“So, what kind of church is this?”  My little younger brother asked of my approaching baptism.

“Oh, you know…the usual,”  I replied, “black hooded capes and candles and stuff.  You know..the usual.”

“Of course,” he said.

(NOTE:  SARCASM)

This baptism was a little less nerve-wracking than my first – or, I would imagine, anyhow.  I wore a cute little white frilly thing for my first baptism, and this past Easter Sunday, I stood in front of my closet trying to decide between a pair of gray drawstring pants or khaki capris – the only two pairs of “pants” that still fit me (with the exception of some very HOT blue and yellow spongebob pajama pants).  It was a tough call, but ultimately I went with the capris after having carefully calculated exactly who had seen me in which bottoms the most that previous week.

S and I arrived at the church early for an Easter “break-fast”, leaving L to come in time for the services with my mom.  I took advantage of the smorgasborg and piled my plate high, knowing that soon I’d have to move back to pants that use real buttons rather than elastic bands.  Besides, Aurora made me.

The service itself was great, well…except for one thing.  I really thought Mike was going to break out into a solo with his microphone but alas, he did not.  My disappointment dissipated quickly, though, as it WAS Easter – that, and my attention span was burning a little short thanks to the (delicious) breakfast we’d had earlier.

As I waddled walked out the side door to prepare for the baptism, L screamed her protest.  I swear the kid wanted NOTHING to do with me until the moment she thought I was going somewhere.  So, we went ahead and brought her to the back.  I was handed something that looked much like a summertime blue space suit – and despite my request to have one specially trimmed in white lace, I ended up donning the suit as was.  I’m sure they simply forgot.

I had also discussed with certain members that I would like my own theme song and some special back-lighting.  I figured if they’d just hold me up as I entered the water, I could do some fancy footwork and make this a service nobody would soon forget.  Instead, they just stared at me.

“What?  You mean I actually have to walk down the steps by myself?  Or, do I wait for you to push me?”

They let me walk.

I do have to say, though – they did warm the water up quite nicely and the area really is the perfect size for a water birth.  And, much closer to hospitals (just in case).  So…I’m thinking…

Anyways, it was great and wonderful (even without the theme music, lace, and lighting), but I’m pretty sure I traumatized my poor sweet L – seeing as how she screamed bloody murder when I went underwater.  After that, she wouldn’t leave my side until I was dressed and standing out front again with all sorts of plugs and outlets nearby to play with.  Sorry kid, I know it was your birthday and Easter and all, but I thought it’d be fun to make you think I was being drowned (I maybe should’ve explained what was going to happen to you first?)

Oh…and I’m a little upset that nobody told me you’d only be able to see my hairline and up since I’m so short.  Had I known, I’d totally have packed some moon-shoes and hair-sprayed my hair up into a cute but very large beehive so at least people could see my hair.  Just sayin’.

That – and, a trapeze or some dolphins.  Oh, and the stairs coming down?  Totally needs to be a water slide.  For real.

But really…it was perfect.

(My hot attire without the lace I requested)

(No wonder L screamed.  It does kind of look like he’s drowning me – which he wasn’t.)

(This should so be a slide.  That, and Steven thinks I look like Mary here.  A very pregnant Mary with swollen ankles.  And no lace.)

Welcome back!

My dear, sweet Lorelei…

Today, you turn two and I am so excited for you. In a way, I feel like you are growing up so fast – it feels like just yesterday you were gumming at bananas and learning to dance. But, then I see the wonder in your eyes and your excited smile as you take in the new mysteries all around you, and I couldn’t imagine taking any of that away from you, even if it did give me more “baby” time with you.

Your smile lights up my heart and your hugs and kisses heal my soul – no matter how crushed I feel. You are truly my little sunshine, my little miracle. I love you so much.

At two, you love eating fruit and cheese and can’t get enough of fruit juices. You have a weird relationship with the shower as you love the water but hate having it trickle down on you. You love music and will occasionally sing, but will effortlessly break out into dances as the mood strikes. I’m constantly amazed by the information you seem to absorb, even when it seems like you weren’t paying attention.

You are no longer this little baby blob, but have become your very own person with your very own personality. You are funny, caring, loving, bright, and intuitive. You light rooms up and fascinate those around you. You are beautiful and I love you.

I love the special cuddle time you allow your father and me to have with you, and the daily hugs and kisses. I can’t explain the joy I get from things so simple as feeling your tiny hands against my cheek or running through my hair as you show your love. Your numerous funny faces always make me giggle. Your little arms wrapped tightly around my neck make every trouble disappear…

Dear child, I love you so much and I’m so excited to watch you as you grow and share with you so many more magical moments…

Love,

Mommy

As I keep reading through this book (Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge), I’m amazed by the messages that seem to hit so close to home for me…

“As women we tend to feel that ‘it must be me.’  That’s the effect of our early wounds.  ‘Something is fundamentally wrong with me.’  So many women feel that way.  (Why are we working so hard to improve ourselves?  Or why do we keep so busy that the issues of our hearts never have to come to the surface?)  We also feel that we are essentially alone.  And that somehow the two are related.  We believe we are alone because we are not the women we should be.”

So, besides being baptized and such…

It’s also Easter…

And, Lorelei’s birthday. (See, now wouldn’t it be fun to just throw in Aurora’s birth day in there, too? Wouldn’t it?!)

The plan has kind of … deviated. I had finally settled on having a joint party for Aurora and Lorelei this year – mid may. I wanted to be able to do something outside without WONDERING if the weather would be freezing or sunny (literally) and I wanted people to be able to see the baby…so it seemed perfect. I could do a cake and homemade ice cream and cookies and MAYBE even throw in a cook out? The kids could play in the huge yard at my parents’ house (they live more centrally to anyone we’d invite) and ride around on the vast amount of riding toddler toys we have and the adults could google at the baby and fight over her.

For L’s actual birthday, I planned on making her homemade fruit salad (since fruit IS her favorite) and going to church, doing an egg hunt and maybe dinner with each of our (Steven and mine) parents one of the weekend nights. I made an unofficial announcement on my blog about having decided to just postpone the party until May, and all was set.

It was going to be relaxing and…ours.

But, things have changed.

Instead of making Lorelei the blueberry Kashi waffles with bananas and maple syrup that she loves, we’ll be rushing off to the Church breakfast with sticky un-wholesome cinnamon buns and gooey icing. And, then I’ll be baptized. Then, we’ll go to Mimi’s and have a lovely egg hunt. And, because we have fruit salad in the fridge which she’s already gotten tired of…I’ll bake another cake (another birthday dinner has been scheduled for Saturday evening…as well as another egg hunt). Then we’ll have supper with whomever from my Dad’s side of the family shows up, and that’ll be that. Saturday’s schedule looks a lot like Sunday, but with things jumbled around a little differently and minus the baptism and with a different set of people.

It won’t be relaxing, but it’ll be fun.

Little white bunnies freak me out.

Mostly, it’s the red eyes, I think. The bloody redness and oh, the fact that it reminds me of BUNNICULA. Am I seriously the only one who read that book in grade school? Why can’t white bunnies just have…purple eyes. Or beady black eyes. Can’t we just tape some googly eyes on them and pretend that’s how they come? Oh wait, animal cruelty, right.

I just had to get that off my chest…which is not to insinuate I have bunnies lying on my chest. I give up. Moving on.

A few months ago, I found my doula. And, she invited me to her church. I decided to go just for the heck of it – I really had no real reason to go, seeing as I’m Catholic and this isn’t a Catholic church…it just seemed like the thing to do at the time. I really can’t explain it. I wasn’t going FOR anyone and I really didn’t know WHY I was going…I just was. And I did. And it was great.

So, I kept going. Then, as my husband and my relationship began to strengthen again, I invited him to come with us – and he liked it too. It was different. We’ve church hopped enough to know pretty quickly how to blend in and then run if called for…but, there was none of that at this church. We’d been awed before by the beautiful architecture of churches we’d attended, by the great amount of classrooms for excruciatingly set up for tiny hands, and elaborate choirs with some of the pretty music ever. But, with this church…there was something different. Something else captured our hearts.

At first, we couldn’t put our finger on it…and then we found it. It was the people. Generally, out here where we live, (or in our experience) small churches generally mean very close-minded “old” views. But, not here. No, here it was small and close-knit where people know each other and they STILL liked them! It was a place filled with all sorts of people and no Bible bashing or smack talking behind pews. I’ve been a part of churches where everyone knows each other’s names, but there was always that gossip-y feel to it. Here, if you get sick, people band together to bring you food. Here, if you do something stupid, people may call you out on it but they do it with love and they hold your hand ANYWAYS.

What’s more is they WANT to grow. To continue growing…in their faith and outreach and everything else. To me…that’s pretty much amazing. It’s like God made this church with me in mind. The pastor will straight up tell you that he doesn’t believe any one faith has it completely right, that we all have much to learn from everyone….Do you know how refreshing that is to hear after being basically told that MY FAITH wasn’t good enough only 6 months ago by someone else?

So, this Sunday I’ll be getting baptized.

“Oh, but weren’t you already baptized? I thought you are Catholic?!”

Yep. I’ve officially been baptized. As a Catholic baby. And, funny enough I’m not doing this to be saved or for an extra double punch on my ticket to heaven. Because, while some people can answer the questions of “When did you come to Christ” with an exact date, I can tell you that I was born and baptized into the Christian faith and that every day of my life has been a walk with God…honest. There were days when I ran from Him, trying to hide of course and days where I thought I probably knew better than Him. There were days when I was angry with Him because I didn’t like how things were going, but every day of my life has been a walk with Him. I never doubted that. And, no matter where I tried to hide, He always found me and wrapped me up in love. Sunday, though, will be a day that I get to experience an extra blessing (as it was put to me) – the experience to be baptized in a DIFFERENT way, to experience baptism by immersion. I will still be Ashley, and I’ll still be the girl who refuses to follow all of the rules at once, making them up as I go. I won’t suddenly have a new way of believing things and I won’t be letting go of all I’ve learned. Sunday night, my faith will still resemble a beautiful mosaic of colorful glass pieces from every life lesson and God lesson I’ve learned, regardless which faith (or how) it came to me.

And, I find it a bit humorous that by default Aurora will be baptized on Sunday, too. Can you imagine the possible future conversation?:

“So, Aurora…have you been baptized BY IMMERSION yet?”
“Oh yes. On April 12, 2009, Actually.”
“Wait. Right here it says your birthdate was April 20, 2009. Do we need to change your records?”
“No. You have it right.”

I’m secretly trying to figure out how to go into labor in the baptismal font. I’d get a free water birth and THEY would be the first church in (recent) history (maybe) that baptized a baby by IMMERSION.

Apparently in one short week, I gained an entire 4 lbs. I’m seriously considering having them do another ultrasound to check to see if I somehow am now having twins…or maybe Aurora sprouted another head? A really really big head? But, really 120 lbs? Are you KIDDING me?

On the 6th (of April), I had some lovely little contractions for about 5 hours. They mostly felt like achey back cramps (like menstrual cramps) – and were super annoying and dull with a little bit of hardening in my uterus…but, it felt almost constant, like there were no real beginning and end…so I couldn’t time them. I emailed my doula who was out of town, knowing she probably wouldn’t get the email until she came back to work (VACATION? Who do you think you are, woman!? just kidding) but obviously wasn’t TOO concerned because I neither texted (or called) her OR my OB. It was more of a “Hmm…maybe I SHOULD be packing stuff and unpacking baby clothes” kind of thing and I knew they’d be quite a lot more intense if it were progressing far enough. I did try the water and resting thing (on both sides) and it helped not. So…I guess my body just wanted some practice time.

Or, maybe I have a bladder infection. At my doctor’s appointment, they noticed some extra protein in my urine, but trace levels. After a string of “how does it feel to pee” sort of questions, which I apparently did not answer to their liking (I was peeing just fine…and frequently), they decided to send it off for testing. Just to be sure. I bought cranberry juice. And, ever since they told me I MIGHT have an infection I’m pretty sure my brain has decided that it might as well because I’m feeling a bit more…eh…uncomfortable. I’m not convinced it’s not in my head, but I’ll start cranberry pills tomorrow JUST IN CASE.

Oh, and I have a rash on my chest again. It’s random and a little itchy and kind of looks like heat rash, cept it stays around. Not like the itchiness of the rashes I had before, just…normal itchy. Not sure what that’s from (maybe just hormones or something else random), but figured I’d note it anyhow. Have had it for a couple of days.

Speaking of hormones…I’m like a regular bleary eyed softy these days. What? We ran over an ant? HOW COULD YOUUUUUUU?!! Yeh, it’s not pretty.

I’m feeling mostly good – a little tired, but no big deal. No swelling so far as long as I take it pretty easy and don’t try to do a LOT of walking and standing. Which is totally not a problem

After the contractions, I realized I need to get on the ball and start finishing up (starting) some stuff because THIS BABY COULD BE HERE AT ANY POINT! Took wee baby clothes out of storage and hung them and realized that WOW, 2 KIDS IN ONE ROOM WITH ALL OF THEIR STUFF AND A WEE TEENINY CLOSET? SQUUUEEEZZEE! I printed the birth plan and have decided to ignore the advice I received on baking fresh cookies and cupcakes for the staff because:

1. I really don’t think they’d make it out of my kitchen.
2. If I were getting induced or having a schedule C-section…maybe. But, I have a feeling this little kidling isn’t going to give me much of a heads up for a baking day. And, really…I’m pretty sure the staff would be far more pissed off if i brought in week old moldy cupcakes (no matter how beautifully decorated) than if I brought nothing at all.
3. Did I mention I’m pregnant and really LIKE (eating) cupcakes?
4. I highly doubt I’ll feel much like sifting flour and measuring butter between contractions.

Guess I could throw some Oreos on a plate and call it a day, but really…what kind of girl do you think I am?

UPDATE: The Strep B test that came back from last week…Negative.

I recently found out about a local charity in our area that provides care to women in need, specifically pregnant women. Although Hope Unlimited Pregnancy Crisis Center has been around for several years, I’d never really known MUCH about it. As a pregnant mother now, I know how bittersweet a pregnancy can be. I know how fears about money and life situations can creep into even the strongest of minds, and I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be confronted with doubts that other women have to face every day. For me, this charity is an important one that tugs at my heart. It is a place that women can go and learn about their choices (although this center does not perform abortions), and should she choose to keep her baby, she is given access to medical care – regardless of whether she can afford it or not. The charity provides not only medical care and counseling, but also classes and other programs to help get women (and men, too) back on their feet.

There’s so much more, so much that it’d take a good hour for me to just TELL you, much less write it in a blog post…

Steven and I felt called to raise money for this awesome source of hope for so many, and we’re hoping our friends and family from across the world will join in. We’re stepping out on faith and offering $100 as a giveaway to one lucky person who chooses to donate $10 or more (to be drawn at random). Of course, we completely understand if you find yourself unable to donate or give – and that’s okay. We really hope that whether you can give or not, you’ll visit the original post and leave a comment to help cheer us on. Every voice counts and we want to hear from all of you…we need to hear from you.

(If you DO wish to donate, you can use the widget below.)

Love,
Ashley

I was reading something a friend wrote the other day – about their desire to meet and know truly WHOLE people, people who would need nothing from them or anyone else.

It took me a while to digest that statement. Is there really such a thing as a WHOLE person – a person who doesn’t need anyone else? Furthermore, could I be such a person (because in theory, it DOES sound nice). Or, are WHOLE people really just great pretenders and deniers?

Don’t get me wrong – I believe there is a huge difference between wallowing in self-pity and blame and actually working through your wounds, struggles, and pain. To me, a person who strives for complete WHOLENESS by themselves (and in /of themselves) is a person setting themselves of for failure.

The past few years have been an amazing time for me – loaded with some intense pain, but also major self-discovery and triumphs and healing. As I read through Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Soul by John and Stasi Edredge, I feel…less alone. In a way, it’s freeing to know so many women feel the way I do (while in other ways, saddens me).

My journey of healing is no-where near its completion and yet I feel drawn to begin chronicling it already – as I believe this in and of itself will aid in my healing.

And, in order to heal we (I) must first be willing to strip down the walls of our (my) own
“Shack” (another great book, by the way). In John and Stasi Eldredge’s book, there is a chapter named “Wounded,” where they implore the reader to take inventory of some of the pain in their past and the messages those wounds inflicted upon our hearts and minds – ONLY so that we may begin to heal.

I wrote previously in my series fille stupide about being raped and I guess many of my deeper wounds BEGIN there. I wrote much about the event itself but almost nothing of the aftermath…

…the best friend who turned her back on me, teaching me once again that friends will only hurt you and you can only trust yourself.

…the struggles that developed between my parents and I, leaving me feeling so alone when what I needed most was understanding and a hand to hold. Instead, they mistook my silence and withdrawal as a secretiveness and I took their words and actions of disapproval and punishment as a message that told me being raped was MY fault, therefore they disapproved and needed to punish me. (SIDENOTE: Now, 8 years later, I can say that I fully believe my parents did what they thought was best – they interpreted and dealt the only way they knew how. Two parents trying to understand and a hurting 15 year old sometimes don’t make the best teams for healing. And, while it may have taken both sides 8 years to realize what had been going on within each of us, we have finally reached a point of healing for us both.)

…the looks and taunts of my classmates as I returned to school. As I heard the whispers, “whore” and “slut” over and over again (some from my previous best friend), I felt alone and unloved and even began to believe that perhaps I had brought it all upon myself – that I was unworthy of their love and support.

…At the age of 16, I began having sex with boys just to see if it would happen again. I wasn’t just raped when I was 15, but my body was physically injured in a major way and I felt that that too was MY fault. That there was something wrong with me. I wondered if perhaps it hadn’t been his fault at all, and all of mine. So, I began having sex in an effort to prove to myself that I would be okay – that sex for the rest of my life would not result in blood and pain and misery.

…I then began seeking older boys’ attention – boys who never had my best interests at heart – because I wanted (needed) to believe I was worthy of love (by a man). This had nothing to do with sexuality, and everything to do with seeking someone to love me and see me for who I was.

…The heartfelt letter that was thrown in my face when I expressed how sad and lonely I’d become and was even considering taking my own life. I had carefully considered each word and letter of that letter, words I couldn’t say aloud, and having them shoved in my face along with bitter words of disgust further concreted the self-hatred and disgust that I was sure everyone else felt for me, too.

…These wounds never really healed, but only festered and burned. Time and time again, I was hurt and with each incident, as if a lashing to my soul, I began closing the walls of my heart. In college, every message I’d seemed to retain from the betrayal and hurt began to build upon each other. I just wanted it to end. And, so by my own hands, I tried to end my own life. I was certain that not only was I unloved, but that I was unworthy of such love – that by removing myself from this world, it (and the lives in it) would be improved.

…In my adult life, I fought hard to overcome the betrayal and hurt I’d been caused before. I tried to push it away, tried convincing myself that it was due to immaturity and people were different now, as adults. I hoped to start anew, but the wounds still burned deep inside and as each new friendship I sought waxed and then waned, only to burn out – I began to feel again the hopelessness of being unworthy.

…I finally began to blossom and grow after I met my (now) husband. I felt safe and that I could truly be myself and would still be loved. I had accepted that I may never be able to trust anyone outside of our marriage, but that he would always be a constant of love. Until one day he wasn’t. The betrayals within our marriage kicked me hard and in an intense way, sending me spiraling into depths of darkness I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to overcome…

…When I finally reached out to a church for love and support, I was turned away. I was told that my baptism had essentially not been good enough, and therefore unless I was re-baptized, I would not be accepted. I had finally come, searching again for a church in which to find God, and now I was being turned away. Not even a church could love me.

…And, when the doctors told me I may never have a child of my own, I cursed my God through steamy tears. This, being the only thing I wanted more than ANYTHING, I felt like my own Father in heaven had turned HIS back on me, as well. If he couldn’t love me, who would?

To me, the messages were clear.

I was undeserving of love and hope – so much, in fact, that not only my closest friends and family seemed to fall away like dominoes, but even my God was not above abandoning me.

Some people chose to be alone, but it seemed to forever follow me.

So, this is my journey – from desolation to something more. I’ve only just begun and yet I’ve come so far.

(PLEASE NOTE: While my “wounds” are real, some have been partially healed. Some of the messages that were ingrained in my heart at 15 and 20 years old are NOT THE SAME. This is my journey, and I am choosing to chronicle some of the “beginning” in order to better understand and heal the past. I have come a long way from where I first begun, but can still feel some of the scars from previous wounds.)

Your turn – if you want it. If you were to strip away the walls you’ve built and the wounds you’ve covered, what would you see? What are some of your wounds? (Feel free to join me and write in the comments or leave your link – or email it to me..)

Lorelei has been taking showers for almost a year now – she began as soon as she could stand (and remain balanced). Before, she didn’t so much mind if you were to pour a bucket of water over her head, as long as it wasn’t cold of course. Um, not that we ever tried or anything…ahem.

Now, though? The lovely child still insists she loves showers …and “soap” but insists that the actual water not touch her head or face. The problem is that…well, soap gets kind of gummy when no water is added and gets kind of itchy after a while. That, and holding a toddler under running shower water is NOT my ideal shower time, nor is it hers.

We were looking for a solution. No, actually we pretty much gave up and figured we’d have to either coax her under the water or make a few quick splash and pours with cups of water (because it’s really hard to have good aim towards a toddler who has learned to duck and move). Then, Lil Rinser Splashguard sent us their cool little gadget to try out.

I’ll admit, at first I wondered how this thing could possibly compare to our cup method and I wondered if it’d even fit Lorelei’s head right. Would it be too big (she’s only two)? Would it pinch? Would she scream at the sight of it?

Turns out, she thinks it’s quite fashionable…as a hat. And, if she’d quit screaming long enough when the water starts hitting her head, she’d realize that her face is still dry. We’re still working on that one – but this thing definitely works (and makes a pretty snazzy hat, too – you know, in case you were wondering.)

BUY YOURS (only $14.99)