Joy in Every Sound

I have been feeling like a different person lately. And it has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones or my newly-expanding waistline.

I've just felt more cheerful. More motivated and hopeful. More delighted with being a wife and mother. It's not that I didn't have those feelings before; it's just that I feel them more strongly and constantly now, with fewer waves of discouragement and self-doubt. When I look back over the last few years, I can see that I have slowly been changing. My nature has changed. My perspective has changed. And the changes are becoming more noticeable to me, which is encouraging and motivates me to continue changing.

Besides the many experiences that come with marriage and motherhood that have taught and stretched and shaped me over the last three years (and those last two descriptors are used only figuratively...), there have been some other powerful influences that have sparked these changes. They all come in the form of General Conference talks. I would highly recommend them to anyone, but especially mothers.

Here are the links:
"Mothers Who Know" by Julie Beck
"What Latter-day Saint Women Do Best: Stand Strong and Immovable" by Julie Beck
"Daughters of God" by Elder M. Russell Ballard

Then during last October's General Conference, President Thomas S. Monson, our prophet, delivered a message that hasn't left me. I think about it almost every day. He entitled his talk "Finding Joy in the Journey." You can read it here. The funny thing is that his message wasn't anything "new" or earth-shattering. It contained principles I've heard all my life. But I guess I was just in a more "ready" state to hear them this time, and they really sunk in.

The following excerpt could provide a brief summary but really doesn't do his message justice. I would urge you to read (or reread) the entire talk.

"This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and non-existent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now."

And there's this line, of which I remind myself almost daily:

"If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly."

Fingerprints and dirty laundry don't really overwhelm me at this stage of motherhood. But there are definitely other things--little things--that can, if I let them. I could write lists, but most of you have probably already experienced them.

Ever since I heard President Monson's address, though, things have changed. I have changed. The way I feel when I get up in the morning has changed. The way I look at Abigail has changed. The way I view our time together each day has changed. The way I respond to temper tantrums and two-year-old defiance has changed. I have prayed daily since hearing that talk for the Lord to help me remember it, and I have tried harder to look for and take advantage of the little daily joys of motherhood. When you are looking for them, they're easy to find.

I show more affection--pure and unrestrained. I tell Abigail at random moments--when she's holding my hand in the parking lot, when she's climbing onto the couch to read with me, when we're sitting down to lunch together--that I love her and being her mommy makes me happy. And the wonderful, unexpected result is that now she tells me the same thing, and not just after I say it to her. Last night, I was singing her a bedtime song in the rocking chair, and she suddenly took my face in her little hands and said, with the biggest smile, "I love you so much!"
I listen more. I play with her more. I chase her around the house more. When she asks me to repeat a silly phrase or run around in a circle with her in the living room (or sit on her favorite window sill with her), I do. I include her more in the things I do, instead of trying to distract her with something else so I can get my work done. I write down the funny things she says and does. Or take pictures of them. (Ok, that's nothing new...)

I rejoice more in her accomplishments. (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

I try to invent more fun (and simple!) things for us to do together during the day--like picnic lunches at the park! (The enormous basket on the left provided ample room for our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but Abigail insisted on carrying her own little picnic basket as well. Cutie.)

The result of my efforts is that I feel greater love and joy and fulfillment than ever before. And on the days when Abigail exhibits the classic "terrible two" behavior or the days when I don't accomplish all the things I wanted to or the days when I'm just not looking or feeling my best, I take comfort in reminding myself that I am focusing on the most important things in life and finding joy in them.

Abigail's favorite song of late is one of our church hymns, "Love at Home." I think this is a fitting little clip to conclude this lengthy post. In case you can't understand her, she is singing a line from the chorus,

"There is joy in every sound, when there's love at home."

I guess that's a good note to end on.

Another doctor in the family!

I failed to document a very important event in our lives: Erik's graduation from Emory Medical School on May 11th! I had good intentions of putting pictures up that week....but it was a busy week.

However, I did get up with him at 6 am that morning and get him to school for pictures by 7. And I did show up on time for the 8 o'clock ceremony. AND I did my hair and smiled in the pictures.

What more can you ask of a morning sick wife?

The first ceremony that morning was the all-campus graduation. Former President of Mexico, Vicente Fox, was the guest speaker. Here is Erik's class standing for the bestowal of their degrees. Erik received two degrees that day: his M.D. and a master's in public health.

Dr. and Mrs. Heiss (Jr.)

Erik's proud parents, Dr. and Mrs. Heiss, Sr.

And here are two devoted younger siblings, Cindy and Ben, who also got up bright and early to attend the graduation (Erik's other sister, Kris, was watching Abigail, bless her!). We sure appreciated the family support.

We were delighted that my parents could make it as well. Although my mom sometimes gives Erik a hard time about going into pediatrics now that it's not useful to her, she and Dad are very proud of him.

Dr. Heiss, Sr., sporting his Michigan robes, actually got to hood Erik during the private medical school graduation ceremony that took place later that morning. It was pretty special for both of them. Of course every last one of the pictures I took turned out either dark or blurry. The chapel had funky lighting. Or I don't know how to use my camera.

Erik's dad works at Egleston Children's Hospital as a pediatric surgeon. It was always a neat experience for Erik to be in the OR with his dad during medical school. Kurt Heiss is a well-respected name there.

And here's a little countdown chain that Abigail and I made before graduation.

Erik started his three-year pediatric residency on July 1st. We haven't really gotten a taste yet for what it will be like during those three years, since he only worked for two days last week before getting a three-day break for the holiday! He is starting out in the nursery at Grady and has been enjoying it so far. We'll see how the rest of the year goes!

We're sure proud of our doctor!

Motherhood

I went in for my first OB visit yesterday, at 15 1/2 weeks. It feels like just the other day I was there for Abigail! I had forgotten how weird and uncomfortable it is to get a pap smear...That is definitely not my favorite procedure to sit through. But I'll tell you what is my favorite and what makes sitting through the pap smears and all the other unpleasantries of OB visits worth it: getting to hear the heartbeat.

I have been looking forward to that all these weeks. I can't explain the rush of emotion that floods my entire body as soon as the Doppler picks up that rapid thumping--coming from my body but someone else's heart. A tiny someone I haven't even seen or felt and yet already love. Although I hear it at every visit, that beautiful sound never loses its novelty for me.

An even bigger treat, which I wasn't expecting at this first appointment, was an ultrasound. My midwife offered to bring in the machine so we could have a look at the baby. She is not a technician and couldn't do any measurements, but of course I was still delighted.

Having already confessed how emotional I feel over a heartbeat, you can imagine how I felt at seeing a perfect little body--with tiny arms and legs and hands that were moving!

"Aww," the midwife said, "don't you just want to hold him?"

That evening I was having slightly-less-than-tender feelings toward my two-year-old as I chased her around the house with pajamas and toothbrush in hand. I managed to wrestle her into her pajamas while she took a turn brushing her teeth. Afterwards when she refused to surrender the toothbrush so I could have a turn, I told her that she would lose her bedtime story if she chose to disobey.

She chose to disobey. So we went to her room without a story, which, of course, caused a major meltdown. As I tried to put her in bed, she told me she needed to give Papa a kiss. Well, I'm a sucker for that stalling technique. So we went and found Erik, but she decided she didn't want to kiss him goodnight after all. Of course as we walked back to her room, she changed her mind. "Sorry," I told her, "we lost our opportunity." Another meltdown. Of course when we got to her room, I changed my mind. (Did I mention I'm a sucker for this stalling technique?)

"Ok," I said, "I will give you one more chance to kiss Papa goodnight." She calmed down and gave Erik a kiss and then waved to him sweetly as we headed back to her room. I sat with her in the rocking chair and sang a few songs. She curled up in my lap and laid her head on my chest. Then she looked up at me with the sweetest smile and said, holding up an index finger, "Mommy, sing ooooooone more song!" Well, I'm a sucker for this stalling technique. So I asked her what song she'd like me to sing. "The mermaid song!" Little Mermaid it was.

As I sang it for the third time (did I mention I'm a sucker for this particular stalling technique?), she looked up at me and said brightly, "Mommy, you really good singer!"

Sometimes--like when I'm chasing Abigail through the parking lot with an armload of groceries or wrestling her into her car seat while she's throwing a tantrum or struggling to get out the door on time to church as I balance a million books and bags in my arms and try to move my toddler gently up a huge flight of stairs with my foot because she's pausing to admire every ant and leaf along the way--I wonder how on earth I'm ever going to manage two children. (What I really start to wonder is how on earth my mother managed ten!)

But other times--like when I'm watching Erik and Abigail laugh their heads off at some game they've invented or when I listen to Abigail sing or when we snuggle on the couch together to read or when she "helps" me in the kitchen while I'm baking bread or making dinner or when I'm looking down at her as she's sleeping peacefully in her bed--I think there's nothing on earth as wonderful and fulfilling as being a mother. And I want to be one again. And again. And again.