He cannot quite get this sleep pattern down.
Poor baby is up every day at 3 am ready to seize the day.
That looks like high pitched squeals and dances to even the most mellow of melodies I choose to play.
So it is a chance for one on one time with him and an extra cup of chai😉
But I would still prefer that chai and extra time during daylight hours;)
Poor Hadassah (who you may remember me writing about earlier)
Who navigated indian mountain roads on buses today to surprise us with a visit…
She is sharing a room with Elliot and was all but thrilled with his shrieks of life.
But that girl sleeps like a champ, so I am sure she will find her way back soon;)
I try everything I can to get him back to sleep, to no avail.
I am open to suggestions you may have from experience on how to help him adjust.
Maybe it just takes time?
As he eats his breakfast at 4 am, I am writing out a few thoughts on my heart.
Well, actually I am just sharing some gorgeous poetry that I was reminded of lately.
You know, I used to not like poetry.
It was my least favorite section in all english classes.
I am not sure why, because now it speaks to me most of all and I seem to write in a more poetic structure.
I think it took me a long time to realize that poetry doesnt have to rhyme necessarily.
Once I was freed from that expectation, I starting drinking deep from poetic wells;)
I heard this poem by Martha Nicholson one hot summer afternoon in 2012.
|about halfway thru pregnancy in our little house, Adam in his bumbo. The inside was where the periwinkle was;)|
I was quite 7 months swollen with little Elliot and living long summer days in a periwinkle house with nearly 1 yr old Adam
|Adam’s loft for the summer;)|
The heat was reaching 110 most days and our house…
|this picture captures a bit of the periwinkle;) maybe its just me that thought it was so beautiful? that is hadassah a few weeks after we met her|
(Although incredibly “anthropologie magazine background-esque”
With its aged, cracked periwinkle walls and gorgeous henna like designs built in to the flooring)
|Despite the heat, this was a perk to the house: secret entrance to the backyard;) Makes me feel like the Secret Garden;)|
Had the shortest ceiling of any abode I had ever lived in
And it was fully concrete
So that 110 degree sunlight just about did me and Adam in
|A favorite pregnant shop from that summer in our backyard during rainy season|
Elliot was fine all cozy inside of me
Though I was concerned about that and despite having been a nurse on L&D for 18 months,
I asked my OB if I should be worried about the heat affecting my baby…
She smiled and said that I was not to worry…drink plenty of water and try to stay cool…
But our bodies are designed to keep our babies temperature regulated despite what is happening on the outside
Sorry to any nursing professor of mine who told me that a million times…;)
So there I am sweating away
|my all time favorite picture from that house…Raja after getting home from work|
Adam was propped up in his bumbo chair with cool rags on his head
And I turn on a Piper sermon
Conveniently called “A Call to Motherhood is a Call to Suffering”
I know, foreboding perhaps, but I do love that about Piper
It was not depressing in any sense
It was just a sermon acknowledging that it is not often easy being a mother
You suffer heartache when your children suffer
You battle anxiety about their safety
You suffer from tiredness
And many other things
But, through it all, He upholds and gives strength and shows us the Glory in the midst of it!
I encourage you to look it up.
At the very end of the sermon he read this poem
And it brought me to my knees
I was wrecked
And I just shared it with a dear friend yesterday who I think can feel its depths
So I thought Id share it with you as well;)
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.
|A peek from our kitchen window in our little periwinkle house;)|