Lesson Learned

When I pray for something, the answer is not always the one that I want or desire.  Sometimes it's not even in the ballpark of what I thought I was praying for.  Sometimes the answer is YES!  A resounding yes, one that can't be ignored.  At times, a definite no.  No way, no how, so stop asking!

And then there are the times that a prayer is answered with, "Wait.  You'll see."  Except, I don't always know there's been an answer and I'm left floundering and continuously praying.  I figure those are the days that I'm not listening to God as much as I should.

Rewind a few days.  Actually about a week now, since Jed came home from the hospital.

The child wouldn't poop.

Now, he'd toot like a madman and it had some punch.  Nearly cleared the room a few times.  And I kept thinking, "Okay, today's a poop day.  Be prepared."  I thought that on day 3, 4 and every day until he was eight days old.  Every time I changed a diaper I prayed for God to help my poor little guy fill that diaper with a bunch of nastiness.  The poor baby was so irritable and his belly was all tight and distended.

Each day that I would pray, I would research infant constipation, looking for tips, tricks, hints, and solutions. And pray for Divine Intervention, because he was miserable and I couldn't do a dang thing.

Yesterday was a terrible day for me.  For everyone, really, because I was an emotional wreck.  I had only slept about an hour the night before, because my poor kiddo was hurting and wanting to nurse all night.  As in two 2-hr nursing sessions with bouts of being the Human Pacifier in between.  I had to work through the guilt that I was supplementing him with formula because he wasn't getting enough milk from me.  (This is a problem I've had with all the kids.)

I stumbled through the day trying not to cry, not to breakdown.  It didn't work.  At the point of exhaustion, a friend called to talk me through it.  And then my sister called and it came gushing out again.  Two friends from high school messaged me with encouragement, and I cried at the computer.

I doubted my ability to continue breastfeeding, to keep up with the appetites of the little barracuda and whether or not I had it in me to be a pacifier when I had four other children, a husband and a household to take care of.  And what did breastfeeding have to do with poop and prayer?  I think it boiled down to feeling helpless and not having the answers I wanted, to feeling like I wasn't doing enough, making enough good healthy breast milk that would help his digestion.  Being frustrated and at my wit's end because my milk supply was once again dropping, and I was supplementing with a bottle.


Desperate at the end of the day and into the evening, I began to massage Jed's belly and do the bicycle motion with his legs once more, praying and praying that he would poop.

And finally, at eight o'clock last night, he let it all go.  A humongous, monster poop.  And I was a proud mama, and immediately thanked God for finally answering my prayers!  Jed finally got some relief and I did too, from all the worry and stress.  The baby felt so good that he slept most of the night, only waking once and then going back to sleep.  This mama got almost eight hours of sleep!

When I woke up this morning, I almost felt like I could see a pathway, one that I had missed in my frustration, exhaustion and exasperation.  It seemed like God was saying to me, "I answer in my perfect way, not your human way.  You just needed to be patient with me."

It became clear to me that God had, indeed, answered in his perfect way.  I felt peace that I may have to supplement with formula now and then, but I would continue to nurse him as much as I could first.  That Neverending Night of Nursing had other effects, not just creating a zombie-mom.  He nursed and nursed and increased my milk supply, and got more and more of the good stuff to help him poop the next day.  I also think the formula may have helped, but that's just my opinion and is probably not shared by the breastfeeding community.  Oh well.

I also awoke reassured that I would do what I thought was best for my child, as I have the previous four.  I refuse to feel guilty about giving him a bottle when I need to.  There's not as much milk in these jugs as other moms have, for whatever reason.  He'll get what I can give him, and hopefully his diapers will continue to fill and he'll gain the right amount of weight.  I'm not perfect, but God is, and I'll work with what he's given me.

I will trust Him with even the mundane and try not to ramrod my idea of the right answer down God's throat, and instead, try to listen more carefully and see the big picture.

My hubs gets a big shoutout for listening and building me up at 3:30 a.m. when I needed it, for going downstairs and making a bottle and laying beside me while I blubbered and blew my nose and fed the Jedi.  And thanks to my tremendous friends Amy N., Christy H., and Mandy L., and my sister Karen, for their support, encouragement and love.

And thanks be to God:  "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD.  ~Isaiah 55:8