From Business Casual to Spit-up Comfortable: The Transition from Work at a Bank to Work as a Stay-at-Home Mom

I used to get up at 7am, shower, and go to work.
Now I get up at 2 am, then 5am, then 8am, to nurse our son Judah.

I used to order loan processing documents, manage loan files, and handle multiple tasks for a loan officer.
Now I change diapers, nurse Judah, wash dishes, do laundry, nurse Judah, make dinner, nurse Judah, and try to spend quality time with my husband before we both crash in bed.

I used to be surrounded by the company of bankers, tellers, and customers whom I enjoyed conversing with.
Now I am the only adult from 6am-6pm, in the company of a 2 1/2 week old who can't yet talk other than vocalizing his hunger or discomfort.

I used to count down the days until I could say "Adios" to my job and stay home all day with my baby.
Now I wonder what to do with the quiet.

I am not complaining here; I am merely noting the stark differences in my career change. I knew it would be an adjustment. I knew it wouldn't be completely easy. And though I am so blessed and thankful to be able to stay home and raise our son while my husband works extra hard to provide for us, I nonetheless am still journeying through the unique transition that is leaving a full-time workforce position to become a full-time stay-at-home mom.

It's...lonely. It's quiet. It's boring. It's sad at times. It's relaxing and exhausting. At least, in this stage.

It's also special. Precious. Wonderful to cuddle and kiss and sing to and pray over my son. To know that he will be in my care and not daycare. I thank God for His gift and His provision to Andrew and I.

I'm just...sharing the rawness of this life-changing shift in my vocation. I know many other moms have been here too. Which is why it helps to write about it.

Judah's Birth Story: An Epic Journey (quite literally!)

*This entry is exceptionally long! It is more for my recollection than anything, but feel free to read about our birthing experience. Don’t worry, no graphic details are shared! J *  

Much has happened in the last few weeks, the biggest event being that we welcomed our son, Judah Andrew Easling, on July 7^th! Here are Andrew and I with Judah in our first family picture:

I normally pen my thoughts in a journal, but there’s so much that’s flooded my heart and mind recently, I’m afraid I’m too impatient for pen and paper expression.  So here’s the story of how Judah came into our world.

Andrew and I agreed to induce labor on Friday July 6^th because I was going on a week and a half late with no signs of labor in view. I had been dilated at 1cm for over 5 weeks with no progress and we agreed to protect our baby’s health by not going too far past due. The night before our appointment I hardly slept. Knowing I was finally going to meet our son or daughter kept me tossing and turning until it was time to get up!

Andrew and I walked into OSF St. Joseph Hospital in Bloomington at 6:45am and were greeted by my parents and sister, who prayed with us, cheered us on and videotaped the long journey to Judah’s delivery. The nurses started me on Pitocin at 8:30am. We walked laps upon laps upon laps around the birthing center, waiting for contractions to intensify and for dilation to occur, but the only thing that seemed to be intensifying was my anticipation! It wasn’t until 4:30pm that I had dilated to a mere 3cm and Dr. Dalton, my fantastic OB, came and broke my water. After that, things started to pick up. My contractions became much stronger and closer together, as I had expected but couldn’t prepare for completely.  Andrew and I got in the birthing tub and I labored through the next couple of hours with increasing pain.

The warm bath helped take the edge off the pain, but as time dragged on I started to feel like my body was taking over me. It was a strange feeling; I tried to remember the breathing techniques I’d learned but it became a real challenge to keep my body relaxed. Around 10:30pm or so I gave in and asked for an epidural. They wheeled me into a new delivery room and we waited for the anesthesiologist to arrive, who had to be called in. I remember feeling panicky and almost in tears with each intense contraction hitting me like a giant wave, robbing me of words and leaving me struggling to keep my breath. I kept praying that the anesthesiologist would arrive quickly because I didn’t think I could make it through the next contraction.

Finally the anesthesiologist did come, and O Happy Day!! He couldn’t get those drugs in me fast enough! It took a while to kick in, probably because of my Scoliosis he said, but when it did I finally felt my body begin to relax and I could breathe again. The doctor, who told us he was from Burma, noticed an exhausted smile at the corners of my mouth and told Andrew, “I think she likes my drugs.” I remember sleepily replying, “I love your drugs! You’re my hero!” Soon after that I passed into a blissful slumber. Andrew and I were able to get a good long nap, which was much needed for what we had yet to endure.

It felt like heaven to be able to sleep and not feel the contractions. Every now and then I’d wake to the nurse coming in to check on me. I remember in the wee hours of the morning she checked and said I was at 8cm, and then around 6am on Saturday I had finally reached 10cm and was told it was time to push! They called Dr. Dalton in but she was tied up with another patient, so the nurse began the pushing stage with me. Andrew was by my side the whole time, encouraging me and helping me get into position for each push. With the epidural I couldn’t move my legs or feel myself pushing, but it wasn’t long before it started to wear off just enough that I could feel the contractions coming again. Even though I dreaded feeling the pain again, it was good to know when I needed to push. We had a birthing mirror in the room, so I was able to see our baby’s head start to come down, which was an amazing experience, but also another test of patience because to me, he wasn’t coming out fast enough! It seemed like he’d never make it out!

Dr. Dalton eventually came in and I was so happy to see her! I kept pushing and pushing and pushing, but our baby’s head kept sliding back up the canal. I truly began to feel like I wouldn’t be able to get our baby out on my own, and was approaching the point of sheer exhaustion. It was a strange, feeling like I couldn’t do it and wanting to give up, but knowing that I was the only person on the planet that could push this baby out of my body. It was up to me; I had to keep pushing!

Well, 3 hours later, at 9:02am, our baby finally came out! Andrew helped pull him out, and Dr. Dalton invited me to hook my hands under our baby’s armpits and pull our baby out. I reached out with weary arms and pulled our baby up. As we “helped” deliver our baby, someone said, “We have a boy!” Judah Andrew Easling had finally made his debut!

Right after that was an exhausting yet exhilarating blur of events. Andrew held our son to his bare chest, and I remember shedding tears of exhaustion and relief and joy all mixed together as I reached out and touched Judah’s feet while he was in Andrew’s arms. Then they laid Judah on my stomach, and I got to look at his perfect face. I couldn’t believe this little human had just come out of me! He had arms and legs and a handsome face, and was grunting, making noise! He had a voice! It truly was amazing seeing God’s miracle right there before me. All those months of waiting and daydreaming and finally, here was our son!

The nurses weighed and measured Judah, and all of us including Dr. Dalton were shocked to hear that he was 9 pounds 14 ounces and 21 inches long! It took him a while to get a good cry out, and he had very little Vernix on his body, but he was a healthy baby, praise God!

Andrew and I, upon reflection of the last 24 hours we’d spent waiting and laboring up to Judah’s birth, agreed that it was a blessing for me to have gotten the epidural when I did. Had I not had that rest and freedom from the pain, I would have spent several more hours in intense contractions, which would have likely sapped me of the strength I needed for the long pushing stage. I really think I might have needed a C-Section had I not gotten the epidural, because even which the break from the contractions and the long nap, I still had barely enough strength to push for three long hours.

Now that I’m on the other side of the pregnancy, having gone through an induced labor and getting an epidural (both of which were not a part of our plans!) I can more clearly see the need to be flexible with one’s labor and delivery plan. At first I felt like a cheater or a quitter for giving in and getting the epidural. I felt like a weak Easling (other female Easlings have done home births with no medical intervention—completely natural!). But with Andrew’s encouragement and my own change of perception, I realized that it wasn’t wrong or bad to change our plan, and to get medical assistance with the birth of our son was a wise and helpful choice we made, one that I still feel was worth it.

On top of it all, I had the best hospital experience of my life at OSF! Our room was big and comfortable, and didn’t have that depressing feel of a bleached, bright hospital room. It felt like a master suite. Each nurse that tended to us displayed exceptional friendliness, courtesy, and respect for our needs and desires. This hospital is not at all like the horror stories you hear. They were so willing to honor our desires for labor and delivery, made sure Andrew and I were comfortable, and even tended to some needs of my family who camped out in the hospital in patient support of Andrew and I. They informed us on procedures and tests, and truly made me feel at home. It’s so true that going through the experience of delivering a child essentially robs you of all dignity, and those who know me know I have an aversion to hospitals due to the nature of the often awkward but necessary invasion of privacy, but I had no problem accepting the help of the nurses. When it came time to go home, I didn’t want to leave the safety, security, and comfort of the hospital and staff!

The first night home was the worst. Andrew had to go to work early the next morning, so I got up and took Judah out to the living room every time he wanted to feed. I had no idea what to do! I was up and down, up and down, checking on him in his bassinet, feeling totally clueless and helpless and exhausted again by the next morning. I wanted nothing more than to go back to the hospital, crawl back into bed, and be surrounded by the expertise and comfort of the nurses and staff. I felt overwhelmed! (Shocking, I know). The next night was slightly better, but still a whirlwind. The third night was a little easier than the last, but I still felt alone. I definitely had the Baby Blues. I was so emotional. One moment I’d feel fine, the next I’d feel like I was in a trap of feeding and burping and changing diapers. I wanted to just get the heck out of Flanagan and move to Bloomington, to be close to my friends and other women; to escape this feeling of isolation. My whole world was upside down. I went through a few crying spells, and though I had nothing but love for Judah in my heart, I couldn’t shake the numbing feeling that weighed me down. Thankfully, through answered prayer, the feelings wore off in a few days. I’m still worn, but mostly due to lack of sleep J.  

And now, Andrew and I are joyfully and with many yawns trekking through this first long season of parenthood, all the while thanking and praising our glorious God who created and purposed our son to be born into our care, to be raised up as another warrior for God’s Kingdom!

Mommy Guilt...Already??!?

Five weeks remain until Andrew and I expect to meet our baby face to face, yet already I am experiencing Mommy Guilt for all the things I shoulda/coulda/woulda done in my pregnancy to prepare both myself for Mommyhood and our baby for the world. I’m thinking, Seriously? This baby isn’t even born yet and I already feel like a bad mom with all these nagging regrets.

I should have been eating healthier for the baby.

I should have been exercising more to prepare for delivery.

I should have written those loving letters to our child for him/her to read when he/she is older.

I should have been praying more for our baby’s future, health, and a heart that loves the Lord.

I should have journaled more about this life-changing experience.

I should have been in my Bible more, preparing my heart and life to be an example to our child of faith in Christ and obedience to God. 

Sigh…and it begins. The pressure to have it all together, to stay on top of all those ideals and values and goals, while at the moment still juggling a full time job, keeping up with the house and bills, meeting my husband’s needs, and still trying to be the friend and family member to the many who probably believe I fell off the face of the earth after April 16^th, 2011. Oh, and coping with the ups and downs of pregnancy.

 I don’t mean to complain. But I don’t want to be fighting this Mommy Guilt Monster all my life. Sometimes I wonder why God chose now to give us a child, because I feel so unprepared. I’m not the woman of faith and discipline that I want to be. God has so much work to do in me yet! How can I be the right kind of Godly mother that raises up a generation that loves and fears and obeys God with all their heart, when I feel so far from that point in my own life?

 Thankfully, I’m not alone. I have a God who sees my beginning and my end, who looks at me and sees the glorious reflection of Himself rather than my shortcomings, who has a perfect plan to grow and teach and use me for His glory in my vocation as a wife and mother. Praise Jesus I don’t have to have it all together! Although there will always be those nagging thoughts and anxieties about my effectiveness in raising healthy Christ-like children,  the Holy Spirit is able to do far more than this earthly Mama can do. I’ll just have to remind myself of that….every day for the rest of my life!

“…And He said unto me, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” 1 Corinthians 12:9

Smalltown, USA

Going from southern California to Bloomington, Illinois (population 190,000) to Flanagan, Illinois (population 1,100) has been an amusing change over the years. Never having known small town life other than when I'd stay over at friends' houses in my school years, I'd always sort of thought it would be neat to live in one. But I've quickly learned that it's easier to grow up in a small town than to move to one that you have little to no connection with. Here, everyone knows everyone (or just about). Their family. Their financial situation. Even their medical history. Some of these village folk knew who I was before I knew them. Freaky! Here are a couple of my observations & thoughts about the small town living that my husband and I have been adjusting to since moving here a year ago:

-I work at the only bank in town, so I meet a lot of interesting people. I have concluded that most of the population of Flanagan must be chain smokers. Or maybe that's just the farmers.

-Because everyone knows everyone, some also expect that you know exactly what they want when they walk into the bank. They toss a check at you without a word or leave it in the night drop without any note, assuming you'll know their account number, balance, and their  precise wishes for the particular transaction. This  drove me nuts for a while (how rude!), but I can appreciate the fact that these people trust their bank as family, and the bank takes good care of their "family" customers. You won't find that at Chase or Bank of America.

-People here drive tractors, golf carts, and lawn mowers around town. One lady routinely goes on a "walk" in her electric wheelchair with her small dog accompanying her in an affixed basket.

-Some of my "stranger danger" training from my youth has had to be adjusted to the way people are here. I have learned that not every man or woman who wants to know exactly which house I live in here is wanting to stalk me. They are just nosey.

While some people seem strange, others creepy, and most friendly and...well, old, I can say this:

At least everyone here waves hello at you wherever you're going. And it's nice that the UPS man brought my package to me at work when he saw I wasn't home two blocks away. The post office guy is another buddy to joke around with, and the Casey's manager often brings us free donuts at the bank. There is a dang-good pub that serves delicious & cheap burgers, and a grocery store that, while I would only shop there under dire circumstances, has a friendly owner who always has a smile on his face.

Sooo...here's to Smalltown, USA: the good, the bad, and the strange!

Motherly Love

Something about mothers strikes me as profound: No matter what their children look or act like, no matter what they go through or put their family through, there is a hard-to-explain, deep affection mothers feel for their children. An unconditional love that drives them to new levels of sacrifice, commitment, and protectiveness they never knew they were capable of living.

All these years, I have been the child on the receiving end of that kind of love. But in three months I will cross over to a new perspective, will take on the name "Mommy", look into my baby's eyes for the first time, and experience the incredible rush of new-found love that is Motherhood.

I think I am beginning to understand that bond.

As our baby kicks, stretches, turns, and and even hiccups inside my body, I smile in wonder at the thought that within me is growing a new human being; a child, a person who has an identity and a future. A child that God created by bringing my husband and I together in such a beautifully unique and intricate way that no evolution theory could begin to explain; a child that will reflect Andrew and I in physical likeness and personality. A child that has a name and a place in God's plan for His glory.

I do not know if this baby is a boy or girl, but I am ever more growing a love for this tiny person inside me. I cannot wait until I can meet him or her for the first time, see what he or she looks like, and finally hold in my arms the one I have been praying for since my youth. (If your heart desires to have a husband and family, start praying for your future husband and children now! Even if you're only 15! It is powerful and effective.)

I still cannot believe that I am going to be a Mom. I have dreamed and prayed and fantasized about it ever since I was a girl, and now it is finally here! God has been faithful in His promises to me! It has come as I have trusted Him to fulfill the very desires HE gave me.

I am ready to enter into that Motherly Love that will change my life forever.

Here Goes.

I’m taking the plunge, making the jump, leaping across the line from paper journal to electronic blog. In the old days when I was single, in college, and working part time, I would spend hours—hours—at my favorite coffee shop, iPod turned up, with my Bible, leather journal, and a hot cup of chai as my friends.

Now that I’m married, working full time, and preparing for our first baby to come in just 4 months I’m wishing I had that same free time to slip away, get lost in my Bible, sip on a French Mint Mocha and pour out my reflections on my favorite parchment.

But times are different…now that I live 40 miles from my favorite coffee shop and juggle work, keeping up our house, and caring for my husband (phew…we don’t even have kids yet!) I may never have that kind of free time like I did before. Needless to say, my hobby of writing has been put on the back burner. But I have observed in myself in the last year a growing ache to release my thoughts and dreams and desires, if for nothing more than release itself, although I always enjoy feedback from those who read my words.

So I’m conforming to the trend of many other writers. I cringe at the thought of giving in to the information age, giving up my paper journal for a broadcast blog, and detaching myself in a sense from the joy and discipline of taking the time to handwrite my thoughts. I tell myself that I will still steal any opportunity to get away and write in my favorite parchment journal…this blog will just be my outlet for those day-to-day ponderings that I will likely not have time to sit down and write out by hand, away from all distractions, especially once our son or daughter arrives.

Thus…welcome to my Parchment Ponderings; paper-meant thoughts in a paperless age.