{Motherhood} Handling It

I took my girls to the mall yesterday. Solo.

It was a rainy Friday, and I was meeting my mom later in the afternoon so she could keep the girls for the weekend. I wanted an outing for us, an excuse to get out of the house, and going to the mall where we'd be meeting my mom later just seemed like the logically convenient and fun thing to do. I could look for a new shirt, the girls could ride in the stroller, we could see other human beings. It had the possibility of being a disaster, but I was mentally and physically prepared. Confident. A bit anxious, and probably overly laden with snacks, but confident.

When we left the house I expected to have a hilariously disastrous story to tell about some sort of meltdown or public fiasco upon returning home. But I don't. The day went surpisingly well. Smoothly. You might even say effortlessly.

It was an anti-climatic outing.

There was a moment, somewhere between watching the water gurgle up from indoor fountains and making a second trip to the bathroom, when the thought entered my mind: I'm handling this. I'm a mom with a baby and a toddler by myself in a very public mall, and I'm handling this. And {shocker} this is fun!

I'm handling this.

That is a phrase that I thought would take years for me to believe. An emotion I was unsure I would ever feel as a mother. There have been days over the course of being a mom to two under two when I longed for anti-climatic days, boring trips to the store, and uneventful public outings. And yesterday, that happened. I fielded and I tossed and I encouraged and I nourished and I manipulated and I laughed and I mothered. And it was fun. So, so fun. For the first time, I allowed myself to feel and believe that I had the whole motherhood thing under some semblance of control. And it felt good.

The highlight of the day was the carousel ride. The way Maylin's face absolutely broke open with awe and delight when we entered the center of the mall made me know before I could even formulate the thought that we'd be riding that carousel. It was as sure as if we'd already done it. There was no room in my mother's heart to deny her that pleasure, even if it meant spending some of the cash I had saved for eating dinner on a mom's night out later that evening. {Which it did.} I think the small sacrifice, though, of spending money I had earmarked for my personal pleasure made the carousel ride that much more special and satisfying. And her face. Oh, her face. This memory I will tuck away.

Afterwards, I "splurged" a bit more, and bought a pretzel for the three of us to share. Maylin, Hartlie, and I sat on a bench in front of the carousel and watched it go round and round, the taste of warm cinnamon sugar on our tongues. 

Motherhood can be hard, but it is beautiful and breathtaking, empowering and humbling. My girls are the loveliest, most exquisite pieces of my life that I never expected. I am their mother. God designed me to be mother to them. On purpose. Sure, there are times when the task of raising them, of "handling" them is daunting, but I've got this. No, more than that. I excel at this.

I excel at motherhood.

{Motherhood} Those Things

Things I Don't Want to Take for Granted::

{1} Lunch with my Girls~ it may be loud. It may be chaotic. It may be wild to the fullest extent. But right now, I get to have lunch with them. Every day, right here in our kitchen, at our table. And even if it's eating fish sticks and apple slices for Maylin, a handful of blueberry puffs for Hartlie, and a piece of peanut butter toast for me, I'm going to relish it. Because my girls, they're what make it gourmet and memorable and so, so unforgettable. And this sicky mess, this chaotic wildness? It's only for a little while.

{2} Afternoon Walks ~ The breeze, the sun, the monotonous yet familiar and comforting circle of the neighborhood. The spying of a cat, the bark of a dog, the frisk of a squirrel. Maylin's pointing finger. The delaying of the witching hour. The waves of friendly neighbors from driveways or front porches or passing cars. The walk that has brought and nurtured so many neighborly friendships, a community for this skeptical, hermit of a girl who never thought she'd enjoy living so close to people. The late afternoon light that promises the quiet of evening. These walks refresh my soul. {And make me believe that why yes, yes I can face dinner prep and bath time.}

{3} Storytime in the Teepee ~ This is my time. My attention can be pulled in a thousand different directions at other times of the day, but these few minutes before naps or before bed, this is MY time. This is where I pass on my legacy, what I want them to remember about me. This is where I share my love of reading, of literature, of delving deeply into someone else's story and letting it sweep you away to places far beyond your imagination. This is where I can share stories of courage and kindness, of spunk and friendship, of hope and humor and honesty and heroism. This is where I share stories that teach lessons, provide knowledge, and impart integrity. THIS is where memories are made and characters are formed that will bind themselves together into a cord, a cord that will become a heartstring, a heartstring that will forever be a piece of the deepest parts of the soul of Maylin and Hartlie. I may feel inadequate in so many other areas of motherhood, but THIS is where I shine. This is what no one can take away from me. This is what I don't want to forget.

{Motherhood} Spoken Blessings

Recently I've become increasingly aware of the power of words. Not just the written word, with which I've always had a love affair, but also the power of spoken words. Particularly the power of positive truth spoken directly to yourself or directly to someone else. Words have a way of affecting us like little else does, especially if we hear the same words or are presented with the same idea repeatedly. We begin to believe those words, live those words. They become a part of our psyche, sometimes almost impossible to shake {body image, anyone?}.

Not long ago I participated in a Bible study led by Priscilla Shirer, which was not really about blessings or words at all, but during a particular video segment she mentioned her habit of speaking Scripture in the form of a blessing over her three sons. I was intrigued. I had not ever really heard of this before. Memorizing Scripture, yes. Reciting Scripture, yes. Writing Scripture, yes. But using it as a blessing spoken over someone? It was a little foreign to me. The concept is that she would routinely, several times a day, like when dropping her kids off at school or before bedtime, repeat parts of Scripture to her boys that she wanted them to believe was especially true for their lives. She mentioned that though her oldest is still in elementary school, he and his younger brothers could all repeat this blessing to her because she'd said it so often to them. The idea was fascinating to me. I loved it. And I wanted to do it for my girls.

After a little bit of thought, and not really much direction, I settled on saying a Hebrew blessing from the book of Numbers to Maylin {this was before Hartlie was born} as I rocked her to sleep. It was a short verse: The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face shine on you and be gracious to you. The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace. {Numbers 6:24-26} It was a good blessing and I liked the cadence of the words, but after a while it didn't seem to be enough. I wanted more. This is not to imply that any part of God's Word is not "enough," because it absolutely is, all the time and in every circumstance. It's just that I wanted to put a bit more thought and effort into choosing what to say over my daughters. Especially after Hartlie was born, I began to desire a specific blessing for each of my girls, something that would be meaningful to them individually.

I began to really consider what truths I wanted Maylin and Hartlie to know and believe in their very core. I looked ahead to what their future might hold- to the teenage years, onto college, through marriage, and careers, and children, and potential heartbreak and probable tragedies. I thought about their individual personalities, the little quirks and nuances that set them apart from each other. I pondered the meaning of their names, and how amazingly through no fault of my own, the meanings of their names happen to fit right in with their personalities. I thought about what lies they might be faced with and what lies they might come to believe about themselves. And then I turned around and thought about my Lord, about His personality, His character traits, His promises. What about Him do I feel is essential for Maylin and Hartlie to know? And not just know, but believe as absolute, unshakable truth? Then I began to search the Bible, marking down meaningful verses, underlining certain phrases, making a list of passages I wanted to include. 

After some time, I landed on my spoken blessing for each of my girls. I finished Maylin's first, and have been saying it to her for many months. I speak it over her after our bedtime story, as we're either rocking or lying in the teepee, chest to chest and heart to heart. It's the final words I speak to her before she goes to sleep, and it's become such a routine that now when I begin speaking her blessing, she quiets down, her little body relaxes, and she listens. It's the final sleep cue.

I finished compiling Hartlie's blessing this week after waiting for her own personality to emerge. I will speak it to her for the first time tonight, as I'm giving her her final bottle with the lamp off, chest to chest and heart to heart.

An unexpected, but wonderful result of compiling and saying these blessings to my girls is that I have read and written and spoken them so often that I now have them memorized. And it's quite amazing how much these words, with which I started out intending to bless my daughters, have actually blessed me as well. I'm sharing them below.

For Maylin, my strong little warrior::

You are a woman of strength and dignity, a woman who speaks words of wisdom and kindness. You are confident and can joyfully laugh without fear of your future. {Proverbs 31:25-26} No weapon that Satan tries to use against you will ever succeed in doing you harm, for this is your inheritance as a daughter of God. {Isaiah 54:17} God is in the midst of you, my strong little warrior, surrounding you, you shall not be moved. God's help will rise at the break of day, as the morning dawns. {Psalm 46:5} Therefore, my strong little warrior, be strong in the Lord and in the full strength of His might. Put on the full armor of God so that you can stand firm against the schemes of Satan. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against forces of darkness and wickedness. {Ephesians 6:10-12} But you have already conquered all of these things through Christ who loves you. For I am convinced from the depths of my soul that nothing, neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor powers, nor things that are happening to you today, nor things that will happen to you in the future, nor depth nor height, nor anything that has been created can ever separate you from God's love in Jesus Christ. {Romans 8:37-39} 

This is my prayer and this is my blessing. I love you. Amen.

For Hartlie, my peaceful favored one::

You are a woman of strength and dignity, a woman who speaks words of wisdom and kindness. You are confident and can joyfully laugh without fear of your furture. {Proverbs 31:25-26} You are blessed, my little peacemaker , for you are a daugher of God. {Matthew 5:16} The Lord is your Keeper and He is a shade to the closest parts of you. Nothing under the sun will not smite you by day, nor will anything under the moon harm you by night. The Lord will protect you from all evil and will keep your soul. The Lord guards your every move from now through the rest of your life. {Psalm 121: 5-8} Therefore, my little peacemaker, let your light shine in front of all people in such a way that you illuminate your Father in heaven, so that you shine as a light in the darkness. {Matthew 5:16, Philippians 2:15} For the mountains may be removed and the hills may shake and fall, but the Lord's lovingkindness will not be removed from you and His faithful promise of peace will not be shaken, for He has great compassion for you. {Isaiah 54:10}
This is my prayer and this is my blessing. I love you. Amen.

Note:: I also wrote a little bit more here about praying Scripture.

{I have taken a few liberties with the verses by paraphrasing my blessing, but I believe I have not compromised the integrity or meaning of each Scripture.}

{Real Mom Life} At Rest

Ever have so much stuff running through your head that ya run around like a crazy person trying to do all the things?

Yeah, me too.

You ever just get overwhelmed by stuff? Chores? Clutter? To-dos?

Yeah, me too.

Glad I'm not the only one over here.

My world is a small one, I'll admit. Home. Grocery store. Home. Park. Home. Church. Home. Walgreens. Home. No big bells and fancy whistles over here. I'm pretty much the most average stay-at-home mom you'll ever meet. And it's not like I have a whole bunch of stuff to be overwhelmed by, BUT for some reason, I still get stressed. And uptight. And crazy busy. I've set a certain standard for myself, certain expectations, goals. And when I'm failing to meet this self-imposed standard, I start to feel waaaay more stressed out than I should.

One of my expectations as a mama and our household manager is to keep a clean, tidy home. I like everything in its proper place: dishes in the cabinets, jackets and shoes put away, clothes folded and in drawers, floors swept and vacuumed, books on the shelves, and toys in the box after playtime. {I'm a Nazi, I know. I worry far too much about the dirt on our baseboards.} The errands and to-do lists? Check. Check. Check. These things help me feel accomplished and in control.

These expectations, though? They're completely unrealistic for my life right now. They're kinda unrealistic for anyone actually who lives a full life. But here's the thing: sometimes, okay most of the time, I totally forget those expectations are unrealistic and I stress about making them happen anyway. 

And who suffers from it? My daughters. 

I left my job as a teacher specifically because I didn't want to be stressed out all the time. I didn't want them to see their mother as a harried, irritable, worn out woman who worried about her job too much. This is who I was when I was teaching. It's always been difficult for me to handle intense stress of any kind, and being a teacher was definitely intense. What I've discovered, though, is that sometimes my daughters get that woman anyway. They see that me when I want to get everything checked off but know my time is running out. They see that me when I force one extra errand that bleeds into naptime. They see that me when the house is a complete wreck but I don't have the energy or the extra hands to get it all picked up before bedtime. They see that me. 

I'm not saying I should {or could} have perfect control over my emotions all the time. But I am saying that I should be more aware of how I'm acting around my daughters. It's hard to believe in the moment, but that kind of action rubs off on them. 

The other day I was watching Maylin play. She was moving her things from one part of the room to the other. Babies, her teddy bear, books, blocks, random small objects. She's not a sit still player. Never has been. She's more of a doer. An explorer. An open the cabinets and pull out the dishes, an empty out all the trash, and transport the dog food to the water bowl kind of player. She's a piddler. No puzzles. No stacking blocks. No movies. Barely even 30 minute Daniel Tiger episodes. She's not interested in sitting and touching the buttons to make the lights come on. 

At first I didn't understand it. Why does she do that? Where does she get it? I used to get frustrated. So frustrated. I would whine, "She doesn't just sit and play. She doesn't want to stack blocks or do puzzles. She doesn't just sit and watch a movie. {whine, whine, whine} She doesn't play the way I used to as a child. She doesn't do things like me." 

Oh. 

Oh but she does.

She does things exactly like me. 

Because that's what I do. That's what she sees me do. That's the example I'm giving her. I move things from one room to another. I take things out. I put things away. I don't sit. Rarely sit. I'm always busy doing something around the house. Always trying to complete the chores, do the list, clean the clutter. I haven't modeled to her how to sit and play. I haven't modeled to her the learned trait of being still. Of resting. 

What's important here? In my home? Is it that the house always has to be picked up and dishes can't be left in the sink? Or is what's important that my girls see me sitting still, being with them, taking a break, resting. 

What am I showing my kids? What are my actions teaching them?

Having a clean house and getting all the chores done is a good thing. It keeps our lives running smoothly and effectively. But you know what? It's okay to be still too. And also? It's not worth being that woman who's stressed about it all the time.

It's okay to rest. To take a break. Sitting still to watch a movie is just as learned as riding a bike. Sitting still to stack blocks, or play with puzzles, or play house with the stuffed animals is just as important as all the chores.

So from now on? That's my new goal. To make time during the day to be still and rest with my daughters. To be intentional about setting aside the list to make time for breaks. Hopefully, one day my daughters will know the value of being still. Hopefully, one day I'll know that too.

{Real Mom Life} That Pre-Dawn Moment

You know that moment, that moment when you open your eyes in the morning and feel so full of rest and realize that it's morning and not 1:30 or 3:00 in the AM and that your baby has slept through the entire night without waking you? Yeah, I had that moment this morning.

For a split second it's pure exaltation. You want to fist pump the air with both arms high above your head. Yessssss. The baby slept through the night!

And then that split second is gone. Vanished. Vaporized. Because then, like a ton of bricks, the thought hits you. Gasp! There's something wrong with the baby! There's absolutely no logical reason why she would suddenly sleep all night long when she hasn't done so for weeks and weeks. SIDS. Oh my gosh, I bet it's SIDS. Why else would she have slept all night long??

From that moment on, you're consumed with agonizing worry, and you can't even enjoy the feeling of rest or a quiet morning drinking coffee with your husband because you suddenly must go check on the baby right this very instant.

Yeah, I had that moment this morning, too.

But, this being my second child and all, and being much more calm and relaxed as a mom {ahem}, I made myself wait until her 7:30 wake up time before tiptoeing upstairs and cracking open the nursery door and peering intently at her little body until seeing the very faintest movement of her chest rising and falling as she slumbered in the early morning.

And there she was. Just beginning to stir and open her eyes.

And then there's that moment when you know your baby is perfectly fine, she has slept through the night, and now she's starting to wake up for the day. There's that moment when you think, No! Wait! Not yet! as you frantically back out of the room and shut the door as softly as you can.

That moment? Yep, had it this morning, too.

Such is the emotional seesaw of motherhood, I suppose. 

{Real Mom Life} Self Denial

Motherhood is one long college course in which I attend class all day, every day. Except rather than sitting in a desk dilligently taking notes in my pristine, unwrinkled notebook with my brand new gel pen that assists in creating the perfect curly-qs on my Ys, I'm hip deep in the messy, grungy middle of it all taking field notes in a damp, tattered journal with fly-away pages and a dull stub of a pencil with no eraser. In other words, though I'm learning daily, I'm barely hanging on by the seat of my pants and only just managing to digest and commit to memory what I've learned. 

My newest revelation has come from hard-won daily battles. I should rephrase that. Hard-fought daily battles. Not won. Never won. {When do parents start winning?} And the revelation is as follows:: 

If motherhood could be summed up in two words it would be this-- Self Denial.

Always, relentless, day in and day out, never stopping, never ending self denial. {Can I get an amen?}

It's been a hard lesson to learn. I've been resistant. Very resistant. I haven't wanted to accept this fact. I haven't wanted to have this realization. I haven't wanted to come to this conclusion. But it is real and it is true. Motherhood is drenched in self-denial.

There are many things that I want to do that I don't, or can't, or decide against. 

For example, the other weekend Michael came in from a weekend away canoeing. We'd been apart- he with his buddies, I enjoying a stay at my parents' home- and all I wanted was to spend the evening cuddled on the couch listening to stories about his adventures. I wanted uninterrupted alone time with my husband after a weekend away. What we got instead was a chaotic meal of reheated leftovers, a very loud, splashy bathtime, an exhausted toddler howling that she was exhausted, and a newborn wailing that she was hungry {again}. By the time Maylin was in bed and Hartlie had been nursed {again}, Michael and I were both flat on our backs on seperate couches barely able to keep our eyes open, let alone form coherent sentences used in the types of conversations that make up quality time. 

Last night, I wanted to soak in a warm, sudsy bath complete with fragrant bath salts, a good book, and that expensive goat's milk soap under my bathroom cabinet. But again, supper time, nurse time, bath time, story time, bed time, nurse time, pump time all kind of took priority. So I settled for a hasty shower in which I didn't shampoo my hair and bathed with Johnson and Johnson baby wash. 

I want to spend a good hour every morning at the gym chipping away at this baby weight. I want to get dressed before 10:00 AM in something other than a milk-stained t shirt. I want the time to vacuum the living room rug and fold a load of laundry before it wrinkles beyond the power of the dryer's "fluff" cycle. I want to sleep past 6:00 on the weekend, snuggled deep under the covers with my husband, never mind the uninterrupted night of sleep from the night before. I want a good, stout margarita. {With the expensive tequila, please and thank you.}

But, alas, none of those things are happening at this phase in my life. 

I'm not saying that I'll deny myself these things forever. It's just during this phase of my life, and my children's lives, there are certain things that take priority over what I want to do. When I became a parent it's like my wants and needs traded places with the wants and needs of another person. Instead of putting myself first, I automatically put my babies first. For the first time in my life I think of others more often than myself, even if sometimes it's with gritted teeth and a pounding head. {After typing those sentences I realized this probably should have started with marriage instead of with kids. Sorry, Michael! I do think this seflessness is carrying over into my relationship with my husband, and hopefully will continue to spread outward.}

Adapting to mom life is hard. I hadn't fully accepted my role as a mother before we discovered we were expecting Hartlie, so at times I feel as if I've been hit with a double-whammy. And putting aside what I want to do in leui of caring for my babies and making sure their needs are met has been one of the most difficult changes to come to terms with. Maybe it's not that hard for everybody, but for me it's been a struggle.

One thing I do know. I want to mother my girls and I want to do it well. I want to be present in their lives. I want them to feel emotional stability and security. I never want them to wonder if mom is listening, or if she cares, or if they're second place {with the exception of their father} to whatever it is I'm doing. For the short term, it may be inconvenient to "sacrifice" my long baths, uninterrupted reading {or blogging!} time, and a favorite adult beverage or two. But in the long term, I will look back upon these early years when my babies are still babies, and rather than seething over not getting to polish my nails while listening to Grant Terry, I'll fondly cherish the memory of Winnie-the-Pooh replaying {over and over and over} while tickling my toddler with one hand and cuddling a nursing babe with the other.

Motherhood is drenched in self-denial, yes. But it's also dripping with an indescribable sweetness.

Please don't misunderstand this post as a rant about not loving my children or not loving being a mom. You can read posts here, here, here, and here that prove otherwise. I'm merely documenting honest feelings. 

Also, it took me three days of single-handed finger pecking to type this post, in which I wrote during a toddler's dwindling naptime and a newborn's lengthening nursing session. Self-denial in it's purest form right here. 

{Real Mom Life} My Baby Is Turning ONE

It's 6:00 AM. Michael is out meeting a friend for coffee. Maylin is still snoozing upstairs. Deuce is curled at the end of the bed. My thoughts are running wild. 

This week has been full. Of busyness, yes, because I'm prepping last minute details for Maylin's first birthday party on Saturday, but also full of emotion and thought. My mind won't quit clicking, and the main click is this: My baby is turning ONE. My baby is turning ONE. My baby is turning ONE. 

Over and over and over.

It's a happy time, I know. I truly feel joy that she's reaching this big milestone. In the first weeks after her birth I was elated if she was just alive and breathing at the end of the day. For both of us to survive for one whole year seemed like the gold medal of life. I thought I'd throw my hands in the air in a double fist pump, or clasp them over my head and shake them from one side to the other in the iconic victory gesture. However, surprisingly, I've also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. To me, turning one signifies the end of her baby days. She's entering the realm of toddler-hood. 

Quite frankly, I'm terrified. Sad and scared. I never guessed those emotions would accompany her first birthday. 

I'm sad because I can already sense some of the "babyness" leaving her. Naptimes and bedtime for example. She no longer wants to be rocked to sleep. She'll tolerate being held and rocking for a bit, then she's squirming and reaching for the crib, eager to settle herself and fall asleep solo.

Heart. Breaking.

I'm terrified because I know with toddlerhood comes a whole new unfamiliar realm, one of discipline and tantrums and opinions and {even more} stubbornness and inevitable destruction in the wake of a newly walking, always exploring child. {Child, not baby. Baby I feel experienced with. Child, not so much.}

I'm scared she won't want to be my baby anymore. Eventually, she won't. That's life and that's part of growing up, but until I became a mama I had no idea how bruised that would make me feel.

Yesterday, I was in the kitchen and came around the corner to find Maylin halfway up the stairs. She's been crawling up the stairs "by herself" with me behind her for a couple weeks now, but this was the first time I caught her doing it by herself. She turned around and smiled at me so triumphantly, then faced forward and kept climbing. In that moment I felt both fierce pride and deep tenderness, like a bruise on my heart. Proud that she is confident and able do it on her own. Hurt that she no longer "needs" me to do it with her. This is when I realized I will probably feel that unique emotion, the emotion of a mama with a job well done, all my life, with all my children, in many circumstances. I pray I have the grace to let Maylin go for her sake, rather than holding her back for mine.

It is now 7:45 PM, and after a long day of Smash Cake baking, floor sweeping and mopping, and party preparing, Maylin is upstairs asleep and Michael and I are readying ourselves for a relaxing night. Deuce is still curled at the foot of the bed.

I've thought a lot today. And I only cried a little bit. Tomorrow is THE day. The anniversary of her birth. Michael and I have talked frequently how birthdays for especially young children are more for the parents' sake than the child's. The day Maylin was born was one of the most memorable and  emotional days of my life, one that I want to preserve in my memory forever. I think that's why birthdays are celebrated in the first place. To remind ourselves, the parents, of the miracle that changed our lives.

Tonight, we readied Maylin for bed as a family. Changed her diapy, put her in her "sleepy sleep" {our family lingo for pajamas}, warmed her bottle. Then we sat down, Maylin on my lap in the glider; Michael on the ottoman. Michael had his last hug from Maylin as a "0 year old." He prayed over her and over her second year, thanking God for the blessing she is while we held hands and a few tears slid down my cheeks. Then we turned on her sound machine and turned off the lights. And Maylin let me rock her to sleep. Thank you, Lord, You knew I needed that, tonight of all nights.

It was a time of closure. The ending of her baby year and the beginning of a toddler one, the beginning of a new phase in our family, the start of a new relationship with my daughter. It was right, and the overwhelming emotion I had was one of peace. This is how life is supposed to work. Maylin is supposed to grow up. I am okay with that. I am blessed by that. I am looking forward to what her second year brings.

I'll leave you with the poem I read before we turned out the lights, one I discovered tucked on a page in a children's book we bought in Hot Springs when I was still pregnant with Maylin. 

A Verse for the Night Before the Birthday

When I have said my evening prayer,

And my clothes are folded on the chair,

And mother switches off the light,

I'll still be {11 months} old tonight.

But from the very break of day,

Before the children rise and play,

Before the darkness turns to gold,

Tomorrow, I'll be {1 year} old.

{One} kiss when I wake,

{One} candle on my cake!

~ M. Merykort from Animal Crackers by Jane Dyer

**Disclaimer:: I know all of Maylin's new developments and maturity are good and natural, especially with Hartlie due in T minus 10 weeks. This is just a first time mama sharing her heart about emotions concerning her first born baby that won't be surpressed by logical thinking.

{Real Mom Life} Things Inherited

I guess God knew I needed a little extra time with my girl today, so He made it where Maylin only napped this morning if I held her. 

Last night, I had a huge, major ugly-cry meltdown as a result of a bit of frustration over Maylin's temperment and the realization that today she turns 11 months old. Pregnancy hormones could have also played a tiny part. Tiny.

Maylin didn't nap, like, at all yesterday, which means that by the time 4:15 rolled around and I was trying to get supper started she was a hot mess clinging to my ankles and screaming at the top of her lungs. The following text conversation commenced between my dear husband and me::

Me: I am about to lose my ever loving mind.

Michael: Headed Home!

Me: Thank the LORD

Michael pacified Maylin {to an extent} as I finished supper. We ate, and at 6:00 PM sharp, Michael offered to give her a bottle and put her to bed. Lord knows I was in no frame of mind to do so. I plopped my tired, top-heavy body on top of the bed to catch up on some blog reading, and came across this post titled "When Satan Steals Your Motherhood." This is when the waterworks started because I could so relate to everything this mom was writing. It was all so fresh for me coming off the afternoon I had with Maylin. It's a great reminder and I bookmarked it {and her blog!} because I know I'll probably want to reread it later, probably many times over. 

After reading the post, all I could think about was the type of mother I'm being to Maylin. Have I done enough in her first year? Am I currently doing enough for her? Meeting all her emotional needs? Have I made enough memories? Have I intentionally spent my time with her like I wanted? What will I remember about these precious, fleeting, one-time-only months of her life? Am I being a mama who is good enough for this gift God gave me?

There are times when evaluation is healthy, and other times when regret and remorse kidnap logical thought, which is probably what happened to me last night. It took Michael to pull me out of my near hysteria over being a "terrible mother" and the guilt I felt for getting frustrated with my daughter an hour earlier. {He's a champ, by the way, soothing two inconsolable females in less than two hours. Oh how I love that man. Somehow God groomed him specifically for a household of women.}

Today, my mind is much clearer, and I am able to actually process thought rather than melting into a puddle of mascara.

My mammaw recently pulled this dress out the back of her closet where it'd been hiding for the last 25 or so years. 

It's a dress my sister and I wore when we were babies that had been tucked away when it didn't sell in a garage sale after we outgrew it. At one glance I knew it was perfect for my girl. She wore it to church last Sunday, and it's probably one of my favorites she's ever worn.

I've been thinking about that dress all week, about how it had been saved {maybe inadvertently, maybe not} and preserved to be passed on to the next generation. It got me pondering the things we pass to our children. What am I passing down to Maylin? What is she inheriting from me? I sincerely want her to receive the important things, the good things, the things that matter. I don't want her inheriting my frustration, which she sees when supper isn't ready at 5:30 on the dot. I don't want to pass her my insecurities I harbor over myself, which she sees when I berate my image in the mirror. Or that terrible habit I have of rolling my eyes, which she sees when I'm being disrespectful {that one may come back to bite me when she's 14}. Nor my stubbornness, which she sees probably all day every day. She's already stubborn enough, I dearly don't want to teach her any further.

I want to pass on whatever few positive traits I have and not the abundance of negative ones. Honestly right now I can't even think of any of my "good" characteristics I want her to have, but I sure as hell know which ones I don't want her to learn from me.

And, while I'm on the subject, what am I passing to my future self? The self that years from now will look back on these first few Maylin-months and sift through the memories that my current self has made. She will have only the memories I'm giving giving her at this moment. Will my future self see only hours spent on social media and a life void of the sweet baby Maylin face? Or will she see the times we went to the park or made an inside fort or played with dolls or read under a blanket or climbed up and down the stairs or had pallet parties in the living room on Friday nights? Those are things I want Maylin to remember, and those are moments I want to give myself to remember, too.

Somehow, all of these thoughts got wrapped around each other this morning as I sat for over an hour rocking my sleeping 11 month old baby. The past week has been a reality check, the effects of which I hope will ring in my mind for many years to come. I know what I want to inherit from myself, and I know what I want Maylin to get from me. May those things always be in the forefront of my mind, directing my attitudes, actions, and decisions. And may I have the grace to forgive myself on the days that I fail.

{Real Mom Life} 10 Entertaining Activities for My 10 Month Old

For any of you mamas out there who have babies younger than 10 months old, I thought I'd share a bit of what I've found to be fool-proof ways of entertaining your Boddler {aka the human in the phase between Baby and Toddler, one that is usually crawling, pulling up, and putting everything in the mouth}. If you come to my home, these are activities you will find Maylin doing on an hourly basis. She rotates from one of these activities to the next, all faster than I can keep up with her saggy-diapered booty. I've never said the word "no" more often in my life, even when I was teaching.

Pulling Out/Off::

1. Pulling all the magnets OFF the fridge.
2. Pulling folded clothes out of drawers.
3. Pulling books off shelves.

Canine-Related::

1. Splashing in the dog's water bowl.
2. Throwing Cheerios on the floor for the dog to eat. {Yes, this is intentional. She loves watching him eat.}
3. Chewing on the dog's bones.

Pulling Up::

1. Pulling up on the lips of trashcans.
2. Pulling up on the diaper pail.

Playing::

1. Touching electrical outlets and playing with power cords.
2. Playing near the edge of the brick hearth while a fire rages temptingly in the grate.

I believe experts refer to Maylin's favorite activities as "exploring the environment." I call it driving a Mama mad.

There is a story to accompany each of these activities, each of which has been done many times, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say the endings of said stories are usually as follows:: Maylin ends up flat on her back underneath a trashcan covered in trash/food; Maylin ends up crying in frustration or in pain; Maylin ends up soaking wet with water all over the floor.

Greatest fears at this point are that {1}she'll  discover she can pull up on the toilet seat, and {2}that she'll discover the dog food is edible. Please, dear God, delay those developmental milestones just a liiiiitle longer. Thank you.

What are your Boddlers into right now? Any tips for a struggling mama who has said the word "no" a thousand times but still gets clueless looks and smiles? And why, oh why, won't she play with the many brightly-colored musical toys scattered around the house??

{Real Mom Life} Wake Up Calls

Maylin is generally a good sleeper.

We did sleep training when she was about 4 months old, and since then she's been a champ at sleeping through the night. 

However, this sister has woken three out of the last four nights, which is a stellar football record, but a terrible baby-sleep one. 

I could say that I'm a bit annoyed at her for interrupting my REM cycles, and probably would've been about six months ago, but honestly I'm not. I'm not annoyed at all. 

There's no feeling quite like the one I get when I'm awakened in the middle of the night by my baby's cry. This cry that she's been doing is very different from her middle-of-the-night-I'm-hungry-Mama cry that she had when she was littler. The cry that's woken me lately is more like a distressed, startled cry similar to, but not exactly like, the one I blogged about here. It makes my heart jump to my throat and squeeze a little bit in my chest while I shake the sleep from my brain and put my robe on so I can get up the stairs. And by the time I've scooped her up from her crib and planted us safely inside the arms of the glider, my heart is pounding and I'm out of breath. 

There's nothing in the world that can keep me from my baby when her cry is distressed. The force that drives me to get out of bed and up to the nursery is so strong I'm not sure I could be stopped.

I've been thinking about that as I've soothed and rocked her in the dark over the past several nights, curled up in a warm blanket together in a room illuminated only by the nightlight in the hall and the street lights coming through the closed blinds.

God is like that with us. When we are distressed, or startled, or maybe a little frightened He's immediately scooping us up in His arms, soothing our hearts and whispering comforting words to calm us down. There's no power in heaven or on earth that can keep Him from His children when they've cried to Him. 

Just like Maylin has different cries that I respond to in different ways, I believe our cries are different to God, too. It's something I've never considered before the past couple of days, but the more I think about it the more I'm convinced. Our distressed cry sounds different than our "hungry" cry, which sounds different from our "I need You cry," which is different from our "I'm sad" or "I'm hurting" or "I don't understand" cries. And God responds in a way that is unique to each one. 

As a mother, I use my discretion as to when and how to comfort Maylin when she's upset. Sometimes if she's bumped her head and I can tell she's not seriously injured, I let her get up and get going on her own with minimal assistance from me, and it's a lesson learned. Sometimes she doesn't need to be coddled, she needs to figure things out on her own to help her mature and learn life lessons. Other times when Maylin is upset in an aggravated way, like after I've told her "no," she doesn't need me to coo over her and baby her. She pushes me away and wants to be left alone until she's come to terms with the boundaries. I believe our Father responds to us in similar ways. He's always with us, but sometimes we don't need to be soothed and babied.  

Distress is different though. Psalm 120:1 promises that when we cry to Him in distress, He answers. Every time. He won't be stopped from reaching us. No matter what. His heart probably feels similar to mine when I hear Maylin's startled, middle-of-the-night cry when she's supposed to be sleeping safe and sound. I doubt that our cries ever catch Him off guard though. And He's with us faster than I can get my sleep-muddled, stumbling self up the stairs.

Another reason I haven't been annoyed at being woken in the middle of the night is I'm coming to the realization that Maylin's baby days are numbered. I now have far fewer baby days ahead of me with her that I do behind me. That's a sobering thought. So when I'm sitting up with her for an hour or two of uninterrupted time at night, all I can think is that I've been given the gift of having time for just her and me. Nobody else. No distractions. 

It's been a sweet, sweet couple of hours these past four nights. I hope that these are the nighttime moments I remember instead of the fussy ones. {Although I would also be okay with her just sleeping all through the night again, too.}

{Real Mom Life} The Sickies

It's the worst when your kid is sick.

Like, the worst.

We have finally conquered the ever-feared Virus in our home, and hopefully we won't be visited by that fiend for the rest of the winter. Because, sheesh, is he mis.er.a.ble.

I mentioned last week in my post about weaning (and I meant to write more than once last week, but you know, weaning and emotions and Virus) that Maylin was sick with a fever and runny nose. Thankfully it remained "just a Virus" and didn't escalate into an ear infection or the dreaded RSV. 

I have two friends whose babies are currently battling RSV, having to do breathing treatments at every 4 hours or every 2 hours, and my heart goes out to them so much. I'd never even heard of RSV until after I had Maylin, and it's crazy how much three little letters can make your mama-heart squeeze in fear every time they're uttered.

I learned several things while Maylin had the sickies::

1} It's hard being a mama-nurse. I can't attest to the breathing treatments {knock on proverbial wood}, but I do know the achy-breaky-heart feeling that accompanies the endless nose wipes, the glassy fever eyes, and the notion there's nothing really you can do as a parent to make your child better. Maylin got so tired of us having to suck the snot out of her nose with that little blue bulb and I can't say I blame her. Anytime she even saw the thing she started in with the Maylin wail-and-flail {which is starting to accompany a lot these days}. Also, the up-all-night thing with a sick baby is about nearly as fun as the up-all-night thing with a gassy baby. In each case all you really want is for your child to stop being in pain and therefore to stop screaming so they can go to sleep so you can go to sleep. Then the next day, because I didn't get much sleep the night before, the only thing in the world I wanted was a nap, but no, sorry the baby still needs to be rocked and soothed and cuddled {and not in a sweet, newborn way, but rather in a hot sweaty fussy I-don't-feel-good  nine month sort of way}. So yeah, being a mama-nurse is hard.

2} Babies can be as strong as Hercules when they want to be. Take trying to use the blue bulb snot sucker, for instance. Maylin would bury her face into my shoulder {if I was holding her} or into the changing table pad {if she way lying down} and no amount of twisting or prying would make her nose turn toward me again. It usually took Michael and I doing it together to get that nasty snot out.

3} Babies make A LOT of snot. More snot has come out of that baby than I ever thought possible before she got sick. And the snot had to come out, you see, because she couldn't even breathe through her nose while taking her bottle without it draining all down the back of her throat or running in rivulets down into her mouth.

4} Babies with low, scratchy voices from mucus drainage may be the most adorable sound ever.  All that drainage made Maylin hoarse, which was simultaneously the cutest and most pitiful thing I've ever heard. Her little voice deepened by about two octaves and she lost it all together for about 24 hours. I couldn't even hear her crying when she was upstairs in her crib so I would sit outside her closed door after I put her down to make sure she wasn't silently screaming. All is well now, though, because the screaming is back in full force when she is upset about something or when she thinks nap time is over.

The symptoms of our little virus only lasted about 10 days, and though we do still have some snot {how in the world?} Maylin is pretty much on the mend and acting like her usual self.

Looking forward to warmer and less snotty days.

{Real Mom Life} An Unexpected End:: Weaning

It's difficult to decide where to start puttting down my thoughts because there are so many facets to what has happened over the past week or so.

But the bottom line is Maylin is officially weaned. My breastfeeding journey with her is over. Suddenly and unexpectedly so. And the truth of the matter is I'm heartbroken.

Our breastfeeding journey is a long and noveled one, full of mountains and valleys, and I intend to one day get it written down for all the mamas who struggled with breastfeeding like I did. I was determined and stubborn and maybe a little bit proud, and I accredit our 9 month success to those reasons alone. However, as much as I willed for the capability to nurse Maylin until one year, it was just physically impossible for us.

Let me start from the beginning. Well, the beginning of the end I guess. Last Wednesday night Maylin came down with fever and a runny nose which persisted all through Thursday. We visited our pediatrician early Friday morning, and it was determined she had a simple virus, the symptoms of which would probably persist for the next week or so. Our doctor didn't seem especially concerned about the virus, however she was extremely troubled over the discovery that Maylin had lost one pound since our 6 month well baby visit.

I was shocked at this as well. Consistent weight gain for Maylin has been a bit of a struggle for us from her birth. It is really a story entirely of itself, but suffice it to say after a pretty rocky and scary start her growth chart finally showed some upward curve progress, especially between 3 and 6 months. Maylin has always been very small for her age, and so many people have remarked upon that fact with a hint of disdain and accusation in their voice that I've come to prickle my motherly quills anytime someone references that fact, even if it's the sweet little elderly woman at the grocery store. Yes, Maylin is small. She's always been in 25th percentile or less, but I honestly just chalked it up to her being petite like me. Call it first-time-mother ignorance if you want, but I did. I'm barely 5'1 and weigh 114 pounds at 5 months pregnant with my second child. That's petite. Of course Maylin is small. It's in her genes.

However, even I was shaken when they put Maylin on the scale and realized that her weight had dropped so much between her 6 month and 9 month checkups. That's not supposed to happen to a healthy baby, even if she is "petite." 

It was at this point that the reality of weaning Maylin began to set in. My doctor gently but firmly suggested that weaning was really the only healthy choice for Maylin now. We closely scrutinized her growth chart, focusing on when the weight drop started. Maylin's weight loss corresponds exactly to the week that I got pregnant with Hartlie.  Bottom line: my body can't produce enough nutrition to keep both Maylin and Hartlie {and myself} at an acceptible level of health.

I'd read and heard that most mothers who get pregnant while breastfeeding have to wean their child, but I was still producing milk so I assumed that perhaps that wouldn't be the case for us. What I didn't realize was that the fat and nutrient level of my milk had been depleted, and even if Maylin was getting the good antibodies she was no longer getting those healthy fats that babies need to gain weight.

I was devastated. There is nothing quite so shocking as discovering something you think is immovable has suddenly disappeared. There is also nothing quite like realizing your body is not preforming the way you expected it was. Both of these things happened in a single instant while sitting in the cold, impersonal, flourescent-lit cubby of a patient room in the doctor's office.

I was a hot mess of weeping and tears.

I have always, always, always from the core of my heart cherished our nursing sessions together. Except for the rocky start, those times were always very calm. They were the times of day that it was just me and her. We could quietly rock with no one else around. It was almost like pushing the reset button on our day. No one else had those times with her. Just me. Call it selfish if you want, but I closely guarded those times between us. Any mother who breastfeeds understands what I'm talking about.   

I have known for a while that the end of breastfeeding was coming for us. She's only a couple months away from a year old, and I never intended to nurse longer than that, especially since baby sister will be born early summer. I'd started stockpiling pumped milk to slowly start the transition to cow's milk at twelve months, but thought I had at least another good month of nursing before the weaning process actually started. The fact that I feel our time was "cut short" makes the emotional side of weaning even harder.

In my heart I know weaning is the right choice for Maylin to be a healthy and happy baby. I want that for her. I want the very best for her, which is why I breastfed so long to begin with. I'm struggling with the idea that my body has let her {and me} down instead of doing what it's supposed to do. Of course, when I mention this to Michael he reminds me that hello, I am over halfway through the pregnancy of our second child and then I feel a little bit better about my body's nourishing capabilities. When I look back at pictures of Maylin when she was about 5 weeks old {at an all time low weight-wise} it breaks my heart to see her skin and bones little self. I've always sworn to myself I would do everything in my power not to have her experience that kind of hunger again, even if it means giving up breastfeeding. But that doesn't make it any less sad or make my  heart feel any less bruised.

The transition for Maylin has actually gone extremely well. Much better than for me as her emotionally attached mama. She loves taking a bottle and seems to really like the taste of the formula. We haven't had any problems with spitting up or gas. She sucks it right down. This causes conflicting feelings within my heart. I am so relieved that switching to formula has been an easy transition. However, there is a teeny tiny small part of me that wishes she would miss the breast milk too. But she just doesn't. And really, that's okay. I guess.

So, after a week of emotional meltdowns and lots of crying on my part, Maylin has stepped into a new phase of her life. A new stage of our mother/daughter relationship. It is sad to leave the old familiar behind, but I'm learning it can also be exciting to see what lies in store for us next.

{Real Mom Life} To-Do Lists

Ever had one of those days where you didn't get anything accomplished that you'd planned to do?

Yeah, that was my day today.

Mondays are the "stay at home" day for Maylin and me. Usually our weekends are our busiest three days of the week {I'm counting Friday, too}. There's always somewhere to go, or someone to see. And of course Michael is home, so we spend a lot of time with him. Maylin's schedule, needless to say, suffers during the weekends. So, I dubbed Monday as the day we stay home and recuperate. We usually don't go anywhere, and I stick to a strict sleep routine for Maylin to get her body back in the groove. Typically I tend to get a lot of things done around the house on Monday. It's usually wrecked from the weekend so I take the time to get everything back in order.

Today I had a to-do list as long as my arm, full of things that I "needed" to get done.
Laundry.
Floors.
Kitchen/dishes.
Pick up clutter.
And like zero of those things got done.

I like to feel productive with my time at home, so when I don't get things done I feel frustrated.

Frustrated at Maylin for not "sticking to her schedule." Frustrated at myself for not using my time more wisely. Frustrated that I keep getting interrupted from my chores due to one random thing or the other.

By the end of the day I'm so steeped in this emotion of aggravation that I'm short tempered and strung-tight. Not a very pleasant person to be around.

Tonight Maylin didn't go to sleep easily like she normally does and I had to rock her for about thirty minutes past her bedtime. As I was sitting in the dark, I had a few moments to think back on the day and realized that I had missed the point of it all. The purpose of my day is not to complete my to-do list. The purpose of my day is not to have a perfectly clean and tidy home with a gourmet dinner on the table by sunset. Some days that does miraculously happen, but those days are much fewer than I would've ever supposed before I began this journey of motherhood.

Instead, I should be grateful for the time I had with Maylin, watching her crawl around with her newfound freedom on the floor, playing with toys all by herself {yay!}.  Instead of grumbling in my mind and complaining that I should be doing {insert chore here} and inwardly freaking out at the thought that I might not get to cross off everything on my list, I should be relishing the time I get to spend with M when he comes home on his lunch break, and thanking my lucky stars I can have at least one adult conversation between the hours of 9 and 5.

This time in my life is just a season. There will never be another season that is exactly like this one, where I have the freedom and luxury of time to spend with Michael and Maylin. Sooner than I expect, I'm sure, things will change. And I'm pretty confident I will find myself missing this season and the days where I could just sit with my babies and play with them, never minding all the dirty dishes in the sink or the dog hair in the corners of the room, or this deadline or that assignment.

The to-do list doesn't have to be completed today. Or tomorrow. Believe it or not, it's just not that important. Not important enough to affect my attitude. Not important enough to be given priority over my family.

That's a resolution I'm going to stick with all year long.

{Real Mom Life} My Choice to Be a Stay-At-Home Mom

Yesterday morning Michael went back to work after a two week Christmas/New Year vacation. I made the bed, cleaned the kitchen, got a load of laundry going. The house was quiet and still; bright {albeit cold} sunlight streamed through the windows. Maylin had eaten breakfast, had a bath, and was down for a morning nap. I was getting ready to finish my coffee and spend some time reading my Bible.

That's when it hit me.

A feeling of such fulfillment and satisfaction and purpose that I had to pause in my tracks. This thought actually went through my head, "I love my job. I love what I'm doing. God wired me for this. And that's okay."

It was so relieving to finally admit that to myself, the first time in all the nine plus months Maylin's been alive and I haven't been teaching or working outside the home. I can say it with confidence, and I can say it without guilt.

Staying home to raise our daughter and manage our household is my true passion, my current calling, my purpose.

For months and months I carried around a permanent feeling of guilt for staying home with Maylin rather than working outside the home and contributing to our family income. I felt that being home wasn't "good enough," that it didn't carry enough weight, that I should be doing more. Michael would try to convince me over and over that what I'm doing is contributing, not monetarily, but in an equally important way. But I didn't believe him.

Deep down I wanted to be okay with staying home. After all, I chose to. In fact, the majority of my life I've wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom to our kids. But when it came down to it, all I could think about was what my working friends would think {they've all been very supportive, by the way}, what my coworkers would say, and whether I would have any respect from working women. Would I get passed by, wearing frumpy mom jeans and driving a minivan while my friends kept up their social lives and looked glamorous?

Surprisingly enough, I've realized over the months that just because I'm staying home doesn't mean a switch automatically flips inside me that makes me frumpy, dated, and boring. I'm still me. And a huge, integral, core part of me was created on purpose by God to derive fulfillment from managing a household and raising our child from home.

When I told my principal I'd be leaving my fourth grade teaching position after Maylin was born, I was a bit nervous. I rushed through my "confession," quickly explaining that I'd be home for a few short years, but planned to teach again after our kids started Kindergarten. He quietly sat and listened to me spill my heart. Then he said something very poignant. Something that has burned a spot in my memory and will probably never go away. He said, "High school kids need stay-at-home moms just as much as Kindergarteners do." In other words, don't rush back just because I think that's what's expected by the culture.

And I don't intend to. Michael and I have had our fair share of talks about what the future of our family looks like. In almost all the scenarios, I'm staying home with our kids. No matter what grade they're in. No matter how old they get. This is my job, my career. It's just as important as anything I could be doing in the working world. And believe it or not, there are days {just as my principal so wisely warned me there would be} that it would be easier to go to school rather than be in the house with a tempermental baby all day. But this is my choice, what I would rather be doing than any job I can think of.

The older {wiser?} I get, the more I realize that God created each person differently. "Everybody else" isn't just like me, and I don't have to be like "everybody else." I know women who work full time outside the home and are outstanding mothers. I honestly don't know how they do it. I have the utmost respect for them. I know women who work from home who are also wonderful mothers. {Sometimes I don't know how they do it either!} All that to say, I'm convinced that no matter what choice has been made by the mom, we're all just trying to do our best. We're all just hanging on to sanity by a thread. Each choice has its perks and its difficulties. No choice is better or worse, or more deserving of praise than the other.

So. At the conclusion of all these musings, the main thing I want to say is this::

I am accepting who I am as a woman who wants to stay home to manage a household in the midst of a career-driven society. I  can confidently and proudly admit to myself and others {when asked, what do you do all day?} that I honestly enjoy being a stay-at-home mom, and that I derive a great sense of satisfaction and purpose from it. I don't {and shouldn't} have to feel guilty for my choice. I'm doing what I was made to do. I am fulfilling a God-given desire in my heart.

What I do is important. It's meaningful. And it has eternal value.