Crap advice everyone gives newlyweds

Updated: I feel like a complete and utter idiot because the 'gem' about not going to bed angry is actually in the Bibile...so yeah, we should probably be following that advice. I am leaving it in to show how thoughts and attitudes change as we dive deeper and deeper into God's word. Sorry for my arrogance in writing the initial post...color me shamed.  

Years ago at my sister's wedding shower,  the guests all participated in a little activity where they wrote down their advice on having a successful marriage. We all wrote our advice in a cute little journal for her to keep and refer back to if she ever felt like she needed it. I participated too, you know, with my infinite knowledge on how to have a perfect marriage at the ripe old, unmarried age of twenty. Anyway, as I was turning to a new page I glanced at what the others had written. A couple of these pieces of advice stuck with me. 

Fastforward almost four years. Now I'm twenty-four and about to take the marriage plunge myself. As we approached the wedding date, G and I were met with an outpouring of advice and warnings. Most of the advice was identical to what my sister was told, some of it was great, some was crappy, but all of it was heartfelt. We just smiled and took it all in to be used one day when we felt like we needed it. Now, I'm not claiming to be an expert on marriage or anything; I've only got four years of experience under my belt. But, I have come to realize which pieces of advice are complete bull crap.

Never go to bed angry.

Who came up with this gem?! Do we really believe that we'll resolve an issue worth fighting over at midnight? Do you know what starts to happen at night when you fight? You get emotional. And angry people say mean things. I say definitely go to bed mad. Wake up with a clear head after you've had a good night's sleep. You'll be much less emotional over the issue, and you will have had time to cool down. There is a reason why you should 'sleep on it' when you are trying to make a big decision, it helps clear your head. It took me a couple of years to figure out that this suggestion was complete crap. G and I would fight into the wee hours of the morning. He'd try to go to bed and I would keep irritating him trying to come to what I felt like was a satisfactory resolution. Eventually he would pretend to be over it just so he could get some sleep. The next day, we would end up talking it over again and we would come to an agreement without any fight at all. So, my advice to you: sleep on it. By all means, go to bed mad. If your marriage is strong, it can stand up to a couple of nights of angry sleep.

Never fight without holding hands.

Confession: This isn't advice I was given before my wedding. I read this in a newlywed's blog the other day, and my immediate response was 'who does that?!' 

Seriously though, who does that?! We don't fight much, but you can bet that we will not be holding hands when we do. We're being nice if we're even staying in the same room as one another while we're fighting. I'm glad no one gave me this advice when I was getting married because I probably would have laughed at them. You can't fight like you mean it if you're holding hands, and sometimes you just have to fight like you mean it.

Any and all advice about finances.

I'm sure you couples who have been married for 50+ years have a method for managing your finances that works for you, but I think we youngsters will stick to the way that works for us. I'm pragmatic. Some couples work better when one person is in charge of the checking account, other couples prefer more teamwork. Some couples keep their finances separate and wouldn't have it any other way. Just handle it the way you, as a couple, prefer and ignore all of the well-intentioned advice. People always think their way is better, that's why they do it that way. 

Marriage is 50-50. 

Um. No. Marriage should never be 50-50. Divorce is 50-50; Marriage is 100-100 or nothing at all. Either both parties are giving everything they've got or someone is getting ripped off. Every time G and I have fought it has been because one of us felt like the other was not giving as much to our relationship as the other. Sure, our arguments were disguised as fights over money or time, but they all boiled down to the fact that we thought the other should be giving more. 

Put your spouse first.

This little piece of advice is said with great intentions, but it needs to be rewritten just a tad. It should be, "put your spouse first after God." Your relationship with God should always come first. Without a strong relationship with God, the best you can hope for in your marriage is mediocre. 

Oh, just wait. You'll see. 

Okay, okay, so this isn't exactly advice, but it is a phrase that we probably heard at least twenty times before we got married. Each time I heard it, I just politely chuckled and nodded. Four years later I'm wondering what we're supposed to be waiting for. Am I waiting for life to become incredibly awful? Am I waiting for life to become incredibly awesome? What is it? 

I'm thinking the people telling us this were either terribly cynical or they were just trying to be funny. Either way, I'm pretty sure they just need to keep their mouths shut if that's the only 'advice' that they have to give. Haven't they ever heard if they can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?

People hand out advice to newlyweds like fun-size candy bars on Halloween, but, like those candy bars, not all of it is great. My suggestion, if you want it, is to listen to each piece of advice you're given, but only follow the advice that fits your relationship. And never, ever argue without praying first. 

1 Corinthians 7:3 

The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.

7 Surprises of Childbirth

As I prepared for the birth of my first child, I started researching exactly what I should expect. I visited blogs, read online forums, and read all the books. Even with all of my efforts to prepare, there were still plenty of surprises. I am all for helping others, so I thought I'd compile a list of surprises that I and a few women I know encountered while giving birth. 

1) Your epidural might not work. 

Admittedly, this one is probably my fault. As I've said before, I am a rule-follower, so I did as I was told when the nurse told me to shift from one side to the other to keep the medicine distributed evenly. While shifting, I inadvertently shifted the catheter and quickly learned the error of my ways. The pain came back, up one leg and down the other, and stayed until after my boy had made his grand entrance. I told my husband to get the nurse, I knew I was much too big of a wimp to handle the pain of childbirth, but all the nurse could do was give me bad news. It took half an hour to get the anesthesiologist back up to see me and by that time I was in too much pain to sit up on the bed patiently waiting for him to reposition my line. The good news is that the body-breaking pain magically stops immediately after the baby comes out. 

2) You will not care about a birth plan. 

I did not have a formal birth plan, but I did have an idea of how I thought things would/should go. All of my ideas flew right out the window when we got down to the nitty gritty of childbirth. I had planned to get my epidural as soon as possible and we all know how that turned out. I also planned to get skin-to-skin immediately afterwards, and we did actually get to do that. My sister planned to have her son vaginally, but she was forced to change her plan when the doctor came in and explained that a c-section was necessary for both her health and the health of the baby. Point being you don't know what is going to happen. If you're a planner, make a plan, but know that you may need to veer from that plan. 

3) A c-section is not the 'easy way out'.

This is secondhand information since I have never personally had a c-section, but from what I could gather by watching my sister after her son was born I'm thinking c-section isn't as easy as some people make it out to be. I mean, she had major abdominal surgery and immediately had to begin caring for an infant. There was no 'recovery time.' She also struggled with breastfeeding and I'm convinced that at least part of the reason why was that she was separated from her son for a long while after he was born. She was separated from everyone after he was born! At a time when your child needs to be held the most, she wasn't able to pick him up by herself.

4) Even the most modest people lose their modesty on the moment.

I'm modest. I'm probably one of the most modest people I know, but I no longer cared when it came time to get that baby out. It may have more to do with the pain I was in, but I actually wanted to be naked during labor. I didn't care who saw me either. The nurse asked "Can she stay?" right before I started pushing and I said "Sure, why not?!" without the slightest clue who the nurse was talking about. Looking back, it's comical how naive I was. I was actually going to buy a cute little delivery gown to wear while giving birth. Psh! That thing would've been ruined.

5) You shake uncontrollably afterwards. 

This completely caught me off guard. I was dutifully carrying out my skin-to-skin duties while the doctor was completing all of the necessary repairs to my nether region, and I began to convulse uncontollably. I was trying to enjoy the first of many moments of snuggling my baby, but I couldn't because I was shivering so badly. At first I thought I was shaking because the doctor was still sewing me up but it continued through the night until the next morning. Come to think of it, I think it happened for a couple of nights after J was born. I'd shiver myself awake in the middle of the night in the hospital, as if I wasn't already missing enough sleep my body had to sabotage what few hours of sleep that I was getting.

6. Your previous labors mean nothing. 

This information comes from a few mommies and nurses that I know. I know women who have had a completely uneventful labor with their first child and had to have an emergency c-section with their second. There are women who labored for more than twenty-four hours with one child and less than two with the next. My nurse friends have told me stories about women who think they're experts on childbirth because they've had one child. These women quickly learn that each birth is unique and should be treated as such.

7. You really do forget the pain. 

During labor, I looked at my grandmother who had five children without any pain medicicine and not-so-kindly explained that she must have been an idiot to voluntarily go through that immense pain more than once. She just smiled and nodded. After my baby was born and I got to hold him, she came up and whispered in my ear, "This is why I did it," and I completely understood. That pain is all consuming, but the lifetime of rewards that you reap after it is all said and done is so much greater than those few hours of pain.

John 16:21

A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.

What surprises did you have during childbirth? 

Praying for my boy

As I sat down to write this post, I had intentions on writing a letter to my future adult son. I wanted to tell him all about my hopes and aspirations for him, but I never could get the words out quite right. I'd say one thing and then contradict myself in the next sentence.One thing remained constant though, I always wanted God's will for his life. I have no clue what I want kind of life I want for my child. Luckily, I'm not the one in charge of the planning, and I'm so thankful that God has already made the way.

As I'm sure most of us do, I pray for my child every day. I've done so since I learned that I was pregnant with him, and I'm sure I'll continue my daily ritual until I'm dead and gone. I discuss my boy with God like I'm talking to his doctor about his growth. I talk about his development like I'm telling a friend about the new trick he learned today. I have full conversations with God about J, thanking Him for His blessings and asking for His guidance on this all too important job of raising a child.

I pray over the decisions I make, and I ask God to help me make choices that will benefit J. I think about who he will be someday. Will my choices help to mold a confident, independent, Godly young man? And even though I know I shouldn't, I worry over past choices and whether they are somehow going to have a negative effect. 

As I watch him sleep, I thank God for the blessing of being his mother. As he plays, I marvel at the enormity of it all. Sometimes I cry because I am overcome by the magnitude of my love for him. The responsibility of raising him overwhelms me, but I turn to my Rock. I pray that I don't mess this up. This is such an important job, being his mother. He is the most important thing that G and I have ever done, and I know above all else that we cannot do this alone. So, I pray. 

I pray that I'm able to excentuate the good. There's so much good in him. He is so thoughtful, so smart, and he has such a tender heart. My prayer is that everything I do as his mother helps all of those good qualities shine.

I pray that he is kind but discerning. Kindness is a virtue that is lacking in so many people, and sadly it is also a characteristic that can often cause it's owner to be exploited. In today's world, kind people are at a disadvantage without awareness, so I ask God to bestow discernment on my little boy. 

I pray that he is happy. Happiness seems to be fleeting for so many people. We're always chasing the bigger house or the faster car, so I pray that he can find happiness in his life at any given moment. I hope that he can be content in his life and also be driven to create a wonderful life for himself. 

I pray that he is successful. Success is hard to find and even harder to recognize when you find it. I pray that he fights for his success but that he also understands failure. I hope he appreciates his triumphs  and is thankful for his blessings.  

I pray that he is chivalrous. Chivalry is a lost but valuable virtue. I pray that he carries the heavy loads and opens doors for the ladies in his life. I hope that he is able to find a good, Godly helpmate that will appreciate his chivalry and help to instill the same virtues into their children.

I pray that he is healthy. I ask God please let him stay healthy. I hope he never feels the pain heart disease, diabetes, addiction, or cancer. It feels selfish of me to ask with so much pain and suffering in the world, but I pray that he never has to know that kind of suffering.

I pray that he becomes a strong, articulate, God fearing man. I pray that he'll accept Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior. I pray that he'll know the peace of asking Him into his heart. I pray that I can build a home around him that will nurture his relationship with God. Above all else, this is my prayer.

I could sit around and plan his life out for him, but I believe that would be putting him at a disadvantage. God has a plan and a purpose for J's life. So, I will pray these things, follow Jesus, and know that he knows the way. When I become overwhelmed with the responsibility before me I will trust in Him.

Samuel 22:33

It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure.

Why I (finally) chose to post my kid's pictures on social media

It's a touchy subject to some people. I remember being against the idea of posting pictures on social media. I was about 8 months pregnant and I decided to have a talk with my closest friends and family about my choice to keep J's pictures off the internet. Unbeknownst to me, I was opening myself up to a much bigger debate among my friends. I had J a couple of years after some of my close friends started having babies. These educated (and opinionated) women had all already been putting their kids' pictures on some type of social media for years when I made my request, and I feel like some of them took it as if I were saying that it is a bad idea to put your children's pictures online. I wasn't. Actually, I could have cared less how many pictures of their own kid that they posted. 

That's the thing though. They were posting pictures of their own kids. Not mine. That's where my opinion on kids' pictures on social media comes in. I believe that it is up to the parents. I don't care what your stance is, but I believe that you are the deciding factor on when and what pictures of your children are shared on social media. 

I asked for my friends and family to keep my boy's pictures off the internet until I was ready to share him with the world.I had a caveat. I did not mean that I would never post his pictures. How on earth could I keep him to myself forever? He's just too cute! I meant that we wanted to keep him to ourselves for a little while before we posted. I just believed, and still do believe, that we should respect the intimacy and sanctity of some experiences..even in a world that revolves around likes, comments, and shares. The birth of a child falls under that category for me, and I was adamant that I wanted to only share that experience with family and close friends. 

I believe that it is the parents' right to decide whether or not to share their child's picture on the Internet. My request was met with opposition when I mentioned it to a few of my friends. "You know his pictures will be on there eventually!" "Why does it even matter?" "You can't protect him his whole life!" I also inadvertently offended some with my request to keep J's pictures offline. "Well, I have to put my kid's pictures online so my relatives can see him." "What's the big deal?" "It's not like I let the whole world see my pictures. I know how to use my privacy settings." 

Yes, yes, and yes! I knew all of that. I was aware of the beauty of having your relatives who live hours away be able to see your child grow through pictures. I understood that a lot of people don't see the point in taking a stance on social media. I see futility in the efforts of others to fight the technology revolution, too. I understand that I can't protect him his whole life. I just didn't want anyone to post pictures of my son on the Internet before I was ready. I felt as though the people who wanted to see him would bring theirselves up to the hospital and everyone else could wait. I'm a firm believer in the whole face-to-face communication thing. 

Weeks after J was born I finally decided to share his birth announcement on Facebook. I had kept him to myself for long enough, and I wanted to share him with my old friends, old classmates, and far away relatives. Pictures of him started as a trickle into social media and are now at a steady stream. Sometimes I just can't keep the über cuteness to myself. I still have relatives asking whether they can post pictures of him on social media; I always say yes, but I am ever grateful that they respect my authority as his mother to continue to ask.

Do I think we should keep our kids' pictures off of social media? Heck no. I'd probably never even glance at Facebook or Instagram if it wasn't for all of my friends' babies. I also don't think it's a poor parenting choice to put your brand new, fresh-out-of-the-womb baby's picture out there for the world. That was just a decision that I felt strongly about. 

I'm sure most of my readers fell in love with Miracle Molly the same way I did. Many of us would have known her and her story without the added benefit of regular updates via social media, but the fact that her mother shared their story with all of the world brought us all together in a way that would have never been possible before this technological age. She touched more lives than anyone will ever know, and she was able to do so at such a grand scale because of social media. I am grateful, as I'm sure many are, that her parents made the decision to share their story. Knowing what little that I do about them, I'd assume it wasn't a decision that was not reached lightly of without its fair share of prayer. It was a decision that they knew would bring glory to God and one that they knew was right for their family. 

That's all I'm saying. Whether you think it's right or it's wrong, it is the right decision as long as you are making it for the good of your family. So post those babies' pictures, or don't, whatever. 

2 John 1:12

Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink. Instead I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be complete.

Why I'm scared to have another baby

Before you read this, I want you to know that this is a very personal, very true account of my pregnancy. I tried to keep it classy, but sometimes I just had to put it out there. Okay. If you're still interested, read away.

All you mamas out there are probably well aware of the question that you get when your first child is approaching his or her first birthday. 'When are you planning on having another one?' As if handling that one wasn't hard enough, as if your body is even close to 'normal' again, and as if you have been able to forget the pain you went through to bring this one into the world. I tend to answer this question in a variety of ways, but the most frequent answer is 'I don't know.' Don't get me wrong, I love being a mommy. It's just the journey that you have to take to become a mommy that I'm not too sure about. The truth is I'm not at all scared to have another baby, I'm scared to be pregnant again. I'm nervous for many reasons, the scariest of which being the amount of complications that I had during my first pregnancy. 

I was nine weeks pregnant when the first 'episode' happened. I just went to pee. As I finished up, I knew this wasn't the same. The tissue was soaked with blood. This was not 'spotting' - this was bright red, terrifying blood and a lot of it. I didn't know much about pregnancy yet, but I did know that bleeding is a bad thing. A very bad thing. I panicked. I'm the type of person that automatically assumes responsibility when things go wrong, so I just knew that I had inadvertently done something to hurt my baby. I'd only been carrying this tiny person for about nine weeks and I already loved him more than I could have ever imagined. The thought of losing him broke me into a million pieces. (Notice I said 'losing him' and not 'losing my pregancy.' I'd never demean a miscarriage that way. A miscarriage is the loss of a child-a little person with his own personality that he would grow to develop one day.) The thought of losing my baby was horrific, and the thought that I might've done something to cause it was unbearable. 

First thing I did was call my mother, and she instructed me to call the doctor. The doctor's office was closed so I decided to go to the emergency room. I knew that if I were actually having a miscarriage that there was nothing that the ER could do, but I needed to be told whether my baby was alright. I couldn't wait. I spent the better part of four hours in that emergency room. They finally did an ultrasound and I was flooded with relief as I heard that quick little 'whoosh-whoosh' of his heartbeat. I'll never forget that feeling. It felt almost as if warm water rushed from my head down. The ER doc told me that he couldn't explain the bleeding but the baby looked fine. I scheduled a follow up appointment with my regular doctor and he sent me on my way. Relief. 

At my follow-up, my regular doctor did the whole gambit of tests. I got to see my sweet little baby yet again on another ultrasound, but they still couldn't tell me why I was bleeding. I was sent home on 'pelvic rest' and told that I should take it easy and the bleeding should stop in a few days. Being the strict rule follower that I am, I did as I was told and waited patiently for the bleeding to stop. While I can't say the exact number of days that I kept bleeding, I'm thinking it was around five days, but the bleeding did finally stop. 

For the next two weeks, I lived my life as a carefree pregnant lady. I blamed the bleeding on my strange body and let it go. Until it reared its ugly head again sometime near the end of the first trimester. This time I was at school. I ran to the restroom between classes one day and there it was. And again, of course, I panicked. I ran to my classroom and called the doctor. They said to come in immediately, so I cleared it with my boss and hightailed it to their office. Again, I had an ultrasound and heard that glorious little 'whoosh-whoosh' of his quick heartbeat. The baby got the all-clear. Again, the doctor examined me, and again he found no explanation for my bleeding. I was sent home on prolonged 'pelvic rest' and told to take it easy. This time the bleeding continued for a couple of weeks but did eventually come to a stop. I never had any cramping, but I did pass what looked to be blood clots a couple of times.

As my baby (and belly) grew, I became more and more anxious about everything. I was neurotic about my diet and my activity level. I believed that even if I did the smallest of things wrong that I'd hurt my baby. I was borderline obsessive compulsive. Literally. My entire second trimester was spent simultaneously obsessing over every detail of my life and also trying to enjoy every second. It's hard to enjoy something when you're scared. 

As I approached the third trimester, I grew more and more relaxed. We had learned that our healthy and growing baby was a boy. I hadn't had any bleeding episodes in weeks, and I was beginning to think that I could have a normal pregnancy after all. I was so comfortable, in fact, that I agreed to go camping about two hours away in our new camper. 

Because we knew we wouldn't be able to get away by ourselves for a while after the baby was born, we decided to go away as a couple for the weekend. The trip would have been interesting enough just with the dogs locking us out of our own vehicle, but that's a story for another post. After we solved the dog problem, we went shopping for groceries for the weekend. While we were shopping, I felt what I thought at first might've been me peeing on myself. Yep. There. I said it. I thought I peed on myself. Anyway as I walked to the bathroom, I felt what could only be described as a flood of something. The bathroom in the store had a floor length mirror and I saw what I definitely did not want to see as soon as I passed it to go into the bathroom stall. Blood. It wasn't just some stained toilet paper this time either. This was so much more. It looked like I had peed my pants except it was a dark red. The room started spinning and I was sure that I would pass out. No. Not here. I'm so far from home. This can't be happening. I'm only, what, thirty-two weeks? He's not ready! When is the last time I felt him kick? Please kick?! Knowing that I had to make it out of the bathroom, I gathered my strength and went to find G. I searched through the small crowd of people at the checkout for him. We're both pretty tall, so it was easy to find him. I could tell that he knew as soon as he saw me. He knew something was wrong.

We went straight to the emergency room, which by some crazy coincidence (or, as I like to think about it, divine intervention) was right across the street from the grocery store where we were shopping. I waddled into the hospital, partly because of the blood but mostly because of the belly, and they sent me to L&D as soon as they saw me. I can't really explain my thoughts as they wheeled me up. I was somewhere between denial and disbelief. As I rode up the elevator, I started praying. God, I trust you. I know you have a plan, but please, please let this baby be okay. Please let me feel him kick.

Then, he kicked. As I rolled out onto the labor and delivery floor I felt him, two little kicks like he was just in there trying to get comfortable. There was that feeling again, relief rushing over me like warm water from my head all the way down. I looked at G and said, 'He kicked', and I could see the same relief in his eyes. 

The nurses in that hospital were amazing. They comforted me and calmed me but they were never dismissive or condescending. They showed me my sweet boy on ultrasound and hooked us up to a monitor so we could monitor his heart rate. I'm not completely sure how long I was in that hospital, but I do know that I was told yet another time that they could not explain the bleeding but the baby looked great. 

I stayed on bed rest for a few days after the last 'episode' until my regular doc gave me the all clear. I resumed life as usual afterward. This time, I continued to bleed until the baby was born. I worked until two days before he made his grand entrance into the world and I only quit then because I no longer had shoes that would fit my swollen feet. He was born eight weeks to the day after the last bleeding episode, and he was as perfect and as healthy as I had prayed for him to be. I knew from the moment I saw him that being his mommy would be worth all of the fear and pain that it cost me to have him. 

Each time I bled I was given the same story, no explanation for the bleeding but the baby looks great. I was, at once, both  overjoyed to hear that my baby was perfect and disappointed that I still had no cause for the bleeding. Maybe that's the real reason I'm so unsure about getting pregnant again. Maybe I'm scared because I still don't know what cause all of my problems the first time. 

Now that I've told you about the fear that I lived in for 30+ weeks before I gave birth to my (very) healthy, almost nine pound baby, I want to add that I am not in anyway saying that I understand the grief that I'm sure accompanies a miscarriage. I know the fear that you have leading up to it. I know the hope that you'll feel your baby kick any second now. I know the feeling of dread when you go for a routine bathroom break because you're terrified of seeing the tissue stained with blood. I know all of that, but God also blessed me with knowing the complete and utter relief of hearing my baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound machine. I was blessed with that little kick I got while rolling into L&D eight weeks premature that let me know that he was still with me. I'm not trying to say that I've been in your shoes, I haven't. I don't ever want to be.

 It's just that I remember googling 'bleeding at 9 weeks pregnant' praying that I would run across stories of women that had been through the same thing and their babies all were born perfectly healthy. I'm just sharing my unique experience and trusting that it will find someone one day that is going through similar circumstances and maybe that this post will help her in some way.