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.
Home. All kinds of people have often defined what home is. Comfort, peace, a soft landing place after a long day, just to name a few. Our daughter is a homebody (we are too). She LOVES being home. She would rather be there than anywhere. It makes going out to eat or going to church an issue every single time. She does not want to leave the house, even for something I know she will enjoy when she gets there [*ahem*, looking at you, school.]
My husband and I planned a trip coming up pretty soon that I KNOW our daughter will be excited about, because she has been talking about it since the last time we went. We told her the other morning, and she literally cried and said she didn’t want to go. She just wanted to stay home. Now, we’ve talked a lot about it since and I think she is getting more excited, but it’s a struggle.
Our daughter feeling completely at home on the grounds of Biltmore Estate a couple of years ago.
Her love of home keeps me so humble, and I just had this conversation with someone yesterday… I always think about that quote that floats around social media every now and then, “Remember that you prayed for what you have now.” And that’s SO TRUE. I have a husband who is my perfect partner in every way. We have a safe roof over our head in a safe neighborhood. We have a healthy, smart, beautiful child. We have a dog. We have enough money to put food on our table, to bless others, to get things we not only need but just want. I did, I prayed for all of this. So, when comparison and discontent creep in, our daughter’s love of our home keeps me in check. We have everything we need, and we’re comfortable and blessed.
Yesterday, we got a new shower installed in our daughter’s bathroom. It has probably needed to be replaced since we moved in, but we haven’t been able to do it until now. We lived with the old, stained, incredibly hard to clean textured tub from the ’70’s, but it always was something that bugged me about our house. Our daughter has cried and cried over the change in her bathroom. She loved the old tub. Last night as I put her to bed, she told me that home felt weird now because it had changed. Then she went into a long monologue about how much she loved home. She finished with, “Mama, can you make everywhere home?” Gosh, I wish I could.
Our home isn’t picture perfect, but it is the definition of comfort to our sweet girl.
I’m so thankful, humble, and blessed. I know that not all people, not all children have that safe space to land every day. And I pray that our home feels that way to anyone who comes into it. It’s a safe space, and you’re always welcome. There might just be dog hair everywhere and the kitchen may not be cleaned up from breakfast. But, people who love each other live here, and that’s really all that matters.
I think I blame my blood pressure medicine (?), but I just have, like, zero will to write at the moment. I have no motherly wisdoms. I have no funny, relatable story to share. I’m just here, trying to soak up every minute of every day while also being productive. And every day I wind up disappointed because, once again, I couldn’t find the balance. For the last couple of weeks, this means that I’ve gotten so many hours in for work, but my kid is constantly in a mood from lack of enough attention (at least she thinks so, anyway), and my dishes and laundry are piled high. As I’m writing this out, I should be in the kitchen putting away the clean dishes and filling the dishwasher back up, but, I finally just clocked out of work like 20 minutes ago (it’s TEN THIRTY PM) and I really just wanted to lay down. I’m tired. And I feel like I say that a lot, but it’s the truth. I was getting so good about taking a walk every morning… I had even added some running into those walks and was just getting to the point where I didn’t feel like I was absolutely dying when I came inside. But, now, I’m pretty sure it’s been about a week since I did any sort of physical activity, and I’m feeling it. Starting all over again sounds awful. Being out of shape is awful. Ah, the conundrum of life.
Baby girl is going to be two NEXT MONTH, and this mama is having a hard time dealing. When I worked at the daycare, the one year olds were always my favorite – they could interact with you and do activities, but they didn’t sass back much yet. I hated when the kids in my class had to move up, but there were always more kids coming right behind them. A whole new set of kiddos that were the perfect age. The fact that reality is not that way… that my baby will be two, and there’s nothing I can do about it and there’s not another little baby waiting patiently behind her and I have to keep moving and growing with her and she WON’T STOP GETTING OLDER. I’m a mess. I can (just a little bit) understand why some people just keep having babies… mostly, I just want her to be a baby again. Like I said, I’m a mess.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love this stage she’s in… except for when I don’t, haha. She’s so smart and understands so much. We haven’t actually seen Santa yet this year. She’s seen him portrayed on TV, and we’ve read The Night Before Christmas about a thousand times, and we’ve talked about who he is and what he does. This afternoon, I went to get her out of bed after her nap. She usually lays there and talks until I go in, so I didn’t think much of it when I went in there today and she was talking. She jerked around and smiled at me and said, “I was talking to Santa!” I laughed and asked her if she told Santa what she wanted for Christmas. She got so excited and said, “Santa’s awesome! He bringing me books!” So, I guess “Santa” needs to find some books to bring. This makes my heart happy. I love the fact that books make her so happy.
This same sweet kid also yells, “no” at me or, “I ‘note’ want to!” about fifty times a day now… so there’s that. I’m not feeling that part of this lovely stage at all. Asking her to turn her “listening ears” on, complete with pretending to turn knobs on our ears, before I ask her to do something is working wonders for getting her to listen at the moment, but I’m sure that won’t last too long. She’s so emotional about everything, but she can’t convey those emotions properly yet… it just comes out in flops and tears, sometimes the dramatic throwing of her body onto the nearest piece of furniture like she’s a Disney princess, or, my favorite one so far – she put her hand up to her head, fell back into my arms, and said, “I tan’t go on!” Good grief.
Baby girl sitting in her great grandmother’s rocking chair on one of our Thanksgiving stops.
Thanksgiving was good, but busy. We had three places to go and baby girl stayed up way past bedtime two nights in a row… yeah, not pretty. We are so very blessed that we both have so much family close by, but man does it make for busy holidays. When I was pregnant, hubby and I agreed that we would tell people that they could come to our house to see us on holidays, that we weren’t going to drag our kid all over creation. For one, our mid-renovation-for-two-years house just isn’t equipped to handle a bunch of people. For two, it’s just really not fair or feasible to ask everyone else to work around our one small family. So, we trudge from one house to the next, trying not to eat too much and save room for the next stop but failing miserably, and worrying that we’re not giving each stop enough time. As I said, all our family is local, so it’s just a drive across town from one stop to the next, but there’s only so much food and fun you can squeeze in before you have to move on. If we ever get our house together and we have Thanksgiving here, I might change my tune. I might prefer the trudging to having a house full of people. But, I don’t know… I’ll let you know if it ever happens. As far as traditions go, I feel like on both sides of our family, they have changed immensely over the last few years, mostly as grandparents have passed away. The only steady thing is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, I have to watch it every year. I was so excited to share it with baby girl this year… she was not really having it. She kept begging us to go to her room with her and play. It was like we were torturing her making her watch TV. Poor baby. As I’ve said before, the house we live in was the only house I knew for my granny. This was her house. And this was where we came for holidays, family dinners, birthday parties, everything. It feels so weird for it to be empty on special occasions. That’s why I’m hoping someday, it can be that house again. As introverted as my husband and I both are, we’re also both family people, and having a house full of family just seems right. Now, if someone could win the lottery and share a little with us so we could finish our renovations, that would be great! All kidding aside, I love how life has come full circle and we call this house home.
I’m having some serious cognitive dissonance over here. It’s September, and in my cold-weather-loving mind, it’s (un)officially fall and I’m ready to break out all the fake leaves and pumpkins, amazing-smelling pumpkin candles, and my sweaters. However, it was 90 degrees here today and we’re going on a beach vacation soon. I can’t quite get my mind straight. [Over] half of me wants to just take off running toward pumpkin spice everything and never look back, but the other part of me is trying on bathing suits and packing a beach bag. I’m so lost and confused. As I’ve said before, I am not a summer girl. I’m so, so ready to say goodbye to it. But then, a beach vacation in the fall is just not seasonal. Ugh. I guess I have to hold off on pretending that fall is here until we get back. And, seriously, pretending is all I’m doing, because as I said, it was 90 here today. The weather I’m dreaming of won’t actually be here for at least another month, more realistically two.
[I’m going to show how incredibly weird I am, but does anyone else have a mental seasonal calendar in their head? Mine’s like a square. Fall (September, October, and November) is at the bottom, then Winter is on the right side (December, January, February), and so on, continuing counterclockwise, three months at a time. HOW STRANGE AM I?? Like, I literally picture this in my head every time I think about months or seasons. Maybe I’ll illustrate it one day so everyone else can have a glimpse of how weird I am.]
Picture from last year’s vacation. This hat was too big last year, now it doesn’t fit her head at all. So many changes.
I am, however, excited to go on vacation with baby girl. The beach is not my ideal vacation spot, but I will love watching her experience everything. We went last year, when she was about 7.5 months old. She loved it, but there was a hurricane and we got evacuated after only being there like a day and a half. Pray that there won’t be any hurricanes this year! Baby girl is so smart and expressive, and loves exploring and learning. I think this will be so much fun. And I’m excited for all the amazing pictures we’ll get (bahaha, probably not.) Also pray for this momma and her husband as we travel with a toddler, stay in strange places with a toddler, and royally mess up our routine-loving toddler’s schedule. Yikes. That part is making me more than a little nervous. But, I’m so very thankful and grateful to be able to get away for a while. This summer has not been very kind to my whole family, and I think we all need a change of pace.
This is a lengthy post I wrote in February about breastfeeding. This was just a couple weeks before we completely weaned. It may be TMI, but I wish I had read something this real when we were starting out. It didn’t come easily to me, and if I can help just one other woman decide to give it a little more time, then sharing my story is worth it.
Jealous cat often wanted in on the cuddle action.
We didn’t breastfeed today. She slept in, and I took the opportunity to go straight to breakfast. We had been doing just the one morning feeding for a month or so now, and that was already killing me. I’m so emotional. I’m happy, because I don’t have to plan my day around my boobs, and I can drink all the coffee I want again (finally!) But, this thing I wanted to do for my child, this sacrifice I made for her, is coming to an end. What I used to dread, I’m going to miss.
I didn’t worry too much about breastfeeding when I was pregnant. For one thing, I thought it was weird. I knew it would be best for my child, but a liquid coming from my boob just sounded so strange, and I didn’t really want to think about it. Secondly, it’s a natural thing, so I assumed it would just click.
Having her early threw me for a loop. I had eaten chili the night before my water broke… ya know, you’re not supposed to eat before a c-section… so when I got back into the room after having her, I was so sick from the anesthesia. They gave her to me and I held her, then they told me I needed to try to nurse. Poor [hubby] has the memory forever etched in his brain of me holding [baby girl] on one side, trying to get her to latch, and me puking into a barf bag on the other side. I was so so sick. And I was so so tired. We had barely slept, I had just had a tiny human cut out of of me, and I was exhausted from retching. I felt bad, but I was so selfish, I really did not want to try to nurse. The lactation consultant is telling me to make a sandwich with my breast? What? Can I sleep now please?
The next few days weren’t much better. [Baby girl] had interest in trying to nurse, but we weren’t doing so great. And no one told me how much breastfeeding HURTS. The lactation consultant kept telling me that the latch “looked good”, but also that it shouldn’t hurt if we were doing it right. Bull crap. It hurt so bad. Finally a nurse came in and asked how it was going one day, and I expressed concern about getting blood in the baby’s mouth, because my breasts were so incredibly cracked. She looked so sympathetic, called me honey, and asked if I had any lanolin. Lano-what? No…. she brought me a tiny tube, and at the moment I seriously thought it was the best thing ever invented. I’d read blogs and birth stories, talked to other people vaguely about breastfeeding, seen ads for “nipple cream”, but I was in no way prepared for why it was important to take care of your nipples. Ouch.
I felt so bad at the hospital and later when we got home, I dreaded feeding my poor baby girl so much. I would put it off as long as I possibly could. In the hospital, the nurses would come in and fuss at me for letting her go so long without eating. But, I was sleeping, she was sleeping… do I have to? At home, it wasn’t any better. I would have frequent emotional breakdowns from the guilt of not wanting to feed my child. For at least a couple of months, I really was miserable. It made it worse that she was so little, and the nurse practitioner we were seeing at the time wanted me to feed her even more often than I already was – every two hours. I don’t know how we got through that, neither of us got any sleep. She would take so long to nurse, I’d barely get 30 minutes of rest in before we had to start all over again. I was exhausted. The pain that accompanied those first few months was excruciating. I would get these sharp pains, like hot knives, radiate up my breasts frequently. I felt like I kept heat on them as often as I could, especially at night. Also, after I finished breastfeeding, I would get the worst chills. The first time it happened was at the hospital, and I thought I was coming off some of the strong medicine they had given me or something. I had violent shivers and just felt like I would never be warm again. That continued for a while after I got home, and I still do it from time to time. During this time of pain and dread of feeding my own child, I gave myself a goal of six months. If I could just last that long, that would be good. But, six months came and went, and I felt sort of proud of myself. We had made it that far, and didn’t show any signs of stopping.
Somewhere around 3 months, something happened. I’m not sure if it was because she grew and her mouth got bigger and she could finally latch better, or what, but it got better. We finally got to where we could nurse and I didn’t feel like I wanted to die. However, she still took FOREVER. It’s just been in the last 3-4 months that she really cut back. Our normal feeding sessions were always at least 30 minutes, most of the time more. We were at a funeral, and [hubby’s] cousin had her baby there as well. We both were in the nursery at church nursing, and I kid you not, her daughter ate like 5 minutes on each side and then they left. I was sitting there a little jealous and a lot in disbelief. Why does my kid take at least three times as long?!
Going back to work was kind of pointless because of how long it took her to eat. According to my app, her average was about 4 hours of eating time a day. And that was strictly mouth to nipple time, that didn’t count the burping and distractions in between. I had a full part-time job of just sitting. Isn’t that a ridiculous amount of time? I got literally nothing done. [I had a super distracted baby who would unlatch at the tiniest noise or movement, so multi-tasking was always out of the question.]
Of course, I would so do it all again in a heartbeat, misguided expectations and mental breakdowns included. We figured it out, created a bond that only could have come from breastfeeding, and I truly believe it was what was best for her. It was so hard, and so very painful, but now I’m going to miss it.
After I started writing this, the next day she threw a fit when she woke up until I went to the chair with her and nursed. I don’t think she’s quite ready to give it up yet, and frankly, I’m not either. I never would have thought that we’d still be doing this at 13 months. Pregnant me sure wouldn’t have believed it, because she thought a few months of that weirdness would be good enough. New mother me wouldn’t believe it either with all the pain she went through. But, here we are ❤
As I said, we only went a few more weeks after I wrote this. It’s still weird to me how much breastfeeding consumed my thoughts and my time, and now I never have to give it a second thought. As miserable as I was, and as strange as it sounds, I miss it. Being a woman is so weird sometimes.
Also, in case this needs to be said, I’m not suggesting anything I did or didn’t do is best for anyone else. I realize that I’m super fortunate to have a flexible job I can do mostly from home, and an amazing support system that picks up my slack. I’m simply telling my story in hopes that it encourages someone else!
Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.
Colossians 2:6&7
This is pretty simple and straightforward: I received Christ? I need to live like it! It’s so much harder to actually do; satan is constantly distracting us, telling us that something else is more important, and telling us we’re not good enough.
I feel like it’s telling us here that everything is rooted in our thankfulness. When we see God’s blessings for what they are, our whole perspective changes; what once was a burden or inconvenience is now an opportunity to grow, and what once was something pleasurable we kept to ourselves becomes an abundance we can share with others. It is so much easier to rise above satan’s attacks when we look at life this way.
I originally wrote these words in October of last year, but I easily could have written them today. What was I just saying about how it’s hard to accept grace because of satan persistently reminding us of our past? Also, I can’t be the only one who is constantly reminded that they’re not good enough… that’s pretty much satan’s daily narrative in my ear. The thing I have to remember is – no one is good enough. We ALL fall short of the glory of God. That’s exactly why we need Jesus. I pray that I can cling to His mercies, even become confident in them, the next time satan inevitably whispers those words to me again.
Sometimes, I have the best intentions but, I don’t get to my bible time like I plan. Life gets in the way, and although there’s really no excuse for not making time for God, it happens. On those days, however, I have to remind myself that even though I’m not in the Word, I still have small moments throughout the day where I’m focusing on God. Most days that I miss my devotion, it’s because I have to go somewhere, so I’m usually in the car at some point. And let me tell you about the mini worship sessions I have in the car… they’re pretty great. I love cranking up my favorite worship songs and just belting out with all I have to God. [More on my absolute love of music later.] I was having one of these earlier today (baby girl was giving me some serious side eye from the back seat), and a song that I love and have heard a thousand times came on, and really got me thinking. Needtobreathe has some of the best worship music, in my opinion. It’s not traditional worship music, for sure, but their lyrics are just the best. This is from their song “A Place Only You Can Go”:
We were born to love And we’re born to pay The price for our mistakes Grace, she comes with a heavy load Memories, they can’t be erased Like a pill I swallow, he makes me well And leaves an awful taste
I’ve always loved these lyrics, but something just hit me hard in the gut when I heard them today. I think so many of us Christians know that Jesus died for us, that we have accepted that, and that we are saved. But, we’re human. Our past doesn’t seem to go away. Our memories are still there. God actually removes our sin as far as the east is from the west, and doesn’t think on it for another second. We’re not God. Although we know what He’s done, it’s bittersweet, because we can’t forget what we’ve done. We’re given supernatural forgiveness that our human minds can’t even begin to comprehend. It’s exactly why we need the Holy Spirit. I think that’s why so many of us have trouble “living like” we’re saved. Satan likes to give us constant reminders of what we needed saving from, and we tend to fall into that same hole all over again. Does that even make any sense? Probably not.
I’m so thankful for God’s grace, but it is hard to swallow sometimes. It’s hard (for me anyway) to get over myself, to give myself a break, cut myself some slack. I make grace such a difficult thing, when it should be the easiest thing in the world.
Baby girl’s middle name is Grace. We needed a good, one-syllable name, and kept coming back to it. I know, everyone and their granddaughter has the same middle name… I knew it wasn’t uncommon, but apparently it’s super common. Anyway, after all we had been through with the miscarriage, Grace just seemed fitting. God has given us such grace through our difficulty, and has blessed us with our daughter. I pray that I always remember this when I look at my sweet girl’s smile.
I was perusing my old Livejournal again and came across this gem. Naivety aside, it tells the story of the beginning of my husband and I, and I’m quite fond of it. Get ready for some wisdom from early twenties me:
“Um. Wow. Life is crazy. I have been married to my best friend for almost four months now.. It feels more like four years. I swear I don’t remember life before [hubby] <3. So the other night I randomly got on to Livejournal and started reading some old entries from when [hubby] and I were dating. I burst into tears and had a breakdown that lasted the whole night. Partly, I blame it on the PMS I was experiencing, but there was also some truth to why I was so upset. As I was reading, I realized that I had fallen into a spiritual and emotional rut. For a while, I was so hopeful, so optimistic, and so in tune with God. Lately, I feel like I am the opposite of all those things. I have decided to fix this, with God’s help of course. I have re-learned recently that when you try to do things without God’s help, and without the help of people around you, you can quickly slide backwards.I talked to [hubby] about this, and told him something about us that I guess he never knew: That I use how our relationship started as my personal testimony. Everything about how we started dating was God-breathed, and it was the most sure I had ever been about anything in my life. I use this when I am telling people about how I became closer to God. He led me to [my husband], he and I both had prayed for (unknowingly) each other, and God made me realize that things really do work out when you surrender all your thoughts and fears to Him. I was so angry and bitter at the ripe old age of 19, because everyone else had, what I thought was, everlasting love. I felt like an old maid, and I hated the world for it. People kept telling me, “give it to God, He knows what is best for you.” And all the while, I kept saying, “I know,” but I never really, truly gave it all to God. One night, in a moment of sheer clarity, I got on my knees, sobbing, and said, “Lord, I don’t want this anymore, take it! Do what You will with it, I am done!” I instantly felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I had no intention of thinking anymore about it. As it happens, however, it was like God said, “FINALLY!” The very next day, [hubby] and I struck up a conversation on the internet, after we had not talked in over a year. We became good friends, and well, you know the rest. How could that obvious display of God’s power not move me? Anyway, this entry is my attempt, once again, to try to focus my thoughts every now and again. I am not going to commit to writing every day, because I know from experience that just won’t happen. My more modest goal is to write as often as I feel like it, perhaps two or three times a week. I will make lists of what I am grateful for, and I will give any concerns straight to God, for he definitely knows best. So, here goes nothing, My umpteenth attempt at writing in my journal regularly.”
Taken right around when this journal entry was made. Fairfield Glade, TN
For any interested parties, I still didn’t write in my journal regularly after that… there’s a line to that effect in almost every entry on there. And, can you believe we had been married FOUR WHOLE MONTHS? Oh goodness, younger me, you’re cute. Dramatics aside, I am still constantly in awe of how obvious it is that hubby and I were made to be together. God has the best plans. Also, I realize how ridiculous I sound, you don’t have to tell me.
I have so many memories of breaking beans with my granny in this house, and this morning I broke beans with my baby girl in the same kitchen. Three generations have passed from my granny’s, and we’re still doing the same thing. I love how God gives us just enough continuity to be able to deal with the change that life throws at us. I also love the memories evoked by living in this house. It may look different now, but it feels the same. It feels like home. Every now and then, I have a familiar feeling rush over me as I walk through the house, and I’m five years old again. I’m spending my Friday night at my granny’s house. I’m here for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m just sitting with her and breaking beans (which I probably didn’t appreciate as a kid…)
As a married couple, we’ve lived in several different places, but none have felt so much like home to me as this house does. The sounds of birds and smells of the flowers in the yard are familiar. My heart is at rest here. I was so unsure about taking on this house. Every time I walked in after granny passed away, I cried. I couldn’t imagine living in this place that made me so sad. But, as time passed, I started to see it in a new light. The sadness turned to fondness, and with the promise of major changes to the inside aesthetic, I finally agreed that this house might make the best home for us. I’m so very glad that my heart finally caught up with my head, because this is home. This is a place that I can share memories with my family, just like I’ve always done here.
You know, it’s so funny how we forget things we once knew. I used to have a livejournal… does anyone remember those? I can’t find the one I had in high school… at the moment I can’t even remember what it was called. But, I created a more “grownup” account when I was in college. I got an email from livejournal the other day, reminding me that it was almost my husband’s birthday (he was literally the only follower I had on that account, because he used to be a loser who had a livejournal as well.) I clicked on my account last night from that email and ended up reading my own words for over an hour. I was astounded by how much my outlook on life has changed, how much my writing style has changed, and how much my struggles haven’t really changed. My jaw dropped when I read this from 2013!
Anyway. I really do want to write in here.. or somewhere. I read all these blogs and things that are linked through pins on Pinterest, and I always think, “I would love to keep up a blog like that!” Something inspirational with helpful life tips, things I’ve learned along the way, encouragement for those who need it, etc. I really, really want to. What else do I want to do? Let me tell you: I want to have a job where I can make money from home.. specifically an editing job would be perfect. Where I get to translate a little French? Even better. I want to get pregnant. I want to learn to sew. I want to get caught up on my scrapbooking. I want to be a housewife, dang it!
Goodness. Who knew my blogging journey went back that far? Not me, that’s for sure. Also, quite a bit of that has actually come to pass: I have a job that [mostly] allows me to work from home and is very flexible, I did get pregnant [twice] and now have my sweet girl, and obviously I finally did start my blog. I guess I can still dream about that editing job, and I would have to brush up on my French a lot before I could even think about a translating job. I still haven’t learned to sew. I’m completely terrified of my sewing machine. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. And the scrapbooking thing makes me laugh – I used to absolutely love scrapbooking. I made a book for my husband and made a page for each reason I loved him or all the fun things we did together. Now I don’t even know where everything is. It’s scattered all over the house from our move. Maybe one day when we get our den/ office set up, I’ll get back to it.
Now that I’ve rediscovered my old journal, I might publish some of that as well. I surprised myself with how cheery and hopeful I used to be. It’s like I was wearing rose-colored glasses. I need more of that me back. I need to be reminded of how I was and what I’ve already overcome… apparently I forgot a lot of it somewhere along the way.
coffeemamabogie 