On March 11, before everything went absolutely Corona-crazy, our oldest daughter, Noelle, turned 10 years old. Double digits. Two whole hands. A decade. Ten.

I don’t remember a whole lot from my younger years. Of course, I see photos of myself as a young child and think that I remember something, but in reality I don’t have too many first-hand memories I can recount from way back. However, I do remember turning 10. I remember my mom planning a surprise party for me, and I remember feeling like a pretty big deal. Knowing that there’s a good chance that what Noelle experiences from this point forward will remain in her accessible memory as she approaches adulthood made this birthday even more special. She won’t remember how I slaved over making 50 bird-shaped cake pops for her first birthday, but she might just remember the details of her tenth. 

No pressure or anything. 

That Wednesday, I asked Noelle the question that probably every parent asks every child on his or her birthday. 

“Do you feel older?”

“No,” she replied. “I think I will feel older tomorrow.”

But if we are both being honest, she has probably been feeling older for quite some time. She has been slowly “turning 10” for several months now — in her actions, her words, her experiences, and her revelations. 

We hit a pretty big milestone this past December, when she came to the realization one week before Christmas that Santa Claus “wasn’t real.” If you’re reading Mom and Dad, you might not want to go any further — it’s a sad one.

Luke and I had just sent the kids to bed, and we were downstairs watching TV. Noelle came back down and just…lingered. I could tell something was on her mind, and after some prodding, she said, “I have been thinking about…Santa.”

We both froze. We knew where this was going, but we weren’t ready for it. We stared blankly at her while we waited for her next words.

“I know there are such things as miracles, but I don’t know how one man can get around the entire world to every house in one night. And I don’t know how he can fit down the chimney. And I want to believe it, but I don’t think I do.”

Cue more blank stares. Jaws starting to drop.

“I know that Saint Nicholas was a real person.”

There it was. She left the door open for me to step through. I was going to save this!

“You’re right,” I said. “Saint Nicholas was a real person! And in his spirit is Santa Claus, and all the reasons why we share gifts and love at Christmas.”

“But Saint Nicholas would be like 1,000 years old,” she replied. 

Our silence probably told her everything she needed to hear. I couldn’t lie to this child. She was searching for truth, and this was my moment to not eff that up. Finally, after a few more seconds of silence, she said:

“It’s you guys. Isn’t it?” She didn’t need to see our faces. She knew the answer, and she turned and ran back up the stairs.

Luke went after her and brought her back down. We sat her on the couch and gently explained to her that she was correct. We had been acting as Santa Claus. We explained that this was now a secret club for the three of us, and she was not, under any circumstances, to tell her siblings or her friends. We exchanged a triple pinkie promise, and after she dried her eyes, and asked her how she felt. 

“Well, I’m a little heartbroken. But I’m also a little relieved. I always thought it was creepy that an old man would come into your house.”

That’s my girl. 

We gave her the longest hug ever and sent her up to bed. And as soon as she was out of sight, Luke and I hugged each other and cried. Sobbed, actually. We weren’t ready for this. 

And, while that night she appeared to grow up before our very eyes, she managed to grow a little bit more on Christmas morning. I was nervous about how it would go since she “knew.” Would she be excited? Would she accidentally tell her siblings? Would there be any magic anymore? But when I woke up to the sound of her telling her little sisters and brother, “Guys! Santa came…” I knew everything would be alright. 

I watched her “slowly turn 10” the weekend before her birthday when we went to pick out her special Free Dress outfit for school. On their birthdays, students don’t have to wear their uniforms, so it is a pretty big deal. We went to several stores, and she labored over the choices. Romper? Dress? Pants and a top? She tried on the same 2-3 outfits several times, carefully pointing out the features of each one. After about an hour, she started to get discouraged, as nothing was giving her the feeling she wanted. 

After another walk through the store, she picked up a new item that she had spotted earlier on, but I didn’t really pay attention to it. It was a black romper with white polka dots. I had gravitated toward a different option that I thought was better, and admittedly I tried to push her in that direction. 

I finally agreed to let her try on the one that caught her eye, and she loved it.

But she knew I loved the other outfit and she was convinced she should get that one. Her eyes said it all. She didn’t want it, but she didn’t want to disappoint me. 

Thankfully, God guided my words and told her the right thing — that if she feels beautiful and confident in the other outfit, she should go with that one. She should not get the one I like just to please me. 

And with that, the weight lifted off her shoulders and she twirled back and forth in front of the mirror – excited and happy and, again, more grown up than she was before we entered the store.

I know that we will only continue to have difficult conversations with Noelle. I know that there will be more talks that end in tears and more dressing room drama. A part of me wishes I could just fast-forward through the next 10 years to bypass all of that, but my heart couldn’t handle Noelle growing up any faster than she already has. 

That night, after the Santa talk, I asked Luke if we handled it the right way. I almost ran back into her room, woke her up, and told her “Just kidding! Of course Santa is real!” But Luke assured me that we did what was best. 

She wanted the truth…and as it turned out, she could handle the truth. 

I was still afraid that I had squelched her belief in miracles. So when I came upon a necklace that said BELIEVE, I knew it had to be hers. It was a secret gift between her and me. 

It was my way of telling her that there is still SO much to believe in…and believing in herself is most important of all. 

My goal this year is to write more. I don’t know what that looks like or what that entails, but I just want to be more consistent. Every time I feel like I should just take this blog out back and shoot it, someone comes out of the woodwork to tell me how much they enjoy reading it. I feel like it is a sign from God that I should keep going.

I just had my fifth baby, our sweet baby girl, Annie Kate, and so all things postpartum are at the forefront of my mind. I am in the thick of it for sure. She just turned 7 weeks old, and at 1:00 this morning, I was doing the math on how many nursing sessions I have had with her in the past 50 days. I estimated 6-8 feedings a day (7 on average) for 50 days, and we are at 350 nursing sessions. Each session is roughly 30 minutes, so we now have 175 hours of breastfeeding under our belts. These are the things that run through my mind in the wee hours of the morning. While my husband sleeps. I digress…

Aside from computing how many hours I have spent nursing my child, I have also had this thought on my mind — what are the best ways to support a new mom in the days and weeks following the birth of her child?

I have been immensely (immensely) blessed throughout each of my pregnancies and postpartum phases with support and love and help and all the things. Believe me when I say that I know not everyone is that lucky. I call it luck because I don’t believe it has anything to do with me or anything I did to deserve it. I think I truly just lucked out in being surrounded by the right people. 

Let me also just say that postpartum depression can happen to any mom, for any reason, and it doesn’t matter what kind of support system you have – it can still happen. The ideas I am about to list are not to suggest that they will keep a woman from feeling hopeless, desperate, upside down, emotional, anxious, or depressed. A new (or experienced) mom can feel all of these regardless of how much encouragement and love she has. 

Throughout the ups and downs of the postpartum period, I have found the following to be extremely helpful. If you know a mama who just welcomed a new baby into her family, I hope you pull from these ideas and bless her in some way.

Set up a meal train or bring a meal.

Our baby girl was born in mid November, and we have consistently had friends bringing meals to us three times a week ever since. There has been no bigger blessing than not having to worry about dinner a few nights a week. Meal planning, grocery shopping, and cooking take up a lot of my time as a mom, and having a brief reprieve of those responsibilities allows me to enjoy the newborn stage much more. 

Setting up a meal train for a new mom is such a great idea. You can use a website such as Meal Train, Take Them A Meal, or Sign Up Genius. The online sign ups are easy to share via Facebook, email, or text message, and you can input important info such as drop-off time preferences and favorite/least favorite foods. If participants share what they are going to be bringing on the sign up, it helps to eliminate repetitive meals (such as 2 solid weeks of chicken casserole). 

If your friend is pregnant or just had a baby, please do her a favor and tell her you are setting up a meal train for her. Don’t ask her if she wants one (unless her family has food allergies). Just do it. Who turns down free meals? ((Crickets)) Share the meal train link with her friends and family and help get it filled up!

If someone else set up a meal train (or if she is funny about having one set up for her), insist on bringing her family a meal. Ask her what her kids like to eat, or even ask where her favorite carry-out is from and offer to pick that up instead. Include muffins or a breakfast casserole for the next morning, too!

Also helpful? Tell her that she doesn’t even have to answer the door if she doesn’t want to. You can leave her meal on the porch if she prefers. This takes the pressure off of looking presentable, having a picked up house, or making coherent conversation. 

Bring a gift for Mama. 

Babies get so many gifts. Baby showers generate tons of goodies, and many people bring gifts when they visit the baby in the hospital or at home. Don’t get me wrong — give me all the sweet baby outfits and hair bows. I love it all!

However, I have been particularly touched when friends have brought something just for me — a bottle of my favorite wine, a delivery of my Starbucks drink, a fun magazine or book, or gift cards to my favorite stores. It is really hard to be a “new” mom, even if it is not your first baby. It’s easy to put yourself last on the list. It’s difficult to spend money on things that you might consider frivolous purchases. Gifting a mom with something that is just for her is a great way to show support and encourage a little self-care during this transitional time. It also says, “Hey, YOU just birthed a human and dammit, you deserve something, too!”

It doesn’t have to be anything expensive. Sending a text to say “I am swinging through the McDonald’s drive-thru, can I bring you a Diet Coke?” might make her entire day. Even better — don’t ask her if she wants one. She might feel weird about accepting the offer. Buy it and drop it off to her. I would never, ever be angry about a surprise Diet Coke on my doorstep. 

Make the siblings feel special. 

Obviously, if your friend is a first-time mom, this suggestion won’t apply, but if your friend is like me and has more than one child, it is extremely helpful to make the older siblings feel special. Not only does this help the child(ren) to feel included and important, but it also helps Mama because she likely has a lot of guilt about not being able to spend as much time with her other kids. 

Invite older siblings over for play dates, take them out to lunch, dinner, or a movie, offer to pick them up from school and bring them home. Bring a gift for the siblings when you visit the baby — bonus points if the gift doesn’t have 1,000 pieces or involve markers (Mom will thank you). 

Everyone says that you should nap when the baby naps, but that advice can be thrown out the window when there are other children who need supervision and attention while the baby is sleeping. Offer to take the older kids out for a while so that a fantasy nap can actually become a reality for her.

Check back often.

The first few weeks after a baby is born are so deliriously foggy. They are also when people tend to be most interested in helping and visiting. Everyone wants to hold a fresh, new baby!

Before long, however, the weeks turn into months, and Mama is no less tired than she was when the baby was a few days old. She likely is even more exhausted. She might have returned to work and is now dealing with all kinds of stress related to being a working mom. She is trying to figure out this new normal and how to make everything fit back together. The meal train has probably ended, she has used up all her Starbucks gift cards, and she now feels like she is on her own. 

Keep checking in with her. Send texts. Ask how she is doing. Offer to bring her coffee or invite her out to dinner. Bring her family another meal. Drop off a stack of paper plates and plastic forks so that she can take a break from doing dishes for the week. Offer to babysit for a few hours so she can have some time to herself. 

I don’t believe there is a wrong way to help a new mom as long as the gesture comes from the heart. She will likely be very touched that you took the time to acknowledge this exciting, yet exhausting, time in her life. The point is, just do something to show you care — and if you happen to choose something from this list, even better. 

Our newest baby girl, Annie Kate (yes, most of the time I use both of her names as her first name, but just Annie is fine, too!) was born on November 18. However, we didn’t get to bring her home until 10 days later. 

Today, I want to talk about Annie’s time in the NICU and how those 9 long days changed me as a person. That might sound dramatic, but I believe it is true. 

Annie had to stay in the NICU for a couple of reasons. Because she was only 35 weeks, 4 days gestation, she was very, very sleepy. She basically wasn’t ready to be in the world yet, so she had a hard time wanting to be awake. Since I had the IV magnesium prior to her delivery, that meant that she also had the magnesium in her system, too. The magnesium has a relaxing effect on the body, which added to the issue of her sleepiness. They said she was “magged out.”

The problem with all of her sleepiness was that she wasn’t motivated to eat. Annie simply didn’t have the energy or motivation to nurse or take a bottle. They placed an NG tube in her nose which allowed her to be fed formula and breastmilk. 

We had no idea how long it would take for her to “want” to eat on her own, and the doctors and nurses didn’t know, either. It was just a waiting game. We were reassured that this was very normal for babies of this age, but there was just no way to tell how long we might have to wait. This was the toughest part because I work well with timelines, timeframes, calendars, and schedules. Everything felt so open-ended and unknown, which made me very anxious. 

The good news was that Annie didn’t have any issue breathing on her own. She had a nasal cannula giving her an oxygen boost for a few hours after she was born, but it was removed by the end of her first day, and she never had to use it again. Annie was never in any danger nor was there a threat to her life. For that, we were super grateful. Thank goodness we had done steroid shots for her lung development the week before she was born in anticipation of her 37 week induction. 

The first few days after Annie was born, I was still admitted in the hospital. I spent my days sitting beside her bed in the NICU, holding her, rocking her, and attempting to feed her every 3 hours. After the feeding attempts, I would pump milk for her to be fed through her NG tube. I did this for 12 hours a day. It felt like we weren’t making any progress for several days. She was so content to be asleep all day, everyday. When she would attempt to nurse, she would try for 3-5 minutes and then give up in exhaustion. I felt very defeated and like this was going to go on forever.

By Thursday of that week, it was time for me to be discharged as a patient. This was the day I was dreading — leaving the hospital without Annie. In my mind, I was thinking she would be released when she was 36 weeks, which would have been Thursday, but she hadn’t made enough progress to go home. That day, I wanted to spend as much time with Annie as possible, so I planned to be at the hospital until after 9 p.m. Luke picked me up, older kids in tow, and I have to say that walking out of those doors without my baby or my husband was one of the most difficult things I have done. Hot tears burned down my cheeks. I am sure the people who saw me leaving assumed someone I loved had just died. In a way, it felt like a death — a death of the way I had hoped things would go. 

Not a flattering photo of either of us, but I wanted to remember the emotion of this moment. 

I really was grieving, even though I didn’t notice it at the time. 

I didn’t want my pregnancy to end that way. I didn’t want her to come early. I wanted to spend one last intentional night together as a family of 6 before we brought her into the world. I didn’t want to be confined to a bed during labor, delivery, and the first 24 hours after she was born. I wanted to hear that first cry. I wanted to hold her longer than 3 minutes before she was taken away to the NICU. I didn’t want to touch her through portholes in an isolette or hold her with cords and wires attached. I wanted our older kids to get to hold her and not just see her through a window. 

At our hospital, when you are moved from Labor & Delivery to Mother-Baby, they play a lullaby over the speakers to signify that a baby has been born. When I was moved to Mother-Baby, the lullaby played, but my baby was not with me. My heart was crushed in that moment. When we arrived in my recovery room, the nurse removed the bassinet where Annie should have been sleeping. The room felt quiet and empty. Those little things felt like really big things and added to my grief.

I spent the next 5 days at the hospital with Annie. I would arrive for her 8:00 a.m. feeding and stay until her 8:00 p.m. feeding. Sometimes I would leave to go home for an hour…sometimes I would eat a meal… but most of the time I just wanted to be there to hold her. This was a tough time for our family. The older kids definitely didn’t like the disruption to our normal routine. Luke carried a lot of extra stress and responsibility, and he didn’t get to spend as much time with Annie as he would have liked. 

Sitting in the NICU for 12 hours a day was very lonely. However, it afforded me a lot of time to be alone with my thoughts, which is truly a luxury these days. I wasn’t distracted by TV, laundry, dishes, other children, the dog, or any kind of To Do list. While many times, my mind seemed to be racing, I also noticed that I kept returning back to the same thoughts. 

What I thought was important… really wasn’t that important. 

I am a self-professed People Pleaser. Because of this, I often get very wrapped up in bending over backwards to overextend myself for others. I commit myself to a lot of “jobs” (without pay) and responsibilities (that I sign myself up for), and while I really love volunteering and helping, I realize now how many times I have been pulled away from my family for these obligations. When you’re staring at your sweet newborn in a NICU bed for several hours a day, you realize how much time you wish you had with her and with all your children. You start to recount where all of your precious moments have gone over the last several years, and you realize that maybe you haven’t given your family as much of you as they deserve. I am not saying I want to quit everything or stop volunteering altogether, but maybe I really can take a step back for a little while. 

Comparison is the thief of joy. It is also the thief of healing.

When Annie Kate was taken to the NICU, I felt the same fear and worry that probably all parents feel when their babies go to the NICU. However, I instantly felt guilty, even foolish, for feeling that way because she was actually pretty healthy and didn’t need very much intervention. When I would visit her, I saw a lot of other babies with a lot of serious medical needs. I watched other parents sit at their babies’ bedsides, and I felt bad that Annie would likely be going home much before the other children. While I was there, a baby was released to go home after spending 89 days in the NICU. 89 days! A little voice told me, “See, you have no reason to be sad! These parents spent 89 days without their baby at home. Suck it up, Buttercup!” 

However, not allowing yourself to feel your emotions can be very detrimental to the healing process. It stunts you, holds you hostage, and forces you to put a lid on a boiling pot. Eventually, it will all spill over the sides in a big mess. It is very healthy to express your thoughts, feelings, concerns, worries, fears, and emotions. Just because someone else might “have it worse” doesn’t mean that you aren’t entitled to feel upset. It isn’t being dramatic or attention-seeking if you are truly allowing yourself to process your feelings. 

It isn’t a competition to see who has the saddest story, or who has gone through the most trauma. Everyone can be heard. Everyone can be supported. Everyone can cry or break down if they need to. Recognizing and honoring how you feel is very healthy and crucial to moving forward from any kind of hard experience.

Human life is so precious. 

This may seem like an odd thought, and something that should be obvious, but many days I feel really discouraged by what I see on the news and in the world around me. Murder, violence, child abuse, drugs…the list goes on and on. Does anyone actually care about other human beings anymore? 

But spending over a week in the NICU and seeing the way the doctors, nurses, therapists, chaplains, and volunteers all work together to help these little babies get better and have a chance at a long, healthy life was so special to witness. Each child is spoken to, held, rocked, read to, checked on, cuddled and prayed over multiple times a day, regardless of whether his or her parents are there or not. If a child’s life was not important, these efforts would not be made. 

Being in the presence of the NICU staff was a true honor, and it restored my faith in humanity. 

On day 9 of our stay, they were finally able to remove the NG tube and see how little Annie Kate could do on her own, exclusively nursing. As it turned out, she did great and even gained 3 ounces in one day! We pushed the staff a little to let us try a “homeward bound,” which is where you stay the night in a recovery room and feed the baby through the night like you would at home. No one really checks on you, and you have to call and report the feedings and wet/dirty diapers as they happen. It’s a nice way to see how things might be at home without losing the security of the nurses. Thankfully, the doctor agreed to let us give it a try!

Annie and I were taken to our room for the night, and it just so happened to be the same recovery room I was in before. It was one of those “full circle” moments.

This time, however, the bassinet got to stay in the room.

We had a great night together. She fed every 3 hours like clockwork. It was probably the most restful night at the hospital I have ever had! I had a good feeling that she would be released to go home the next morning, and thankfully I was right. 

I packed up our room, again. This time, however, my baby got to leave with me. Luke came to get us, and as we all said our goodbyes to the 4th floor,

they played the lullaby over the speaker for Annie Kate and me.