A Diaper Box Rant

I feel like I should give you a heads up here and let you know that it's possible this post could include a bit of political ranting that you may or may not feel up for if you're just sitting down with your granola this morning. Or it's possible this post might take an unexpected turn and become an emotional ode to the jar of Nutella in my pantry, you really just never know. I'm just saying, be prepared for anything.

Today was another monthly heartbeat check-up for Le Bebe and she passed with flying colors. (High fives all around). However, there was a bit of unpleasant information that I was made aware of while there. During my appointment, I, a bit nervously, let the midwife know that I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to schedule another c-section this time around. (I realize some of you out there might be shaking your heads in disapproval, so if you want to chat with me about my reasons for this decision, I'm totally up for that.) After hearing my explanation regarding my last c-section, she was totally understanding and awesome. Then (prepare yourselves, oh lovers of natural birthing methods), I brought up an issue we've recently discovered regarding our insurance. Turns out, our $3500 deductible starts over seven days before my due date. Well, la tee da, the midwife says, because they do c-sections a week early anyway, so it shouldn't be an issue. But, then, I counter with the fact that I need it done 1 day earlier so as to avoid having to pay a deductible we would have just met a mere 24 hours before. And here is where the story takes a dark turn and I began to consider moving to Canada (which wouldn't actually do me any good, other than to be nearer to the fictional home of Anne of Green Gables).

The midwife informs me that, come July, the new healthcare plan will begin to take its effect and the government will no longer allow healthcare providers to induce or, apparently, perform c-sections before the 39 week mark. This restriction is apparently in place regardless of the doctor's discretion regarding a patient's health issues, including diabetes and hypertension to name a couple, that might be complicated by waiting to deliver after 39 weeks (i.e. scary). Because this doctor's office schedules c-sections at 39 weeks anyway, I would only be asking to deliver my baby 24 hours earlier, which would have no effect on her health or mine. Plus, the added bonus of saving $3500 that we could put toward her college fund, or a new carseat, or to offset the cost of the 45,098 diapers we'll have purchased by the time she's 3.

So, obviously, I'm rather incensed at this news and the reality of a government official somewhere making a decision about my healthcare, trumping even my doctor's decision and judgment. But, to be honest, there's something else here that makes me even more likely to stand on a soap box (or diaper box, whatever's handy) and hold up a picket sign. Just before meeting with the midwife, I spent a little time waiting in the exam room reading in Marie Claire about all the actresses who've been making poor fashion choices involving mid-drifts lately. Suddenly, amidst the bizzare fashion ads, mid-magazine was an article listing all the states that have been making it more difficult lately to have an abortion after 20 weeks. The editors were up in arms about this injustice as well as the "totally unreasonable" requirement that some states have made insisting that a pregnant woman hear the heartbeat of her baby before she decides whether or not to abort it. Marie Claire editors wanted me to be aware of how my personal rights were being encroached upon and that I needed to write to my congressmen to demand that I be able to do what I want with my body and the fetus growing inside of it. I felt my baby girl jump and I immediately closed the magazine. I was tempted to burn it but didn't have a lighter on me.

To sum up, I think what I'm most bothered by after this morning's appointment is, not that I might lose a few thousand dollars because the government restricts when I can have my own baby, but that our government sanctions fully developed babies, with perfectly formed eyes and noses and hearts that beat at 140 beats a minute, to be disposed of like insignificant tissue. And yet, at the same time, it imposes restrictions on mothers who are choosing to have their babies, implying that those babies suddenly have human status and deserve to be protected by the beneficent government. Obviously, I don't believe that's the actual motivation behind this governmental restriction. I can only imagine the reasons behind this decision made by people totally removed from the realm of actual health care.

All of this only makes me more aware of how vulnerable the smallest ones in our society are and that our government has more and more say over their entry into the world, either as living, wanted babies or as aborted, inconvenient fetuses.

I find myself asking the question, what on earth can I do to make a difference? How can I be a part of the culture of abortion being upended and help rescue the more than a million little ones a year who are being aborted?

Right now, I'm going to keep loving this little one inside me as hard as I can and pray that, for all the other precious babes who aren't loved and who aren't wanted, that their mothers' hearts would be miraculously changed. I know there's more I can do. I'm just not sure what it is yet.

Pray with me for all those mothers who need hope and for the little ones who need rescuing.

 "Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause."- Isaiah 1:17

"A person's a person, no matter how small." - Horton Hears a Who"

Remember this guy? My first babe, the Samster.

Home

This past week had me feeling uneasy and sad as I watched the news and read the constant online updates about Boston. I also laid awake at night trying not to think about the abortion doctor on trial for killing babies after they'd been born and the Planned Parenthood representatives who are unbelievably defending him. The weight of the evil that human beings are capable of has been weighing heavy on my spirit and I've struggled to understand why God doesn't stop injustices like these. I want justice for Boston and for those babies and for the innocents around the world who are being abused and mistreated and exploited. All of that suffering together feels like it weighs a million pounds and lately I've felt its heaviness in my chest along with the frustration of my own limitations regarding what I can do to help ease any of that suffering.

But, a quote I read this week keeps coming to mind and I've been pondering it, wondering at its implications and feeling hope that perhaps there is something I can do, and am already doing.

"Peace in the world begins with peace at home."

I have no idea who said it, but the simplicity of that statement rings with so much truth. I can't help but think of those two brothers in Boston who orchestrated all that tragedy, and wonder what their experience was as boys growing up far from this country. I can't help but think that the homes and the families that so many children like them are growing up in are places without peace and without the sense of physical security, emotional safety and spiritual nurturing that a child desperately needs.

I'm mulling all this over as I consider Sam and the little one that we anticipate meeting this summer. What kind of home are we creating and how will it impact the spirits of our children? Rachel Jankovic, who blogs at desiringgod.com writes in one of her essays about the sacrifices of motherhood and the weight of the little things we do in the lives of our small ones. It struck me how all those little things given and sacrificed and sometimes even wrung out of us add up and shape the childhood that becomes the foundation of our children's stories. I needed her reminder:

"God loves the little offerings. Given in faith, that plate of PB&J’s will feed thousands. Given in faith, those presents on Christmas morning will bring delight to more children than you can count. Offered with thankfulness, your work at home is only the beginning. Your laundry pile, selflessly tackled daily, will be used in the hands of God to clothe many. Do not think that your work does not matter. In God’s hands, it will be broken, and broken, and broken again, until all who have need of it have eaten and are satisfied. And even then, there will be leftovers."

What I do at home as a mom matters. To my children and to the people whose stories will intersect with theirs.

And yet, peace in my home may come at a personal cost to me at times. It will affect what television shows and movies we watch, what music we listen to, who we allow into our home, the kind of conversations we have and the tone of our voices when we talk to each other, what media we allow and what books we read. All the little decisions we make to create a home that is a refuge where our children will become who they will be, all of this carries immense weight. It matters and the proof of that is all around us in the choices that are being made by so many who are unfamiliar with peace in their homes and in their hearts and their lives. 

Being a parent comes with what feels like an infinite number of responsibilities. But, I'm beginning to think that perhaps cultivating a home that shelters and nurtures and protects and radiates peace is one of the most important offerings we can make as parents.

Even as I say that, I know that I'm incapable of making that happen on my own. Matt and I are going to make mistakes, maybe even big ones, as we attempt this. But, I'm reminded of the scripture that says, "He is our peace," and there's relief in knowing that ultimately, Jesus is responsible for the peace that we so desperately need. If I'm welcoming him into my heart and my home, peace will follow.

I'm curious how you might be cultivating peace in your home. I'd love to hear your suggestions.

    And the effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever. 

- Isaiah 32:17 -

My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.

- Isaiah 32:18 -

Finger Mustache (obviously)