I don't want my kids to be like me.

Some people want their kids to be like them.  I do not.  As the years have gone by more and more of my faults have come into plain view.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'm a bad person, nor do I wallow at who I have become.  I consider myself very blessed that God is merciful and He is still working on me.  I do have some good traits but, truth be told, I am a serious work in progress.  I had coffee with a very good friend a few weeks ago and I confessed to her how I have allowed myself to go about life expecting happiness.  One thing I have learned is that there is a difference between happiness and joy.  I wanted happiness which, to me, meant getting along with my husband, being a suzie homemaker, having my kids behave, getting ahead in life financially and doing things that I like to do.  Please do not get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with those things. What was wrong was that I got upset if those things did not happen.  A few weeks ago I had a conversation with some members of my family about heaven.  My dad (who is turning 70 next month) began telling us that he has been doing some serious thinking about death.  He is realizing that, even if he has many good years, death is approaching him.  I was very uncomfortable with that conversation until we got a bit deeper into it.  Death is reality.  If I really believe what I say that I believe, death should not make me uncomfortable.  Death is the end of life on this earth but it is the beginning of life with God.  Hmmmm, if heaven is all about angels playing harp music, opera sounding background voices, white robes and clouds, then I'm not so sure how I'm supposed to be excited about it.  Lucky for us, that's not what heaven is.  If I were to answer honestly, I don't really all that much about what heaven is going to be like but I have seen the faces of people who really, truly know God and how their eyes dance with a joy that flows from so deep within their soul.  My eyes don't do that.  That is why I don't want my kids to be like me.  However, God and I are doing some construction on my soul and hopefully one day my eyes can dance and radiate Gods love for my kids to see.  I am working of being "joyful in all circumstances".  I desperately want my kids to watch me face tough circumstances with a joy that is real.  I want to live like heaven is just around the corner.  I suppose it is.  Life is unpredictable.  What would my life look like if I lived with heaven as my goal?  What if I enjoyed all the wonderful things that life offers but instead of my life's goal being a dream house/a vacation/a large RRSP/ etc.... really living with my goal being heaven and bringing as many people with me as I possibly can.  What would my life look like then?  I'm not entirely sure, but I can tell you this.... if I could really live like that, then I would want my kids to be like me.

My Son's Name

We had a difficult time naming our son.  His middle name was a quick and easy decision.  He is named after his Grandpa, my dad (more on that to come) but it was really important to me that our son have his own first name.  No matter how great our son's namesake is, it was really important to me that he be identified by his own name because, as much as I would like him to be like his grandfather, I want him to carve out a place in the world with his own name.  So, we named him Timothy which means "honoring God'.  If I were only allowed to pray for one thing for my son, it would be that he would choose to live his life bringing honor and glory to God.  That he would know God as his father and that he would live a blessed life as a result of honoring God in all he says and does.  I wish I were better at that....  I desperately want my son to be better than me.

Timothy's middle names are William Josef.  William means "determined guardian" and Josef means "God will add, God will increase".  As amazing as both those meanings are, we did not give Timothy those names because of their meanings.  We gave him those names because of the man with those names who came before him.  In my humble opinion, my dad is an amazing man.  He came to Canada when he was 19 years old with a grade 8 education and unable to speak any English.  He worked hard and made a life for himself, and for his family.  He always provided for our family, usually more than we needed.  He taught my sisters and I to be strong, smart, loving, determined, educated women (with my mom's help, of course ;) ).  I appreciate the life that my dad provided for me and the example that he set.  But more than all of that, as I look back at my life and at my current life, I appreciate who my dad is as a person and what he means to me.  My dad loves me.  Never once in my life have I ever doubted that.  As an insecure kid, my dad would sit me in front of the mirror before school and make me say "I am just as good and just as smart as all the other kids".  I eventually believed it, not because I repeated it so much, but because I knew my dad believed it.  My dad moved part of his construction company to western Canada when I was younger and as a result, he had to miss my birthday one year.  The next year, as my birthday drew new, he was out west again.  I cried.  He caught a plane and came home for my birthday.  When I was in Jr High, I began to get involved in sports.  My dad came to the majority of my games and cheered so loud that other parents in the crowd were concerned that he would have a heart attack.  When I was pregnant with Lillian, we had some devastating news that she might not make it full term.  The day after I found out, my dad had a bad accident and ended up in the hospital with a fractured skull.  Two days after that I got some test results back that indicated that Lillian was most likely ok.  It was not a 100% guarantee and I was still feeling a little nervous.  I went to the hospital to visit my dad that day.  After telling him about the results, I remember very clearly my dad looking at me and saying, "Those are good odds.  I'd take them".  That was the moment that I felt like everything was going to be alright.

I trust my dad because he has never given me any reason not to.  I love my dad because he has always shown me love through the time he spent with me.  I talk to my dad because he always wants to talk to me.  I love being around my dad because he always smiles when I walk into a room.  I love asking my dad for advice because he always gives me his best.  I love giving my dad gifts because he never expects them but always appreciates them.  I once found a folder in my dad's desk that had notes and pictures that my sisters and I had given him over the years as we were growing up.  My dad and I do not often hug.  We rarely tell eachother "I love you".  But, there is no doubt in my mind that my dad loves me, my mom and my sisters.

I want my son to be like that.

Done.... but not sure how I feel about it.

So, I quit.  Yep, I am officially finished breastfeeding.  I apologize to anyone out there who may find this post a little awkward or too personal...... I suggest you just stop reading.  After 10 weeks of feeding my baby 7-8 times a day in pain, I quit.  I really did give it a valiant effort.  I fought through pain so bad that I almost passed out, I saw the health nurse four times, I saw the lactation consultant 6 times, I went to the breastfeeding clinic for several weeks, I tried medication, I tried creams, I tried experimental creams, I dyed my nipples purple and nothing ever helped.  I was so determined to make breastfeeding work this time around but once again, I failed after only two months.  I know there are women out there who will tell me that I did my best and I pushed through a lot of pain and that there is no shame in switching to formula, but I still feel like a failure.  Why is it so easy for some women and how do some women get past the pain?  What on earth does it feel like to breastfeed your baby without pain? 

On Saturday morning I woke up for the 5th time in 10 hours to nurse my baby and I finally just cried.  The thought of fighting through more pain was just too much.  I looked at my husband and said "I'm done" and he looked back and me and said "ok".  Then we went and bought formula.  I thought I would feel relieved.  I thought that once I decided to quit breastfeeding I would embrace my decision and be proud of myself for all the hard work I put in over the last two months.  But, I don't.  It's been four days since I made that decision and it still haunts me.  My body is slowly realizing that there is no longer a baby needing milk from his mother and it's slowly depleting its supply.  But every time I think that maybe I shouldn't have given up, my body kicks in and gets ready to feed a baby.  How on earth am I supposed to feel good about my decision when it feels like my body doesn't want to quit?  Will I ever feel good about this decision?  If I kept on going would the pain eventually get better?  What if I keep fighting and months down the road I am still miserable and in pain?  There are no answers to my questions so until my body finishes depleting its supply I fear that I will have to live in this land of limbo where I hold back tears while I question my decision a hundred times a day.

All of you mothers out there who are able to breastfeed, feel blessed.