I'd Rather Be A Mom

The priesthood has always been essential in my life. 

The first time I remember asking my father for a blessing was after an American’s hockey game.  I was about eight years old.  My eyes were so goopy I couldn’t see out of them.  Our neighbor came over and helped my dad give me a priesthood blessing.  The next morning I could see again!  Looking back I realize my eyes would have probably cleared up if I hadn’t received a blessing.  However, as an eight-year old my faith in the priesthood had been strengthened. 

When I was nineteen years old I was having major young adult issues over Thanksgiving break.  When I arrived home for the break I asked my dad for a blessing.  He gave me a blessing of comfort.  I knew that though everything may not turn out the way I wanted it to at the time, it would eventually be okay.  The next month was a rocky one as I navigated my way through life and sought answers from the Lord.  Though life continued to be hard for a few months I saw blessing arise out of the situation.  In those months of uncertainty and pain, it was the words of a priesthood blessing that saw me through in one piece.

On my mission I was infected with an extremely bad and painful sinus infection that even antibiotics didn’t chase away.  The doctor wouldn’t give me any more antibiotics, saying I had to wait at least five weeks.  There was no way I could physically do the work of a missionary with my sinus infection.  My faithful companion advised me to receive a blessing.  I struggled with that at first.  I had only ever received blessings from men whom I had known very well.  I felt insecure asking an elder whom I had only met twice for a blessing.  In addition, did I really believe a blessing could heal me?  For several hours I thought about it.  I finally told my companion to go ahead and call the elder.  Later that day he gave me one of the most powerful blessings I had ever received.  He addressed some of the worries I had had about missionary life and my personal life that I had only told my companion about.  I was emotionally healed that day.  Several days later I was physically healed.

After giving birth to Lilly I suffered from many post-partum problems.  I asked my husband for a blessing.  Though I still struggle with several of those problems, I know that because of the blessing I have become stronger and am able to slowly overcome the challenges I am facing.

In addition to receiving many blessing throughout my life, the priesthood has blessed me in other ways.  Each week I partake of the sacrament, which is blessed by the priesthood.  I was baptized and sealed by the authority of the priesthood.   I have faithful home teachers who fulfill their priesthood duties each month by visiting my family, becoming our friends, and making sure we are doing okay.  I have had wonderful bishops whom I’ve sat in counsel with as I’ve struggled through teenage years, prepared for a mission, and prepared for marriage.

As a woman I have never once wondered why I am not able to hold the priesthood. Today there are women who feel entitled to hold the priesthood and are petitioning church leaders to allow them to be ordained to the priesthood, obtaining priesthood responsibilities. 

Though the priesthood has blessed my life, the priesthood is not for me.  Each time I asked for a blessing the brethren who gave the blessing were fulfilling their roles as priesthood holders.  As men and women we each have different roles and I know my role is not to hold the priesthood.  My role is to support the priesthood in my home.  As the patriarch of our home, Chris makes the major decisions pertaining to our family.  He clearly understands this.  Further, he clearly understands that before making a decision he needs to counsel with his wife (me).  The other day he was talking to me about a decision he had to make.  I felt in my heart that whatever decision he would make would be beneficial to our family. He would not lead our family astray, so to speak. 

I personally have too many other things to worry about without having the responsibilities Chris has.  I have to worry about getting rid of Lilly’s diaper rash, feeding her 6-8 times a day, making sure Chris eats at least one thing during the day, doing the laundry, making sure you can at least see the floor from time to time in our apartment, and figuring out what in the world is wrong with Lilly when she’s bawling her eyes out, among other things.  I don’t want the responsibility of providing for the family, making major decisions that will affect this family’s future, going to endless priesthood meetings, on top of all the other duties I preform as the matriarch. 

In addition to not wanting the responsibilities of the priesthood, I understand that Chris and I both can’t have the priesthood.  It wouldn’t work.  He has the priesthood, and I have motherhood.  He is the patriarch and I am the matriarch.  They fit together like puzzle pieces.  He is to preside and protect, while I am to nurture and be a homemaker.  If we were both supposed to provide and protect it would be like this…

And who would be there to nurture and be a homemaker?

I want my home to be like puzzle pieces that fit.

When women say they want the priesthood they are essentially saying they don’t want the gift and role of motherhood.  They want the role of a man instead.  That’s understandable.  Look at the world.  Women are demanding the same pay as men. They are demanding the same jobs as men, and the same privileges.  I 100 percent agree with equality for women. What some people don’t understand is that men and women are equal in the church even if we don’t have the same responsibilities.

You never hear about the boys in the Church wanting the woman’s job.  “I just want to stay at home all day, wipe poopy booties, do the never-ending pile of laundry and dishes, coordinate six different schedules, make sure dinner is ready in between everyone’s schedule, break up fights, make sure homework is done, chores are completed, and ‘Yes Evan can go to Billy’s house if he’s nice to his brother today,’ said no man ever.  Well at least the men I’ve known.  They are happy with their role in the home and in the church.  So why can’t women be happy with theirs without wanting more? 

Though a mother’s job is extremely hard and demanding, it is so rewarding.  Though Lilly is only two months old I have been there everyday of her life.  I was there when she first smiled, when she rolled over on her side.  I helped give her, her first bath.  I’ll be there when she laughs for real for the first time, when she sits up, when she crawls, when she walks, when she talks.  Mothers have a special connection with their children fathers don’t have.  In our house we call it Mommy Powers.  I wouldn’t give up my Mommy Powers for the priesthood.

I believe men have a special connection to their children women don’t have.  This connection comes through the priesthood. 

The first time Chris used the priesthood to directly bless Lilly was when he gave her a name and a blessing in church.  The blessing he gave was powerful.  After the blessing he held Lilly and looked at her for a long time.  A connection was passing between father and daughter.  I knew it was because of the power of the priesthood that Chris felt that connection with our daughter.  He had just given her a powerful blessing—receiving revelation for her that would guide her throughout her life.  This was something that I would never experience. I was not jealous at all.  I had felt this connection before with my own father. 

Chris, Lilly, and I on Lilly's blessing day.  

Those women who want the priesthood can go ahead and want it all they want.  They will most likely never get it, because it isn’t a policy issue, its doctrine.  But the priesthood is not for me.  I’d rather be a mom.  

Sticks and Stones

“Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”

Remember that cliché growing up? 

It’s an unsaid motto in my parent’s house.

If you know my family we love to tease. 

For example, my brother Jackson often tells my sister Saydi, she is “Faaaat…tastic.”

Saydi doesn’t get offended.

We often tease my dad about him going bald.

He doesn’t get offended.

We used to call my brother Jefferson a food police (he knew what everyone ate and how much they ate, and determined if that was a fair helping or not).

He didn’t get offended.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the topic of offense and felt I should share some of my thoughts.

Taking offense, especially when no offense is meant can ruin relationships. 

Saydi is in Chile serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Later-day Saints.   She recently had an interview with her mission president who asked her a lot of questions about one of her former companions.  This is what she said:

“…[A]pparently I am the only companion Hermana P has had that she hasn’t had problems with, and [President] wanted to know why.  I was honest with him and told him that being with Hermana P wasn’t the easiest thing, but that I truly tried to love her and accept her how she was.  I remembered that Hermana P said things how they were, which often had a tendency to hurt people’s feelings or to offend people when no offense was meant.  I told President that in our house we were always taught to not take offense when none is meant...”

Because my sister didn’t let some of the words her companion said negatively affect her, Saydi was able to develop a good relationship with her.  Hermana P never meant to hurt Saydi, and Saydi saw that.  She let the things her companion said roll off her shoulders. 

It seems as if Hermana P’s other companions didn’t do this.  Because they took offense they didn’t have a good relationship with Hermana P.  Think of the friendships that could have blossomed if these companions had accepted Hermana P for who she was and loved her as Christ loves her.  Instead they chose to take offense at what Hermana P said when no offense was meant.

My mother always taught us that being offended is a choice.  Many people say, “He/she offended me.”  I think to myself, “No, they said or did something, and you chose to be offended.”

Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said,

“…[I]t ultimately is impossible for another person to offend you or to offend me. Indeed, believing that another person offended us is fundamentally false. To be offended is a choice we make; it is not a condition inflicted or imposed upon us by someone or something else.”

It’s one thing to feel hurt, betrayed, uncomfortable, etc. by what someone has said or done, but it’s another thing to be offended.  Certainly there will (and have been) times in our lives that someone has said or done something where we had the opportunity to take offense.  How much more enabling would it be if we choose not to take offense, especially when no offense is meant.  When we take offense we let a situation control us, instead of us controlling the situation.  Elder Bednar continues to say,

“To believe that someone or something can make us feel offended, angry, hurt, or bitter diminishes our moral agency and transforms us into objects to be acted upon. As agents, however, you and I have the power to act and to choose how we will respond to an offensive or hurtful situation.”

I have seen people let themselves become victims because they let a situation control them.  They lost the power to act because they chose to be offended.  It was like watching them choose to chug a quart of pickle juice, then blaming someone else for the sour taste in their mouth.  Not only was there a sour taste in their mouth, but they brought down the people around them as well.  They wanted others to feel sorry for them, to take their side against the person who offended them.  Can you see how this could ruin relationships? 

Sometimes responding to a hurtful situation is necessary.   Confronting the person who said/did something hurtful in a kind manner.  In my own marriage there have been times when one of us has said or done something that has hurt the other person.  Instead of letting that come between us, we go to each other and say, “Hey, what you said/did hurt me.”  We work it out.  We apologize.  We repent.  We forgive.  

“Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”

Words can hurt us.  I have felt the sting of words in my own life.  But don’t throw away relationships because someone has offended you. 

Choose not to be offended and your life will be happier and freer.

A Lilly Story

It’s been three weeks since our precious daughter came into this world.  Time to share how that happened!

January 23^rd 2014

7:30 p.m.

I started having pretty frequent Braxton Hicks (you know, those fake contractions).  I didn’t want to get my hopes up though.  I had had a couple days when I’d have Braxton Hicks for an hour, and then they’d go away.   I was pretty uncomfortable (due date was only three days away) and I just wanted my baby out.  I wanted to feel normal again, and most of all I wanted to meet our little son or daughter. 

January 24^th 2014

2:30 a.m.

I woke up to a contraction hurting.  It wasn’t too bad and I fell back to sleep. 

7:30 a.m.

Every contraction hurt.  Though I could still get up and do things like normal.  Did I though?  No.  I sat in bed and worked on a blog post for my book blog and ate a cinnamon roll my husband brought me. 

10ish a.m.

I started keeping track of how frequent the contractions were.  They were consistently 5-8 minutes apart.  At this point I was thinking and hoping our baby was coming sometime that weekend.

4:00 p.m.

I had a doctor appointment at 4.  I told them I was having frequent contractions but they weren’t hurting really bad.  The doctor checked my dilation and said I was at a 2.4.  Don’t ask about the .4.  Chris and I thought that was weird and so did the nurses at the hospital later that night.

The doctor said I would probably have our baby that weekend.  The lady at the front desk said we should go home, get some pizza and watch a movie.  Pizza sounded yuk, but a movie didn’t sound too bad. 

By the time Chris and I arrived back at our apartment my contractions had gotten a little worse, but nothing I couldn’t handle. 

Chris had a chemistry test to take by Saturday (the next day).  I told him to go take it.  I was only at a 2, my contractions weren’t bad, and this was my first baby, which meant a long labor.  “Plus,” I said jokingly, “If anything does happen in the two hours you’re gone I’ll just get someone to go into the testing center to get you.”  We both knew once he was in the testing center he would be unreachable.  We weren’t worried.

He turned on Madagascar 2 for me and left.  

5:00 p.m.

My contractions started getting worse.  Where was Chris?  “It’s okay,” I told myself, “Just concentrate on the movie.”  My contractions were about 4-6 minutes apart at this point and lasted for 20 seconds.  I could no longer concentrate on the movie and was really tired of being alone for this whole labor experience.  Chris had been gone all day, first to school then work.  Before, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, but at this point I would have really liked some support, even if it was just a silent hand to squeeze.

A little after 5:30 p.m. 

I stood up during a contraction to relieve some of the pain and it felt like I had peed my pants a little (you know when you laugh so hard a little urine comes out?  I know at least some of you have had that happen to them).  Hmmm…had my water just broken?  If it had I didn’t want to be standing over the living room carpet.  Into the bathroom I ran. 

Oh yeah, that contraction hurt really bad and the pain wasn’t going completely away, and I was missing my favorite part of the movie! (“If I only had a day to live I would invade a neighboring country and impose my own ideologies on them.”  “Well that’s easy for you to do, you’re a king”). 

By this time I was crying.  I was in a ton of pain, and I had no one—I was all alone. Chris was unreachable.  We had a plan of how I would get a hold of him in case I went into labor while he was in class or at work, but we didn’t have a plan if he happened to be in the testing center. 

I texted my mom to tell her that I thought my water had broken.  She called me immediately and asked me some questions.  By this time it was hard for me to talk during contractions.  She told me to call my midwife, which is what I was about to do before she called me. 

Because I had tested positive for Strep B Group, Rachel, my midwife, told me to come to the hospital ASAP so I could get on the antibiotic right away if my water had really broken. 

What to do now?  I didn’t have a car or a husband. 

5:50 p.m.

I called our neighbors/home teachers and asked if they could take me to the hospital.  They went out and warmed up the car right away.  I grabbed the hospital bag and went out the door; thankful it wasn’t too cold that night, and especially grateful for wonderful friends.  On the way to the hospital I texted Chris and called my mom to let her know what was going on (she jumped in her car and headed to Rexburg). 

Chris called while we still on our way to the hospital.  The conversation went something like this:

Chris: “Hey, so what’s going on?”

Me: “I think my water broke, and Rachel told me to come in so they could check for sure.  Meet me up at the hospital ASAP.”

Chris: “Okay.  So I got an 90 on my Chem test.”

Me: “That’s great.  Are you on your way to the hospital?”  Like really that’s great, but honestly that’s the last thing on my mind right now.

Chris: “Uh yeah.  Did you want me to bring you anything from home?”

Me: “You’re not home are you?”

Chris: “No, but I could run home if you forgot anything.”  Really kid?  Really?  I’m most likely IN LABOR!  I understand you want to make sure I have everything, but PLEASE come to the hospital right now. 

Me: “No I have everything.  I want you to come to the hospital right now.”

Chris: “Oh yeah, okay.  I’m on my way.”  I could tell a light bulb had clicked in his head at that moment and was thankful he wasn’t going to be one of those husbands who thought of the sandwich he really wanted to be eating or the basketball game he was missing while his wife was pushing out their kid.

5:55 p.m.

I arrived at the hospital. 

They took forever checking me in.  Hello, I’m in labor.  I’m in pain.  Let me go into the hospital so they can check me out here!  I don’t care about any forms I have to sign!  (This is why the husband should always be there). 

They finally put me in an examination room and told me to change into a hospital “gown.”  More like a sheet with a hole in it for your arms and head.  Did I mention it has no back? 

6:00 p.m.

Chris walked into the room.  I’ve never been so thankful to see him! 

6:05 p.m.

Okay, the pain is only getting worse.  Where is that doctor who’s supposed to check to see if my water broke?!   “They don’t have to come in and check,” I told Chris.  “I’m sitting in a puddle of water and I know I just didn’t pee my pants.”

A nurse finally came in.  She didn’t even test the puddle I was sitting in to see if it was amniotic fluid.  She just helped me up and took me to a delivery room. 

This was it!  We were going to meet our baby soon.  Little did we know how soon.

6:10 p.m.

The nurse sat me on a bed, and another nurse came in and started to ask me a whole bunch of questions I can’t even remember.  I’m grateful Chris was there to answer most of them.  They put monitors on my belly to monitor baby’s heartbeat. 

Rachel came in to check my dilation.  I was at a 3.

7:00 p.m.

The nurse tried getting an IV in me, but my veins weren’t showing.  It took about 15 minutes for her to put the IV in.  Thankfully she only had to poke me once.  I was hooked up to my antibiotics.  I needed them in my system four hours prior to delivery.  The nurse and Rachel weren’t concerned that I would have the baby before four hours. 

Contractions were starting to get worse.  I keep telling myself I can handle it because it was only going to get worse.  At one point though I told Chris I couldn’t do it anymore.  He was such a good cheerleader, telling me I could.

8:00 p.m.

I’m surprised I didn’t rip Chris’s clothes off.  My contractions were getting steadily worse.  The only relief (if you want to call it relief) was standing up.  I couldn’t stand up on my own so hung onto Chris’s neck with my right arm while pulling at his shirt with my left.  He later told me I was putting him in a chokehold.  Sorry Honey! 

Since I was giving birth naturally Rachel was supposed to be with me the whole time.  Well there was another lady in labor at the same time I was.  This was her fourth pregnancy and she was dilated to a 6, so naturally Rachel would be with her. 

8:45ish p.m. (ask Chris for sure.  My sense of time was pain).

I had noticed that my contractions were getting steadily worse every half hour or so.  I thought that it had to be over soon.  The nurse didn’t think so.  She was honest and said she’d give me another dose of antibiotics at 11 p.m.  “This will take that long?” I nearly cried. 

“I don’t want to sugar coat it,” she said, “But this is your first baby, and so I won’t be surprised if it does take that long.” 

At that point I honestly didn’t know if I could survive that long.  If my contractions were getting steadily worse with each half hour, I didn’t even want to think about how they would feel at 11 p.m. 

Epidural passed through my mind briefly.   I couldn’t get past the image of a huge needle being stuck in my back, and not being able to move, and getting hooked up to oxygen though. I would cross that bridge if my pain got worse. 

The nurse checked my dilation since my pain level had increased significantly. 

“You’re probably going to be at a 4,” she said.  I was at a 6 or 7!  Wow!  Okay, I could do this.  Just 3-4 more centimeters to go. 

“I can’t do this.” I told Chris as my pain increased again. 

“Yes you can, you’re doing awesome.”

9:00 p.m.

“You’re going to start feeling like you’re going to have a bowel movement,” the nurse said, “and you’ll want to bear down.” 

“Um…I’ve been feeling that for a little bit now.” 

“Let’s lay you down then.”

“No!”  The last time I tried to lay down = pain beyond pain.

The nurse assured me that I had lain down during a contraction, which had caused the pain.  So I stood by the bed waiting for the contraction to pass.  It didn’t.  It lessened, but never passed. 

“At this point,” the nurse said, “the contractions probably won’t permanently go away.” 

Awesome!  Chris and the nurse gently laid me down on my side.  I think I almost broke the rail to the bed. 

The nurse checked me again.  “You’re at a 9 ½.”

That must mean I’m getting close. 

Oh goodness, did I really just push?

The nurse told me to push the next time I had the urge.  So I did.  It scared me to death, but it did lessen the pain of the contraction and gave me something to do. 

Rachel came in to check me.  I was at a 10!!! 

I was a horrible pusher. 

They had to teach me how to push while I was pushing.  It’s not exactly something they can teach you at a birthing class. 

I’m grateful I didn’t have the epidural (not that I had time to get one).  If I had gotten one I would have no idea when to push and labor would have been longer. 

My mom told me when she gave birth to me she screamed.  I really didn’t want to scream, nor did I think I would.  I had no choice.  After each push I screamed.  I had no control over it.

Rachel stayed in the room and scrubbed up once I was at a 10.  Chris encouraged me throughout the 20 or so minutes of pushing. 

I couldn’t believe I was actually giving birth.  It’s something I always knew I would do someday.  It was amazing to think I was actually doing it.  There was no turning back at this point. 

9:29 p.m.

I saw the baby’s head for the first time.  The first thought that ran through my head was, “It’s out!” 

Chris placed the baby on my chest.

“Well, what is it?” I think I said (Chris was supposed to tell me the gender).

Turns out Chris was balling like our little baby.

“It’s a girl,” he finally said.

“A girl?  Really?” I said in disbelief. 

It was true.  The little baby on my chest was our sweet little girl.  Perhaps because Chris had three brothers and I had five, and we (well Chris mostly) had been calling our baby “Little guy” for the past 9 months, it was hard to believe I had given birth to a girl.  They are so rare in our families. 

So many emotions were going through my mind at this point.  The two main ones were relief and disbelief.  I was holding my daughter in my arms.  I was a mom.  I had just given birth! 

We named her Lilly.

Lilly stayed on my chest for about 30 minutes while after-birth stuff happened.  I remember Chris looking at my stomach and saying something like, “Whoa!  It’s flat again!” 

When they took Lilly off me she had pooped all over my stomach.  Seriously?  You were supposed to save that first squirt of meconium for Dad! 

She weighed in at 7lb 9 oz and was 20 ½ inches long.

Mom got a nice warm shower (thankful it was a fast labor).

Dad got a big sandwich (he hadn’t eaten since breakfast).

Lilly got some loves from Mom and Dad.

Because I didn’t get the antibiotic four hours prior to giving birth, Lilly and I had to stay in the hospital for 48 hours to make sure she didn’t have the virus.  She didn’t.  She never even got a hint of jaundice!  I’m so grateful she is a healthy baby. 

These past three weeks. 

How do I describe it?  I never thought I could love someone so much.  I would do anything for her.  And I pretty much do, including fighting my pain pill drowsiness so I can stay up with her at night.  She is so worth it.  I can look at Lilly for hours and not get bored.  I love laying next to her and smelling her sweet breath and skin. Cuddling with her is my favorite thing to do. 

It’s a wonder to look into her eyes and think she just came from our Heavenly Father.  She is so perfect and pure (even if she poops all over the bed sheets).  Chris and I love our sweet little girl.

Parenthood is the best lemonade you could ask for in life. 

Cuddle time with Mom

Daddy's girl.  He picked out her outfit

The little angel God blessed us with