Are You Worried about Her Weight?

“Are you worried about her weight?” My mother ask me as we are sitting at the children’s museum. “I know its a sensitive subject.” 

What she means is, I am worried about her weight and you should be too. You should do something about your four year old’s body before she deals with being fat. It’s better to be thin. Thin people are happier people and it only gets harder as she gets older. That’s what she means. 

She believes this too. I’ve heard it after every baby I’ve had. Get the weight off now or it will be harder lately. Have you started working out? Have you tried weight watchers? I’m doing Whole 30. I hate my body. I look terrible in my clothes. Please don’t take a picture of me. No, I won’t enjoy that birthday cake on my birthday but I’ll even up all the edges until its gone once everyone’s in bed and blame it on God knows what in the morning when we ask where all the cake is. 

She means I’m failing her as a mother. She means I am failing at keeping my weight at an acceptable number and therefore setting a horrible example for her. Because, remember, happiness is the ultimate goal and the only way my 4 year old daughter will ever be happy will be to be thin. …To be skinny. To hate her body. To starve herself. To feel shame when getting dressed. To think of nothing but what food she cannot enjoy. 

No, mom. No, I am not failing my daughter. My daughter currently thinks her adorable body is the best thing and loves nothing more than to run around naked, dancing in her room to Disney songs imagining what her castle will be like one day. She loves to eat strawberries, yogurt and oatmeal. She is strong and determined. She is smart and sassy and funny. She gives the best hugs, forces me to kiss her goodnight every night and honestly believes she got the short end of the stick by having four brothers even though she is the only one not sharing a room, myself included. 

She doesn’t know that the body she has isn’t perfect. She doesn’t know that skinny people are happier. She doesn’t know she should ignore the signs her body and mind are giving her to eat when she is hungry and stop when she is full. And, I will force you, mother, to walk over my dead body before you tell her otherwise. 

No, I am not worried about her weight. I am worried of your words, of the world’s words, of the critique and harsh expectations that our society bombards girls with as they become women. I am worried she will be judged wrongly, hurt by friends, heartbroken by a boy, lonely in adulthood, scared to try something new, or anxious about her future. 

But, of my four year old? No, I am not worried about her weight!

The One Day that Changed Everything

Two years ago I sat outside my OBGYN’s office. This was nothing new. I had four babies already at home that included a set of twins. Check ups, miscarriages, ultrasounds, and postpartum visits had all brought me to this waiting room. It carried a lot of emotion for me to sit on those vinyl slick but moderately decorated seats trying to divert your eyes from the others waiting in the room and wondering what they were waiting to be seen for. Had they lost a baby? Were they pregnant but not showing yet? Hows that new mama’s postpartum check up going to go? What about that older woman waiting - what goes on later in life here? It’s hard to imagine later in life when right now my head is so full of the present moment. The present decision to make this appointment with my OBGYN. 

I had called her to set it up in order to removed my birth control. Yes, remove it. You didn’t hear incorrectly earlier - I did say I had four kids that included a set of twins all within 4 1/2 years before I turned 29. As I sat on that slick chair, the one closest to the biggest window, doubt and fear rose up in my chest. Why on earth was I here? Did I really want to have another baby? It was fairly certain that removing my birth control would most likely result in a baby as conceiving seemed to happen when my husband and I just gave each other a high five on the right day. I knew what removing the IUD meant. I knew what I was embarking on. But, I didn’t want to. I had already signed in that day for my appointment but I thought more than three times of getting up and just leaving, calling my husband and telling him I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put myself through this again. I couldn’t willingly enter the potential darkness that loomed ahead no matter how much we thought someone was missing from our family. 

We did think that. We had talked and prayed for two years about this decision but never ending on the same page. Finally in the last few months, we continued to say that we felt like someone was missing from our family and maybe we should just try one more time. I can easily be swayed by what others think I should do or am capable of and my desire and love for the children I have along with my husbands desire for more, tipped the scales over into favor of more. Could I really be the one that inhibits another child from joining our family? What if we wait another year and then really do want more? The age gap would be too big, id be too far removed from babyhood, id be older. Let’s just do it now. Get it over with, so to speak. 

So, there I sat waiting for my name to be called. I should leave. I should just explain to my husband that I have learned enough about myself over the years to know this is not a good idea. The hormonal roller coaster, the darkness postpartum, the tumultuous relationship with my body as it changes, the immense needs at home. We would be starting over. By the time this baby would be born if I got pregnant today, my youngest would be 3 1/2 - out of diapers and on their way to preschool. My first chance at freedom in the last 8 years would be ushered in with nursing, diaper changes, complete exhaustion, and the hormonal black hole of postpartum. Seriously, why am I still sitting in this chair? Logically, I should be running for the hills. The odds are stacked against me. Three postpartum filled with depression and anxiety, two sets of twins leading to an increase of probability that this pregnancy would be twins, three past miscarriages and the heartache that could possibly come, the disappointment of my mother and her friends who thought a third pregnancy was nuts but realized I couldn’t help having twins making my child count to 4. But to willingly open myself up to the possibility of more - more chaos, more work, more exhaustion… why? Why are on earth am I still sitting here. 

Fear. Fear that I would miss out on what God has for our family if I chose to close this door. I think of my other children and how sad I would be without them in my life. I think of how easily I have gotten pregnant, how healthy I have been in pregnancy, and what good births I have had. Fertility is a gift from God, I hear in my head. 

Pride. Id hate to think that I couldn’t do what is expected or asked of me. I am happiest when I am useful. Here is the ultimate usefulness… carry, deliver and care for a tiny human. Create this big family full of love and happiness, that ensures everyone will have to work hard, no one will be spoiled, they will never be alone, and the burden of caring for my husband and I as we age will be divided. My husbands thinks I can do this. We have learned from my past experiences with postpartum depression on what to do. Take this medication, see this counselor, use this natural remedy, hire help if we need to, hire a doula, talk to the midwife, did I mention take that medication? I can overcome this. I can beat this nasty darkness in order to have what is good. I cant call him and declare defeat. I cant raise the white flag. He thinks I am strong, and capable, and useful. I can fulfill his expectations and mine as to the strong woman I am. 

But, what about the part of me - that deep down honest core of me - that is screaming “run for the hills! Admit your weakness here. Admit the victory in carrying, birthing, and raising 4 children passed toddlerhood with depression, anxiety, grief of the sudden loss of my dad, and a huge move across down. Isn’t there victory there? Why do I need another victory? Run, Get up. Get in the car. Call Jeremiah once you are through the toll road and say “I just can’t do this.” 

But, I don’t. I sit. I sit some more until I realize I am not getting up. I pull out my phone and write a letter to this potential unborn child on the notes app….

I felt like someone was missing from our family. Was it the loss of babies or the family members that have gone before me in this last year? I'm not sure. But laying in bed one night I told Jeremiah of this picture in my head. The brunette bundle of a baby girl who we would call Haddie, short for Hadassah. He beamed with joy. I teared up thinking of her face. I had thought before of her brown hair and sweet skin but put her image away. I thought I had lost her already. I remembered her again when my dad died and I thought he must be holding her tiny hands walking through a field of flowers. She may be one of the babies I'll meet one day in glory or she may be the one God has for us. I wanted to know. 

But having more children? It's terrifying since I currently feel as if I'm failing the ones I have, am fighting exhaustion every day, and fear the darkness that usually looms postpartum. Why enter that? Why chance the fate of healthy children, a potential organized future life, and time to myself? Well, because the love I have for my children, even at my worst moment, is stronger than anything I've ever felt. And to think that there is someone out there still to love that fiercely is not something I could pass up. 

Whoever you are, or maybe there is more than one of you, I love you so deeply already. Our life may not be perfectly smooth or  without challenges but it will be wholly submerged in deep affection and constant love. 

I walked in once my name was called, convinced my OBGYN I was not losing my mind, removed my IUD, and made an appointment for 8 weeks knowing I would be pregnant soon. 

My emotional note to my unborn child carried me through the next three days, enough days to try to conceive. But, then, late one night, I came clean with my doubts, with my fears, with my certainty that if we weren’t pregnant this month, I told my husband, I wasn’t willing to try again. The fear of the life shattering news of a baby was trumping the fear of God or the fear of my husbands or my own expectations. My weakness felt tangible but I was ok with it. I had finally said it out loud and was actually proud of my assertion. 

Two weeks went by and in that time, I buried my grandmother, didn’t tell a soul I have removed my IUD, and bought 5 pregnancy test from the dollar tree - they are actually the best ones for someone who takes multiple ones just to confirm what my body is already telling me. Pregnant. I was pregnant.

Christmas Garland

My twins walked out of Pre-K with two enormous - ok, not enormous, but it looked enormous with their little hands holding it up - Christmas countdown garland. You know the ones with the construction paper rings. Twenty five rings each of construction paper meant to celebrate Christmas’s arrival. Lovely, I thought. Just what my messy house needs - more construction paper. Where do you even hang these things up? Do people really hang these things up? I don’t think I am one of those people that hangs these things up. I have bulletin boards full or their artwork, framed crafts in the playroom, and the occasional little doodle saved in my cookbooks that I do certainly cherish. But, this time of year makes me fully aware of the lack of capacity to add any more - even construction paper ring garlands - to my house, to my mind, to me. Do people really diligently let their children take turns cutting off each ring? Do they remember to do it each day? Does it not get destroyed by rough housing boys, dancing girls, and toddlers that think destruction is playing? People do. Or at least one mom does. I saw it. I went to her house for a Pre-K moms Christmas party and sat on her white furniture with her white carpet. White furniture? Really? That is not even a color I contemplate wearing much less cover major furniture with. I saw her garland. Perfectly in tacked, hanging on her pantry door with exactly 6 rings taken off. See, people do this. They carefully manage these tiny preK projects as they sit in their white furniture. I had convinced myself that those people don’t exist. Its not that I am just a failure at this stuff, its that these people don’t exist and so I shouldn’t feel bad about my lack of ability to keep things neat, orderly, intentional. But, there, that red and green contraction paper decoration threw my theory out the window. Those people do exist and as I walked back into my house from the party, I saw our garlands torn into no less than 100 pieces all over the living room. It had lasted 6 days hanging over our living room bookshelf. Defeat set it. Maybe I just need to surrender that I will always have crumbs on the floor, glitter on the table, shoes strung about, and a lost book bag nearly every morning. I could blame it on my five small children. I could blame it on my lack of help. I could blame it on my inability to nag my children into doing what they should. Whatever it is, I am not a garland maintaining kind of mom. There, I said it. I will throw away your pre k craft when you aren’t looking, I will return kid gifts that have a million pieces, and I will let you snack before dinner. And I will try very very hard to quit feeling bad about that. 

Winter Witching Hour

My mom called it the “witching hour” when we were little. You know, parents, that hour or so before dinner when you are waiting for your spouse to come home to be the perfect distraction to a crazy afternoon. They have had snack, done homework and the energy level is still high. It can be hard a very hard time of day to parent well especially with the cold weather and early sunset. What do you do with your kids at this time of day? Scream? Hide? Phone a friend? As a mom to five children 9 years old and under including a set of twins, this time of day has gotten the better of me more than I would like to say. But, here are 7 ways that I have learned to cope with the “Winter Witching Hour” in our home. 

1. Set a 20 minute timer. Yes, call to Alexa, Google, Siri or your good old fashion microwave timer and set it for 20 minutes. When I want to pull my hair out because I have heard “mama” for the millionth time or the twins are fighting over whether to share their piggy bank money or the toddler is whiny and doesn’t seem to be satisfied with anything, life can seem really overwhelming and if time is moving at a snail speed. Set your timer for 20 minutes and see how without doing much of anything, things will be different in 20 minutes. You circumstances may not have changed, but your attitude just might as you realize nothing stays the same forever, not even for twenty minutes. 
2. Change your scenery. Even if it is cold as it has been during this winter, put on your coats, hats, gloves (there goes your 20 minutes right there! ha!) and go outside. Even one walk around the block, to collect the mail, to take out the trash, or to walk up and down the sidewalk 5x will make the transition from day to evening more enjoyable. 
3. Go play somewhere else! If it is too cold or rainy, go somewhere that your children can safely play contained. Think: Chick-fil-a play space, indoor mall play areas,  YMCA basketball courts, Children’s museum, science museum. This will help get their energy out and allow you to bond with them over a fun activity as opposed to being frustrated with them. 
4. Call a friend! Sometime the change of people can be just as effective as a change of scenery. Call a friend and see if you can swap with him/her. Have her take one or two of your kids and you keep one of two of hers. Or, just have them come over to play. The friends can bring a new energy to your home and allow for creative ideas and games to fill the “witching hour” making it enjoyable for both families. 
5. Family chore time! I have found it effective to “rally the troops” when tensions are mounting and attitudes are flaring. Working together one a project can help re-direct those afternoon crazies and show how much can be done if working as a team. Clean out your pantry, organize a closet, sort through playroom toys, bake together, prepare dinner together can all be good “group efforts” as we like to call them. It may be nice to give your kids a motivator if the group effort is done well like watching a show, dessert after dinner, special art project they’ve been wanting to tackle, making home made play doh, or playing a special game. 
6. Online workout videos are fun and so very helpful on these long, dark afternoons. YouTube has plenty of kid friendly workout videos many of which of themed to their favorite movies and songs. Cosmic Kids Yoga is a great choice that appeals to the wide variety of ages even in my household. She acts out popular movies with yoga moves so it allows each child to take turn picking which theme they prefer like Star Wars or Moana or even holiday themed like Halloween. 
7. Dance Party! This is my personal favorite. Stop what you are doing, crank up the music and dance with your kids! Let them be free to dance and you show them how its done. A few minutes of fast-paced dancing can really change the mood of a home. If you have a smart device like Alexa, having her play freeze dance is especially fun! When the dance party is over, the children have expended energy, you have participated in a fun activity with them, and they can see a fun way to use music as a stress reliever.

As a mom of many littles, I know how hard the winter months are for me. The afternoon and evenings can seem long and confiding with the dark evenings and cold weather. I hope these tips can help you enjoy your children in the late afternoons and turn the “Witching Hour” into a wonderful hour with fun, connectivity, and new memories. 

Time Stopped

Most days I feel claustrophobic in my own mind, my own skin, my own house. I see the people running by my house as the morning light approaches with envy of their freedom. I used to be a morning runner when the world felt calmer, quieter with a secretive quality to the time before you have to share it with anyone. This was one of my favorite aspects of being a Doula. It's dark, the middle of the night and I'm called away to a sweet mama's home. No one knows but us. We hold this sacred secret of what is to come. Work is being done - hard, exhaustive, painful labor - that is untainted by the outside - by noise, by cars, by stuff. It's as if the time stops and you are holding space for a completely new person to join us. The only other time I have felt this way is on the coast of NC. Time stopped, waves crashed, and briefly this world and the next seemed to meet with a calm yet powerful wave that rolls over my feet to remind me of something greater, something more.

The Choice

I saw the look she gave me when I got out of the shower. Her four year old eyes giving me the once over and her nose scrunching in a little bit of confusion. Was it the hair she doesn't have yet, the boobs that she knows make milk for brother, or the excessive skin and fat that hand like its own being that I have to carry around, tuck in and sinch tighter to wear my clothes? I saw her face and I had to decide in that little moment how to respond. Do I explain my body changes? Do I point out how much it's different from hers? I chose to say nothing. I grabbed my towel and dried off with her right there - even as my stomach hung loose while I dried my legs. She smiled, loving that I leave my body oil in her room and we get to share it - it smells like cookies, she says. I tried to remember that in her eyes I'm beautiful - she tells me every time I wear pink or a dress - and I always will be until I tell her otherwise. When I wish away body parts in front of her, complain of everything being tight, fail to receive a complement, she'll know that my normal body is not normal and when hers starts to look like mine, normal will be hated and I just can't have that.

Reflecting on Henry's Anxiety

Right now I am remembering an outing that I had with Henry. He was probably three or four and we went to the chidlren’s museum. In the middle of exploring the museum, we get called over the loadspeaker because our van door has been left open. With Henry and Callaway in tow, we go investitage the van door and when we emerge from the museum to the parking lot, realize that it is pouring down rain. I didn’t haven umbrella or rain coats for the boys. Henry is starting to breathe harder and harder. He was already upset and confused why we had to leave the museum, worried something was wrong with our van, and then furious at me for not being prepared with umbrellas or rain coats. This was going down hill fast. I realized in that moment, though, that Henry should not be as upset as he was. He could not adjust when we needed to change the scheduled plan of how we thought we were going to go through the museum. He felt fear by the van door not being taken care of, and he was so overwhelmed at the thought of not being prepared for the weather. 

He was carrying burdens that were not his. Whether I put them on him or it is just his personality, he was weighed down by the responsibility of the day without the maturity to handle the necessary changes that occur in a day. Life with Henry was often like this. If plans changed or did not work out like he expected, he was very hard to be around. If a place was too loud, too crowded, too unstructured, he would have a temper trantrum as his way of expressing how overwhelmed he felt. Some of that is ok. For some people, loud, crowded, unsctructred places are not their thing. That is fine. But, what we had to work on with Henry is to trust that I knew best as his mother and that I would protect him and do what I thought was best. 

This played out in a few different ways. As Henry’s mother, I did protect him from places that I thought may be overwhelming – CHAT VBS, large gatherings, friends homes that were chaotic. We stopped having certain families over that wouldn’t honor his space or his words. We moved – not only for henry – but it did help give him a more peaceful space to play and grow. But, life cannot always be as Henry would request. He cannot rule the family, decide all of our plans, and be the dictator of what is best as Winters. I am hospitable by nature, love to have people over, and want everyone who comes in our home to feel welcome so I knew this was something I would have to work on with Henry if he was to embody that value as well. So, that’s what we did. I set out on a long term plan to slowly stretch Henry’s ability to handle stress and spontaneous change while also honoring his personality and providing places and times of refuge after a situation. 

As a young child, I would intentionally change the plans on Henry when I had the capacity to deal with his response and teach him the right way to handle unwelcomed change. If our plans for the day were to go to the grocery store, the gym, and then home for lunch, I would change the order and go to the gym first. It sounds simple but to a three year old who has been wanting to know the daily schedule since he awoke, it’s a big deal. He would cry, say “that’s not what you said earlier” and start to stress out. We would always go back to the question? Do you trust Mommy. Make him say “yes” and then remind him that “mommy had your best interest in mind and I will do what is best for you and our family.” It’s a matter of trust and control. He wanted control over the day but that is a burden he was not actually prepared to carry at that time. 

We would move into bigger arenas as he got older. Changing who picked him up at school, what’d we have for dinner that was different than the menu board, or intentionally forgetting something – like a water bottle or snack or bike – at a park and forcing him to adjust. It was hard and the temper tantrums were hard. He is still a rigid kid – loves a routine, knowing the schedule, keeping his room clean, and having down time. I honor that by asking him ahead of time if he wants playmates, rewarding him for his clean room, and keeping a somewhat structured day. But, there are days, that he doesn’t want friends over but I invite them anyway because they are friends of mine too and his siblings friends. It is best for the majority of the family for them to come over even if he isn’t in the mood. We talk beforehand, let him have some time to prepare and then make sure I leave quiet space for him afterward. However, there are times now that he just doesn’t get that and I am OK with that. Not every day is going to go as planned and I still expect his attitude to be as such that he can welcome others into our home or life with respect and happiness. 

When I talked to doctors about it, they all suggested giving him more control – let him decide the day, come up with the plan, etc. I think that is fine as they get older and earn that privilege but deciding your day is an earned privilege – not a right. If you continue to cater to one child, they will rule your family. I have seen it happen and it is so hard especially as they age. Instead, you need to teach them that you as the parent are in charge, have their best interest in mind and will protect them. Also helpful is to get them thinking of someone else instead of themselves. Henry used to get really worked up as we prepared to load up the car - the shoes, the coat, etc. was all a battle. A trick I learned from another mom was to give them a job that forced them to think of someone else in a time they may be anxious - Henry will you get in the car and buckle your sister. Henry, will you carry my water bottle and bag to the car, etc. Get their mind off themselves and onto the collective task at hand.