Dust, revisited

I often say Ash Wednesday is my favorite liturgical holiday. Several years ago (in July, for whatever reason) I wrote a post about why that is, and I was thinking about it again today. Here's my meditation on this melancholy holy-day, copied from my old blog...

Approximately four-and-a-half years ago, I discovered the wonder and beauty of high-church worship. Admittedly, this took several months of steady attendance at an Episcopal church, given that I grew up Disciples of Christ, a notoriously anti-credal denomination.

Once involved in that Episcopal congregation, I observed Lent for the first time, beginning with that most unusual of high holy days, Ash Wednesday. I decided then and there that it was my favorite religious holiday." Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return," the priest intoned, marking an ashen cross on my forehead. While most ash impositions I've seen through the years end up looking like a smudgy thumbprint on the forehead, mine was a well-defined Greek cross an inch-and-a-half tall and wide. I wore it proudly, feeling a profound and silent connection with others I saw who had received ashes that day, knowing that they too embraced this ritual too often forgotten in most Protestant traditions.

I find the Ash Wednesday liturgy so meaningful because of those words spoken as the ashes are imposed: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Combine that with the overall message of solemnity and repentance preached that day, and one will be reminded of the brevity of life, and the weight one's relationship with God carries, given the fleeting and relatively (to the "great scheme of things") insignificant nature of our earthly existence.

While many may take issue with my assertion that our lives are insignificant, let me explain that I cling to that thought out of horror that the burdens of stress, depression, and feelings of inadequacy may really matter in the long run. Rather, I cling to the hope that those things don't really matter, and that my petty human worries will, at the end of my days, seem like specks of dust in the vast expanse of infinite time and space. The writer of Ecclesiastes seems to understand this line of thinking, asserting "Everything is hevel." "Everything is meaningless," some English translations say it, but a more accurate translation is vapor, vanity, or dust. Everything is vapor. All we are is dust in the wind, as the song says.

I remember a night in college, during the semester I took Astronomy. Having learned just how vast the universe is, and how small even our whole galaxy is in comparison to all of space, I looked up at the sky with a new perspective. Distressed over whatever guy was causing me trouble at the time, I cried out to God, and yet at the same time thought, "Why should my problems matter? If the Milky Way is but a speck, how small is Earth, and how much smaller is my own aching heart?" Yet, in the midst of that existential realization, I believed that God still cared, no matter how small I am. It was I who needed to see my problems as but a speck.

As one of my favorite Christian songs says, "I am a flower quickly fading, here today and gone tomorrow, a wave tossed in the ocean, a vapor in the wind. Still, You hear me when I'm calling, You catch me when I'm falling, and You told me who I am. I am Yours." That "still" is so poignant there, offering the listener the dual comfort of knowing the difficulties of one's life are fleeting, and yet God still cares.

I, for one, feel lucky to be dust.

Wordless Wednesday -- Squeaky Clean

Starbucks Baby

Monday, I took Kate for her first trip to the holy ground of St. Arbucks. I had a bunch of articles to edit and had to get somewhere without the Internet! (Since Kate arrived, I've discovered eBay and have become moderately addicted to winning cute Gymboree baby dresses for $.99.)

As she has been every time we've taken her out in public, she was very good! Though she hates getting strapped into the car seat, she falls asleep a minute into the ride, and then stays asleep throughout most of our visit or errand. She loved pumpkin spice lattes while in utero, so I'm sure one of these days, she'll wake up demanding a venti cafe au mommy!

Wordless Wednesday -- Our Little Valentine

(Yes, I've joined Wordless Wednesday, i.e. an excuse to post pictures without the burden of commentary)

Feel the Love

Late this afternoon, I decided I would lay down for a while, read some in Churched, by Matthew Paul Turner, which I've been flying through this week, and take a short nap. Around the time I lay down, though, Kate woke up and it was about time for her next feeding, so I brought her to bed with me. After she ate, I laid her on my chest and she fell asleep while I read.

Soon, our cat Charlotte jumped up on the bed, and though she's been somewhat distant since we brought "baby sister" home, she curled up on my legs and went to sleep. I wanted a picture of me with my two little ones, so I called out to Matt, who was working on his computer in the family room. He didn't answer, and I concluded he must have fallen asleep on the couch. I had my phone next to me, since my mom had called while I was feeding Kate, so I called Matt's phone, which was surely sitting on the coffee table next to him. I heard my signature ring tone echo from the other room, but he didn't answer. I left a voice mail. "Hey sweetie, wake up and bring the camera into the bedroom!"

My high tech "honey do" didn't work, but a half hour later or so, I heard him stir and called out again. He brought the camera, as requested, and after snapping a couple pics, he laid down and went to sleep as well.

Surrounded my my three loves, all dozing peacefully, my first impulse was to take a picture. The camera, however, was across the room on the dresser. I had to fight the impulse to record every special moment, recording it instead in my mind, basking in the great love of that moment. There on that queen size bed rested my loving husband, snoring softly, my beloved kittycat, stretching out her front paw, and my darling daughter, her head nestled warm against my chest. I put the book down and sat silently, watching the chests of my little ones rise and fall. (Ever since my rabbit in college died in the night, I monitor Charlotte's breath--and now that of my child, as many moms do--with great caution.) I memorized the tiniest details of Kate's face, resting inches from my own--her long eyelashes, the infant acne on her nose, the fine, barely noticeable hair on her forehead, the delicate shade of pink inside her ear.

This Valentine's Day, my joy was not in a nice dinner date, a fancy gift, or even the cabernet and brie I'd looked forward to throughout my pregnancy. My joy was in this magic moment. It was time to pump again and time to prepare the chocolate covered strawberries I'd planned to accompany our home-cooked dinner, but I knew the moment I moved, the magic would be gone. So, I sat, gazing at our little family, and thanking God for this amazing, ever-expanding love.

A Day in the Life

Hi there! I'm Kate Kelley, and I'm two weeks old. Mommy has all these cute pictures of me that she wants to share, so she asked me to provide a little narration and tell you about how I spend my time. So, here goes...

I live with my mommy and daddy, who are taking pretty good care of me. They're first-timers, so we have occasional mishaps, like this time they didn't fix my diaper tight enough, and gave me a plumber's crack. How embarrassing! I'm glad Hayes and Gus (little boys we know that were born the same week as me) didn't see that!

Daddy is silly and we have fun together. He does funny voices, and once I learn to laugh, I'll be doing that a lot with him. There's also this little furry creature wandering the house. She doesn't pay much attention to me, but occasionally comes up to sniff me.
My hobbies include sucking my hands...
... hanging out in my pack & play......boosting my brain power by staring at these high-contrast designs Mommy made for me...

... and having tummy time, where I practice the really tough skills like holding my own head up!

Thanks for stopping by the blog! Check in again soon for more adorable pictures of moi!

Second Week of Firsts

Kate is two weeks old today. Despite her early issues with feeding, she is back up to her birth weight now (normal even for babies who didn't experience as significant a weight drop after birth) and the pediatrician pronounced her "perfect" at this morning's check-up.

This past week, we've gotten more settled into our new routine, and have taken Kate on a few outings, including...

Her first walk around the neighborhood. She's not wild about being strapped into her car seat, which snaps on to her stroller at this point, so she cried for part of the walk, but it was nice to get out in the unseasonably warm weather and get a little exercise as a family.


Yesterday, Kate had her first trip into Nashville, which included her first visit to a restaurant--Cozymel's in Cool Springs. She was so good and slept through our entire meal. After lunch, Kate had her first visit to Granna and Opa's house (Matt's parents') where she got to meet her great-grandmother for the first time.
And, not as momentous, I suppose, but she wore her first "outfit" for the occasion (i.e. not a sleeper). I love her little footie sleepers, but it was fun to dress her in "real clothes" yesterday. She is still too small for size 0-3 mos., so she wears newborn-size sleepers and sleep gowns all the time. Even this little outfit required rolled-up sleeves and pants pulled up to her chest! Also in the above photo, you can see the "push present" Matt got me--a right hand ring featuring a garnet (Kate's birthstone) and two tiny diamonds. Matt is an awesome daddy, as I knew he would be. Last night, he let me sleep while Kate wore her fussy pants and refused to sleep more than 15 minutes at a time until 4:30 in the morning. At that time, I got up to pump, and insisted he go to bed while I handled Miss Fussypants. Wouldn't you know, she went to sleep in her pack & play then and stayed asleep til morning, while I slept on the couch nearby? :0)
Poor Daddy--he's a trooper, and is well-deserving of the afternoon nap he's taking right now.

Photo Shoot

After two long posts about our experiences having Kate and bringing her home, it's time to give the people what they really want...PICTURES!! Isn't she adorable?

We plan to do monthly "watch me grow" pictures with a particular stuffed animal, and that lucky animal is Marcel the Monkey (yes, he's named after Ross' monkey on Friends--that's how fanatical we are). Marcel is quite lanky, so it will be fun to see when she gets to be his size and when she surpasses him!
And, just for fun, here is Kate with several of her animals--Bunny, Marcel, and Mo. Not pictured is Suzette the Camel, who fell victim to a vicious projectile poop incident the other day. Not to worry, she was machine washable and is now spick and span.


Ever since a friend of ours gave Matt a big box of "It's a Girl" cigars a couple weeks ago, I've looked forward to photographing our precious gift with the giant pink bow that came on the box.

And finally, this shot is to capture her precious little bod while she still has her umbilical stump. It's coming off well, and I think I'll be sad to see it go! Each day seems to go by so quickly, and before we know it, these tiny hands and feet will be growing big.

First Week Feeding Frustrations

We brought Kate home from the hospital a week ago today, so I wanted to write a little update on how we're doing. To put it mildly, Matt and I are smitten. Kate is the most precious creature we've ever encountered, and we love her so much!

Our main challenge has been in the feeding department. Kate wasn't a very good nurser even in the hospital, but since babies are born pretty well nourished-up from life in utero, and don't actually get hungry for a few days, the magnitude of her feeding difficulties did not become apparent until we got home. She would latch on to the breast only briefly, taking three or four sucks and then letting go, or falling asleep almost as soon as she was put to the breast. (In the hospital, the lactation consultant had originally thought we had a latching problem, due to Kate's desire to suck her tongue and get it in the way, but later just said her sucking was "uncoordinated.") We would have some "successful" feedings, but with her starting and stopping, I didn't realize just how little milk she was really getting. She cried a lot and sometimes refused to nurse altogether Saturday and Sunday. It breaks my heart to think she was really getting hungry, and yet for whatever reason, could not/would not eat.

I could go into more detail, but given the feelings of angst and even failure I felt in those first few days, I'd rather not. It brings tears to my eyes even now to think of it. Suffice it to say, by Monday morning, I called the lactation consultant at the hospital (who I had tried to call Saturday, but she does not work weekends), and she told us to go to the pediatrician ASAP. So, we did, and found that Kate had lost a significant amount of weight over the weekend. The doctor insisted we start bottle feeding pumped milk immediately. I had already been pumping since Saturday, at the advice of my mom's cousin, who is a nursery nurse in California, since I was clearly making more than Kate was eating, and we didn't want my supply to go down. So, we went home and fed her a bottle. Though her sucking was still "lazy," starting and stopping and all, she found it much easier and was able to eat a good amount. From there, things got much better as she was able to sleep well, had clear alert periods, and was much more content overall. We went back to the pediatrician on Wednesday, and the doctor was extremely impressed with the amount that she'd gained back in only two days! So, she's now doing great, and I am pumping and bottle-feeding every few hours, around the clock.

I have definitely been disappointed at not being able to breastfeed her directly, but I am glad to be giving her my milk. As I sobbed to her while bottle feeding her my milk that first day, "I made this for you!" We met with the lactation consultant Tuesday, who was very helpful and hopeful that Kate would feed directly from the breast at least some of the time. Since then, she'll take a nip from the breast now and again, but still gets the bulk of her meal from the bottle. I'm trying to focus on what makes Kate happy and healthy, and not on my own wishes for how this would go, but I'm going to keep working with the consultant to see if we can make progress toward Kate getting at least some of her meals straight from the breast.

Physically, I've been doing pretty well, as the immense discomfort in my nether-regions, resulting from the third degree episiotomy, is gradually improving. In the hospital, it was painful and extremely difficult just to get in and out of bed, not to mention going to the bathroom. I'm still not at 100%, but feeling much, much better. (Advice to other new moms--don't put a mirror down there for at least a week!!)

The emotional side has been a bit more shaky, with the aforementioned feeding frustrations and feelings of failure. In those first few days at home, I cried at least once a day. A good feeding would fill me with confidence that everything would be fine from then on, and a bad feeding would send me to the depths of despair. Love for this child is so overwhelming that all I want in the world is for her to be happy and healthy, and in those moments when she was screaming in frustration and flailing her arms at my breast, I felt I was failing in that most basic goal. Being prone to depression as I am, I have long worried that I would suffer from postpartum depression, and of course, it could still set in, but I do feel quite happy overall, my sadness limited to this breastfeeding issue. I am discovering love on an entirely different plane, and every day is filled with the joy of getting to know and care for this amazing little person.

My Birth Story

Kate is a week old today. I plan to write an update of how that week has gone very soon, but first I wanted to record our birth story, before I forget the details of that special birth-day. This is a long post (with a few graphic details toward the end) that few people will be interested in, I imagine, save for close friends and family, and maybe a few pregnant ladies that stumble upon this blog. That said, here is our story...

My due date was Friday, January 23, which came and went uneventfully. All weekend, we hoped labor would start, since our doctor was the one on call that weekend and we were simply quite eager to have her! We were scheduled to be induced on Thursday, January 29, and had our 40.5 week prenatal checkup scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. At our 39.5 week checkup, I had been 60% effaced but only one centimeter dilated.

Sunday night, I had a huge nesting burst and made my special cranberry oatmeal white chocolate chunk cookies to take into my office the next day (if I wasn’t in the hospital by morning!) so we were hopeful the surge of energy meant labor was imminent. I did, in fact, start having frequent yet painless contractions later that night, but they continued throughout the next day without any increase in regularity or pain, so we just kept a “watch and wait” stance.

Tuesday, January 27, Middle Tennessee had a big ice storm, and my boss had told me to stay home if there was any doubt about the roads (since work is an hour from the hospital, and we didn’t want to have me facing that risk if I were to go into labor). So, I stayed home from work on Tuesday, feeling guilty about not being in the office and wishing labor would start. The painless contractions continued, finally increasing to “moderately uncomfortable” level around 4:00 pm. As I had off and on since Sunday night, I recorded the times and sometimes the duration of my contractions, but they leveled off around 5-7 minutes apart. We had been trying *everything* purported to jumpstart labor—walking, fresh pineapple, spicy food, etc. I was craving some Applebee’s nachos, and while I usually don’t eat jalapeños, we decided to go out to eat and “smoke her out” with extra jalapeños on my nachos. The dish as they brought it to me had only one slice of jalapeño on it, so our waiter (who looked like he could be a bouncer!) good-naturedly brought us a whole cup full of them to help us in our plight.

We had thrown my hospital bag (which I’d had packed since December 28!) in the car, in case we needed to go straight from Applebee’s to the hospital, and were a bit undecided after the discomfort seemed to increase throughout dinner and our post-dinner stop at Hobby Lobby (I had aspirations of doing at least one more scrapbook spread before having the baby, and needed a certain pattern of paper.) Matt leads his Roundtable Pulpit Bible study on Tuesday nights, so we decided to take me home to watch and wait some more while he went off to Starbucks for the study. Feeling tired and even more uncomfortable when we got home, I set the scrapbooking stuff aside and lay in bed doing Sudoku, marking the times and durations of my contractions in the margin of the book. They were still at 5-7 minutes apart (with the occasional 2 or 4 thrown in—totally irregular) and I consulted What to Expect When You’re Expecting for the millionth time, noticing now that it said contractions may never get totally regular at 5 minutes apart or less, so if they are 5-7 minutes apart and last 20-60 seconds each (which mine were), you should go to the hospital.

So, when Matt got home, we debated what to do, finally contacting the doctor on call, who said ideally we’d wait til they were 3-5 minutes apart, but that if we were worried about the weather (it was supposed to start snowing sometime in the night) we could go ahead and go and let them monitor me a while. I really didn’t want to go only to be sent home again, and the contractions were decreasing with activity rather than increasing (as the book—and a few websites and my mother—said they should). So, I went to bed around 11:30. I had trouble falling asleep, and got up around 12:30 with heartburn-induced vomiting. Back in bed, the contractions began to get actually painful, extending around my abdomen to my lower back. After 45 minutes or so of this, unable to sleep from the pain, I called out to Matt, who was awake in the family room. (He’s a night owl anyway, but especially could not sleep given the situation that night!) He sat with me in bed for a little while, and we determined the contractions were steadily coming about five minutes apart. “Well…let’s go!” we said, high-fiving one another, and jumping up to gather our things.

In the 10-15 minutes it took us to get everything together, the contractions increased in frequency to 2-3 minutes apart, and Matt helped me breathe through them on the short ride to the hospital, about two miles away. We checked in at 2:15 am, and were taken to our room, from which we called our parents and Matt text messaged just about everyone we knew. (I told him this could/should wait til morning or til the birth itself, but I’ll admit it was interesting to see who woke up, saw their phone, and responded at 2:30 or 3:00 in the morning. I waited til 7:15 to call my boss and let him know my leave had begun.) The nurse checked me, and determined I was 90% effaced and three centimeters dilated. I was hooked to the fetal heartbeat and contraction monitors, and left to suffer through my contractions for a few hours. They increased in severity, with the pain in my lower back especially misery-inducing.

Around 5:00 am, the nurse checked me again and soonafter came to inform us they were sending us home because I had not dilated any further. We were quite distressed--me because the contractions were so painful and close together already, and Matt because the snowfall was imminent, and he didn’t want us to be on the road in hazardous conditions, possibly unable to get back to the hospital safely. Matt got “crisp” with the nurse and insisted we talk to the doctor before going home. She went and checked with the doctor, and they agreed to monitor us for a couple more hours and see if we dilated any more. I could not be given an epidural until we were officially admitted, so I had to rely on breathing techniques for those couple hours, though breathing and Matt’s “focus on my voice” technique were becoming less effective as the pain increased. We listened to our “baby mix” of special songs (including “Wonder,” by Natalie Merchant, “You’ll be in my Heart,” by Phil Collins, “Let Mercy Lead,” by Rich Mullins, and others) and as I had long suspected, singing through contractions actually did help. It's worth mentioning that the snow did start falling--and sticking--during this time. (Ironically, it was 65 degrees out on our due date five days earlier.)

At 7:00 am, the nurse came to check me again, and declared I was four centimeters dilated. I still wonder if she just took mercy on us and estimated generously, but nonetheless, I was quickly admitted and given my IV, and the anesthesiologist was called to give me my epidural. She came around 9:00 am, and I enjoyed sweet relief from there on out. I was tired from the sleepless night, and the tingly numbness of the epidural simulated that great, super-sleepy sensation one feels when dozing off while reading. I spent the next several hours in and out of sleep, my abdomen and legs so numb that the nurse (a new shift, with the wonderful Cheryl) had to physically pull my thigh out for me, and I could barely feel any pressure when she checked my cervix. I was 6-7 centimeters by 11:00 am, and Cheryl estimated I’d be pushing at noon. Honestly, I was enjoying my sleep so much, I hoped it would be later than that, and indeed, at noon, I was just 8-9 centimeters, and the doctor came to break my water. He found that Kate had pooed already, so I had meconium staining and was told she’d need to be whisked off for respiratory checks right away, rather than getting to breast feed immediately. (Disappointing, but of course her health was priority #1.)

Around 1:15 pm, people came to break down the end of my bed and get all the equipment ready for delivery. Cheryl gave me an “in and out catheter” to empty my bladder. I barely woke up. I kept sleeping until 1:30, when Cheryl and Matt each took a leg and instructed me on when to push. I even dozed off between pushes, I think! Though I’d heard it can be hard to push correctly when you can’t feel anything, I seemed to do pretty well, and the doctor came in with an entourage of nurses around 1:45. He decided to use a vacuum extractor almost immediately, it seemed, and soon declared I’d need an episiotomy too. Supposedly this was because Kate’s head was rather large for my vagina. The vacuum kept popping off, however, (making a frightening noise as if her head were popping off!) because her head full of dark hair prevented a good suction. So, he brought out the forceps, and somewhere in there did the episiotomy. (I didn’t know when it happened, and didn’t want to know! Matt says he turned away when he saw the big scissors come out.) Our regular doctor had assured us she used such interventions quite sparingly, so I don’t know if she would have deemed them necessary as well, but that’s water under the bridge now.

At 2:07 pm, after approximately 37 minutes of pushing, out came Katharine Barry Kelley, weighing 7 pounds, 15 ounces, and measuring 20 ½ inches in length. They took her directly to an exam table/warming tray across the room, where Matt cut her cord and watched as they checked her over. She let out a lusty cry about halfway to the table, and I cried, “Oh, sweetie!” or something to that effect. I could barely see her, given that I was lying almost flat, with a sheet piled up on my belly, but I could see she was a very attractive baby! I cried with joy.

As the doctor delivered the placenta and stitched up my third degree episiotomy (meaning the cut/tear went into the rectal muscle, but not all the way through to the rectum, which would be fourth degree) Matt brought the digital camera over to me, to show me a photo of her. “She’s beautiful!” I said. I got to hold her for a few minutes, but then they had to take her away to the nursery for a full respiratory check, due to the meconium. Matt got to go with her, and they were gone about an hour, leaving me alone except for the occasional nurse who would come in to check my bleeding. That part was sad, as I eagerly awaited her return. We got to breastfeed when they brought her back around 3:15, and then all the grandparents came in to meet their first grandchild. Kate “roomed in” with us in the postpartum ward, so we were rarely away from her for the rest of our hospital stay, and we enjoyed getting accustomed to life as a family of three. We love her madly, and will treasure January 28, 2009 forever as one of the most important days of our entire lives.

Kate's First Outing

We went to the pediatrician yesterday (all three of us), but our first normal errand-running outing was today as Kate and I went back to the hospital to meet with the lactation consultant, Kristi (who is absolutely awesome, by the way) and then to Target and the post office.

Wow, is it tough going places with a baby! First, her carrier is heavy--I can't imagine lugging it around when she weighs 15 pounds, rather than 7! Getting her strapped into the carrier and unstrapped from the carrier...getting the carrier latched onto the car seat base and unlatched from the car seat base...getting the baby into the sling (in which I carried her around Target--very sweet) and out of the sling...plus giving her a diaper change in the car (since Kristi advised we avoid the germ-ridden Koala Bear Care stations in public restrooms... As my college psych professor used to say, "things always take longer than they do."

It's all part of our "new normal," and I wouldn't change a thing.

It's Hard to be a Baby

[That last post, with Kate's video debut, was post 128 on this blog--how appropriate!]

Matt is also posting baby-related things on his blog, matthewlkelley.blogspot.com, if they are theologically related (and sometimes otherwise).

I'll write a more extensive update soon, but in these few moments that I am able to sit down with a cup of coffee, I am trying to read through dozens of e-mails and my GoogleReader queue before my computer gets so engorged I can't get anything out of it (sorry, it's just an apt metaphor for my fourth day postpartum). A lot of blogs I've added to my reader in the last few months have been blogs by new mommies (or experienced mommies) sharing their experiences and thoughts. One--by a friend of a sister of a friend--included this awesome poem that she wrote herself. You can read their story yourself here, but I've also copied the poem here, because it's so darn cute.

it’s hard to be a baby

it’s hard to be a baby
every single day
so many decisions
before me to be made
should i stare at the light or fall asleep
spit up on my mommy, or just on daddy
chew on the binky, my fingers, or both
lay on my tummy or roll over , okey-doke
cry or cry when i get sad
wait, that’s not a decision
now i’m mad
the only thing i know how to say is my cry
what if it’s interpreted wrong
and they don’t know why
all these decisions yet i can’t even choose
what i will wear for my clothes or my shoes

it’s hard to be a baby
something’s happening with my teeth
will it last forever or just this week
most of the time it’s just mommy and me
i love her and my favorite she’ll be
i go where she goes
i see what she sees
she’s always playing with my hands and my feets
i have no control
of my emotions or movements
when i make my sounds
people make commotions

it’s hard to be a baby
when others take care of me
it’s hard to be a baby
with no responsibility
wa wa wa, i get so sad
squeals of delight, and now i’m glad
it’s hard to be a baby
but a baby i am
it’s hard to be a baby
please understand


-by Mommy (Kirsten in Menlo Park, CA)