What bed rest reveals

When the contractions started, however many months too soon, and the doctor told me, I won't put you on bed rest, if you'll put yourself on bed rest {essentially, I set my own up verses down hours}, my heart beat in panic mode.

Didn't she understand that I have a home to run and a family to feed {gluten free, from scratch, I might add}, and two other children to raise{!!!}? 

Didn't God remember how much was on my plate? How much He put on my plate?

I was a little peeved and a lot stressed {except I'm not allowed to stress - stress causes contractions}.

As a family, we've been at this momma rests on the couch thing for a while. Gwennan reminds me to let her pick things up because she can bend down, Mommy. Afton insists on walking now and happily plops down next to me when we read, leaving my lap for baby brother {breaks my heart a little}. Tim, well, he's a champ, could not do this without him. And me, I'm swallowing my dose of humility.

And exposing my fears:

Like work. I'm a work-a-holic in my own home. I fear inactivity, fear laziness. Because I fear I will like it a little too much. Which has revealed:

I fear being the 'velour tracksuit SAHM,' the one on Super Nanny whose children run wild through the house overflowing with singing plastic toys and unfolded laundry, and she screams over General Hospital for everyone to just shut up. If I model my behavior out of fear of that stereotype, won't I just fall into a different one? Say, the 'jean jumper SAHM,' the overly stern, homeschooling, sew-and-bake-everything-by hand, work-a-holic mom who must let everyone know that she does more in an hour than everyone else does all day {crap - that sounds familiar}.

I'm finding a new balance:

Dirty dishes take a back seat to baby projects. I could buy crib sheets and Aden and Anais swaddlers and passie holders. Amazon keeps reminding me that it's one-click-away. But if I have two hours of work in me, an hour is spent at the sewing machine. I need easy nesting more than I need clean bathrooms. Reminds me of the baby I'm taking care of while resting.

My busted sewing machine was a blessing. How I griped at God for allowing my sewing machine to break with all these nesting projects left undone. I had to apologize to him again this morning as I sat down to sew without needing to prep the machine or fuss with tension. Stress-free start every time. I would not be able to rest in baby projects with my old stress machine. Again, thank you, Lord.

Green veggies are still what's for dinner. Quality meals are the first things to go when I feel bad. How about Chick fil a is the standard fix. But man cannot live on chicken nuggets for 13 weeks {or little girls, for that matter}. Keeping real food on the menu has been awesome - everybody feels better. It's not complicated fare, throw chicken and veggies on the grill. Dinner will be ready in 10. Props to Tim for stepping up on the nights I can't and working out real dinners. Love that man!

We are all blessed by some extra reading time. I can't do playgrounds and such, but I can sit on the couch and read. The girls are getting plenty of book time, replacement therapy for structured school. And this momma, who regretfully spent the last two difficult pregnant stretches watching a tragic amount of tv, finds herself buried in books as well. There's too much to explain in grown-up tv, and little ears miss nothing. A book I keep all to myself. A world that isn't brought to me by the letter K.

Our family priorities are ours, specialized to our little family, and may not translate to anyone else {you might not see baking bread as a top 10 weekly priority}. That doesn't imply wrong-ness for either party.

I'm learning to let my family be right for us, not right for everyone. Learning to let my way be right for me, not right for every mom. Our choices are our own and diligently sought {we hope}. I'm learning to trust other parents to do the same for their brood.

Small One has me all to herself

Watching small one sprint around the patio. Chalk, ball, shovel, back to chalk. Freedom to choose is more enjoyable than the items themselves.

Big one is enjoying a daddy-daughter date, a fishing trip with her pink Barbie pole. She's been talking about it for weeks. How she's going to sit in Daddy's lap on the big boat. How she will use her pink pole and Daddy his big pole.

With Daddy and big one on the water, I was left with an early morning mommy-daughter date. What to do at 7am with an 18 month old? Uninspired as it seems: let her play with her own toys, alone.

No big sis to tell her how to play or what to play or to snatch toys away.

She hasn't stopped moving or smiling.

So we color bricks, any color she wants on any brick. We play soccer, let her ball hog to her heart's content. We play piano, the keys are all hers. We wander aimlessly as she leads "follow the leader." A morning to do what she wants when she wants.

Now, she wants a nap.