So here's a Momma Bear rant...

So I'm not much for ranting. I often come across too strong, only to lessen my intensity a day or so later and wish I hadn't committed to words such strength of emotion.

But today, I intend to do exactly that. Rant. Because when an acquaintance insinuates that my three month-old daughter needs to lose weight? This Momma Bear loses her cool. (almost). With all the calmness I could muster, I patted my darling on the tummy and said, "No. THIS? This is perfect. It's JUST perfect."

That's all I said, aside from a polite little joke about hoping she doesn't acquire her dad's physique someday...(but you know what? That'd be just fine with me too! I wish I wasn't always so polite.)

Yes, this woman was clearly projecting some ill-informed personal body issues onto my daughter. It's her problem, not ours. But the sad truth that struck me like lightening yesterday, was that this has already become a pattern. My daughter has already gotten more "body comments" from strangers than my son (who's been around 2 years and 3 months longer) has ever received. In fact, I cannot cite a time when anyone seemed the least bit concerned about Briggs' pudgy adorable (age appropriate) body shape.

But Blaire? Now girl, you gotta lose some weight. You've already been in this world for over 3 months!!! You're not crawling yet? You know a good girl exercises....and on and on and on.

What makes me the most sad about this absurd situation is that the Momma Bear in me has already identified the most difficult battle I will face with Blaire. That is, teaching her to ignore (or clarify for the ignorant) all the gazillion body shaming messages that will come her way.

Do I occasionally find myself feeling shamed from all the negative female bodies messages around us? Absolutely, but I'm going to try my hardest to identify and debunk every single one of them from now on, because my daughter, my 3 month-old daughter, needs the best ally she can get. And that, my friends, is gonna be this Momma Bear.

So if you see Blaire, and you want to make an unseemly comment about how she needs to lose weight. Just don't. Ever. To any girl. Ever. Thanks.

And if you're a mom fighting this battle alongside me, I'd love to hear your game plan.

"No. THIS? This is perfect. It's JUST perfect."

What we whisper matters

The other day, as we were playing one of Briggs' new favorite games (you know, the game where you take a spare bicycle seat and swing at a tennis ball? Yeah, that one), I caught a glimpse of how much a child's language acquisition depends on what is spoken around him. As much as the words being conveyed, I'm realizing the tone of the language counts too.

And Briggs' tone is quite endearing whenever we "play catch." Regardless of the situation, no matter if the ball is dropped or not, Briggs assures us that we're doing well. "Nice catch, Daddy!" "Nice throw, Mommy!" (much like I've encouraged him as he develops his skills each step of the way). And as much as I love his words, it's his tone that impresses me. He speaks with a confident assurance that we've been trying ever-so-discreetly to instill within him.  Now I don't mean to condone the "you are more special than others" type of parenting. I'm not interested in teaching my children that. But positive affirmations? The kind that promote goodness and generosity of spirit? That matters to me. And kids learn these over a series of countless interactions with us.

So when I hear my own child chirp affirmations like that, I crack a smile and make a mental note to always be kinder with my tongue,  more thoughtful with my conversations. Because if there's one thing this parenting business has taught me, it's this: what we whisper in our homes becomes the language of the next generation.

I've been whispering in Briggs' ear for some time now: reminders that God loves him, sweet songs of nurture and care, reassurance that he is a good boy (even when he makes mistakes), and the kind of affirmations I hope one day he shares with others. Because we hope that when a child grows up knowing he is beloved, he will have the emotional capacity to treat others with generosity, care, respect, and good cheer, the same way it's been whispered into his heart, year after steadfast year.

I'm just now beginning this journey again, whispering in Blaire's little ear, "Mommy loves you, little girl, and I can't wait to show you the good in this world."

May all of us who find ourselves in the vocation of raising the next generation be mindful of what we whisper into the hearts of those who listen.

Nursing Moms Fantasize Too

I think.
At least this one does.
Maybe some nursing mothers simply cannot imagine life without a nursling attached to them.

But I can; and although I truly feel blessed to have a successful nursing relationship with Blaire, I confess that my fantasy lately has been imagining 24 whole hours to myself.

24 hours, just me. My toddler doesn't need me. My job doesn't need me. My three month-old doesn't need me. My spouse doesn't need me. The house doesn't need me.

24 hours of rest. This may seem odd to those who have this on a regular basis. This may even seem strange for a pastor to say, someone who should be taking Sabbath rest seriously.

But seriously, Sabbath is a fantasy right now.

I suppose one might argue that I could arrange childcare for this (albeit quite difficult for a whole host of reasons, and not sustainable on a weekly basis). But even if I do, I'm tied to my pump 1/4 of the time and spend as much energy "righting the ship" of our nursing relationship upon return...that it just doesn't seem like a restful idea at all.

So here I sit, fantasizing. It's actually a pretty fun mental game. What would I do with 24 hours?

Well, obviously I'd sleep. About 12 hrs, which leaves 12 more to fill...

Likely with chocolate, exercise, reading, dancing, and maybe even looking in a mirror long enough to care for my appearance. But whatever I fantasize doing, it's never rushed.

I just cracked a smile. This thought is definitely a favorable one. And it will happen one day, I know. Sabbath rest is not an unattainable fantasy; it's actually possible, just not right now.

Because right now I'm nursing- and God must be giving us nursing mothers a little extra strength from heaven until that day our (very worthy) fantasy comes true, and we once again can experience Sabbath rest.

So maybe what I'm learning is how to better cherish Sabbath moments, rather than Sabbath days. And the truth is, nursing sessions have actually become moments of mental Sabbath for me. It's built-in down time that I believe God designed to give moms of infants an excuse to "zone out." And it's just enough time to fantasize that one day life will be a little more restful, a little more free.

Until then, Blaire, I'm grateful your cuteness and your incredibly sweet demeanor give me strength for each new day. :)

In a Bumbo already!