One

One year. I knew my life would change, and I wanted the change, but I had no way of knowing how it would change. And while I can't say that I have loved every minute of it...I have loved every minute of it. The other mommies and daddies reading this probably understand the sensical nonsense of that last sentence. Being a mom is the absolute hardest thing I have ever done (and I am now seeing glimmers of our sweet Jelly Bean's toddler self, so I don't think it's getting easier any time soon)...but oh, it's just the most fabulous thing.

So without further ado, I shall offer a retelling of Ava Denise Pinto's entrance into our world.

On Monday morning, 2/22, I went to an appointment at my OB's office. I was three days past my due date and as big as a house. (At least a single-wide, people. I had some serious water weight. And Taco Bell weight. But anyway...) By some miracle I was still able to pee into a cup (sorry if TMI) and my urine specimen had protein in it. This coupled with my high blood pressure and blurry vision indicated to my OB (Dr. Sellers - love him!) that I had preeclampsia. This is a potentially dangerous situation, and he was noticably concerned. He told me that I needed to check into the hospital that night to be observed, and then they would induce labor the next day, Tuesday 2/23. My sister, Holly, was at the appointment with me which was a really good thing b/c I proceeded to bawl my eyes out from disappointment that I could not have natural childbirth. Um. No comments from the peanut gallery. It's really what I wanted, but it didn't work out, so maybe next time.

But very soon my disappointment was overshadowed by excitement upon the realization that I would get to meet my sweet girl in just one day! Dr. Sellers sent me home to "rest," which is like telling a child to rest on Christmas Eve times a thousand. But given the fact that I was as huge as a trailer, I couldn't get around very well anyway, so I basically laid on the couch while my mom and Nana got my hospital bag together. Jeff got home from work a little early, and we were at the hospital by 7pm. I got an IV (ouch! According to my husband the RN, the nurse was terrible at it), a sleeping pill, and something to help me dilate...and then I was off to sleep.

I woke up at 6am on 2/23, and at 7am received my first dose of Pitocin. No pain meds at this point because I just wanted to see how it would go. My thinking was, I've never experienced this type of pain before, so let's just see what happens and I can get meds at any point along the way. And really, it wasn't too bad until Doc came in at 1pm and broke my water. And then, oh baby! Pain level went from a 2-3 to a 8-9 in the matter of a few minutes. Actual natural childbirth is progressive, so that (I hear from my amazing sister who has delivered three babies naturally) you can stay on top of the pain mentally. But with that sudden jump-up in pain level, I was having a hard time holding on mentally and emotionally. I wasn't screaming or crying or any other stuff that happens in the movies...but I could tell that something was "off". Little did I know... (I should say here that my mom and Jeff were both in the room with me this entire time, and they did a fabulous job of maintaining a peaceful and supportive environment so I could focus on my labor.)

Around 3pm I asked my Mom to go get the nurse to check my progress. I told myself that if I was beyond 5cm, I would continue laboring without meds. But if I was less than 5cm, I would probably get meds. I didn't share this with anyone else at that point. So the nurse checked my progress. She said, "I think you're probably about a three. But look at this." And she showed me her surgical glove. Meconium. Lots of it. I didn't really know what I was looking at, so she helped me out. She said, "I don't think that was a head that I just felt. I think it was a booty." Oh, WOW. A wave of fright washed over me. I laid my head back against the bed, started crying, and said, "C-section."

"What did you say?" asked Jeff.


"Nothing." I was in pain, and I started to get really scared right then. But I had felt the Holy Spirit with me throughout the entire process, ever since the appointment the day before. And especially during these moments, as I lay there having all of those emotions He was saying to my spirit, "I am with you. Don't be afraid. Be brave. I am with you." I'm not sure what your beliefs are about stuff like this, but His presence and comfort were as real as what I was receiving from Jeff or my mom.


Our nurse brought the charge nurse in and they did an ultrasound to confirm that Ava was frank breech. I asked them for an epidural, and I swear my mom and Jeff let out a HUGE sigh of relief when I said that word. I know it was difficult for them to stand by and watch me go through that much pain and not be able to do anything about it. Less than 20 minutes later, we were inserting the epidural (which was a pain unique unto itself, let me tell ya) and I eventually felt better. Dr. Sellers came at 4pm to do an ultrasound, confirmed that Ava was breech, and told me that we needed to do a C-section. Some more fright at this point, because I had never been to surgery before, and my sweet doctor offered to pray with me. I accepted, and then when he and the nurses left the room - and it was just me, Jeff, and my mom - I just let it all out. I cried and cried and then cried some more. I don't think I have ever in my life cried so hard. What was I feeling? Um, pretty much everything. Sad, scared, happy, excited, and just overwhelmed that I would see my girl in just a couple of hours.


We were scheduled to go into surgery at 5:30pm. I don't remember much of what happened in the next couple hours. I know we were delayed until 6pm, but I was so tired and emotionally exhausted that I may have slept or just spaced out.


Then it was time, and they wheeled me into surgery. Ok, operating rooms look like what I would imagine a panic room to look like. Not the most comfortable place, number one. And number two, there are about 15 people in there, all with a different and I'm sure very good reason...but still, it was like, "Oh hi everyone. I'm just huge and naked and about to experience the single greatest moment of my life. Don't mind me." And if I hadn't noticed by then (which I certainly had), I saw it now that dignity is a casualty of motherhood.


So in the last 48 hours I had experienced several surprises:: preeclampsia, painful IV, painful labor, breech baby, painful epidural. So when Dr. Sellers told me, "I'm about to pinch you and if you feel it at all, you should tell me," and then I felt it...I mean, really felt it...it just fits, right? Except not really. They dosed my epidural three more times over the next fifteen minutes, with no change. At least not to my midsection. My arms and legs were completely numb and useless, but I could still feel the pinching on my belly. So then they told me that they needed to do a spinal block, right then and there. Perhaps at this point I had about three crumbs of dignity left...and when my nurse and three nursing students had to lift my paralyzed (and huge, have I mentioned that?) body off of the operating table for the spinal tap insertion, that was it. Zero dignity. I'm telling this in a humorous way right now, but in that moment I thought, "Ok, just check out so you won't go berserk." And so I just went numb, emotionally and mentally. The spinal tap was inserted - with no pain this time - and it worked.


When I was finally laying back down on the table, and I couldn't feel the pinching, it was apparent that I was really and actually about to meet my little girl. Finally. Dr. Sellers explained what he was about to do, and what I may feel, and that he would have to hand Ava to the NICU nurses as soon as she was delivered to clean out her airways. Another of my labor desires was compromised here, in that I couldn't be the first to hold my baby.


I didn't feel the cutting, but I did feel some movement...kind of like someone was pulling on my legs, and then pressing down really hard on my chest. Then she was out, and everyone was saying how big she was, and I could see her little legs and hear her little cries. Tears of joy, and "Thank You, Jesus," over and over. She was with the NICU nurses, crying like a champ, and I didn't want her to think she was alone. I told Jeff to go stand next to the warming table and talk to her. He didn't miss a beat. Just walked over there, let her wrap her little fingers around his thumb, and said over and over, "Ava, this is your daddy. I'm right here with you. Everything is going to be okay. Ava, this is your daddy. I'm right here with you. Everything is going to be okay..." Definitely one of the most special moments of the day.





And then, finally. My moment. Our moment, me and her. They brought her to me, and suddenly I was a mama. Certainly when I was pregnant, I was a mama. And as we continue on this path, I will know more of what that means. But that moment was so pivotal, so life-changing. I thought (and maybe said), "Oh wow, this changes everything."





I have never worshipped like I worshipped in those moments after Ava was born. My God. My God gave us this exquisite miniature of His glory. I told her, "I'm your mama, and I will always be here for you no matter what." She was so beautiful; I just couldn't stop looking at her.


And you know what? I still can't. Ava Denise, we love you more than life itself. And we love being your parents. You are so fun and adventurous and intelligent. You have brought so much joy to our life, and we thank God for you every day. Happy birthday, Jelly Bean!

Baby Weight

Ok, so I pretty much decided last month that I can't call it "baby weight" anymore. My daughter is almost a year old after all. Not sure where that line is exactly for me (and it is a purely personal decision), but once the new year rolled around, my patience with my Mom Body reached critical mass. No pun intended.

I think a lot of mommies can identify with me on this. Before pregnancy, I had a pretty healthy self image. Sure, there were some days where I felt bloated or frumpy, but most of the time I was comfortable and confident with my body. When I would hear pregnant ladies complain about their bodies and the amount of weight they were gaining, I was usually the first to remind them that "It's for the baby." Then, I was pregnant. And I was the one whose waistline DIS-AP-PEARED and who saw some mind-boggling numbers on the scale at the doctor's office. And you know, it still helped to hear people say I was beautiful and glowing and that the weight gain was for the baby. But let me be honest -- all of that weight was not for the baby. A lot of it was due to the extra burrito from Taco Bell or the mozzarella sticks from Sonic or the real Coca-Cola I had about every other day during my third trimester. And I promised my future self that I would lose all the weight relatively easily after our girl was born. After all, I would be breastfeeding which supposedly burns like 100,000 extra calories a day or something.

And you know what? I did lose a lot of the weight. Most of it. But weaning time came and went with little fanfare (thanks to a very laid-back and adaptive baby girl), and I realized that I still had more than a few pounds to lose. It wasn't about the number. I probably couldn't tell you right now what I weigh. For me it was about how I looked, and how I felt about how I looked. On one of my harder PPD days, I told a friend, "I just don't feel alluring anymore." But that day was like in November or something. I just kinda sat there for awhile, literally and figuratively.

I learned in one of my grad classes that a depressed person actually has to come out of the pit a little before she'll make any lasting changes. Someone who is truly at rock bottom cannot - by virtue of being at their very lowest point - pull themselves out. There has to be some sort of inciting event, a bounce if you will. (I love finding grace in the most unexpected places, don't you?) My grace happened on or around January 1st. I can't remember exactly when, but it was like the curtains on the windows of my mind were opened and I saw the cobwebs and dust and dank for the first time. I told myself, "2010 was baby year, and 2011 will be recovery year." I gave myself two goals: read the Bible all the way through, and get my body back. The Bible reading I felt would give some structure to getting some Light and Truth into my tired soul, and it has. And getting my body back has been a healing event as well, empowering and enlightening.

When I was pregnant and a brand new mommy, I plunged way into that identity. Listen, I wanted it so badly, and when it happened I was more thrilled than any blog post can describe. But by the time JB was drinking bottles and crawling around, and we had found a workable rhythm at home, I actually had a little time to look at myself in the mirror. And whoa...in the words of Fred Willard, wha' happened?!? So, you know what? I am not just a mommy. I'll tell ya, I am primarily a mommy and all you have to do is try to mess with my baby or family if you need to be convinced. It is the biggest part of me now, but it's still just a part. I'm also a wife, and a friend, and a sister, and a professional. And it's time for the outside "me" to reflect the inside "me" again.

So. How am I doing it? I devised (ok, more like stumbled upon...it's how I find all my good ideas to be honest) a two-step approach:

1) Start with The Master Cleanse (shout out to Carmen and Andrea here). Follow the link for more information. I did three days of Ease-In, five days of the Cleanse, and three days of Ease-Out.

a. Pros: It was like hitting the reset button on my appetite. It is essentially a fast, and I made it a spiritual as well as physical exercise. I would get hungry at mealtimes - no big surprise there. But I would also get hungry if I smelled food, or if I saw a food commercial on TV, or if I drove past a food billboard. My stomach was responding to my eyes seeing the pictures of yummy food. I wasn't any hungrier 30 seconds after seeing the advertisement than before, but my body wanted me to think I was. I think I read this in one of Richard Foster's books, but the stomach really does act like a spoiled child sometimes.

b. Cons: Bathroom time. Please reference the website.

2) Super Top Secret Mysterious Weight Loss Plan: reduce intake of energy, increase output of energy. Diet and exercise, people. I am using the LoseIt! app on my iPhone, which is also available on the good ol' interweb. It tracks calories and other nutrition info of the food I eat, and calories burned for the exercises I do (even housework is included in their available exercises, and sexual activity...can I get a what, what?!). But my favorite part of the app is that it asked for my goal weight, and how much weight I want to lose each week (0.5 lb, 1 lb, 1.5 lb, 2 lb)...and then it calculated my net daily calories based on that. Too cool!

But you know, the main thing is that whatever plan you choose, you stick with it. It's not magic. But it has been fun, finding new recipes (allrecipes.com and epicurious.com both have lots of healthy recipes) and -- the best part -- RESULTS. Can I get an amen on that one?! I was wearing my biggest pair of jeans the other day, the ones I wore during my first trimester, and my Mom said, "Wow, Rachel, those pants are about to fall off you! You're gonna have to get some new ones soon." I could have done the Rocky shadow-boxing dance. "Getting strong now...won't be long nooowwww!" I was so pumped.

And that, my friends, is exactly the kind of empowerment this mommy/wife/grad student/sister/friend/soon-to-be-professional needs.

Food 2011

I'll just say it. Food is a big part of my life. I love the comfort of it -- how a homecooked meal (preferably prepared by one's mother) sits warm in your belly and your heart. And I love the adventure of it -- trying new tastes and techniques, and learning. Not to the extreme of those guys on cable TV who eat bugs and intestines and such, but you know, basically just eating more non-American foods. And I LOVE what sharing a meal with someone does for the friendship. It is profound, almost spiritual, the conversations I have had with folks over a simple meal prepared with care.

So I'm going to add FOOD as a regular subject to this here blog. I'll post pictures and recipes and stories, and I'd love to read/see some of yours as well.

So, any requests? Anything you'd like to see me try this year? Also, an unofficial poll...what is your ultimate comfort food?

Good Ol' WBC

I had a special treat today - a visit with my long lost friend, Maggs, and her husband Brent. We met at my sister Holly's house, adored each other's children, and the three of us recalled stories of yesteryear. We all went to college together at dear old Williams Baptist College. In the words of Charles Dickens, it was the best of times and it was the worst of times.

It was the best because it was this isolated little place, full of fabulous people, and fabulous faculty who really cared about students. It's difficult to describe, but you know what? If you haven't been a student at Williams, I guess there's no way to really explain to you why attending college with only 500 other students in the entire school, which happens to sit in the middle of a bean field, which happens to be between two sleepy little towns...hard to make you understand why that's so great. But it's not the bean field or the towns that make it great, although they are a part of the flavor for sure. And it's not just the people, necessarily, because there are great people everywhere. Geez, I'm going in circles. How about this? The whole was more than the sum of its parts. There. :)

And it was the worst because, basically, life just happens. I battled depression off and on. And my parents' marriage ended during my senior year. I had a senior recital to prepare for, and was trying to make plans for after graduation, so I was basically just keeping it together there at the end. I didn't really deal with that whole thing until a couple years after college, so in a sense, it didn't really affect my life at WBC. Or I should say...the geographic distance helped to keep the home reality separate from the school reality.

We talked about that a little today. The sad stuff, it seems so long ago. But when we talked about the good stuff - the funny stories - I laughed and remembered like it was yesterday. That's a good thing, I think. Stories about snow days...when classes would be cancelled, and it seemed like practically everyone spent practically the entire day outside making snowmen and getting in snow ball fights. And stories about dorm antics...things involving toilet paper, and highlighters, and Ramen noodles, and wearing various items of clothing for purposes they were not intended for.

But upon further reflection, my favorite stories really capture the essence of who were were at the time. Listening to Maggie sing one of her hilarious original songs in chapel. (By the way, you should be so lucky.) Or when a group of us had t-shirts made that said "Williams Pickleball", and wore them all on the same day, and convinced a handful of people that there actually was a pickleball team and they could sign up. And they wanted to, some of them. In fact, the jig was up when they really wanted to sign up and wouldn't drop it and so I finally had to tell them, sorry, it was a joke. Or the day that there was a crazy hat competition in the cafeteria during supper, and I convinced Maggie to climb up on my shoulders and be my "crazy hat." And we won. Goofy stuff. Ridiculous, most of it. And recalling these stories today...at first I felt the sharp pangs of embarrassment.

But driving home from that wonderfully sweet and too-short visit, I asked myself, "What would 2010 Rachel think of 1998 Rachel and her friends, if I encountered them today?" And folks, I gotta tell ya...

I would think you were fabulous! I would see what a rare treasure you had in being so gloriously UN-self-conscious. So fabulously and boldly yourself. Or at least, yourself-as-far-as-you-could-figure-at-the-time. Because isn't that all that we ever are? We are ourselves, to the best of our ability and with the data we have at the time. Because I still had some major questions about myself and my faith that I needed to ask. I found some answers for some of them, and the others - well, I'm just more comfortable with them now. And in the process, I got to know myself and my God in a new and better way. But back then, in 1998, I had 1998 data. And grace. Tons of grace.

Today I have 2010 data, and so I act like 2010. I'm a wife, a mama, a home owner. I am what 1998 Rachel viewed with more than a little ambivalence. I am...deep breath...a GROWN UP. Yikes. Seeing grown ups from this perspective (as one) makes it easier to be one. I know now that we're not all lame, or bitter, or half-dead. (When I was younger, I was privileged to be surrounded by lots of wonderful grown ups...but I was also afraid of becoming sour, or boring, like some of the others I knew.)

And being a grown up, thinking about myself in college...I can only pray that someday my sweet little girl will be given the opportunity to have such wonderful and like-minded friends who allow her to be herself, to the best of her ability and with the data she has at the time. If she does, then she'll be alright.

So here's your question...what would you want to tell yourself "back then"?

Quick Update

Wow, it's already October! September flew by and I'm sorry to say I didn't post once on this here blog. I'm taking more hours in grad school this semester than any other semester previous, and Jelly Bean decided to start crawling three weeks ago (yes, at six months old!) and she is no longer content to sit in her baby chair while I wax philosophical on things like blogs. She's got places to GO, see?!

Speaking of the light of our lives, we took some super cute pictures of her yesterday and I'll try to post a few soon.

Also, my birthday is next Friday. I'm definitely more tired and flabby than I was last year, but you know...it's amazing what having a baby will do to one's priorities. I mean, I'm working on the flabby thing, and I sleep when possible -- but I'm just trying to embrace this crazy season. It seems that JB does some brand-new thing every single day, and I don't want to miss it.

You Will Still Be Alone (And Other Thoughts On Marriage)

There are some things that married people do not tell single people. Some of those things should not be told, and you know it as soon as you are told one of them. Ooo, thanks for that disgusting detail of your life. I need to make a call now, to my THERAPIST.

But some things are not gross or inappropriate or sicky-sweet-I-want-to-stick-a-fork-in-your-puppy-dog-eyes. I guess they fall into that special category of authenticity (SUCH an overused word for such an important gift) that few people achieve with someone whom, well, they're not married to. But since I really want you to know, and I think maybe no one has told you b/c they're basically just afraid to open up, I'm gonna go ahead and share something with you.

When you marry the love of your life, your soulmate, the one you waited for with baited breath, The One From the LORD Just For You (or however you want to frame it)...you will still, essentially, be alone.

Okay. Take a deep breath.

You may as well know this now. Some of you may feel so alone now in singleness that you hope for some respite, some greener grass just over the hill, as a way of dealing with the present moment. And it is definitely true that a healthy and blessed marriage does offer its participants the simple joys of comraderie and conversation and intimacy.

But please search your heart right now. Because when two people live together, it happens sometimes that even legitimate needs (physical, emotional, spiritual, whatever) cannot be met by the other person. You will be tempted to believe that your partner won't help you - that if they really wanted to, they could. You will be saner and more peaceful if you believe that for whatever reason on this particular day, they just can't.

Another dynamic that happens often is that of victim/rescuer or child/parent. Let me just go ahead and tell you that every married couple at some point(s) has to figure out what they're going to do about the child/parent thing. One partner needs some "help" (either perceived or directly asked for), which seems innocent enough...so the other partner gives the "help", and ends up acting or sounding very maternal/paternal in the process. This is a complex issue, isn't it? Because married folks are supposed to help each other - we're supposed to care, listen, empathize. But hear me carefully now - we are not meant to solve each other's problems, rescue each other from the consequences of our behavior, or be amateur therapists for each other. And why? Um, because you are no longer a child!

You have to see yourself and your partner as two equals - two grown adults who are each capable of taking care of their own basic needs. Any breakdown here can cause a laundry list of problems in your relationship.

But still, a legitimate need is not being met. And you find yourself alone with something you would rather not face alone. What do you do with this?

You have some options:

1.) Call your mama and complain. He will love this.

2.) Call anyone and complain. He will be elated.

3.) Flee, ignore, or deny the aloneness. Ever known someone with revolving door relationship syndrome? I have a hunch about them.

I will now confess that I have done all of the following:

1.) Turning up the pressure. Maybe he doesn't understand how important this is.

2.) Turning up the volume. Maybe he can't hear me.

3.) Pouting, glowering, and other passive-aggressive behaviors which El Jefe either does not notice or is smart enough not to acknowledge.

4.) Increasingly, I give the brutha a break, pull up my big girl britches, and get on with life. Because I remember how many times he has done exactly the same thing for me. Except he doesn't wear girl britches.

AND...I am more and more often brave enough to face the aloneness. The Bible tells me that I am never alone; I believe this. But you know what? Sometimes, I am alone. I feel like the Psalmist who sings, "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God...My soul is downcast within me." It is a mystery that I believe originates in the brokenness of my soul and my family and your family and our humanity. But it is not, it can not...and it will not be the end of the story.

Take heart, my friends. You may still feel alone at times, but you are never without your Source.

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DISCLAIMER: Lest any critical minds be tempted to believe that I am unhappy in my marriage or that my husband does not sacrifice himself on a daily basis for me and our little family, please allow me to assure you that I married one of the most unconditionally giving and forgiving men on the planet. Certainly the best one I know. I love him, and he loves me, and Jesus loves us - and a cord of three strands is not easily broken.

Freezer Meal #2 -- Black Bean Soup

My fellow Little Rock residents may have experienced the fabulous restaurant that is (was?) Vermillion Water Grille. And if you were very fortunate, you may also have experienced their fabulous black bean soup. I have tried a few recipes trying to find just the right taste, and finally, with Dave Lieberman's recipe - I found it! (The only discernable difference between Dave's recipe and Vermillion's recipe is that Vermillion mashes or blends their soup to an almost smooth consistency, probably using an immersion blender, which you could definitely do if you so desire right before serving.)

Inés and I made just one recipe last weekend, which is probably enough to serve 6-8 people. We split it. As far as freezer directions, we stopped right after we added the cilantro, allowed it to cool for about 30 minutes, and then put it in our freezer bowls. Again, not a bad idea to label anything you put in the freezer.

Defrost in the fridge for 24 hours, or on the countertop for 6-8 hours. Heat to boiling, then simmer uncovered for 15 minutes. Right before serving, squeeze in a little lime juice. Serve with whatever garnishes you desire - I just had a little fresh cilantro and some sour cream on mine, but you can also do green onions, shredded jack cheese, corn chips, etc.

Have I mentioned my love of Jiffy corn muffin mix? Or of quick breads in general? Ok, briefly -- quick breads are breads that require no kneading and usually (but not always) get their rising power from baking powder or baking soda instead of yeast. If you can make pancakes, you can make a quick bread. And don'tcha know I have a few ridiculously easy recipes for these as well? El Jefe loves homemade bread, but since I rarely have the hours required to make yeast bread, this is an excellent alternative for us. Anyway...here's the cornbread I served with the soup:

Jiffy Cheddar Green Chile Cornbread

1 box Jiffy corn muffin mix
1 egg
1/3 c milk
1/4 tsp black pepper
2 oz shredded cheddar
Half of 1 (7oz) can diced green chiles, mostly drained

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. If you have an 8" round cast iron skillet, or even a cake pan, grease it with a little shortening or oil by applying with a paper towel. This will also make about six muffins; grease the muffin cups in the same manner.

Mix together the Jiffy mix, egg, milk, and pepper JUST until combined. It will be lumpy. This is totally okay and even desired. Dump in your cheddar and green chiles and stir just until mixed in; 5-10 stirs TOPS.

Dump the batter into your skillet or muffin cups. Muffins will take about 15 minutes, and the skillet will take about 20.

I will post some more quick bread recipes soon.