Potty (& Other) Wars, Escape Artistry, & Then...a Baby Named Hope

Well, as you can tell, it has been a long time since I last posted -- and even longer since I posted anything original about mothering and/or pastoring. I'll tell you why:

It has been just far too crazy around here to have any energy whatsoever left over to write in the late evenings (sometimes VERY late by the time Gabriel finally settles down to sleep. Remember the excitement about the "Potty Party"?? Well, apparently Gabe thought that was to be a one-time party for a one-day potty stint and then back to diapers. After being so happy and proud of himself that evening for having attempted the potty, and even having a small margin of success, that day, the very next day was the start of major and oft-recurring meltdowns about that very thing. For the first day, he was at least willing to try for the babysitter (oh yes, he always corrects me: "CHILD-sitter!"), but fussy and whiny each time for Greg or me. By the following day, there were more tears and whines (Gabe), moans and groans (us), and LOTS of frustration all around. So, although I had determined I would NOT give up or give in because it is OBVIOUS he is flat-out stubborn on this, we DID end up giving in and deciding we'll try again later... as all the experts would, no doubt, encourage us to do.

Besides all THAT drama, we've also been dealing with ever-increasing all-around stubbornness and lack-of-listening on Gabriel's part. So much so that the home office has started to resemble a toy store, or at least a toy closet, as, one by one, many, MANY of Gabe's beloved toys have "gone away" as a consequence of blatant refusal to listen and follow instructions from a parent or -- ahem -- CHILD-sitter. He can earn a toy back by being a reasonably good listener for one day. But it is not uncommon for him to gain a toy back, only to have it removed yet again within a very short timeframe for, you guessed it, refusal to listen. And yes, for anyone who may be wondering, he does HEAR just fine; he simply opts not to respond to what he hears. Like I said, this child is STUBBORN.

We have had time-outs. OH!, have we had time-outs! This is not a child who will sit on a stool, or a special chair, or what-have-you, for a calm 3-minute time-out time. No. (Well, not for Greg and me, that is. Again, his daycare provider who took care of him through mid-May, and his summer CHILD-sitter seem to manage this as well, but for Mom and Dad -- no way.) We inevitably end up holding him firmly as he sits on one of our laps in a chair in his room. Often he'll attempt to kick or slap us, so we put our leg over his legs and our arms over his arms. It's quite a deal. I would worry about his sometime-plaintive and sometime-furious cries of "You're HURTING me!" if I didn't know for an absolute FACT that I am not; I actually grasp my OWN arm with the other OVER his, not putting direct pressure onto him at all. But, too, I am sad to admit what I never intended to do as a parent: Gabe has in just the past week or two received more swats on the butt than Logan ever did in his whole preschool time. (I swatted Logan's hand once, and he said, "No hit, Mama," prompting me to burst into tears and that was the last time THAT ever happened. But this brother of his... I SWEAR...) Be assured that these are through-the-jeans-and-diaper (yes, DIAPER!) spankings -- by far more offending to his sensibilities than painful. And I surely do struggle with the duplicity of messages we send: you hit and you get a time-out, but Mom and Dad can hit you? I hate it. But it seems to be the only thing that gets his attention sometimes.

I read in a Sears book on discipline that, if there are potty-training problems because the child is stubborn, stop the potty-training and deal with the stubbornness first. So that's where we're at. But wait... there's more:

A couple days ago, Gabriel learned how to unlock the screen doors, stepped out onto the front deck without permission, and, not surprisingly, Norman the Cat stepped out as well. Fortunately for all concerned, I was aware of it all the moment it happened and went promptly to scoop up cat and kid and corral them both back into the house and lock the INSIDE door that has the kid-proof knob-protector thingy, which -- I'm sure -- Gabe will ALSO conquer in a short while. So that evening, Greg installed hook-and-eye style latches way up high on our screen doors to keep our little Houdini in the house when he needs to be.

NOW... having said ALL THAT... let me tell you about my pastoring experience this morning:

A member of the congregation called at 2 a.m., saying her daughter had given birth by emergency c-section, but it had been a matter of placenta previa and then abrupta (separating from the uterine wall) and the baby was deprived of oxygen for quite some time. At 14 minutes of age, the doctors finally got Baby Hope's heart to beat, and she has been making slow but steady progress ever since. (She was full-term, and is good-sized, so she has that in her favor.) However, there will be no way to know for sure, for perhaps a very long time, what the long-term ramifications might be.

And at 4:45 a.m., I stood scrubbed and gowned in the NICU, placing my little finger into her little palm, stroking her bare tummy, warm under the heat-lamps, gazing at her perfect little toenails and fingernails and her soft black hair, gently navigating around all the tubes feeding her, medicating her, and helping her breathe, and the wires monitoring her frail little life... and tears coursed down my cheeks and I said, "I'm your pastor, Baby Girl. You've got to pull through this; you've got to hang on. So many people love you already. Your mommy is waiting to get strong enough to come see you. You can do it, sweetheart. Jesus loves you, precious Hope."

And I am so, so aware of how fortunate Greg and I are that our boys were not born into such touch-and-go struggle... that they are physically healthy -- indeed, healthy enough to be ornery.

I have a hunch that Hope will hang on and live... and no matter what her developing brain will or will not be able to do, she will be a precious little gift of God to her family and our congregation. But will she be able to willfully CHOOSE not to potty-train, or will it just not be an option? Will she be capable of manipulating a screen-door lock, running away from her parents in a grocery store after promising to keep her hand on the cart, wiggling and climbing and turning on the TV when it's not TV time, stuffing her mouth too full of pizza and wondering why her mom and dad think it's such a big deal? I hope so... but we don't know yet.

Whatever she is able to do, she will be fabulous! Her uniquenesses will remind us all of how God's fingers have formed each of our lives, and then re-formed each of them when they have been broken in some way or another (be it placenta previa at birth or difficulty much later in life). By her very name (chosen BEFORE her mommy went into labor -- is THAT a gift of and sign from God, or WHAT?!), she will help all who know her to remember the miracle of a human life -- hers, and every other.

And then... there is Gabriel. He, too, has a symbolic name -- not chosen for that reason, but just because Greg and I liked it. Still... his name reminds us of the messenger of God who finally announced in specific, concrete terms the coming of God into the world. And in MY Gabriel, I often, OFTEN -- in between the obstinate spells -- see a sincere caring for other people, and a child's innocent grasp that there is a God above and beside and within us to take care of us always.

And so my ornery, frustrating, lovable Gabe prayed tonight for fragile, beautiful, newborn Hope -- thanking God for her and praying God will make her well. And if she is even a SMIDGEN as stubborn as he is, she'll be fine and dandy.