A few thousand diapers later

My daughter will be ten months old soon, and I bought diapers for her for the very first time this week.  (Okay, technically I recently bought a box and then she outgrew them before she wore any, so I'm not counting that time.)  Ten months!  Do you know how amazing that is?  I'm not even sure I do.  I did some quick math, and assuming that Piper goes through an average of seven diapers per day (a conservative estimate), that's 2,100 diapers and $550+ over the past ten months.  We never paid a dime.

When I drop off Piper at her preschool in the mornings, her teachers always comment on her cute outfits and extravagant hair bows.  "Where do you get all of her clothes?" they ask.  Well, let's be honest.  They come from her grandparents.  They come in big brown boxes on the porch from her family in Texas.  They come in little pink bags, tied with fancy ribbons and a note that says, "Just because," from coworkers and friends.  I rarely buy her clothes, and her closet is still overflowing.

I was humbled as we began the adoption process, when money would literally just show up on our doorstep or in our mailbox.  There were days when I would find myself in tears, unsure how to respond to such generosity but very sure that we didn't deserve it.  Almost a year after bringing Piper home, I once again am overcome by the goodness of our loved ones.  I know diapers are seemingly insignificant, but I also know that most parents don't wait ten months to buy them.  We are so blessed.

The night that Piper was born will always stand out to me above all others for many reasons, but one thing is still particularly striking.  My parents had already waited for hours to see her, and when they finally got to come upstairs at the hospital, my mom burst into tears.  In fact, I don't think she really stopped crying all night.  At one point, I said something like, "Mom, this is a happy day!  You don't have to cry!"  She responded, "I know.  I have prayed for so long that I would love her just as if she were your biological child, and I really, really do."

She was always meant to be part of our family.  I knew it during the adoption process, I knew it the moment she was born, and I knew it as I was checking out at Target on Friday, buying diapers for the first time in ten months.  As her parents, we would always love Piper regardless of any circumstance, but the continual outpouring of kindness from those who are dearest to us has proven to me that she belongs.  She's our daughter, but she's also a granddaughter, a great-granddaughter, a niece, and cousin, and a friend.  I know she is partly loved by others because we are special to them, but she is also loved because she is special to them.  Piper Anna Fenrick, you are so cherished, and you don't even know it yet.

  

Remember.

I decided to change up my Bible reading plan this year and go through the Scriptures chronologically instead of picking and choosing my favorite passages to read for nights in a row.  I’m so glad I did.  For the most part, I’ve historically seen the Bible as a moral guide for my life with a few awesome stories, but I’m slowly beginning to realize that all of the Bible is actually one big story pointing to one main Character and one redemption plan.  Parts of Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy have not been exactly “riveting,” but I’ve already learned so much in my attempt to read the Bible as a whole instead of fragmenting it and skipping over some parts entirely.

Many things have stood out to me as I’ve been reading, but perhaps the most striking one is God’s repeated call to his people to remember.  Continue reading here.

Hiding in Plain Sight

It's hard not to get annoyed when that boy in my class is literally spinning around on his knees on the carpet while everyone else is sitting quietly and listening to the lesson.  Or when he's still doing his puzzle, even though I've called him to line up four times.  He's in trouble almost every day lately.  He doesn't know why he's acting this way.  I don't really know why, either.  But I do know that his parents split up recently, and that he's coping with it the only way his little four-year-old brain knows how.  He doesn't talk about it, but in his own way, he's screaming that he needs to be heard and understood.

In dealing with this kid's situation, I've been thinking about the people around me and how many of them might not be spinning on their knees during story time but spinning out of control, helpless to stop life's unrelenting circumstances. I wonder how many of them are concealing deep sadness or anger, aching to tell their stories but petrified by the fear that there is no one who will truly "get it."
I've known people to commit suicide before, and typical comments after such instances are, "I just never realized he was that unhappy" or, "She always seemed okay."  People have ways of "hiding in plain sight."  It's easy to think, "I would tell someone if I was that miserable," but would you?  Would I?  The darkest, most ugly parts of ourselves are the ones that we tuck away, cover up, and bury so deeply that no one else can find them.  I'd like to think that I'm pretty honest a majority of the time, but there are still pieces of me that I'm unwilling to share with anyone, even with those who love me the most.  When it comes down to it, I'm afraid that no one will hear me, that someone might judge, that someone else might laugh, and mostly, that no one will care.

While the tendency to hide is undoubtedly part of the human condition, I also wonder how many unheard stories would get told if there were more people who practiced the lost art of just listening.  I find that I'm generally more encouraged by a friend's silence than by a multitude of words which amount to little more than platitudes, quick fixes, or cliches.

I guess I'm writing this because I'm daily realizing that everyone is fighting a hard battle.  I often have a short fuse with people.  To that little boy in my class, I sometimes just want to yell, "Seriously, stop acting like that.  You're driving me crazy."  When talking with the friend who is making destructive decisions because her boyfriend just broke up with her, I have to resist the urge to shake her and say, "You're being a complete fool.  Just stop."  The situation is never as easy as "just stop."  There is always so much more under the surface than people are willing to or feel comfortable with sharing.

So I'm challenging you today, but mostly I'm challenging myself, to have some grace with people.  Smile a little more than you think is necessary.  Say less.  Listen more.  Remember the times when someone has shown you kindness.  Mostly, consider everything about a person before jumping to a hasty conclusion.  The outward signs of a perfect life do not always reflect the inward state of being.

Giving up

About a month ago, I went back to working full-time after taking a leave of absence when Piper was born.  Since August, I had been teaching morning Pre-K and staying home in the afternoons with the little one.

The full-time situation came about very abruptly.  To make a long story short, I interviewed for (what I thought was) a full-time special education position starting in August 2014.  At the end of the interview, which lasted exactly twelve minutes, the assistant principal said that the school hadn't had anyone to fill the position all year and asked if I could start as soon as possible.  Though I felt morally responsible to finish out the year at my current school teaching a.m. Pre-K, I agreed to work afternoons at my new school.  I interviewed on a Wednesday and started the following Monday.  Life is a whirlwind sometimes.

Everyone keeps asking me if my job is going well and if I like working full-time.  It is, and I do.  I feel like I am in the increasingly smaller percentage of people who can say with confidence that they love their job.  There will always be things that are annoying about any line of work, but I find so much fulfillment in being able to help and learn from kids every day.  I never before realized what people meant when they said, "I gave up my career to have kids."  Now I do.

Piper has been a very easy-going baby, so I just assumed that she would adjust well to staying at daycare all day.  Wrong.  Though I realize that no one will care for her quite like I do, I love her teachers at daycare and know that she is in good hands when I leave her.  The fact of the matter is that there are seven other babies in her class, she's been bitten twice in the last three weeks, and she sometimes sleeps a total of fifteen minutes...all day.  Her daycare is highly reputable in Norman, and I wouldn't want to put her anywhere else.  But I dread picking her up after work because I'm afraid of what her teachers will tell me about her day, and because it pains me to see her tired, red eyes when I know that she has no problem sleeping for 2-3 hours at a time at home.

Something's gotta give, and I'm a firm believer that family comes first.  Unless, by some act of God, Piper starts thriving in daycare by the end of the year (which I suppose could happen), I won't be working full-time again next year.  I'm surprised at how saddened I am by that possibility.

When I was little, I used to line up all of my dolls and play "school."  Sure, there were times when I played "house" and "church," but from a very young age, I think I always knew that I was made to be a teacher.  At times, I entertain other options in my mind, but at the end of the day, I can't imagine myself in another profession.  To be honest, I don't find a lot of fulfillment in changing diapers, making bottles, and shaking a rattle in Piper's face- not because I don't love her or love being with her, but because my mind isn't stimulated in doing those things, and I often have a hard time seeing the greater purpose in the little details of motherhood.  

The thing I am realizing more with each passing day is that having children means giving up.  Giving up looks differently for different people.  For me and for other moms and dads who make the choice to stay home or cut back on hours, it might look like forgoing a well-loved career for a time to ensure that our children are happy and well.  For parents who do continue working full-time, giving up might look like forsaking some things that they'd like to do for themselves because there simply isn't time to fit everything in anymore, or giving up control because someone else is making many of the decisions about how to raise their children.  For every parent, there is a loss of freedom, at least to a certain extent.  Though we give those things up willingly because we love our children, it is still giving up, and there are times when living sacrificially is not always fun.

My daughter may never come to me and say, "Thanks, Mom, for giving up your career when I was little so that you could be with me."  And I think it will be okay if she doesn't.  I've had 25 years to make decisions that are best for myself.  Although it is difficult, there is joy in making decisions that are best for someone else.  Sometimes giving up means finding your life again.

                  

 

The first year after...

I heard the other day that couples often experience the most marital dissatisfaction that they ever will during their first year after having a baby.

My initial thought was, "That seems odd."  Babies have a way of bringing joy everywhere they go.  That little giggle fills our house, and sometimes I think my heart will burst.  I get to watch the love of my life love this tiny angel.  We dream together about her future and laugh together when she farts in the bathtub.  Because of Piper, our home is a happier place.

And because of Piper, our home is also more tense and stressful than I ever imagined it would be.

We didn't think we would be amazing parents.  We definitely didn't think we had everything all figured out before she got here.  But we are slowly starting to learn just how many things we truly didn't consider prior to parenthood.

I'm jealous of his time.  I don't like that his first minutes in the door after work are spent holding her instead of holding me.  In some irrational places of my mind, I wonder if he loves her more before quickly reminding myself that he loves her differently.  I get bitter when considering the division of household chores, which I've unfairly ranked so that they'll always be unevenly divided.  ("I bought groceries, made dinner, and did the dishes today.  Clearly I've done way more than you"...because you've been away providing for our family.)  I feel like there are moments when I'm drowning in a sea of lesson plans, unfolded laundry, and dirty diapers...while he is sitting on the couch watching the Olympics.  I'm plagued by a question that technically has nothing to do with Piper: Why is my husband so oblivious?      

Obviously, marriage is a two-way street.  He's jealous of my time, too.  He doesn't like that I often want to go for a run or go out with a friend in his limited time at home.  He probably wonders if I'm just aching to get away from him before quickly reminding himself that I'm aching to get away from the house.  He doesn't understand the bitterness I've harbored toward him all day while he has been away at work- the bitterness that I am quick to unleash before giving him a chance to do or say anything.  He feels like there are moments when all he wants to do is get a little frisky with his wife...while I'm making excuses about having spit up in my hair and being so tired I can hardly think.  He's also plagued by a question that technically has nothing to do with Piper: Why is my wife so needy?

I didn't set out to write this blog.  I actually intended to write about how the last seven months have been the most glorious whirlwind or our lives.  (For the record, they've been that, too.)  But if there's one thing that I've come to value in this time of bewilderment and loneliness, it is honesty.  Honestly, we are just trying to make it to the next day- as parents and as spouses- and I'm sure that others reading this feel equally clueless.  However, when people ask us how we're doing, especially after waiting so long to add this precious little one to our family, we often feel compelled to say that we're great.  We feel obligated to fuel the misconception that life after baby is overwhelmingly blissful and romantically charged.

All of that said, I do know that this time is precious, and that the moments of discord are merely a phase.  We won't be this exhausted forever.  We won't always find so many annoyances with each other.  We'll dig a way out of the trenches and look back to laugh at "that first year after we had Piper."  In the midst of everything, I'm thankful for her beautiful life and for the many lessons she's taught me in the past seven months that I didn't know I even needed to learn.  In the words of C.S. Lewis, "There are far, far better things ahead than any we've left behind."

The story of our lives...

        

  

Be still.

It is often said that "idle hands are the devil's workshop."  While this may be true at times, I'd also like to suggest that busyness is equally, if not more, detrimental to one's emotional and spiritual health.  Our culture today constantly screams at us to do more, try harder, and be more successful.  In the midst of our chaotic lives, we often fail to heed an important calling: "Be still and know that I am God."

Continue reading here.

The Greatest Gift

My parents don't celebrate Christmas.  I won't go into all of the details, but they have some valid convictions for not doing so.  I now celebrate Christmas with my new family, but for the first 19 years of my life, Christmas was just another day.  No presents under the tree (oh wait, no tree), no Santa, no special traditions.

Imagine my shock when I celebrated Christmas with my then-boyfriend's family for the first time.  Andrew's family members are among the most generous people I know, so there have always been TONS of presents under the tree.  And by "under the tree," I mean that the radius of gifts actually extends well into the center of the living room.  I counted seventeen gifts just for me that first year.  Hello, Christmas.

Material gifts are nice, whether they come at Christmastime or not.  While the true meaning of Christmas can easily be lost in commercialism, the love behind the gifts given is typically what makes
the season so full of joy.  I'm excited about my new Sperrys and my Nike running tights (people know me well), but all of the thoughtful gifts I received pale in comparison to that one not under the tree.
She's sitting in the middle of the living room, wearing her Christmas pajamas and a silver bow on her sweet little head.

The greatest gift is my daughter.

In December 2012, our pastor asked everyone to write an impossible prayer on an index card and place it in an envelope so that he and other church leaders could pray for everyone's requests.  I had almost
forgotten that I turned this in until he texted me a picture of the card a couple of months after we brought Piper home:

Three years ago around Christmastime, Andrew and I decided that we would start trying to get pregnant.  Needless to say, December 2012 was difficult.  Two years had passed with surgeries, doctor visits, and countless negative pregnancy tests.  I did the obligatory "liking" of pregnancy announcements on Facebook and sullenly attended baby shower after baby shower, but inside I was anxious and angry.

This Christmas season has been different.  To a small degree, I think I will always wonder why we are unable to have biological children and struggle to truly be happy for people who so easily find themselves pregnant.  But the joy of Piper has overwhelmed all of the negative feelings in the past few months as I've realized that there is truly no other child I would rather have but her.

This afternoon, we finalized Piper's adoption.  Though she has been our daughter in our hearts since we found out about her in May, today she became our daughter on paper.  I didn't think I would be emotional about this court date, but the finality of the decree and the words below brought tears to my eyes.  She's really ours.

IT IS FURTHER ORDERED, ADJUDGED AND DECREED BY THE COURT THAT THE CHILD GRACE C-H (the previous name on Piper's birth certificate), IS HEREBY DECLARED TO BE THE LAWFULLY ADOPTED CHILD OF THE PETITIONERS, ANDREW AND MARY RACHEL, HUSBAND AND WIFE, AND THAT THE CARE, CUSTODY, NURTURE, EDUCATION AND CONTROL OF THIS CHILD BE, AND HEREBY IS, VESTED EXCLUSIVELY IN THE PETITIONERS.

One calendar year, minus three days.  That's how long this adoption process took from start (filling out the application) to finish (finalization).  An impossible prayer?  Sure seems that way.  Many applicants for adoptions are in the waiting phase alone for over a year.  But the impossible came true.  Today, I'm thankful that God hears our hearts even when we can't verbalize the emotions within it. I'm thankful, amazingly, that I don't plan my life, because 2013 has ended so much better than I could have ever envisioned.  And of course, I'm thankful that my name is next to my sweet angel's on her new birth certificate.  Piper Anna Fenrick- that's the best gift of Christmas.

2013 in Pictures:

January 2- We fill out our application and mail it to Deaconess Adoption.

February 8-9- We complete our agency's required adoption seminar.

February 15- Our friends throw us an adoption party and help us raise over $1,000 to bring Piper home.

Adoption Party Hostesses, Jordan and Abby

March 1- My sweet friend, Jenna, puts together a surprise baby shower for me at work.

Friends at my work shower

March- Piper's nursery is ready.

March- For 30 days, Andrew grows a horrendous mustache, which goes on to raise over $3,000 for Piper's adoption campaign.

April 2- Our home study is complete and approved!

April 5- We have a huge garage sale at my friend, Rachel's, house, to continue raising money for Piper.

May 16- I get a phone call at work from Piper's birth mom, saying that she has chosen us to be Little Girl's adoptive parents.  (I posted this picture to Instagram after Andrew got home that day: "Extra big smiles today because we just found out we are going to be PARENTS!")

May 30- We meet Piper's birth parents for the first time at the adoption agency.  Even our smiles here can't explain the significance of that day.

June 22- Church Shower at Rachel's house

Sweet friends

June 23- Fenrick Family Baby Shower

More Fenrick Baby Shower

June 28, 7:00 p.m.- Piper Anna Fenrick is born at OU Medical Center in Edmond, Oklahoma, weighing 7 pounds, 6 ounces.

Perfect.

I meet Piper for the first time.  The face says it all.

Dad meets his angel.

Our new family.  (Too many visitors at the hospital to post pictures!)

June 30- We get to take Piper home to Norman.  (Our case worker, Bonni, is on the right.)

July 4- Piper's first holiday

July 24- "Mr. Conner" and "Miss Amanda" (Piper's birth parents) go to court to terminate their parental rights.  We love them to pieces.  Now that they have done this, we are allowed to acknowledge Piper's existence on social media.

July 28- My Flower Mound friends (Mandy, Whitney, and Katherine) throw the perfect shower for P.

Flower Mound Shower

August 3- Hicks Family Baby Shower for Piper and her cousin, Andrew (born one month apart)

Andrew's momma

Piper meets her "Nana" (great-grandmother) at the Hicks Family Shower

October 19- Andrew and I run in the "Orphan Love Mud Run" to raise money for 10 different adopting families in Oklahoma, of which we are one.

October 31- Piper's first Halloween with Mom the Princess (and Dad the Frog).  Not that she cares.

November 28- Piper's first Thanksgiving.

December 25- Piper's first Christmas

Christmas Eve church

Christmas morning

December 30- Grace C-H goes to court and becomes Piper Anna Fenrick.

Family

Finally a Fenrick

 Big day

We love you, angel!

The judge

Hicks Family

Fenrick Family

Heck of a year.  Here's to 2014!