  (Before you get the wrong idea, I'll be sure to clarify that Jed is the best labor coach on the planet, hands down.)

"She's running to stand - still." 

I kind of hoped Roxie would come a day before her due date, which was January 11.  The 10th was my granddaddy's birthday, and her middle name is my grandmother's, and I just thought it would be neat.  I labored all day on the 10th, and by around 5pm, we realized it was the real deal, and it suddenly started to go into overdrive.  We headed to the hospital, and as soon as we got settled, the engines really revved, and everything moved along quickly...like, maybe another two hours and we'll have a new kid.  I like the idea of medication-free deliveries but have yet to follow through on that little dream.  The intensity was enough for me to announce that an epidural, ten minutes ago please, would be just fine.  I got the epidural from the weirdest anesthesiologist who had zero social skills, always slammed the door, and due to his job, had a plastic bag on his head.  Not long after that, everything slowed down just a touch, so my MD ordered pitocin to give the engine a little kick-start.  Then everything slowed down even more, and she seemed stuck in a weird angle that wouldn't budge (this is presumed to be from the ferocious nature of my water breaking, but why on earth would I actually say that and make you think about it?).  She was still much higher up in my belly than she really ought to have been by then.  They turned me on my side, her heart rate dropped drastically, they turned me back, the MD that I love began throwing out the possibility of a C-section, Jed and I had thumbs moving wildly on our phones to update the prayer brigade, then we asked medical personnel to leave the room please.  Fast, slow, fast, slow...it was pretty strange.  I figure she wanted to arrive right on time, so she just took a breather till after midnight.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication and with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God."

After the room cleared, we put our hands on my belly and thanked Yahweh for our sweet little daughter, and we blessed the delivery to resume smoothly and safely come what may, but we also prophesied that any impediment be removed.  A few minutes later, the doctor came in and decided he'd try taking me off the pitocin to see if Roxie's heart rate would normalize and maybe she would descend.  To him, it didn't seem likely.  And then the engine revved again!  Contractions picked back up in intensity and duration, and I could feel her descending like nothing had ever happened.  In not time, Jed and I were in the room alone again, and I knew it sounded crazy.  It was just too soon!  But I knew she was ready.  I was about to call the doctor in to check when he walked in of his own accord.  I said, "I know you're not going to believe me, but I think it's time to push.  Could you check?"  He sort of chuckled, then checked, then raised his eyebrows and laughed again, giving directions to the nurse: "OK, let's have this baby!" 

"Every baby is the sweetest and the best." 

I pushed for about 3 seconds (OK, it was through two contractions, so maybe 7 minutes, but it seemed really fast!) and there she was, Roxie Evelyn, the sweetest and the best!

"The fair is a veritable smorgasbord." 

The size of my cavernous appetite is no secret to most folks.  At a camping trip after high school, some friends labeled me the Human Tapeworm (lovely, yes?) because I didn't stop eating and they didn't know where it all went.  (Now I could show them where it went, but that's beside the point.  Ahem.)  Anyway, we went to the hospital around dinnertime, just before dinnertime that is, which is just poor form.  One must eat for the marathon that is labor.  I asked the nurse repeatedly for food, even though I knew the answer was a packet of crackers every so often.  But all I really remember after the delivery was asking for, and eating, 30 pieces of toast, followed by 30 more pieces, followed by morning, finally!, when I could order a proper meal.  I also remember my dear friends coming to visit the next night right as my dinner came, and impolite as it was, I didn't wait for them to leave before I stuffed my face.  In fact, I'm not even sure I actually looked up at them.  Delivering children really builds up the appetite.  Not just mine, OK? 

"Broke her coccyx." 

After I stuffed my belly with breakfast (Roxie was born around 1 in the morning; it's hilarious that I actually don't remember the time.  It might've been right after 2 am, but moving on.), I decided to get out of bed.  The eh-puh-dyuhr-AAAHL had worn off, and all I knew was that something had gone awry with my tailbone.  Seriously.  All the regular culprits were not part of my labor experience, so none of us knows why that was the case.  I just know that I've enjoyed quoting Uncle Rico for some time now, and I'm cracking up that it's the inspiration for this post that is just waaaaaaaaay longer than it should be! 

"More cowbell." 

Dear slightly-off, middle-of-the-night nurse with the loose, squeaky wheel on your rolling cart:  FIX YOUR CART!  Exhausted parents of newborns don't want you clanking into the room in the middle of the night for a routine check like we're all college students, wide awake, with nothing to do but be noisy and annoying.  Kind as you are, you get no brownie points for anything but utter silence.  (All those raging hormones make new moms a little wild-eyed, ya know.)

"Hey, Ace."
"Yeah, Dan?"
"You got any more of that gum?"

"That's none of your...business, and I'll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs." 

Listen, one thing they never warn you about is just how many random people from random departments come into your hospital room after you give birth in order to give you information, take your information, make suggestions, ask if you have any suggestions, give you forms, take your forms, and so on.  Our little family hospital was not sooo bad, but when I delivered Adelaide at the giant teaching/research institutional hospital in the city, it was all whack-a-doo.  Jed said he kept waiting for the CostCo rep to come in to renew our membership.  You feel a little like the world has been given license to get all up in your business.  It was during one such visit that we made the Game Day switch on Roxie's name.  The Social Security Administration worker ("Sure!  Come on in!  Come one, come all!) came in for the official name form, and Jed and I had been discussing making Roxie the first name instead of the intended middle name.  My mom and dad both go by their middle names, and one of the only things my mom has ever been adamant about in life is what a pain it is on forms and explaining first-day roll calls.  So she went from Evelyn Roxie to Roxie Evelyn.  All while some stranger stood by and observed.

"Be careful, little ears, what you hear." 

One of the visitors we didn't mind was my OB coming in to check how the delivery went.  She is, as I said, French Canadian with very sharp facial features, particularly her cheekbones and jaw.  She is also one of the tiniest people I've ever seen in real life.  After she left, Jed said something I forever wish I could erase from my mind's eye:  "She looks like Willem Dafoe." 

That's right.  Please ignore my total
incompetence at cutting/pasting.

Sooooo, that makes all my checkups pretty interesting. 

"It's beginning to look a lot like...weather." 

(I do not condone the watching of this movie, by the way!)

We were pretty set to leave the hospital on Day 2, but I was waiting for my lunch.  THEN we could leave.  AFTER lunch.  But the snowstorm the weather guys were discussing and that we were taking lightly started to blow in with great gusto.  By the time we left, with our newborn in the car, the roads were absolutely nasty.  And one of a parent's worst fears happened.  We started to spin out with traffic behind us and a box truck coming toward us.  We spun into the other lane with on-coming traffic headed our way, straight for the ditch on the other side.  But Jed, who is masterful in such conditions, and the grace of Yahweh, steadied us on the road, and Jed pulled the car back around so that it faced the right direction, and was in the right lane, and we drove .0023 miles an hour the rest of the way home.

Driving your newborn home is nerve-wracking anyway.  They're just so very fragile.  But we finally made it up the driveway and brought her in the front door to her excited siblings, and our lives are forever changed!

Carpe Nutellem

I bet most of you have read the "Don't Carpe Diem" article written by Glennon Melton for the Huffington Post.  For all you moms, parents for that matter, who can't quite measure up to the pressure to feel constantly elated about the duties of parenthood (please tell me that's all of us!), it's a funny read.  It's touched a nerve, because it's been circulated about a million times within my circle of friends.  I've realized in my current newborn-toddler-pre-K-er situation that there are a few key things I hope to carpe in any given week, let alone every diem.  This newborn season is short but intense, so we take what we can get, and the list is as old as humanity: there's nothing new under the sun (except maybe green lights...and Nutella).

CARPE NUTELLEM

No explanation needed.  Thank you, Italy.  I don't know how many croissants we've gone through, but I've found the time needed to glop this onto one is negligible, even with a newborn in one arm.

CARPE WINKEM

Sleep.  Wherever you can get it.  Do it.

CARPE DE-FILTHEM

Even with my mom here, oh-so-graciously, in the fray to help us, this is a sight still slightly more elusive to me than I'd like to yet admit.  If the water's still hot after all those loads of newborn-poo-that-doesn't-come-off laundry, all the better!

CARPE CUP-O'-JOE-EM

One might think it contradictory to CARPE WINKEM, but that is false.  The end.

CARPE OPEN-ROADEM

There might be a pattern here from other posts.  I like driving.  I like being alone.  But especially right now, the two or so times I've had to make an appointment, ALL BY MYSELF!, let's just say I carpe-ed the mess out of it. 

CARPE GREEN-LIGHTEM

Anyone who's driven through town with a screaming newborn who dozes when the car's in motion then erupts when the car stops knows what this is all about.  Red lights are the enemy.

CARPE SILENCIUM

Loud, knocking toys; toddler protests; baby wails; silly songs for kids: it's just everyday life, but apparently it can lead to overload.  Because then there's walking down the stairs, kids are down for the night, and all there is for a brief moment is the slight roar of the fire.  If the TV's on, I turn it off.  Silence. Is. Golden.  Ahhhhh.

(But mostly, CARPE NUTELLEM)

Top Ten Reasons Roxie Ought to Come Today

Even though I absolutely have my wits about me and am totally calm and the actual due date isn't even until tomorrow and that means she could not come for another week and a half, here are the top ten reasons I think Roxie ought to make her debut, well, right now.

10.  I've been having various bouts of contractions since New Year's Eve.  That was 10 days ago...

(Ten. Days.)

9.  We finally purchased the larger vehicle needed to fit all three children at the same time.  I felt certain that she was just waiting for us to get that affair in order, but that was finalized last Friday, soooooo....

8.  I am ready.  (Thank you, Captain Obvious, I know.  As if this post alone hadn't made it pretty clear.)

7.  I completed my random nesting-lady to-do list, including waxing my mustache. What else could she be waiting on?

6.  I encouraged Jed through completion of his Honey-Do list, including mounting the paper towel holder on the wall.  Again, what else could she be waiting on?

5.  There is a newborn-sized person inside my body.  Currently.  Isn't that enough?

4.  January 10th is the day I've been gunning for since the beginning, because it was my Granddaddy's birthday.  It has a nostalgic connection, aaaaand it'd be convenient to remember for that side of the family.

3.  Last night was a full moon.  Isn't that supposed to pull her out like it pulls the tides?

2.  I finally packed my hospital bag.  (Hopefully she's not just procrastinating like her mom.)

1.  Tomorrow's the official due date, and I've been saying I think she'll come early.  That leaves us with today, little girl!

Therefore, it really ought to start happening, just, any moment now.  Just any moment.  Aaaaany time...

In the meantime, I'll be in the living room, jumping around with Levi.

(And reminding myself that she is so very portable and well-fed where she is...no need to rush it.  No need to rush it.  No need to rush...)


   

He's Captured My Heart, and Today, He's FIVE!

I can't pinpoint the day I fell madly in love with Levi. 

It wasn't the day of his birth, though I loved him with a mama-bear passion.  Twenty-two hours of grueling, induced, take-these-contractions-with-no-rest-in-between-and-like-it labor left me stunned in a hospital gown.  (OK, the last hour was a rainbow-y dance in the sunshine, as the epidural I [finally] agreed to took effect.)  But I was stunned nevertheless.  And with a baby.  A baby!  Our first.  Levi.

These past five years, he has proven to be thoughtfully inquisitive, thirsty for understanding, hilariously goofy, and a fine dancer.  Keeping up with the pace of his memory and questions leaves me daily challenged, and remembering to nurture his soft-hearted love and sensitivity so that he will continue to turn that tenderness, and entrust it, to Yahweh is a pleasure I do not take for granted.

I listen to his creative jokes, watch him play his funny pretend games with his funny pretend workers (imaginary friends we've all grown to love:  Binkin, Paunch, Kimper, Chimp, and Shama-Lama-Lingus, who all live currently on Pluto), try to give him honest answers to his constant questions, and watch him absorb wide-eyed any story we read or make up, and I think my heart will burst.

He is a strong little boy, full of life and willfulness, and while all kids are awesome, I have the distinct motherly privilege of being completely and uselessly biased into thinking he is the greatest little boy on the planet.  (Just like every other mother's little boy; it's our special right). 



I only now realized that I wrote
"Birthay."  Nice one, Mom!




So sweet, sweet Mr. Levi (aka Schmevi, aka Bubba) Eliot Finley, happiest of birthdays to you today as you turn FIVE!  Here's to your loose teeth and the one that's gone nearly horizontal today as you continued to mess with it, declaring, "I need the money."  (What?)  Here's to your practically politician-cultivated diplomacy and charm on the phone as you fielded your birthday calls all day, expressing great gratitude and grace with every caller.  Here's to your cake-decorating skills, your magic tricks, your declarations about mouse poop, and your investigations on your new microscope.  Your huge brown eyes and precious smile are a joy to me, and your lively nature give me incredible, new perspective on life and our heavenly Father.  May you always know and love Him, walk according to His purpose for you, know peace, laugh at fear and inhibitions, inspire and bless others, and change the world. 

I love you, sweet Bear!  We are so proud of you!

Kids' Bliss Trains the Parents: Wait, What?

Follow your bliss.  Just follow it.  Follow what?  Your bliss.  What is your bliss?  I have no idea.  The thing that brings you bliss?  So bliss is the ultimate goal?  No, your bliss is the ultimate goal.  Nice.  Follow that.

I heard of an interview in which Brad Pitt says he really just encourages his kids to follow their bliss.  I may've vomited a little bit in my mouth.  Little kids' bliss runs the gamut.  Putting plastic chunks in their noses.  Eating only cake for three days.  Practicing kung fu on their friends' faces.  Maybe, just maybe, they could use a little direction.   

There's this proverb you probably already know:  "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it" (Prov. 22:6).  It sneaked into my thoughts a month or so ago, and then it started knocking around and making some noise that I couldn't ignore, and now it's pretty much stuck in my craw.  I started picking out the tiniest morsels for rumination:  What does it mean by "train," by "way," by "should," and by the conclusion that he'll not depart from it?  Yeah, I know.  If you find that intense, welcome to my world. 

I figured there were three things crucial to deciphering all this.  First, ask Yahweh.  Duh.  He's the one stirring it up; I'd be obtuse to not ask Him why.  Second, investigate the original language for clues.  And third, consider apple trees. 

From Yahweh, I've been getting the idea of equipping children for successful adulthood in the most practical ways.  I mean, even as specific as praying about His calling for their lives, for their careers, and beginning to develop those talents and capacities.  I think a lot of parents do that.  I see many families in which the kids follow in the path made available by their parents.  You know, boys learning their dad's trade to continue the family business, or those families where the dad's a doctor, and all the kids are, too, or the dad's a minister, and all his sons are, too.  But they are the exception, not the rule.  It just happened that when I'd see the words of this proverb in my mind, the word "way" was being highlighted, as if the Father was saying, "This is more than just becoming a believer.  I know the plans I have for your kid.  Learn my heart, and buy up their childhood to help them in that path."  Right now, Jed and I think it'd be cool to raise Levi to become a dentist, because they are respectable and make decent money, and they only work, like, Mon - Thurs from 9:00-3:30.  Then in the summer, you call them up, and they defer you to their colleague dentist friends, because they're out of the office for a month.  The only thing better would be practicing dentistry in Europe where they value the afternoon nap and possibly don't care much about their teeth. 

I was raised to believe I could achieve anything and that the world was my oyster, and it was truly encouraging, but I realized as I stepped over the threshold into adulthood that maybe being prepared for the whole world was a little overwhelming and perhaps a little more specific direction would've been useful, too.

OK, so then there's the original language of the proverb.  Clarke's Commentary on the Bible says, "The Hebrew of this clause is curious: חנך לנער על פי דרכו chanoch lannaar al pi darco, 'Initiate the child at the opening (the mouth) of his path.'"  And, well, OK, if we're going to do this, then I'll revisit "initiate:"  "to introduce into the knowledge of some art or subject" or "to set going" (dictionary.com).  Interesting.  Interesting that it would say the mouth of "his" path, eh?  So we're onto something. 
 
Barnes' Notes on the Bible say something similar about it:
"Train - Initiate, and so, educate.
The way he should go - Or, according to the tenor of his way, i. e., the path especially belonging to, especially fitted for, the individual's character. The proverb enjoins the closest possible study of each child's temperament and the adaptation of 'his way of life' to that."  Again with the direction having to do very much with the individual purpose placed in that child.

I think as parents we so want to develop our children's characters, decision-making faculties, and faith so that they can be adults who plan and choose wisely.  But then this whole can of worms opens up, and I realize, hey, why not?  It would be a huge success as a parent to take that role of wisdom and covering and prayerful consideration and begin to shape our children in the most practical ways for the most successful life, according to the Father's plan for them.  It's totally doable. 

I'm avoiding too many details here, because I don't feel inclined to start arranging marriages between infants or discounting the preferences of my kids as they get older and start considering such things on their own.  But there's something to all this. 

Then there's the apple tree, and this is just an aside, more about the training part of it all.  Left untended, an apple tree just grows up and out in all directions, stretching its limbs, being free to grow and be and do just what it wants.  It also produces few apples and tiny apples.  As far as contribution goes, it's pretty worthless.

A well-tended apple tree, on the other hand, has been trained.  It's been literally trimmed and tied to posts and forced to grow into the most productive, gnarly shape ever, one that's loaded with big, delicious apples come harvest time.  Training an apple tree into productivity requires attention, knowledge, foresight, and work.  And so it goes with our kids. 

Recently, in the news, have been stories about parents who are overly obsessed with gender and not "forcing" gender on their kids.  (A little late for that since the dude's sperm determined it and literally created the kid with a gender.  Can't be helped.)  Anyone who knows me halfway knows that I think these people are flat-out idiots, and that's probably why I'm cramming the concept into this post.

But here's why.  I advocate for parental authority in kids' lives.  I am happy that so many families do so many things differently, and that's part of the flavor of each family.  But kids should not be making serious life decisions for themselves when they're seven.  They are not the ones in charge of grown-up thought at that time.  They are playing pretend, learning, begging for someone to make sense of it all for them.  Consider the following from the author of My Princess Boy:  “When he said, ‘I am a princess,’ I said, ‘Boys aren’t princesses,’” Kilodavis recalled. “He said, ‘I’m a boy princess.’ He’s driving the agenda for who he is.”  (Emphasis mine.)

I read this and figure that here is the case of a confused person letting their little kid follow his bliss.  WHY....is he driving the agenda?  Did I mention the kid was four?  4.  FOUR.  He's playing dress up.  What on earth would cause a lucid brain to set a kid loose on any sort of identity path like that, treating it as an age-appropriate course for him to seriously explore based on his own agenda?  That poor kid needs some help.  Or just someone to laugh off all his silly incarnations as he goes through all the costumes in the house.  Come on, parents, stop letting the current societal trends lull you into sacrificing your child's sanity.  I'm not even getting into the whole gay/transgender argument here; I'm just saying that kids need direction and help making sense of who they are, not for you to take them seriously every time they say they want to be a frog-dinosaur.  Most kids would be schizophrenic if we told them to just be all the things that creep into their imaginations.  When they're FOUR.

This kid was two (yep) when his parents started letting him call the shots:

Poor little boy with a whim to pretend to be
a girl has a mom who therefore immediately grows out
his hair and buys him dresses... Methinks that might be
the recipe for creating, rather than abating,
confusion.

So yeah.  Fluffy as it sounds for an adult to just follow your bliss, it becomes comical when it's the rule for children.  We parents ought to be training away rather than letting our two-year-olds train us like a bunch of circus animals!  How does it so easily get flipped around? 

Yahweh's Real Good at Puzzles, Just Ask Levi

Have you ever put together one of those thousand-piece puzzles?  Makes you want to do a touchdown dance and force others to marvel at it.  It can actually just be a 100-piecer, or even less, for me to feel that "I rock" feeling when the last piece is in place and I can see the whole picture.  It's so satisfying to make sense of it all!  At first, you're just staring at all the scattered little cardboard shapes with different colorations.  It's madness.  You pick one up, and it's utterly meaningless, a blob of gray with a squiggle of green across the top, or whatever it is.  It only has meaning when it's connected into its rightful spot in the whole.  Likewise, the whole lacks complete meaning if that one piece is left out.

Then you think about Yahweh working on the puzzle of our existences with a gazillion pieces, only it's one of those 3D puzzles (except, who am I kidding, you know His is, like, some weird version of 7D or something), and each piece is its own tiny 7D puzzle made up of tinier 7D puzzle pieces, and the whole thing morphs in time.  My brain hurts just typing that. 

(To follow a quick rabbit trail here, because I'm passionate about it and just canNOT help it, I'll add that this is part of why we must live circumspectly, aware of the bigger picture, which is His picture.  And we must live according to His specific will for us and word to us.  On any given day, we might encounter solitary circumstances that test our knowledge, our fortitude, our emotions [hello], or our will to stay the course.  If we're just looking at the one, somewhat meaningless-on-its-own puzzle piece, we better not make any move until we've consulted with Him.)

*And somehow here, I get theological for just a bit, but it prefaces the very cool puzzle pieces of Yahweh's total, fabulous faithfulness to a little boy that you'll read below it all.*

So how does our fight with the insidious diabetes in Levi's life fit into the ol' grand scheme?  Not to get overly theological, but I'll throw in that I don't buy the shade of Calvinism that embraces absolute predestination.  Yahweh is relational, and while I'm not getting into it here, I know that He created us with the ability to choose.  In Romans 8:29, it says that He foreknows (everything: our choices, our circumstances, us), and therefore He predestines certain other situations to match up with those choices and end up working out for our glory, making us Christ-like.  And many of us know the Jeremiah verse that He has plans for us, to prosper us and give us a future and a hope.  And actually, just a verse before that Romans reference, in verse 28, it states the popular teaching that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him.  So we have a choice.  But He's ever working with our choices on our behalf if His will is our goal.

Here's another little nugget to chew:  I do not believe Yahweh gave Levi diabetes.  I don't think Yahweh "gives us this cross to bear" trying to teach us something, although He will absolutely teach us through it.  Sickness and death are not His will for us.  Sin and its imperfect consequences are not His will for us.  I believe, to condense it all very simply, that it is the result of the imperfect world we inherited and that it is an opportunity for us to rise in His strength and defeat it, until every enemy is underneath His feet.  More on that bold statement some other time!  (If you want to chase it down, here are some starters:  Matt. 22:44, 1 Cor. 15:25, Heb. 2:8, and my favorite Heb. 10:13.)

Of course, Yahweh in His majestic, God-Of-The-Universe-I-Speak-And-Things-Appear-Ness knew that Levi, and we, had this battle coming in our life.  As Levi's covering, it's more our battle at this point than his, which is exactly how I want it.  And so Yahweh's lined up some inexplicably handy things in Levi's little repertoire to help us be successful as we walk it out with His help.

As we've implemented the protocol and adjustments required with this situation, I've begun to see some puzzle pieces fall into place that, before, seemed insignificant.  But as the proverbial light has dawned, I've continued to find myself shaking my head at the grace and love of our God and His interest in all areas of our lives and, moreover, in our success there by His leading.  There are only three that have been glaringly obvious so far, but they make such a difference.

Puzzle Piece Number One:  Levi is a terrific adapter. 
The day he was born, I was holding him and talking to him, and of all the sweetsy, cooing blubberings I could have mumbled and did mumble to him, I heard myself say, "You are such a great adapter."  Adapter?  He was a baby, not an electronic device.  I'd known him maybe 30 minutes.  And that's what I had to say.  I knew it was the Holy Spirit and I knew I was prophesying to him about part of his anointing, what Yahweh had placed in him.  Well, I've seen it play out through the various changes and adjustments that occur in a regular childhood, but never could I have fathomed a child who is more go-with-the-flow about the crazy things that we now have to do to him to combat diabetes.  Each new member of the hospital staff that we meet seems to recognize it fairly quickly, especially as a comparison to other kids.  Believe me, Levi is not always a go-with-the-flow personality, so this particular piece of the puzzle stands out all the more. 

Puzzle Piece Number Two:  Levi is a terrific eater. 
Not only that, his eating habits in general perfectly match up with what is most convenient for his current battle.  I was really careful from his infancy about what he ate and didn't eat, and about exposing him to a big variety of fruits, veggies, and flavors, trying to train his palate and habits for a healthy lifestyle.  But I have begun to realize that much of his preferences are also just his nature beyond what I did.  He loves salad, and if you put a meal before him that involves the usual starch and meat and veggies, he'll always go for the veggies first.  And he's not a big snacker or grazer, which is hugely helpful in getting an accurate blood glucose reading every so often.  Diet is obviously a big deal with handling diabetes, and where others have had a great hurdle of change to overcome, we've just kept on with what we've always done.  We haven't had big fits and struggles.  We haven't had to overhaul the whole family's outlook.  We just already had the right piece for the puzzle.

Puzzle Piece Number Three:  Levi has never thrown up. 
In fact, he has hardly ever been sick.  Apparently, sickness can really mess with blood sugar levels and can make management trickier.  But throw up, well, it's a giant RED FLAG.  It really messes with the inner balance of things, and if there's any throw up or even just nausea, the hospital wants to be called immediately.  It can cause ketones (you don't want those at all) to appear in high numbers, and at the same time it can cause the blood sugar to go really low.  The way to combat ketones is with more insulin.  But with a low blood sugar, you must not give more insulin.  So it's a seeming catch-22 that worries a lot of people.  If Levi ever throws up, I know we'll manage it just fine.  But having always marveled that he's throw-up-free, I now especially marvel at the fact that he's the only kid I know that's never done it and he's one that highly benefits from that predisposition.  Thank. You. Yahweh.

These three seemingly insignificant or trite puzzle pieces have always stood out to Jed and me as singular to Levi.  Now, we just shake our heads at how much grace comes wrapped up in these three puzzle pieces when they fit into the current grand scheme of Levi's life.  We cannot live our day-to-day routines in tandem with all this and see it as coincidence.  It's just too obvious.  Too glorious.  Too helpful and beneficial.  Yahweh's grace is sufficient, to say the least! 

It's Levi's life: Yahweh's masterpiece.  He is worthy.  Of our praise.  Of our all.

RIP Confusing Mole

DISCLAIMER!  What follows is another post that might make some guys feel uncomfortable.  Even some girls.  I don't know how else to warn you except to say that for me to tell a very innocent story, I am required to use the word "nipple" far more than one would imagine necessary on the outset.  But it involves honest conversations with a three-year-old about mostly things that are not actually nipples.  Uncomfortable yet?  If so, here's your chance to gracefully exit, no hard feelings!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before kids, I had a tiny mole on my neck.  But then, at some point late in my first pregnancy with Levi, I began to notice the mole get considerably bigger, but it still wasn't a big deal.  My doc had told me that pregnancy hormones do that and not to worry.  It stayed that way until my second pregnancy with Adelaide, into which it grew again and became quite formidable, for a mole.  There are certain things that just don't bother me: scars, moles, freckles, slight blemishes of that sort.  So this one didn't really bother me either, though it had sort of developed its own personality.  See for yourself:

(And I purposely chose a picture/angle
that's not too imposing.)

We all know that with kids, no subject is off-limits.  They have questions about life, and one of the unexpected pleasures (most of the time) of parenting is all the very straightforward explanations we get to dig up about poop, death, body parts, good-and-evil, you name it. 

Levi was three when Adelaide was born, and he had lots of questions about nursing.  I happily answered them in that delicate, tight-rope routine we all do to give understanding and also be age-appropriate, perhaps even inserting important teachings about privacy and such.  I think it's right here that I can pinpoint the moment that I began to have feelings about my growing mole.  It was during one such conversation when Levi pointed to it and asked, "How come you never feed Adelaide on that nipple?"

<Imagine tires screeching to a halt>  Hold on, what???!  I looked at him and blinked, then laughed really hard, then explained to him that it was just. a. mole.  Not. a. nipple.  This was a good time to fine-tune my nipple explanation from earlier.  I proceeded to show him other much-more-normal-and-size-appropriate moles I had, which, looking back, must've been more confusing since none of them really looked like the weird neck-mole.  But it seemed to work out.

"Oh," he said.  No big deal.  Nipple, mole, mole, nipple.  Who cares?

No one cares.  I didn't care.  I, the confident-in-her-own-skin woman who doesn't lose sleep over wrinkles, weird feet, her crooked thumb, cellulite, and plenty of scars, thought it was just a hilarious story.  I relayed the story to Jed and my sisters and girlfriends.  But I have to admit, over time, it started to nag at me a little.  I thought, "If Levi got so confused by it, who else might be distracted by it?"  I worked with a sweet girl years ago who had a wart on her tongue (yep, a wart, on her tongue), and I refused to let it distract me, so much so that my attempts at not being distracted sometimes backfired and made me that much more distracted!  I didn't want to subject everyone I knew to that same fate with my weird mole.  But I'd forget about it for awhile, then think about it again, then whatever. 

Then infants and small toddlers became obsessed with it.  When I would pick them up, Adelaide and all her posse would pretty much ignore me and go looking for my mole to push like a button or try to yank out of its socket.  Nice.  And not altogether comfortable.  I began to realize that, while I'd never had any "work done," I was ready to look into having this sucker removed. 

The clencher came one happy afternoon that we had friends over and a couple of stray kittens wandered into our yard.  They were tiny, obviously newly weaned, and starving.  Someone had dumped them.  I immediately scooped one up, and in nanoseconds, I kid you not, that kitten was trying to nurse on my mole!! 

My first thought:  "For the love of God!  IT'S NOT A NIPPLE!!"  Even God's innocent creation was mistaking it as such.

My second:  "OK, I get it!!"  I went swiftly to my neighbors' house and asked to borrow some cat food to get these kittens nourishment and keep my own dignity intact.  I officially determined then that I'd have it removed.  That was a year ago, but I am happy to say, for my own sanity and for the edification of those who must look at me from time to time, that last week, the mole went bye-bye.  And for those of you who see me often, yes, it's for you that I've waited to share these stories till after it's gone so as not to make the distraction that much worse!

The day of the removal, the dermatologist gave me a funny alternative:  "When this comes off, you'll probably have some minor scarring, just a little pucker like a tiny belly button."  Not joking!  The persistence of that spot to harbor some unusual body part was astonishing to me.  And I love that Yahweh has a sense of humor!

Truthfully, though, if I must exchange one odd body part to camp on my neck for another, I'll happily trade a nipple for a tiny belly button.  Remember?  I don't mind scars.  And at least it's not an arm or a foot.  (It can always be worse.)                                   

Right now, it's still healing and actually looks quite like I imagine a bullet wound might look.  I have yet to see the full "belly button" effect, but I very much look forward to it. 

But the very best part was Levi's reaction to its removal.  After years of non-issue with that topic and what I'd thought was an understanding we'd reached, I came home from the doctor, and Levi said, "Hey Mom!!  Did the doctor take that nipple off your neck?"

.................<Sigh> 

I dropped my things on the counter, grabbed an apple, and finagled my big-bellied self into a chair.  I smiled at Levi, thrilled to give what I hoped would be my last such attempt at clarifying.  In T minus two weeks or so, we can trade these talks for ones about that crazy belly button that appeared where the nipple was.