Joyful Trepidation

I have written and re-written some version of this blog post in my head hundreds of times in the past few years, parts even before becoming pregnant for the second time, but this is the first time I’ve actually put pen to paper to try to get the thoughts down.  I suppose it is appropriate that it’s Mother’s Day and I’m reflecting on the new life that will soon join us.  In nine days, on May 20, we will welcome our second daughter into the world (via repeat c-section).  I am filled with excitement and anticipation and pure joy at the thought of meeting her and holding her in my arms.  But I’d be dishonest if I didn’t also say that I’m full of worry and fear and anxiety.  I guess, in part, I’m worried because that’s simply what mothers do.  But I know it’s bigger than that, too.  So, perhaps putting words to some of what I have been turning over in my mind will give it pause to rest and offer peace. 

I worry because despite what the doctors say about the apparent health of this child, despite the caution and extra measures that have been taken, despite the statistical unlikelihood that there is anything medically wrong with this child, I know that there are no promises.  My eyes have been opened to the world of difficult births, unseen emergencies and tough battles.  I have followed more sick babies and brokenhearted parents in the past three years than I could ever have imagined that I would.   I know that many of those children who are born with a diaphragmatic hernia or a congenital heart defect or any one of a thousand other diseases and conditions that most of the world has never heard of are unsuspecting victims.  Until there is a baby in my arms, and she is not blue, and maybe even not then… it will be hard for me to believe that anything about this will be typical.  And so, I worry.

I’m afraid because I don’t know what life with an infant looks like.  No one really does, I guess, but most people get to figure out a newborn for the first time when that’s all they have to think about and focus on.  I feel like a strange mixture of a second time mother and a first time mother because as much as I dream about and hope for it, I have no idea what it looks like to bring a baby home from the hospital after three days.  I don’t know what it is like to look after an infant that’s not on full life support, or at least a few heart monitors.  I don’t know how to nurse a child that hasn’t been fed for months on an NG tube first or that doesn’t have every single bodily action charted and recorded and analyzed.  I don’t know how to relax into normal, even though it’s what I want desperately to do.  Everyone who I share these fears with assures me that it will be just fine, and while my brain says they’re probably right, I’m a little terrified at the idea of being a mother to a typical newborn for the first time, while still balancing life with a three year old.  It’s a bit overwhelming.

And that three year old.  She’s another cause for my concern.  Well, not her so much as the way that her life will ultimately impact the life of her little sister.  I think that because I’m a second child myself, I’m extra aware of the struggles of trying to live up to a big sibling’s legacy.  But just imagine that the legacy you’re trying to live up to is not just good grades or athletic ability.  Clara’s whole life, she’s been put on a bit of a pedestal.  She’s a miracle.  I can’t argue the point; I believe with all my heart that she is a skipping, singing, bounding miracle.  What I need everyone to know is that her sister is a miracle too.  Please hear me when I say that I don’t want for this child to ever feel like she was the “normal” one or the one who was boring or somehow less desired by God just because she didn’t have to overcome some insurmountable health crisis in her first days and weeks of life.  When you see me at church or in the grocery store or at the park and I have both my girls with me, please be aware of saying things like, “Is this one the miracle?” or “Here’s the one who we all prayed for so much.”  While that truth about Clara is one of the greatest joys, sources of wonder, and grace-filled amazement of my life, I am deeply concerned about what that label will do for both her and for her little sister.  Growing up is hard enough as it is.  Being told things like “God must have great things in store for you,” or “You were really needed here on earth” puts a pressure on Clara that is unfair and I’m afraid that it will send a message to her sister that God doesn’t necessarily have great things in store for her or that she was not needed on this earth.  He does.  She is.  She is a miracle, too.   

With that all said, I’m mostly just excited about this girl.  In part because I don’t do pregnancy particularly well, I am so very eager to have her on the outside and begin getting to know her.  This is very likely our last child (please God!) and so despite the fact that I still vomit nearly every day and that in this third trimester I’ve had some exceptionally painful complications (just for me, not the baby), I’m trying to savor these last few days with her inside of me.  I had such high fluid during my pregnancy with Clara that I did not always feel her movements very strongly, but with this child I can feel every little nudge, elbow and foot.  She now gets hiccups several times every day and I can feel her whole little body pulse inside of my own.  There’s not much about pregnancy that I enjoy, but I’m treasuring these last few days and recognizing that this thing of giving life to another is remarkable. 

I have very few photos of me during my pregnancy with Clara, but did have Robert snap this one in the last week or so.  I’m so thankful that I have it now.  So, I asked my mom to take a few of me and Clara and her baby sister when we were at the beach in April for the same reason.  Perhaps someday I’ll look back and be glad that we have these, too.

Thanks for following us through this second journey too and helping to celebrate this new life with the same excitement and love that Clara was given.   Thanks for extending grace to me when I’m worried about the health of this child or strangely burdened by the normalcy that is foreign to me.  I am so very excited to watch life with these two sisters evolve.  We are blessed with these miracles.  Thanks be to God.    

Papaw

I lost all four of my grandparents when I was relatively young.  As an adult, I have grieved their absence and wished that I had grown to know and love them a bit longer.  Part of my desire (and joy!) for Clara to know her grandparents comes from a real sense of loss about this for me.  When I met Robert, I was shocked to learn that he not only had all four of his grandparents still living, but that they all lived in the same town with him and had been a part of his life nearly daily.  What seemed so normal to him, seemed like a rare treasure to me.  I'm thankful to have gotten to know all four of his grandparents, something I cannot even say about my own.  And I'm so so grateful that Clara got to meet two of them.  I got a second chance at grandparents, thanks to them; they truly embraced and loved me as their own.  I love them all and all for different reasons, but the truth of it is - Papaw has always kind of been my favorite.  Something about his dryness, his sense of humor, his feisty spirit, his candid opinions laced with a kind and loving twinkle..... I just loved this man.  Plus, if he hadn't hassled and haggled Robert to hurry up and propose, who knows if he ever would have.  We will miss him more than I can say, but I will treasure the memories and the lessons learned from him.  Even if Clara doesn't remember him, we'll have photos and videos to show her, which is a blessing.  He loved her more than just about anything on this earth.  He was sad to not be able to stick around longer and watch her grow up.  But we know his spirit is here with us, and I have a feeling that Clara's got a little Bratton in her.  For that, I am thankful.

 

Robert had the opportunity to eulogize Papaw at his memorial service and he did a beautiful job.  Here's what he spoke on that day:

Charles Bratton, “Papaw,” was a blessing to me throughout my life.  So much so that I had a hard time coming up with just how I would be able to express it today.  So I think it will be useful to frame my words around some of the things that I learned from Papaw.  And I learned A LOT from the man, so this is certainly not a complete list, but I hope that the few things I’ve identified and the few minutes I have to talk about them will come somewhere close to painting a picture of a man to whom I owe so much.

Papaw taught me the importance of being capable.

Papaw was a VAST resource of ability and know-how.  He wasn’t one to depend on someone else unless he had to, so he made it a point to seek out the knowledge and resources to do things for himself. He taught himself how to do woodworking, and our families’ homes are full of chests, dressers, desks, and tables that Papaw built himself.  He gave me my rifle and shotgun, and taught me how to use them safely, how to care for them, and how to use them to hit things smaller than the side of a barn.  He had a mechanical mind, and could build, maintain, and repair any number of the things he used.  An often-repeated mantra in our family was coined by Elizabeth as a small child: “Papaw fix it!” And sure enough, he would.  I can’t tell you how proud I have been the couple of times that Clara has said “Daddy fix it!” 

Papaw taught me about hard work.

Papaw took that all of his capabilities and by God, he put them to use.  Whether he was building furniture, mowing the grass, mending a barbed-wire fence, whatever the task, Papaw would set about it with a mind to get it done, and I always got the impression that he derived as much satisfaction from the process as from the result.  I will always remember watching Papaw grunt and heave while giving a project his all, with an ever-present bead of sweat hanging on to the end of his nose. 

Papaw taught me to always appreciate God’s Creation.

Most of my memories of Papaw that have and will stick with me are outside.  He loved working outside in his garden and doing all the other tasks that needed to be done on the farm, but even if there wasn’t a job to be done, he’d find a way to get outdoors.  He loved hunting, and I learned from an early age how delicious venison is, but even when he came home empty-handed, he seemed just as satisfied, having spent a few hours in the woods.  And he was fascinated by foreign landscapes as well; he always kept up his subscriptions to National Geographic and Arizona Highways, and each issue would get thumbed through multiple times.  We went on numerous vacations out west, and Papaw was with me when I saw the Giant Redwoods, Monument Valley, and Yosemite National Park.  I’ll always have the memory of intimate moment he and I shared when I was six, and I had to “go,” and Papaw took me off the beaten path and found me the perfect makeshift toilet I can imagine: a stand of junipers looking out from the rim of the Grand Canyon.  He even sacrificed his good cloth handkerchief for my benefit.

Years later, Papaw joined me and my dad and some friends on a trip through Utah.  I watched his face as we drove through the high desert and along canyon ridges; let me tell you that child-like wonder isn’t just reserved for children.

Papaw taught me to have a sense of humor.

Papaw was funny.  His wits were ALWAYS razor-sharp, and time with him was always filled with laughter.   He had a million little sayings that he always used, like if he had too much to do, he’d say he was “busier than a one-eyed man at a burlesque show.”  The last few months when he couldn’t get around as much as he wanted, he said he was “as useless as tits on a bull.” 

A lot of the time, his humor was directed AT you; anyone who spent a lot of time around him got their fair share of ribbing.  But even when his jokes had a little bit of an edge, one glance at his eyes told you that there was nothing but love behind them. 

Papaw taught me that love is MUCH more about actions than words.

Any of you who knew Papaw know that he wasn’t much for sentimental language.  You didn’t often hear Papaw say the words “I Love You.”  But I never for a second felt anything short of absolute, unwavering love from the man.  You could see it in his eyes.  You could hear it in his stories.  For all of his tough, no-nonsense exterior, you could feel love just radiating from him. 

I know many of you here today learned a lot from him too.  Papaw taught me a lot, but I pray that none of the lessons are over just yet.  I’m sure that there are lots of lessons that I don’t yet know that I’ve learned, but that I will one day realize that I learned from him.  So my challenge to you today is the same one that I give to myself: Let’s go out and make Papaw proud.

A Jackson-Davis Christmas

When we were growing up, we always had Christmas Eve dinner with our dear family friends the Jacksons.  Now that we're all grown and have moved away (except for me, of course), it's harder to get all of us, our spouses and our kids together.  Still, every Christmas we try.  And this year it was the weekend before Christmas.  Still feels like Christmas Eve.

Trey, Jennifer, Caroline and baby Audrey came to town for the weekend.  Clara was fascinated with Audrey.  She wanted to talk to her, touch her, play with her, hold her constantly.  It was so sweet!

But when baby Audrey was sleeping or eating, Clara was right by the side of her big cousin Caroline.  And whatever Caroline did, Clara wanted to do.

I grabbed some Audrey snuggles when I could; they just don't stay this little and this cuddly very long!

 The kids all got to open a gift...

 And we attempted a group shot with the 2nd and 3rd generations.  Hey, it was the best we could do.

And the grownups, who were trying hard to get everyone to smile for that last shot....

A couple of Jackson family shots.  It was our first year with Baby Jack and next Christmas, Sarah will have a baby to join the ranks!  So fun to watch us keep growing!

One of my favorite traditions is our Happy Birthday Baby Jesus cake.  The kids gathered around to blow out the candles and sing.  I loved watching Clara's face light up.  She was so so excited about celebrating Baby Jesus' birthday and it might my heart soar to see her joy as we focused on the reason for Christmas!  

I love so much about the Christmas season, but traditions like these are among the  most sacred.  So thankful for these memories and looking forward to many many more in the years ahead!  Thanks, Jacksons!

(Last year's Jackson-Davis Christmas is here)

Five Years Ago Today...

Robert finally popped the big question.

Shocker: I said yes.

And proceeded to have this look frozen on my face for quite some time.



'Cause I was pretty excited.

 Best decision I ever made.