Dana Gribbins, a faith driven woman, wife and mother of five, runs her life between gluten-free oils and lard cupcakes. She uplifts and connects with others through candid tales of every day experiences, homeschooling, and “what on earth?” moments of her family.
My oldest, Sprite, with her youngest sister, Torpedo.
See blog post, accidental home birth, to understand her pseudonym.
So, how about them introverts.
Observant, quiet, intuitive, intellectual, creative, and independent, are just a few of an introverts noteworthy qualities.
But, sometimes the execution of these qualities are misinterpreted and instead experienced as rude/off putting, lacking social skills, or just plain weird.
I’ve spent time connecting with other moms over our introverted children, and conversing about adults’ expectations.
These discussions have revealed that children are given way less grace and understanding when adults encounter these misread attributes, and unmasked some common themes.
My introvert, Sprite, when she was 4 years old. This is one of my favorite photos of her.
Photo credit: Stephanie Tanner
They’re choosy.
That kid who’s hiding behind their parent, hasn’t observed you enough to be neighborly. It’s totally okay to be obedient to the uncomfortableness of strangers, or even with familiar individuals.
They’re always listening.
That kid who doesn’t respond when you ask them a question, they aren’t dumb or unable to communicate. They’re quietly observing and haven’t decided if you will value their time as they will yours.
They don’t owe you anything.
That kid who doesn’t want to give you a hug or high five, that’s perfectly okay too. Would you hug a stranger? Would you offer a sign of physical affection if you’re uncomfortable, family or stranger alike?
Do you enjoy doing things that go against your person?
Is it right to expect a child to ignore their uncomfortable feelings as well?
Absolutely not.
They’re supposed to be that way.
Unfortunately, these tendencies can cause some to get their underwear in a wad.
So, why do some get so frustrated?
Well, for me I struggle because I have a particular agenda: an expected response – a hug, a smile, or some kind of visible acknowledgement.
The common denominator? Me.
What I want. When I focus on what I expect in return, I’m not giving proper consideration to the other person’s feelings or comfort level.
We have to remember introverts just don’t offer those displays of comfort or affection lightly. And, we shouldn’t encourage otherwise.
Because they are choosy, that embrace, dialogue, or friendship you’re after is earned with an introvert. But, your investment will never be never in vain.
That hug you finally receive has greater meaning.
That in-depth conversation will be one for the books.
That relational connection you make is lifelong.
Newborn photoshoot. Left to right: Banshee (holding Torpedo), Sprite, and Tempest.
Photo credit: Stephanie Tanner
I encourage all of you (myself included), to straighten out your underwear, and not rush your introvert. Be willing to remove your personal expectations and take a hot minute.
In this crazy world, what an introvert offers is powerful. Praise your kiddos for their quiet and introspective ways in such a loud, busy world.
Take the time and pour into them and you will reap something truly beautiful.
If you have an introverted child, what are some things you’ve learned? Anything surprise you?
I have breastfed 3 children, and am currently nursing my fourth. I promise I’m qualified to make such a statement.
From our newborn photoshoot. This is actually a calm nursing moment.
Photo credit: Stephanie Tanner
So, why does breastfeeding suck?
Let’s start with the the first two weeks, if not longer, are absolutely horrific. No amount of lanolin or warm compresses can soften the adjustment your breasts have to make. You basically trade regular nipples for ones of steel. *shink shink*
I mean seriously, after breastfeeding, you’d be a champion candidate for a nipple piercing.
If you have multiple kids, you know what they like to do every time you sit down to nurse? They pull some crap and you have to decide whether to get up and battle it with a baby on your boob, or wait until said baby is finished and clean up the aftermath.
New crayon wall decor? Sure!
Self administered haircuts? Why not?
Overflowing toilet? Sounds great.
Can you guess my facial expression?
Photo credit: Stephanie Tanner
Also, for some, myself included, due to baby tummy issues, have to give up dairy for a while during the nursing phase.
I miss cheese.
And this👇 is not cheese.
But, I will say, it’s pretty good for a cheese substitute.
Oh yeah, and when a baby cries, and it doesn’t even have to be yours, your breasts begin oozing milk and you sit there like a cow with drippy udders. No thanks.
On the topic of cows, let’s take a look at breast pumps – if you want to have a night out, a break, or return to work without messing with your milk supply, you’ll need access to one. So, take a seat, strap on the contraptions and get ready for it to pull on your nipples in the hope of extracting some breast milk.
Sounds like fun, right? Not.
Can you hear the faint sound of a breast pump?
Let’s not forget when your baby unexpectedly sleeps through the night. You wake up very full, so much so, you could literally pop your breasts and splatter your walls with breastmilk.
Clean up aisle 5!
And speaking of splatter: have you ever tried to hand express breastmilk? It’s like a freakin’ spray nozzle on a garden hose. Holy moly. Squeegee, please!
My three year old snagged this one of me nursing our fourth.
Despite everything I said prior, I am very grateful I’ve been able to breastfeed all of my kids, though it’s been a hard road.
Breastfeeding has brought me tears, pain, embarrassment, and consumed my time. But, in this process, I’ve gained determination, empowerment, strength, connections, and a desire to help others.
It takes the care and expertise of other moms and great lactation consultants to have a successful breastfeeding experience.
Basically, it takes a village.
If you need a village to help on your breastfeeding journey, come on over to mine. I’ve dealt and deal with Raynaud’s, vasospasm, oral ties (lip, tongue, and cheek), and many other issues. I’d love to help you.
One of the best lactation consultants I’ve worked with is Bonnie Logsdon, IBCLC. You can find her info here: https://www.thebabysvoice.com/
Also, I’d love to hear your crazy, funny, or emotional breastfeeding stories in the comments.
A few days ago, Facebook disrupted my usual morning scroll and instead traded it for a sneak attack of grief.
The photo below, an 8 year old memory, is of my dad holding my oldest when she was 18 months old.
It’s a moment I won’t ever be able to capture with our newest little one.
I am thankful, however, that I snapped some photos of him with my other three at various times.
My dad with my second oldest. Here she’s 6 weeks.
My dad passed away just over a year and a half ago, after a long battle with cancer. And, it’s grief has implemented an unexpected plan all it’s own.
I encounter my grief in waves. Sometimes it barely touches my toes, and other times crashes over me with an inescapable undertow.
It doesn’t care how busy I am, or if I can mentally handle it’s load.
It can steal my stillness, overtake my busyness, and interrupt my contentment.
But, it’s good. It’s necessary. It’s important.
Its unpredictable nature refines my character.
Its moments of remembrance keep me honest and empathetic.
My dad and my third, who was then almost two.
I lean in.
Soak it up.
And, I grieve.
I grieve that our littlest one, now just over four months old, will never know her Papaw.
But, through acknowledging and displaying my grief, it gives way to shareable opportunities with my girls, and I slowly heal.
It helps them understand that although grief is difficult and emotional, manifests in numerous ways, and can leave you with more questions than answers, it’s okay.
It’s all okay.
Ultimately, I rest in the One who’s bigger than my grief. I have hope and assurance that my dad is with Jesus. No longer in the throes of this sinful world, but instead in the glorious presence of our God.
We’re an hour from home, after driving for 12+ hours.
“Mom, where did Banshee get chocolate?!”
“I didn’t give her chocolate.”
My husband and I turn to each other, lock eyes and begin laughing hysterically.
We find an underpass and stop to confirm our suspicions.
Yep, there she is. 18 months old, enjoying her discovery of an oozing poopy diaper.
AND, because we were on a trip, we had to clean the seat with baby wipes, then line the seat with baby blankets and just make it home.
It was disgusting. It was stupid funny. And it was memorable.
No joke, this is my life on the regular.
When I married my husband almost 12 years ago, I never thought this is where I’d be. Mother to 4 Redheaded girls, homemaking, homeschooling, and navigating this parenting thing.
So, I’m here. Blogging about my life wearing these multiple hats, and inviting you on my journey.
I will be sharing the fun, the weird, and the sarcastic moments of my life with you.
And, maybe, just maybe, you’ll feel like you’re not alone.
You’ll feel encouraged.
You’ll laugh.
You’ll give me an air high five.
And then, you’ll go about the rest of your day knowing that we’re all in this together.
Labor from beginning to end was one and a half hours.
My water broke in our master bathroom. Next contraction her head emerged.
The following contraction, she was completely delivered. Brent caught the baby.
If you’d like a play by play, please read on:
So, this was me just 6 hours before, on my due date with my then youngest hugging my belly, helping me forget for a moment all my worries and fears surrounding this pregnancy.
She must have known.
Banshee at our homeschool community day
Contractions begin about 5:00. Though, I couldn’t consistently track them. I messaged Brent that I believe real labor has begun (he was in the basement with the girls).
About 5:30, he fed the girls dinner while I continued dealing with contractions, sitting on my exercise ball in the living room.
Around 5:45, Tina, my friend and doula, calls and I mention I’m having chronic, but inconsistent, contractions. You know, whateves.
Soon after, roughly 6:00, Brent calls for reinforcements. Tina and his parents were needed STAT. “Is Tina coming?!” I ask exasperated. “She’s on her way!” He replies.
From 6:10-6:35 the contractions intensify and send me running back and forth to the bathroom. As baby moves down, so does everything else.
My last trip to the bathroom, I sat down on the toilet and my water broke.
That at was NOT pee.
I raised my voice and yelled for Brent.
Then, I felt it. The burn.The ring of fire.
I stand up and reluctantly reach down…it’s the top of her head.
OH MY GOSH.
I screamed for Brent. Like this guttural, other-worldly sound left my body.
I heard his quick footsteps racing down the hallway.
He steps into the bathroom, and I point down, “this is her head!” I shockingly say.
He takes a step out and calls the paramedics.
The next contraction comes – I just try to hold on. I reach down again, even more reluctantly…I touch her face. I can feel my fingertips brush against her lips and nose.
Now, I’m really freaking out.
Brent steps back in and I panic repeat,”what do I do!?”
Another contraction begins and it sends me to the floor and I announce with great fervor “the baby is coming!”
I flip on to my back just before I push, Brent leaps over, tosses the phone on the toilet seat, kneels down and out she comes.
He catches, quickly wraps her in towels, and cleans her face.
He hands her to me.
I am in shock.
Brent tells dispatch that baby is here.
He is then instructed to clamp the cord. We look at each other – we don’t exactly have a clamp stash in our home.
The next thing I know, Brent steps out and comes back with a shoelace and ties a bow on the cord as a makeshift clamp.
He filled me in later that while trying to find a shoelace. I was later informed he would chuck a shoe across the room if he couldn’t get the lace out fast enough. There were quite a number of shoes flying around the bedroom.
Our oldest was the runner – she ran for towels, put our dog in the backyard, and waved in EMS. I would say this was a successful end to our homeschool day. Life skills. Check.
They arrive – and they’re a lively bunch too. The two main medics delivered their own children.
Since we weren’t at a hospital, we’re fresh out of anything needed for cord cutting. So, the medics offer a scalpel. Brent cut our baby’s cord with a pre-sterilized, plastic wrapped scalpel.
Following this, our girls scurried back so they could see that everything was okay. They peered into the bathroom, where I am sitting in all the fluids, and I looked at them and said, “everything is okay. Mommy is okay.”
The paramedics then asked if we wanted some pictures. Of course!
My no longer youngest is unamused.
Soon after, I’m transferred to the stretcher. Where I sit by the front door awaiting travel to the ambulance.
As I wait, my in-laws arrive. Clasping her hands together, my mother-in-law smiles and says, “ok, I’m here!”
I look at her, and my girls say, “mommy had the baby!”
“What?!” She said wide-eyed.
I point to the hallway. She turns to see Brent holding the baby. She lets out, “oh!” And her hand clutches her chest in a surprised, dramatic fashion and begins falling into our coat rack. *paramedics lunge*
My doula, Tina, finally arrives with a skip in her step. She looks at me, “you’ve got to be shittin’ me! She couldn’t wait until I got here?!” My hands go up in a posture of ‘I don’t know.’
This whole experience was crazy. None of this was planned. I had so many worries:
I worried my new label, advanced maternal age, would taint the way my doctor would deal with my labor and delivery. Tina commented, “you showed advanced maternal age who’s boss!”
A couple of weeks before, I was informed my girls wouldn’t be able to meet their sister in the hospital. I was so upset. It’s one of my favorite things. But, due to rising and difficult cases of RSV and flu, not even siblings were allowed in the hospital. But, this experience allowed them to meet her.
I stressed about postpartum hemorrhaging, which was a previous delivery complication. But, I had absolutely no problems.
I questioned whether I could make another natural, unmedicated delivery. Instead, I was gifted with a quick, but intense, labor and speedy delivery.
And, my husband was able to deliver (well, catch) our newest edition.
God met all of my fears and anxieties head on in these moments. And, I couldn’t be more grateful, humbled, or blessed when I look back and remember.
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