I'm Still Here {guest post}

My sweet friend, Hannah, has agreed to share a recent post of hers with us today! 
Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  

I've decided to stop referring to myself as any form of “Mother” in the third person. I have a bad habit of doing this on most social media platforms. I’ll say, “mommy needs a nap…” Or “mommy break time!”… as if it’s some self-awarded, term of endearment. 

What I’ve realized is that, for myself and my particular genetic makeup, this is no affectionate, endearing team. You see, I’ve lost myself while in the third person. It’s inevitable that I’ll call myself “mommy” or “momma” while speaking to my children… (Mommy said NO, Samuel. Etc) but I certainly do not have to call myself “mother” TO myself or the world at large. 

Yes, I am a mother. Just as I am a wife and a friend and a daughter. But this is not all that I am. I am me. My name is Hannah. There are many, MANY attributes that make me who God created 26 years ago. 

The other afternoon, after sorting through unpacked boxes from our recent move from central Georgia to the Savannah coast, I found my old piano books. One book in particular I remember playing from every Christmas since about the age of 16. I flipped to my favorite piece inside and scooted the bench closer to the pedals. In the next few minutes, I played the song from beginning to end. I shocked and amazed myself—and somewhere deep inside, I proved SOMETHING to my inner being that simply had been waiting impatient and expectant for quite some time. 

Now, as I played this piece, keep in mind and picture, if you will, that I had a 23 month old banging on the keys beside me the whole time. But it didn’t deter me from completing the piece with all the emotions required, all the notes needing playing and all the dynamics being monitored. 

When I was to the end, I started crying. 

It’s easy to lose yourself in motherhood. It’s easy to go through the motions of breast feeding, changing diapers, doing laundry, fighting picky toddlers, soothing crocodile tears, calming colicky babies, and then getting 3 or 4 hours of sleep in one night. It’s easy to get in a rut. In a scheduled routine of wake up, play house, go to bed. 

But I’ve decided to stop the mundane madness. I am still me. I posted a picture on Instagram earlier with a comment of “Nap times mean a reading and coffee break for mommy”… I immediately felt this twinge of regret and heartache inside and deleted the comment. I changed it instead to: nap times mean a reading and coffee break for Hannah! 

Because the facts remain that although, yes, I am a mother to two wonderful boys, I am also the same young girl who loved to write and dreamed of impacting the world with her strength and passion found in Christ. Although I am a mother and wife, I am still the same young lady who wrote songs and lyrics, longing to make that human connection with crowds of people—even if in a lowly coffee house on a college campus. 

I still have tremendous dreams. I still contain passions yet to be tapped into. My mask may seem dull… Changing diapers, bathing bottoms, and serving meals… But behind my disguise is Hannah. I’m still here.

If you want to read more of Hannah's post, check out her blog: lovingsrightlaughingsgood.tumblr.com

The ABCs of a C-Section

A guest post by a mother whom I trust, love, and admire-- my sister, Sarah Quezada.

Some people plan to have C-sections, but most of us don’t. Most of us have different ideas about how our birth experience will play out.

For me, I had planned to enter into peaceful labor in the comfort of my own home. Then, once I realized the contractions warranted a trip to the hospital, I planned to spin in panicked circles in my living room, repeating, “It’s time! It’s time!” I would chastise myself for procrastinating packing my bag and hop in my car overwhelmed with tingling excitement.

But when I needed to be induced, my story began very differently. And eight hours later, when the doctor pulled a chair up by my bed and said I needed a C-section, it continued down an unexpected path.

Here are somethings I learned in the process:

A – Action
A quiet nurse leaned over me and said, “Now that the decision’s been made, everything will happen quickly. It doesn’t mean there’s an emergency or your baby is in danger. It’s just how we do it.” As teams of strangers poured into the room, skipping introductions and wheeling me away, I was so appreciative of her assurance not to worry.

B – Boldness
Once, while getting a bridesmaid dress altered, I felt the seamstress had pinned it too short. When she asked me, though, I said, “That’s fine.” I similarly struggled with boldness with my anesthesiologist. When they ask you what you can feel, be honest! Trust me. I ended up having some unfortunate problems when my epidural wasn’t working properly.

C – Section
My husband sat by my head, whispering encouragement to me, which was such a comfort. My doctors talked about their daughters’ basketball games, which was a strangely wonderful distraction. It was not at all the natural childbirth I had learned about in my birthing classes, but we were having a baby!

D – Drugs
Drugs are good. One nurse after surgery made me feel like I was a drug addict whenever I requested pain medication. She made me so nervous I tried to stop asking! Looking back, I would’ve had my husband stay on top of my medication and never felt bad asking for the strongest ones available. I have sometimes wondered how much my pain limited my capacity to deal with some difficult circumstances early in my daughter’s life.

E – Expectations
People have asked me if I felt like I failed because I had a C-section, but I don’t think so. I know there’s controversy about legitimate need for many C-sections, but in the moment, I made the best decision that I could for my daughter under pressure and with the given information. Still, I later did need to mourn the loss of my expectations. I never got to shout, “It’s time!” I never chewed ice chips or executed funky breathing rhythms. Because of my anesthesia issue, I wasn’t even really awake when my daughter entered the world, and I didn’t get to hold her. These expectations all changed, and I think it’s okay to mourn those losses.

My daughter is almost two years old now! And at the end of the day, her birth story was only about five days of all that we’ve experienced together. Was it exactly what I planned? Nope. But I’m so grateful for her presence and life. The entrance was simply details.

I hope our experience helps you if you ever find yourself in the midst of the unexpected.    

Sarah Quezada lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband Billy and daughter Gabriella. She blogs about their multicultural family life at A Life with Subtitles. She also works with Mission Year, a year-long volunteer program. You can find her on Twitter @SarahQuezada.