Our 2nd Baby

I don't know how to do this. At first, I told Justin I couldn't say anything. I didn't want anyone else to know. We had told so few people as it was. To share our sad news for a cause, for some sort of awareness seemed too painful, too detached. I don't want to encourage awareness. From that first chapter in our "What to Expect" books, to that first article we read concerning our new pregnancy, we see it. We are all aware it could happen to us- with or without explanation. We just hope and pray it never will. So, no, I am not sharing this to make anyone aware of statistics because in all honesty that helps no one. Numbers have nothing to do with this.  I also do not feel shamed- not by those who have never experienced this, and certainly not by those who have. I am in pain. I am grieving a child I had, and yet did not meet. I am grieving a life I was responsible for, I was allowed to carry, but not capable of saving and never allowed to hold. My body physically aches. Being exhausted one week ago was a symptom I celebrated, as it was one of the few symptoms I had with this little one. I was growing a life that I have always loved and always prayed for. Now I am exhausted because of the pain, and because of the grief.  I keep trying to rush this. I want to skip this part of my life with almost every fiber of my being; skip to the part where I have accepted and can simply speak with love. Instead, I am angry. I am angry that I am not carefree and happy with my life, and the beautiful mess that fills it at times. I am angry that I can't go back and stop this. I am angry at the empty place inside. I am angry at the pain, and I am angry at the process. I am angry at how helpless I feel; how helpless I was when it started to happen. Every few minutes there is another reminder of where my baby was, of where they are still supposed to be. I want the pain to stop. I want the physical reminder to go away, and yet I am holding onto it all. It is all I have left. It is the only thing making what has happened real to me. It is the only part explaining to my brain why my heart is breaking. I can laugh at Reagan as he plays, or tease with my husband for a moment, but the grief is still there. The physical pain, as hard as it is, is helping even as it is hurting.  I can't breathe from the tears threatening me at any minute. As I fight to still be Mommy to the precious boy in front of me, I struggle knowing he has a sister or brother that he won't see in April. I struggle knowing that I know more about them than he does. I struggle knowing he has no idea who he has just lost, but I do. A brother and sister are a gift- an irreplaceable gift. My sweet boy just lost a friend, a confidant, a sparring partner to keep him in check. I keep talking to Justin aloud, like as if I can say it enough or replay it a certain number of times, I will accept it. As if the secret to remembering how to live, how to be happy, how to accept where our baby is now will be in the facts. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be Mommy to this baby. I don't know how to reach them. I know that isn't my job with them. I know that they don't need me where they are, but my heart doesn't know how to accept it.  I can not shake the feeling of being undone, incomplete, unfinished. My body knows how to grow a baby. My body knows how not to attack my baby, how to fuel my baby. Why didn't it finish its task? Why did it stop? While I've never expected my body to ask my permission before, I will not lie that, yes, I expected to be asked now. I would never have said okay. I would never have said to stop. I would never have said we were done. I am angry that it could start such precious work and then stop. While my body moves on, I feel trapped to watch, to assist, to accept what I don't want to. I want no part in this and yet I have nowhere to go. It's done. It's happened. What happens next is all I can decide, but I can't help feeling I am not done here. My body is repairing and healing itself, but where is my baby? This isn't how it is supposed to work. So while I know I am done, and there is nothing I have left to do, I still haven't gotten there yet.  Verses and quotes and cliches do not help me right now. Justin and I had some concern Saturday, but having not seen the doctor yet and not feeling a need to go to the er, I took my mother's advice and laid with my feet up all weekend. Justin handled it all- even seeing to all of the little surprises we had planned for our sweet boy's birthday Sunday. In spite of the red flags that had been raised Saturday, Sunday was different. We had actually started to believe everything was fine. All signs of concern were gone. Then, at 7:00 Sunday night, they came back. Things got worse. Justin was adamant that we would go to the doctor the next morning, and even offered to try calling the office for me if he was the first one up. We secretly continued to research statistics in the hopes we were just overreacting, but inside I knew. By the time we went to bed that night, I was in a great deal of pain. I knew that that would be the night. I no longer wondered if, or maybe. I knew. Justin and I kissed goodnight. I struggled to fall asleep, and debated moving the pillows beneath my feet. It seemed my last hope to have them there. I grew angry in the silence. If this happened, I thought, I wouldn't do this again. I would wait. I would wait a year like Justin and I had originally said. I couldn't do this again. There was nothing good in this. I laid there talking to God. I know it is foolish- beyond foolish- to be mad at Him, but I was. I was hurt. I knew He would turn our lives around, He would use this for His purpose for us. I knew He loves me, and that He would never want me to hurt. I knew He is a merciful Father and that He does not take life lightly. I knew if I lost our baby, they would be safely with Him. I knew I would see them again, and I knew God would not leave me. But all of that said, in that moment, I was fighting and begging and even threatening (not to listen, not to try again soon) in the foolish hope that He wouldn't let it happen. I knew I was being disobedient. I knew I was wrong. I knew I would listen again. We would try again. Next time He told me to leap, I would. I wanted to think I could help, I could stop this from happening though. Again and again, I heard my Father's voice though. Like a fighting whisper to every argument I had, He reminded me-  "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." - Jeremiah 29:11 I fought. I said no. I argued that I knew that, but this hurt. This would hurt me. I grew frantic, being fully aware of each passing minute and what I grew closer to. Again, He reminded me of another verse- one of my favorites.  "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, with prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard you hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." It is easy to learn a verse, to read it, to like it, to find comfort in it on any given day. It is also amazing and humbling how when you are pleading and pulling so close to Him, how He will use the verses you once framed on an index card to speak to you. I wasn't remembering word for word. I typed word for word to validate the truth. The reality of it was that He was simply talking to me. In all of my fighting and all of my pleading, He met me with a loving calm. I wanted to fight, to think I could win, but He knew already. He knew what I felt, even though I was trying to convince myself He couldn't. Somehow this time, He must not have known. *Typing this now, I find some comfort. Where He could have, and by our standards should have, met me with anger, He met me with arms open. He loved me to the point not to remind me of my size or helplessness, but of His love and His power.*  Finally, the pain was too bad. I realized no matter what I did, if it was going to happen, there was nothing I could do. There was nothing I could do. I curled up on my side, and closed my eyes. I didn't go to sleep though. I stopped fighting and I prayed. I said my goodbyes and I made my requests. I asked one last time if we didn't have to do this, then to please not let it happen. I prayed until there was no more to say. As hard as that night was, I see now how God took over for me. He didn't ask me to do anything more than was necessary. He didn't ask me to decide, to think, or to feel anything more.  By the time I got up from that sleepless night, I just wanted an answer. I knew, but I needed to KNOW. I needed to know if I should grieve or was there still hope. Had I just endured a hard night, and perhaps overreacted? In spite of our immediate efforts to see the doctor that day, her office and her nurses were so busy that we didn't hear back from anyone until nearly 5:00. I couldn't spend the day dreading and worrying- neither of us could, so we did the only thing we could think of. We both found articles online about what we were going through, and we saw what we already knew. Our worst fear could have happened, but there was actually just as much chance that everything was fine with our baby. It seemed foolish to grieve when we didn't know for certain. I pushed the night before behind me, and prayed that if I had been wrong in suspecting the worse that God forgive me. When I finally got in touch with the nurse, I was so excited that I didn't care at first how she offered no advice and no encouragement. I was simply happy to hear her offer me an appointment for first thing the next morning. It wasn't until I hung up the phone and looked at Justin that I realized how scared I really was. Hearing back had been the "job" that day, the task keeping us from thinking too much on what likely had happened. Having finally gotten the appointment, Justin and I just looked at each other with these mutual smiles. Neither of us admitted right then what we already knew. We were still trying to hope.  My doctor is truly a gift. I cannot imagine that anyone else could have confirmed the news for us with such empathy, as well as provided us with such hope in the end. Justin stood beside me as I looked up at the ultrasound screen. I had already seen her face; noted what she had halfway said, but then stopped herself from saying as she continued to look. Still, I searched that fuzzy screen for that little circle I remembered. It was the only thing that I could notice on my own. It was all I knew to look for. There was one, and for one brief second I was hopeful. She must have known what I was thinking; caught a look on my face, because she immediately pointed it out and explained it was the empty sack of where our baby had been. It is strange how emotions can join together in the same instance. On the one hand, there was relief that I hadn't misread my pregnancy tests or imagined any of it (because, yes, this had crossed my mind). On the other hand, there was comfort in seeing something, somewhere, my baby had been. My baby had been right there, inside of me. Then there was the sadness because my baby wasn't there. It was empty. I was empty. The nurse left immediately after the ultrasound- a fact I only know because I remember seeing her as I laid down, but never did I see her in the conversation that followed. My eyes were glued to our doctor as she spoke to us. I almost felt bad for making her give us the news that, at this point, I could acknowledge I had already known. At first she tried to give me the statistics, assuring me that this was common, but I know the look on my face must have told her I hated that stupid statistic for ever putting fear into my pregnancies in the first place. She quickly acknowledged it doesn't change how personal this felt to me. She left no room for questions. Anything I could have thought to ask by now or in the days to follow, she answered over the next several minutes. Honestly, I still don't know how she did it, but she somehow managed to give us hope going forward. She made it okay to grieve. She made it okay to try again- later or as soon as possible. She made it okay to come back to her office, to be happy again, to try again, to be hopeful. She made it okay to know this baby, and to know the one to follow. She even made it okay to find comfort and joy as often as possible in the precious boy that stood in the room with us. This is the second time that I have thanked God for putting this doctor into our lives. As I said at the beginning of this, I don't know how to do this. I have caught myself smiling at our precious boy one second and crying the next. Sometimes the pain is what starts it. Sometimes it is just too strong a thought. I don't need to hear the world's responses to judge my grief. I know that I was just 5 weeks. I know that we had only known this baby for 1 week. I know that we never saw them or heard their heartbeat, and I know for some people that should somehow make this easier. I know that some women know and feel so much more than I did. I know. I also know our story- Justin, myself, Reagan, and this baby.  *For 1 week, I slept in in the mornings and attempted naps (usually only within the last 10 minutes of Reagan's naps) because I was so tired from this pregnancy. *I hated sweet food in that time. In fact, most food left me feeling icky- not nauseated, but icky. The only thing sweet that I could eat without feeling sick were the leftover fruit chew candies from Reagan's birthday party. I joked with Justin that I thought it might be a girl because the baby seemed to be teasing me more than Reagan ever had. I would literally take the longest time picking out food because nothing sounded good. It was almost as if I would catch myself  thinking "What about goldfish crackers?". When I was pregnant with Reagan thoughts like that were immediately met with a yay or nay, but with this baby I always felt like the response was more "Sure, Mommy, go ahead. Try it out and I'll tell you what I think.". Again, nearly everything left me feeling not so great and I would be on the hunt for something to fix it. For all that was up in the air when it came to meals, I could not get enough meat though, or those pretzel goldfish. Justin teased me about how many breakfast sausages I had gone through in just a few days. I was so excited to find some Quaker Oats cranberry and almond oatmeal last Thursday when we went grocery shopping. It had sounded so good that I had had to make some the minute we got home. It was so bland, but perfect for the baby and me. Oh, and peaches! Peaches and bananas were also on the good list. I had been so happy, so relieved, to make up some of my new oatmeal and dive into our breakfast sausages Friday morning and it immediately ease my icky feeling stomach. I felt like I had made a break through- like this baby and I had come to some small understanding.  *We had told Reagan about the baby, and it was not uncommon for him to bring up the baby at random all on his own. He typically mentioned what toys of his the baby could play with (which was just about everything he owned, even his most prized toys).  *I had already made up a list of what we needed to move around in order to make room for this baby, and Justin had even helped me make up a list of baby items we actually wanted to update or purchase for life with this baby.  *We had already started conversations and daydreams about what our two babies would look like together, how they would play together, how they would greet Justin at the door each day together.  *We took 5 pregnancy tests with this baby. The 1st, I took one week before I was even late. It was negative, and while I took the news well, I couldn't quite shake the feeling it was wrong. The 2nd, I took on the night of what should have been when I started. It was the faintest line, but it was there all the same. I was so mad at the thought of not celebrating all of our babies to the fullest the second we knew, that I took Reagan out the next morning and purchased a digital test just so it could be confirmed under no uncertain terms. It came back negative, which I read is normal if your HCG levels aren't high enough to be detected yet. Apparently the digital tests require higher levels, so I didn't let it bother me and stuck to my gut. Tuesday I took a 3rd test, this time the line was darker. I was pregnant. I actually went out to tell my family- who already seemed to have had suspicions of their own. Thursday, I took my final pregnancy test. It was truly just so no one could question in the least if we were. It was the last digital test I had, and I knew if it was positive then my hormone levels were going up. It came back positive.  *I had no dreams or feelings (other than with the food situation) to tell me if we were having a boy or a girl. Since Sunday night though, I cannot shake the feeling that our baby was a girl. We only had one month together, and only one week of celebrating it. Reagan hasn't mentioned the baby since it happened (which I am counting as a blessing at the moment). Reagan only knows that Mommy is hurting. He doesn't know anything else. He has no idea how much he is helping his mommy and daddy just by going about his business as he does. Still, Justin and I are struggling. Justin is trying to look forward, trying to remind me on occasion of what we hope to follow. At the same time, he is grieving with me. He loved our baby, too. He had already found a place for them in his life and in his heart. This hasn't been easy on either of us. He has been careful around me, trying to make it as easy as possible. Tuesday, when we came home from the doctor's office, he made us up a lunch of sausage and eggs, knowing breakfast foods are my favorite and hoping it would help. He isn't pushing me to get over this or to rush through it. We are just talking about it, even if a minute before we were discussing what Reagan did today or what we are having for dinner. We don't know how to do this or what will help us. We don't know when this will be as okay as it will ever be, so we aren't making rules. We are just being honest with each other, even as raw as all of this is.  We know no one knows what to say. We would never have known what to say until this week. We know it is hard for people to understand this. We know some people mean well, but they don't get it. We understand. We will never forget this process and what we are feeling now.  My family said it best just by saying they were so sorry and then giving us space. I have regretted telling them about the baby only because I know that this means they are hurting, too. At the same time, I am grateful they knew. I am grateful that our baby was celebrated and loved by the people who would have loved them most, even if only for a few days. I am grateful that my family appreciates life no matter at what stage it is in during creation, and that they recognize how unique and how precious our baby is to us. My family has also been here before. My parents know how this feels, and they know nothing can be said or done to fix what we are feeling. Surprisingly, one other person we know simply told Justin that there was nothing that could be said. That acknowledgement in itself was relief to the pain we are feeling. What we are feeling can't be cured with gifts or actions. It can't be healed with a band-aid. There is nothing that can take the place of who we have just lost. Even being told something as simple as "Well, y'all still have a lot to be grateful for." brought pain unintentionally. It literally sent me into a spiraling conversation with Justin as I pointed out the truth of the matter. This baby wasn't the result of greed. They weren't an addition to the bookshelves, or that collectible peace we found on sale, but had to back out of because of circumstance. This baby was another person we were thankful for. We were grateful for them- the promise they were adding to our lives, the future we would have with them, all of the love we would have to give them. This baby was specifically chosen and created to be a part of our family- even for a short time. This baby was not a replacement or an upgrade from Reagan, and for as much as our sweet boy is helping us to find joy even in all of this, he is not a replacement for his brother or sister. We are having to learn to be grateful for someone we loved but cannot meet in this lifetime, and we don't know how to do that overnight. We just don't know. Yes, as I said in the beginning, I am still feeling angry. I am not angry at God, but I am angry at the circumstances. I am angry I am in this position and that I know this loss. Justin asked if it would have helped me had I not known, but truthfully I am grateful.  I wouldn't want any of our babies to come and go without me knowing. I am trying to take comfort in what I do know, but I know it is going to take time. Another mother who had been in the same situation pointed out in her blog post a truth that I had forgotten in all of this. We do not suffer alone. God tells us He hurts when we hurt. He knows my pain and is with me in this. Knowing not only my baby is safe with our Father, but knowing He still feels my pain for who I have lost actually does make this just a little bit easier.  At the beginning, I wasn't going to say anything. I was just going to keep this between us. This is personal. I know there will be another baby. I know that Reagan is not our last. I know that this baby, somehow, has helped us make room in our family for their younger brother or sister. They have helped our family in a way no one else could have. God didn't use their precious life for just one week. He has made certain their purpose will always be with our family. I share about our life with Reagan almost on a daily basis because he is ours, and he is loved, and we are blessed to know him and to have him in our lives. To not share about this baby, felt like we would be ignoring they were here for a time. Even as this gets easier, and I am praying it will get easier, we won't ever forget this baby. This baby was ours, and we will always love them. 

Adventures in the Toddler Bed (Reagan Edition)

After a year of hitting milestones left and right, I feel like the last few months have just been a whirlwind of new skills for this family. Something I have greatly enjoyed following Reagan's 1st birthday is that I no longer feel tied to a milestone calendar. I breathe a little easier and just follow his lead; granted this means never knowing when or where he is going to take us. Oftentimes, I am so wrapped up in the moment, I don't even notice how big a deal some things are or how quickly he is growing up. This current step has hit me hard though- moving up to a toddler bed. 

*Note* His favorite bear is only ever allowed to sleep in his bed during naptime when I can watch him better.

First, let me just note that the decision to purchase a toddler bed was not an easy one. While I think they are precious, I honestly wasn't sold on the idea of moving forward in that direction. Seeing as we plan to update Reagan's room from nursery to big boy room at the start of next year, Justin and I had anticipated buying his twin bed at that point. Going from crib to bed when he is a bit older (closer to 2 1/2 years old) was our hope. True to form however, our son couldn't care less for our plans. Three weeks ago, after taking him from his crib and tidying the toys from his floor, I turned around to see my son lunging himself back into his crib. It seems he thought his toy chest the perfect tool and his strength just enough to push himself back over the end of the bed. As I left the room to heat up his lunch, I wondered how long it would take him to consider reversing his new skill to escape his crib. The answer- 2 minutes. It took my son all of 2 minutes to desert his toys and try his hand at climbing out. The unfortunate part of course, is that the toy chest and the floor are not as soft and inviting of a landing for toddler missteps. While I would like to say his rough landing and the tears he shed were a lesson learned, I know him better than that. One failed attempt does not deter future attempts. It simply means he made a small miscalculation somewhere. He will always try again, and again, and again...

This is the one we chose. You can find it here on Amazon.

While moving the toy chest did occur to me, Reagan is a tad too persistent for me. Now that he knew he could crawl out, I knew he would just make-do with or without it. Although he is tall for his age, Justin and I didn't feel comfortable moving him to a twin bed just yet. Since we still have the rest of the year to consider, and a toddler bed uses a crib mattress that we shouldn't need for some time yet, we opted to purchase a toddler bed for Little Bit. I was also able to order ours from Amazon in a color that both matches his nursery and his future big boy room. With the order placed, there were only two things left to do- prepare and pray.  Is the room ready? We had already baby-proofed the nursery before Reagan was born, but I did take a second look over the room. I moved a memory box from a low shelf to a safer place in his closet. I double checked all outlets were covered. The cords to all the blinds are still high enough that he cannot reach them, so there was nothing to be done there.  Who are we dealing with? In preparing, Justin and I talked a lot about who our little boy is as a person. Reagan is very independent. He likes to do what we do, and often the way we do it. He also likes routine and stability. Changes in the past haven't been met with too many tears (at least not for too long).  What's the worst that could happen? While Little Bit may be independent and relatively reasonable, he is also a toddler and therefore a person. With a newfound bit of freedom, comes the obvious realization that he may just take advantage of it. We confronted the thought that he may take the ease of getting in and out of his new bed too far and attempt 100 trips out of the bed every 5 minutes. We knew that with the ability to come and go as he pleased, he may attempt to leave his room rather than go to sleep. We knew our late mornings may be coming to an end. We knew we might be receiving some rude awakenings throughout the night either by him standing by our side of the bed staring or exploring in another room. We knew transitioning him from his crib to his toddler was not the only thing we were addressing here. We even knew that there was a slight chance that his claim to his baby bed may be stronger than we realized, and he might reject the toddler bed all together.  How committed are we?  While we were excited to take this new step towards "big boyhood" with our sweet boy, we knew it would be no less a test for Justin and I as his parents. It wasn't just going to be about getting him to accept his new bed by sleeping in it. This would come with the usual tests of our resolve. Would we cave to a week (or perhaps weeks) of poor sleep? Would we let him take water to bed when he never has before? Would we continue closing his door, or would we begin leaving the door open. Leaving the door open allowed us freedom to move about while he slept, and also ensured he would not be leaving his room throughout the night. That said, it also provided him a great deal of privacy; privacy which he might realize could be used to his advantage (aka trouble). Opening his door, meant attempting to be a little more stealth while he sleeps. It meant providing him the ease to move not only in and out of his bed at any given hour, but in and out of rooms. It meant likely sending him to bed repeatedly, and risking a greater mess if he ever decided on a midnight exploration. That said, opening his door meant making our presence more known. It meant the chances of hearing him and seeing him and keeping an eye on his whereabouts might be slightly easier and less dependent on the baby monitor (which only catches so much). At some point, the freedom to come and go from his room would need to be addressed. The question was, was this the right time.  Justin and I realized we had to be fully committed. Like with everything else, we were going to have to take the bad with the good. We had to acknowledge that we could not foresee every scenario, but could only commit to doing what was necessary (whatever the heck that may be). We wanted this big step to be exciting for him and for him to enjoy this new bit of freedom. We also wanted him to understand that the rules had not changed and Mommy and Daddy were still in charge.  While I had big hopes that we would make the switch during the weekend so Justin could loose sleep with me, I remembered a trick from last year. When we began transitioning him from cosleeping in our bed to sleeping in his crib, I decided to introduce him to his crib during naptimes. It seemed kinder to me to let him adjust to sleeping during the daytime for a shorter amount of time in his new space, rather than going all in at night. He complained of course, but he adjusted and it was easier on me to help him adjust during the daytime. Obviously, I wasn't going to have the same timeline as I had before, but he is older now so I hoped I wouldn't need it. I talked the toddler bed up as much as possible. In the four days it took to arrive, Reagan was checking the mail every day with me, and looking at his bed on my computer screen every now and then. Justin put it together the night that it came in, so it was up and waiting in our living room the next morning. I had honestly forgotten until I heard Reagan yell "Bed! My bed!" when he saw it the next day.  After breakfast, I had him help me take apart his crib and move the pieces into the office. Justin and I decided we would be leaving his bedroom door open (might as well rip the bandaid off and get him used to the fact that leaving his room is not an option). That said, we settled on closing the door only so much, leaving it open just enough that we can check in, but not so much that he has every distraction from the rest of the house. With our bathroom right beside his bedroom though, it didn't seem smart to leave his bed in the same spot where it would have full view of the light turning on and off throughout the days and nights. With a little maneuvering, I found a new spot for his new bed. Reagan was ecstatic from what I could tell. He wanted to sit in it immediately, and was more than happy to feel it with his bo-bo's (his stuffed animals). Our usual routine is lunch, diaper change, and nap. I kept the routine the same. 

As with every slumber party we ever went to, it was all fun and games until the lights went out. Still, Reagan did so well. He did leave the room a few times. I wasn't angry or frustrated. I just cheerfully walked him back to his bed, tucked him in, and reiterated what we were doing again. Let's go back to bed. It's time to take your nap. Night, Night. This was his first time, so I didn't want him to be discouraged with the idea that he could do this "wrong" or that the "big boy" bed was harder than his crib. After opening his curtains a bit more, I left the room and he settled in. Two hours later, he woke up happy from his nap. He took his time getting up, walked quietly out of his room, and peeked his head into the living room to tell me hi. I was so proud! That night, we followed the same routine. He did get up about 20 times to tell us hi, check in on us, make sure we were still doing good. You know... what babies do. Each time, Justin and I stayed cheerful and walked him back to bed. Finally, he decided life after he goes to bed didn't seem to be the party he imagined, and stayed in bed. (We saved our usual bowls of cereal for after he went to sleep. ;)) He did wake up in the middle of the night. I could hear him walk into our room, and fully anticipated for him to walk to my side. Funnily enough, he went to Justin. I had no idea until Justin turned to me fully awake and told me that our son was staring at him. I got up and walked to the other side of the bed. Reagan's bottom lip poked out, but I kept smiling and he took my hand knowingly to follow me. I checked his diaper to be sure there hadn't been a mishap to wake him up, and when all was clear I quietly put him back to bed. He even reminded me to pull the door to behind me. I could hear him fighting to get comfortable and hitting his head against the headboard in the process, so I did opt to sneak back in and loan him one of our thinner decorative pillows. (We had a toddler pillow ordered, but it was a day late.) He went straight to sleep, and didn't wake up until Justin's alarm went off the next day. 

"Seriously, Mommy, what do I do again?"

We are on our 2nd week of life in his toddler bed and not much has changed. He does still attempt to get up initially. While the first few days I was sugary-sweet about this, we agreed by the third day he knew full well that he was safe in his new bed and therefore he needed to understand this was not okay. Thanks to our handy dandy baby monitor, I can usually catch him trying to leave the bed before those chunky little feet touch the actual floor. So far I have only had to threaten to shut his door once- a punishment he has made clear is too much for him to dare. We do still walk him back to bed, but only twice. After that, we have learned it is all a power play for him and he just wants to see if he can make us follow. After that second hand-held return, it becomes firm, clear directions to get back in the bed. So far, he has not ventured past his room. He doesn't like the dark, so I am assuming the pitch black rooms beyond his and ours are nothing he cares to venture into. Every time he wakes up- whether it be from his nap or his bedtime, he quietly walks to his door, peeks out into the hall, and looks for us. There is always an uneasy "Hi?" to see if he can get up yet or not. He did initially get up with Justin's alarm, but on the second day Justin told him to go back to bed. He has slept through every alarm since so far. He also woke up too early this past Sunday, but without even seeing me, my whispered instruction to go back to bed sent him quietly walking back out of our room and into his bed for another hour of sleep.  If you follow my Instagram feed or my Snapchat, you know that there have definitely been some humorous moments as well. Usually Justin's office is the one room we keep closed, but this weekend it was open. At some point, he did sneak across the hall and swipe a magazine during naptime. At least, we are assuming. It may have  already been in his room and I just missed it somewhere. Also, because I do not keep an eye on the camera the entire time, he has managed to sneak to his toy basket a few nights and grab his flashlight to take back to bed. Funniest thing EVER! He scared himself with it, and likely thought he was busted the first time he turned it on. With this fear, he actually leaned forward to cover it up the first night.  Justin and I have taken this big step one day at a time. We know at any second he could likely turn the tables on us and throw us a curveball. There is no going back though, so we have to make this work as far as we are concerned. The longer this goes on, the more he proves what we already know- he is ready for this and he can handle this responsibility...with our guidance. We could watch the camera every 10 seconds and we could be a tad more detail-oriented (ex. no flashlights in bed and no sneaking toys to bed). At the end of the day though, the things he takes to bed do not interfere with his sleep. He still knows he has to go to bed and stay in bed until Mommy and Daddy say. If that means playing with a flashlight for 5 minutes, or reading a book for 30 minutes, or rearranging his stuffed animals for 20 minutes, we'll take it. Whether he means to or not, he is settling down for the night and eventually going to sleep.  For now, our routine is a bit changed at night. Now, he helps settle his animals into bed. I adjust the covers while Justin changes his diaper. He crawls into bed and waits eagerly for his bible story. I sit on one side of the bed and Justin the other. We read him a short bible story, hand him his book for the night, say prayers, give him kisses, and leave the room. While we only meant to switch beds, we have actually found new time together as a family as well as begun a bedtime tradition I have been praying for for a long time.  To anyone about to venture into toddler beds or big kid beds, I would just say this: Remember that this is your baby. They need your help to tell them how to do this right, and your encouragement to teach them that they are capable of handling this very big step. Be as prepared as you can be. Be excited. Be patient. Also, don't worry when you realize you still have to be firm. It is all part of teaching them, and they (and you) will be so much happier when they take this big step and run with it like the amazing little person they are. 

Trying for a Season of Joy

I have long since said that I hate spring/summer. I include the two together because every spring I have ever known has been a unified season (aka summer). Just last week, my sister got onto me and began describing spring as one of the most welcoming and endearing of seasons. I am not quite sure where she has known such a spring, as I have only ever known spring as muggy, HOT, and full of storms. Funnily enough though, she seems to have foreseen something as for the last 2 weeks we actually have had some of the most beautiful weather (almost fall like). Because this is not the usual experience however, and because I do not want to waste another season full of excuses for why I lack adventure and enthusiasm, I have decided to proactively find the joy in absolutely every season this year. Hear that, Spring? I am talking to you.

1.My first tool in this venture is this beautiful cookbook that my parents gifted me for my last birthday. Isn't it gorgeous?!?! The recipes are ever so adventurous, while also being light and equally beautiful. One complaint I always have during our hot weather is that my mind goes blank on what to cook. Who wants to suffer the summer heat indoors or out, and then have to come in and cook a hot meal. Yuck! On the other hand, if I am going to put forth extra effort with a new meal, if it looks this pretty and sounds this delicious, it may just be completely worth. (New recipes)

Much prettier in person. Click picture for link!

2. If I am going to experiment with new meals, well, I just may need a new spring/summer table cloth. Maybe some fancier meals at the dinner table will encourage me on the hottest of days to keep up my efforts in an already hot kitchen. Pioneer Woman seems to have been one step ahead of me here. I located this beauty just the other day during my outing with Little Bit. 

3. Enjoy the outdoors more. Hot is hot and in Louisiana there is nowhere that is not. I am going to have to learn to deal. Our home is too nice, and our yard needs too much love to simply stay in the a/c for half the year. Plus, Little Bit thrives outdoors and he would likely live outside if we provided that option. Though that is not about to happen, we really do want to make our yard more enjoyable. One child in the house makes our house seem smaller. The thought of adding more in the future alerts me to the fact that we need a bigger play area for our family. What better time to start putting all of our plans into action than now. I need to post more pictures, but if you have been watching my Instagram feed then you have already seen some of the fun changes we have been making.

4. Find better clothes for the heat. Y'all, I LOVE boots, jeans, bulky sweaters, leggings, and long sleeved button-ups. Oh, and let's not forget a cute coat. None of these are acceptable for spring and summer however. I recently went through my clothes and began clearing the collection. I have made so many efforts to find my "style" over the years and my hot weather wardrobe is just one mad mess. I cleaned out the bulk though and am trying to embrace my new style. Funnily enough, so far I do not resent my "mommy" clothes. I feel like I have a better mental checklist that potential clothing items have to meet. It weeds out a lot of bad buys (or has so far at least). I am pretty conservative when it comes to my clothing. I won't even venture into patterns half of the time. That said, a little bit of color and patterns here and there is just too much to resist these days. If I have to be in the sweltering heat, I want to love my clothes.

5. After such a crazy season, I could so easily fall into a season of rest. Submitting to the heat and hiding from the sunshine are character traits that I have practiced heavily for the majority of my life. Like I said, it is often too hot for me to dream up any real adventure or creativity in any aspect of my life. That isn't fair though- not to me, and not to Justin and Little Bit. When I don't get to do XYZ, I get cranky. When I get cranky, it falls to those around me to be more cheerful or join in the misery. Who wants that?!?!? No, no, that won't do anymore. While I am all over decorating our home, there is so much more I want to try. As a teenager, I dreamed of the day that I would be able to host beautiful dinners, bake fresh breads, and mix new drinks (ex. flavored teas, fresh lemonade, etc.). I am here though. I am right where I need to be to try all of these new things. If I want to venture into gardening, we have the yard and the time to try our hand at it. If I want to grow herbs and try to incorporate them into our meals, I need to do it. If I want to diy cleaners and better manage our home's finances, I can actually do that. No excuses. No more waiting. There is nothing stopping us. Now is the time to venture out and try all of these things. I have every opportunity. Spring might just be the best season to start trying my hand at these new skills that will benefit my home and my family. 

Small indoor project we finished this weekend!

While in some ways all of these plans can make me sound very busy, I really want be. I want to appreciate the season I am in to the very fullest. I don't want to lose anymore time & become so lost in future plans (fall, birthday party, big boy room, etc.) that I miss out on the opportunities I have everyday. I want to give Reagan the fun memories that I had when I was little, along with some new memories I come up with all on my own. I want to enjoy rainy days, and soak up sunshine at home. I want to take it up a notch in the kitchen, and find more reason to smile. I want to be grateful and find the joy God is giving me in the every day- especially when it isn't easy. 

Look how cute!!!

Anyone else finding warmer weather is a hindrance? Anyone have any fun plans or advice? 

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!