Loving My Baby Is My Perfect Expression

I know I’m not the only one who sometimes needs someone to hold on to.  Having my baby Canyon in my arms, rocking him to sleep, playing, giggling, comforting him when he’s hurt, all these experiences literally change me physically.  I can feel it.  A part of me grows and stretches yet also feels secure, validated and incredibly loved. 

Sometimes I feel expressions of joy and gratitude to such an extent that I actually need a baby to kiss.  There is this desire to express myself through loving and taking care of him.  Mothering him is my expression.  His perfect head has received too many kisses to count.  His little body, the way he wraps it around my hips when I jolt out the door, how he fits so perfectly into my arms like a jockey ridding a rickety horse, I just love every minute of it. 

He has started kissing me and those kisses are full of drool, but also an innocent passion.  He loves me without words, only through actions.  He kisses me with eyes wide open, his little pouty breath warming my cheeks and we lock lips.  I tend to be a worrier, a bit scatter-brained, overly optimistic, have high expectations of myself, am task minded and on and on.  This little baby makes me be present, grateful and focused on giant moments of split-second heart-warming experiences. 

He’s a baby.  My baby.  I paid such a price for him.  At first, I didn’t think I could take on such a task of another baby, and here’s what I have to say to anyone considering an abortion, please hang on.  I promise, with all the complications and personal obstacles, with all the work and uncertainty, to get one of those kisses from my baby I paid such a high price for, it is worth it.  Even as he sleeps, I watch and wait, ready for more of everything he has to offer.  From his articulate baby babble to the primal way he needs me, if my arms were empty I would be searching my entire life to fill them with something meaningful.  A baby is impossible to replace.

Don’t let the world tell you anything is more important than your baby.  I’ve had more help with this baby than any of my other children.  People step up.  I could never do it alone.  I have teenagers and a baby and everything between. Raising teenagers while raising a baby is like steering a ship while piloting a plane, but each child plays a critical, perfect role in our family.

My husband and my kids are the number one reason this baby is so happy and well-adjusted.  They are constantly reaching out to him.  Each has there own “special”games, songs and experiences.  I could never provide the education, life lessons and personal development to my older kids the way this baby does.  

He’s our family’s peacemaker.  We all strive to be better and do more because of him.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I wondered what type of child I would have, how I would learn and grow from such a life-changing experience.  At times, I was discouraged and didn't see how it would all work out.  I’ve read, re-read and loved Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  If you have not read these books, you need to.  They are so rich with enormous wisdom and highly entertaining.  I have been listening to their on-line lectures and a theme I’m finding is in order to grow, you have to get out of your comfort zone.

I can’t travel to Italy, India and Indonesia.  I can’t hike the Pacific Crest Trail.  Little did I know having Canyon would be my 1,200 mile hike and my year-long international travel.   Canyon would push me out of my comfort zone.

My baby is my Mt. Everest, with all the training, dreams, set-backs, visions, occasional oxygen mask and life-changing accomplishment that comes with it.  At the peak, he is my beautiful view of the world of the world, my breath-taking scenery and the wind blowing through my hair.  He is my PhD, my higher education and confirmed thesis. 

The world tries to convince women they can only do one or the other. Since I’ve had this baby, I’ve written a memoir, taken charge of my health, gone cliff-jumping, signed up for comedy/improv classes and more.  I did not have to choose between my baby and other experiences life has to offer.  I can do both.

A baby is worth it.  A living, breathing, one-of-a-kind baby is more dynamic and diverse than any experience the world has to offer.  My baby makes me better.  My baby is my beautiful teacher.  My baby smiles and I have seen heaven.  When we dance, when we cuddle, when he toddles towards me with an open picture book I feel a love that expands the cells in my body.  Breathing reminds me I’m having a physical experience, but the love I feel insists the experience is much, much bigger.  

Click here to see it on youtube.

Click here to see it you youtube.

Meet The Castaways

When I was a teenager I was introduced to the view of abortion through the media.  Choice sounded empowering.  According to outspoken celebrities and talk shows, women’s rights and feminism seemed a popular stance.  Sure, I would never have an abortion, but it wasn’t my right to tell another woman she couldn’t.  It was my generation’s way of looking at women and their rights.  Who wouldn’t support anything that helped women? 

Even after having my first child Chandler, I didn’t think it was my place to tell another woman what she should or shouldn’t do with her own body.  Other than that, I didn’t think about abortion until one spring day in 2000 my mom author and researcher Sarah Hinze came over with a stapled paper copy of her new manuscript The Castaways.  20 years of research was compiled into this book.  By the end of the first chapter, I was enthralled.  The book took on life, pulsing knowledge and understanding into my mind.  

Who were these aborted children?  

The Castaways tempted to answer that question. 

I learned about announcing dreams, a universal phenomenon many cultures celebrated.  Unborn children were alive as spirits or angels before they were born.  They lived with God and prepared for their time to come to earth.  These stories, my mom coined prebirth experiences, documented how unborn children communicated with those they loved.  When a mother had a dream, vision or other encounter with her unborn child it served as an unbreakable bond.  The mother knew her child who her child was even before he or she was born.  Such experiences were not shared in defense of abortion; however, they did support the reality a developing unborn baby was not just alive physically, but spiritually.  When their attempt to come to earth was block through abortion and their physical body was destroyed, their soul experienced devastating rejection.  

At the time, Chandler was only a year old.  

I always believed Chandler lived with God before he was born, but this understanding was now on an entirely different level.  I knew I was assigned to be his mother.  Out of all the millions of people who lived on the planet, my son was supposed to be mine.  I knew it to be true and my relationship with my baby took on new love and meaning. 

Although his body was smaller than mine, I knew his soul was exactly like mine; mighty in stature and purpose. 

This understanding filled me with love, respect and I would never look at babies the same.  The Castaways introduced me to the soul of an unborn child and I started struggling with my understanding of the abortion movement.  Never had I considered the child’s pain or predicament before, but it was more than that.  My role in protecting them was urgent.  Not only as a mother, but as a woman it was my role to protect children.  The pro-choice argument stated a child was not a child until he or she was born, but when I understood the purpose of my child abortion took on a whole new meaning.


        My mom’s ongoing research of now 30 years continues to open doors where she can share her message and be a voice for the unborn.  Recently, she was a keynote speaker at the annual meeting of the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women event Meet Women Who Are Changing the World where she had the opportunity to speak out for children and motherhood.  Her lecture titled The Powerful Bond between Parents and their Children shared how women have powerful intuitive and spiritual capacities and that the caring and nurturing of their children is an inherently divine quality.


      Along the same agenda, my mom has made it her mission to help women who have had an abortion.  She states, “I have received a personal witness, and I speak it to those I counsel who have had abortions--there is spiritual healing from abortion through Jesus Christ.  Jesus wants women to heal who have experienced the trauma of abortion.  Jesus is amazing and full of love. He is the Great Physician and if we come unto Him, we can repent and He will wash away our sins that they man be white as snow”.

I'm so proud of my mom and her research.  I think history will show her as a Schindler, making it her life’s purpose to help those who are oppressed and forgotten.  One of the most beautiful experiences is when someone comes forward with a child, thanking my mom for her research; for without it their child would have been aborted.  Here is the 15th anniversary edition of The Castaways with new stories and updated research supporting our children live before they are born, available on Amazon and Kindle. 

I wanted a baby

I have a baby; a beautiful baby with dark brown eyes, an adoring smile and the sweetest personality.

So why did I want another baby when I already had a baby?

I’d just returned from New York City, had a publicist who wanted to sign with me and an agent reviewing my manuscript.

I was finally back in my low-rise jeans, feeling just a wink away from cute; something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I’d nursed an entire year. Surely, I deserved a break.

I’d had 4 babies in 8 years.

Did any of this matter?

No. I didn’t care. I wanted another baby.

Seriously, what was going on?

I went to the counselor, somewhat desperate, hoping he’d talk me out of it.

Surely he’d say, as he tripped over the huge pile of laundry in the living room, “Honey, we’re in way over our heads already. What a ridiculous idea!”

Or “How can we possibly afford another baby right now, with the economy and all the budget cuts!”

I would have agreed with this one. “We already have four boys. You know we’d have another boy.”

But, the counselor didn’t say any of this.

Instead, he took me in his arms and confirmed he felt the same way too.

He wanted another baby.

The counselor and I; so in love with the babies. Really, we just love the whole thing.

So, within a month I was pregnant. I knew it would happen like this. This is how it happened all the other times.

No time to rethink this idea.

It was a done deal.

Now I had to handle the morning sickness.

It came on stronger then ever. The counselor said, “Maybe this time it’s a girl.”

But no, I knew it was a boy. I was thrilled to be having a baby, even a 5^th boy. His name would be Canyon. I already had a few new outfits, baby blue and chocolate brown. Such a cute trend and he would be so loved, so wanted.

I literally read my way through the first 4 months of pregnancy. I layed in bed, Reef and Mayer at my side, and read book after book, novel after novel, the whole time thinking, “This is great training for when I start writing my next YA novel or children’s book.” It was worth it.

I don’t like wasting time and I try to look at the bright side—even when I’m throwing up and getting fat.

The time flew and I was up again; working around the house, cooking dinner once more and chasing my babies.

And wouldn’t you know it, at 22 weeks, during a routine ultra-sound, the word GIRL appeared on the computer screen.

GIRL!

That moment was like my A-ha moment. I said to myself, “I knew it. I knew this baby had to come and she had to be mine.”

It took weeks to sink in. I wondered if maybe the ultrasound tech had made a mistake. Not like I cared, I just wanted a baby. But a girl! A girl for the counselor and me.

I went and purchased my first little outfit, all pink and soft and designer.

I’ve collected ribbons and bows, pink booties and cherry-patterned sleepers. It’s just all so wonderful.

During this pregnancy, I’ve had friends miscarry or suffer with infertility. I worry and wonder why and it makes me sad. I pray for their loss and desire. The older I get, the more I realize what a miracle the whole thing is. Having a baby is such a miracle. Loving a baby is such a blessing.

Pink is the color for me; the color of my flushed puffy cheeks, my swollen ankles and feet and my heart bursting with love. I can’t wait to meet her.

What if?

I go outside in my backyard to pick an orange and like a momma duck with her little chickadee, my baby follows me. Reef loves being outside.

Our giant cottonwood trees have dropped millions of leaves onto the lawn. Each step Reef takes is a giant crunch of dead leaves, the only sign in Arizona that winter is really here. The sun is shining and birds sing like wind chimes

I peel my orange and take the first bite. A just-picked orange is better then candy. It’s the sweetest taste, and in the morning, the oranges are cold.

Image found here.

I stand near the tree and watch my little boy. He’s almost two, but for a few more months he is that precious age of one. Innocence magnified; jumbled words in the sweetest voice, still a bit of teetering when he takes his steps, “Momma,” he says when he sees me; like music.

Reef explores that backyard and our dog, Sierra follows, her behind wagging as she watches. She rubs up against him and he topples over, only to discover the leaves he’s been walking on.

I finish my orange and pick another. My fingers smell like orange perfume as I began to peel away.

Reef is in his own world as I stand near the orange tree, somewhat hidden by the branches. My baby walks to a back gate separating my yard with my neighbors. He pushes on the gate, a gate that must be as old as this 40 year-old house. And wouldn’t you know it, that gate lures itself open.

It must be like the secret garden, an unexplored place to discover. Sierra bounds into my neighbor’s yard and Reef follows, unaware that I’m watching his every move.

I finish eating my orange and waddle my six-month pregnant body over to the opened gate. My neighbors yard is huge, at least an acre, and it hits me like a crashing wall!

Her pool is not fenced!

It’s only been a few minutes, but I’m sprinting through my neighbor’s yard, holding my ball of a baby that’s growing inside me, and I don’t see Reef anywhere.

My neighbor’s pool is in another section of yard, separated by a waist-high block wall and as I get closer I see him. Relief washes over me and I stop to watch. I want to see what he’s going to do. He teeters near the patio of the pool, saying precious little baby words to Sierra. He doesn’t go near the water, doesn’t bend down to see what’s going on, he just stays with the dog in the grass.

“Reef,” I shout, my voice cracks as I start to cry.

My little Reef, named after the sea and my favorite author and my great-grandparents.

And he turns to look at me. His long fly-away hair that curls at the tips, almost white it’s so blonde. His jeans that barely stay up, held up by his diaper because his little buns are so tiny and thin.

“Momma,” he says and he runs toward me.

I pick him up in my arms and he smells like oranges. His soft cheeks caress against my lips and I hold onto him tight, knowing all too well that this moment could hold tragedy and heartbreak just as easily as it holds joy and delight.

What if?

What if?

When the counselor gets home he attaches a new latch onto the gate. He secures it about 10 different ways, testing over and over again if the gate will open with a push, a kick, a tug. It seems secure, but is it?

That night, I cry in bed and the counselor tells me everything is alright. I need his strong arms around me because I can’t get the “what if” out of my head.

The only way to find comfort is to trust in God.

Image found here. Artist, Greg Olsen.

God was with Reef the entire time, most importantly, those desperate moments when he was alone. When have I been alone, teetering, so to speak, near danger, and God spared me?

Our babies, growing up into amazing people and it’s up to us to keep them safe, to hold them when they get hurt, compliment their accomplishments, kiss them until they physically can’t take it anymore (that’s my philosophy, at least) and trust that God will take care of them when we’re not there.