Let Me Eat Cake!

Before having Reagan, I never kept track of my weight. I ate to enjoy the food in front of me. Isn't that what a meal is for? It was not a concern on my radar, and I actually hated when the topic was brought up at work. So many women I knew and respected seemed to belittle their self worth all because of a number on the scale. I swore I would never talk like that. 

During my pregnancy, I gained a total of 70 lbs. Now I am fully aware that that is twice as much as all the books say is allowable for someone my height and with my starting weight. That said, I was not concerned and neither was my doctor. Let's also note for a moment, I was a pregnant woman in the south, due in one of the hottest, most humid months of the year. Avoiding carrying around excess fluid just isn't going to happen. I carried my extra weight with pride until about month 7. When I saw the pictures of me at my baby shower...there were just no words. After that I didn't want pictures taken of me except for the last two monthly bump pictures and the necessary hospital pictures (in all that beautiful hospital garb). I nit-picked everything about myself for the rest of my pregnancy. 

Post-pregnancy was no better. Throw in the fact that I had joined a mommy board online where just about every woman on there was either (a) complaining about their weight & asking when it would disappear, or (b) celebrating their swift return to their pre-pregnancy scale numbers. It was not a good atmosphere. I had had every intention of dropping the concerns about my weight as soon as I held our sweet boy, but that didn't happen. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, I inevitably would scoop up my phone and spend a few minutes researching normal postpartum weight limits. Of course the weight did eventually start to dissipate some, and of course I was celebrating as it all "magically" seemed to take the hint that I didn't want it there anymore. Then it stopped. It stopped far from the number I wanted it at. Let's also stop and remember for a minute that I am someone's wife. Justin is really great. Like really, really great, y'all. He never cringed, never fussed, never became bossy about any of my weight or what I was eating. He never even mentioned it unless I did. Of course stupid me mentioned it all of the time. I complained and thought aloud and sought desperately for him to say some formula of perfect words that would make all my doubts about my weight vanish. I put all of the pressure on him. The problem with that (at least one problem) is that there are no perfect words. It was all a me thing. So many times he would tell me again and again that he loved me, he loved some new curve that I was complaining about, that I was worrying over nothing. that everything was all good. For just a minute, maybe even a full day if I really let it, his assurances would work and I would completely stop worrying about the numbers on the scale and the girl in the mirror. I would look with clear eyes on the body I actually had and be grateful in every possible way for what was. Doubt can be the murderer of all joy though. It would even stoop so low as to make me question my husband's love. Oh, I knew he loved me, but I worried because love is so amazing at being love that maybe Justin only did and said what he did to make me happy. What if deep down he struggled with other thoughts- not so nice, but honest thoughts. Was my joy and comfort in my new body complacency and selfishness where a husband might be concerned? Yeah, doubt is the ultimate funsucker. (That's a word. Just watch Freaky Friday.) I finally decided to give dieting a try. In September Justin and I decided to try Whole 30. For anyone who has not heard of it, or is just thinking about it, it is interesting. You don't measure your food. You don't count calories. You don't weigh yourself (unless you are like me & need proof you efforts are working). You can supposedly do it while nursing or pregnant, though I was too concerned about risking lack of breastmilk with such sudden changes that I waited until Reagan was weaned. You can actually eat a lot of food- good food. It is a no sugar, no beans, no corn, no bread, no milk, no lots of little names of things (that I cannot recall, but are in the book) diet. You are told not to remake a recipe of something that you shouldn't have, meaning no flourless muffin recipes even though it has all diet-approved ingredients. There are also no cheat days. The diet as a whole is supposed to help you hit a reset button with your body. It is supposed to help you become more aware of any possible sensitivities you may have & not know of, which should help you feel less tired & more energetic, and feel better overall, and possibly get rid of some health issues you may be dealing with or may be heading towards unknowingly. It is also supposed to help reset your brain by helping you form better eating habits, and avoiding snacking or eating foods that make you feel bad (or at least eating less of them). I mean, it sounds pretty legit, right? Justin was on board. I not only wanted to lose some baby weight (though it specifically & repeatedly says that weight loss should not be a focus), but my immune system was crap at this point and I was always exhausted. 

I am not going to go into every detail because I do have another point with all of this. I will say though that our Whole 30 ended up being more of a Whole 23. When Justin ended up in the hospital, we threw the diet out the window. *Note- This diet had absolutely NOTHING to do with his afib episode. In fact, the night that it happened we had eaten an extremely heart healthy meal.* When we stopped the Whole 30, I fell back into my uncertainty. I did lose a few pounds, but that had been with diet-approved meals. I tried to keep up some habits without stressing too much. I kept drinking black coffee, and I still avoided a lot of my favorite treats. When I did snack, I always felt bad afterwards. I would beat myself up for having indulged, and then beat myself up for complaining about the pounds that came back. I pinned so many exercise plans on Pinterest that you would have thought I was preparing for a fitness competition. Truthfully, I would start one exercise regiment, be unable to complete most of the exercises, and then feel so physically sick that I could barely pull myself back together. You won't be surprised to know that I wouldn't try that exercise plan again.

In January, I finally called it. Living life this way just could not be right. I hopped off my tumultuous hamster wheel and began to replay the last few months. For all the things that I had not liked about the Whole 30, it had helped me realize a few things. First, I love to cook. Like for real, I LOVE to cook. Because I love to cook though, I hate to cook something that isn't enjoyable. If not to satisfy the bellies of those I love and their tastebuds, why on earth should I spend precious time in the kitchen? It just doesn't make sense. Also, prepping meals ahead of time is amazing, but it also shouldn't take all day. Prepping should help cut back on time, not eat up more time that I already don't have. I also realized when I want something, I need to have it. I was eating empty weight that I didn't even enjoy trying to kill a craving that I didn't have time or didn't want to make time to cook myself. (Ex. 1/3 bag of Jelly Belly Skittles, 5 peanut M&Ms, and 3 handfuls of goldfish do not equal one slice of chocolate cake, nor is a free Johnny's pizza an amazingly delicious Pizza Hut pizza.) As for the exercise, I haven't exercised regularly for anything since my senior year in high school when I was on the volley ball team. That statement in itself is filled with so much irony you just could not wrap your head around it. Taking all of this into account, I sat down with Justin one night and told him what was up. To say he was a little surprised would be an understatement. Apparently, in all of my stressing and feeding into my doubts, I had thought my husband understood my weight and new body image weighed heavily on me. Nope, he had no idea. He thought I had taken him at his word and that I truly hadn't thought too much of it. *Que laughing until I cried.* So, all of that to say, here is what I have changed in the Mommy Body department- 1. "Whatever you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God."- 1 Corinthians 10:31 This verse alone tells us we are to consider everything big AND small to be work and acts that glorify our Father who places us in the positions in life that we are in. I am a wife and a mother who, above all other work I could submit myself to, I WANT to serve my loved ones to the absolute best of my ability. For me, this means I cook for pleasure. The time I spend in the kitchen needs to serve a greater purpose than bettering my body's image to the standards others around me have set. Each and every meal that comes from my kitchen, from the work of my hands, should both satisfy and strengthen the precious bodies my family and I have been given, as well as satisfy the taste buds specifically created for us.  2. Exercising doesn't work if I cannot do it. Around the middle of January, I created my own workout plan. I took 3 exercises that I could actually perform and that motivated me and did them no more than 25 times each. I was tired after the first time, but not physically sick. It took me less than 30 minutes (Reagan's mealtime), and I could go about my day afterwards. I had no real clue if my exercising was actually doing anything, but it was fun so I didn't consider it wasted time. Feeling pretty proud of myself, I added 2 new exercises about 2 weeks later. After a month, I doubled the amount of time that I did each exercise. Again, it tired me out, but I wasn't sick. I could chase Reagan down 5 seconds after I was finished unlike before. The fact I can actually do some exercises is pretty exciting. It makes my clutzy-self feel good. Plus, it doesn't take but a few minutes, so I am not having to rearrange my schedule for any of this. With all of the recent diy projects Justin and I have been doing around the house, I don't even stress if I miss a day. I am keeping my body busy and being productive!   3. Something I did learn about myself while doing the Whole 30 is that I can actually say no. Also, I learned that I don't like eating food that I don't like or that I don't want. (Hence why the Whole 30 cookbook no longer sits on my kitchen counter. At $17 though, it does sit on a shelf in our house still.) I don't eat every snickers that is offered to me now, and I don't feel the urge to devour a bag of Reeses Easter eggs just because they are in the house. They aren't going to vanish off the face of the earth if I say no this one time. When I actually want them and eat them, I eat less of them and I fully appreciate their amazingness. If I gain 5 pounds from them, it was so worth it because I won't want them for awhile, so I won't hang on to what I gained for a few days. No stressing myself out. No beating myself up. It's a treat. It's amazing. It should be enjoyed fully. 4. I drink more water. If my mother reads this post she may just fall out from shock. Thanks to one of my grandmothers, I have been drinking coke since before I turned 1. (No, my parents did not condone this.) Cokes were treats in my parents home. You got one if you were eating out and not wearing a super nice, super new outfit. As a teenager with a job and then as an adult in her own home, I began drinking cokes like they were going out with Twinkies. I was grown. I considered it my right to keep a pack of cokes in my home. Then there was Whole 30, and no cokes were allowed, and I was sad. Then there was no Whole 30, and I could drink all I wanted, but I didn't want them all the time anymore. When I want one, I want one. It may be Reagan's bedtime, but if we don't have one in the house somebody is driving me to Sonic for that coke. Funnily enough, Justin now craves them so there is always a pack in the house now. I haven't had one in months. I drink water. I crave food more than I do my flavored drinks. It is really weird, I admit. I mean, maybe you would have to know me. Now, I do not drink black coffee anymore. That just is so wrong. Plus, it was messing with my head terribly. I add cream, but I hardly ever want sugar. It just goes back to the fact that if I am going to make something or consume something it better be the way I want it.  The changes I have made may look common sense to some, but they are changes I have never thought to make before. I enjoy being in our kitchen. I enjoy what I eat no matter whether it is considered healthy or not. I exercise so that I know I can, not in order to make myself look a way that I may never look again. Yes, I have come down a bit on the scale since making these changes, but it has been nothing drastic. Many would still say that I am overweight, and some might say that I am being complacent and should be more concerned. The truth is though. I am concerned. I am concerned with what matters in my life as a whole. Cooking for my family serves my family. It is a good work to do and it respects my Father who has given me the opportunity to do this work. The little exercises I do are for me and me alone. They are nothing to brag on, but they sure do make me feel good just because I know I can do them.  I have scars. I have stretch marks. I am struggling to find what my new size is now. Even in all of this though, I can honestly, without a shadow of a doubt say that I love my body. No, not because I am vain or selfish, but because I am grateful. It is scarred and forever changed not because of some selfish act to better it by the world's standards, but because it has done a great work. A most impressive, and most beautiful little boy grew here and came from it. God used my body for His work. Our son has a purpose on earth and that I could have been used to help bring him here is just absolutely a most humbling thought. So what I can't wear a lot of the same clothes. I can still move. I can still walk and chase and run and play and do works with this body that honestly sat idle for so long. So what that I do not look the same as I once did. I am not the same woman I once was, and I would not trade a single day of my life now to go back to where and who I was before. I have to use my time and my energy for what I believe is important, just as we all do. I cannot focus on the bigger picture and God's purpose for my life while staring at the scale and measuring out meals and sticking to a "fool-proof" exercise regiment. That just isn't me, and isn't that the truth that we just cannot be happy trying to be anyone else than who God wants us to be. Yes, I have a bigger butt and bigger thighs and even a bigger chest than I did before. Oh, and of course lets not forget that little bump that is leftover. So I wear bigger jeans, and I went up a bra size (not crying over that one), and I have always worn high-waisted bottoms anyway. As for the bigger curves, I will just acknowledge that I fill out my outfits better now. 

Being a mommy, having a baby, it isn't about getting a great body- or a "healthy body" is how some sell it. The second you get pregnant, you are not you anymore. You are literally and figuratively changing. Your heart is no longer the same. Your life will never be the same. How on earth can your body be unscathed, and how can it be worse off because it doesn't magically look as it did (or better than it did) before. It has done a great and amazing thing. Beating myself up about how my body didn't look, depleted so much of my energy- more than our newborn ever could have. I lost appreciation for God's work. I lost appreciation for God's favor in my life. He chose to allow me to be a mother in every way. I let distraction take away what was and is mine to enjoy. I questioned my husband's affection and honesty because of the doubt and the standards the world put in front of me. I lost my focus, and was not fulfilling my purpose.

I'll end this with this final thought. My mom managed to find a few surviving family photos on Ancestry of her grandmother (her namesake). I have no clue how much my great-grandmother weighed. What little anyone could ever remember to tell us about her didn't include mention of her hard workout regiment or teeny waistline. Instead, it was of how hard she served her family. She was known to be fiscally responsible, incredibly smart, faithful to her husband, and a very loving mother. She died when she was fairly young. Because of the memories she left, when I look at those pictures I see a woman with a beautiful smile and genuinely kind eyes. I am sure she was not perfect. She was real after all. Still, for the little stories we do know to be as good and as favorable as they are is telling of what she cared about most. We only have so much time to do the work we are here for- to serve where we are and with the fullest and happiest of hearts. To anyone out there reading this, do not worry over the thoughts of the world. Focus on what matters- what your purpose is. Put your heart there and do the great works God has planned for you. 

(Oh, and if chocolate cake makes you happy then by golly go bake you the most delicious chocolate cake recipe you can find and enjoy!) :)

Loving the Life I Have

I had found myself in a slump. While we were celebrating our sweet boy's first birthday, I was already looking for what was next. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't know what that was. What was I supposed to do? A year of milestones had come and gone. Monthly pictures were no longer necessary. Potty-training, big boy bedroom, 2nd birthday plans were all at least a year away. Christmas gifts were bought. Our first family vacation was booked. Everything told me to breathe, to relax, to enjoy the moments little by little finally. In actuality, I felt the complete opposite. I was restless. What was next? I felt like I had missed something- like I was still missing something.  It didn't take long for my dissatisfaction to effect every other aspect of my life. Frustration with my own short-comings were beginning to preoccupy my mind. My temper grew shorter as toddler-tantrums began to spring up. Leftover baby weight seemed to multiple with every glance in the mirror. Our home needed more, but nothing we bought seemed to fit or to be enough. The lies began to build in my mind. I wasn't working hard enough. I wasn't patient enough. I wasn't fun enough. I wasn't a good enough Christian. I wasn't physically active enough. I didn't care enough. I wasn't organized enough. I wasn't...I wasn't...I wasn't...   The list continued to go on and on. My disappointment with myself began to effect how I treated my husband. After a long day at work, Justin often came home to hear my complaints and doubts. When he couldn't or wouldn't confirm my feelings, I turned to nit-picking his habits and my perceived shortcomings. How could he not question his efforts? Didn't he care? Of course he did. Unlike me though, he wasn't making list or rating himself against other men, other daddies. He was living. He was going and doing each day what was necessary, and loving the entire time. I envied how easily he seemed to be able to manage it all. I had planned and dreamed of this life for my entire life, and yet here I was feeling like I was failing. Why? I hated the things I would say. I regretted the words so quickly that I would oftentimes apologize as soon as I had said them. What I didn't say still plagued me and took my attention, making me distant. I told myself that if I could just sort my thoughts out though, that would fix everything. I knew to pray, but even my prayers felt half-hearted. The fear of God's answer, of his clarification, scared me almost as much as not knowing just what it was that was missing.  The funny thing about prayers is this though, even if we think that it is half-hearted, our Father knows our whole heart. He knows the deepest parts of it. While I thought my fear nearly out weighed my desire for help, God knew my heart's desire was stronger than my fear could ever be. He knew because He put those desires there Himself long before I even knew they were there. I had wanted to be a good wife and mother for as long as I could remember. I had planned and prayed and cried just waiting for my chance at this life I have now. No amount of planning and dreaming though had prepared me for actually being in these roles. While it is easy to check off the big moments (wedding day, that first positive pregnancy test, the day you deliver your baby, monthly milestones, first birthday party, etc.), it is a lot more difficult, and far more important, to actually live all of the days in between and all of the days to follow. Those are the moments of complete possibility- moments where you shine, you fall, you learn, you pray, you thrive as the person God wants you to be. It was something I hadn't realized in my time of waiting, and then of running to keep up with my big plans. I had missed how big God's plans for me were. Thankfully though, He knew I would. He knew I would fall. He knew I would come to Him for help, and He knew just what to do. Late in September, Justin was diagnosed with afib. They said it is pretty rare for someone his age to have it. Knowing what we know now about the symptoms and the effects they had on him, Justin thinks he had been dealing with it for easily ten years. At first, I thought I was prepared to handle the situation. I made new lists, canceled our big vacation, made arrangements for Reagan to stay with family while Justin had his procedure to correct it. While we weren't happy Justin was sick, we were glad of answers. The quick procedure to correct it was canceled though. We were given new questions, with answers that took months to confirm. The initial calm and readiness of being there for my family weakened. All of the what-ifs- the ones I had never thought I would have to fear- hit, and they hit hard. My husband's worries were unsatisfied by my assurances that everything would be okay. Even I worried I was wrong. My husband, my best friend, was scared and I wasn't enough to comfort him. On top of all of that, for the first time in months I could see how little my focus had been on my loved ones, and how much it had been on myself.  "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perserveres."                                                                       - 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 I wish I could say that I know this verse by heart. I've honestly read it enough that I should. We have at least two wedding gifts that state (in decorative form of course) probably half of those words. Nevertheless, who doesn't know at least the first sentence. When you are deep in thought about your convictions, questioning just how you have loved- if you have truly loved as God tells us to- you know the answer. After months of noise and crowded thoughts, I found silence in my head. No matter what was going on around me, the desires of my heart, the thoughts in my brain were falling into place. I realized what it was that I had been missing. I had not been loving fully.  Yes, I am a wife and mother. I am an essential part of my family. How I act- how I love, to be more specific- sets the tone for my family. Wrapped up in my own thoughts, making to-do lists full of things that do not matter, allowing doubts and lies to build up distracts from my real purpose in my family and it breaks it apart. It doesn't matter if I buy nice things, if they serve no purpose in our home. It doesn't matter if we plan a big vacation of exciting adventures, if we are only carrying unsettled issues along with us. It doesn't matter how many anniversaries and dates we make time for, if Justin and I are not communicating and working as a husband and wife every day. It doesn't matter if I log every milestone, take every picture, design every party if I am not loving in every other way to my sweet boy. It doesn't matter how many Grey's Anatomy episodes I watch or how many cups of coffee I sneak in if I am not finding true rest. It is doesn't matter which diet I choose or which exercise regiment I find if I am not being appreciative of the body God has given me and the work it has done all of the time.  Signing the marriage license, delivering a baby- these are moments. They are big moments, but they are truly just the starting lines. They alone do not make us good wives and mothers. Being a good wife and a good mother is being a loving one. This means being intentional.  Justin's health scare was the answer to a lot of questions. Obviously, it helped Justin with long-lingering health issues that he had. For me though, God used this time for His purpose. Our Father knows I am as hard-headed as I am selectively deaf and blind. If you want to convince me of something, you better be loud and you better have a heck of a case. When Justin was sick, I was quickly reminded how much I love him and how important he is to me. I felt the depth of importance my family has in my life. I saw how important my role is in their lives, and how much I had been failing them. All of the distractions I had allowed to take priority of my time, all of the energy I had given them, I saw clearly for the first time.  I do not ever want my loved ones to wonder if they were loved. I want my every word and action to be full of love. I want to be joyful in the work I have been given and intentional with my time. I don't want to spend our time together nit-picking my husband. I don't want to mark Reagan's toddler days as a bad era when every day (even the most trying) is filled with moments of sweetness and innocence that we will never have again. I don't want to be so consumed with how my body may look, that I miss all the productive and joyful work God has planned for it to do.   Our life is supposed to be one of purpose. Before, I wasn't fully loving, meaning I wasn't fully living. I allowed the distractions to become my focus, and I tried to solve the problem alone. Thankfully, God heard my prayers. One time, one hard period in life, opened my eyes and has helped me regain my focus and my drive.  I have made some changes in the last few months. They have been changes that have filled our home and our hearts with more joy. I am going to try to share some of the changes I am making, and the impact it is having, later. For now though, I am off to eat with my boys. Happy Weekend!

Season of Thankfulness

Obviously not me, but how pretty is this picture!

Am I the only one who feels like Thanksgiving has just ran up and surprised them? I swear that I was just wearing shorts and t-shirt last week, and now I am bundled in a sweater. Oh wait....that last part is true. Got to love fall in the south. No matter the weather, I am so ready for what is my second favorite holiday. Now don't laugh, but this is how I view this time of year. Remember playing Candyland when you were little? There was the really cute lollipop girl that was so bright and colorful that I just loved landed on her little house. Then there was the pretty ice princess character just past her. Win or loose- to land on her castle meant a good game for me. Those two characters are how I view Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thanksgiving is cheerful and exciting- lollipop girl. Christmas just cannot be beat though- ice princess. Like I said, please don't think I am crazy. I am just....nostalgic. :) Anyway, with Little Bit here now I am even more crazy for this time of year than before. Technically our first Thanksgiving was last year, but this year he will be so much more present that it just feels like a first. For most of my life, I have enjoyed the quiet Thanksgiving dinners in my parents home with only the 5 of us. Now that Justin and I are married though, we have his grandparents' house to visit as well. Both dinners are similar, but both matriarchs of the families cook completely different. You can't be tired of the Thanksgiving dinners because they are so unalike, and yet you get stuffed at both places. It is wonderful! Back to where I intended to go with this post though... There is so much I have to be thankful for this year. Of course it is the same for every year, but this year it feels especially so. This year has been perhaps one of the most trying that I can remember. There has been so much to celebrate; so many little first with Reagan, but also so much that has attempted to take away from that. I feel as though I have grown so much more within such a short time. I use to mark my growth by my rank at my job or my marital status. (No, definitely not a good idea.) This year though, as I sit here typing with a grateful heart, I can think of only how much we have overcome so far and how very much my heart has to be grateful for. In honor of our wonderful Thanksgiving holiday, I feel like sharing some of what I am most grateful for this year with you.  1. My husband- He may not always feel like it, or even see it yet, but he has become my rock. I have never been so dependent or so trusting of another person (outside of my family of course) as I have him. If I am having an off day and just can't pull it together, he notices. Better yet, he steps in to lift some of the weight so that I can pull myself together and get things back in order. When I have suddenly been sick (down and out a few times this year, y'all), he never complains about the poor timing or the struggle of caring for Reagan without help. He has hauled Reagan in his sleeper to more than one store in search of medicine for me and groceries to keep us going until I am back at work. He has even put his "husband foot" down a few times and made me rest or eat when I simply don't feel like I can. He has put his own bad days aside to hear out mine on occasion, and given me a few extra minutes of calm and attention when necessary even when we have a hundred other things to do. He has tried new projects (like putting up a faux wood wall) even when he knows we are little equipped with skill to do such a thing. Even better, when the project fails in the first few minutes and my frustration starts pouring out over the clock, he becomes the most positive go-getter I could ever find. He has paced with me through the house when troubling situations have come up, and he has supported me in every solution we have come up with. He has loved on our baby boy in such a way that my heart feels it might explode sometimes with all the love those two have for one another, and he has worked harder for us than I ever could have expected my husband to one day. Troubles have come, and they try so often to chip away at my safe place. They lie, as all troubles do, and tell him that he is not enough, that he is not strong, that he is not equipped. It brings me to tears every time. It also makes me more determined to fight for him, as he fights for me. I know God is working in him even when he doesn't see it; and you don't accept such a gift only to watch someone try to tear it apart. I am so grateful that I have the privilege of being his wife, and I pray that when we are old and grey that he can think of how much I have always loved him just as I will be thinking of how much he has loved me.  2. Reagan- Just when I think my heart is full to the brim, God pours in a little more love every day. Our angel baby is our most prized gift. Little Bit, if one day you read this, I pray you be reminded of just how long Mommy and Daddy have said you were gifted. You are surely beautiful with your red hair and blue eyes. Oh, and that smile is too much for any one of us. Still, sweet boy, your spirit brings Mommy and Daddy such joy. You have grown so quickly, and for all we may have tried to teach you, you exceed our teachings simply by showing us your own interest to learn. You watch without us knowing, and you listen without us realizing. You have already come to see the importance of helping and working- though that was something we were planning to hold out on for a couple more years. You have a fire in you, Little Bit. Good gracious, is it ever such a fire. You challenge us so much these days. While I so often express my surprise and frustration at your determination to do so, thinking alone I can admit it doesn't truly surprise me. When you do learn, and you always do, that your way is not always the best way, you take it to memory. When you see Mommy and Daddy are disappointed (which typically takes a standoff of sorts where you meet our eyes finally), you are so quick to drop the matter. Your entire face slowly softens, and you wave at us and say "Hi-d" in your calmest voice. Then you give us kisses and go on about your way. When you play too rough or accidentally move too quickly and fall on one of us, you stop instantly to give kisses and say only what we can assume is your 1 year old version of "Sorry". Sometimes you let your temper burn too bright, but you are having to learn (as everyone must) to brush it out as quickly as you see it. You are learning, and you will continue to learn no doubt, that your fight is not always worth it. My angel baby, I know you will one day fight for the right things though. Your heart is sweet and you want so much to learn, that I do not doubt you will learn the difference between good and bad soon enough and that you will take it to heart as you do everything else. Somehow, and I will never surely know how, you seem to always know when Mommy and Daddy are struggling on certain days. On those days, you play a little quieter, you give even more kisses, and you snuggle with us a little longer. Even when our world seems like it is crumbling at times, you bring Mommy and Daddy back to the promise in our lives. We love you so much, sweet boy. God has given us so much hope in this life, and so much of it seems already wrapped up in you. We know He has great things in store for you, Angel- so many, many great things for you. We pray you always see them, and that you always seek Him and His will for your life. You have truly been our angel baby and you always will be, Little Bit.  3. Family- I come from a very small family. Sure, plenty of extended family, but the only sure thing I have been able to count on in this world is my little family in which I have made 5- my daddy, my mother, my sister, and my brother. In that little family there has been so much hope and promise. Surely as I have seen it happen to Justin, trouble has always tried to chip away at these people that I love and care about the most. Nevertheless they pull through. My parents always told us that our family could not have worked if one of us was missing- they saw our purpose in it everyday (even when we had to have been the biggest pain in the butts some days (I should know, I had a spell there where I know I was)). It is so true. My sister is crazy, y'all. Okay, so that is what she will tell you. She is actually the most big-hearted person I will ever know. She would give her coat to her worst enemy if she even thought they were chilly. She hides it with fluent sarcasm, and boy will she have you dying with laughter. She is quick-witted, and even when she is afraid, she moves through life like nothing ever scares her. She does not like for anyone to be left out. Doesn't matter if she agrees with someone or not. She just says what she really thinks- like it or not- and attempts friendship just the same. For all the talk she has done, she really hates to be mean or be thought of as such (but people really shouldn't take advantage, because she has a temper). I admire her so much and often wish I were more like her.  My brother is a mixture. We definitely get along better now. Although older now I think I see where we probably always got along just fine. We have butted heads more often than my sister and I (and I have known her 5 years longer). The thing is, we have such high standards for each other. My sister is in on that too, but she will be silent rather than fight it out for long. My brother and I have gone to war over the stupidest things- heck, I don't even think he knows all the fights we have had anymore. Late night talks became our thing though. I honestly respect my brother. The fact he is younger doesn't matter. I cannot stand most teenagers, but it doesn't help that I compare them to him. My brother has always watched, always learned, always been kind-hearted...though sometimes more firey. He is so much like our daddy that I have to laugh sometimes. True story, y'all. They have the same mannerisms, same smile when they don't agree with someone, same voice. He is the most adorable thing ever in his new work uniform, with his cool composure. He tries to act so cool (albeit he is pretty cool), but he is such a sweetheart. He never quite pushes it with his joking and teasing because he never wants to hurt feelings. He always sends an encouraging text when he feels I am overwhelmed, or gives me an extra tight hug to remind me he is there for me. Y'all, my brother is the ultimate sweetheart. He gives me such hope every day that good men are still growing in our country.  If I had to choose the one woman I look up to the most, I would say without question that it is my mother. She is the strongest woman I know. She is also the most sincere. She is so gentle and kind, yet she moves through obstacles with the most unstoppable grace. I will always think my mother is beautiful, and not just because of her outward appearance. She is the most beautiful woman I will ever know because I have known her heart. I have rarely seen my mother cry, and when she has it always seems like such a blink of a moment. If she didn't tell me from time to time, I honestly don't think I would ever have known my mother to be afraid of anything. She never lets it stop her. The fact she has been so open and honest with me my whole life, makes me realize and respect just how strong she actually is. Her life has not been an easy one, but she is so full of joy. I will always want her hugs and kisses. I will always crave that warm home she has made- her personal touch to detail everywhere, and spicy scented candles filling every room. She has taught me how to make home anywhere; how to make the spaces we occupy truly beautiful (and not to worry over the latest trends). She has taught me that strength and beauty rest inside of a woman. She has even taught me to save the fire we have for the moments when we will need them most. I value my family so much, and my place within it, because she raised me everyday to respect the position of wife and mother no matter where life will take me. She does not judge me when I am weak, or when I make a mistake. She has been my teacher, and still sets the example I strive for. She listens to me just as she always has, and she encourages me to believe that it is always possible to do better and grow more. She loves on my baby, but never ever oversteps or overrides me as his mother. It is a simple thing to be sure, but funnily enough not common in our families. She has taught me sometimes it is more important, and more rewarding to humble myself, and not fight with those I love, and she has taught me to always fight for those we love and what we care about. I hope I can set the same example for my children that she has set for me.  My daddy is (sorry girls)- my daddy is the best. He will never say it. He will never believe it, but he is y'all. He set the bar high. He was the first man to love me. He was the first man to tell me that I am special and worth far more than what this world will ever value me at. His disappointment in me at times was more crushing and heart-reaching (yes, heart reaching) than his anger could ever have been. He never told me I was strong because I am a girl, but he always believed I was strong because I was me- special, one-of-a-kind, handmade by God me. I have fought him tooth and nail much of my life about how weak I have felt and how unprepared I have been. He NEVER let up- not one stinking time. He has pushed me to my breaking point, and smiled knowingly as I surprised myself (but not him) with how I pulled myself back up. Though he never got into the romantic dreams of my heart (meeting my husband one day/boyfriends/crushes), he sure replaced my faith in the future plans God had for me when I would let it fall. So many, many, MANY times I have heard his voice in difficult times. He has been my silent strength. He has given me warnings, let me fall when I ignored said warnings. and held my hand as I get back up each time. He is so quiet, but so passionate about what he believes in. Goodness, do not get him wound up. He may not be a man of many words, but he sure does make each one count. When he speaks, you do not forget the meaning or the feelings behind them. He has already been everything and more that he promised to be as a grandfather. I cannot imagine our angel baby without his Pops and Juju.  I have had the privilege of watching my parents grow together for most of their marriage. Yes, I missed a few years, but what I have seen has often left me in awe. I have watched plans become reality, and hard work pay off. I have watched value decrease in worldly matters, and the value in family skyrocket. I have learned to always keep advancing, and never let a moment of weakness become a lifestyle. I have watched the family they have built gather around the family I am now being allowed to build. I am reminded every day how blessed I am to be a part of the family I am in- whether in good times or bad.  Justin's grandparents raised him. They stepped in and took the reigns when no one else would. They have loved him his entire life. They have been there for him before I ever could. They have listened when we have had trouble with other members of his family, and they have encouraged us to stay strong. They have even stood by us a time or two. They are the closest family Justin has on his side. When Justin was in the hospital a few months ago, they quickly changed their schedule to watch Reagan for us. It was a decision that was not easy for us. Though we worried about their age and keeping up with a one year old, they never once complained and truly helped us out those 2 days. Reagan was loved on and spoiled rotten by the time I got him each afternoon. It was certainly one bit of worry we didn't have to have. 4. Friends- Justin and I haven't many friends. We mostly keep to ourselves. We have several acquaintances, though mine have dwindled with time. Friends are something so sweet and so intimate though that we consider very few as such. Through all this trouble we have been dealt lately, I have been reminded how humbling it is to have such sweet spirits to call on in times like these for extra prayers. Sometimes in worrying, I haven't prayed as I should. Sometimes in worrying I haven't been able to be as strong as I'd like. Our sweet people have rallied with us though- encouraged us, prayed for us and our families, and reminded me that there is most certainly a light at the end of the tunnel. If they are reading this, they know who they are. Their thoughts and prayers have not been wasted on us, and we will forever be grateful for the love they have shown us. From encouraging verses from their morning devotions forwarded our way, to texts just to check-in and let us know they remember us...it has all been so very much appreciated. They have greatly reminded us how blessed we are to know each of them and to have them in our lives.  5. Good people- Y'all, I am not going to lie. I am not a people person. When I worked with people, I often said that people were what made my job ridiculously hard. I am not into buttheads, jerks...entitled attitudes basically. Having a paycheck held over your head and being reminded of what would happen if I straightened a few common facts out with such people made it all the more difficult to handle. I am still finding that there is always something to loose when dealing with such people, so I have to weigh my options carefully. While Justin's doctor may be skilled (and he better be), if he were not the only one in the area who could do what Justin's needs done, we would most likely have walked out by now. I have never been put off for so long, especially not by someone who is supposed to care for you. The waiting has been the absolute worst part of this whole chapter in our life. That said, we have met some really good people- "common decency" people. We may meet them at random, but I can tell you that as of right now each one's face is etched in my brain. They have surpassed fake smiles and telling Reagan hi in a quiet waiting room. I am talking about the people who have looked at us and treated us as people- real, live, human beings- be our meeting ever so brief. Nurses who have thought to bring me a meal with Justin's because they see and know that I would sooner risk getting sick myself than leave his side. Strangers who have seen we are lost in the hospital and stop to offer help and walk us in the correct direction while making conversation. Nurses who have actually cared for the most important man in my and my son's life- not just popped in an iv and checked in once every few hours. People who have seen through our strong attitudes to our heart's fears and worries. It is sad, but common decency is not so common anymore. These people though, these random angels, have reminded us that it is still very much alive nonetheless. Their example is stirring a stronger desire in myself to remember that we each have purpose in other's lives. It is not simply to preach, but to live by example- to love on one another and show true, honest, unabashed kindness.  6. Faith- I have called myself a Christian since I was 10. I never really questioned it. I know what I know, and that has seemed good enough. God is good. Satan is bad. Jesus has saved me. I am ashamed to say I have taken those facts for granted for awhile now. After all of this, I am no longer just saying any of this. God is good. He is all-powerful. He does not loose. He does not make mistakes. He does not forget us. He does not leave us. Satan is the most horrible being there is. He is manipulative and by far the best liar there is or will ever be. He knows my weaknesses and plays on them relentlessly. Jesus has saved me. He has given His all, and continues to love on me in spite of my shortcomings. His gentleness, His grace, has warmed me inside and out on the worst days. When I have run out of strength, I find security and strength in Him. If not for my faith, the future would be horribly uncertain and life would be overwhelming. I could not do life without it. I could not survive on worldly promises and dreamy plans. All of that is man-made and flawed. It will inevitably fall through, and I would be left with nothing. Though my plans do not always come out the way I want, God's plan is detailed and perfect. Trusting it is sometimes hard because I have a bit of a control issue. He knows this though. He knows it because He created me. He knows my weaknesses, and always sees me through nonetheless. The love and comfort I find in Him is humbling and wonderful and, well, just overall AWESOME.  Justin and I have been dealt some hardships. Everyone has and it will continue as such for a time. It is hard. It is hard to deal with the hardship itself. It is hard to deal with the unfairness of it all. It is hard to find the joy when all you really want to do is cry out in frustration. Truthfully, I have been angry. The angry you read about of the men in the bible, and then think to yourself how stupid they were and how you will NEVER do that. Yep, that kind of stupid is in me. Oh, I catch myself about as quickly as it makes its way to the surface, but it has been there nonetheless. I am tired of trouble. I am tired of old ghosts, and new ghosts, and health problems that keep popping up, and especially doctors that do not put a step on it. I wanted this holiday season to be spent making fun memories, no trouble, Justin completely healthy, and doting on our angel baby during our favorite time of year. You know- the whole picturesque Christmas scene. Obviously it will not be that simple for us this year, but it is not impossible. We are still capable of making fun memories, and Justin's health issue is not so bad as so many others. It is actually a blessing to find out about his afib this early on, rather than when we are older. It has bothered him for some time, but now he can actually pinpoint what it is causing the trouble. Our sweet boy will always have our love and attention. As for old ghosts and new, I am caring less and less about them all of the time. I am trying to devote more time and energy to those I love and fight the battles that really matter. I am seeing things differently, more strongly. I certainly am more appreciative of what we do have. This chapter is bringing us closer together and closer to our faith. It is bringing out the best and worst of all of us, and we are taking note and thinking long and hard about it. Even in difficult times, there is so much joy to be had. This chapter in our lives will soon be over. There will be others, we are certain, that are just as difficult, more or less. One fact remains, love will prevail. God will see us through just as He has seen us through in the past. This is true for all of us, sweet friends.    With all of that said (sorry for the length), I wish y'all the happiest of Thanksgivings be it with friends, family, or sweet strangers. May you find as much joy in your life as you possibly can and with grateful hearts gather around the table to enjoy our day of Thanksgiving. Happy Thanksgiving!  

Thinking About Our Story

Do you know the saying "Every love story is beautiful, but ours is my favorite."? Someone gifted us this saying in a frame as a wedding present. It hangs in our bedroom, often passed by but rarely thought of.
We had a scare last Wednesday night. It was unexpected and scary, and while we got through it, it has left me thinking and feeling so many things. I can't remember right now if I have shared our story before. Memory tells me that I have only mentioned it here and there. Today seemed like the perfect day to share it though. (I would suggest a cup of coffee or apple cider for this one.) I was 23 years old. The new year had just started. I was tired of waiting. Tired of waiting for Mr. Right. Tired of dealing with the Mr. Wrongs. Tired of the stories, of the nerves, of feeling like it was all wasted time. I was tired of crying for someone that did not know me, and tired of praying the same prayer again and again. My life finally felt like it was out of a stand still at work, but where to go from there I still did not know. I wanted so much more, and unfortunately I had no idea how to get there.  I had spent the last year on a couple of dating websites. I was ready to delete my online accounts and save my time and money. I decided to give it 3 more months (Match.com's last effort to keep me.) Someone had written me the summer before, but I hadn't responded because I was talking to someone else. I hadn't forgotten him though. He had had a sweet face, and again, for whatever reason, I hadn't forgotten. I wrote him a quick hello, hit send, and thought that that would be the end of it. I was surprised to see him respond. It was possibly the worst introduction topic we first spoke of. He loved the Patriots, I hated Tom Brady. I really thought he would never write back once I told him that (no guy ever wrote back when I didn't like what they did). Surprisingly, he not only wrote back, but asked me to explain. We never stopped talking. We talked every day. We would mostly write at night. He would write after work. I would write at 12 or 1 at night. Sometimes he stayed up even later than me and I would have an email to read first thing in the morning. Our conversations were long (aka. lots of typing). While I was on vacation with my family a few weeks later, he wrote and asked if I would like to go to dinner. We met a week later, the day after I came home.  I remember walking inside the restaurant. I was so nervous; trying to prepare myself for what might be just another first/last date. I had fixed my outfit a hundred times at work that day- tightened my belt, re-flounced my shirt, fixed my pantyhose. I remember waiting, and then seeing him walk through the door. When I saw him, my nerves vanished. It felt right to stand beside him, to sit with him, to talk in person. We talked so much that neither of us ate our dinner. The waitress felt so bad that I later found out that she didn't even charge us for the full meal. Before we left the restaurant, we had already made plans to meet again that Saturday. We went for coffee, and because the coffee shop was closing, we sat outside in the cold on their concrete benches until we couldn't take it anymore. We sat in his truck, sipping our coffee as if it were the most normal thing in the world. When he dropped me off at my truck, he leaned in and kissed me. He actually kissed me. (Probably not the craziest thing to most, but to me it was a sign that I thought about, and thought about, and thought about for awhile. After things hadn't worked out with my teenage crush, I prayed to God for years that He allow no one else to have my heart except for my husband. To be sure I didn't miss the man He had for me, I even went so far as to ask Him to make sure that my husband be the next man to kiss me. Yeah, I asked for all but a giant arrow sign saying "THIS IS HIM, PAIGE!". )

We continued to write every day. We saw each other every weekend and multiple times throughout the week. It was within just a few months that our families began asking just when exactly we would be getting married. I had realized two months in that this was the man I would marry. We were on a hunt for pixy-stix for my mother. She had jokingly suggested I look for some while I was out. We had nothing else to do and ended up making an all day date of it. At one point my mother texted and said that if we didn't find them, there would be no hard feelings as we would just be forfeiting our first child to her. (Yep, only 2 months in, y'all.) Rather than running, Justin laughed and became more determined. It was as he was opening his truck door for me and helping me up that I realized how easily I could do this forever. I told him I loved him by writing it on the inside of the cardboard wrapper of a Starbucks cup. (We had a habit of hiding messages in gifts to one another.) He told me he loved me a few days later in person when he gave me the bouquet of a dozen paper roses that he had handmade for the last six weeks. We were married on a cool fall day at my parents home that October. My family helped us pull together all of my ideas to make it beautiful. The whole day was filled with such an amazing amount of love. The only nerves between us both were concerning standing up in front of everyone else. It was a small wedding, only our closest family and friends. I still remember holding Justin's hand, squeezing it every so often just to remind him not to focus on those behind us. Looking back at pictures it is laughable to see how quickly we ran back up the aisle into my parents' house. (Like I said, we were nervous.) When we left later that afternoon, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Holding his hand in the car, helping him eat Chickfila while he drove, listening to music as we rode in mostly silence...it was wonderful. 

Our marriage has been far from easy. Our apartment, our house, our holidays have mostly come along without a hitch. Our relationship...not so much. We and our families have had to find our footing with the new additions to our family. We have had to help each other through bad days at work, bad bosses, a difficult family member, and some really sucky illnesses. (Yep, totally using the word sucky here.) We have argued. We have disagreed. There has even been a night or two where one of us considered sleeping in another room. It hasn't all been paper roses and Starbucks. 

I can't say that I look at Justin as the same man that met me that night in the restaurant or that held my hand on our wedding day. I know so much more of him now. I love him so much more than I did the day I married him. I consider that a great start. I actually imagine every day to be just that- a great start to a continuing story. We have fought and forgiven one another. We have hurt feelings and sought forgiveness. We have babied each other through sick days, and held hands through doctor visits. (We have also avoided kissing and sharing too much of the same air during these times as well...out of love for one another though.) We have seen each other's tears and felt each others pain again and again. He is so much more than the man I married in my parents yard that fall afternoon. He is my husband. He is the man that hates to mow our yard- seriously he cheers when half of the yard dies each winter, and mopes each spring when it grows back. Even so, it is our yard and we both like when it looks nice. He is the man who shared more than half our bed with a giant maternity pillow for nearly 7 months last year all so I could sleep better. He is the man who still teases me for my nervous jokes with the nurses when I've had blood work done, and who held my hand through 2 iv attempts smiling with me to remind me it would be over soon. He is the man who has contacted my parents with bad news on a day when I could not share it with them myself. He is the man who knows coffee is perhaps the go-to bandaid for my problems, and who has never laughed at me when I break down in tears. He is the man who, no matter how hot I insist I am under the covers, I will inevitably find touching me or holding me throughout the night because he just can't sleep without me anymore. He is the man that, even when he was sick in the hospital last week, asked his nurse to bring me an extra pillow at 4 in the morning when she came to check on him. I didn't even know this until he gently woke me up to put the pillow under my head. This is the man who has loved our son more deeply than he thought possible, and who has changed an insurmountable amount of diapers since August last year. He is the one who is so amazed by this little person we made, so in love with him, and so in love with being loved, that he is happy to give up his quiet morning hours on the weekend to spend playtime with our sweet boy as soon as he calls for his daddy. He has made me feel beautiful without makeup, without my hair brushed, without my original figure, and even with sticky milk dried to my skin and lack of sleep all because he looks at me with love every time. To steal from one of the best movies ever- he is the first person I want to see in the morning, and the last person I want to talk to at night. My dream for my life could never have matched how wonderful it has been these last few years. 

We had a scare last week as I said. It turns out that Justin has afib- for reasons the doctors cannot explain. Because of his age and general health, the doctors believe one procedure should be able to correct it, and then we can continue on our way. It is another piece to our story, I know. Still, it is one I would much rather skip. I would be lying to say I am ready for this bit of adventure and completely unafraid. Watching him worry and wait everyday for this invisible thing to make itself known again before he sees the doctor next is frustrating. I am afraid of how completely in love I have become with this man. I love my husband more than I thought imaginable, and I respect him even more than I realized. Sitting in the emergency room last week, and then later in the hospital room, I had time to think. I had time to remember all the countless things that I had filed in my memory. I had time to recognize all the sweet pieces that have become part of my life since Justin and I met. I had time to enjoy and breathe in the pleasure of this life God has allowed us to build together in such a short amount of time. No matter how hard or scary some of the pages to the story become, the overall story is always beautiful. It really is amazing what love can do. 

1st Year of Mommyhood

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all of your heart." -Jeremiah 29:11-13

The last year has been so full of memories. My life has changed in ways that I never could have imagined, let alone fully prepared for. I have been broken, and made stronger all at the same time so many, many times in the last 12 months. I have loved someone so new, so quickly, so completely in a way that I could not have understood before. There have been so many lessons that I have had to learn for myself in order to fully comprehend them. In honor of my first year's journey as a mommy, here are a few truths I have learned first hand.  1. My Body Had a Baby. I would be lying if I said that every day I have been grateful for the remnants that remain of having been pregnant. I spent so many years intentionally ignoring scales and diets, and even the conversations surrounding them. I always hated how women I knew belittled their value due to the number on the scales. I made it through much of my pregnancy happily gaining every pound and watching myself swell at a steady pace... that is until I saw the pictures of myself at my baby shower. I spent the next two months excitedly awaiting the rapid weight loss following delivery that the books promised me. Truth is, the weight did leave- sometimes fast, sometimes very, very, VERY slow. Now it seems to have stopped all together. Some days I cringe when I catch myself in the mirror because the belly and legs that were once large, round, and smooth are now shrunken, wrinkly, and mostly stretch-marked. I have often ignored my husband's words when he says I am beautiful, and I have beaten myself up a little because my body didn't make it through pregnancy unscathed. The truth is this though, and it is not only very obvious, but very simple- I had a baby. I grew, I carried, I delivered a beautiful, healthy baby boy- a one of kind original blessing from God that no one else on this earth could have grown. Anyone of us could go outside, plant some seeds, and harvest strawberries in plenty, but only I could have grown Reagan. While I did not deserve it, never once proved myself worthy, I was chosen to carry this precious little person and to be given the opportunity to be his mommy. Of course I have stretch marks, he needed the room. Of course I have baby weight, he had to grow somehow. None of this is abnormal. None of this has made me flawed or made me less beautiful. To be thankful for this, to remember this very important truth, to ignore the expectations of other mommies and the world we live in, is not always easy, but it is completely worth it. When I let my heart fill with thankfulness, I no longer feel inadequate, but instead beautiful and I am able to focus on things and the people who really matter to me. (I'll be honest too, a little Meghan Trainor goes a long way.)  2. There Is Beauty in the Mess. I don't know about you, but I have only become slightly addicted to  Fixer Upper in the last year. During a 3 am feeding, with milk running down my side, fighting a newborn to latch (and then relatch again), and praying not only that I stay awake through the full feeding, but that I fall back to sleep with ease, Fixer Upper episodes were my hope-filled dreams. We weren't home long before I found myself a complete and utter mess. Not only was I skipping washing my hair for more than a day or two, but I smelled like sour milk every day no matter if I showered last night or 15 minutes ago. Makeup was a distant memory. My clean shirts were covered in wet stains from milk, from baby, from both. My couch was constantly recovering from spit up stains. The smell of a fresh dirty diaper became the norm; and, long before baby toys were scattered, books, instruction booklets, breast pumps, cups, and burp cloths were laying on every surface. Forgetting the physical mess, my daily routine was gone. The day to day expectations for me were up in the air with no supervisor, no employee handbook, no time clock to help me navigate my new job. When Justin went back to work, I looked longingly at this little person I loved so much and wished with all I had that he would instruct me. White ship lap-covered walls, perfectly placed accessories, and older homes that had held families who had already found their way around life were my hiding place even in the midst of the mess. Plus, Joanna Gaines stood on screen with perfect makeup, hair, attire, and never once looked frazzled about her jobs and responsibilities to her family. Why wasn't I like that? Why wasn't my home like that? Crazy thoughts like this were common as I constantly criticized myself and tried to find my way around. One day, in one brief moment of calm, I realized just how beautiful my new life actually was. Yes, it was messy, but an instruction booklet had been put away (probably for the pump, which I think we can all agree is one of the weirdest, most intimidating contraptions you see as a mommy). It was something so simple, but it was a huge achievement for me. Reagan was sleeping. With a little luck, I would shower later that night. Life would keep going, I would keep growing, no matter how messy my life looked sometimes. Every moment of craziness, of tears, of stress, of uncertainty, of cluelessness would pass soon enough. In its wake there would be Justin and I, stronger together, feeling so much accomplished, enjoying the calm while it lasted, and praying hard that we would not forget our last lesson. Several months later, this feeling hasn't changed. Life as a mommy, for me anyway, has meant constantly adjusting and tweaking bits and pieces here and there. With every abrupt change brought on by Reagan, I quickly attempt to adjust and wait for the dust to settle. I don't let the mess ruin my day. I clean it up when I have a minute and move on. (Yes, babies eventually allow you time to do this, believe it or not.) Our home is not a Fixer Upper one, but it is mine just the same. There is beauty in it every day. I just have to work harder to find it and appreciate it more than I did before having a baby. 3. Appreciating the Little Things That Make Me Happy Is a Big Deal. If you asked my mother if I am the type of person who likes to be in control, she would probably immediately break into laughter. I am, and have for as long as I can remember, liked things just the way I want them. I might maybe possibly definitely 100% have a quirk or two. For instance. I might insist on having on a pair of jeans and my shoes every day before doing any type of work. It just may be that I don't feel like doing anything until I am fully dressed every single day. I might probably ignore a knock at the door from a neighbor and live like a hermit for the day with the blinds closed and the curtains drawn if I have no makeup on. I might even have trouble falling asleep at night in a bed that was never made that day. As I am sure you might have guessed by now, motherhood kicked me flat on my derriere and left me seeing stars. For the first several months, I slept so late most days that missing breakfast wasn't only easy, it was a given. I found myself cleaning, cooking, and rushing through a quick shower nearly every day only to have a night of random sleep and another late morning. This schedule may have worked great for Little Bit, and Justin may not have cared just like he said, but for me it was craziness. There had to be a better way. Even if that was my life that day, in those moments, what would follow? Could I help it along at all? Was I supposed to feel this helpless? Surely I could do this better. The good news is that it has gotten better. Sleeping until 9 is a luxury these days, not always a given. I eventually found myself able to finish a hot shower, and fall back into a bed that had been awaiting me after being made up all day. It just wasn't easy finding my way to this spot now. I don't always make time to paint my nails, but that isn't anything new. I do make time in the morning to put on my makeup though, even if it is an hour or two off from the day before. I do enjoy opening the blinds, soaking in the sunlight, and being prepared to step out at any given minute. If you follow me on Instagram, you know that Justin has even helped me find time to make a pot of coffee every morning without making Reagan wait for breakfast. I pick up the mess after Little Bit is in bed. I get up to a clean house (most days), and that for me makes a world of difference. I try to make plans and keep to my to-do lists, but I'm not so attached that I break down in tears and feel like a failure if the day had other plans in the end. Each little thing makes me feel a little better, makes me think I have it a little more together, and breathe a little easier at the end of the day. 4. Gold Stars from Others Mean Nothing. In a world where it seems like gold stars are handed out for every little accomplishment, mommyhood is not off limits. Now my own mother has soothed my nerves and given me strength in many a conversation, but that is because (A.) she NEVER says anything she doesn't mean, and (B.) being a mommy for her is a life of love. I respect her not only as my mother, but as a mommy all together. I take it as high praise that she lets me mother my child the way I see fit and that she trust that I know my child best. I thought that I was past needing the assurance of others myself. Then, I became a mommy and wished someone could assure me I was doing this right. At a paying job, you receive an annual evaluation in place of constant praise. That one on one time with your supervisor (plus a little bit of monetary compensation) is fresh air all of us can enjoy. Being a mommy isn't like any other job you will have though. Your hard work, your commitment, your efforts are not only without a paycheck and an annual raise, but no one can assure you enough that you are doing the best you can. Not only can you not wait around for it, but even when you have it, it won't satisfy you the way you expect it to. Only you know (and sometimes you feel like you will never know) how well you are doing. I find my assurances and evaluations from one little person. I find it in the moments he runs to me to comfort him, or when he stops playing to come up to hug me and offer me several slobbery kisses (yep, still wearing wet spots a year later). I find it when he learns a new word, or accomplishes a new skill. When I see, even briefly, that he knows he is loved, that he knows he can trust me, that he knows I am here for him, that is all the assurance and encouragement I need to keep going.  Before I was a mommy, I worried about me. I worried about my husband, I worried about my family, but I mostly worried about me. If I was upset, I thought everyone needed to know it, and someone needed to fix it. I thought painting my nails was the only extra treat I could add into my schedule because everything else was a given. I thought I worked hard. I thought I was strong when I needed to be, and I thought that I didn't care what others thought about me. I thought it was easy to succeed at whatever I put my mind to- including being a mommy. I thought being pregnant automatically made me a mommy, and that giving birth was just a part of it. I thought wrong.  Being pregnant was part of the journey. It was the very beginning. Being scared, being hopeful, praying nonstop was just the first part of me becoming a mommy. Being a mommy, a real 100% mommy, is a choice. It is a choice a woman makes every second of every day, and it is made with complete love. For me, it is the continued fear from pregnancy, only over new things that do not revolve around pregnancy, but still revolve around my baby. It is endless prayers. It is being exhausted, wanting to play the pity card I swore I would never play, and being angry over a mess that I helped to make and am too tired to clean up at times. Being a mommy is never having all of the answers, but problem-solving nonetheless. It is doing the right thing because I know it is right, even though the little person it is benefiting most thinks I am completely wrong (ex. immunizations, waking him up to nurse, nap time, not letting him play in the toilet, etc.). It is being human and worrying too much about other's opinions and then realizing how stupid I am to waste time on those worries. It is remembering, and realizing all over again, who really matters in my life. It is being grateful just to brush my teeth in the morning without a certain someone crying for me to hold him. It is doing for someone else without a thank you or a word of praise because I love that person more than I love myself. Everything I do, everything I have done, for this amazing, beautiful, little person I do because I love him. I want him to be happy. I want him to have a life so full of love that he never knows a moment without it. I never want him to doubt it. I never want him to know what it is to miss it. I want his life to be full of love in the beginning, so that hopefully it will be full of love in the end. I want this more than anything else. His life is precious, and to know him and love him is one of the greatest gifts that I have ever been given. I have never worked harder, or had to be stronger than I have in this past year, and it is only the beginning.

So to all the mommies out there- go hug your sweet babies (even if they are full grown, I promise they want you to). :) To all of the one day mommies- prepare to work hard, to be tired, and to love like you can not imagine. Being a mommy is truly a blessing. Like any blessing, it deserves to be respected and treasured, and it has a purpose in your life, so do not throw it away, ladies.