If this makes me a mommy blogger, then so be it.

Ailey turned three on Tuesday (omg, I know).  I
Among her gifts from my parents was a Frozen DVD, which we somehow have avoided for three years because we are blessed beyond measure.

But, Ailey has friends and stuff, and they teach her about things like “Let it Go” and hard drugs, probably (kids these days). She knew too much. She was asking to watch “Elsa singing” on my phone every day. It was time.
So, along with all of the expected “three-nager” sass, her third birthday ushered in all of the princesses.

We’re throwing a birthday party for her this weekend, so I loaded up both kids to go to Sam’s Club to buy food for the festivities. For me, having two kids to bring along on errands is a total gamechanger compared to just one easygoing child who loves to shop.

Cort is too small to sit in the cart, a fact which I decided to test in a bull goods store of all places, where the carts are literal barges. After about five minutes, it became clear that he was still too little to sit in the front of the cart, so for the rest of the trip, I carried a baby with one arm and pushed my barge of bulk goods (yay capitalism!) with the other. I do not recommend.

Cort was happy with this arrangement all through the sections of the store in close proximity to seating–we sailed past some plush leather couches and some wicker settees like we had not a care in the world. No, it wasn’t until our barge had crossed the ocean of commercialized bulk items that the mancub decided he MUST EAT NOW and there was not a seat to be had.

Naturally, I plopped down to nurse him on top of a pallet of cases Monster Energy drink. No one needs that stuff anyway. I’m pretty sure it’s pseudo-poisonous. Ailey is straight-up lounging in the cart at this point, because she’s got the whole front deck of the barge to herself. She is loving life and making sure that you know it, singing at the top of her lungs. I’m starting to get the side-eye from passers-by because I’ve got a squirming baby in my shirt and a toddler scream-singing next to me and the people need their Monster Energy Drinks.

“Ailey, could you please sing a little quieter?” I ask (super politely too–suck it, mom guilt).

She drops her voice to a whisper. “Is dis quieter, Your Highness?”

What I didn’t expect

Now that I’m approaching thirty and responsible for multiple humans, one dog, and several plants, I’m starting to contemplate the details of the days as they pass. When I was younger, I didn’t worry too much about that. I just lived and wondered about the future incessantly. 

Would I get married? To whom? When would I meet him? What would he look like? Would I make the right decision? 

Would we have kids? What would our kids look like? Would they have my eyes? Or my unruly hair? That would be cute on a toddler, so I hope so. What would their personalities be like? Would they be sensitive and slightly flighty like me? Or serious and staid (but still spontaneous) like my future husband hopefully would be (he is)? Would I be okay if I couldn’t have kids? Yes, I’d decided. It would be fine. Maybe I’d be disappointed. At least I’ll be able to get as many dogs as I want when I run my own life.

Now that I know at least partial answers to all of these questions, I don’t wonder as much about the future. I consider the younger version of myself fondly. She had so much to learn. She was sweet and young and idyllic. Now, I consider the choices I’ve made that led me here. And the choices I haven’t made. Those, we’ll call grace.

I didn’t exactly choose to start a family when we did, but I call that grace too. Because here we are, parents, and I am caring for babies. Sweet, hilarious, soft, spunky, good-natured, stubborn, feisty, little people. I didn’t expect the depth of it.

I didn’t know that I’d know a bit about their personalities before I even birthed them. I didn’t know that I would feel more empowered than broken after ushering new life into the world. I didn’t know that I would hold their downy little heads to my cheek as tears of gratitude escaped–thank you, God, for giving me what I didn’t know I wanted. I didn’t know that my heart would suddenly be full to overflowing with love that couldn’t be contained. I didn’t expect that so quickly after meeting these tiny new souls, I’d realize that this love could break me right open.

Now, instead of learning something academically new each day, I am learning my limits. Of stress, of exhaustion, of love (there isn’t one of these, apparently). I didn’t expect this. And I am so, so grateful.

But it is the hard kind of gratitude that takes so much work. And I am working. I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked in my life, and I don’t even have a job outside of this house and these people. I’m always either on duty or on call (over every single night, in a row) and some days it just feels like too much. Today, it feels like too much. 

So what do we do? When it’s exhausting and back-breaking and there’s no end in sight? But you also don’t want it to end because it’s the most fulfilling thing you’ve done? 

This tension, I didn’t expect.

the hard, good work

I’ve been keeping late hours the past few weeks, partially because I’ve always had night-owlish tendencies, and partially because this part of pregnancy includes insomnia. So here I sit, in a dim room after everything else is quiet, ginger tea nearby (this pregnancy also includes so much nausea). I’ve snuggled and comforted a sick, tired toddler girl today, after snuggling and comforting a few times during the night last night. I’ve wiped so many tears in the past 24 hours, including a few of my own: liquid exhaustion.

I even managed to feed my family with what I scraped together around the house, after grocery trips were postponed because of the day’s events. I have worked hard today. And my body continues to work hard, long after I am ready to rest, building another small human, whose tears will bring me running to dry and to comfort, sometimes in the middle of the night.

But that is how this goes–these people are the best, hardest kind of work. All people are. We require a lot, beginning with our mamas, before we’re born. It’s something about motherhood I just was not prepared for until I experienced it–the depth of the physical work required to care for another human. My insides have roiled, I’ve lost so much sleep, my body aches, and that’s all before the hard part begins, when I am literally broken to give life anew, and then the sleeplessness continues.

Those are the specifics of my work. But mine is not the only kind of work, and any kind can be hard. All of our people require hard work from us to love them well. I’m learning to more graciously take up this role as I pour myself out for mine.

Whether you’re birthing and raising babies, navigating tension with coworkers, caring for ailing parents, caring for your ailing self, or lifting up friends, there is hard work to be done with our people. But you and I are hard workers.

Making Humans

Our son, Cort Oliver, was born on March 6. Three months have passed already since he was born, but I haven’t written any of it down until now. I’ve been in a total, sleep-deprived, love-struck haze since. 

Growing a human being in your body is exhausting, nauseating, literally back-breaking. At times during my pregnancy with Cort, especially at the end, I was so weary that I just wept at the end of the day (also, hormones).

Then, after you grow another person, you have to give birth–break yourself open to make way for new life. It’s simultaneously so beautiful and awful and terrifying. You welcome your baby into the world, already an exhausted mess, and then you only get to sleep in three-hour increments (if you’re lucky) for the foreseeable future.

Add to that the fact that we’re lucky enough to be doing this for the second time, which means there is already one toddler at home. No more sleeping while the baby sleeps like I did when my daughter was born. 

So we try to figure out how to teach a two-year-old not to be horrible and it does have to be taught. I’m completely exhausted and my patience has worn thin. Am I really going to argue with a tiny human again about why we say please and don’t hit and need to share? How many times will I drag a miniature, screaming terrorist from the library (we just love books)? 

It’s no wonder that I’m beside myself.

Yet, I wake up for 3 am feedings and hold this tiny new life close to me. I press my face against the top of Cort’s fuzzy baby head and will all of my love to pour out over him. He is so small and soft and sweet and I am undone. I can’t hold it all in my heart, my love for these tiny people and the man who helps me raise them.

Yet, the pitter-pat of tiny feet and a bouncing, curly little bedhead  greets me each morning, with “Hi Mommy. I swept well.” Is this the girl who grew from our love ? A walking, talking, considerate, wonderful,  hilarious, independent little firecracker of a person?

I carry it all in tension–the contradiction of being ridiculously happy and ridiculously exhausted, longing for the days when they will be older and things will be easier, but also wanting it to last forever, missing their little years almost as they happen. 

And through it all, I am learning. First of all–that I have so much to learn. And also that I am both weaker and stronger than I ever knew. That I cannot do this on my own. That my husband is so much more than the man I chose to marry–that his patience and strength and kindness run even deeper than I knew. That we will be grateful one day that we’ve put in the hard work of making humans.

on feelings

The thing is, is that I feel too much.

  
I’m extremely sensitive, which can serve me well or betray me bitterly, depending on the circumstances.

This week, it felt like so much betrayal. Everything felt harder, each new hurdle compounding upon the others until I was just heavy with the weight of all of it.

I’m not sure that things are any better, but maybe I’m just deciding that they will be, whether the circumstances change or not.

I will redirect my sensitivity to the best things for how. I’ll take the bad in stride, while I keep moving toward more good. There’s no avoiding the bad stuff, but that doesn’t mean I have to dwell there.

Instead, I will dwell with the good and the beautiful and the growing and the overcoming. Instead, I will thrive.

my girl, 18 months

 Climbing into this giant chair is just one of the hundreds of things that Ailey insists on doing herself these days.

Her independence is both exciting and hilarious. It’s hard to do things on your own when your fine motor skills are still developing, you know? She sits for quite a while trying to put our shoes on. 

When it won’t cooperate after 10 minutes of trying with the same shoe, she’ll fuss and throw it in frustration. I’m going to pretend she got that from her dad (she didn’t). 

The first few times, I’d ask, “do you want some help?”

And she’d look up, eyes big, and say “hewp?” and nod.

Now, an offer for help is met with a resounding “noooooooo” and a swat. We’re working on manners. 

 

I think what I’m enjoying most about this age is her growing vocabulary, which is still part nonsense words, but the majority of it is actually English. Who knew?

My favorite pronunciations:

-water = watee 

-color = cuyee

-Lauren = Owen 

-blanket = ban toot 

-doggie and daddy, which sound like the same word

Each day is a new adventure of first experiences for her. How sweet to rediscover the world anew alongside of her, discovering for the first time.

Today, I picked you up from daycare and you didn’t protest leaving your friends or your favorite toys. You laid your head against my shoulder and snuggled close, a little less independent than you might like to let on.

That’s okay, baby. You don’t have to do it all on your own.

I love you, Ailey girl. 

motherhood is crazy-making

I’ve been a mother for 18 months, which really isn’t very long, in the scheme of things. But, considering that it’s the most full-time of jobs, that you’re never really off-duty, 18 months seems longer than it sounds.

I’ve been told by mamas more experienced than myself that our babies change so rapidly in the first two years that you can’t keep up–as soon as you adjust to a new phase, new behavior, new difficulty, it’s over. It’s a little exhausting, this parenting adventure.

All I know is that I feel crazy. My emotions have been on the proverbial roller-coaster since Ailey was born. This tiny human, whose appearance in my life I was in no way ready for, arrived and ruined me.

I have been astonished by the way this little person has nestled into a space in my heart that I didn’t know existed before she arrived to fill it. It’s a wonderful little paradox, parenting. I know everyone has different experiences, and I can’t sit here and say that motherhood looks the same for every mama, but I have experienced so much grace through the life of this sweet little girl.

And I will keep reminding myself of this–grace shown through new life and my new role as a mother and care-taker, someone who consistently has to look outside myself, whether I like it or not. Sometimes I need reminding, on days like today, when there are more tears than smiles and I am ready to scream and give up and get back under the covers.

On those days, I need reminding that this is new for both of us and we are still learning each other. Actually, the truth is, we take lifetimes to learn each other, us humans, and even if we’d known one another 100 years, we’d still have to work out some kinks. We’ll get there. My tiny girl isn’t a baby anymore, and she’s starting to have opinions and a desire to express them. Maybe I need to shift my perspective and be thankful for her little spirit and personality when she proves to be more independent than I expect. I should be honored to raise a strong woman, and she has all the makings. We’ll work together, she and I, learning the ways of the world together. We both still have so much to learn and so much to teach one another.

year 26

Today is my 26th birthday.

I am full to bursting with all the love around us that bubbles up to the surface on birthdays.

Today was the perfect kind of day. I went to work at a job I love, where birthdays are special and fun, came home to take out that Trent picked up, which we ate on the patio because the weather was glorious. Trent also got dessert–mango sorbet for me and coffee ice cream for him–which we ate on the front stoop while we FaceTimed with my parents and watched Ailey push her beloved toy stroller on the sidewalk, exclaiming “push! Push!” all the way.

I opened some mail. We chatted with neighbors. It was the most delicious kind of day.

  

This guy was an early present to me, proof that Trent loves me deeply:

  

So there weren’t any material presents, and I decided that I like it better this way.

I did get some gorgeous flowers at work, which probably count as a present.

I am thankful for a day to lift my spirits, and a day that reminded me to be good to others, because that’s how we show them we love them. And we all need a reminder that we are deeply loved once in a while.

how to be nice when other people are not





I am working on being understanding and compassionate, even when the circumstances don’t warrant it lately, and I probably will be for the rest of my days here in this body of mine.

So far, it’s not going great.

I have been so angry and hurt and bitter and grumpy.

I, extreme extrovert, lover of people, have cut myself off, stayed in a licked my wounds, bunkered down with my immediate family (and books for nap times), and just let it all fester.

All of this behavior, I think is reasonable for a time, especially because I haven’t let it negatively affect other people and haven’t projected it or imposed it upon anyone, but I have been so angry. And the thing is, is that I can’t stay this way.

There is life to be lived and people to be loved and relationships to be rekindled and I will not be angry anymore.

I will choose to believe that people act in ways that aren’t nice because sometimes the world is mean, and life is hard, and we make mistakes. We can only move forward and forgive, or it’s not going to be much a life at all, is it?

And I am going to live.

when the bummer sets in

Today, I woke up feeling existentially bummed. I think this is part of the gig sometimes, this mom (or maybe everyone and I’m just a mom) thing. More days than not lately, I wake up earlier than I’d like to and certainly earlier than I need to, feeling physically sick and emotionally drained and over it before “it” has even begun.

Today was one of those days.

Then, inevitably, I realize I have a bad attitude and I’m not being patient with a tiny toddler who is just learning how live in a world that’s not her size, who can’t articulate that or much of anything else well at all. And I kick myself, because I’m missing it.

Some days I am so egregiously missing the point. Because on the days that I start complaining and bummed, are days that I’m focusing all on me. And I am so not the point.

And maybe instead, the point is that others’ needs are more important than mine, and that my attitude is evident in how I approach those needs. Maybe the point is that mothering is hard work, there’s no denying that, but that preserving is for when it’s hard and that’s meaningful. Maybe the point is that God is shaping me every day, slowly rubbing off sharp edges and making me grow.

So I can be grateful in the mundane, hard, and downright awful parts of this life, because the point is bigger and even aside from that, there is good here, now, that I’m not stopping to notice because I’m too focused on me.

So, I let this truth roll over me instead of staying bummed and noticed that my cutie baby/toddler daughter is big enough to sit on a stool next to her daddy and learn from him. I notice that my sweet husband took hours building shelves that he knew I’d adore and that I hadn’t properly thanked him for them, even though they’ve been done for days. I noticed that the sky is big, and I could drink in the sun from indoors, as bright as it is here, something I take for granted all the time.

These things are all good, even when I’m not feeling well.

These things are all good, even when I’m so tired I can feel it deep.

These things are all good, even when our lives are upended and nothing we’ve been clinging to is certain anymore.

God is still good, after all. And he made all of these things.