My Karma

Today I spanked Andrew and he laughed at me. So I spanked him again a little harder (he was also naked at the time, so there was no diaper to soften the blow) and he laughed at me again. Hm. Quite the interesting turn of events.

I don't spank often, and when I do, it's either because he's doing something dangerous, or he's being completely defiant. However, I'm starting to think that this approach may not work with his personality, since apparently he equates being spanked with being tickled.

Now, I don't believe in karma, but my mom seems to think that this strong-willed, rebellious little boy I'm raising is precisely what I deserve since I was the same way. She laughs a lot when I tell her things that Andrew does that frustrate me. This doesn't help.

So what should I do? I suppose I should start trying time outs, positive and negative reinforcement, and such like that. Oh, it would be so much simpler if he wasn't like me.

My Husband the Priest

This past weekend my husband was ordained a priest in the Orthodox Christian Church (for those of you who may have never heard of a married priest, let me assure you we're not breaking any rules. In the Orthodox Church the clergy can be married, as long as they get married BEFORE they are ordained). As I stood there watching the Archbishop pray for and lay his hands on Jerry (now officially "Father Herman"), I was struck by how far he and I both were from our original plans for our lives...

Although I've always wanted to be a mom and wife, for me the biggest difference of where I am now to where I was five years ago is the fact that I joined the Orthodox Church. I was raised in an evangelical, Christian home and had never heard of the Orthodox Church until my sister Jennifer converted to it while she was in college. I remember at the time most of my family and I thought she was joining some sort of cult. But gradually as we learned more about it we realized she was still a Christian, and accepted her decision. Fast forward a few years to when Jennifer and I were both living in Chicago. I began going to church with her and her husband simply because I had nowhere else to go. Slowly I discovered a depth and beauty in the Orthodox Church that I had never experienced anywhere else. After much studying and praying I made the decision to be chrismated into the Orthodox Church on Pascha (Easter) of 2005. I could go on and on about the life-altering experience becoming and Orthodox Christian has been, but I'll save that for a different post.

As for my husband, he had a few different goals five years ago as well. He was raised Orthodox, and was still planning on getting ordained, but he was also planning on being a monastic, or celibate, priest. Plans were underway for his ordination when he began having dreams of a wife and family. He started feeling uneasy about getting ordained so he decided to put the plans on hold for a while. A few months later I started going to church with my sister, the same church where Jerry was directing the choir. Our eyes met, the heavens opened, and we were struck by Cupid's bows. Okay, it didn't really happen like that. Let's just say he noticed me, it took me a few more months to notice him, we developed a friendship that quickly became romance, and rest is history.

So there I stood last Sunday, watching my husband take the step he'd been waiting to take for so long, thanking God that we'd both been willing to accept His will for our lives over the future we THOUGHT we wanted. It saddens me to think of what could have happened if we hadn't listened to that still small voice inside of us.

So here we are. Priest, wife, son, baby on the way, and lots and lots of plans for the future. Right now we have a pretty specific idea of where we want to go and what we want to do. I hope and pray, however, that we both remain willing to listen to God and His bigger plans for our lives, and if those plans are something we didn't expect, that we still embrace and accept them. After all, some pretty great things happen when you least expect them to.

My Confession

I hate being pregnant.

There. I said it. Even as I type those words, I feel almost a tiny bit of shame, like perhaps somehow I'm not a good woman or mother, that I am doomed for unspeakable horrors because I've uttered the four words that many women find completely shameful. But the larger part of me (metaphorically now, people; I'm not talking about my ever-widening hips and rear), the hormonal, nauseas, completely exhausted part of me, couldn't care less what other people think. I guarantee you that if you had to go though what I'm going through you'd hate being pregnant too. And thus I write on.

Now before I go on I must confess that there are two really wonderful parts about being pregnant: feeling the baby inside of you, and the end result. My precious Andrew, who is almost 20 months now, also caused me a great deal of misery during his time inside my uterus, and just one look at him now and I know I'd go through nine hundred more months of sickness for him. And I know that for this second child I'll feel the same way. But right now I just feel lousy.

First of all, whoever coined the term "MORNING sickness" was an idiot. For me, the nausea lasts all day and all night. And the authors of all those stupid magazines and books that I've read that say that by the end of the third month this "morning" sickness will go away are also idiots. With Andrew, I was sick (literally throwing up every day) for eight months, and by the looks of how things are going now, the trend will continue for baby #2 (I'm a little over 4 months along).

During my first pregnancy, I had a doctor tell me that my sickness was a "learned behavior." Looking back on that I really wish I would have told him to go carry his own child in his uterus for 9 months and then get back to me.

Now, I know a lot of you who will read this have had perfectly wonderful pregnancies. But to be honest, I sort of hate you right now, so please don't leave me any comments about the wonderfulness that I'm missing out on. What I COULD use, however, is a note of encouragement, a reminder of the wonderful end result, and many, many prayers.

And so I shall end this rather melancholy post with something a bit brighter: the first ultrasound photo of baby #2. It was taken several weeks ago, and I'm not sure what exactly we're looking at, but I DID see a little heartbeat, and have heard it many times since. What a beautiful sound.

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