Perfectionism & Self-Reliance

For years now, I feel like God has been working hard at undoing all my perfectionistic tendencies, my religiosity, and my self-reliance. It's a long process apparently, and for quite some time I didn't even know it was going on. Well, I knew things were going on; I just didn't know what God was up to. But these past nine months or so has been like the PhD program for the end to my self-reliance, and it's been...painful. It's not easy to see parts of ourselves die, especially those parts that seem actually useful.

Perfectionism is not necessarily all that useful. It often prevents progress, and I don't think I've found it too hard to let go of. But self-reliance...well that seems like a good thing, right? Be responsible. Do your part. God helps those who help themselves. We believe that stuff. And I'm not saying it's bad. We have to be responsible. We have to do our part. But that whole "God helps those who help themselves"...I think that may be the part that God is looking to kill off in my life, and to do so He's had to practically incapacitate me.

I've not been doing too well the past few days. I've been frustrated by people and things and plagued by the physical and emotional discomforts of the end of pregnancy. But topping it all off is that little voice in the back of my head sending nasty messages. Those messages generally revolve around the idea that our life is so imperfect that we have no place having another baby. Little pieces of life keep blowing up in my face issuing the same reminder. And so I see that some part of me is still pretty uncomfortable with imperfection. And my self-reliant self is angry and frustrated that this little buddy won't leave the womb and enter the world, which would put me on the path to moving on to figuring out how to get back to work in some capacity to help our family financially.

Instead I find myself living in nothing less than complete uncertainty and lack of clarity. And I'm pretty sure that this is exactly where God has wanted me for the past several months. All of the frustration I've been feeling for the past few days tells me that perhaps not much progress has been made in dealing the death blow to my self-reliance. Because now that the end of this pregnancy is near, I feel more energy than I've felt in the past nine months. And I don't think it's just that burst of energy that people get at the end of pregnancy. I think it's me, saying, "I can do this. I don't know how, but I can. I can fix things." And the truth is, I can't.

So I'm swinging wildly between these thoughts and emotions, and you can all count yourselves lucky that you don't live with me. As usual I was up this morning before everyone else, and it was only a matter of minutes before I was crying, flooded with the reality of certain things. And then I read a chapter from Anne Lamott's Plan B: Thoughts on Faith, which I've been reading sporadically over the past few months. And she said this:

"I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me--that the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns."

And that made me feel a bit better. Because I'm the kind of person who likes certainty, and I believe that Anne Lamott (or Father Tom, I guess) is right. Certainty isn't faith. After that, I read Psalm 44. I read a Psalm every day, and then I just cycle back through them when I reach the end of the book. Today's Psalm said:

"It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them."

So again today I am trying to let go of my self-reliance. I will notice the mess and try not to feel overwhelmed by it. I will try to stop telling myself that it's my job to fix everything. That I can do it right. I will wait for God and the light of his face.

Waiting

There's nothing like waiting for a birth to give your patience a little tune up. Two weeks ago I went to the hospital on a Friday evening and a few hours later, we were sent home. False labor. It's never happened to me before. I was okay with everything not happening right then, but it's hard on the boys, who just want their brother to get here already. They ask me several times throughout any given day, "Any contractions?" They are driving me nuts.

For the record, I do feel sorry for them. I know it's hard to wait. Sons 1 and 2 were late, so I know what it is to wait. (Torture.) I keep telling them that this is their brother's way of making sure we know it's all about him and not about us, but that doesn't diminish their impatience. At yesterday's OB appointment, we set an induction date. Unfortunately, my husband and I have to be the kind of people who think that things should happen naturally. (Why?!?!?) So, we set the induction date for April 21 -- exactly a week beyond my due date.

It's funny how people, including my sons, think there should be some clue about when labor will begin...but there just isn't. Yesterday my doctor said he really didn't think there was any way I would make it to the 21st, but what does he know? With my first baby, I was dilated six or seven weeks before my due date. The doctors told me he would absolutely come early. Nope. Six days late.

People ask me if I'm walking or doing anything else to bring on labor...and I am not. Because I've tried that in the past and it did exactly nothing. With my first, I logged miles around my Chicago neighborhood with a dear friend who came to stay with us and be there for the delivery. Those miles didn't seem to do much of anything, but it is fun to walk and talk.

Other people say to talk to the baby. To welcome him to the world. We've been talking to this little dude for weeks. He seems relatively unaffected by our pleas to come on out so we can hold and kiss him. Maybe he doesn't like it when we sing that Talking Heads song to him with these lyrics, "Baby, baby please let me hold you..." Maybe he's not impressed with our singing skills.

Maybe he's just super comfy. Whatever the reason, we just keep waiting.

In the meantime, I try to distract myself with the little work I currently have. And with doing the things that get undone. And with books. And with the beginning of baseball and soccer season. Today is opening day for Son3's little league. About an hour from now, the little league parade will pass in front of our house, and later today he has his opening game. I really didn't want to miss today's festivities, so I was pretty sure the kid would actually come last night as my kids generally seem to have a penchant for messing up my plans. But I'm still here, so it's game on, and maybe I can go into labor as soon as today's game is over. Or not.