I know I say this all the time, but being a parent is so hard. I love our daughter so much, and my husband and I make decisions about parenting that we have prayed about and talked about and agree on. But, it’s really hard to see the effects of these decisions on our girl. She already feels like she misses out because of her early bedtime (while also agreeing that she needs it, haha), but in the past year certain kids in our neighborhood have stopped coming over and I know it’s because of rules we have at our house. And that hurts my heart. She often asks why her good friend never wants to play anymore, and I’m not sure how to answer that.
Our sweet girl, watching her friend play with other kids from across the street 💔
Our girl is SEVEN, and one of my goals as a parent is to let her stay a child as long as possible. I don’t want her to have to worry about grown up things. I want her to use her imagination, to read books, to play outside. And I feel like I’m fighting a huge battle against most of the world. I’m not saying I want her sheltered, but the word “age-appropriate” is all I can think to say. Tonight I watched a child from our neighborhood put a toy gun to the other children’s heads and repeatedly pull the trigger while they were playing. That would not be acceptable at our house. I’m not judging other people and what is right for their family, I just think, as a whole, kids are exposed to way more than their little brains can handle. They’re still growing and learning, and putting the entire world at their fingertips is overwhelming. It’s overwhelming for me as an adult. The other day at breakfast our girl asked me for a smart watch – she said all her friends at school have one. I asked her what she would use it for, and she thought for a moment, then said, “To play music – my friends play music on theirs at school.” Besides the fact that it blows my mind that FIRST GRADERS have smart watches and are allowed to bring them to school, it also hurt my heart that she already wants things just because other kids have them. She didn’t even really know why she wanted one.
I pray that we can stay strong, that we can instill good values in our girl, that we can model emotional intelligence for her, that we can build a foundation of faith and trust so that she knows where to turn when the world is scary. I pray that we show her what really matters and not what the world says she needs.
S E V E N years ago, I posted this photo on my Facebook with the caption “Current situation.” I remember this day like it was yesterday. This tiny girl usually hated sleeping on me, and I, guiltily, was okay with that. I liked having a few minutes to myself. I liked being able to fold some laundry or do some dishes while she napped. We were having such a hard time with nursing in those early days that I was constantly touched out, and any break I had from her being on my body was welcome. I remember feeling antsy this day. I had her in my lap doing her “awake time,” trying to interact and keep her as engaged as possible. It was so engaging, apparently, that it was exhausting and she passed out asleep in my lap. I remember feeling impatient. I wanted to move her to her sleeper so badly, but I knew it would wake her up, so I let her sleep. I posted this picture knowing what kinds of comments I would get from seasoned parents – “enjoy every second of it,” “it goes so fast,” “soak in all the snuggles…” And I KNEW that advice was true, but I wasn’t feeling it. I felt restless and almost annoyed at the inevitable comments I would receive. But, I posted it anyway. Not really for anyone else (although, cute baby pictures are always well-received), but for my future self – for the mother I knew I would be some day, to remind myself that while my feelings didn’t match my intention, I was TRYING. I knew, that this was something to appreciate, and so I tried to do so.
Being a mother has changed me so much. It has slowed me down, so much so that it often stops me in my tracks. Motherhood has softened me, it has grown my heart in ways I didn’t know it could expand. It has taught me that you can feel and know two different things, and that’s okay. It can be both. In the same way, I am learning that however I’m *feeling* doesn’t dictate what I know to be true – in regards to anxiety, in regards to everyday choices, and most importantly, in regards to who God says I am.
I’m proud of new mother me, because she was doing the best she could and laid the foundation of the mother I am today. Do I wish I had appreciated those baby snuggles more? Of course. I miss them so incredibly much that it hurts. If I had it to do all over again, I would chill the heck out. I was so uptight about schedules and ounces and milestones that it stole my joy. I was so embarrassed about how I was feeling that I stayed miserable. I hate that for myself, but I also want to use it to encourage other new mothers. You’re not broken, we all need help, and you’re not a terrible person for feeling how you feel. You are amazing.
This is a long one, but it’s on my heart and mind tonight, so just bear with me. As mamas, we’re constantly worrying about our kids. I’ve always been a bit of a control freak, and God has had to give me MANY lessons in letting go. My biggest lesson by far has been my kid – there are so many things out of my control like my daughter’s own personality, sickness, how other people see my parenting choices… the list goes on and on. But nothing even came close to preparing me for the level of letting go I’ve had to do when our daughter started school. She’s never been away from me, really. She only ever stays with my mom when my husband and I go somewhere, and he and I have never stayed away from her for more than a night. She has always been with us. She goes to her little Sunday School class for like an hour on Sunday mornings, but she’s with people we’ve known for years. Our little family unit is all she’s ever known. Now, all the sudden, she spends more waking hours with her teachers than she does with us and it’s really thrown us all for a loop.
First day of school, walking with daddy
Also, I am really struggling with the fact that because I’m not right there next to her all day, there are so many things that go on that I don’t know about. For the first time, our daughter is out in the world on her own making choices on her own. I get that kids have to grow up, but also, she’s FIVE. She’s going to choose chocolate milk over anything else every single time. And speaking of food and drink, that’s another thing I’m having a lot of trouble with. They offer these kids so many processed, sugary things that my girl is not used to eating. She had OREOS for a “snack” the first three days of school. They get candy for memorizing their lunch number and doing well on their assessments. She’s never been allowed to have that many sweets in one day, and now it’s a daily occurrence. I get that it’s a public school and the food budget is probably tight, but sometimes the food choices are insane to me. For one meal, Doritos were listed as the “grain” in the meal for that day. I also understand that our family is not the norm – we try to offer healthier options, and definitely don’t keep a lot of prepackaged foods on hand. I get that a lot of kids don’t eat this way at home and they have to balance healthy meals that meet state requirements with meals that the kids will actually eat. I really do get it, and I also know that I could send her lunch, but I’m trying to let her try every meal offered at least once to see what she likes. Our school district offers free lunch for all kids, and I know the program has to be utilized for them to keep it. There are so many factors that I completely understand, but at the same time, so many things are going into her body that she’s not used to consuming regularly. I have sent in a couple of healthier snack options for the class, but I have no control over what the other parents send.
Her first homework ❤🍎✏
Right before school started, our girl ended up with an ear infection. She’s had a bunch in the last year or so. She finished her antibiotics on the first day of school, came down with a cold that first weekend, and when I took her back to the doctor, her ear was still infected from before. So, she just finished another round of antibiotics this past week, all while having a runny nose. Today, she has developed a cough with her runny nose and I’m terrified that she has another ear infection or at least a sinus infection. Poor baby, I don’t want to make her put more medicine in her little body. The last doctor visit resulted in a referral to the ENT, so we’re waiting for a call to schedule her an appointment. Hopefully tubes will help her feel so much better, because she’s literally been sick for like a month. The ear infections are affecting her hearing, and I’m terrified it’s done permanent damage.
She often needs downtime when she gets home from school – which always includes reading!
Anyway, all these things are background information (and worries) that are fueling my anxiety tonight. Since school started, our sweet girl has been absolutely WIRED. People keep asking me if she’s exhausted and I see other parents posting pictures of their kids asleep in the car, not able to even make it home before passing out. Our kid has been HYPER, almost manic – climbing things (she never was a climber), talking super fast and loud, and having a hard time sleeping. She’s up multiple times a night, and yells for me every time. She also wakes up early. She’s overly emotional over the littlest things (which isn’t *that* unusual, but it’s definitely more frequent.) I’m at a loss. I know it’s probably a horrible cocktail of routine changes, newfound independence (she magically figured out in a day and a half how to unbuckle her car seat in 2.5 seconds after unsuccessfully practicing all summer), weird food in her body (we notice a difference in her behavior when she eats artifical colors, especially red 40), ALL the sugar, the antibiotics in her system, the not sleeping compounding on itself, and anxiety about all the new things. I know that it will probably get better, but some days I feel like I hardly recognize my sweet girl anymore. The first day she came home from school, I cried to my husband and told him that it felt like that I dropped off our sweet girl that morning and picked up a completely different kid in the afternoon. I hate it. She has changed so much in the last few weeks.
I don’t know where I was necessarily going with any of this, other than maybe I need someone to understand what goes on in my brain. I want to control all the things, and literally everything is out of my control right now. I’m not sure I really want advice, just maybe an “I understand where you’re coming from.”
I’ve been really bad about blogging lately. I only wrote this because, yet again, it started out as an Instagram post and I got too long winded for their caption word limit. Anyway, I wrote this almost two weeks ago and I’m just now getting around to finishing it…
The stomach bug got sweet girl at the beginning of this week. It’s been rough. She’s already tiny (not dangerously so, don’t worry) and had just started finally gaining weight after being sick for what felt like most of fall and winter. Since November, she’s had some sort of viral bug, multiple colds, covid, and an ear infection. Now this.
Her room is usually the cleanest, most organized room in the house. When I feel like we’re living in chaos, I can usually go in there and instantly feel better. Well, between having to wash and change her bedding and blankets constantly, keeping the trash can close, her having small spurts of energy and wanting to read only to have to take a nap on my chest in the chair again… it’s A MESS. I walked in there earlier to grab something and thought, “This is an accurate representation of my brain right now.” I feel so restless. I feel like change is coming. I feel like I’ve got a million different things going on. I feel like a mess. But just like the fact that her room won’t always look like this, I won’t always feel like this. I know change is coming. I know God has plans for me, for my family… exciting, scary, wonderful plans. I just have to keep going, and to keep leaning into Him in the waiting.
The other day, I wrote out in the note pages of my planner, a plan. If you know me, you know I’ve never been a super goal-oriented person. Growing up in school, I was that annoying kid that all the teachers loved. I got good grades, I was quiet, I loved to help, and I never got in trouble. I was also that annoying kid that didn’t have to work too hard to get good grades. Most subjects came easily to me. But I absolutely dreaded when we would have career day or writing prompts about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I would always end up saying something like ballerina (although I had less than zero athletic ability, that’s nice and girly, right?) or doctor (because even at a really young age, I knew the grownups thought that was a good job because you get paid a lot.) I always agonized over these things, making up absolutely untrue reasons for my “aspirations.” I learned really early on how to say exactly what was expected of me and how to “B.S.” my way through schoolwork. It served me very well, even through college, haha. The point is, I’ve never been a big dreamer. They would go through this whole list of careers that we could choose from, and none of them sounded like they were for me. It sounds a little shallow as I type this out, but I can remember spending hours and hours pouring over my mom’s Good Housekeeping and Family Circle magazines. I just thought that was how life was supposed to be. Pristine home, home cooked meals, fun activities planned for the kids, family vacations, the works. I loved my family, and from the looks of things in those magazines, that was how you showed people you loved them: by buying the trendiest plaid couch or refreshing the drapes. Y’all, I know how this sounds. I know every feminist everywhere is probably crying right now, but I don’t care. I grew up watching shows like The Dick Van Dyke Show, I Love Lucy, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, and so many more. The only thing that ever really appealed to me was being a wife and a mother. That’s what I wanted to be when I grew up. I know some people read that and immediately rolled their eyes. Some people have probably stopped reading by now, but hear me out. I’m not saying that any of those other professions are worse or better than what I wanted to do. I’m not saying that what I wanted was for everyone, because I’m not that naive, I know everyone is different. But for me, that was it. And growing up in the 90’s, I caught on pretty quickly that being a wife and a mother was not considered “a real job.” My mom has sold Avon for decades. When my sister and I were kids, she was a full time mom and an entrepreneur. But people still had the nerve to often dump responsibilities on her because “she has more time, she doesn’t work.” Um, excuse me? I take offense to this now as someone who stays home with a little and works from home. It’s HARD. It’s TIME CONSUMING. It’s absolutely EXHAUSTING. And just because my schedule may be a little more flexible than some does not mean I don’t have a job. I’m off topic here… anyway. It was obvious to me, even as a child, that I couldn’t express my dream of wanting to be a wife and mother without teachers trying to convince me that something else was better. So I just never voiced that dream. In middle school, we had job shadowing. We were supposed to go shadow someone who had the career we thought we wanted. This, of course, caused me anxiety, but I finally decided to shadow my aunt who was an office administrator at our local university. When I told my teacher who I was shadowing, she said (in the most condescending tone I might have ever heard), “You want to be a secretary?” 13 year old me felt anger for my aunt toward this teacher. I’m not sure I ever told my aunt about that interaction. But you know what? I did like working in her office. I liked organizing and straightening papers. The tiny teacher’s helper in me found it to be satisfying work. What in the world was so wrong with being a secretary?
Anyway, all this to say, the only dream I’ve ever had about my life so far was that I wanted to get married and I wanted to have kids. I remember planning it all out in a journal when I was like 10 or 11. I had each room in my future house designed and color schemes picked out (obviously my tastes have changed a bit and we didn’t in fact paint our bathroom lime green.) I had baby names picked out. I cared about this more than most anything, and I actually documented that dream. I planned for that dream. I hoped and prayed over that dream. And now, as cheesy and ridiculous as it may sound, I’m living my dream. I’m married to my absolute best friend and we have the sweetest daughter. And it may not look like a picture from a 90s magazine (or a current magazine or Pinterest or whatever for that matter), but it’s ours and it’s a dream come true. Never have I ever written out anything else in such hope. Never have I sat down and planned anything else so carefully. Until the other day.
A little (vague, because I’m not mentally prepared to be specific yet) backstory. There is something in my life that molded and shaped me more than I would have thought, especially in my teenage years. I’ve halfway joked for years about something related to that or thought that maybe in a different lifetime I would have done x, y, z. As the years have gone on, my circumstances have changed, I’ve grown and learned and lived, and that joke has become more of an aspiration that has seemed not very attainable at all. But quite recently, it keeps creeping into my mind. I’d love to do it, but I’d be scared, I don’t know where to start, I’d have to learn so many new things, it would be a huge commitment… The other day, I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so I sat down and just wrote the words at the top of the page. I looked at it for a moment, and then started writing furiously. I wrote down vague ideas and specific aesthetics. I wrote down goals. I just kept writing. When I finally stopped writing, I read over it and was more than a lot nervous about a) what I had actually written, and b) the manic state that I seemed to be in for a minute. I sat there and stared at the page, astounded that the words on that page had come out of my hand. Then I started to pray, confused about what had just happened. I literally said to God, “This scares the crap out of me. Is this actually something I can be praying over? Is this actually a thing?” And I immediately heard a “Yes!” What? I don’t know. This happened last week and I’m still processing it. But, you guys, it has to be important. I’m not a dreamer. I’m still that annoying, shy, quiet third grader who doesn’t rock the boat and has “simple” aspirations. I don’t do “big dreams,” so this is so out of character for me. It’s gotta be a God thing. And it’s going to be good. And terrifying.
I wrote this Friday, mostly so that I could look back and remember this chaos. But, I’m sure we’re not the only ones going through craziness, so hopefully this makes someone else feel a little less like life is attacking just them. It has been A DAY. I knew I was going to have to take our puppy to the vet today, so I gave him a bath this morning. That’s always an event because he really hates it. My bathroom and I were completely soaked by the end of it. No big deal, I expected it. I took him to the vet, which is all still very no contact and my phone kept doing weird things when they tried to call me about him. But, he did good and we went and picked up my lunch from one of my favorite local restaurants and headed home. He was kind of upset and threw up in the car on the way home… not on the towel I had put down for him in the passenger seat. He laid his head over the console and puked right between it and the driver’s seat. I got home and tried to clean it, but I absolutely cannot reach it. My daughter wasn’t laying down for nap like she was supposed to be when I got home. She was procrastinating and being extra difficult. She had a meltdown over something ridiculous and this stubborn mama was not about to let her win that fight, so it escalated pretty quickly and before you know it we’re screaming at each other… (she is so much like me it’s scary sometimes, so we butt heads a lot.) Anyway, that happened. When she finally got to sleep, I calmed down, read some scripture, and decided that the first half of my day would not dictate the rest of it. When she woke up she was much more pleasant, and we ended up going to a small birthday gathering for some family. She had fun. When we got home, I was going to show my husband the dog puke in the car, and he told me that the garage door broke and wouldn’t go down. He looked at what was wrong with it and decided to tackle it after dinner. We went in and I started chopping garlic for our famous filet and brown butter (I don’t want to talk about how much my husband paid for steak the other day. We HAVE to eat it.) I was halfway through chopping the second clove when he looked at me and said, “We don’t have any salted butter.” Okay, plan B. We would have steak frites instead. He pulled out the brand new bag of potatoes that had never been opened… they were gross. Okay, plan C – we’re eating out. So, he put in a mobile order at Texas Roadhouse and went to pick it up. While he was gone, I let the dog out and he ran around the house. I went after him, because he’s notorious for pooping in the neighbors’ yard and finding the stinkiest thing he can find and rolling in it. My daughter came running out the front door and I yelled at her to go put some shoes on if she was coming outside. I go around to the dog, and after a few minutes I wondered where my daughter was. Just then, she came around the house barefoot screaming because she couldn’t find me. I decided to just let the whole “no shoes” thing slide, I was over arguing for the day. We have a few potted herbs out back and they looked kind of sad, so I offered to let her help water them. I got the hose and we sprayed them down, and the dog tried to eat the water, so he was soaked. I went to turn off the water and roll up the hose and I noticed a wasp on the hose reel. I backed up and waited a minute until I didn’t see it anymore, then went over and turned off the water. As I started to roll up the hose, the wasp flew at me and bumped into my arm. I started freaking out (I know… the opposite of what you’re supposed to do.) My daughter came over to see what was going on and that wasp stung her on the arm. So I’m holding a hysterical three year old trying to wrangle a wet puppy into the house. We finally made it in and we washed the sting and then put ice on it. She was a trooper, and I was so proud of how she handled it. Dinner was delicious and ended up being kind of like a special treat since we don’t eat that kind of thing all the time. After we got our daughter in bed, I went outside with my husband and offered moral support while he fixed the garage door (I tried to actually help at one point, but my arms are about as strong as a wet noodle, so I was no help.) We came in at like 10 PM just absolutely exhausted from the day. Now I’m drinking some sleepy time tea listening to him play on the acoustic guitar and all I can think of is how blessed we are. Yes, today was crazy and exhausting and a ton of stuff went wrong. But you know what? A ton of stuff went right, too. Our dog is healthy and has had his first round of vaccinations. I had a really delicious lunch. Our daughter is healthy and growing and becoming her own person. We have a great, reliable car that gets us where we need to go. The dog puke didn’t really smell bad, haha 😆. My daughter and I got to spend some time with family we haven’t seen in so long. We had a delicious dinner and were blessed enough to have the money to buy it. My husband is a genius and knows how to fix garage doors, so we didn’t have to call someone and have them come out. So many blessings sprouted from all the craziness.
There were so many days, weeks, months last year that I longed for these kinds of things to be the only sort of thing I had to worry about. In the midst of despair, mourning, and helplessness, dog puke would have seemed like a minor inconvenience – nothing at all. And that’s kind of been my point of view today. It’s alright. God is still good. We are still infinitely blessed.
Last week, our daughter’s behavior was pretty atrocious. Now, I will concede that her behavior is normal, maybe even slightly better than most three year olds most days. I am reminded of that when we (rarely) go out in public. However, for her, she’s been crazy.
On a typical day, she watches three thirty minute shows – one at breakfast, one at lunch, and one at snack. Sometimes she opts to forgoe one of those and have tablet time during the day instead. I don’t know how we got into the habit of watching so much TV, and you don’t have to lecture me about the dangers of associating television and food… I know 🤦♀️ … I never let her watch more than that, though. Except on weekend mornings, when we watch a movie at breakfast as a family. This past weekend, we talked her into watching The Emperor’s New Groove, which is one of my favorite movies. It’s rated G, so I didn’t think much of it. But, I never realized how many stinkin’ times that movie says, “kill,” “dead,” “die,” and more. My little sweet girl has purposely been sheltered from the phenomenon of death, because she’s so smart and inquisitive and I would never hear the end of the questions. I really don’t think she would be able to sleep trying to understand the concept. This mama’s just not ready to talk about that yet. So, her behavior had already been questionable, and when she yelled, “I’m going to kill you!” at me on Sunday (something she heard on the movie), I knew something had to change. I had already limited the kids’ shows she could even watch, because certain ones made her behavior noticeably worse. So, on Monday, I told her she could only watch one episode for the whole day and she could pick between three shows that I approved. I ended up talking her into reading at breakfast. We read through her whole Bible story book while we ate, and had some great conversations about God. After breakfast, she was the sweetest kid – helpful, polite – there was an immediate difference in her behavior. She was good all morning. She ended up listening to music at lunch time and had a good nap after that. She woke up from nap, and I expected her to ask for a show with her snack. Instead, she asked if we could eat on the front porch. Of course I said yes, and we had a little picnic on the porch. When we were finished eating, she asked if we could play outside. I told her that I still had some work to do, but that she could sit on the porch and play with some toys while I worked (I can see the porch from where I sit to work.) So we went in her room to get some toys, and she got so excited and said, “What if I take a bunch of books to read instead?” I agreed that would be great, and we carried one whole shelf-ful of books to the porch. She sat on her “picnic blanket” and read her books and was still there when my husband got home from work. The sight of her reading and reading just absolutely warmed my heart. She had a couple of pre-bedtime meltdowns, but nothing like she has had lately. Yesterday and today, she’s watched her one show and that’s it. She’s so much sweeter, and mama is in a much better mood, too.
My little reader 💕 This makes my heart so happy.
I understand why parents plop their kids in front of the the TV, I really do – it’s easy and convenient. But, in our case, it was actually making life more difficult because it was affecting her behavior, and in turn, my behavior. Everything was an argument. Her attitude was terrible. We relate to each other so much better when we are able to share morning reading time and when we are both in a better mood. This has worked wonders this week. I pray we don’t ever fall into the habit of so much TV again. Like I said, I don’t even know how that happened. I swore I wouldn’t be that mom, and when she was younger, we really didn’t let her watch that much. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that cutting out or significantly lowering screen time is a fix-all for behavior issues, because I know it’s not. However, I would recommend trying it! It’s worked wonders over here. Hang in there mamas (and daddies!), parenting is so hard and is such a balance. I’m rooting for you, and more importantly, praying for you. You’ve got this, and so do I.
This kid had a blast this Easter weekend getting to see people she hasn’t in forever, eating more candy and sweets than she’s normally allowed, and staying up way past bedtime. This mama was and is stressed out because she has a sleep-deprived, sugared up, out-of-routine three year old. Whew. The balance is so hard. I feel like people think I’m too strict, that I expect too much from her, that I don’t let her have enough fun. But, I’m trying to raise a person. I’m trying to raise a human being who isn’t obsessed with consumerism, who appreciates the simple things, who doesn’t expect anything to be handed to her on a silver platter. I’m trying to raise a woman who knows how to do things for herself, who works hard, who is respectful of others, and who knows how to enjoy things in moderation.
I think most people think, “Well, she’s just three, let her be a kid.” And I do, I promise. But childhood is when kids learn how to be mentally healthy, functional, productive adults. If we don’t teach them the healthy way to interact with their world, in a way they currently understand, they’ll be left to figure it out on their own. I’m building her foundation. I’m planting the seeds. Mamas, it’s important work that God has given us to do. Plus, discipline, structure, and saying “no” from time to time, makes our lives as parents easier in the long run. I promise. It’s hard in the moment, but consistency is key. It will pay off. So, when our “consistency” goes out the window (2020 anyone?) it makes me nervous. It takes us DAYS to get back into our routine and for her to get back to normal. I know there are going to be times when things happen that are beyond my control (again, I say, 2020 anyone?) and there are obviously times- like holidays, birthdays, etc.- that will make exceptions and be more lax. Because I also want her to love to celebrate. We’re big everyday celebrators over here. But, ugh, it makes me nervous. Like I said, the balance is so hard.
Well, there’s my parenting rant. This thing started out as a caption to an Instagram photo, but, I’m me and I get long-winded. Don’t ask me something and expect a short or straight to the point answer… I’m going to tell you all the things – things you didn’t ask about, things that this thing reminded me of, things I’m feeling about the thing you asked me about, random things I think of, and maybe I’ll tell you the thing you wanted to know in the first place. Maybe. I’m an over-explainer and an over-sharer. And then I’ll have anxiety about it all because I was annoying and talked too much. And I’ll probably agonize over it for months. So there’s that peek into my brain. See: over-sharer.
Motherhood is the absolute weirdest thing. When I first became a mama, I swear I really couldn’t see an end to the constant nursing sessions, the worry over the duration and frequency of my baby’s sleep, the continual state of fatigue. I thought I was miserable. I thought I wanted my life back. I’ve briefly mentioned before that I probably had some PPD for a few months after my daughter was born. I was not a nice person. My emotions were all over the place, the lack of sleep was just making me mean, and I felt like a milk-making shell of my former self. I vividly remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror the day we came home from the hospital and literally jumping with fright because I did not recognize the person looking back at me. I thought I physically looked like a different person. It was probably a combination of post natal weight loss (I lost like 19 pounds that first couple of weeks after only gaining 14 with the baby), hormones, and residual drug hangover from the almost full-body anesthesia I received during my c-section. Whatever it was, it was the weirdest feeling in the world. I just felt like I wasn’t me. Those first few months were a whirlwind, but they also seemed to drag on forever. I was thinking about this the other day, how each week was a milestone with a new baby, and seven more days felt like an eternity. Each week seemed like it brought so much change with her, and she grew so fast. Every week, every month, felt like a birthday. In the span of her short life on earth so far, a month was pretty much her whole life. It was like time was soooo slow those first few months while I was in them, but now looking back, they felt fast. It’s funny how we remember things differently after the fact than how they felt at the time. Is this some sort of God-given gift (curse?) so that we won’t remember how horrible it was and do it again? I’ve heard many women talk about this phenomenon. In John 16:21, Jesus says, “When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.” It’s always been a thing. When I got to the hospital after my water broke, the nurses were working on me and talking to me, and I looked at my husband, terrified, and said, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I changed my mind.” It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. No amount of reading, talking with people, learning, could have really prepared me for what I was getting ready to experience. I was terrified. And yet, women have been doing the exact same thing since the beginning. And they’ve had sorrow because their hour has come, just like I did. And then they forgot all about that when their tiny, precious human life is in their hands.
Not the photo that prompted this post, but I still look happy in this one too!
Anyway, this whole post started because I recently saw a picture of myself holding my sweet girl, who was only a few months old. If you had asked me at the time that picture was taken, I would have told you I had never been more miserable in my life. I was tired, I was constantly worried about everything, I hated breastfeeding (which made me feel terrible, persistent guilt), I had no clue who I was outside of feeding, changing, and sleeping. Sure, I loved my sweet girl more than anything, but I was miserable. But looking at myself in that picture, I’ve never looked happier. Now that I look back, I long for that feeling of being needed every second of every day. I miss being able to fully nourish my child with my own body. I was so happy and I didn’t even know it. I know that makes zero sense, and to someone who’s not a mama, it may be incomprehensible. But that’s what motherhood is. And I suspect it’s still happening. I said the other day that I know these are the “good old days.” I know I’ll long for these days again, just as I long for those first miserable moments of motherhood. Even though right now it feels like I’m dredging through the days, I’ll realize I was happy. Ugh, it’s so hard. Really living in the moment is so hard. Appreciating what we have right now is sometimes so hard. But if we want to live a joyful life, it’s exactly what we need to do. Choosing joy is the hard thing, but the best thing.
Edited to add that as I reread this post to publish it tonight, I needed the reminder. Sweet girl has had some especially rough days recently – she’s been obstinate, rude, forgotten her manners, yelled, skipped naps, gone to bed late… all the things. These are the days, even when they are hard.
The mom guilt today is real. I usually spend all day every day with my sweet girl, but the last two mornings, I’ve had appointments and errands in the morning, and she has stayed at the house with my mom. I work from home, and I always struggle with balance, but today it was about to send me over the edge. She, for whatever reason, didn’t take a nap. She laid in there for over an hour just playing and talking, and yelling at me every thirty minutes or so needing water or her blanket fixed or to tell me she loved me. I know she was having trouble sleeping, and I felt bad. But, I never truly understand how much I appreciate nap time until she doesn’t take a nap. My nerves were absolutely shot. I was trying to eat my lunch and get some work done, and just hearing her in there absolutely wound up was stressing me out. At some point, she wanted to get up, but it was like thirty minutes until nap time is usually over. I tried to explain to her that she had to just lay there and be quiet until it was time. She just kept yelling for me to come back, getting increasingly whiny and obstinate. You all, I snapped. I yelled. I stomped. I acted like a toddler. I had to leave the room and compose myself before I went back in. I scooped her up and held her in her chair. I told her I was sorry that she was having trouble falling asleep, and I apologized for losing my temper. She apologized for not being nice to me. And despite the fact that I was stressed about only having done exactly five minutes of work, I just sat there and let her lay on me. We both calmed down, and we just cuddled until it was time to get up. I don’t know if she was just feeling like she hadn’t seen me much lately or what, but that was what we both needed. This afternoon was the same old, “mama, will you play with me?” “In a few minutes, baby, mama has to finish her work.” Sprinkled with potty breaks, reaching a book off the tall shelf every five minutes, her handing me pretend paintings that she has “made”, and some general distractions. When I finally came to a stopping point with my work (I swear, I never actually finish) we went outside and played. That was nice, and I feel like we both felt better after that. Ugh, guys. How am I supposed to do it all? Be present, be productive, keep the house clean, the dishes and the laundry done, exercise, plan and eat healthy meals, read my bible, spend time in prayer, carve out time for my friends, spend time on my side gig, have “me time” (hahaha), pay the bills, keep things organized?? There aren’t enough hours in the week. Oh yeah.. and I should probably take a shower in there somewhere.. I’m tired. Today had good and bad moments, like all days, but those bad moments sure did beat the crap out of me today. She went to bed knowing she is safe and loved, and I know that’s all that matters. But, I’d so like to do better at the in between stuff too. I’d like to set a better example of how to react to things. I’d like to show her love and grace better. I’d also like to pee in peace and have a nap. Mama life is hard sometimes. Okay, all the time. But the (rare) hugs and kisses make it worth it. The joy on her face when she does something she likes to do is worth it. The wisdom in her tiny little head is worth it. And the hours upon hours we spend reading books is worth it. She is so worth it. Also, my husband is amazing and supports me in every way possible. He helps with the dishes, does most of the cooking, comes home and plays with our daughter while I finish up work. He is so helpful and I couldn’t do this crazy life without him ❤ On a completely unrelated and shallow note, my bed is a mess (see photo) and it needs help. I think the price of throw pillows is outrageous, and my husband doesn’t really understand the purpose of them. To him, they are just something that he has to take off before getting in the bed. But, you all, I want our bedroom, especially our bed, to be cozier and more inviting. Any tips?
And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work. 2 Corinthians 9:8
Grace. Do we really believe that we are worthy of it? Every moment we have is another second of God’s grace. Every breath we breathe is a gift of grace from our Creator. First of all, the verse above hits home, because it really boils down to the fact that God gives us grace so that we can have what we need and then give the rest away. He gives us what we need and then some. Am I accepting that grace and then sharing it with others or just stuck on the fact that I don’t deserve it? I’ve been working on showing grace to others as part of living out a better example of love, but I can’t show others grace if I don’t fully appreciate my own. God spoke to me this morning about someone else I’ve been forgetting to extend grace to: myself. I’m my harshest critic; I’d say that’s true for a lot of people. I have very high expectations for myself, but very low motivation most of the time. That usually results in some major self-loathing. It’s not pretty, and it’s not what God wants for me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been on the wrong side of the fine line between humility and self-deprecating. It hurts my heart to know that seven year old me wrote in her journals about how ugly she was because she had moles, and how disgusting she was because she had an accident at school. I saw myself as disgusting. And I still do sometimes. The world teaches us to be really good at nit picking our flaws, because it’s easier to sell us a product to fix them if we are already obsessing over them. It’s scary how early this seeps into our daily thinking. When I worked at the daycare (have I mentioned this before? I worked at a daycare for eight years), I saw young kids worried about eating too much or that they wore a bigger size than their friends; I saw little faces already convinced that they needed makeup to look pretty; I saw fat-shaming and name calling and pure ugliness in these kids sometimes. I’ve also known young people whose parents have offered to pay for plastic surgery for their child because of a superficial flaw that the parent saw. This world is a mess: we are selfish, we are vain, we are lustful, we are hateful, we are prideful. How in the world can we deserve grace? I’ll let you in on a little secret – we don’t. But God gives it to us anyway. And not only that, He uses our sins to point others to His glory. The other morning, baby girl and I read the story of Moses and the burning bush in her Bible story book. At the end of the story, it said something like, “Moses was special to God, you are special to Him too.” My sweet three year old looked up from her breakfast at me and said, “Mama, but I’m not special to God because sometimes I’m mean.” Oh my heart. That about killed me. I talked to her about how God loves us even when we are mean and hard to love. I told her that was called grace, and that’s why God is so good to us. No one else could love us like that. You all, a THREE YEAR OLD saw that she wasn’t worthy of God’s love. Why does it take adults so long to get it?
Now the law came in to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more… Romans 5:20
Being convicted of our sins is painful, even my tiny girl saw a glimpse of that. God’s law is there to show us when we’re not living the way we’ve been called to live. We are supposed to feel the guilt and shame, but only so we can see the grace that is extended to us. We aren’t supposed to wallow in it, we aren’t made to live in that state of mind. But without first seeing why we need grace, the gift wouldn’t mean anything to us. I love when I see the word “but” in the bible, it usually means God is about to show up in a big way and do something only He can do. No one else, ever, could show us the grace and mercy and love that God shows us. No one could even come close. But we are called to try, to strive to love each other like sweet Jesus loves us. Last summer, I decided to do something about my less than healthy lifestyle. I started out by walking around the block with my mom and daughter, then slowly worked in some intermittent jogging. By the fall, I could run/ jog all the way around our neighborhood once. It is only a half mile, but I got to where I could go around twice and not want to pass out. I’ve NEVER been a runner. I can’t breathe correctly when I run, and my lungs feel like they are on fire. I hurt my knee at some point and had to stick to walking for a few weeks, but I stuck with it. I was so proud of the discipline I had about it – I ran 4-5 times a week. Now, I didn’t eat any better than I ever had, I might have even eaten worse, so I wasn’t losing any weight, but I could tell I was toning myself. My clothes fit differently and my posture was better. I had more energy. I felt better. Then Thanksgiving came along and we didn’t go as often. Then December came and there were colder days and Christmas candy and goodies and I didn’t go at all. Now here we are in February and I’m pretty sure it’s been like two months since I’ve been out to run. And… I’ve been eating my feelings. A lot. I’ve gained like eleven pounds. And I was already heavier than I had been in several years. I now weigh the same as I did when I was nine months pregnant with my daughter, and it makes me feel awful. I feel huge. But I have to give myself grace. 2020 was hard on everyone, and our family was put through the ringer. Life is weird, change is hard, and we’re all just trying to cope. I’m not saying that this is the way it always needs to be, because it’s not. If I continue living the way I am, it will become downright unhealthy. But, I have to give myself grace. I can’t beat myself up over the way I look right now. What I can do is recognize that this isn’t sustainable, take that grace I so often forget I can have, and use it as motivation to do better. The last thing I want to do is let my daughter think it’s okay to put herself down. I don’t ever want to set that example. What I do want her to realize is that we all struggle sometimes, and that’s okay. We’re all a little mean sometimes, but we are still special to God and He loves us anyway. So, that’s why we keep trying, pushing, striving to do better. Because we are given grace.
coffeemamabogie 