Loving the Ugly

I got to take a shower today for the first time since having my c-section on Wednesday. I've been hooked up to a pain pump for the last two days, so there was no getting wet other than to wipe my face off with a hot towel.

Dh and Cindy-Lou Who came up to the hospital to visit Ralphie (if Dynamite can't name his this in real life, I will allow it in Blog World).

I am still weak from being in bed so much and a healing incision. My legs are still a little shaky and I'm walking like my 94-year old neighbor.

Dh walked slowly behind me with his hand on the small of my back and followed me in to the bathroom. There I very tenderly undressed, as not to bump anything. I looked down at my body and, well, I felt vulnerable.

My stomach is pooched out and looks about five to six months pregnant. I am red all over from the pain meds leaving a rash behind. I will spare you the facts about everything else as to keep this blog "decent" and trust that whether or not you've had a child, you know what it is to feel insecure.

Dh helped me wash my four-timed cesarean scarred up body and wrapped me in a towel. He then knelt down to dry off my legs and helped me on with my underwear as I stood there feeling anything but beautiful.

"Look how little you are," he said smiling.

It felt so good to take that shower. I felt renewed, clean and cared for.

Tonight I am thinking about what it is to be loved. To be treasured. To be cherished.

Nine and a half years and four kids later, I may have figured it out. It is not easy, but it is persistent.

Dh and I are both flawed. As I talk about the physical, it reminds that I am also spiritually flawed. We both are. We are human and full of failures. Earthly trials and temptations. Shortcomings.

And yet, showered in grace. Mercy. Love. I believe that God looks at all of those spiritual wounds we bear, and says, "Look how lovely you are".

This is what true love is: seeing the imperfections and choosing to love anyway. Embracing the broken and not trying to fix it, but to love in spite of it.

I'm counting my blessings today. Among them: a fuzzy-headed Ralphie, three gorgeous kids who keep asking their daddy when mama is coming home, the best friends in the entire universe, a mom who just can't help enough, and a dh who loves every broken part of me.

Most days, I feel uncertain. Am I being purposeful enough? Am I enriching the lives of my children? Am I being thoughtful enough? Am I making a difference? Many nights, I lay in my bed and wonder what it's all for and feel a sense of urgency that I better figure it out real quick!

But yesterday morning, I awoke and knew that I was going to accomplish something amazing. I was going to receive the gift of bringing forth new life. I didn't have to wonder if I should have focused more on math than phonics with the kids. Or if I should let Dynamite go without his nap. Or worry about what I was going to wear. My sole purpose was to give birth to my child.

Everything that could've gone wrong did, in fact, go wrong. We arrived at the hospital and a gown was tossed on the bed next to me. "Go ahead and get in to that," the nurse said without making eye contact. Okayyyy...I put the gown on. A few minutes later, a different nurse came in and said from behind the curtains, "You didn't put that gown on yet, did you?"
"Um, yeah, I did."
"Oh, well, I guess that's okay," she said, and then she turned and walked away.
They asked me a plethora of personal questions and inquired about any and all piercings and tattoos (I revealed my barely visible closed-up belly button piercing that sat like a toddler bite on my pregnant stomach).
I heard whispering about being bumped as I sat there with the IV coursing through my veins. I watched the clock ticking away minute by minute. Finally, a streaky-blonde came in and said, "Looks like there are a few emergency c-sections lined up...don't really know if or when you're going to get in there."
I wanted to yell out, "Hey lady! You're messing with My Purpose!"
A few minutes later, my doctor came in and said I could come back the next day or he could ask another doctor if she'd be willing to do it, but she might not be too happy about it. Well, quite frankly, I didn't care if she was happy about it or not. And I didn't care who did it. I just wanted it done.
So, as I sat there with nothing but a flimsy robe on and tubes tangles around me, I said, "I'm not going home."
The alternate doctor in the practice, the one who doesn't really like me b/c she thinks that I bothered her when the room was spinning and I thought I might be dying from a blood clot (yes, I am that dramatic) is the one who ended up doing my surgery. I was a little frightened that she might take out her frustration on me in the OR, but she graciously restricted herself to a few sarcastic comments and hoity-toity looks.
Finally, hours after my arrival at the hospital, I was wheeled back to achieve My Purpose. They tied my arms down (apparently that's just what they do), bent me over and stuck a needle in my back, and gave me funny medicine that made my legs feel like hot water was filling up inside them. There was pulling so hard that I thought my face was going to explode. And then...

There was life. There was a cry that had never been heard before. Soft skin never touched now laid up against mine.

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. A million words in a single drop. I love you, you are mine.

As I lay in bed and the night sky is streaked with purples and pinks, I am reminded that all of the mindless macaroni and cheese lunches come back to this. All of the empty reminders to flush the toilet and brush your teeth, to tie your shoes and do your homework...all of the things I feel my day are comprised of that make me feel like I don't achieve anything...they all come back to this moment. The take-your-breath-away and the if-I-have-to-clean-up-this-mess-one-more-time...all woven together in to one fabric of beautiful, meaningful life.