How to potty train the stubborn one

I can't tell you how often the question comes up in mommy conversation, "How did you do potty training with your twins?" I thought now would be an appropriate time to share the knowledge and experience I've gained since everyone is stuck at home (i.e. the PERFECT time to tackle this dreaded parental duty!). Mamas of littles, grab yourself a fresh cup of coffee, settle down in your favorite naptime chill spot and get ready for some toilet talk.

When my twin girls turned two years old, I decided to go ahead and get the potty training nightmare over with. Their older brother had practically trained himself at 26 months old and I fervently hoped the girls would follow in his merciful footsteps. One twin complied. The other waited another full YEAR until she was ready to trust the toilet with her little treasures.

Child #1 and #2 potty trained with the hardcore boot camp method. Big shout out to Jamie Glowacki for her incredibly insightful book, Oh Crap! Potty Training. Seriously, if you've never potty trained a kid, go buy this beauty on Amazon right now. I mean it, stop reading and go do it.

THE BOOT CAMP METHOD
Here's how I did it (but you should still read the book):
Pick the morning you want to start. You want to be able to stay home for at least 3 days in a row. See? Quarantine is ideal! Four or so days in advance of P-Day, start excitedly mentioning to your toddler that he or she has grown up SO much and they're going to be able to wear underwear like a big kid really soon! On P-Day, strip your toddler out of their pjs and diaper/pull up and say, "Good morning, sweetie! Guess what? Today you're a BIG kid! That means no more diapers/pullups. We are going to practice putting your pee pee and poop in the potty!" Then leave your kid naked for the entire day. Yes, you read that correctly. I said naked.

Put a potty seat in the room where you'll spend most of the day (playroom? living room?) so that it is easily and quickly accessible when your child begins to recognize the sensation of needing to pee. For the twins I had two potties that I set beside each other and decorated with stickers of their favorite Disney character. I also, no lie, put every towel we owned down on the floors in our living and playrooms so that pee or poo accidents wouldn't touch our carpets. I did a lot of laundry that week but It. Was. Worth. It.

You might want to give your child a box of apple juice in the morning and another in the afternoon to help encourage lots of pee pee opportunities. Put them in a diaper for naptime ONLY and explain that when they sleep they don't know that they need to pee pee so diapers are okay for naptime. Otherwise, watch them like a hawk for three days. Get down on the floor and play with them, watch tv with them, have naked dance parties with them (please keep your own clothes on, though, for the sake of the neighbors). Being naked leaves them feeling exposed and emphasizes the "I need to pee" sensation so that after a few accidents they should start getting over to the potty for the majority of the pee incident. By day 2-3 they should consistently make it to the potty seat, maybe even pooping in it too! Then you're ready to take them out to run a very short "errand" where you practice using a public potty with them. We went to Target and I let them pick out their own new underwear after we visited the restroom.

The next day, I let the training child go commando in shorts (no underwear, so still some extra physical awareness for the child). This allowed them to practice having to pull down pants before sitting on the potty. A day or so of this and they were ready to graduate to underwear! Voila!

Big brother and Twin B took to the boot camp method better than I could have imagined. It was an intense week each time, but we emerged with 95% potty trained kiddos.

What about Twin A? you ask. Well, she is the real reason for this post. Here's what I learned potty training my stubborn, independent child.

THE STUBBORN ONE
1. You'll need to just pick a method and try it. Whatever you choose, no matter how fool-proof your friend or neighbor or Google told you it is, it won't work. Your child will flat out refuse. She will somehow manage to purposefully pee on the mini bookcase in the playroom and watch in fascination as the books drip with urine.

2. Don't be discouraged. You lost this battle, but you will win the war.

3. Give the method you've chosen the full mommy try - a week. If you are seeing NO progress after a week, consider the fact that this child might truly not be ready. This was hard for me. One twin potty trained in 2 days and the other twin was still sneaking behind the couch to poop directly onto the floor on day 7 (she never made it past the naked phase).

4. Put your stubborn progeny back into pullups, eat the dessert of your choice, and give yourself a pep talk. This child will potty train one day. And that day will come before they graduate from high school. Poise underwear is for older folks, not 10 year olds.

5. While in limbo, keep encouraging said child to treat their pull up like panties and use the big kid potty. I waited 6 months from our first go round while watching my independent daughter get comfortable with the potty on her own terms. By this time I was completely over potty chairs (who actually wants to dump and clean them multiple times per day?!) and had thrown them out in favor of a potty seat that the kids could take on and off of our regular toilets. Over time I realized that Twin A had become a pro at climbing onto the potty and doing her business when she wanted to. Once I was reasonably certain she was having success about 70% of the time, which was for us around the six month mark, we tried again.

6. Whenever you have the courage and emotional fortitude to try again and it seems like your child might be ready, pick another method and go for it! Or if you're a glutton for punishment you can try the same method that failed her the first time.

For my little Willful Wonder, the second go involved moving from pullups straight into panties. I knew she was jealous that her twin had been wearing princess panties for months, so I bought her a pack of her favorite character and explained to her in exaggerated mock seriousness that she was a big girl now and I knew she wouldn't poop on Minnie Mouse. Well, she pooped on Minnie Mouse. She pooped on Minnie Mouse almost every day for 3 weeks. She pooped on Minnie Mouse and sometimes told me an hour or more later. I cut so many soiled pairs of Minnie Mouse panties off of her that we ran out of them entirely. At this point I took a deep breath, cried for a bit, and put her back into pull ups. We had recently decided to sell our house, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was pee stains on the brand new carpet we'd be installing. This would need to wait. Again.

7. Don't be discouraged. You lost another battle. It hurt your feelings, it hurt your pride. It overworked your washing machine. I need you to know when potty training brings you to your knees in an overwhelming feeling of Total Mommy Failure … YOUR WORTH AS A PARENT DOES NOT RESULT FROM WHERE YOUR CHILD PUTS THEIR POOP. Period. Every child is different, and some just need a lot more time than others to hit this milestone and stick with it. By now it's probably no longer an issue of not understanding how to go, it is simply a matter of wanting to go. 

Fast forward to a full year from our original twin potty training boot camp. Twin B has been rocking her panties with almost zero accidents for the past 11 months or more. Twin A seems to be pleased as punch with her pullups. We have successfully moved houses two weeks before Christmas, hosted extended family for Christmas, and started back to preschool after the holiday break. I read somewhere that moving can be a little traumatic for young children, so I decided to wait and let my daughter adjust to her new surroundings for a month or two. I settled on preschool spring break at the beginning of April as Round 3 P-Day.

8. Once you're ready to put on your big girl panties and revisit your child's potty woes, proceed. For us, this happened earlier than planned. Thanks, COVID-19! One week into self-imposed quarantine I watched my little cutie yanking on her pullup and it hit me. NOW. Now is the time to try again! We are stuck at home for the unforeseeable future. What else are we going to do?

So almost two weeks ago I pulled Twin A onto my lap, let her scroll through Amazon's pages of toddler character panties and choose her favorite. I ordered them and told her when they arrived in 2 days, we needed to potty train. I went against every single piece of advice I'd read over the past 15 months and decided to punish potty accidents. I know my daughter, I was confident she knew exactly how to use the toilet successfully and was simply choosing not to. 

I ran to CVS (thanks for staying open, pharmacies) and found a TY Beanie Boo that was the most ridiculously cute tiny stuffed sloth I'd ever seen. My girl is obsessed with sloths. I knew this would be a choice prize. On the morning we started panties, I excitedly showed her Tiny and told her that he would be hers once she could make it through 3 full days with zero potty accidents. I told her that if she pooped in her panties I would take away her favorite stuffy for bedtime that night. We pinky swore and got to it.

On Day One she peed on herself twice. She was figuring out how quickly she needed to make it to a bathroom once she felt the urge. I knew that so I didn't make a big deal out of it. I just kept reminding her that the next day we would start again and she could work toward cuddling that sloth.

On Day Two the little rascal pooped her pants. On purpose. We had a conversation about it and she admitted she'd chosen not to go to toilet. I took away her favorite stuffy. She cried. She got over it.

On Day Three something miraculous happened. We made it to bedtime with CLEAN, DRY PANTIES. I almost couldn't believe it! Tiny sloth was one day closer! I made a huge deal out of her success and she beamed with pride. Her siblings got in on the cheerleading, too.

On Days Four, Five and Six my girl slayed potty training. SLAYED IT. No accidents. On the third successful night when I put the sloth into her triumphant hands, she giggled for about 7 minutes straight. So proud. So delighted with herself. 

We're now 12 days all in with panties and chica is doing great. She's has two more pee pee accidents, but both happened when we were in new environments (outside in the yard playing, visiting Lala's house down the street). I am giving those pullups away and NEVER GOING BACK. 

9. You will get here, my weary mommy friend. Whatever approach(es) you take, however long it takes - one blessed day you will watch your child's face practically glowing with pride and you will know. It's over. We did it. YOU DID IT. 


This might be the longest post I've ever written but I'm hoping it will provide a small glimmer of hope for parents feeling frustrated and befuddled by potty training. I have two children who potty trained at 2 years old and one who waited until she was 3 months shy of four years old. Every child is different. No particular method is "the" one. What you really need is persistence, patience, and a whole lot of grace. And more than one pack of Minnie Mouse panties.

In the waiting

I'm waiting again. Waiting at the gate, watching passengers rush on to their destinations while I sit, going nowhere. Waiting for my flight to be called so I can ascend again into a cheery blue sky. I want to peer down at my current circumstance through a plexiglass window and barely be able to discern its edges. I want to move on.

But I'm waiting again. Not because I want to. Not because I think it's what it best for me. Rather, because I have no choice. Because, for some reason unfathomable to me, my perfect Father knows this is what I need right now.

I've spent nearly three months now back in the full swing of Major Depressive Disorder. Some days I wrestle with God over why. Sometimes I don't care about anything at all. Daily I hear His voice speaking love and comfort over me. Realistically, I don't want His comfort. I want His deliverance.

I spend time every morning reading His Word, even though I haven't truly wanted to most days this summer. He keeps pointing my stubborn heart back to Psalm 40. He keeps trying to show me how He is moving. Once in a while I let Him.

I waited patiently for the Lord;
He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He drew me up from the pit of destruction,
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the Lord.
Psalm 40:1-3

God wants me to wait - patiently. Merriam-Webster defines patient as "steadfast despite opposition, difficulty or adversity." I almost have to laugh reading that definition, as the very word steadfast is tattooed on my wrist. And it dawns on me. He is certainly steadfast in His love for me, no matter whether I ignore or admire, accuse or praise Him. He is patient with me. Maybe He is teaching my soul to be patient, too. Maybe He is asking me to trust Him as He molds me more into His likeness, makes my love steadfast like His.

I'm not writing this for self-promotion or even creative catharsis. I'm writing it because of Psalm 40:3. I don't ever want my suffering to be in vain. I want to keep asking God what He will show me about myself and about His character - and I want to share what I'm learning with others in the hopes that He will somehow be glorified through it.

So if you're waiting too, I'm genuinely sorry. I know how difficult it can be, how lonely and frustrating and seemingly endless. But friend, can I challenge you as I challenge myself? Don't waste your waiting. Ask Him what He wants to teach you, and let Him put a new song in your mouth. No matter what your circumstance, He is at work. And He is steadfastly pursuing your heart.

Perfect storms

We all know the perfect Christian. You know her, she's the one with perfectly dressed, perfectly smiling children on Instagram. She's the one who always responds to, "Hey, how are you?" with "Awesome!" She's that girl who seems to always be perfectly thriving in her perfectly manicured life. Her texts are laden with praise hand emoticons and exclamation points in equal excess. She's arrived. She loves Jesus, therefore her life is perfect.

Right?

No. That person doesn't exist. Not really. That perfect Christian is just extremely good at masquerading at happiness. How do I know this? Because the Bible says ALL humans are completely, utterly screwed up and immeasurably flawed. Becoming a follower of Christ doesn't unlock a magic door that leads you into a perfectly happy life. I want to apologize on behalf of the girl mentioned above and everyone else like her in today's Christian culture who perpetuates this myth. There are many Christians who feel a tremendous burden to outwardly appear lovely and happy and fulfilled because … well if I'm not, doesn't that mean I'm not really a Christian? Or am I not really trusting God to give me my best life now?

Do you know what Jesus taught about more than any other topic during his time on Earth? It wasn't love, or kindness, or even repentance. It was suffering.

All people, Christian or not, are born into a world crippled and corrupted by sin and death. The world around us doesn't change when we choose to trust in Jesus. And we still live in fleshly bodies that are prone to wandering and decay. When a person chooses Jesus, it's her Spirit that is regenerated, made new and viewed as perfect by a holy God.

It's that renewed Spirit that grows stronger and more beautiful with each daily struggle - when we invite God into our pain. He doesn't promise us perfection or even happiness this side of heaven. What He does promise is Himself. His Word says

"It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed."  Deuteronomy 31:8

and

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."  Psalm 23:4

and

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."  Isaiah 41:10

and

"The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth."  Psalm 145:18

We are promised struggle and pain and frustration in this life. But we are also promised comfort and joy and peace that surpasses human understanding. Struggling believer, you are not alone. God has not left you and you have done nothing to take His favor from you. You're simply experiencing the effects of living in a fallen world. Lean into Jesus. He is standing beside you, longing for you to take His hand and enter into His supernatural rest. Storms do come, but there is One who tells the storm to hush and beckons us to walk to Him across the waters. Have faith, dear one. He is all powerful, He never changes, and you are His - perfectly.

Steadfast

If you are hurting, if you are confused, if you feel rejected, please take a few minutes to read this. My hope is that you will take hold of the promises that can be yours in Jesus.

This isn't a pretty story. The past two years have spiraled and twisted along, thorny and desperate and often angry. I have wrestled with my faith, wondering with groans and tears why a loving Father would hear my cries for relief and choose not to give it. I have befriended the Psalmists in their pleas, I am intimately acquainted with their grief.

I say to God, my rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?” As with a deadly wound in my body, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me continually, 'Where is your God?'" Psalm 42:9-10

For two years He did not deliver me. And yet He never left my side. In this, the most difficult season of my life to date, I felt the presence and comfort of my Savior in ways I only wish I could adequately describe. He has been more real to me, more true, more sufficient to hold up my weary arms than I could ever have imagined. To know my God this well, to trust Him with this level of confidence is worth whatever scars I now bear.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea. Psalm 46:1-2

We live in a world broken and corrupted by sin, where sickness and death are common realities. We have a beautiful and powerful promise that one day the world and everything in it will be fully restored, but that day hasn't come yet (Revelation 21). In the meantime, there is a God, the Creator, who already holds Victory in His hand. He loves His children fiercely. He sent His only Son to experience every earthly temptation and heartache so that He can perfectly empathize with us (Hebrews 4:15). He does not promise to remove us from the broken condition of the world, but He does promise to walk through the darkest valleys with us and to supply the power we need to endure (2 Corinthians 4).

This isn't a pretty story, but it IS a glorious one. For now, my psychiatrist and I have finally found a combination of drugs that work for me. I feel more like myself than I have since my girls were born. As I shake off the weight and test my wings, I can't help but be filled with great joy at the steadfastness of my God. He never left me. He never will.

This promise can be as true for you as it is for me. All you have to do is believe in Him and trust in what Jesus accomplished for you when he died on the cross and came up out of the grave. When you are adopted into His family, you have access to His abundant love, mercy, strength and power. If you seek Him, you will find Him, and this will be as true for you as it has been for me:

But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in Him.'" Lamentations 3:21-24

The Art of Hanging On

I am a shell. Or at least it feels that way. A shell of the woman I used to be, before Depression scooped me up, flipped me upside down and sent most of my self-identifying traits jangling out into a scattered pile on the floor. Most days I wonder where the spunky, driven, faith-filled girl I used to be has gone. Most days it is a struggle to remember what it feels like to be me. Most days I don't want to fight to find her.

And Yet. No matter how desperate or discouraged, despondent or defeated I feel I know there is a reality greater than my Depression. I love Jesus, I have been adopted into His family and my identity as a daughter of God Himself will never change. 

I have to preach that to myself, y'all. Every. Day. If I'm honest, that is incredibly difficult to do right now. I often choose to succumb to sadness and despondency instead of opening my Bible and clinging to my Father in prayer. I choose to believe the lie that Depression is what defines me now, that I will never get the "old me" back.

Can you relate? Is there a hurt in your life so deep and seemingly never-ending that you can't see how or where God can possibly be at work? If you are nodding your head, I am so sorry for your pain. It sucks. Here is what God has reminded me of today.

We have to fight.

As I read in the book of Joshua this morning, a particular verse jumped out at me. "Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go" (1:9). That promise was not just made to Joshua. God loved us enough to sacrifice His only Son, and Jesus left us the Holy Spirit as a helper. I have to fight through my circumstances to speak truth to myself and find hope in my Savior. The key is that I am not meant to fight alone. As a believer I have the help of the Holy Spirit to be strong where I am weak. "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still" (Exodus 14:14). All we need to do is admit our weakness and call on the Conquering King for help to believe when we cannot.

We need to be surrounded.

Sometimes even calling out to God for help seems too difficult. This is when I need believers around me who know me, know my struggles and can stand in the gap for me. I have chosen to be transparent about my Depression because I recognize that I need brothers and sisters in Christ to know my situation and pray for me when I cannot. I am incredibly grateful for my husband, parents and friends who are praying for me and encouraging me through this difficult season. It is often their reminders of Christ's unshakable love for me that spark a light in my darkness. I need those reminders of where my true, beautiful and unchangeable identity lies, and so do you.

This is how we hang on. "Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need" (Hebrews 4:16). Know that the God of all creation loves you, is in constant pursuit of you, and gives you a Hope and a Future that rises above and beyond your current circumstances. I am choosing His reality today. Let's do it together.

The lion that roars

I recognize the fact that I only write blog entries a few choice times each year, and I tell myself I will make it a more interesting online destination one day when the kids are older. Who actually knows? But once or twice a year, though my naptime respite from the minions is short and altogether precious, I decide I need to use it to write. And so here we are again.

Depression, y'all. It is a prowling lion, tail wriggling in anticipation, ready to pounce at any moment. If you read my last entry, entitled My Scar, you know that last January I tied a nice little bow on the end of my Post Partum Depression and thought I was mostly in the clear. I could not have been more wrong. And although I could try to think of something more clever, more exciting or funnier to write about, this is what is in my face and on my heart daily right now. This roaring lion that just doesn't want to shut its mouth.

About a month after I penned my last post my depression kicked up in a major way. In the nine months that followed until today I have struggled to find a good combination of medication and dosages so that I can feel like myself again. So that I can muster up some amount of motivation to do more than the bare minimum to get through each day. So that I am not frequently overwhelmed or sad or despairing.

Don't get me wrong. This is NOT a "woe is me" post. I have it GOOD and I know it! I grew up in a loving home with parents who sometimes still make me a little uncomfortable with their public displays of affection. I married a man who loves Jesus first, me second and our children third - and all with ferocious devotion. He is gracious and kind and patient when I am selfish and irritable and complaining. I have three beautiful children who, for the most part, are healthy and happy, funny and smart. So what is my problem, right? I say this to highlight the fact that depression is not rational. Nor is it always circumstantial.

I will concede that keeping three human beings under the age of three years old is not easy breezy lemon squeezy. People comment regularly to me how they and their other friend so and so don't know how I do it. Guess what. I don't know either! But honestly, I have so much support from family (hi, Mom) and friends. I am aware and remind myself nearly daily that this is a difficult season but it will pass as my babies grow. In other words, I don't believe I am in a situation that one might think warrants a depressed state.

So my depression isn't rational and usually isn't circumstantial. Another myth I'll derail is that depression is a spiritual deficiency. Mine sure isn't! I love Jesus and often experience the joy, love and victory that being in relationship with Him brings. Drawing close to Him can temporarily relieve my symptoms, but no amount of prayer or "right living" has muzzled my lion. I believe that God purposefully allows me to deal with Leo.

What should I do with all of this? It's pretty frustrating stuff. I can't fix myself with rational thinking, circumstantial change or even prayer. But I know why. I'm not meant to fix myself. Though I can pray for the renewing of my mind and know that God will be faithful to answer that prayer, I still live in a broken world and a fleshly body that will war against Him until He returns victorious over everything.

After 14 years of dealing with depression and anxiety, I am beginning to realize that it is extremely possible my lion will never fully leave me. The apostle Paul called his "a thorn in the flesh." It was an unnamed malady God allowed Paul to wrestle continually and without permanent victory. This ailment forced him to choose whether he would rely on Christ's strength or manage on his own. In regularly choosing to lean on Jesus, Paul discovered that God's "power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). It is when I acknowledge my inabilities that God can reveal His glory by giving me love, acceptance and power to overcome moment by moment.

Depression is real and hard and seemingly never completely gone. You can address it rationally (medication, professional counseling, etc), circumstantially (focus on the good in your life or remove yourself from negativity), and spiritually (pray, try to be a "good" person) and still not yank that lion by his tail and drag him away. But it's okay. There is still good news! Jesus is near to the broken-hearted. He delights in showing off His power and generosity in people's lives when we acknowledge our need for Him. I am learning this daily and want to share my heart with you. Whether you experience depression or know someone who does, look to Jesus. Try Him. Your lion's only a housecat to the King.

My Scar

Illustration: Erin McPhee

Source: www.todaysparent.com

Stigma. The Merriem Webster dictionary defines this word as "a set of negative and often unfair beliefs that a society or group of people have about something; a scar left by a hot iron; a mark of shame or discredit."

Postpartum Depression. It's one of these scars, one that many women endure silently because they are embarrassed, ashamed, frightened or confused. There is only one real purpose a scar can serve once it has formed and that's to tell a story. So in an effort to be purposeful, here is the story behind my scar.

I was prepared to experience PPD when I gave birth to my first child, Brooks. Depression runs in my family, and I have been on medication for anxiety and depression for 14 years now. Thanks to an amazing psychiatrist, really good medicine and years of figuring out what action steps work for me, I only sometimes experience the lows that depression can bring. I expected that to change with childbirth. Thankfully, I was wrong. For the first year of Brooks' life I definitely felt the full gamut of postpartum emotions that all mothers know - extreme exhaustion, fear of failure, intense love and protectiveness, triumph at small victories and tears shared with an inconsolable babe. But I could fairly easily bounce back from anything unpleasant. Most often I was happy and content to be a mom. I worked part time, cared for my son, stayed engaged in my marriage and continued leading worship at my church. I felt like myself.

Fast forward 20 months to the birth of my girls. I had come through the postpartum months with Brooks relatively unscathed. I knew, though, that gestating two babies quite literally meant I had twice the amount of additional estrogen coursing through my body. Again I prepared myself for the worst. And again I was wrong...at first. Keeping two newborns and a young toddler alive for those first two months was the most insanely difficult thing I've ever done. I was breastfeeding, pumping, supplementing, consoling one baby who cried day and night, and oh yeah, keeping my almost two year old entertained. But I was doing it (with a crazy amazing load of help from my incredible husband, mom, mother in law, etc). I was exhausted, slightly scared and often frustrated. But I felt like myself.

I reached 10 weeks postpartum and began to emerge from the newborn fog. I looked around at my day to day, in-the-trenches life and inwardly smiled. I've got this. I'm making it. Everything is going to be fine.

And then it began.
It crept up subtly at first.
I became easily annoyed.
Someone sitting beside me chewing a sandwich
A baby who supplied an encore poop when I'd just changed her diaper
Someone talking when I wanted silence
...All of these small things began to bother me.

Over the course of a few weeks, the emotions escalated. I was no longer annoyed several times each day. I had quickly progressed from annoyed to agitated to angry. I was ANGRY.

Initially I chalked it up to exhaustion. I was perpetually tired physically, emotionally and mentally. Of course I was irritable! Who wouldn't be?? I counted to ten and moved on.

After a while though, I realized that the anger I was feeling wasn't normal. I realized that I didn't feel like myself anymore. I was no longer simply feeling angry. Anger gripped me, roared up in me like a consuming flame. I wanted to spit, scream, cuss. I wanted to drive away from my house with no intention of returning. Then one afternoon, I mentally visualized squeezing one of my children until they stopped making noise. And that terrified me.

I knew something was wrong. My husband and my mom had both noticed this change in me and had gently asked me about it. I couldn't ignore their concern or my own. I wasn't tired. I was sick. I needed help.

I made an emergency visit to my trusted psychiatrist and explained what was happening. The diagnosis: Postpartum Depression. I couldn't believe it. PPD? But I wasn't sad or suicidal. I wasn't crying all of the time or craving sleep (more than the mom of a newborn should). I was just mad! However, my doctor was correct. He adjusted my medication and we discussed practical coping strategies. I went home and got better. Within a few weeks my emotions were coming under control and I felt like Tori again.

Today, my girls are giggly six month olds and my son is a well-adjusted big brother. My husband and I keep the love alive in between diaper changes, bottles, tickle fights and naps. I am healthy and whole. Life is one challenge after another, but I can honestly say that I am often happy and nearly always content, even if I am also frustrated or exhausted or annoyed.

So why am I yanking this skeleton out of my closet and putting it on display? I've decided to share my postpartum journey because someone needs to read this. Some woman out there is struggling through the postpartum months and doesn't feel like herself. She is too sad, too angry, too something. And she needs help.

Postpartum depression doesn't look the same for everyone. And it doesn't always hit in the first few weeks or even months after a baby is born. It can creep up slowly and then intensify rapidly. PPD doesn't mean you are inadequate or broken. But it does mean you are vulnerable. And it's okay, no, necessary, to get help. Please do. You will look back on this brief but dark time and be incredibly glad you did.

Here are a few resources to help you get started:

Postpartum Support International,  1-800-944-4773
Postpartum Progress
Mental Health America,  1-800-273-TALK

My Top 6 Twin Pregnancy Shockers

I've done this whole pregnancy thing before. Not only have I done it, but I carried a giant child (affectionately nicknamed "The Elephant Baby" by my apparently non-PC obstetrician) for 39 weeks, delivering him at a whopping 11lbs 1oz. I know intimately what it feels like to be very, VERY pregnant.

However, even my personal Mr. Snuffleupagus could not prepare me for the Crazy that is a twin pregnancy. For anyone who has experienced a multiples pregnancy, has multiples in their family tree and therefore periodically freaks out that they might someday carry their own set, or is currently pregnant with multiples, this post belongs to you.

The Top 6 Things About Twin Pregnancy That Have Blown My Mind

1. Just breathe.

As I said before, my first baby was huge...and was also breech for the final two trimesters. Even having his 98th percentile noggin crammed up into my rib cage did not remotely compare with how breathless this twin pregnancy has left me. Starting at around 20 weeks, the need to throw my hands up over my head and suck in air like I'd just completed a triathlon became a regular occurrence. At 30 weeks, that sensation progressed to a constant lack of breath. I am a classically trained singer and I know how to dig down deep for a lung-filling, rib cage expanding, gloriously full breath. If I tried to do that right now, sitting down at my kitchen table, I would absolutely pass out onto my navy damask rug.

Literally never being able to entirely catch one's breath combined with walking anywhere for longer than 5 minutes equals nearly fainting on a regular basis. If you ever see a bountifully pregnant woman leaning with both hands against the Cheerios shelf in the cereal aisle, don't be alarmed. Gently ask if she needs help to find a seat, or sympathetically smile and keep shopping.

2. Artificial intelligence. 

For unknown reasons, seeing a large pregnant belly just brings out the stupid in some people. I've had some truly special conversations with strangers in Target, patient waiting rooms, public restrooms, you name it. This topic deserves its own post, so for now I'll highlight maybe the most common question mamas pregnant with multiples hear.

After determining that yes, I am carrying twins, I am often asked,

"Are they natural?"

Well, they certainly aren't artificial! And frankly, asking about mine and my husband's sex life isn't appropriate conversation for the check out line.

3. Twin fascination.

Until I became pregnant with twins myself, I had No Idea what a topic of conversation my baby-making would become. Apparently everyone loves a twin and has a slew of burning questions to ask about yours.

Will you dress them the same or color code them?
Are they identical or fraternal?
Will they share a room?
Do twins run in your family?
Are you going to pick rhyming or alliterated names?
Etc, etc, etc.

This part is actually pretty fun. Every pregnant woman endures their own set of hardships while growing a baby, and it is admittedly nice to be fawned over a bit. BUT, I am already formulating sassy answers for the bombardment of twin questions I've heard I'll get once the twins are out in the world! A girl's gotta make fun happen for herself sometimes.

4. Stuck.

I would venture to say that most pregnant women encounter interesting situations with their third trimester bellies. It's common to think you can fit through a smallish opening only to realize you must find a new route, knock something off the edge of a table with your bump, or decide that an adjustment to the driver's seat might be necessary if you want to continue driving the family minivan. Twin bellies take things to a whole new level. Now it's not a matter of inconvenience, it's a matter of actually becoming stuck. On more than one occasion I have had to repark my car at the store after realizing I cannot squeeze myself out of the opening my car door leaves without doing serious damage to the neighboring vehicle. Even better, a few weeks ago I somehow ended up wedged precariously between an inward-swinging public bathroom stall door and the toilet bowl.

5. No really, stuck.

This is perhaps the biggest adjustment I've had to make during my twin pregnancy. After Week 32, I rapidly became immobile. I am writing this post at 36 weeks, and for the past month I've spent a good 80% of every day sitting on my hiney with my legs propped up or lying down on the couch with a generous helping of pillows. That might sound like heaven to the working set, but it is slowly driving me insane. No TV because my 19 month old son doesn't need the screen time, so no binging on Hulu shows or Redbox Rom-Coms. No tackling laundry, dishes, or any of the other cleaning that desperately needs to be done around the house but I physically cannot do any longer. Lots of sitting around playing Bubble Witch Saga and Wordbrain on my phone. Lots of browsing articles and websites on how to keep twin newborns alive. Quick showers (only when someone else is home to be safe) so I don't pass out and take down the shower curtain. Short and physically painful but gloriously freeing trips to the grocery store or out to lunch or to the pool. Don't get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful that I haven't been placed on official bed rest either at home or in a hospital room like many moms of multiples are. But the fact that my body has effectively put itself on bed rest is mind-boggling to me.

6. I get by with a little help from my friends.

This final revelation has been, hands down, the most difficult for me. I am more prideful than I like to admit. I relish accomplishing things completely on my own. I place far too much of my identity in what I do and the quality of how it is done. Over the past month, that has been completely stripped away from me.

I physically cannot care for my son on my own right now. I can't pick his sweet, very large toddler self up, which means I can't put him into his crib or take him out for naps. I can't put him in his car seat to leave the house. I can't even hoist the child into his highchair for meals. And I certainly cannot get down on the floor and engage with him in the boisterous, imaginative and high energy way that he needs. Not forgetting my husband - I also can't stand long enough to cook dinner, wash dishes, do laundry or share childcare responsibilities at night or on weekends when he is home and needs to relax a bit.

I have three tremendous graces helping my family stay afloat right now: my husband, my mother's helper, and my own mother. A freaking amazing former student of mine is spending 14 hours per week of her college summer break playing with and caring for my son. After only 4 weeks, they already love each other and she is pure magic with him.

My husband is the most selfless, tenderhearted individual I've ever had the privilege to know. He comes home from long work days to make us dinner, play with our son, take care of the whole toddler bedtime routine, and then cater to his ridiculously hormonal wife until he falls into bed exhausted. He does this every day without complaint and with a loving heart.

My mother might as well be Mother Teresa. That sounds like quite a hyperbole, but it's who she has been to me over the past several weeks. She is in my house 5 days per week, whenever my mother's helper is not here, taking care of everything I can't. She has done countless loads of laundry, endless sinks full of dishes, miles of vacuum cleaning, and she somehow finds time to encourage me and play with her grandson. She is my hero.

And then there are the sweet friends who come over for play dates and clean my kitchen or bring a meal simply because they love me and know I can't do those things right now. I am so fortunate to have a community of people around me who care about my family and love us so well. But that love has been so much harder to receive than I'd ever expect! I want to be independent. I want to take care of my home. I want to pick my son up off the floor when he has wiped out and is sobbing. I want to serve my husband and let him know how highly I value him. I want to be strong, self-sufficient, creative Tori. I want myself back.


So here are the lessons I've been slowly and stubbornly learning through my twin pregnancy:

Always have your eye on a few good spots to stop for a lean or sit. If you see stars, sit down NOW.

People say stupid things. Most of the time they don't mean to. Formulate a rightfully sarcastic response in your mind if necessary, but let what comes out of your mouth be kind.

Soak up all of the excitement people bring you about your babies. You'll need those feel goods during the more frustrating moments of pregnancy.

Don't try to use a normal sized stall in public restrooms during your third trimester. It won't go well.

No, really. Unsanitary contact between a public toilet and your cankles is not worth it.

And perhaps most importantly, no man is an island...and no pregnant woman is a superhero. Don't try to do it all yourself. Receive the help and love that people offer with a grateful and humble heart. You'll be able to pay it forward someday, and let's face it, you need it!

A Twin Confessional

That's right, I said TWINS. It took me a moment, okay a full seven days, for that word to begin to sink in. When the hyperovulation gene has made it completely undetected through a hereditary line of three women before reaching you, you just don't stroll into the doctor's office for your first ultrasound expecting to hear the tech say quietly and carefully, "I see two babies." Surprise!

The hubs and I found out about our two babies (affectionately dubbed PB&J for the remainder of my pregnancy) on December 1st. It's been 29 days since that life-altering announcement and I have to admit I'm still struggling with the concept. A lot. Brooks had been such a sweet, easy-going baby that Hubs and I thought, why not go ahead and add a second? They'll be close in age and best buddies growing up together. What we didn't consider for even a second was the possibility that we might go from one offspring to three in the span of nine months. That's a vastly different proposition.

Three cribs. Three little stinky butts in diapers. Three small human beings who cannot yet use words to communicate and therefore must cry. Often. Three high chairs (or maybe two and a booster seat). Three car seats (thank God we just bought a minivan). A stroller that will somehow carry three children. Did I mention the diapers?

I don't know how it's emotionally possible to be excited, scared and guilt-ridden all at once, but that's pretty much my constant state of being right now. I am thrilled to be carrying healthy babies, and of course I already love them like a fierce mama bear. I am terrified thinking about how on earth I'm going to take care of three children under 20 months old next summer, and terrified that my sweet son will get lost in the melee. That cannot happen. I feel guilty that I'm not more excited to be pregnant with twins. I know there are countless women in the world who cannot conceive at all, and here am I, Fertile Myrtle, 60% happy on a really good day and just plain petrified the rest of the time.

Have you ever Googled articles on having twins and a toddler? The majority of them start like this: "You have a singleton and are adding twins? God bless you." The most memorable reactions I've received from coworkers and friends so far have been "Better you than me" and "Congratulations?" Twin parents I speak with typically caution me with "The first year is absolute hell, but then it gets really fun."

But then there are all of the people who are beside themselves with excitement for me (like my boss who shouted the news across an entire wing of cubicles - "Hey guys, Tori is having twins!!"), and they help to balance the scales. Their excitement rubs off on me a little, and I need that. You're right. Twins will be so much fun. My kids will be the Three Musketeers. I am knocking out three children in only two pregnancies. There are many reasons to rejoice!

And I have to remind myself on a daily basis that God knows what Hubs and I can handle. The ultrasound announcement was not a surprise to Him. He has a distinct plan and purpose for PB&J, as siblings and as individuals. God has been preparing our little family already. The hubs was rear-ended a few months ago and his car was totaled, so we went ahead and bought what was once going to be "the minivan we get down the road." We decided that I would leave my job last week, which now allows me 5-6 precious months to rest, prepare and spend extra quality time with Brooks. On December 1st, immediately following the declaration "I see two babies," an additional ultrasound tech entered the exam room who happens to be a mother of preteen twins. In the initial shock of the news, she was able to reassure and encourage two reeling parents. The babies will hopefully arrive in June, which lines up seamlessly with Hubs' summer break from grad school classes. There are many reasons to rejoice.

So there you have it. My twin pregnancy confession. I am excited. I am scared. I want desperately to be more excited and less scared. I'm a work in progress. And God is Good. And He's got this, even if I don't.

PB&J, Mama loves you to the moon and back.

Inadequate

It's been a real humdinger of a day. Actually, it's been a real humdinger of a week.

Most days when something goes awry, a quick self pep talk and a prayer can straighten my course. But then there are days like the ones I've had this week; days when just as I'm rising to my feet from one stumble, I catch a toe on the very next bump in the sidewalk and down I go again. I'm sporting a few bruises right now. They're minor frustrations in the grand scheme of my life, but today they appear monumental. I am acutely aware of my own inadequacies.

in·ad·e·quate

inˈadikwət/

adjective

1. lacking the quality or quantity required; insufficient for a purpose.

   "these labels prove to be wholly inadequate"

   synonyms:

   insufficient, deficient, poor, scant, scanty, scarce, sparse, in short supply; More

Yep, that about sums it up.
I lack the quality or quantity required to be who I think I need to be in so many of my title roles: Wife, Mama, Daughter, Friend, Employee, Christian. I'm selfish. I rely on praise from others to feel validated. I'm self-conscious about my body. I am prone to jealousy and worry. I'm afraid to talk about Jesus with people who don't know him because I fear rejection.

I'm deficient in every area that matters.

And you know what? That's okay. It's actually completely normal.

On days like today I have to remind myself that we're all screw ups, every last blessed one of us! We're all indequate. It's human nature to be broken. That hasn't changed since the Garden of Eden.

There's an ancient Japanese practice called Kintsugi that involves repairing a broken clay vessel by pouring in lacquer mixed with gold dust. The idea is that rather than trying to repair the pot so that it appears seamless, the cracks are highlighted with shimmering gold veins. It's as if the maker of the vessel wants to strengthen its structure and celebrate its imperfections all at once.

In 2 Corinthians 4 Paul says, " We have these treasures in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us" (ESV). We are breakable, fragile beings. God is all-powerful and forever. Jesus embodied all of my crap, all my weaknesses and all my failures past, present and future, when he took the punishment meant for me on the cross. And anyone who accepts that beautiful gift also gains his Spirit to flow in and fill those cracks and crevices that life constantly tries to widen.

The innate purpose crafted into our souls is to give God the glory he so richly deserves. Alone, I am "insufficient for the purpose." I want success, fame and acceptance for myself. I am a glory thief. But Christ lives in me, and he is all-sufficient. Miraculously, he covers over my inadequacies and bridges my gaps. I don't have to strive for perfection because the one who is perfect claims me as his.

And when I stop striving, I am at peace. I can kick those humdingers to the curb.

What I Didn't Know to Ask: The Postpartum Edition

Baby Cakes is 9 months old, meaning that he has now existed outside of my womb for the same amount of time he lived in it. And quite a lot has changed in my life since BC's been on this side of things. As I noted in my last post, I did a motherload of research on pregnancy. About a month prior to The Birth Event (that's what insurance calls it, and I find it to be hilarious), I started reading up on what the heck to do with an infant. I was up to my eyeballs in literature explaining how to get my baby to sleep, latch, stop crying (yeah, right), and speak Spanish by 6 months of age...okay, kidding on that last one. But seriously, there are baby care / new mommy self help books on every subject under the sun!

What I did not read a single sentence about was what to expect for my own body once I was done expecting. A few things in particular took me completely by surprise. When you are severely sleep-deprived and your hormones have run amok, surprises are just plain rude. In the hopes that I'll save a few preggo ladies some rude awakenings down the road, here you go.

What I Didn't Know to Ask: The Postpartum Edition

Your body does adjust to the shocking lack of sleep. During the first few nights of Baby Cakes' life in the hospital, Jeff and I were sucker-punched by the immediate sleep deprivation coupled with the steep learning curve of figuring out how to keep this new little human alive. After a week or so at home, we were equally surprised to realize that our bodies had adjusted to waking every 60-90 minutes to feed the baby. It's not fun, but it's doable. Parents survive. We're built to. And sleep deprivation always ends up producing memorable stories. So there's that.

Most stretch marks don't go away. Somehow I made it to 31 years old with plenty of mommy friends around me before I learned that stretch marks don't magically fade into oblivion once your stomach shrinks back down. Ask any of my girlfriends whether or not religious lotion slathering actually helps fend off those pesky purple lines and you'll hear mixed results. At best, most women's stretch marks eventually lose pigment and appear white or silvery. If it makes you feel better to rub that Buddha belly every day while you're preggo, go for it! It really might help! Some women, God bless them, never get stretch marks at all (and the rest of us secretly loathe them just a little). 

If you make it almost a year postpartum and still look like you have an abstract drip painting featured on your stomach like I do, my tip is this: Start learning to view those little scars as a celebration of what it took to carry your sweet baby into the world, not as a blemish to be ashamed of. I'm working on that right now myself. The aches, pains and extraordinary biological changes our bodies go through in order to create a brand new human being are pretty dang miraculous - certainly something to be immensely proud of!

Up to 50% of your hair might fall out. Unfortunately this is not a joke. Starting around 4 months after your baby's birthday, you will notice thick strands of hair swirling their way toward your shower drain every time you shampoo. Though I have thick locks, a few months into the shedding process I realized I could see my scalp through my hair in places! That's pretty disconcerting. Don't fret, though. By 7-8 months postpartum you should see the first sprigs of new hair stubbornly poking straight up around your face. You'll never be more ecstatic about what looks to most people like a bad hair day.

You won't forget the unfortunate aspects of pregnancy and birth, but the emotions attached to them will dull. Until recently, I never understood why some moms were ready to start trying for Child Deux before their first baby reached their first birthday. Frankly, I thought perhaps they had lost the ability to think clearly. Now I totally get it! It's thrilling to watch Baby Cakes grow and learn and develop a personality, but there's a crazy maternal warmth and yearning that blooms in my chest when I see a tiny baby snuggled into his carrier at Target. When I think about being pregnant again, I get a little giddy! Sure, I remember the 5+ months of all-day nausea, the acute hip pain and the swollen feet, but I also remember feeling little kicks in my stomach and watching BC smile on the 3D ultrasound screen. And then I'm ready to do it all over again. I mean, how could you not want another one of these??

No, Mom. I'm not pregnant. Yet. 

What I Didn't Know to Ask: The Pregnancy Edition

I consider myself an expert Googler. If I want to know what spiders in my house are actually worth worrying about or remember what movie I've seen that pointy-nosed guy currently on my tv screen in, I will find that mess out, and quickly. That's why when I found out I was pregnant on March 1, 2014, I dove nose-first into a sea of pregnancy websites. I knew that my trusty little search engine would find every detail about my pregnancy and the baby growing inside me that I could possibly want to understand. And I was right. I found some wonderfully helpful websites that I still regularly peruse as a new mom. Here they are, for any currently preggo or new mommy friends reading this:

Pregnant Chicken
Lucie's List
The Bump
Mamapedia

I also found a whole lotta CRAP online - never-ending blog threads featuring hormonal women with very specific and passionately opposed opinions arguing back and forth. But we'll save that for a different post.

What my Googling prowess and all the helpful websites in the world couldn't offer me was an answer to any number of questions I didn't know to ask. I am a well-informed 21st century mommy, but much of what I've learned over the past 17 months has been completely experiential. Baby Cakes is actually napping well this morning (on his stomach for the first time, no less), so I finally have time to share these personal insights with the world. Hopefully you'll either get a kick out of shared experiences, or learn something before it shockingly happens to you!

Here goes.

What I Didn't Know to Ask: The Pregnancy Edition

Pregnant nausea is NOT like having the stomach flu. Throwing up will not make you feel any less wretched than you do right now. The porcelain throne is not a shiny white symbol of relief. Suck it up. Or suck on a ginger hard candy. And sip on some Canada Dry. Though these "surefire" pregnancy nausea relievers might not help at all either. The only thing that remotely took the edge off for me through my first 5 months of pregnancy was motion-sick wristbands. These were life-savers! Also, Morning Sickness is not aptly named. It should be called All Day Sickness.

Your ankles will swell to alarming proportions. The only true variable is when it will happen to you. Some women are lucky enough to wear their cute flats and see their ankle bones cheerfully poking out above their stylish sandal straps until the final few weeks of pregnancy. Others will lose their ankles entirely and have their Michelin Man feet restricted to slip-on Crocs only for a solid 2-3 months. Oh, and the most startling part: Your ankles may stay swollen for a few weeks after you pop that baby out! It took me a good month or more to get back into normal shoes. And yes, I was drinking water like it was my job.

www.huffingtonpost.com

You will have freakishly weird dreams throughout your pregnancy. A few of my most memorable: watching my eyebrows grow into a unibrow in a matter of seconds, giving birth to a girl...puppy, fighting ISIS with my mom.

You have little to no control over bodily functions. No one wants to talk about this, but it's a very real problem for pregnant women, especially the bigger the baby (and therefore one's gargantuan stomach) grows. Yes, you are going make hourly, maybe even bi-hourly, trips to the Little Girls' Room for a tinkle. But a word of warning: If you feel a #2 coming on, GO TO THE BATHROOM WITHOUT DELAY. And into your 7th and 8th months of pregnancy, be careful of laughing or coughing with too much vigor. You just might wet your pants. You'll thank me for this piece of gold later.

The crazy ridiculous overemotional pregnant women you see depicted in film and television are a totally accurate representation of our hormonal state. I thought overemotional pregnant women were exaggerated for laughs. Nope. The struggle is real. About 10 weeks into my pregnancy I watched a Youtube video of the Australian cast of Lion King breaking out into "Circle of Life" on an airplane ride and bawled my way through half a box of tissues. It is a pretty awesome video, though. And if your boss corrects you at work, no matter how graciously it is done the waterworks will start. Be ready to spend 15 minutes calming yourself down in a bathroom stall while you mentally roll your eyes at yourself.

No one can fully prepare you for how incredible it will feel to hold your baby for the first time. I had Baby Cakes via a scheduled C-section (he was both breech and gigantic), so I didn't get the coveted "skin to skin" experience. And Cakes had a few scary complications for the pediatric staff to work through during those first 24 hours, so I didn't hold him nearly as soon as I would have liked to. Even so, feeling him being laid on my chest and quietly studying his tiny, perfect features was one of the most unbelievable moments of my life. Meeting your little human will make all of the crazy and uncomfortable moments of pregnancy ENTIRELY worth it. If I'm not right here, how does any woman do this more than once??


Mommies, I'd love for you to comment with other pregnancy What I Didn't Knows!

Entrusted

This past Sunday, Jeff and I stood up in front of our church family to be commissioned. I know to a lot of people that term is a strange one. This was a super important moment in the life of our little family, so if you'll let me I'd like to explain what in the world happened. :)

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines commission as "the authority to act for, in behalf of, or in place of another" and "a task or matter entrusted to one as an agent for another." At Summit Church, we commission the parents rather than baptizing the baby. This is done out of an understanding that an infant can't yet make personal decisions about faith, but their parents can. And so we stand before our church family in a demonstration of agreement that we desire and will try our best to raise our precious babies in a home that declares the salvation and goodness of Christ. Our pastors and the church body pray over us, that God will use his Holy Spirit in us to show and teach the Gospel to our children, and that they will come alongside of us as a community of believers to help us as we raise these kiddos. After all, it takes a village to raise a child!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not poo-pooing infant baptism. I was baptized as a baby and will always be grateful that my parents felt it important to bring me into the Church. I later chose, as a young adult, to be baptized again as a profession of my own faith. In a sense, I ratified my parents' earlier hopes for me. That is what Jeff and I fervently hope for our children, that as kids they will grow in the knowledge and understanding of who God is and what his atoning sacrifice means for them. Then, once they are able to make life-altering decisions for themselves, our greatest desire is for them to choose Christ on their own.

As part of the parent commissioning process, Jeff and I were asked to choose a Scripture passage and write a prayer for Baby Cakes. We chose 2 Thessalonians 1:11-12.

"To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of His calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by His power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in Him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ."

Jeff penned this prayer for our son. I will treasure it always and pray it over him as often as I remember. 

Let any good B sees in us direct him to Your goodness, and let our shortcomings provide the opportunity to remind him of Your perfect love. Let him feel the irresistible pull of Your love from a very young age. Give him the grace to trust You more than he does us, himself or the world.