On the Morning of My Ultrasound

When I was pregnant with my first, everyone I talked to was anxious to know what I was having. I had decided near the beginning of my pregnancy that no one outside of immediate family should know the gender of my baby  before the baby shower–lest I be showered with gender-specific clothes and not receive any of the essential items that I was hoping others would buy for me instead.

On the day of our mid-pregnancy ultrasound (about 19 weeks), my husband came with me and he held my hand. When we were asked if we wanted to know the gender of our baby, we adamently answered in unison, “Yes.” I was pleasantly surprised when the technician revealed that our Little Moore was actually a girl. Somehow, I had imagined that she was a boy and didn’t think I would have a girl until a subsequent pregnancy. Perhaps it was the lack of morning sickness that led me to think that it couldn’t have been a girl, but all of those thoughts faded with a smile when I realized that I would be the mother to a firstborn daughter. I had also prayed that God would allow me to have both genders as a mom, but especially that He wouldn’t give me all boys (there is nothing wrong with all boys, but I am totally the mom of a daughter!). As an excited mother-to-be, I had already picked out her name long before I knew who she would be: “Layne Blythe” or “The Joyous Path.”

Layne at 19 weeks in August 2012.

 

Flash forward nearly two years to the day (today!) and I am going to another maternal/fetal medicine office to get a mid-pregnancy ultrasound. This time my husband is unable to get the time off of work to come with me, so my mom is coming to watch my daughter and offer support.

Before I became pregnant with this baby, I decided that I didn’t want to know the gender during my next pregnancy. There are so few surprises in adult life (and I am rarely surprised), and I want to know what it feels like to be able to meet my child for the very first time on the day of his or her birth. When Layne’s birth was disappointing (not Layne, but the birth itself), I vowed to do whatever I can to avoid another c-section in the future. I changed to a midwife who supports women who want a vaginal birth after caesarean, I started to revise my birth plan and I have prayed and prayed not to go through that experience again. However, I know that birth is its own animal. I can do everything right and still face a situation that is completely out of my control. I want to know that on the day of my son or daughter’s birth, if I am wheeled down the hall to undergo another painful surgery, that I have a surprise left to enjoy. I want my husband to be able to announce to the room and to the parents, “It’s a boy!” or “It’s a girl!” I genuinely want to be surprised.

However, ultrasounds are a glimpse into the womb not afforded to my parents’ generation. It is like a movie trailer with the most interesting topic I have ever seen. It is like watching the future unfold inside me–a sneak peek into the rest of my life.

I desperately want to know if I am having a boy or a girl. I want to know that God is giving us a boy so that I will be assured that our family isn’t all girls. I want Caleb to have a little buddy to follow him around. I want a little man to dress in mini-man clothes and learn about all things boy.

I want my daughter to have a sister only two years younger than her so that they can share playmates, clothes and little league teams. I want another little girl to wear the hundreds of adorable girl outfits that I packed away with tears in my eyes as my daughter outgrew them. I want a “second daughter” much like I am the second daughter.

Short of twins (which I am not having), I will not get both of these with this pregnancy. God already has filled one of the above scenarios, and most likely it is way more in depth than I have summarize above. Knowing the outcome brings excitement, relief and months of planning. Not knowing, however, brings wonder, hope, and anticipation.

Today I may not find out the gender of my baby (unless it is unavoidable on the screen), but I will learn that my baby is healthy and growing according to schedule. This is all I can hope for as a mother. God has the rest all planned out.

The Passage of Time is Bittersweet

The passage of time is so bittersweet.

Most mornings, my child sleeps in. If I can get my act together, I have the opportunity to spend an hour or so with a strong cup of coffee and my laptop–getting some of my “work-from-home” work done to the soundtrack of ocean waves on the baby monitor.

This morning, I decided to do something that I have been putting off for some time: backing up my photos from my iPhone to my computer so that I could execute the long awaited software update. Last time I had attempted this, I hadn’t chosen to delete any of the photos after transfer and had (SOMEHOW) managed to upload a bunch more from my computer to my phone. Needless to say, I had long run out of room on my phone for updates and videos.

I didn’t expect the simple transfer of photos to be an emotional endeavor. I suppose I should have known better with my hormones all out of whack, but I didn’t.

As the photos transferred from my phone to iPhoto, I saw nearly two years of my life fly by in pictures, in chronological order. It was glib, almost, to watch 1600 photos fly by my eyes. Occasionally, one would linger on the screen for ten seconds or more as if to ask, “Do you remember me?”

I did. I did so well it hurt.

I remembered the first time my daughter was placed in my arms when I was wheeled back to my hospital room.

I remembered every little smile and frown she made for the first several months of her life as they passed by on my screen.

I remembered taking her to my grandma’s house, and later to the hospital and rehabilitation centers as her time grew shorter and shorter with us.

I remembered the joy on my daughter’s face as she jumped in her rainforest jumper for the first time and how enthralled she was with the fenced-in “play area” I made her when I started to babyproof the house.

The bitterness is in the tears I shed, but the sweetness is what made them fall.

As I watched her teeth seemingly pop out of her gums as the pictures passed, I also realized the ways that I have grown as a mother in 19 months. I have picture proof of many ways I have grown and changed as a first time parent: learning the reason for her non-stop screaming in the first few months of my daughter’s life, examples of incorrect carseat usage and our switch from disposable diapers to cloth.

Nineteen months is merely a snapshot in the timeline of motherhood. It has passed too quickly, but every moment was cherished. I have never, ever wished for any life circumstance that would not have included these first 19 amazing months with Layne (first two screaming months and all).

The path to motherhood is joyous. But with the joy, comes tears.

A Spending Freeze. Why not?

With Michigan in the midst of one of the snowiest and coldest winters that I can recall, my husband and I have decided to enact a spending freeze. Truthfully, the two have nothing in common besides pain and heartache…lost hopes and dreams….

Okay, so I am being a bit dramatic, but who wants to “enjoy” a spending freeze? I certainly would prefer to spend money at a store and look at my receipt to enjoy how much I have saved! However, with unexpected car repairs and a small mountain (or at least several tall hills) of debt in credit cards and loans, it is looking more and more responsible to just stop spending altogether.

What does this look like?

Well for starters, we aren’t going to stop paying our bills. This is the whole purpose of the freeze: to be able to cover our bills and whittle down our debt faster than otherwise.

No longer allowed are my wandering trips to Target, with glorious hauls of clearance treasures. When shopping for limited groceries, I am no longer permitted to visit the baby section at Meijer to peruse the discounted toys and clothing. No more spontaneous trips for coffee, ice cream or Sunday lunches after church (unless paid for with giftcards from Shopkick*). The freeze also stops our “I don’t feel like eating anything in this house, so what do you want to get for dinner?” nights (These are not as common, but definitely add up faster than anything else).

It isn’t all bad, though. Not spending ANYTHING would eventually prove to be counter-productive, as my stockpile of groceries can only carry us so far. Moderate grocery spending is okay, but I have stopped to think, “Do we really need this right now?” with everything before it hits the bottom of my cart. I also signed up for an every-other week delivery from Door to Door Organics** of fresh (and sometimes local) organic produce. The grocery stores around me (Meijer and Kroger) do carry various organic produce, but the selection is random and sometimes the quality is questionable. Although Door to Door Organics isn’t cheap, I can customize my order with up to five substitutions on the weekly list. This means that I get exactly what I want, for the recipes I plan to make with the ingredients I already have at home, and I don’t have to scour the produce sections of multiple stores to come up with that much healthy food. This, as a result, presents less opportunity for me to wander the other aisles of the stores in search of clearance items that we don’t need.

Kroger has been a godsend to us over the last several months, as they regularly reduce natural and organic items in their Nature’s Market section. Sometimes these items are marked down well before their “Use By” dates and other items can be frozen until we need them. The only problem, however, is that a trip through these aisles sometimes results in more items than we can truly afford. By not visiting them as often, I am positive that we will save money and only get just what we need, when we need it.

We are blessed.

We start this spending freeze with so much more to fall back on than most. Thanks to We have a freezer full of stockpiled venison, pork, and Costco-sized bags of organic green beans and corn. We have shelves full of canned applesauce, pearsauce, pickles, jams, apple and grape juices, salsa, and cinnamon pears from last fall. We are so blessed that it seems ridiculous to think about complaining, but it sure is easy when I am used to spending the little money we have.

For the next three weeks (to start), we will squelch the urge to spend in hopes of getting a bit further ahead this year.

I wonder if anyone else is taking on a similar challenge?

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

New International Version (NIV)

A Time for Everything

3 There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

²     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
³     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
⁴     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
⁵     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
⁶     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
⁷     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
⁸     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

I would probably add:

“a time to spend and a time to save.”

*To sign up for shopkick with my referral link, click HERE.

**I do not make any money from you signing up for Door to Door Organics, but if you would like to get a 50% discount on your first box, please send me a message.

Redefining The Joyous Path

Layne’s First Birthday Party

To my few readers who have intermittently read my spaced-out posts, I apologize. I hardly would label myself a “blogger” in the traditional sense, but a writer through and through.

You see, while I wasn’t writing in this blog, I was learning. I was soaking up lesson after lesson in motherhood and tucking it away for…a rainy day? Perhaps. But with no rain in sight and with my daughter and I on day three of being home with no car, I find myself reunited with one of my first loves: the chronicling of this mom’s joyous path.

What is this joyous path? It is the growing collection of heartaches, triumphs, adventures and lessons learned since I day I discovered I was to become a mother.

And so, apologies aside, I would like to start where I left off with true determination and a better sense of organization. The blog opens again…

A City With Broken Down Walls

A year and a half ago, I was working in children’s church while we studied an important lesson. It was January, and in the spirit of New Year’s Resolutions, we learned the following verse:

“A person without self-control is like a city with broken down walls.” -Proverbs 25:28

At the time, the verse stood out to me. My husband and I had decided to (try to) have our first baby that year. In order to make that happen, I would have to get my blood sugar under control and then keep it there for many months.

I was up for the challenge. We joined a local gym, I sourced an old elliptical machine from my local freecycle group and I carefully planned our meals to best accommodate my goals.
In a short time, I was successful. I had dropped about 4-5 pounds and had excellent blood sugar control. The first time that I saw my a1c at 5.1 I burst into tears. It was proof that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to with God’s help.

I was pregnant as of April (a little earlier than I had thought it would happen), but my doctors were supportive. Throughout my pregnancy, my blood sugar was uncharacteristically low. I found myself checking and re-checking until my fingers were calloused and sore. I took walks at every possible break while at work and would get on the elliptical machine for at least 10 minutes after dinner every night.

After Layne arrived, I was in a sleepy haze of feedings, dietary changes to accommodate her milk/soy protein intolerance, trying to keep my sanity….I stopped checking my blood sugar regularly because it wasn’t my focus anymore. Layne was my entire focus, every minute of every day.

Then last night, while feeling a little “off,” I decided to check my postprandial blood glucose (measurement of blood sugar 2 hours after the start of a meal). It was 186. I must have checked it 4 times, after washing my hands and testing the meter for accuracy. Humbling. My blood sugar should have been about 120 at that point.

I jumped on the elliptical machine again to bring it down before bed. I made a high-fiber, high protein breakfast this morning and I tested my glucose two hours afterward to find it in the normal range again.

When I don’t take care of myself, I leave my body much like a city without walls. I invite infection, disease, lethargy, weight gain, etc. into my life. I invite those ills into our family as well. It is not good to give my daughter everything now at the expense of her having me around as she grows up.

Much like I did a year and a half ago, I am placing my focus on rebuilding my walls. On having self-control with my diet. On being self-disciplined with my exercise.

Giving Up Doesn’t Mean Giving In: Discovering Motherhood Through Sacrifice

Proverbs 31:15a NIV

“She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family.”

It was a natural process–becoming a different version of myself with the birth of my first child. Getting up to rock and feed my baby at all hours of the night was not bothersome to me (even when it really should have been). Listening to her scream nearly every night for two months because of digestive issues became less annoying and more concerning as the weeks passed and I found myself gaining a patient spirit. My child could do no wrong because she didn’t know better; I became her advocate, her keeper and her comforter.

There were a few days, I admit, where my thoughts were consumed with all of the foods I couldn’t eat. Layne has MSPI, or a Milk/Soy Protein Intolerance. This means that (as her food source) I cannot consume any dairy or soy products. To fully understand the extent of this, you would need to pull everything out of your cabinets (including mixed seasonings) and fridge/freezer and then only put back the items that do not have any potential milk or soy ingredients. In case you are wondering how many products that really affects and don’t feel like tearing apart your kitchen, let’s just assume that 90% of processed foods (even organic ones) contain soy or milk derivatives or were manufactured on equipment that handles these ingredients. Other foods with milk & soy include some bakery breads, butter, cheeses, milk (obviously), non-stick spray, seasoning mixes, salad dressings, chocolate, yogurt, sour cream, tortillas, chicken and beef bullion, mayonnaise, most tunas (cut with soy!), hot dogs, anything fried at restaurants (in vegetable oil) and many lunch meats. That list is by no means complete!

After learning of Layne’s dietary limitations and cutting out these foods from my already limited diet, it took about 4-5 weeks for her to stop screaming. This was only after giving up coffee as well. The drain of those endless weeks could have left me without any steam at all. I could have chosen to focus on all of the negative things I was experiencing (and sometimes I did!), but God has continued to bring my focus back to what it means to be a mother.

Being a mother means that my life isn’t AT ALL about me anymore. My sole most important job for the rest of my life is take care of my children. On my birthday in February, Layne had probably her worst day of all. I spent most of the day praying for her to stop screaming. I cried a lot. I felt sorry for myself and opened my fridge an embarrassing amount of times to stare at its contents and sink further down the slippery slope of self-pity. By the time my husband came home from work, nothing could make me smile anymore. My head wasn’t where it needed to be to care best for my daughter and this realization made me feel even worse about myself.

By the time that evening hit, Layne’s screaming was so bad that I contacted her pediatrician to see if she thought maybe something worse was wrong with Layne and she would need to be seen. Flashbacks of seeing her hooked up the to the glucose drip in the hospital NICU and being poked and prodded made me dread the idea of taking her to the E.R., especially since I knew that it was possible that there was nothing more they could do for her and we couldn’t afford the bill either way.

After reassuring me that she didn’t believe Layne had any other underlying medical issue, the doctor suggested that I pick up a really expensive hypoallergenic formula and give it to her for the weekend to see how she would react. Retrospectively, I know that we never would have been able to afford the formula (it would run about $45 per 14 oz can), but at that moment, I was given the out I had been looking for. I didn’t realize it all along, but it almost felt that breastfeeding my child was expected of me. I had worked so hard to get Layne to latch in the beginning (it took about a month), only to find that my milk was hurting her. Then I sacrificed my comfort (my diet as I had known it) to try to fix the problem and was frustrated that nothing was changing! If I had a pro-breastfeeding doctor telling me that it was OKAY to give Layne formula because it would make her feel better, I had a really good excuse to take the easy way out.

I seriously considered the option for about 5 minutes. Then something inside of me emerged to the surface–a motherly instinct that had never shown itself so intensely as it did at that moment. No. NO. NO! There is no chance that giving my child man-made formula, even when offered by a doctor, could be a better solution than giving her what God intended when He created us with the ability to nurse our young. Something told me to hold out just a little longer and that Layne was going to be okay.

Three days later, after giving up coffee (revealed to me to possibly be another thing that was bothering Layne), she stopped screaming. She never screamed in pain like those first two months again.

At the heart of motherhood is the definition of sacrifice. To sacrifice means “to give up.” In my case, giving up didn’t mean giving in. It meant giving up focusing on me and my wants to put my child first. If I had given up breastfeeding that weekend and had tried the formula, Layne’s condition probably would have improved (just as it did only days later when I gave up coffee). I never would have learned the true definition of sacrifice and I would have lost the beautiful, sacred connection that I have with my daughter through breastfeeding.

In the end, it was really always up to me. But as a mother, we know that the choices we make really make themselves when we decide to put our children first.

Layne Blythe: The Birth of the Joyous Path

So what is JOY?

I have always associated the word “joy” with happiness. After all, it is hard to imagine anyone singing or talking about joy without being happy. Joy to the World is a happy song, right?

In my very short time as a mother, however, I have learned so much more about the true meaning of joy. Joy, in the biblical sense, is a feeling of purpose and fulfillment. Jesus’ disciples had true joy because they understood that their collective purpose was to spread the news about salvation to all people. When Jesus came to earth, the world received JOY because it now had purpose and its inhabitants could now find fulfillment in life.

My experience at the hospital was not a happy one. I was questioned repeatedly by nurses and doctors but my answers were disregarded. In fact, the birth plan that I took so much time to write and perfect was so far ignored that I shouldn’t have bothered. I was induced with a drug that I was hesitant to allow, I was told repeatedly that I had a “diagnosis” that I still don’t agree with, and I ended up having a ceserean section when my daughter couldn’t tolerate my contractions.

Following my delivery, the hospital staff once again disregarded my wishes to have my placenta encapsulation (despite a lengthy conversation with everyone WHILE I was in the operating room, half open) and someone threw it in a solution to go down to pathology. This ruined it. Upon returning to my room, I was hooked up to magnesium sulfate (without my consent) and I was not allowed to leave my bed or eat for 24 more hours.

That same afternoon, the nurses informed me that Layne had low blood glucose and that she would need to go to the NICU to be hooked up to a glucose drip. Of course, one of the reasons we liked this hospital was because they were adamant that nearly every newborn intervention could take place in the patient rooms, rather than down the hall in the NICU. Unfortunately, they were also in the process of cutting costs for staffing for the NICU, so it was temporarily relocated to the first floor (we were on the third).

When they came to take my baby, I was a mess. This wasn’t happiness. Women are supposed to feel accomplished and fulfilled after having a baby. I, on the other hand, felt a bit like I failed. Nothing was going right, I was exhausted, and I had now failed one more time by not being able to keep my baby from having to go away to get additional help. I told my baby that I loved her and watched them wheel her away from me while I sobbed. That night, my husband and I used FaceTime on our phones so that he could go visit her and feed her while I watched. I tried to be strong but tears just kept running down my cheeks. She was crying when he got there. I could do nothing about it.

My spirits lifted slightly the next morning, when I was allowed to get out of bed. My one last wish was for my baby to be breastfed. I was so determined to give her anything I could that I would pump constantly, even when nothing came out after 15 minutes. If I did manage to get some colostrum, I would proudly carry it with me in a syringe while my husband wheeled me downstairs to feed it to her. It became a routine for us to check her temperature, change her, have the nurse check her glucose, and then allow me to try to breastfeed with no success. We would then give her formula. The formula was necessary for her health, but it just felt like another slap in the face.

We would feed Layne every three hours. This meant that my husband would wheel me downstairs, we would do the above-mentioned routine (which took about an hour) and then I was supposed to go upstairs and rest. That “rest” time was usually spent having nurses and doctors check on me for a variety of medical and non-medical reasons. I developed anxiety about not waking up in time for her feedings so I wouldn’t sleep. For the duration of my stay in the hospital, I got about 5-6 hours of sleep (total). I was berated by the nurses for this as well.

Layne did make it out of the NICU in time to spend our last night in the hospital together. We left the following day in a whirlwind of confusion as our checkout day was misquoted, but I was very pleased to be leaving the hospital for good.

Nine months of planning and all of it (save my beautiful daughter) was destroyed in a few hours. I was too tired to be sad at the time and my body knew that I needed to keep moving to care for this new life. It took about a week to process the experience I had in the hospital and to start to grieve for what I lost. It was the moment when my world stopped spinning so fast after the holidays and I had my daughter in my lap staring up at me that it finally sunk in: I am inadequate as a human being and as a parent. My daughter has no idea how she got here but she thinks the world of me and that should be enough.

As time is passing along, I am weepy about all sorts of things….lack of sleep…..the rate that my daughter is growing…..the continued struggle (although almost success at this point) to get my daughter to breastfeed with no aids…..

But JOY is the one thing holding me together. Purpose. Fulfillment. Being a mother to an adorable baby with chubby cheeks who doesn’t see me as a failure or a diabetic patient with a host of made-up medical issues. To her, I am just Mom.

And this Joyous Path will continue to guide me through the grieving.

“Consider it pure joy [purpose, fulfillment] , my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.” James 1:2

30 Weeks: Fear is a Four Letter Word

There is nothing like impending motherhood to remind me of how little control I have over anything in my life. This uncertainty is just exacerbated by my raging hormones and constant re-thinking of every choice and decision I make on a daily basis.

Yesterday, I had a 30-week ultrasound to determine my baby’s growth and development. After marveling at detailed facial features (this baby might have my nose after all) and a perfectly functional heart (I could see all four chambers), I was informed that this child is in the 95th percentile for growth.

Wait a second….My child is big?

My shock transitioned into slight vindication when I realized the explanation for my 3.5 pound weight gain over the last few weeks, but then that quickly receded into fear. Fear for my child’s development, fear that I had somehow missed something with all of my blood sugar checks, fear for my ever-still-so-small lady parts!

The doctor only made it worse by bringing up cesearan section talk in the exam room following the ultrasound. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that my 5’2” frame probably would do better with a 6-7lb baby than a 10lb baby, but I resented him for even mentioning it yet. I resented my doctor for always bringing up every worst case scenario. I resented him for dismissing my objections with bringing my baby’s health into it.

“It isn’t about what you want. You might not have a choice…..”

I made sure to let him know that while he is only thinking about this child, I am thinking of my (up to) three other unborn children and their health and safety with delivery in the future. He told me that Vaginal Birth after Cesearean is common (yeah right!) and I shut down a little. The same doctor who told me that he would like to see me get to 38 weeks before induction due to my diabetes then told me that inducing early wouldn’t help me and that we would have to discuss scheduling a c-section if the baby continued to grow at this rate.

Frustration, coupled with pregnancy-magnified anxiety clouded me the whole drive home. I wasn’t thinking clearly and my mood was sour. I have done everything I can possibly do to ensure that my child has every fighting chance and a normal, non-diseased life. What the heck am I supposed to do now???? I put one hand on my belly while driving as if to excuse my child from having done anything wrong. 95th percentile should belong to children of really tall people, but if I am supposed to birth a linebacker, then so be it.

“My fears have worn me out…” – Switchfoot, Redemption
It wasn’t really until this morning that I realized where my fear and resentment were really coming from. When I failed to look to God to answer me in my distress I found my thoughts getting darker and more angry. Like the child who gets upset when his older sibling tells him he won’t get to do something when the parent or babysitter has clearly said otherwise, I looked only to my own doubt and frustration and never once thought that maybe God knows a little more about this child than the doctor does.

Psalm 139

^{13 “}For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.”

“My frame was not hidden from you….Your eyes saw my unformed body….”

We can look at my child through monitors and sonograms and modern technology, but God sees this child with His eyes. Nothing is hidden from Him. He knows exactly the date and time that this child will pass through to this side of life and all my doctors can do is estimate, guess and rely on technology to make decisions. They do their best, but when they tell me educated guesses about my child or my ability to bear this child naturally, I can’t throw a fit and feel defeated. I have to look to God (who knows the ACTUAL weight and height and whose nose the child has) to give me my answers.

Quick Pumpkin Pie Oatmeal

 

If you are anything like me, fall has you conjuring up all sorts of ways to use up the canned and frozen pumpkin you saved last year so that you can preserve more!

Last night I made some Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies (recipe courtesy of Ellen in the Kitchen). I used olive oil rather than Canola Oil, but otherwise I kept the recipe exactly as written and it turned out wonderfully. You can find the recipe here:

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

This brings me to this morning, when I realized that I thawed way too much pureed pumpkin from last year and that I need to find ways to use it up before it rots in my fridge. Enter: Quick Pumpkin Pie Oatmeal!

Quick Pumpkin Pie Oatmeal (makes one serving)

Ingredients:

(1) Packet of McCann’s Irish Instant Oatmeal

(1) Tbsp Pumpkin Pie Spice (or a combination of nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and allspice)

Hot water to cook the oatmeal

(2-3) Tbsp of Pureed Pumpkin (from the can is okay, I used frozen from last year)

Brown Sugar to Top!

Directions:

1. Prepare instant oatmeal packet according to directions on package. I use a hot tea kettle to heat water, but you may choose to use the microwave. I find that adding hot water produces the best results.

2. Stir in the pumpkin pie spices.

3. Stir in the pumpkin puree.

4. Top with brown sugar to taste.

Note: I realize this recipe is anything but complicated, but I find that a little variety in my breakfast routine keeps me happy.:)

Feel free to comment with any variations you create (or other ideas to make instant oatmeal taste more interesting!)

27 Weeks: Vaccinations. When the Third World Comes to Us

One thing I have learned since becoming a “parent-to-be” is that “vaccine” is a dirty word in the natural parenting community. I think it actually outranks “epidural” and “episiotomy.” In fact, I have found no issue so polarizing in recent discussion than the vaccination of children in the United States.

I personally believe that are an over-medicated society. My years in and out of doctor’s offices have taught me that the only way to get and stay healthy is to become your own best advocate. I have fought (what I believed to be) unnecessary prescriptions, methods and tests. I don’t take birth control (obviously, but I never have). I don’t mind the occasional pain medication but I will take my chances with the flu and not get a flu shot. I am up-to-date on all of my vaccines through the Hepatitis shots I got in high school.

My child, however, is another story. This baby will come from my womb 100% perfect, with no diseases (Lord-willing) and no toxin-induced disorders.

The Case AGAINST Vaccinations:

As mothers we are encouraged to give up alcohol, smoking, bug spray, sunscreen, rollercoasters, processed foods and pesticides during our pregnancies. We are told to limit caffeine and to get plenty of sleep. We avoid ibuprofen and aspirin and well as traditional cold medications. In the last few years, I have rid my cupboards of aluminum-containing baking powder, which can lead to inflammation and Alzheimer’s.

Then our babies are born. In the hospital, they receive their first vaccination: a Hepatitis B shot (for a sexually-transmitted disease). The FDA recommends no more than 25 mcg of aluminum as a safe dose for a newborn. The HepB shot contains 225 mcg. This is where most mothers against vaccines start to draw the line.

The HepB shot is only the beginning. Most of the vaccinations we give our children to protect them against horrific diseases contain neurotoxins at extremely unsafe levels. In addition to aluminum, vaccines contain trace amounts of mercury and formaldehyde. Vaccines also contain a number of less questionable ingredients that can cause severe allergic reactions in some patients (which is unavoidable in today’s world of allergy-prone children). In a child’s first “wellness” visit at 2 months, he or she will receive over 1800 additional micrograms of aluminum.

The summary: Vaccines contain poisons and we give them to our children during their most sensitive years of brain development. There are anecdotes all over the web of children who have never been the same after receiving multiple vaccines at a doctor visit (especially after getting the MMR vaccine). For many parents (many of whom believe that the risk of their children getting life-threatening diseases is very low anyway), vaccination is not a risk they are willing to take for their children.

The Case For Vaccination:

There is a reason that we don’t see the same diseases in the United States as can be found regularly in third-world countries: we vaccinate. Our children don’t die of smallpox anymore. We don’t fear polio or mumps. Our children are all but free of serious communicable diseases.

In fact, in communities where parents have decided not to vaccinate, there has been a resurgence of whooping cough (pertussis) this year, which can be fatal to infants who lose the ability to breathe. We don’t live in a bubble. The United States is full of traveling families and visitors from foreign lands. We get vaccinations before going to third-world countries on missions trips, but we don’t think about what might happen when the third world comes to us.

Vaccines are not a bad thing. And, unless they reject them for religious reasons, most people aren’t arguing that vaccines are evil or unnecessary. You may make the choice not to vaccinate and your child might be as healthy as can be. Or sick. Or really, really sick. Or dead.

What mothers need to do, nationwide, is demand something better for our children. We wanted organic produce and foods at our grocery stores and so we voted with our dollars and we got them. Although Americans might be guilty of believing too much of what they read and see on television, the threats against our children (vaccinated or not) are real.

In Conclusion:

So is the best choice to vaccinate and hope that my child can get through the highly toxic levels of poison contained in these shots but avoid scary and life-threatening diseases?

Should I stagger the vaccines so that the child receives only small amounts of toxins at a time?

Should I neglect to vaccinate at all and take my chances in a sort of “voting with my non-compliance” in hopes that enough of us can convince the government to research safer vaccines?

I have no idea and only 13 more weeks or so to figure it out. I do know one thing, though. My child is NOT getting a vaccine with 225 mcg of aluminum in the first 24 hours of his/her life. That is just insanity.

What do you think?