Tag Archives: Motherhood

June 10, 2013

Reflections on Body Image at 28 years old

Body-image-300x199

Age 4: I sit on the floor at my friend Lindsay’s house, playing with Barbies. I am not allowed to have these dolls at my house, so I am awed by their perfect blond hair which we can comb and all of the many accessories which they can wear. I marvel at Barbie’s naked shape, which is so much more curvaceous than any body I’ve seen before. We spend most of the afternoon playing dress up with these dolls.

Age 5: I insist on wearing nothing but dresses. Even though I love to run around and have not yet learned to “sit like a lady,” dresses are my favorite attire of choice to clothe my body.

 Age 6: I strap on shinguards and cleats for the first time. My new coach teaches me how to dribble a soccer ball by waddling like a duck and kicking the ball each time. I become preoccupied with my feet, and become so focused on pointing them outwards at the perfect angle, that I forget to kick the ball. I learn to pass the ball to my teammates, and later on, I learn how to shoot by running and kicking the ball VERY HARD. I feel very strong and accomplished when my shot rolls past my coach-goalie (he may have let it slide, let’s be honest) and into the net.

Age 10: My family has moved from Texas to Indiana. I feel shy and have not been able to make many new friends yet. I spend most of my summer days curled up inside reading a book and snacking. I begin to plump up. I get a new, short haircut that frames my face and makes it look rounder and boyish. My grandma takes me shopping for new school clothes, and says that I’ll need to look for larger sizes because I am a “big-boned girl.” I feel sheepish, and wonder if this is just a nice way of saying that I’m fat.

Age 12: I dread the time after Physical Education class when we are supposed to shower. The showers at our school do not have curtains. All the girls in my class ignore instructions to shower, and cower behind our locker doors as we change, so that no one else can catch a glimpse of our little naked bodies.

Age 13: There is a boy at my school who likes to pick on girls. He is always trying to make them feel uncomfortable. One day, while I am waiting for my carpool, he comes up beside me and slides his hand along my bare leg. I tell him to stop and that it makes me uncomfortable. He laughs and calls me uptight. The next day, it happens again. I report him to my teacher, and he is given a verbal warning. The next day he calls me a tattle tale and tells all his friends not to talk to me. I feel strangely dirty, and always try to avoid making eye contact with him when we pass in the halls.

Age 14: I attend a slumber party where there is a spontaneous dance party to the music of the Backstreet Boys. I love the Backstreet Boys. I think Nick Carter is the cutest human being pretty much ever. I’m getting my groove on, dancing with reckless abandon, until one of my friends points at me and laughs. “That’s how you dance,” she says. All the girls around me dissolve into laughter. I become extremely self-conscious about my dance skills (or lack thereof) and try to move my body in only minimal ways from there on out.

Age 15: I attend a local Christian youth rally. We are broken up into groups of boys and girls. The leader of our group has listed a continuum of physical activities on a white board, ranging from holding hands to having sex and lots of steps in between. In front of the other people, we are asked to come up to the board and mark down the furthest level of physical contact we have experienced. I am young, and have only ever held a boys’ hand. I watch though as other girls tearfully approach the board and confess all of the things they have done, and ask for forgiveness. There is a time of prayer and repentance. Afterwards, the leader tells us that we must always be careful to dress modestly, or else we might become someone else’s stumbling block. I learn that my body, and the things it does and urges I feel, is something that I should keep hidden away and feel ashamed of.

Age 16: My youth group decides to bike from Goshen, Indiana to Nashville, Tennessee for the Mennonite Youth Convention. We train and practice riding our bikes. The week before the trip, I begin to get nervous. I tell my sponsors that I don’t want to go. I don’t think I can do it. They encourage me to give it a try. For seven days, our group bikes. Each day, I can feel myself getting stronger. I watch my legs pump and work as I pedal furiously uphill, and I feel exhilaration as I can relax and coast down the other side. We arrive in Nashville tan and feeling buff. I feel invincible.

Age 17: My hair is long and in one perpetual ponytail. I am a senior captain on the varsity soccer team. I play defense, and can clear the ball long and hard. My legs fill out and my muscles become more defined. I become “famous,” along with my sister, for something called the “Kehr butt move,” which is a way of boxing out opposing players as we hustle towards the ball. I feel strong and confident. I am grateful to my body for the ways that it moves and the success that it can give me on the field.

Age 18: My friend is sick. In fact, she is dying. She has a tenacious form of brain cancer. Each time I visit her, she can interact with me less. I curse her body – and bodies in general – for failing in this way. For the first time, I feel like bodies are fragile and breakable.

Age 19: I am a member of the Bluffton Beavers soccer team. My teammates and I joke about how “large” we are compared to women on other sports teams, especially the volleyball team. We laugh about it, but behind our jokes, there seems to be some latent desire to be looked at the way that other people look at the volleyball team. We begin to call ourselves the “Lady Beefers.” We give ourselves nicknames, and make t-shirts. On the back of my shirt, it reads: “Big Fat Hercules.” Even though it’s a joke, my coach seems to watch what we eat, and especially what I eat, very carefully. When he sees me in the student center after practice, chowing down on a brownie sundae with a friend, he gives me a distasteful look and says, “Really, Hannah?” I lose my appetite. I return to my room in tears.

Age 20: I am worried about my friend. She has started exercising incessantly. At mealtimes, she eats salads and nothing else. Not even dressing. She thinks we don’t notice, but we do. Every spare minute seems to be spent on the elliptical, and her cheeks are getting a sunken, hollow look to them.

 Age 22: I get married in only a few short months. Incredibly aware of the fact that my body will be on display in front of hundreds of people, I start a new, regular workout regime. Every other day or so, I resolve to no longer eat sweets or to cut out carbs completely. But usually my willpower fails in the face of dessert at the cafeteria, and I eat a cookie while kicking myself and promising to do better next time. I live in fear of the dress fitting that is just around the corner…

Age 23: I find the perfect dress. It fits me like it was made for my body. There are not that many dresses that do that. When I try it on in the store, I feel like I am meant to have this dress. I wear it to a wedding, and immediately my confidence goes up. I feel beautiful.

Age 24:  I run my first 5K. To some people who are runners, this may not feel like a big deal. But to me, for whom running is like pulling teeth, it’s a BIG deal. My friend Lindsay and I meet four times a week after work to go running. We complete the race and feel utterly victorious.

Age 25: It’s the holidays, and we are sitting around enjoying a meal. The other members at my table are discussing weight and how much they have eaten over the holidays. At one point, a woman says, “Man, I’m going to have to stop eating like this soon or else I’ll be over 125 lbs and I’ll have to enter the Clydesdale division at the next [running] race.” I freeze. I try to act undisturbed and laugh along, but my head is spinning. I haven’t been 125 lbs since 8th grade. I spend the rest of the meal pushing food around on my plate so that no one can tell I’m not eating.

Age 26: I am on a work trip in a large city. It’s late in the evening, and I need to travel downtown to visit some volunteers and photograph them at their home. I decide to take public transportation. Before leaving the place where I am staying though, one of my hosts, an older man, looks me up and down. Taking in the (modest!) dress and heels that I’m wearing,  he advises me to change before leaving. “You shouldn’t go out like that. It’s not safe for a girl your age to be walking alone dressed like that.” I realize again that my body makes me a target. It makes me unsafe.

Age 27: I am pregnant. My body is blossoming into something strange, new and wonderful. I revel in the fact that I can eat just about as much (healthy) food as I want. I revel in the fact that gaining weight is not automatically a bad thing. I rejoice when I feel my baby’s first kick. I get tired and ready for this baby to arrive in the summer. My body aches and I am tired all the time. And I marvel at the ways my body just seems to know what to do when it comes time for labor and delivery. I rejoice at the arrival of a new healthy body: my daughter.

Age 28: I don’t really recognize my body. Where once there used to be a tight, smooth sheet of abs now lies a sort of sunken fleshy area. My belly button, once a cute little dimple, now seems to be a giant cavern. I stare at myself in the mirror, and notice my wider hips, which I need to wiggle to fit into jeans these days. My reflection feels like a stranger. My husband tells me I’m beautiful. Sometimes I believe him.

Age 28 (take two): I am shopping at a local mall. I become disgusted as I look at the über-skinny mannequins with clothes draped over them. I walk up to one and put my hands on its waist, noting that my fingertips can almost touch. I measure its thighs, almost able stretch each hand completely around a thigh’s circumference. And I look at my daughter, riding along in her stroller and blissfully unaware of these unattainable beauty standards. I look at her little thighs, with their beautiful baby rolls. And I wonder what her reflections on her body will be when she is 10. Or 16. Or 28. Will she know she’s beautiful? Will she love her body?

16 Comments

Filed under Gender, womanhood

Tagged as , ,

May 15, 2013

Job Success for Women: Does it really have to look like this?!

WomanLeader

There has been much debate swirling around in the media of late about whether a woman can “have it all” – whatever that might mean. In response to Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg’s admonition to women to “lean into” their careers, Anne-Marie Slaughter wrote a widely publicized Op-Ed piece for The Atlantic in which she explored  her own decision to leave a high profile career in the state department in order to be home with her family.

Slaughter writes,

Suddenly, finally, the penny dropped. All my life, I’d been on the other side of this exchange. I’d been the woman smiling the faintly superior smile while another woman told me she had decided to take some time out or pursue a less competitive career track so that she could spend more time with her family. I’d been the woman congratulating herself on her unswerving commitment to the feminist cause, chatting smugly with her dwindling number of college or law-school friends who had reached and maintained their place on the highest rungs of their profession. I’d been the one telling young women at my lectures that youcan have it all and do it all, regardless of what field you are in. Which means I’d been part, albeit unwittingly, of making millions of women feel that they are to blame if they cannot manage to rise up the ladder as fast as men and also have a family and an active home life (and be thin and beautiful to boot).

Slaughter goes on to explain the ways that juggling these things seamlessly is nearly impossible, especially for women who cannot afford to pay for extra childcare, etc.

In a similar vein, new celebrity mom Drew Barrymore also recently spoke out about “having it all.” She says, “I was raised in that generation of ‘women can have it all,’ and I don’t think you can. I think some things fall off the table. The good news is, what does stay on the table becomes much more in focus and much more important. I feel guilty all the time — but you combat it by being a superhero. When you go out there in the world you have to remember, ‘I’m doing the best I can, I’m doing it for them, and I’m going to be there for them too. I’m just going to figure out the balance.’”

I know something of this guilt. I’m by no means in a high profile role like Slaughter or Barrymore, but given my families realities and my own interests, I’ve made the choice to continue working full-time in a job where I sometimes travel. Although Ellie has traveled with me at times, and my job and boss have made it possible to have a very flexible schedule, this does mean that I often leave her: I have to walk away from her when she wants to play to take a phone call; I’ve left her for 4 days at a time; and I’m not always able to be as attentive to her as I would like. And I feel guilty about that!

In contrast, Justin, my husband, would encourage me to let go of this guilt and to just enjoy Ellie when I’m with her. We’ve chosen to split parenting equally, but it seems like I unfortunately take more than my fair share of “guilt” upon myself.

When watching a recent episode of Grey’s Anatomy, of all shows, I was struck by an exchange between two of the main characters. Meredith Grey, one of the surgeon’s on the show, is feeling conflicted and guilty because she is dropping her toddler daugther off at a fellow surgeon’s house to be cared for overnight while she is at the hospital. When her friend, Callie, observes that Meredith is feeling guilty, she says, “No, don’t do that. No guilt. It’s good for her to see you achieve.” And she’s right: there’s enough guilt to go around for women. As a wise professor just told me, ” Enjoy your daughter when you’re with her, enjoy your work when you are there, and don’t give in to guilt.”

HannaRosin

As I understand it, Sheryl Sandberg would say that women need to stop limiting themselves in these ways and “leaving their jobs before they’re gone.” In a similar vein, author Hanna Rosin, who just published a book called The End of Men: And the Rise of Women, which chronicles the rise of women in professional spheres the 21st century, has offered a recent series of tips to women for succeeding in the workplace. The overall tone of these suggestions sounds “pessimistically pragmatic” to me.

Rosin’s suggestions are as follows:

1. Don’t Gush with Gratitude – “So don’t just gush with gratitude when you get a job offer. Do some research on the average salary range for that job. Think about what other perks you might want. And put on your game face.”

2. Avoid the “pushy” trap –  “It turns out that it really matters exactly how women ask for what they want. In a series of lab experiments at NYU and the Harvard Kennedy School, researchers showed subjects separate videos of male and female actors asking for something at work — say, a better starting salary. A typical script goes something like this: “I think I should be paid at the top of the salary range. And I would also like to be eligible for an end-of-the-year bonus.” When the male actor read the script, research subjects judged him to be strong, dominant and a decent colleague. When an actress read the exact same script, subjects tended to think she was pushy, unpleasant and, worse, they voted not to give her a raise. This is deeply annoying and infuriating and very unfair. But it’s also true.”

3. Channel Your Big Sister - “What triggered people’s suspicions, they [researchers] realized, was the idea of women negotiating for themselves. They ran a few scripts until they landed on one that did not turn people off. The solution was not for women to back off or apologize or bake brownies for everyone at the office — that would only make them look weak and unworthy of power. It was for women to portray their own needs as aligned with the needs of the company’s.”

4. Wear a Turtleneck - “If there are parts of your body that will betray you — a twitch, a tapping foot, a nervous laugh — learn to disguise or deal with them. You need to appear communal and big sisterly, yes, but also utterly confident and in command.”

5. Get the sock out of your pants  – “Our understanding of what makes a good leader is shifting to incorporate more traditionally feminine traits. The new model of effective leader is less army general and more soccer coach, someone who can inspire a team, collaborate and “walk in someone else’s shoes with emotional intelligence and empathy,” in the words of Julie Gerberding, who is now the President of Merck’s vaccine division. Don’t think of your girlish side as a handicap in the office, because nobody else does anymore.”

Reading through this list, much of it makes sense, but it also makes me feel a subtle sense of dismay. All of Rosin’s keys to success seem to undermine her final assertion that “women’s forms” of leadership are now accorded equal respect. Rather than trying to subvert these problematic systems, Rosin is suggesting that we just play by their rules to our advantage (hello, liberal second-wave feminism). And, as many of us know, the feminine and the masculine are fluid concepts that also aren’t always attributable to members of either gender in clear cut ways. It is sad to think that success for women in a professional sphere must always be so calculated.

So what’s the moral of this rambling blog post?  Perhaps it’s just that we still have a long way to go, and that I sort of begrudgingly agree that “having it all” isn’t necessarily possible or even desirable, unless we’re willing to have it all with a side of guilt or a new public persona thrown in. Have we really come no further than this? What do you all think?

For other reflections on what it means to be a woman in leadership, you can check out the new Women in Leadership Project blog over at Mennonite Church USA. 

7 Comments

Filed under Feminism, Gender, Leadership, womanhood

Tagged as , , , , , ,

May 12, 2013

On Motherhood

33157b

Last year at this time, “Baby H” was in utero, and we were anxiously awaiting her exodus from the womb, so that our first foray into parenthood could begin in earnest. Last year at this time, I was a mixed bag of emotions: excitement, anticipation, fear, confusion, happiness, and the list could go on…

This year, I’m sitting propped up in bed, listening to the sounds of my husband and my now almost 9-month-old daughter (seriously, where has the time gone?) preparing breakfast in bed for me. Who knew that the gift of sleeping in and lounging in bed on a Sunday morning (also made possible by our awesome house church group that meets in the afternoon) would be the best possible gift someone could give?

If I could reach back in time, and talk to that pregnant mama that I was a year ago, I’m not sure how I would or could prepare her for what motherhood is.  As with any labor of love, where we care so deeply and invest ourselves in the process of giving, nurturing and shaping life – whether through parenthood, mentoring, creative writing, etc. (I don’t think “mothering” needs to be a limited concept!) – I think it’s impossible to know the ramifications of what’s coming until you’ve embarked on the journey  itself.

And as I’ve embarked on this new journey of parenthood, I have found myself blessed again and again to be surrounded by other women (and men!) who have held me up, encouraged me, laughed with me, cried with me and just, in general, been along for the ride.

MothersDay3

I think of my own mom, who made it to California just as I was having my first “new mama freakout,” and helped talk me through it. Who answers my “worrywart” questions with calm assurances and never forgets to tell me that I am doing a good job. And who loves my daughter in perhaps the way only a grandma can.

Dad with Ellie

I am grateful for my dad, who journeyed out to California and spent a whole 24-hours alone with Ellie, when she was still in her mysterious just-meeting-the-world-newness, and who is saving a soccer scholarship for Ellie, so that when she grows up, she’ll know that her body is good and is meant for so much more than just looking good and having babies.

Ellie with Great-GrandparentsEllie with Great-Grandma
I am grateful for my grandmothers, who treat Ellie with such love and tenderness, and who take such joy in her life. I am grateful for the stories that they have shared with me about their own identities as mothers, and their love for each of my parents.

Ellie with Erica

I am grateful for my mother and sister-in-law, who were both mothers before me, and who have joyously welcomed Ellie into the fold, and cared for her during a recent episode when I was sure that my spleen was about to bust out of my belly (as it turns out, it did end up having to be removed, but that’s a tale for another time).

Ellie with Maya EliasandEllie

I am grateful for my siblings, who, although far away, always keep me laughing and on my toes. I am grateful to Elias for mesmerizing Ellie and keeping her happy with his crazy hair, eclectic music and dance moves. I am grateful to Maya for always taking delight in Ellie, and for traveling to be with us in Indiana and San Antonio, even when it wasn’t convenient.

Ellie with LindsayI am grateful to so many who have brought us meals, stopped by our house, traveled across the country, babysat, listened to my (sometimes neurotic and worried) rants, played with Ellie, brought me coffee, gone on walks with us, planned playdates, let me take a nap, and the list could go on and on.

Justin with Ellie

I am grateful to my husband, Justin, for being one half of an awesome parenting team, and for fully investing himself in the work of caring for our spunky daughter. For loving me and telling me that I’m a good mom. For reminding me that I’m still attractive, even when I feel like I don’t recognize the body staring back at me in the mirror. And just in general for being my partner on this journey.

Me with EllieAnd today especially, I’m so grateful that my daughter, Elena “Ellie” Irene Heinzekehr is out of the belly and here with us in the world.  I am grateful for the ways she has surprised me: by teaching me how much it is possible to love someone after only a few short hours; in the surprising ways that she is sensitive to and aware of the world around her; with her crazy antics and dance moves whenever Justin Timberlake comes on the radio; with her mini-monologues in a language I can’t yet understand and her gurgling, boisterous giggles; with her love of food (and especially all things carbohydrate-based); with her strong-willed nature and so much more. I am grateful to be her mom.

Motherhood is hard, this is true. It’s not just all smiles and frolicking through the park and cuddling. It’s poopy diapers and interrupted sleep and self-doubt and guilt and worry. But it is also full of moments of such indescribable joy and fulfillment, too. A friend told me early on that I should never doubt that Ellie was a gift from God, and that we were the best parents for her. So I am grateful for this day, which does not need to be about buying lots of stuff, but when we get to remember and name all of those people who have been a part of the communal effort that is mothering. I am truly grateful.

3 Comments

Filed under Motherhood, Parenthood

Tagged as , , , , ,

February 20, 2013

It takes a village…

I was raised with a pretty strong “service mentality.” And maybe this comes along with growing up in the Mennonite Church, too. In fact, I spent some of the first years of my life living as the youngest member of a Mennonite Voluntary Service unit in San Antonio, Texas. I grew up thinking that service to others and hospitality should be a natural outgrowth of one’s faith. And this is good a lot of the time.

But sometimes this service mentality can take over, and make it hard for me to receive the gift of service in return. This is especially true when you add into the mix my status as a “third generation” oldest daughter who carries a pretty strong (often self-imposed) sense of responsibility for others. If you asked my siblings, they might say that this manifests as bossiness, but I would note that my actions (almost) always grow out of love… In fact, I remember one conversation with a professor last year, when I arrived at her office for an advising appointment several minutes late, dragging along three bags stuffed with books, random art supplies, a laptop and a bunch of documents for work, and clearly flustered. When I sat down, she asked how I was doing, and I responded with, “I’m ok. Busy.” Her response? “Yes. You are a good white feminist, and you’re the daughter of one, too. So you’re probably just tired  of being so ‘good.’”

Now this professor was being humorous, and we had a good laugh about how I sometimes unintentionally take too much upon myself and take things too seriously. But her words also hit a chord. I was, and often am, tired. There is so much that I feel like I SHOULD do. It’s rare that I find myself fully relaxed without making a mental checklist in my head of all the things that must be done or jotting down a short schedule for the next day’s duties.

And having a child has sort of intensified this sense of SHOULD. While I’m learning to give myself grace about the house not always being clean (let’s be honest – this was not even super high on my priority list pre-Ellie), it’s harder to accept that I will need to start saying no to taking on new commitments or volunteer opportunities sometimes or that I, who so often like to play hostess, might have to start being more comfortable being hosted.

Continue reading →

2 Comments

Filed under Motherhood, Parenthood

Tagged as , ,

January 14, 2013

The Top 5 Baby Products I Couldn’t Live Without…And Some I Definitely Could

So, apparently becoming a mom means that you start to be drawn into new types of conversations. Over the past 5 months, I can’t count the number of times that people have asked me about what we put on our baby registry, what tools I wish we had had, and what types of baby products are just a money drain. And when I was pregnant, I asked all of these questions too. Why? Because the market is FLOODED with random, oddly-named products (I mean, seriously, can we not just give things normal descriptive names. Do we have to call things Bumbos, Boppys, etc.) that you supposedly MUST HAVE and NEED in order for your child to survive and thrive.

As a first-time parent, who is already susceptible to the idea that they might mess up their child, these messages about what your baby must have can be quite compelling. And, as I quoted from Alphamom in an earlier post, all a baby really needs during their first few months of life are “1) boobs, 2) diapers, 3) a sling and 4) some jammies. If we were feeling fancy, anyway…”  So, take this list for what it’s worth.

In response to many of these conversations I’ve had about “baby stuff”, I’d like to offer you my list of the five baby products that I think are worth putting on anyone’s registry:

1 – NoseFrida – So, a product nicknamed the “snotsucker” may not sound all that inviting, but this strange Swedish contraption is a lifesaver. After Ellie got her first cold, and we spent two frustrating days trying to clear out her nose with the perpetually ineffectual bulb syringe (whose tube was about twice the width of Ellie’s tiny nostrils), another mother pointed me towards the NoseFrida. Basically, this tool is nothing but a tube with a filter in the middle, and it allows you to literally suck the snot out of your infant’s nose, which at any other time would just sound like something to be avoided at all costs, but when watching your child sniffle around and struggle to breathe, seems well worth it. And never fear, this is not as high risk a venture as you might think, since the handy filter makes sure that the snot you suck stops well clear of your mouth.

2 – Cloth Diapers – Cloth diapers are having a renaissance, and with good reason. According to one author’s calculations, cloth diapers can save you an astonishing $1800 per child over disposable diapers, not to mention the paper waste that you save by not tossing out 10-15 diapers per day (yes, babies are – at least my baby is – more prolific at peeing and pooing than I ever could have believed!). And these are not your grandma’s cloth diapers, which is a good thing, because I’m not sure my clumsy self would have really done well with cloth folding and safety pins. All throughout Ellie’s short life, we’ve used the FuzziBunz one-size diapers, which are supposed to be adjustable enough to carry her from her newborn days through age 2. They come in cute colors so her bum always seems nice and accessorized, they are highly absorbent, and the soft cloth has kept her diaper-rash free for nearly 5 months…

Continue reading →

4 Comments

Filed under Humor, Motherhood

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

September 25, 2012

Becoming “Mommy” Part II: Reality Sets In

“So, are you just loving being a mom?!”

A screaming Ellie

The question froze me in my tracks. I could hear the cheerful, happy voice coming through the phone line, and I knew that my expected answer should be a resounding “yes!” But something was holding me back. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my daughter. I did and do. So, so much. And it wasn’t like we hadn’t been having a good time. We’d spent the past three weeks getting to know one another, laughing at Ellie’s cute antics, visiting with family who came to town to meet their new granddaughter, and relaxing at home. We were becoming a family of three!

But as I ruminated on her question, only three weeks into my role as a new mother, a whole host of scenes flashed through my mind. Crying when my mom left to go home to Kansas after spending a week with us helping around the house and coaching us. Spending hours up with my daughter: walking, singing and rocking and willing her to sleep for longer than 45 minutes in her crib. Struggling to get Ellie to eat after she was struck with a cold and runny nose at only two weeks (what kind of mom lets her newborn get sick at only two weeks old?!).  Googling random ailments and behaviors online to make sure that Ellie was developing normally, not sick, etc. (I’m a hypochondriac by nature, and this trait got worse when applied to my daughter). Coming down with a strange post-partum rash that covered my arms and legs and woke me up at night (during the few hours I was able to sleep anyway) with chicken pox-type itching. And there were a host of other memories that made me feel inadequate and unsure.

But how do you share this complex mix of emotions with a stranger on the phone?

Continue reading →

10 Comments

Filed under Motherhood, Parenthood

Tagged as , ,

September 23, 2012

Becoming “Mommy” Part I: A Birth Story

Although it’s only been five weeks since the birth of our daughter, our lives have changed so drastically that sometimes it’s hard to remember what the rhythm of our days was like before. As Justin wrote a few weeks ago, our lives have become centered around the wants and needs of our tiny daughter, who is both completely dependent on us and also quite spunky and spirited.

Since Ellie’s birth, I’ve been ruminating a lot on the process of what it means to enter into motherhood: to literally “become mommy.” I’m sure that throughout the rest of my life I will have to continue to live into this new role, and my thoughts about what motherhood means will evolve. But at the beginning of this new journey, I’ve already been overwhelmed by the depth of responsibility this new role implies; by the ways that it changes your heart (it’s amazing the depth of love that you can cultivate right away for someone that you’ve only just met); the paranoia that comes with being a first time mom, and so much more.

But this evening, as I sit here in our living room, watching Ellie sleep soundly with Justin in the recliner, my thoughts are drifting back to the day of Ellie’s birth. I haven’t necessarily written or talked much about the day of Ellie’s birth, because it’s a story that I hold quite dear. And there are certainly pieces of it that I want to keep for ourselves – a story for the Heinzekehrs alone. But, the more I’ve talked to other mothers – both those who have been mothers for awhile, those who are new moms like me, and those who are in the process of becoming mothers – the more I think that it’s important that we share our “motherhood” stories. In part, just so that shows like TLC’s “A Baby Story” are not the only message out there about birth. And because every birth is different and people make different choices, and it’s good to have ideas about all of the diverse options out there. And frankly, I loved our birth story. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’d say that we (with lots of support from family, friends, doulas, etc.) rocked it out. And let me just say right now, before I even begin, that we had great experiences with both Bradley childbirth classes (check out our teacher here: she’s great) and doulas (meet our doula here), and I would highly recommend them to anyone preparing for a birth.

So, with no further ado, here it is: the story of Ellie’s birth.

About five weeks ago exactly, I was beginning to tire of being pregnant. It was hot, I was large, and we were ready to meet our daughter. I was me trying to mentally prepare myself for the fact that Ellie would likely make a late arrival, as many first time babies do, but hoping against hope that she would just decide to arrive. In an act of desperation (and taking the advice of my friend, Rachel), I suggested to Justin that we plan an entire evening of maintenance work. As resident assistants, we are responsible for an entire floor in our apartment complex, so we spent one evening changing the lightbulbs and cleaning out all of the lighting fixtures in our hall (a grand total of more than 60 fixtures). As part of my job, I was required to walk, bend over and squat A LOT, and after two hours of work, I was dead tired. After this night of work, we made our way to our local organic food store, where we bought some Red Raspberry Leaf tea, which is supposed to help strengthen the uterus and has been known to stimulate contractions. I should say: I’m usually not a believer in herbal remedies, but like I said, I was desperate. We returned home and I drank two cups of this tea and we headed to bed.

Continue reading →

1 Comment

Filed under Motherhood

Tagged as , , , , ,

July 29, 2012

The-almost-end-of- pregnancy-freak-out

I might be feeling a little overwhelmed…

About four months ago, one of my co-workers jokingly told me, “So, you’ll need to call me when you really start to freak out about pregnancy.” At this point, 20 or so weeks into pregnancy, I was past the morning sickness phase, had seen images of a healthy baby on an ultrasound screen, and I was feeling pretty good. It’s not that things weren’t sometimes stressful, but a large freak out didn’t seem particularly imminent. So, I laughed along with this co-worker and agreed to let him know when – and IF – that happened.

But now – at 37 weeks pregnant and careening quickly towards the eventual conclusion of this pregnancy – the freak out has officially arrived. Sometime in between washing Baby H’s clothes, readying her room, figuring out how to use a Moby Wrap (seriously: way more complicated than you might think) and being told that our little girl might be a bit on the larger side of normal, healthy baby weight, I’ve officially entered freak out mode.

It’s not that we haven’t gotten educated. For the past 12 weeks, Justin and I have been faithfully attending Bradley Method classes (if you live in SoCal, I highly recommend our teacher),  where we’ve learned about the physiological phases of labor, learned and practiced healthy nutrition habits, and been challenged to learn new techniques for relaxation and stress relief, prior to and during labor. We’ve hired a doula and met with her to learn a variety of techniques for massage and movement during labor, to help the process move along smoothly and naturally.

Continue reading →

6 Comments

Filed under Motherhood

Tagged as , , ,

May 1, 2012

Every Woman Strives to Keep it All Together

Anna Yoder Schlabach, another Mennonite in a little black maternity dress

Guest post from… Anna Yoder Schlabach graduated from Goshen College in 2007 and from Iliff School of Theology in 2011 with a Master of Divinity. Anna and her husband Brian currently live in Albuquerque, NM , where they serve as leaders for Mennonite Mission Network’s Service Adventure program. They currently live with four teenagers, four chickens and one dog. They’re expecting twins in August.

The other day I received a Thirty-One catalogue from my sister-in-law who was hosting a Thirty-One party (think Mary Kay but with tote bags instead of make-up). Since I’m about six months pregnant, I flipped through the catalogue hoping to find an affordable diaper bag. And although I didn’t find what I was looking for, the content proved to be a surprising source for a little self reflection. Each page of the catalogue had a catchy slogan on it, certainly created not only to inspire women to buy bags, but to inspire women themselves. Phrases like “Smart virtuous women have goals, right?” and “Be yourself, be confident, be independent” are splashed across the pages.  These slogans were ok, but the one that really got me thinking was, “Every woman strives to keep it all together.”

While every woman may strive to keep it all together, for me the task has recently seemed more daunting. Somewhere between moving to Albuquerque to lead and live with a group of four teenagers, weathering a house fire in December, and getting pregnant  and seeing an ultrasound with not one, but two babies on it, things may have spiraled out of my control. Some of these are challenges, and some of these are gifts from God. Either way, I can’t keep it all together and I don’t think a tote bag is going to help. I may have to ask my community for help. But I’m not happy about it.

A decade ago (when I at least thought I had things under control), I was a senior in high school and considering becoming baptized.  A huge part of what eventually sold me on getting baptized was the way I saw my community responding to someone who needed help. A person in my congregation shared one Sunday morning about a medical condition that would likely leave her in a wheelchair for life. People in the congregation got up and embraced her, creating a circle of support around her in a moment of communal despair and lament. That image compelled me to join this community – a community of people asking for and receiving help. Community is one of the things that Mennonites do best.  We are a people who believe in living out the life of Christ through

I think I'll need more than a tote bag to hold it all together...

our relationships with each other. I believe that the church is the perfect place to seek help, but then why am I so reluctant to appear weak or vulnerable or like I don’t have it all together, particularly in front of my church community?

I think part of what bothers me about asking for help from my congregation is that I like being up front at church, this is part of what drew me to seminary; I enjoy leading worship and being involved in public ways.  But I always like to be prepared when I’m going to be in front of people. I like to appear that I have it all together, not only because I think it makes the worship service flow better, but because I like to present my best self, which is maybe antithetical to what worship is all about. It’s not about me, it’s about God. And it’s about following Jesus, a man who probably didn’t give a lot of thought to how his hair looked when he was speaking to the masses, or about appearing “in control” when he washed his disciples’ feet.

The real Jesus never would have done this

Plus, Jesus was always receiving from other people. He was hosted in peoples’ homes all the time and he rarely shied away from people who clearly couldn’t keep it all together. As followers of Jesus, we are called to both accept hospitality from others, and to seek help, allowing the community to respond as Jesus would to our myriad needs. Come August, I hope that I have the grace to allow others to care for me (and forgive me for showing up to church with my hair unwashed and spit-up on my shirt). This isn’t shameful, this is what it means to live in a way that recognizes that we all rely on God, that we can’t do it all by ourselves. No woman can keep it all together by herself. Thirty-One suggests that the solution is just the right combination of tote bags and motivational quotes, but I’m trying to trust that the answer is more likely found in opening myself up to the care of my community, trusting that at some point, I’ll be on the other side of the helping again.

4 Comments

Filed under Church, Mennonite Identity, Motherhood

Tagged as , ,

April 3, 2012

Mennonite in a (not-so-little) black (maternity) dress

About three years ago, the book Mennonite in a Little Black Dress: A Memoir of Going Home, by Rhoda Janzen made a surprising rise up the non-fiction book charts (all the way to #1). My guess is that part of this book’s popularity was due to the fact that, for most mainstream United States citizens, the idea of a Mennonite woman wearing a little black dress feels like something of an oxymoron. It’s not that the book wasn’t well-written: Janzen is funny and has a knack for stringing together honest vignettes that paint a compelling picture of rebuilding a life, and the book was lucky enough to follow on the heels of the über-popular travelogue Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

When this book came out, I found myself equal parts amused and annoyed by it. First, I was amused because, like I said, Janzen is funny. And part of writing a good, humorous memoir (and probably a blog, too, for that matter) is embellishment and hyperbole. And, frankly, there were parts of her story, especially those about the ways cultural traditions become intertwined with church, that totally resonated with my own experience. But I was also annoyed, because every time I encountered someone new who had read this book, they assumed that my Mennonite heritage automatically equaled a certain type of conservatism that could never affirm women in leadership, wasn’t kind to divorcees, and would find it inappropriate or, at the very least, shocking for a woman to be cavorting around in a little black dress.

For some reason, since I found out I was pregnant five months ago, this book has been popping up in my mind’s eye again. As I’ve thought about it why this has been happening, I’m guessing that part of it is knowing that people wouldn’t find the same shock value in a memoir entitled “Mennonite in a Maternity Dress.” A cynical part of me wonders if there isn’t something about this image that makes sense to mainstream Christianity, who, if they know anything about Mennonite women, likely picture us as rural, barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen somewhere (and, frankly, the barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen thing hasn’t been that far off over the past few months: pregnancy cravings have led to many baking sprees). This is probably extreme, but pregnancy definitely has made me think about what it means to be a woman, and as Baby H grows, it becomes more obvious to the world around me that I am preparing for motherhood, too. I’d like to think that any faith tradition I would adhere to, Mennonites included, should have a picture of what it means to be a woman that is broad enough to include little black dresses and maternity dresses, too.

And, ever since last Monday, when I found out that Baby H is a girl, I’ve also been wondering what it means to raise a new little Femonite (although she will definitely have to choose her own labels and names for herself when that time comes). I don’t exactly know what or how I will be able to convey to her adequately my hopes and dreams for her, both as a potential new little Mennonite and as a young woman. In fact, you should pray for this child: she has two parents studying theology, and she might be doomed to overthink the church and its trappings from her very beginnings.

I do know that, even now, when I have my little nightly chat with her (yes, I speak with my belly often), I’m dreaming big dreams for her. Dreams that are bigger perhaps than I can even fathom for myself. Her future seems limitless.

But, someday, somewhere, she will certainly rub up against limits: either her own or those imposed on her by others. And it’s my hope that, when this happens, she will have a faith community to help her sort through these pieces and to love her back to wholeness.

Last week, I went to hear Anne Lamott, one of my favorite authors, speak. As she was talking about the ways that she teaches Sunday school to children, she said, “I teach each of these kids that they are loved. That they are chosen. And then we have a snack.” A simple message, but oh so profound. If I can teach these things to my daughter, I would count that as success. And maybe, as a bonus, she’ll even be able to wear a (hopefully-not-too-) little black dress and be a member of a faith community, Mennonite or not, without feeling like a walking contradiction, too.

*************************************************************************************

When parenting your children, how did you talk about faith? About womanhood? About Mennonites? What advice do you have for us new parents-to-be?

8 Comments

Filed under Motherhood

Tagged as , , , ,