A Short History of My Breasts

I wrote this a few weeks ago as a post for Feminist Mormon Housewives. I also wanted to post it here.

A Short History of My Breasts

The other day I saw a beautiful picture of a naked woman in the woods. Surprisingly enough, when I saw the picture, it brought tears to my eyes. Apparently seeing someone the way they are, still smiling, even though another person is present to see their nakedness, to feel so comfortable to share yourself in such a way, was deeply touching to me. And also filling me a bit with envy. Because I'd rather die than have anyone see me naked. It got me thinking about my own discomfort with my body, and a life-long dislike in particular of my breasts. So, let me share with you a short history of my breasts.

When I was 11 years old, I got in a car with a strange man. He took me to a near-by forest, where supposedly an injured foal was laying, needing (my expert) help. Obviously, there was no foal. And as the man was walking in front of me into the forest, I suddenly realized the danger I was in, and thought I would get murdered in this forest. But the man turned around, said this was not the right spot, and we got back in his car. While sitting in his car, I noticed his penis hanging out of his pants. I also knew I had to get away, and decided to jump out of the driving car.  Unhurt, I got up and was heading for a corn field, when the man made one more attempt to lure me in, asking me to "do him some favors". I just ran off.

This experience set an early tone for how I would view my body - an object, wanted or needed by others for their own purposes. Maybe a year after this traumatizing event, I went to the public pool in my little home town. I do not recall the exact events, but remember wearing a modest one-piece swimsuit, and that I was standing in line for the slide, when some boys, maybe 14 years old, commented on my breasts. Even though I cannot remember if the comments were positive or negative, I can still almost feel the blush on my cheeks, and the embarrassment I felt. There I was, with nowhere to hide, and my body had just become an object of public commentary, something to be noticed, talked about, critiqued, like the rest of me was not there.

Then, one day, after visiting a friend who was also a member of the Church, I came home with a bikini the mother of the family had given me to keep. I had never worn a bikini, but appreciated the gift. Yet, when my parents found out about the bikini, it was promptly taken away. I did not understand my parents actions then. I was unsure why the bikini was upsetting to them. Nonetheless, I did understand that wearing one was not ok, and I felt guilty for having wanted to wear it. I was thirteen.

As a teenager I started dressing in ways to hide the shape of my body, especially my ever-present, and ever-sticking-out breasts. When I was looking for a dress for a dance, I found a beautiful dress that was luckily not emphasizing my breasts more than I wanted, and that I felt looked beautiful on me. However, my parents strongly objected to my wearing this dress, since the sleeves were half-off the shoulders. I ended up wearing a borrowed, simple dress from a friend, that fit too snuggly around my chest. The evening was spent self-consciously folding my arms in front of my chest.

I kept hiding myself under unshapely clothes, in hopes that no one would notice my body, or especially my breasts. That no one would comment. Maybe I was succeeding when a boy I really liked at age 16 called me fat. But I couldn't help thinking that part of my "fatness" was just my large breasts that would stick out and make the large clothes fall like a tent around me.

At 18 I was looking into breast reduction surgery. At the first appointment to schedule the surgery, I had to stand topless in front of a doctor, who analyzed the shape of my breasts, drew lines on  them and took pictures of them. A normal medical procedure, I'm sure. Yet, I felt deeply ashamed, and humiliated, wondering what this man was thinking as he drew on me and looked at me. The final obstacle to my surgery was having to see a gynecologist who approved of the surgery. Again, I was being seen by a man. He was kind, and felt that I was pursuing the surgery merely out of desperation (I certainly was! I just wanted those evil breasts gone), and encouraged me to wait a little, give the idea more time, and that as a professional, he felt my breast size was completely normal. When I came home from this appointment (that effectively prevented me from having the surgery), I grabbed a pair of scissors and chopped off my hair. I hated my body. I hated who I was. I hated the face looking back at me from the mirror. And in that moment, I wanted every part of my body to look as ugly and horrible as I felt.

Shortly before my twentieth birthday, I got endowed. Again, I remember the discomfort of not wanting my breasts to be noticed, and yet not wanting to look fat in the tent-like temple dresses rented out to patrons. My garments also complicated life as they kept riding around under my bra. Sometimes they'd get "sucked in" and slipped below my chest. I had now entered a new stage of life, where I'd be adding constant adjustments to a body part I already tried to not draw any attention to. Even further, for one part of my temple ceremonies, I could not wear a bra, and I tried to hide the embarrassment of walking around with completely uncontained full breasts with a humble look at the floor. They did not seem like receptacles of pure and virtuous principles. Instead, they were weighing me down with fear, shame and self-hatred. They seemed to make others uncomfortable in one way or another, and no matter what I did, they were always there. Doing what breasts do, without asking my permission.

I carried on, covering up, trying to hide the breasts God gave me, often times hating him for having burdened me in such a way. Why would he give me something that was impossible to hide, yet seemed to only bring out the worst in others, something that seemed to take over everything else I was? I hated God sometimes. Hated him for obviously being a man, because a woman never would have given me these breasts. A woman would have understood.

Then I met my future husband. When he brought me to a family reunion to meet his family, I later found out how some of them joked that he must be dating me for my breasts. There they were again, those breasts. They seemed to be what people noticed first.  But I did not want my husband to notice them. I wanted him to see me, love me, talk to me. For a long time, I avoided any water activities, because I did not want my husband to see me in a swimsuit. I knew my breasts were being squished together into a big "monoboob" in a swimsuit, and looked so unattractive along with being so very visible, that I couldn't bear the thought of a man I liked seeing me like that.

When I had to start looking for wedding dresses, terror filled my heart - terror that no dress would accommodate my chest, or that they would not fit well, making my breasts ooze out, take front and center stage, and possibly, on top of it all make me look fat.  I cried quite a few tears as I tried on dress after  dress, trying to find one that worked with those hated breasts.

But there was a deeper-seated fear in my heart, beyond the fear of how I would look in a wedding dress. I was terrified of my husband seeing me naked. In my heart, I just knew he'd be disappointed. I knew I could not measure up to whatever he had hoped for. Even though society seemed to value large breasts, I knew that my breasts were ugly. And bad, because they made me feel so uncomfortable when others noticed them.  The weeks leading up to our wedding, I would often stand in the shower, and end up crying on the floor of the tub as I looked at and felt my naked body.

During our wedding night, my husband left my breasts alone. Those hated breasts. Then I cried and cried the next morning, while my husband got us some food. I had faithfully hid them away all those years, and tried to ignore the discomfort and embarrassment they brought into my life. But now, as much as I hated them, I still wanted someone to love them, or love me, despite everything those breasts seemed to entail. Luckily, it was just a misunderstanding, and my husband simply did not want to objectify me, or make me think he only cared about my breasts. Because that's what we care about in society - breasts.  And that's is all I thought I was, for better or worse, - a pair of breasts.

With marriage, eventually, came pregnancy, and the breast hiding continued. I was now constantly tugging at my bra, as my breasts gained in size, and didn't fit into my bras properly. They'd spill out on top, once again leaving me embarrassed as I tried to push the "double-boobs" back into a bra that refused to fit. No blanket seemed big enough to cover the space I needed covered when nursing. The first weeks of motherhood, I hid in my bed room, too ashamed to have anyone see me, even my own mother. To make nursing easier, I now also wore my garment tops  over my bra. Yet, an unpleasant side-effect was that my big breasts made pretty much any shirt a tight fit, and parts of my garments that I had covenanted to keep private were on constant display. I tried to remedy the situation by getting silk-screened tops, but the distribution center said they could not do that. Finally, during a flight my husband was trying to help me stay covered as I nursed our baby, and had to endure my anger when he accidentally bared some of my breasts for a second. No one should have to see my breasts.

But if it was not pregnancy or nursing, it was always something else. About a year after my first child was born, I ran my first half-marathon. My husband took a video clip of me as I passed the 10-mile marker. When I saw the clip, I immediately deleted it. Even though I looked proud and strong as I passed mile 10, my breasts were clearly swinging side to side, despite two sports bras I was wearing. The image horrified me, and overshadowed my accomplishments of a race well run with concerns of people having seen me with breasts bobbing all over the place.

Now my breasts just sag, almost down to my belly button (ok, maybe not quite), after having busted the buttons on many a shirt, moved garments up and down, exposed themselves by accident to various people, have been drawn on, felt and squished by various doctors and nurses, invited commentary, created inappropriate thoughts, fed 3 babies, pleased my husband, and met people before I did. My breasts  - two parts of me that seem to define me, control me, and dictate what the world notices about me.

When I saw the picture of that naked woman, I thought of my breasts. My body. And how I feel I've never owned myself. I wish that I could experience that paradisiacal moment Adam and Eve experienced in the Garden of Eden. To be naked,  to be without shame over my body, to push away the world that tries to own it, and see myself, the human God made, and know that this body I wear is "very good". "And I, God, saw everything that I had made, and, behold, all things which I had made were very ^agood;" (Moses 2:31).

The Only True and Living Church

Ok, I want to talk about that. The only true and living Church. This is something we hear a lot in Church, that we're the ones with all the truth, the only ones with all the truth, and in essence how important being Mormon is to your salvation. After all, that's why we do missionary work, right?

Well, that's something that has changed for me. I really don't think I can confidently say anymore that I think we're the only 'true' Church. Let me tell you how I got there.

A while ago (like at least a year ago or so), I started thinking about how God loves all of his children. The atonement was a gift provided and done so ALL may partake, and all may have the opportunity to return to Heavenly Father. There are so many scriptures that indicate to me that God is a pretty fair guy who will give us all the same realistic shot at salvation.

I think most Mormons believe that. Yet, we also believe that it's terribly important to become a member in this life. We spend lots of time discussing how we can better share the gospel, and basically how we can be better missionaries. Somehow, bringing people into the Church is a huge deal. We also spend a lot of time on redeeming the dead, because we believe these ordinances to be that important. Well, that's all good and dandy. But one day, when I looked at what percentage of the world population Mormonism makes up, I ran into a problem. With our 14 million members (which includes at least 50% of people who are completely inactive or may not even consider themselves Mormon anymore), we're not even making up 1% of the world population. Actually, it's more like .5% of the world population. We're  basically nobody, in terms of religion. And that got me thinking...

I was wondering if it's so important to become a member in this life, then how come that the gospel is only accessible to a miniscule population of the world. Obviously, this may not necessarily be God's fault, since many laws that prevent missionaries from entering certain countries are probably not something God created. But I also think God knew  how the world would be, that people would be living in various situations and with different religious up-bringings and that it'd be pretty hard for many of his children to either even have a chance to hear the gospel, and  if they did hear it, maybe not be able to change their hearts, because our upbringings can be such that it's really really really difficult to embrace another way of thinking and/or believing.

That's, of course, not yet reason to despair for us Mormons. Because, luckily, we believe that if someone didn't have a chance to hear the gospel in this life, then no prob - they can hear about it in the next life.

I love that concept, and it works for me. Except, if it is no big deal to hear about it in the next life, then why are we making SUCH A BIG deal out of hearing it in this life? I mean, we push missionary work like nothing else, and we despair over all those people who don't join and/or go inactive. But if there's hope in the next life, then what's the big deal? Why not just serve people, and take things as they come?

My understanding was that we still somehow believe you're better off as a member in THIS life, because, you know, things we learn in this life will come with us to the next, etc. But then I struggle again with that idea, because it puts the lucky ones who were born into the Church or managed to hear about the Church at a very unfair spiritual advantage. And I can't believe that's how God operates.

I thought about this for a long time now. And I've simply come to the conclusion that I don't think being a member of the Church is terribly important. I do think it's important that we follow Christ. I think learning christ-like attributes (aka becoming like our Savior) is the goal of our mortal existence, and I believe that all of God's children can learn these attributes regardless of their life situation and/or religious back-ground. In other words, I think a Hindu or Muslim or Catholic or Mormon can all learn to be honest, kind, chaste, long-suffering, serving, faithful, etc. I also think that commitment to God is important, and blesses us, but I suspect that God can also accept that a Hindu who's expressing his devotion in ways that may differ from the Christian approach, is still worthy of God's guidance, love and equal chance at salvation as any Mormon would be.

I just cannot imagine that I'm the lucky one, who was born into Mormonism, who now has this huge spiritual advantage and privilege and everyone else has to just hope for the best, wait till the next life, or who knows what. I just cannot believe it. It seems so...unfair.

But of course, with those thoughts, I've also started wondering how important it is for me to dedicate endless amounts of time to shove my beliefs down someone else's throat who's maybe perfectly happy in their faith, and is clearly becoming a better person by virtue of their religion (possibly even better than half of the active Mormons I know). And why should I spend endless amounts of time redeeming the  dead, when I have people in this world, right now, right around me, who are in great need NOW. Certainly, those who've already passed on, can wait a little longer on their salvation, now having a better, and more eternal perspective?

I still think there are great blessings that come from having the doctrines of our Church available. Actually, I think our doctrines are the gospel of Christ. And I think those doctrines will bring the growth and happiness that are important for all of us in this life. But, I don't think being Mormon is an actual doctrinal truth and/or need. I mean, you can actually be baptized by a priesthood holder, and NOT become a member of the Church. You're not being baptized INTO the Church, if you think about it. It's just kind of a side-effect of baptism. So, to me it seems that the ordinance of baptism, and Church membership in truth are two separate matters.

Dunno...I don't claim to have it all figured out. But I really struggle these days to think that we're the smart know it-alls, who have all the truth and what not, who have the only way to Salvation, and those other 99% are just terribly unfortunate. Really? It seems so....unlikely, and unfair.

Confessions

Ok. I'll admit it here and now. Life is crazy right now.  I think I've been in denial for a while, but I just feel...overwhelmed, and completely out of balance.

Emilia has definitely pushed us into new territory in terms of parenthood. Suddenly, taking care of kids, and the house seems a relentless job, that's always needing attention. I feel pushed to choose between order, and paying attention to my children's needs (something I struggle with), and taking care of my own needs. It's been hard.

In short, I feel like my life is unraveling somehow. I struggle with my weight. I struggle with eating healthy. I struggle with getting enough rest. I struggle with giving my kids enough attention. I struggle with teaching them all the things I want to teach them. I struggle with getting exercise. I struggle with working on developing myself. Henry and I struggle finding time for just the two of us. And lastly, I struggle with Church.

I'm sure I'm missing some struggles, but that would just be another struggle, right?

Oooophh. I used to write for sanity. Now I don't even feel like I have the energy and/or desire to write. Yet, I want to capture what is happening in our lives. I want to capture my kids, and their lives. Because, crazy as it all feels right now, I love them. Dearly. Deeply. Emilia has stopped crying as much. She's been rolling over. She's has the biggest and cutest and most ready smiles on her face most of the time. Alba is full of songs, and words, and is wild and independent, and loves horses and sheep. Sophia is curious and always eager to learn, and to meet new friends. Alba and Sophia are both kind and helpful. We do a lot of family trips. Things are good. And yet, I just feel tired and overwhelmed. Ooophhh.

But, I didn't want to write about family today. I wanted to write about Church. It's been on my mind, a lot. And for years now. So, here are my religious confessions. My testimony isn't the same it was a few years ago. I'm not sure anymore what it is these days, but it has changed a lot.

A few years ago, things started changing. I had heard quite a few stories about/from friends about how they were treated by various Church leaders. It wasn't just friends though, it was also family. Some of the stuff was just "wrong" while other stuff was "really wrong". It came coupled with friends leaving the Church (good friends, honest friends, faithful friends who had served missions and had been active their whole lives), and rode on the back of having had my best friend leave the Church years before, with lots of tears, and hurt feelings, saying no one ever looked into Church history and no one understood. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I said, I'd look. And I did...and started reading more about polygamy, one of the topics that bothered her the most (I think). And when I was done, I was deeply troubled as well. Something had already changed back then. I felt back then that Joseph Smith must have made a mistake with all the polygamy stuff. I just couldn't believe it was off God. And if it wasn't God's will, then Joseph Smith messed up. And that day, my beliefs about prophets changed. I technically never believed prophets to be infallible. Our doctrine is clear that all men can/will make mistakes. The scriptures are full of examples. Yet, somehow, I still held the notion that at least the high-up leaders, like, apostles and prophets, cannot really make any major mistakes. Just tiny ones. Just itty-bitty sins of omission or something.

When I started hearing story after story of misconduct by leaders, it kept grating at me, and really made me feel like inspiration is a hit-and-miss matter. That prophets, apostles, seventies, and local leaders MAY be inspired, but not necessarily so. Some things are true. And some things are just personal opinion and bad or out-dated advice/views.

Anyway, basically, I started thinking more about Church, about Church culture, what is actual doctrine, and what's just tradition. I've read more and more about Church history, past teachings, and current teachings...and wow. It's like I've opened pandora's box of religion, or something.

The funny thing is that as my views and beliefs have kind of changed, and evolved, I've not really dared say much about it. Almost 2 years ago, I posted something on this blog about how priesthood leaders can be bad. A ward members (not a friend) somehow read the post, and passed it on to my then bishop. Without me knowing it, my bishop started reading my blog, and another blog I had started. He also tried to assess my testimony, without letting me know though that he had been informed about my blog by a member who was troubled by  my views on the priesthood. When I arrived in my new ward, and had a temple recommend interview with my new bishop, I was called back into his office a few weeks after. What followed then was one of the most awful Church experiences of my life. My bishop called me and Henry in. We thought we'd get a new calling or something, but my Bishop started asking me whether I still had a blog under this address. I confirmed it, but was confused as to why he'd know about this, and why he'd ask about it. Within seconds I was "on trial". Literally. My bishop told me that he had called my old bishop, that he told him about this blog, and his concerns, and my new bishop suggested that he may have to take my recommend because I had been lying. All the while, I sat there, in shock, with no clue what he was talking about, what I had supposedly lied about, and just in general what the hell was going on. No one had EVER talked to me about what was going on. Henry also just sat there stunned.

It took quite a bit of talking to set the matter right. I called my old bishop, who admitted that maybe he should have talked to me about it, but who did not feel that listening to the tattling of a ward member was inappropriate. No. He said it was all done out of love and concern. Of course.

The reason I share this is because this experience for the first time let me see what it's like when you're being mistreated by a leader. It was the weirdest thing. I barely dared to tell any members, because I was afraid of being seen as the one in the wrong, that I MUST have somehow contributed to being treated this way, or maybe, that this wasn't as big of a deal. When I told a non-member they were shocked I was putting up with such crap, and that anyone would dare treat someone like that over something private like a blog post.

This experience has only cemented my dwindling trust in Church leaders. Add to that, having had major, MAJOR problems with our ward primary president since we've gotten here, and having been chewed out by the Bishop over the issues as well when I tried to bring them to him for resolution.

So, ...what was my point again? I don't know. The truth is that I have very little trust in Church leaders anymore. I really don't. I've met kind, good leaders who truly seek to serve, and who I'm sure seek inspiration. And I've seen the opposite. I've realized that no matter what office anyone holds, inspiration is not a given. And I need to seek truth independently. Whatever someone says, I need to verify that that is true or not.

As I've tried to do that, and as I've read and pondered the gospel more, tried to understand doctrine and culture, I've learned a lot. I've learned muchmuchmuch about those who feel disaffected with the Church. I've learned more about we push  people out of the Church with our dogmatic approach to just about everything. We seem to always be threatened by anyone who doesn't fit the mold, who expressed unorthodox views, and who doesn't do as everyone else does.

Realizing that has been hard. And painful. I participated in something called "Wear Pants to Church" day (google it, if you haven't heard of it). It was just about wearing pants to Church for one Sunday. You'd think something as trivial as the clothing on the lower part of my body would hardly matter. I wore pants to Church for that day, nice dress pants...no one said anything and yet, I found out later, the whole ward has been talking about my pant-wearing ways.

I've started to see...see how much time and thought we dedicate to what people wear, whether they wear skirts or pants, white shirts or not, whether they have just one pair of ear-rings or more. It's like we're getting caught up in rules, and details that have no impact on our Salvation. Mostly, because we take stuff prophets say, and run with the obvious as if it's Gospel truth. Without thought. Without discernment as to whether it's advice, opinion or doctrine.

Ok. I'm rambling. I realize it. But it's just all coming out, and I want to talk about this. I want to talk about how strange it is how we do all these things in Church, some of them we don't even know why. I mean, for example, paying tithing. It seems like some known fact that a "full" tithe is 10% of your income either right after taxes, or before taxes were taken out. Really? How do we know that? There are some scriptures, but those scriptures don't teach that concept. If there are statements from prophets, where are those? How come they're not canonized or easily accessible, considering that paying a full-tithe is something I need to do to enter the temple (something deeply important for my salvation, right?).

I...I don't even know where to start. It's like I've opened the flood-gates of questions. There is so much that doesn't make sense to me anymore. There is so much that still makes complete sense to me. There is so much I believe the same as I've always believed. And much that has changed.

But the reason why I share all this is that the crappiest part of all of this has been feeling like an outcast. Like an apostate - because back in the day, when I heard others share some of the things I'm thinking about, I'd always think of them as apostates. I remember my best friend making a comment to me (before she left the Church) about stuff that bothered her about Brigham Young. And I teasingly called her an apostate. Because...our leaders are always right, correct? Clearly, if you have any doubts, any questions about the Church, that's the only thing you can be.

It hurts so much. And it's felt so terribly lonely. Because, I haven't really changed. I just went to the temple last month. We still pray. We still do FHE. We still go to Church every Sunday. We still read our scriptures. I teach in RS. Nothing is really different. And yet, it feels like everything is. And feeling alone, like you can't say it, because everyone always assumes something is wrong with YOU, just sucks.

I saw this clip a few weeks ago. It's really cheesy (because, that's just what you get when Mormons makes little movies), and I don't like the ending (because, happy endings aren't always what happens), but when Henry and I watched, we still kind of sat there, and felt like this was a pretty good rendition of our situation.

Watch the clip here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=nR3uxbxRUz8

And...now I've said it. And there's much more I could say as I've thought and pondered my faith and our doctrines. Like, I think women should be ordained to the priesthood. And that I'll continue wearing pants to Church, unless I feel like wearing a skirt. And I've worn pants to the temple. And I now consider myself a feminist. And that I think we can do so much more to create equality within the church. And that we should. And that I feel it matters.

Read this http://boydpetersen.com/2013/03/21/fourteen-years-later-a-response-to-the-priesthood-mens-last-best-hope/ and this http://www.fairlds.org/fair-conferences/2012-fair-conference/2012-to-do-the-business-of-the-church-a-cooperative-paradigm on the topics of equality within the Church.

I could talk about so much more that I don't feel so sure anymore to be "gospel truth". I could also talk about how I'm not so sure I've got it right, how daunting and overwhelming it is to feel responsible for getting your personal answer on every thing you hear and should act on. Being an authentic person, who acts with purpose and integrity, and tries to really find truth and act accordingly...it's a bit scary sometimes. And so I'm sure I get things wrong. Even worse, going against the grain, going against the status quo, even if you truly feel it's right is not easy. It makes you doubt yourself, and your answers and feelings.

So, again it sucks. And even suckier is the thought that I may post this, and still a lot of my friends may not really get what I'm talking about. Or feel uncomfortable, and withdraw from me...

Life is tricky these days. How did I get here?

Learning

Last night, after a conversation with my sister-in-law, I had to think about why it is that certain things seem to repeat themselves. I really feel like Henry and I are in almost the same situation we were in about a year ago, with the only difference that we're not losing a baby this time, but hopefully adding one healthy little girl. But other than that the set-up seems pretty darn similar. Did we not learn what we needed to last year? Just now though, I think we did - and it'll help us survive and be fine.

We learned to lean on friends and family. We learned to have faith, and especially faith in the power of prayer. We've learned more about communication and specific goal setting. We've learned that sufficient rest is crucial during these times. I've learned that I can be ok with things, no matter the out-come. We've learned that we're very loved, and extremely supported. We've learned that there can be happy endings, even when you feel like all that's ahead is hopelessness.

I think we've learned a lot last time. Now we get a chance to apply it. I'd be ok without that opportunity, but I guess part of what we also have to learn is that life just happens. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it's tiring, sometimes it's hard, and sometimes it's everything at once.

Don't You Feel Special?

That's what Henry asked me last Sunday. My answer? "Nope I don't!". And then I started crying. So, last weekend was a bit emotional for me. On Saturday, while we were out as a family, I saw myself in a mirror (never a good thing for me) and that has a tendency to trigger bad feelings. Sure enough it did. I couldn't help but feel that I somehow resembled a whale, and not a cute pregnant woman. Once that thought took hold, other thoughts just came rushing in - thoughts of all my shortcomings and failures and what not. So, I started feeling really sad, and I still did on Sunday. When Henry and I talked on Sunday evening about this (he was surprised I still felt bad the next day), this was a question he asked. And when I thought about it, I wasn't feeling special. Not one bit.

When I asked Henry why I should feel special and he answered "because I love you" that made it just worse. And here is why. At that moment, I realized what was really weighing me down was who I, Fran, was in the eyes of the world. Thinking about that I felt that by any worldly standard, I truly wasn't special. I, Fran, had nothing going for myself - and to think that maybe the only thing that made me special was, again, not something of my own merit, but someone else's feelings for me, just cemented all my concerns (though of course, I'm glad that Henry loves me!).

All I could see was that here I am, almost 33, and I've never had a salaried job, I can't remember anything I learned in school, I haven't build up or are even on a path for some sort of career, and I have a useless bachelors and despite my age haven't managed to get in more education. I have no particular skills or talents that the world desires - no singing, or musical instrument I excel at, no crafty skills, or art talents, or sewing or photography or anything like that - and not even a crazypopular blog where I ramble about my life and family (I mean, I ramble, but it's not superpopular). I haven't run marathons, nor biathlons, nor triathlons, nor do I have any other specific athletic skill I'm great at. I don't have some of the amazing budgeting skills I've heard of (my friend told me about some lady who feeds her whole family and gets all their hygiene needs etc on only $250 a month by being some supera** coupon-er), or other amazing mommy-skills. I'm not some overly creative gourmet cook (I had nightmares last night being on Gordon Ramsey's Masterchef show, and him hating everything I cooked) or interior designer genius. I haven't held any big calling in Church, or done anything significant for someone else, or at least helped keep our debt low by somehow earning money on the side or maybe simply being active in some useful way in our community. Lastly, I don't even have beauty to go for myself. It's not like I could at least say that I haven't done much, but at least I'm nice to look at. Nope...I think on all accounts of visible worldly success - I feel like a failure. And then when I think that if nothing else, I'm being a great mom to Sophia, but she just cries her heart out when Daddy leaves, and goes crazy with joy when he comes home, while it seems like she doesn't care if I leave or come home - I wonder if I'm even making a difference in that area.

How easy it is at that point to feel that you're just living, hidden away in a little home day in and day out, cleaning, cooking, changing diapers, entertaining, helping, doing laundry, etc. without anyone even noticing or caring, or thinking much of it. How hard to feel special when nothing of what you do is very visible and significant to the world.

Neal A. Maxwell said the following, and this quote has been on my mind all week:
"So it is that the real, but unheralded heroes and heroines of our time are the men and women of the earth, who uncommonly resist the world's common temptations, who surmount the common tribulations of the world and continue to the very end in righteousness, arriving home battered slightly, yet much bettered. Such individuals may get little mortal applause or recognition, but there is real rejoicing elsewhere by those who really know what a good performance is!"

When Henry started suggesting that I could go back to college, or take some classes for this or that, or whatever, I realized that wasn't the point. Of course, I do want to go back to college at some point. I do want to develop some skills or talents. But that wasn't what was getting me down. What was getting me down was to realize that I had chosen something, something I considered to be the most important thing in the world - but no one seemed to care, even those I had chosen this for. I have chosen to be a mother. And as much as I love it, I realized how 'unspecial' that can be a times. How not special this may be for decades. That the recognition and applause that I may deserve for what I do may never come. That no one may ever notice the sacrifices I've made and the efforts I've put into my role as a mother each day. That the changes I've caused in the world may go unnoticed by everyone - maybe even myself. I truly feel that Elder Maxwell describes motherhood in so many ways in his quote. How tempting it is to choose the glory of the world - to chase after doing things that will make you visible and get you recognition from others. How hard to chose to stay hidden in so many ways, quietly trying to make a difference in the lives of those dearest to you. I do imagine that I'll arrive home a bit battered after this life, hopefully bettered. I just hope that on that day there will be rejoicing over my performance as a mother as well.

Blue

I felt like I should stop talking about what occupies my mind most, since I figured everyone is sick and tired of reading my depressing, sad posts. And that's probably true. But, since this is MY blog, where I write whatever I want, why hold back. If I can't say what I want on here, where can I say it? Right????

So, as it goes I'm really down. I'm totally losing all hope on having more kids. Yeahyeah, I know - you all probably think it's too premature, and all will be fine, and yadayadayada. While I understand that people want to cheer me up and be encouraging, it's become really frustrating to me. Mainly, because I feel like there is no one else on the planet who seems to understand my fears and anxiety.

For example, I read (don't do this by the way if you've been trying to get pregnant without success so far) that 60 % of infertility is actually secondary infertility (meaning not being able to get pregnant again or carrying a child to term after you've had 1 or more kids). So, thinking that if you've been able to get pregnant once, it'll just work out in the future, is really a myth. Also, I read that it's recommended to consult an infertility specialist if you're 35 or over and haven't conceived after six months. Before that, they recommend waiting 1 year. Well, we're on month 5 now (and I just know I didn't get pregnant this month either...). And I'm 32 (and a half). Is it really so unreasonable for me to get really edgy and panicky considering that a) it didn't take as long to get pregnant with either baby, b) I'm definitely getting close to that 35-year mark, c) that I had a D & C which comes with the risk of scaring (which causes infertility) and that the doctor actually said there was a lot more tissue than she anticipated (though she didn't say that she needed to scrape a lot more than she thought...), and d) that fertility overall simply doesn't improve with age. I mean, really? Am I the only one who thinks it's hard to lose your baby, and then not get pregnant month after month?

Sure, I understand that there are worse things in life. Something horrible could happen and Henry and Sophia could both die on me. Or stuff like that. Yup, worse things are out there. But, potentially not having any more kids is still not on top of my list of happy things. And while I'm all jibbery and afraid, and simply sad because we wanted a little baby with us, and in just 2 months we would have been able to greet one into our home again, I also feel totally alone in my anxiety and sadness, because it feels like no one can relate.

Yesterday I got in a big fight with Henry when I shared all my fears with him, and he said we're still within the normal range for now (as in we still have at least one month before we even qualify for what is considered infertility for 35-year olds). I was so upset that even my own husband would just feed me those optimistic lame cheer-ups. It's like waiting for test results - you may have cancer or not, and everyone tells you to not worry until you KNOW you have cancer. Like it's that easy. Like everyone else wouldn't worry when there is potentially really bad news on the horizon. Grrrrrrr....

Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate all of you who've been trying to support me through this, and who try to cheer me up etc. I know it's all well-meant, and that you all care. But, it doesn't seem to erase the pain, and the fear, and the worry I feel. Sometimes, unfortunately it makes it worse, because I wonder if I'm all alone in all the emotions I go through. :( And it doesn't help to see basically my whole ward pregnant. It doesn't help to have a friend, whose baby is due about the same day as our baby would have been. It doesn't help to hear about other people who had miscarriages and then got pregnant within weeks after. It doesn't help to have a family member give birth to a little baby girl and give her almost the same name we would have given our baby (that we felt sure would have been a girl). Actually, that one really hurts still. I almost feel like our baby just accidentely went to the wrong family member. Ridiculous, I know. But, sometimes you think crazy things when you're sad and hopeless.

And there it is. I know you didn't want to read this pathetic sad post. But while I felt still pretty optimistic in May, right now I've lost my optimism and hope. I am scared. I feel alone. And I feel totally sad. I just can't see the happy ending right now. Isn't there someone who can relate to this??? I just need someone who can relate...

28 Days

later, Henry and I now can confidently plan a trip after his finals to this place...

I guess I should be excited, but I actually feel more like crying. Oh well. I'll just keep trying to repress all those fears, and sorrow, and upsetness at every pregnant woman I see. :) I'm sure we'll have fun riding the roller coasters. Anyone want to babysit Sophia for a day?

7 plus 13.1

A little warning for my male readership. The following paragraphs deal with 'female' issues. So, read at your own discretion.

7 = the number of pregnancy tests I took since April 2...Sounds like a lot, doesn't it? Don't worry, I don't need any biology lessons. I do think it's rather descriptive though of what the last month was like. A little OCD? Yeah. Maybe. Apparently my body has just barely recovered from the D and C, since I just barely started a period that I could recognize, for sure, as such. Up till two days ago, it was all more guessing, with lots of random little bleeding here and there. Which is why I kept testing, wondering if I my hcg levels had really gone down, or if maybe this was the 'pregnancy spotting' I've read about, or if the sudden dizzy spells that lasted a few days were maybe a pregnancy sign, or just to see if maybemaybemaybe I'm simply pregnant. Well, no such luck. I had planned to take another test yesterday morning, just to be sure. But honestly, the amounts of blood this time around were not leaving any room for questions. So there. I'm sure you wanted to read about all my current fertility issues. All I've got to say is, 3 months have passed, and I'm not pregnant again. And it's really hard on me.

Supposedly your period starts up 4-6 weeks after your surgery - 3 months for me. And supposedly you get pregnant faster after a miscarriage. I've heard of plenty of people who got pregnant again after a miscarriage within 3 months. Not me, either. I guess 3 months really isn't that long of a wait. But, it hasn't taken that long with Sophia or with Baby. I am getting nervous. I feel my biological clock is ticking mercilessly, and there's no time for lengthy set-backs. We wanted a bunch of kids, and we wanted them before I'm 38. Ooops, that leaves me with only about 5 years to get out those 3-4 kids we wanted. And so I realize that sometimes life doesn't go as planned, and that I may just have to readjust, and deal with things as they come. It shouldn't be a big deal, because clearly there are things far worse in life. All that I know. And yet, I want to be pregnant so badly, and it's just so hard to see 'everyone' pregnant. Today in Relief Society, the 3 ladies to my right were all pregnant. One girl behind me was pregnant, and two were holding their babies. Of the 2 ladies to my left, one had a little baby, and one had her 4th baby the same time I had Sophia (so maybe they're done). Then there were a few more women scattered in the room who were pregnant, and in front of me was my Relief Society president cuddling with her newborn. At that moment I just wanted to cry, because I want a little baby so bad. I want Sophia to have a little sister. I want to hold a little newborn, smelling their sweet baby scent, feeling their soft hair and skin on my cheek, seeing their little yawns and stretches, and sleepy smiles, having their tiny hands wrap around my finger.





One of my friends just had her baby, and she posted her birth story. I was worried that all the stuff I just wrote about would come up and make me cry all over again if I read it. It was a little hard, but when I saw the picture of her having her little baby, and what she wrote, I saw Sophia's birth before my eyes. I was so happy to remembering that day. What moment in life is more magical and special than when you greet a new little human in the world, a little person who was the result of the deep love and trust a husband and wife share? Missing our baby is sad. Waiting and wondering about when/if another baby will join us is hard. But remembering how Sophia joined us, is pure joy. Seeing Sophia every day, smiling, singing, dancing, drawing, talking, exploring - bliss.

13.1 -the distance of my second half-marathon I ran yesterday. I had kind of planned to run this marathon, but thought initially that I'd be pregnant and the plan was to see if I can get/be fit enough to do this pregnant. Then Henry got put on remediation, we had the miscarriage, health worries, trip to Germany, more worries/depression/chocolate eating etc. I definitely haven't worked out much this year. And I have gained 7 lbs since February. I wasn't really ready to run this half-marathon. My bladder was full from the get-go, and I had to go No. 2 for the whole run as well. I was also on my period. And I wasn't in shape. It also happened to rain, and I was running this one by myself. I think at mile 9 I just wanted to quit, and at mile 10 I had some weird breathing issues. But then I thought of our baby, and decided I'd run for her. I'd keep going because I can't quit on...well, on me, on our hopes, on happiness, on life, on having faith. At that moment I felt like if I can just hang in running, I can hang in with everything else. It really wasn't easy to finish (especially not the last 2 miles that were hills), but I'm glad to report that I hung in there. And I even ran this race faster than the last one, by about 9 minutes.

I have to think of Paul's words (2 Tim. 4:7):" I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith." Yesterday I did just that. And I hope one day I can look at my life and say those same words. So, here's to fighting, and finishing, and keeping the faith.

To Walk a Mile In Someone Else's Shoes

I'm realizing how it changes our understanding when we walk a mile in someone else's shoes. Not that I've walked a mile in anyone else's shoes really, but I think I'm getting a sense of it now. A while ago, before Sophia was born, I got a new visiting teaching companion. She wasn't able to have kids, and has been adopting. We were called to visit a lady, who has been wanting more kids, but aside from her one child hasn't been able to have more (so far...9 years later...I still hope for her). We also were called to visit another lady, single, who was pregnant and giving her child up for adoption. And, there was me, excited to go fulfill my calling, with the happy glow of pregnancy all over my (zit-covered) face. Of course I 'understood' when my visiting teaching companion mentioned that she'll try and visit those sisters alone, and that with me being pregnant it was a bit of a difficult situation for them. Of course, I 'understood' when my companion didn't want to come to my baby shower. Really. I thought I understood. But really, I didn't. Now I realize, while a lot of us probably have a lot of sympathy/empathy for the trials and pain others experience, understanding is a totally different story. I think it takes some of that 'walking a mile' stuff to really understand. It makes the Savior's atonement so much more special to me. I thought about it the other day when I thought how ironic it is that the Savior of the world is a man. What does he know about periods, pregnancy, losing babies, morning sickness, meno pause, etc. Well, he may have been lucky enough to be spared having a period, or losing a baby, but he was not spared to experience the pain and suffering that these events bring with them. He had to 'walk a mile in someone else's shoes'. Except, he didn't just walk a mile, he walked the whole stinking way of every miserable experience anyone ever had, and all the pain and suffering that comes with it. He felt it all.

Today, at a party, I was talking with some friends, and the topic turned to who is pregnant in the ward. In our ward, it's usually some 10+ women pregnant at any given time, it seems. It made me really sad as I listened to 'who else is pregnant'. It seemed that, indeed, every fertile female in the ward was pregnant. Everyone but me. It hurt. A lot. And then I realized that this is probably what it must be like for my visiting teaching companion, the ladies I was supposed to visit teach, the girls who wish to just get married, and can't even find a guy, or anyone else who so deeply longs for something, and it's not happening. Except to everyone else. It's a lonely place. But not completely lonely. Because Christ has been there. So, even when it seems like there is no one else who 'really understands', or who'll cry with me, I will always be so grateful for a Savior, who 'descended below all', and that now my experience 'shall be for my good' (D & C 122). I have always loved Easter, but this year, it is even more meaningful to me.

PS. I should mention that today Sophia turned 18 months. And I couldn't have been blessed with a sweeter daughter. She's fully living up to her middle name (Larissa - which means 'to give cheer'). She's full of smiles, hugs, kisses, cuddles and giggles. She now has become a parrot, saying the last word of everything I say. She insists on eating with a fork or spoon, except for when suddenly she has the urge to bathe her whole hand in yogurt or apple sauce. She's still eating her veggies, while occasionally singing about 'lade' (chocolate or Schokolade in German). She sings. She dances. She hops around. She draws. She meows. She loves being outside. She loves Papa, and calls him Henry sometimes. She called me Franny in Church on Sunday. She kneels, folds her arms and says 'amen' for prayers. Sometimes she says amen at the beginning of the prayer and all through the prayer. She's my sunshine. I'm glad we're an eternal family.

New Scripture

Well, at least to me. I started reading this parenting book, and I think it may become my second bible. Now, I'm not a big fan of parenting books, and I think I've only actually read on up till now (and wasn't too impressed with that one). Here is what I love about this one: First of all, it's not written by some pediatrician, who thinks he knows it all. Instead, this book was written by request of the American Psychological Association, and it was supposed to be a book that presented/taught all the latest research insights in regards to raising kids in a book written for the lay man. So, this isn't just opinion - this is what research has discovered for us. And not only that, but it's written in an accessible, interesting way (without quoting research at all so far). But the best really to me is what it teaches. As I read, I just can't help but feel that what I read are 'true principles', and if I can just manages to implement and do those things, I know we'll all be better off.

Here is one pearl of wisdom (that may seem like common sense to you) I've already gained:

• Reward positive behavior. We all know that, right? But do we do this? In the book it talked about how we need to acknowledge our children doing what we want them to do more. They said, for example, a child may play quietly and nicely, and so we don't do anything until they act up (when we start to discipline). Instead we should make efforts to acknowledge their desired behaviors as they take place. This doesn't have to be with lots of words or anything, but can just be a quick kiss as they do what we want them to do, a hug, a word of acknowledgment etc. When they are being good, let them know!!!

Honestly, I am so in love with this book already, and can only recommend it. So, if you're interested the book is called "Parenting that Works" by Edward R. Christophersen, PhD and Susan L. Mortweet PhD. I really think it's worth reading!

On another note, yesterday Sophia and I had a WIC appointment. When we sat down in the waiting area, there was a lady with a little baby. Sophia ran over there, and couldn't get enough of the baby. She tried to hug it, kiss it, play with it, pat it, and kept just looking at it and saying "Hi Baby". It was really cute, except it really kind of broke my heart. Last year we kept feeling over and over again how much Sophia would enjoy a sibling. We really felt it was time to add to the family, but I was a chicken and kept holding off for a few months. Then I got instantly pregnant once we tried, and now that little baby is gone. It made me wonder if things would have turned out differently had we tried sooner, or if this was in the plan all along but Sophia would have gotten the sibling that we feel she needs at a time better for her. Now she has to wait. And I have to wait. And I feel like we all hurt because of it. I miss our little baby. It's been 2 months now, but the pain I feel hasn't changed much. The ultra sound picture of baby is still on the fridge, and sometimes I still feel like crying, wishing things were different. Wishing I could have held this little baby. Wishing a little sister was on her way for Sophia. Wishing I knew when a sister is coming, or if a sibling will come at all. Sometimes I still wish our reality was a different one.

Pretty Please...

let there be an end to this nightmare. I just had my OB/GYN call me. They send the 'tissue' they remove during the D and C to pathology, usually to check for molar pregnancies and other random stuff. Whew, no molar pregnancy for me. However, my doc mumbled something about some vein stuff that I didn't really understand, that probably everything is fine, they just will do some blood tests when I come in to test for 'Antiphospholipid Syndrome' or something fancy like that. Just a little something that puts you at higher risk for stillbirths and miscarriage, clotting and thrombosis etc. Not like I fit the usual candidacy profile. Just something else to keep me worried and nervous till I leave for Germany. Urgh...

Another Thought

So, while I've been stressing and freaking out, I've tried to calm myself by figuring out how I'd survive 'the worst' (for me that'd be huge debt and no degree). Before Henry started school, the thought of debt was overwhelming to me. Sometimes, I felt so scared of all that debt, I'd cry myself to sleep. But we felt this was the right choice, and we proceeded with pursuing Henry's goal of optometry. At some point we looked into the military option, to have them pay our debt. I liked the idea of a debt free education a lot. However, in the end, when we found out that there is the smallest chance of Henry being deployed, I told Henry that if he died on some deployment no money in the world was worth that and I'd rather have debt than not having him.

Now I realize, the same is still true. I'm not liking the thought of huge debt and no degree. If that happened it definitely would change a lot of hopes we have for life, like me being able to stay at home with our kids, visiting my family regularly etc. But, when I thought it over and thought about what mattered more: having Henry and Sophia with me, and being healthy but with a huge debt than not having them...Well, I realized all I ever wanted I still have, and being with Henry and our children would be more important than having to work hard the rest of our days and making sacrifices. At least we'd have each other. I'm grateful for that, too. I'm still opting for the degree route. But, in the end nothing matters more than having those we love with us. And I do. How lucky!

Thank Goodness

...that Sophia has chosen this stressful time of the year to wake up every night and cry for hours with no apparent reason. Lucky. Not like Henry needs his sleep or anything. Should I count my blessings, and rejoice that she didn't wake up on the weekend nights or put her on my 'Black List'?

Faith amidst Trials

"...Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not."

I've always really liked this scripture, but right now I feel this is so hard. The year hasn't been off to the best start. Last year, at the end of Henry's quarter, he got put on remediation for clinic. Basically what that means is he has to repeat his clinic part of the quarter - the one where he sees patients and does what he plans to do as a doctor. That's not such a bad thing in itself, except that this is the hands-on part, the 'real' part if you like, of his optometry education. The deal with the remediation is that if he doesn't pass remediation in a satisfactory way this quarter, he'll 'fail' the class, which usually means probation, and not being allowed to continue on to the next quarter. He'd probably have to repeat the clinical part again, and if he'd fail it a second time, he can (and probably would) be dismissed from Optometry school. To me, those are pretty freaky prospects.

Henry has been working so hard in the last 3 years on becoming an optometrist. I know he really cares about his field of choice, and is so eager to excel at what is his choice profession. And yet, right now he seems to struggle. It probably isn't as bad as I am afraid it is, but it's unnerving, mainly because even if he passes his remediation this time, he HAS to become better, because clinic will be a part of his quarter from now on till he's done. It won't go away, and with that the chance of failing will stay. It's not like a class that if only you can pass it once, at least it's over and gone for good. Nope. It'll stay there, to be conquered.

Henry and I have tried to come up with a battle plan to make sure he gets up to par quickly. We realize that one key factor is to just get lots of practice. The hard part is to find people to practice on, and to find the time. His schedule is soooo packed this quarter and then he's got his board exams to prepare for at the end of this quarter on top of it all. It's pretty overwhelming, and today I was just falling apart. I couldn't quit crying in Church, wondering what the future will bring...an optometry practice and income, or $80,000 debt with no degree? I feel horrible for even wondering, like I'm doubting Henry's abilities. But, I know that despite his brilliance, and hard work, sometimes things don't work out, and we face obstacles that we can't overcome. I asked for help in Relief Society today, hoping to find a bunch of people who're willing to sit for Henry. However, only one sister came up to me, and I got so distraught all over again. It's such simple service. I've offered to pay gas and the meter, and to watch kids so people can come out. It would only take an hour max. It doesn't cost anything except peoples time (which I realize is valuable). It just filled me with more despair because I don't know where else to find people for Henry to practice on.

So, now I sit here. And I feel like I should have faith. We prayed over the choice to pursue optometry. It felt like the right thing. I know Henry would be a great doctor, and this is a profession he'd really love. I keep thinking deep down inside that probably everything will be fine. But, then I also think, it will not unless we work hard at it together.

Why is it so hard to 'be still' and know that God is there, to have faith, to not despair?

Not for the Faint of Heart

I just finished watching Biggest Loser (one of my recent, rare TV addictions). It's interesting to me to see how much emotional baggage comes with all the physical baggage, and it reminded me of thoughts I had earlier on today while taking a shower (anyone else doing a lot of thinking in the shower?).

I had to think back on my little sob post a few posts ago, and how one person expressed having been affected by their past (in a negative way). Then I started thinking about what things may have affected me negatively to be so insecure in regards to my body (and often myself in general). Some of those things seemed pretty obvious. Clearly, that one time when going up in an elevator with a colleague from a job, and the colleague asked me whether anyone had told me before that I'm ugly, and me responding with a feeble 'not recently', and the guy saying 'well, you are' - sure, that probably didn't help. Or, one of my parents repeatedly telling me that no guy will ever like me because I'm too wild, probably also didn't help. But, I couldn't help and wonder whether these problems didn't start earlier than that (as in earlier than my wild teenage years though I was really quite docile).

This is what popped into my head.

One day, as a sweet little 11-year old girl, I was riding my bike to the stable where I was taking horse back riding lessons. When I arrived at the stable, there was a car parked in front of the entrance, and a man standing by the car. He stopped me and told me this story of a little foal alone in the forest, and that he needed someone to help him with rescuing that little foal. Well, which 11-year old girl wouldn't want to rescue a foal??? So, I hopped into the car of this complete stranger (with a turquois shirt and funky plaid pants and a mustache, mind you) to go rescue a foal. We got to the forest, and whaddayaknow...there was no foal. At that point, it dawned on me that I may have gotten myself into a really bad situation. The unknown man was walking in front of me, and since I couldn't see his hands, and finally started to get scared, I thought he may have a knife and kill me. He didn't. He just turned around at some point and said the foal must be somewhere else. Back in the car we went. While driving, I noticed that he had 'forgotten' to zip up his pants, and to stuff away what should be stuffed away. Oops. Gone were the days of my virgin eyes. Then something crazy happened. I felt that this wasn't a good situation and that I should get out of the car. So, I hopped out of the driving car. Hopped out and wasn't hurt. As I tried to run away, the guy only stopped once to see if I could do him 'any favors'. I told him that my parents don't want me to, and ran off into a high corn field. And that was that. Nothing happened luckily. I think that extra prayer I had uttered before I left that day for protection had certainly been answered. I walked all the way back to the stable. I had my lesson. I told my parents what happened when I got home. They called the police. The police took me back to the place the guy took me. They never found him. And end of story.

I always thought that this experience had little impact on me other than that I started taking Karate lessons after that, figured that I shouldn't get into cars with strangers and...well, that's it.

Today I thought that maybe this wasn't so. I've had a few guys tell me that I'm fat/ugly etc. But, I think one thing I've heard far more from guys than anything else is that they were/are scared of me. Scared of ME! Can you believe it??? It sure always surprised me, but I've heard it a lot. Guys thinking that I hate guys, that I scared them, intimidated them etc.
Today I wondered if my sweet innocent heart had been violated that day and has expressed itself in a sort of defensiveness and distrust towards males. Who knows. I don't think I'll ever know, and seeing how I'm pretty functional, I don't care to truly solve this puzzle. I just thought about this this morning and then I thought, how on earth can I protect my sweet little daughter.

We sure live in a scary world. There is lots of beauty around for sure. But there are nasty and scary things out there. How can I protect my child from freaky pedophiles, from cruel people, who say hurtful things, from people who will, without thinking, harm mind and/or body of children. How can I make sure my little girl can be innocent and trusting, and yet safe. Urghhhhh...It about kills me just to think about all the horrible things that could happen to my Sophia, and break her heart or mind or spirit...or all 3. How can I teach her to be careful, and wise, and yet, not live in fear? How can I prepare her, and not ruin her innocence?

I realize, that I can't always keep her safe, and that the best I can do is to be wise and prepared myself, and to follow the spirit closely. I also realize that if I want the best for my child, I need to be involved, alert and active at all times to teach her, to promote those things that will bring greater safety to our communities and fight those things that make things less safe. Basically, I need to 'watch and pray always'.

And with all this said and shared, seriously, if anyone gives me a hard time again for my super stern views on moral things (as in what I consider pornographic etc. or otherwise sexually immoral and destructive), well, I only have one thing left to say - ...Actually, I don't. I just do not, in the least bit, understand how anyone can feel comfortable with anything pornographic. Nothing good has EVER come of it. Maybe not all bad things have come of it, but certainly nothing good. Pretty much every rapist, every pedophile, and often anyone else who's sexually promiscuous or unfaithful or whatever, has meddled with pornography. And I'm not just talking hard-core stuff here. I'm talking about it starting of nice and simple with just, dunno, Victoria Secrets or whatever. And, no I'm not going to be some fanatic who thinks that someone who wears a Victoria Secrets bra is evil, or that anyone who looks at a Rodin sculpture is a porn fan etc. Nope. Not like that at all.

I think I just feel very keenly, and strongly that immoral things/thoughts/pictures/actions whatever can and will usually greatly devastate both individuals and societies. And what happens in private DOES affect society. I'm sure the peep who tried to get favors from me, had looked at pornography and developed such a messed up and desensitized appetite that he had to try and lure a little 11-year old girl into his car. I think a lot of the dangers lurking out there today for our children, are a result of immoral living. And that can include even more than sexual stuff, but I think the whole sex stuff is definitely out of control. Freaky.

So really, how do I keep my child(ren) safe? It's so scary to me at times. It's so overwhelming, and daunting. I don't want Sophia to ever feel like I did/do. I want her to be happy and love the wonderful person she is -inside and out. I don't want her little heart to ever be broken. Yet, I know one way or another hurt WILL come her way. And that really is not a thought I like to think about. It's just not for my faint little mother heart, who wants to personally beat up anyone who ever brings anything less than happiness to my child. So, how do we do it? How do we live and raise children in this world???? Really, how?

Today's Highlights

• I ran 7.5 miles cold turkey in the rain. It took about 1 hour and 40 minutes. I was pretty pleased with myself since I haven't run in almost a year. Right now I'm feeling a little tired, and my knees hurt a little, but no major damage or soreness so far from the run. I think I'll sign up for that half-marathon in Indianapolis in November.
• It's been a wonderfully rainy day.
  
• We had a tasty dinner of pumpkin soup, arugula salad and fresh pineapple at our friend's house. You gotta love enjoying a delicious meal in good company.
  
• We found out that Sophia also can't tolerate eggs if they are mixed in with other foods. She had some bread today that had eggs in it, and she threw up. Luckily, it was not as severe as pure eggs. I'm glad we found this out, since we had to 'test' this at some point, but I really wasn't up for trying it knowingly. Now we found out accidentally.
• I read about the passing of a young father through a friend's blog and just had to cry. It's such a tragedy when a young family is torn apart by death. It made me grateful for my blessings and for every day I have with my wonderful little family. I'm so glad to have such a wonderful husband and such a cute and fun little daughter to wake up to every day.

Did I mention that I love my husband and daughter. Seriously. I do.

Imagine all the people..

So, I've been reading a couple of books recently that really have made me think about, well, about...stuff. I'm not sure how to put it in words. I've read "The Book Thief" which dealt with WWII, but more how it was for German civilians. Then I read "The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down" which deals with culture clashes for the Hmong people in the USA. Now I'm reading "A Billion Lives", which is a report by Jan Egeland who was the UN Undersecretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs, on all the wars/violence he's seen.

Reading all those different stories/experiences has really increased my awareness towards the challenges, heartaches and trials other people face. It's easy to sit down and think that my way of thinking is the right way of thinking. It's also easy to think that you're doing something good when you impose your worldview on someone else. Just today in Church a closing prayer included a blessing for "our soldiers" and their safety, and that they may succeed in bringing the freedoms we enjoy to those countries. I really struggled with that prayer after the things I've read. While I think freedom is an important principle, I realized that freedom can mean very different things to different people. The Hmong who came to the USA certainly in many ways felt less free here than they did before, and no one understands because few people bother to find out about other backgrounds. And then when we do, it often is with a mentality that no matter what, my worldview is the "true" one.
The other thing that bothered me about that prayer was the one-sidedness of it. While I sure wish for those deployed soldiers to survive and come home to their families, I wish the same for those people who's country is currently being destroyed by war.

The books I've read have just really made me aware of the huge price that's being paid when wars are fought in a country. It's not just a matter of survival. Often times, the survival may be harder to deal with than death as you see your loved ones killed, your country in shambles, being forced from your home, forced from traditions and beliefs, and often times it seems, experience violence and trauma none of us can ever really relate to. To think of the pain and anguish many people experience when war occurs, breaks my heart. Those books just made me feel very ignorant. Sure, I knew war is no fun, and many people die, but little did I think of the traumatic experiences people go through that often times haunt them for the rest of their lives. Little did I know what challenges refugees find when they come to another nation. We may feel like we're doing them a huge favor, but these people are now forced to make sense of a world that's completely foreign to them. It made me think of the responsibilities we take on when we get involved in a war. What rights to we have to impose those most traumatic experiences on other people? Do we have that right? How can we make restitution when we go and destroy a country in the name of principles we do not know for sure will be appreciated by the recipient.

Basically, I've just started thinking about how limited my way of thinking is at times. How little consideration I've given to the experiences other nations/people go through. I realized that no matter how much I thought I was open-minded and informed, there is still a lot I have to learn in regards to compassion and understanding of others differences/needs. Also, most certainly, I have to learn to change my views to something more humble that doesn't assume my worldview and lifestyle superior to others.