It’s true.  God’s mercies are new every morning.  Beyond the reality that anything other than death is merciful (that’s kind of a harsh but wonderful truth, huh?), there is the amazing fact that there are so many unpleasantries of life from which God, in His great mercy, frees me.  I have no real right to ask for easier days or a stronger body or favor or better behavior from my kids.  Hardships are a part of life and even in them, God is already demonstrating mercy.  But I ask, nonetheless, because I trust in His goodness to me…I believe that His love goes further than it “has” to simply because He wants me to know that these mundane cares of my life matter to Him.

Today, I clearly saw His mercy poured out to me.  In all honesty, there are some days when it isn’t so clear to me.  So, I figure I need to make sure I point it out when it is.  I got up at 7:15 by choice…which is early for me when bedtime doesn’t happen until after midnight, and sleep is interrupted a couple times by a baby girl (and really, just a couple times…a huge blessing).  I prayed and read my Bible.  I spent most of the morning on my feet, when just yesterday, I couldn’t stand for more than 15 minutes without pain.  I folded laundry, made breakfast, washed bedding, and swapped out kids summer clothes for fall/winter clothes…with no pain at all.  This afternoon, I made lunch and organized Ava’s clothes and made pizza for dinner.  I was mostly patient with my kids today (this is really much more significant than it might sound)…and I even enjoyed being around them.  And while it certainly doesn’t qualify as the most productive day ever, it was far, far better than being forced to sit all day.

It is easy, sometimes, to think that God’s work in my life would be most breathtaking if He moved in big ways…with impossible answers to prayer, mountain moving and walking on water…but, there is something so personal and intimate when He moves in the every day, in the things that may not ever be noticed by anyone but me.  It’s in those moments that the reality of His love for me really hits home…when His working can’t be chalked up to any greater agenda or higher purpose than to simply let me know that He’s with me.  He knows the mundane details of my life, and they matter to Him.  That takes my breath away.

For almost nine months, I spent most of my time sitting on the couch with no energy or motivation to do much of anything.  It was fairly normal as far as pregnancies go.  But it made me hopeful that the end of pregnancy would bring with it the return of the ability to be at least mildly productive on a regular basis.  Ironically, though, I am finding that energy and motivation and opportunity are not the only things required for productivity.  I want to get things done.  I am not utterly exhausted (which was previously unheard of for me at only 2 weeks post-partum).  Ava spends a good amount of each day sleeping, which means I have time that I could get things done.  And I am going stir-crazy not doing things.  The problem?  My body just isn’t on board with the whole “getting things done” thing.  I feel great until I stand on my feet for 15 minutes, at which point my body feels the need to remind me that I gave birth 2 weeks ago and it is not ready to get back to business as usual…or until I realize that my perineal tear, which should be well on its way to being healed by now, is still…well…not healed, and that I should therefore be avoiding all activity that could be preventing or hindering that healing.  So, I sit.  And I watch Tim try to manage all the things that I can’t do as he works only half days at work.  And I hope that one more week will make a big difference in what I can do, since Tim will be back to full days at work next week.

Oh, and there are kids.  Four other little ones who have needed schooling and supervision and correction.  A little one, in particular, who has needed extra mercy and training and attention, and who has left me occasionally dumbfounded as to how much he has been affected by the entrance of his baby sister.  Just trying to manage them leaves me struggling to find patience and wisdom, and feeling torn about what is best in each moment of this new season of life.

I have many moments of feeling like I am in over my head.  Too many mornings these past couple of weeks have passed without me remembering to open my Bible for a few minutes.  It affects me, and my attitude, and my perspective.  I know God knows that my heart isn’t to put Him on the back burner…but I also know how much I need time in the morning to set my eyes on Him, and that my days don’t look pretty when I don’t.  And more than anything these days, I need my perspective to be right.  So, I will adjust…to finding a new morning routine to help me remember to keep Him first, to figuring out how to separate necessary tasks from the non-essentials, to a new school routine, to unpredictable sleep and unexpected changes in attitudes.  And someday, we will realize that we have found “normal” for us…but I will try to not miss the life that happens in the process.

Ava is a wonderful sleeper, as long as she’s being held.  Last night I made my first legitimate attempt to have her sleep in her cradle.  I cried as I lay down without her in my arms.  Two hours later, I was more than happy to pick her up when she started to stir, and kept her with me the rest of the night.

I love having her curl up against me.

I love resting my cheek on her warm, fuzzy head.

I love seeing her precious little face contort into some of the most endearing expressions, as only a newborn’s does.

I love watching her as she stares with wide eyes at the newness of the world around her.

I love that, already, just being in her mama’s arms is often all it takes to make her calm.

Yes, I am smitten.

Before the details get too fuzzy, I thought I should write about Ava’s birth.  My due date was September 1st, which came and went uneventfully.  On Wednesday, the 5th, I noticed a small amount of fluid leaking.  I called my midwife to let her know, but also realized that a slow leak did not mean labor was imminent.  My midwife wasn’t at all concerned (I kind of think she wasn’t convinced that it was amniotic fluid and not something else) and told me to just let her know if anything changed.

So, I waited through Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of leaking fluid (not a lot, but it did pick up a bit on Friday).  I had about an hour of contractions, 10 minutes apart, Thursday night, but they fizzled into nothingness and I continued waiting.  By Friday night, I felt like I was reaching the end of my rope.  While my midwife wasn’t concerned about the leaking fluid, it did make me feel like I was running out of time, given the potential for infection that apparently comes when the amniotic sac is at all torn.  So, when I went to bed around 10pm, I was desperate for something to happen.

Shortly after laying down, I had my first contraction.  I waited through about 3 hours of contractions 10 minutes apart before I called my midwife.  I got up and showered and walked around a bit and tried watching a movie in that time, wanting to make sure this was the real deal and not something that was going to stop or slow way down, something that I felt sure was going to happen, since that was how my previous two labors had progressed.

When I did call my midwife, I think I failed to communicate that I actually thought this was active labor, and she told me they (she had another midwife who was coming with her) weren’t going to leave right away, but to call her back in 2 hours, or sooner if anything changed.  I was a bit discouraged by her response, and became hesitant to call back over anything that might seem insignificant (it was the middle of the night, and I have a really hard time with anything I perceive to be confrontational).

So, I continued laboring, I showered (for the second time) and eventually timed my contractions again and found they were now more like five minutes apart.  Tim called the midwife again (just slightly less than 2 hours after the first call) and this time she decided they should start their 4.5 hr trip to our house.  It was about 3:30am.  Tim then called a friend who had agreed to help with odds and ends during labor, and she arrived a short while later.

During the course of the next few hours I spent some time in a birth pool, which offered little relief, and took, I think, 2 more showers.  At some point, it became probable that the baby would arrive before the midwives, and when the contractions had gotten to be less than 2 minutes apart and excruciating, my friend decided she would give her mom, who is a nurse, a call to see if she could come help, just in case.

There was apparently a very distinct point right at the end at which the contractions seemed to be non-stop, although my recollection was just that the last couple hours were more than I thought I could bear, and so with each contraction, I was telling myself that I just had to get through this one.

Tim was there doing anything I asked, wiping my face with a cold cloth (I was sooo warm), making sure my water glass moved with me wherever I went , and occasionally, holding me up during a contraction when I felt like I didn’t have strength to stand.  My friend became the liaison with the midwives and kept track of time between contractions and did anything else that needed doing…probably far more than either of us thought would be necessary when I asked her to help out.

In general, there was little that seemed to really “help” me in the overall process.  I mostly needed to retreat inside myself and not have interruptions or distractions as I moaned loudly through the contractions.  There was a portion of a song that kept going through my mind, especially toward the end, that did offer me peace, though (which I found surprising, since I think normally it would have just seemed distracting)…beautiful Jesus, beautiful Savior, nothing is greater, brilliant Creator, friend of mine.  I think, in those moments, it just gave me peace to be reminded that this was the design of the Creator, and that He was my friend…caring for me and protecting me and strengthening me when I felt at my weakest and most helpless.

And so, I made it through the worst of the contractions until I came to a point when I felt like I needed to push.  Tim compelled me to lay down (he didn’t like the idea of the baby hitting the floor if he was unsuccessful in his task of “catching”), my water broke (apparently…I was oblivious at this point), my friend’s mother arrived, and about 2 pushes later, a baby came out all at once.

In the midst of Tim trying to clear the amniotic sac away from the baby’s head and get a warm towel wrapped around baby, I asked whether we had a boy or girl.  He looked briefly and said he thought he saw boy parts, but didn’t investigate further.  Somehow, that seemed good enough for a verdict, and with the baby on my chest, covered in a towel, we proceeded to cajole cries and rub “pinkness” into our new baby.  Holly came down with the other four kiddos (who, it seems, all woke up minutes prior to the birth) and we introduced them to their new “brother”.  Bethany seemed particularly disappointed that she did not have a sister, and I tried to console her with the fact that it was something pretty special to be the only girl among four boys…but it didn’t really seem to work.

Shortly after the kids headed back upstairs to start getting ready for the day, Tim asked if anybody had thought to verify that we actually did have a boy, and since nobody had, we took the opportunity to do so.  After a little confusion with the belly button (which was quite the “outie” because of the umbilical cord) we realized that, lo and behold, we had a girl!  Ava Grace Ruehle – life; unmerited favor.

Tim set about re-informing those who had already been told it was a boy, Bethany was thrilled, and we both later confessed to having felt a bit thrown-off when we thought it was a boy.  In our hearts, we had both really felt that we were having a girl, and though a boy would certainly have been welcomed and loved just as much, we were confused at how we could possibly have had a boy.  In some way, I think the confusion was good for me, though.  I had thought, in a lot of ways, that having another boy would just be easier, so I am thankful that I had a moment to really recognize how “right” it felt to have a baby girl.

So, after all that, about an hour after the birth, the midwives arrived.  She delivered the placenta, checked Ava’s height and weight – 8lbs 3oz, 19.5″ (she may have weighed more at the time of her birth, since she had relieved her bowels no less than 3 times before she got weighed) – and checked me for tears and such (just one tear that did not require any stitched).  I showered and while I ate some breakfast and held my baby girl, everyone started cleaning up, doing laundry, putting things away.

I was home and I was happy to be home.  It certainly wasn’t ideal that the midwife didn’t arrive sooner, but everything went incredibly smoothly, nonetheless…and since she was there to take care of those things for which she was really needed, in light of the fact that the birth was uncomplicated, I can’t really complain at all.  Once again, God proved His faithfulness and provision and care.  He is good.

For I know the thoughts I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end. —Jeremiah 29:11

When I am impatient, when I think I know best, when I forget that God is always good…He reminds me that I can trust Him.  So, even though it is my “due” date, even though I am really uncomfortable, even though the unknowns of labor threaten to unravel my resolve at times…I can find peace in knowing that He has the best plan.