It seems my feet have gone numb again. I'm faintly aware of having them, as I scoot my body into bed once again. As nimbly as I can, I push not only my weight, but the twenty pounds of baby who has only recently fallen asleep on my chest, back on my pillow. I lay there for awhile, assessing the situation of my tingling toes, amused at the irony of them falling asleep while doing hard labor. I spent the last twenty minutes rocking, pacing, toe-standing, half-squating, poorly singing, figuring out how to get this baby to sleep while also squeezing in what might amount to some actual exercise.
Success. He sleeps. So, I scoot onto my pillow and into bed. I make three pathetic semi-bends at the waist to reach my blanket, but realize the futility and so, pull them up contortion style, with my toes.
All of this effort, and these antics, have led to one moment of bliss. A sleeping baby on my chest. A moment that deserves to be treasured. I mentally calculate the weight distribution of his twenty pounds, to my full-grown mother size. Not much; certainly not the crushing, claustrophobic presence of a full grown body. And yet, he is not my body, and so he will lay at my side as he does every night.
The transition. I roll over, slowly, and, ever slowly, I begin the act of placing him beside me. He is immediately alarmed at the change of temperature and perhaps notices the certain amount of softness from my mattress that does not exist in my tangle of neck and collar bone.
He's awake. And so, I'll nurse him till he falls into a bear like slumber, for the night, not hibernation. More like a peaceful two or three hours until the cycle starts again. This is bliss, this is parenthood, this is the life. Good night!
Monday, February 20, 2017
This IS the Life
Friday, December 30, 2016
Thinking About Where I've Been
I went out today. Without kids. ***. To some, that means nothing. A day in their life, the usual, a norm. For others, for us, this is groundbreaking, earth-shaking, hypothetical kush I'm talking about.
Only, it wasn't as good as all that. I mean, I got out of the house, which speaks volumes for itself, but I wasn't skydiving. I was 5 minutes down the road, feeling guilty for drinking a 10 ounce cup of coffee (come on, nursing mamas!) and trying to focus on doing something "meaningful" with my solo 45 minutes. That time, that golden, precious time is something stay at home parents value while others have so much of it, they waste it. Hence, the pressure I feel to make something of my time. Read the Bible, go to the gym, FINALLY write thank you cards from my baby shower (almost 3 months ago now...). So yeah, basically impossible to narrow it down or to feel productive since in 45 minutes I'm not realistically crossing much off my list...
But, I tried. I know how important my alone time is. And, to be out in the world as an adult, without babies to distract me, that time is priceless. To remember who I am and what it feels like to be me? I have to take those opportunities when I can get them. So, what did I do? Nothing really. I sat in the parking lot of Starbucks for about 20 minutes while it rained, because I could. I read a few pages of a book on the Best Seller list, because I could. Then, I went in. Because I could. The ease with which I can do all of these things both astounds me and boggles my mind. I forgot nothing, I had no extra baggage or little people to deal with. I was perfectly alone and just a little more awkward/uncomfortable than I wanted to be. But hey, no one is perfect and no one probably even noticed that my purse was my diaper bag and that I needed my sweater zipped up to hide the breast milk stains on my under shirt... hey, I'm just being honest here!
When my husband told me he wanted to play basketball again this week, I was resentful. "What's that," I fumed slightly peeved, "Another 3 hours to go play, get out your aggression?" Meanwhile, I'll be with the kids, of course. It's this complex situation, right? On one side, time alone with my babies is not a chore. I soak those hours up because time with them is special and unique, plus, I get ish done. Like, finish taking ornaments off the tree, put up the last few letters of the alphabet hanging in their room, and wait for it, I even get laundry put away! Every mom's fantasy. No really, it is... but, there's this human side to me that asks, what about my time!? I need to do this, or do that, and I KNOW I'm not getting 3 hours of uninterrupted time to do any of that. So, I take my 45 minutes, because hey, it's a start.
So, anyway, I find myself having to explain all of this because of my recent encounter with those without children, who were also, gasp, not related to my children. Like, are you kidding me, what the heck am I supposed to talk about!?! I got through it though, relying on my old social skills I drudged up from only God knows where.
Today was a good day. A grown-up day. A day in which my kids napped long enough for me to type all this up. Until next time, ya'll.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
A Time of Reflection
Maybe it's the New Year coming up, or maybe it's the Facebook memories that pop up, but this morning I find myself reflecting on the past as well as on the here and now.
I am SO thankful that I am not where I was 6 years ago. And, to be fair, 6 years is quite a long time. I mean, 6 years before these last 6 years, I was a mere 17 years old. I am DEFINITELY not where I was at 17, so maybe it is obvious that I wouldn't be in the same spot as my 23 year old self.
However, some people are the same as they were 6 years ago. When we age, change doesn't happen as frequently, some things are meant to be permanent. Usually, jobs become careers, renting turns into buying, and friends are more like family. Unfortunately, that can also mean that habits seem more like engraved personality traits (or disorders). Whatever it is, I'm glad that at 23 I was still capable of making necessary changes to my life.
If I had had my head on straight and was on the fast track to the career of my dreams, I might feel differently. But, I didn't. 6 years ago was probably the darkest period of my adult life. Granted, some things are still the same. I'm still reserved (mostly) until I get to know someone, I'd still rather do most things by myself, I still do way too much contemplation throughout the day, and I still have an unhealthy appreciation for sweets.
There are also somethings I lost, that I wouldn't mind getting back in the New Year. My love of knowledge, for example. Over time I've let me desire to learn and to scan books for hours go, I don't dance embarrassingly half as much as I used to, or should, and I haven't had a good "girl-talk" in I don't know how long.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
A Mother's Love, continued
The last post I made under the heading, "A Mother's Love," was just a week after finding out I was pregnant with my second son (of course, I didn't know he was a he yet). It was interesting to read my thoughts on how I'd feel loving a second child. Our first little one really does become our whole world, don't they?
But now, Oliver is here and, in fact, I've already had my third son. So, all my musings about what it would be like to have either two boys or a boy and a girl are out the window. I'm sitting here now, trying to imagine a life with three, knuckle-head boys, who love to wrestle but still make time to clear the table and obviously love to read.
This is my life now, and it's taken me some time to come to terms with it, or at least, to fully grasp it.
I wasn't expecting this pregnancy, but I'm so glad it happened. It's been such a whirl wind, I can still hardly wrap my mind around it.
Three Boys.
In all this time, four years of marriage. I've had three sons, three little people that look up to me, depend on me, rely on me, sometimes* listen to me, and mostly love me.
I have graduated with my degree, even though I still have credentialing to do.
I'm eager to start, to find out, what the next chapter in my book looks like.
I hope it has a family vacation penciled in!
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
A little political; A little bit of this and a lot about THAT!
I recently finished reading The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd. Sue Monk Kidd, also the author of The Secret Life of Bees, attempts to discuss racial tensions and slavery during the eighteenth century, as well as, female rights. Both topics, in light of our current presidential election and the #BLM movement, are relevant and I couldn't help but be in awe at my fortune for finding yet another avenue of thought regarding these subjects. It seems that nowadays we, Americans, are entrenched in controversy. It is not foreign terrorists threatening our safety, even though the incident linked to ISIS in Florida where many Americans were shot to death happened less than a year ago; No, it is division within that is shredding our faith and debilitating our peace on a daily basis.
Cops are afraid to go to work and give any perpetrator the benefit of the doubt because cops throughout our nation are being shot to death and sought out as enemies.
We have two candidates for presidency that are mired in controversy upon controversy. Conveniently, or ironically, Donald faces charges for misbehavior against women while Hillary relishes in her position as the first potential female president. Meanwhile, Hillary's "strength" is that she has experience. Unfortunately, all that experience has taught her is that she should have a same-sex intern to protect her marriage, "C" means confidential, she will not be excused for accidentally deleting anymore emails, and very few men and women in the military believe she has their best interest in mind.
Finally, even though racial equality has supposedly been established in our country, there are those who still believe overt racism exists. I cannot say they are wrong. My experience is yes, racism exists. The same way that sexism exists. We could never account for why this is. ask almost any man and I am sure in his heart of hearts, he loves a woman. Whether it is his mom, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, his wife, etc, that relationship would lead him to conclude that sexism does not exist, NOT IN AMERICA! However, those who feel as I do might smirk knowingly, we would judge him to be a good man, but misguided, Let's be clear, there was a black president before there has been a female. Black males were given the vote, before women. If we look at our nation's history, the color of one's skin was not all that led to discrimination and the effects of that subjugation go deep. Little girls still know the inequality that exists, but the climate for change, for improvement has never been better.
It is the interweaving of the final two issues, female rights and Black Lives Matter, that the Grimke sisters battle in The Invention of Wings and it is what captures my imagination, as well as my heart.
Some may believe that the argument for black people being mistreated is separate from that of women, but I cannot abide that opinion. The representation of both groups has been unfortunate in the American media. We watch "Desperate Housewives" and the PlayBoy Bunnies in their mansion, picking orders of wives and selecting future "models." It is despicable and misrepresentative of what I want females to be known as. I can only believe that those who want unity for our country find the same negative representation of black people as irritating as I do. I believe it is that unjust representation that links us even more than before, not as blacks or whites, or even males and females, but as one misunderstood citizen to another, living in a country where anything CAN happen. We just need to come together and figure out the best way together. I hope we can all put our grievances behind us and press on, acknowledging that some changes have been made, and that not all representations of us or them are true. I'd say it is well past time to make those changes, and to make America great again.*
*That is not an endorsement for Trump.
Cops are afraid to go to work and give any perpetrator the benefit of the doubt because cops throughout our nation are being shot to death and sought out as enemies.
We have two candidates for presidency that are mired in controversy upon controversy. Conveniently, or ironically, Donald faces charges for misbehavior against women while Hillary relishes in her position as the first potential female president. Meanwhile, Hillary's "strength" is that she has experience. Unfortunately, all that experience has taught her is that she should have a same-sex intern to protect her marriage, "C" means confidential, she will not be excused for accidentally deleting anymore emails, and very few men and women in the military believe she has their best interest in mind.
Finally, even though racial equality has supposedly been established in our country, there are those who still believe overt racism exists. I cannot say they are wrong. My experience is yes, racism exists. The same way that sexism exists. We could never account for why this is. ask almost any man and I am sure in his heart of hearts, he loves a woman. Whether it is his mom, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, his wife, etc, that relationship would lead him to conclude that sexism does not exist, NOT IN AMERICA! However, those who feel as I do might smirk knowingly, we would judge him to be a good man, but misguided, Let's be clear, there was a black president before there has been a female. Black males were given the vote, before women. If we look at our nation's history, the color of one's skin was not all that led to discrimination and the effects of that subjugation go deep. Little girls still know the inequality that exists, but the climate for change, for improvement has never been better.
It is the interweaving of the final two issues, female rights and Black Lives Matter, that the Grimke sisters battle in The Invention of Wings and it is what captures my imagination, as well as my heart.
Some may believe that the argument for black people being mistreated is separate from that of women, but I cannot abide that opinion. The representation of both groups has been unfortunate in the American media. We watch "Desperate Housewives" and the PlayBoy Bunnies in their mansion, picking orders of wives and selecting future "models." It is despicable and misrepresentative of what I want females to be known as. I can only believe that those who want unity for our country find the same negative representation of black people as irritating as I do. I believe it is that unjust representation that links us even more than before, not as blacks or whites, or even males and females, but as one misunderstood citizen to another, living in a country where anything CAN happen. We just need to come together and figure out the best way together. I hope we can all put our grievances behind us and press on, acknowledging that some changes have been made, and that not all representations of us or them are true. I'd say it is well past time to make those changes, and to make America great again.*
*That is not an endorsement for Trump.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
That Moment When...
That moment when everything changes, but everything else has stayed the same.
When your world has stopped spinning, but you are the only one who has noticed.
That moment when dinner was left on, but you got called away and nobody else bothered to put it away.
That moment when reality faces the harshness of lies and deceit and evilness all bottled into one small person's attempt to make their own pain and indecentness go away.
It is the moment we all come subject to, at one time or another, in the realities of our lives.
I have never thrown a glass against a wall to watch it shatter, to see the ice melt in a puddle of regret and drained fury. But, I have seen a wilted flower once the sun stops shining on it and the water dries up and the mold begins to fester on the once green stem.
It is more than just forgetfulness, it is about not moving on and about being stuck in that one moment of isolation, of drama-like stillness when everything else becomes unavoidably obvious.
It is in that one moment when clarity might strike.
It hits you all of a sudden, when for no other reason, everything else becomes clear.
All the choices you could have made leading up to that one moment. All the decisions you have processed, and now must deal with correcting.
It is like that for all of us, the process of undoing.
We need to learn how to start over again, once the moment is over and out of us.
No one is above it, or too far from learning, but it is what you do with that moment that defines you, for you, forever.
I have never thrown a glass against the wall to watch it shatter just to see what it would do. But I have seen the ice melt in a puddle of regret and drained fury, and thought of how much nicer it would've been to be drinking my cold, refreshing drink.
In moments of regret, we might make a decision we wish we could change, but it is what you do with those moments in time, the ones we will never get returned to us, it is what you do with the aftermath of the mourning, that defines you.
What will you do with the morning's moment that is calling you out of hibernation? Calling you out of the colossal mistake that you have made? You already gave that grave error control for one moment, isn't that one moment all you want it to take? Reclaim who you are, and give yourself some grace to change from moment to moment. The next moment does not have to be the same as your last.
When your world has stopped spinning, but you are the only one who has noticed.
That moment when dinner was left on, but you got called away and nobody else bothered to put it away.
That moment when reality faces the harshness of lies and deceit and evilness all bottled into one small person's attempt to make their own pain and indecentness go away.
It is the moment we all come subject to, at one time or another, in the realities of our lives.
I have never thrown a glass against a wall to watch it shatter, to see the ice melt in a puddle of regret and drained fury. But, I have seen a wilted flower once the sun stops shining on it and the water dries up and the mold begins to fester on the once green stem.
It is more than just forgetfulness, it is about not moving on and about being stuck in that one moment of isolation, of drama-like stillness when everything else becomes unavoidably obvious.
It is in that one moment when clarity might strike.
It hits you all of a sudden, when for no other reason, everything else becomes clear.
All the choices you could have made leading up to that one moment. All the decisions you have processed, and now must deal with correcting.
It is like that for all of us, the process of undoing.
We need to learn how to start over again, once the moment is over and out of us.
No one is above it, or too far from learning, but it is what you do with that moment that defines you, for you, forever.
I have never thrown a glass against the wall to watch it shatter just to see what it would do. But I have seen the ice melt in a puddle of regret and drained fury, and thought of how much nicer it would've been to be drinking my cold, refreshing drink.
In moments of regret, we might make a decision we wish we could change, but it is what you do with those moments in time, the ones we will never get returned to us, it is what you do with the aftermath of the mourning, that defines you.
What will you do with the morning's moment that is calling you out of hibernation? Calling you out of the colossal mistake that you have made? You already gave that grave error control for one moment, isn't that one moment all you want it to take? Reclaim who you are, and give yourself some grace to change from moment to moment. The next moment does not have to be the same as your last.
Saturday, May 7, 2016
5 Disgusting Things I Do Every Day (As A Mom)
1. I may take every precaution to wash my hands before I eat, after I use the restroom, sneeze, etc. but when my kid has something sticky on his face/hands and a sink is unrealistic, I can guarantee one thing. I'm. About. To. Lick. My fingers and get that mess off. Even if it means repeatedly licking my fingers and involuntarily getting that icky, gooey substance in my mouth.
2. I smell, smell-check, look, feel--- for poop. Typically, this applies to diapers, but it has been known to happen under beds, in the bath, and anywhere else I get the mom-sense tingles going off. It happens.
That's not all. When a search turns out successful(?), I get to wipe that poop up! Now, this is usually completed while attempting to use as few wipies as possible. Yes, occasionally fingers become victims to cross-firing. Thank God for soap and water. And oh, the joy of potty training. Sometimes those poopies get stuck in the pint-sized toilet, so I get to not only shake it in the toilet, but then rinse and wipe that seat out for next time! Yay!
3. I eat left over food. Yes, I realize many people eat left-overs. Hello! The doggy bag!? (I also know no one calls them doggy bags anymore). But, I'm not talking about run of the mill left-overs. I'm talking, my toddler wanted a bagel but wouldn't eat the edge so I'm eating the edges of half-bitten pieces that are already cold from sitting on his tray while he ate and I fed his brother. Or, I just made you a whole bowl of oatmeal, and although I put a piece of ice in yours and you took one or two bites with a slobbery spoon, you now claim to be full. And I am in a hurry. So, give me your bowl. Those types of left-overs. Sometimes a little better, and sometimes worse...
4. I smell things to see what my next step should be. Example One: My sons were home with Daddy yesterday while mommy worked, so he did bath time. Now, I am home today and again, bath time. My sons wash their hair every other day. By the third day, their hair smells like a mixture of drool from the night before, whatever we had for breakfast that morning, and whatever was for dinner the night before. Since my son is unreliable in this department (his answer is almost invariably Yes! Dad washed his hair. Why? Because he prefers if it never gets washed), I must do the smell test.. It is a rare treat when I do not pull my nose away repelled. It is most often my turn to wash their hair.
Example Two: Smelling the milk to see if it has gone sour. Who doesn't do this risky game? The chances are 50-50 you won't be able to eat the rest of the day...
5. I brush my son's teeth. That's average, you may be thinking. Except, I haven't quite got this one figured out. See, he usually "brushes" his own teeth, but when it comes to the tongue, the germ hub for the entire population, I have to do the scrapping myself. I obviously cannot see his tongue if he points away from me. So? So, you guessed it. I look him square in the face as I brush his tongue for stinky, icky germs. That inevitably spray me in the face. Great.
In the spirit of Mother's Day, enjoy all those yucky habits. Mothering isn't for the weak (stomachs). ♡♡♡
2. I smell, smell-check, look, feel--- for poop. Typically, this applies to diapers, but it has been known to happen under beds, in the bath, and anywhere else I get the mom-sense tingles going off. It happens.
That's not all. When a search turns out successful(?), I get to wipe that poop up! Now, this is usually completed while attempting to use as few wipies as possible. Yes, occasionally fingers become victims to cross-firing. Thank God for soap and water. And oh, the joy of potty training. Sometimes those poopies get stuck in the pint-sized toilet, so I get to not only shake it in the toilet, but then rinse and wipe that seat out for next time! Yay!
3. I eat left over food. Yes, I realize many people eat left-overs. Hello! The doggy bag!? (I also know no one calls them doggy bags anymore). But, I'm not talking about run of the mill left-overs. I'm talking, my toddler wanted a bagel but wouldn't eat the edge so I'm eating the edges of half-bitten pieces that are already cold from sitting on his tray while he ate and I fed his brother. Or, I just made you a whole bowl of oatmeal, and although I put a piece of ice in yours and you took one or two bites with a slobbery spoon, you now claim to be full. And I am in a hurry. So, give me your bowl. Those types of left-overs. Sometimes a little better, and sometimes worse...
4. I smell things to see what my next step should be. Example One: My sons were home with Daddy yesterday while mommy worked, so he did bath time. Now, I am home today and again, bath time. My sons wash their hair every other day. By the third day, their hair smells like a mixture of drool from the night before, whatever we had for breakfast that morning, and whatever was for dinner the night before. Since my son is unreliable in this department (his answer is almost invariably Yes! Dad washed his hair. Why? Because he prefers if it never gets washed), I must do the smell test.. It is a rare treat when I do not pull my nose away repelled. It is most often my turn to wash their hair.
Example Two: Smelling the milk to see if it has gone sour. Who doesn't do this risky game? The chances are 50-50 you won't be able to eat the rest of the day...
5. I brush my son's teeth. That's average, you may be thinking. Except, I haven't quite got this one figured out. See, he usually "brushes" his own teeth, but when it comes to the tongue, the germ hub for the entire population, I have to do the scrapping myself. I obviously cannot see his tongue if he points away from me. So? So, you guessed it. I look him square in the face as I brush his tongue for stinky, icky germs. That inevitably spray me in the face. Great.
In the spirit of Mother's Day, enjoy all those yucky habits. Mothering isn't for the weak (stomachs). ♡♡♡
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Blaise Pascal
"The last thing one knows when writing a book is what to put first"
-Blaise Pascal
How true is this in my own life? How many times have I sat to start an essay, a novel, a blog, and just told myself, "Write!" Starting somewhere was the most important step because otherwise, I could think myself to death trying to find the perfect beginning. And yet, that beginning, those words, would catapult me into the rest of the novel. I could talk myself out of every placement of noun and apostrophe, just to keep myself back from beginning, at any point.
Is this true of life? My life or yours? Do we stop ourselves from ever developing an idea because our entrance into the water does not live up to the ending result of swimming?
There is no fear in not knowing where to begin. It is not a fear that holds us back from moving forward, from initiating, but a lack of confidence in knowing where to begin. I am not scared to write my book. I sit at my desk with trepidation perhaps, but those feelings of joy and anticipation are present on almost any wedding night. No, not fear, but what then?
A knowledge that we will not put the right word down first is certainly a nagging conception. A nagging conception that sometimes turns into unfortunate defeat. I...can...not...keep...going...with...this...doubt...inside.
So...
How to conquer whatever it is this is?
Fear, I can handle. I will not be afraid. I cam handle what comes.
Ah, but this is not a mugging I will walk away triumphantly from.
This is an adventure I am embarking on, and knowing not the outcome.
People do this, don't they?
Not really.
You see, even treacherous journeys have a predicted, if not desired, result.
We do live life this way, though. Sometimes. In our youth especially.
I want to go to Rome; sell my car, book a flight, enjoy...
You do not ask the why of yourself with any events that make you feel very much alive.
You go for it, you do it, you kick tales and take names later.
I am often reminded of Walt Whitman's, "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."
Let us begin somewhere. Even if it is by developing an image of what we want to see at the end of our lives. Work backwards, What will we do to get to that eventual point? What are your means to an end? Start there and just maybe, you will have written the best story anyone has ever even dreamed of.
-Blaise Pascal
How true is this in my own life? How many times have I sat to start an essay, a novel, a blog, and just told myself, "Write!" Starting somewhere was the most important step because otherwise, I could think myself to death trying to find the perfect beginning. And yet, that beginning, those words, would catapult me into the rest of the novel. I could talk myself out of every placement of noun and apostrophe, just to keep myself back from beginning, at any point.
Is this true of life? My life or yours? Do we stop ourselves from ever developing an idea because our entrance into the water does not live up to the ending result of swimming?
There is no fear in not knowing where to begin. It is not a fear that holds us back from moving forward, from initiating, but a lack of confidence in knowing where to begin. I am not scared to write my book. I sit at my desk with trepidation perhaps, but those feelings of joy and anticipation are present on almost any wedding night. No, not fear, but what then?
A knowledge that we will not put the right word down first is certainly a nagging conception. A nagging conception that sometimes turns into unfortunate defeat. I...can...not...keep...going...with...this...doubt...inside.
So...
How to conquer whatever it is this is?
Fear, I can handle. I will not be afraid. I cam handle what comes.
Ah, but this is not a mugging I will walk away triumphantly from.
This is an adventure I am embarking on, and knowing not the outcome.
People do this, don't they?
Not really.
You see, even treacherous journeys have a predicted, if not desired, result.
We do live life this way, though. Sometimes. In our youth especially.
I want to go to Rome; sell my car, book a flight, enjoy...
You do not ask the why of yourself with any events that make you feel very much alive.
You go for it, you do it, you kick tales and take names later.
I am often reminded of Walt Whitman's, "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."
Let us begin somewhere. Even if it is by developing an image of what we want to see at the end of our lives. Work backwards, What will we do to get to that eventual point? What are your means to an end? Start there and just maybe, you will have written the best story anyone has ever even dreamed of.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Just When...
Just when you think you know something, you'll meet someone who knows better.
Just when you're getting comfortable, everything changes.
Just when you have started to "get better" at something (like holding your tongue-for instance), you have a setback.
But then...there are the other kind of just whens.
The good kind.
Just when you are feeling lonely, you'll find a friend.
Just when you're desperate, you get what you need.
Just when you're done, you'll get that break.
And, just when you've given up, someone will come beside you, make you smile, and encourage you to keep going.
Don't give up, there's always another just when around the corner.
Just when you're getting comfortable, everything changes.
Just when you have started to "get better" at something (like holding your tongue-for instance), you have a setback.
But then...there are the other kind of just whens.
The good kind.
Just when you are feeling lonely, you'll find a friend.
Just when you're desperate, you get what you need.
Just when you're done, you'll get that break.
And, just when you've given up, someone will come beside you, make you smile, and encourage you to keep going.
Don't give up, there's always another just when around the corner.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
{The Only} 5 Things You Can Say to a Mom
I've seen enough witty articles to know a little bit about the so-called "Mommy Wars."
These wars are all about who's better, who's safer, who's more maternal, and at the heart of it all, who is just all around RIGHT. (That's it ladies, let's propagate high school drama well beyond those
traumatic years).
With that said, I've come up with a rebuttal. Here is my list of the safest conversation pieces I could find for one mom to another---regardless of self-applied labels (see disclaimer below).
1. "Gee, the weather looks nice today."
*Note: this may be replaced with a negative statement regarding the weather if the weather deserves it.
This tops our list for one very simple reason. It is a statement that is completely devoid of feeling, and thereby will not be interpreted as "judging" the other mother (even by the most sensitive of mothers).
2. "I remember when I was a baby, in the womb. It was dark!" Ignore for the moment that this is a lie. Lies are ok when we are being social and want to be accepted (and accepting) of others. It is also a nonconfrontational, autobiographical statement that is completely unremarkable as far as personal parenting skills go.
3. "You look beautiful!" Compliments are always acceptable and they are a part of every female friendship. There is a caveat. If this item is chosen, be prepared for varying responses. A person might respond boringly with "Thank you." Or, modestly with, "Me? I just threw these clothes on!"
It is rare, but you might also expect a genuine smile and a returned compliment. This is a good thing, a friendship can be achieved.
4. "Would you like some water?" This appears to be a safe suggestion. Of course, the author of this piece can not be held responsible if this question backfires when a woman suffering PMS misconstrues the meaning and becomes offended-presuming you are implying she watch her calorie intake. In this most unfortunate circumstance, simply explain that water is the only substance you are capable of offering.
5. "May I see pictures of your kid/kids?" Best opening line ever. No mom will fault you for taking an interest in their little protégés. Just make sure you've got some extra time to hear all the explanations of how Little Darling has Daddy's eyes, but Mommy's nose or how Tiny Timmy isn't actually tiny--it's just an endearing nickname.
No matter where you fall on the various issues of Mommy Wars, this list will save you loads of arguments, behind the back grumble, and potential lose of friendships.
In case you can't remember the talking points though, here is a simple list of topics you can easily avoid in order to salvage your relationships with other moms. Let me begin:
NEVER, never, mention Working Mom or Stay at Home Mom. Don't even suggest you belong to one
category or the other.
Also, (in connection) do not mention having more kids, if they are done, if there is a timeline. Basically, stay away from showing any interest in their family and/or size thereof. This is perceived as incredibly rude.
Additionally, don't say anything overly compassionate or sympathetic, like "You must be working hard," or "You probably need a break." These comments construe that (again) you are judging a mom's work ethic, or prioritizing over her children. Tisk-tisk!
Don't ask about eating habits. Do you really want to know if one kid eats from the breast or not? Trust me--don't go here with strangers.
Similarly, you really shouldn't ask about liquids. "Does Sweet Baby ever get juice in a sippy?" BAM! Just like that, you walked into a danger zone. The Dos, Do Nots, and the Only So Often, and the Completely Watered Downs live here.
And then there's the question of organic, co-sleeping, tv watchers, single, swaddlers, moby users, library goers, helicopter type.
You may wander from my 5 talking points, but clearly you'll be doing so at your own risk!
Share wisely!
Jenn
Copyright @jennifercotham 8/12/15
These wars are all about who's better, who's safer, who's more maternal, and at the heart of it all, who is just all around RIGHT. (That's it ladies, let's propagate high school drama well beyond those
traumatic years).
With that said, I've come up with a rebuttal. Here is my list of the safest conversation pieces I could find for one mom to another---regardless of self-applied labels (see disclaimer below).
1. "Gee, the weather looks nice today."
*Note: this may be replaced with a negative statement regarding the weather if the weather deserves it.
This tops our list for one very simple reason. It is a statement that is completely devoid of feeling, and thereby will not be interpreted as "judging" the other mother (even by the most sensitive of mothers).
2. "I remember when I was a baby, in the womb. It was dark!" Ignore for the moment that this is a lie. Lies are ok when we are being social and want to be accepted (and accepting) of others. It is also a nonconfrontational, autobiographical statement that is completely unremarkable as far as personal parenting skills go.
3. "You look beautiful!" Compliments are always acceptable and they are a part of every female friendship. There is a caveat. If this item is chosen, be prepared for varying responses. A person might respond boringly with "Thank you." Or, modestly with, "Me? I just threw these clothes on!"
It is rare, but you might also expect a genuine smile and a returned compliment. This is a good thing, a friendship can be achieved.
4. "Would you like some water?" This appears to be a safe suggestion. Of course, the author of this piece can not be held responsible if this question backfires when a woman suffering PMS misconstrues the meaning and becomes offended-presuming you are implying she watch her calorie intake. In this most unfortunate circumstance, simply explain that water is the only substance you are capable of offering.
5. "May I see pictures of your kid/kids?" Best opening line ever. No mom will fault you for taking an interest in their little protégés. Just make sure you've got some extra time to hear all the explanations of how Little Darling has Daddy's eyes, but Mommy's nose or how Tiny Timmy isn't actually tiny--it's just an endearing nickname.
No matter where you fall on the various issues of Mommy Wars, this list will save you loads of arguments, behind the back grumble, and potential lose of friendships.
In case you can't remember the talking points though, here is a simple list of topics you can easily avoid in order to salvage your relationships with other moms. Let me begin:
NEVER, never, mention Working Mom or Stay at Home Mom. Don't even suggest you belong to one
category or the other.
Also, (in connection) do not mention having more kids, if they are done, if there is a timeline. Basically, stay away from showing any interest in their family and/or size thereof. This is perceived as incredibly rude.
Additionally, don't say anything overly compassionate or sympathetic, like "You must be working hard," or "You probably need a break." These comments construe that (again) you are judging a mom's work ethic, or prioritizing over her children. Tisk-tisk!
Don't ask about eating habits. Do you really want to know if one kid eats from the breast or not? Trust me--don't go here with strangers.
Similarly, you really shouldn't ask about liquids. "Does Sweet Baby ever get juice in a sippy?" BAM! Just like that, you walked into a danger zone. The Dos, Do Nots, and the Only So Often, and the Completely Watered Downs live here.
And then there's the question of organic, co-sleeping, tv watchers, single, swaddlers, moby users, library goers, helicopter type.
You may wander from my 5 talking points, but clearly you'll be doing so at your own risk!
Share wisely!
Jenn
Copyright @jennifercotham 8/12/15
Thursday, June 4, 2015
The Pros and Cons of Feminism
After much delay, I am finally going to excavate the masses within my mind, my heart, and my soul and break down, identify, my preconceived notions, my beliefs, and my intuitions regarding feminism.
I've held onto the belief that I am a modern feminist---but in light of some reading I've been doing recently, I probably need to scrape that label.
On the flip side, I'm definitely not ready to be labeled as a Martha Stewaet or "Suzy the Homemaker."
I'm leaning more towards the simple explanation that in practice, I'm a housewife, but in Spirit, I'm Rosy the Riveter.
I believe, 100% in a woman's right to work outside the home. I am also 100% thankful I married someone who supports my decision to stay home and raise our children.
And
Our
Road
Has
Been
Rough.
It's not like I'm the kind of girl to go, "Hey, I have no other aspirations, so yes let's have some kids and I'll stay home. I have nothing else I'd rather do."
I also wasn't chomping at the bit to find work once I had my first delivery. I wanted to spend every moment with my son more than anything I've ever wanted.
So, here I am, struggling with the complexities of my decision.
My husband and I agree. We want one of us to stay with our boys until they're three and/or ready for preschool. I breastfeed and tend to keep the kids close by so it would make sense that I stay here while he goes out.
And since I'm here, it makes sense that I would cook and I would clean.
And when you're doing something most days of the week, it makes sense that you would get really good at doing those things and that you would be comfortable juggling kids, and chores, and household duties "all in a day's work."
The only problem is the not getting paid part. All this work and nothing material to show for it. Sure, I'm greatly compensated for it in love and affection, but this zero sum makes my philosophy on feminism a bit wobbly.
At least when women were expected to stay home, they didn't have to try to prove how valuable they were as housewives. People already knew that. That's why there was a designated position for them.
Now though, it's like staying home is the equivalent of saying I'm a leech. A leper, or a saint. Depending on who you're asking.
I'm not really asking anymore. I'm not even defending. I'm just trying to come to terms with who I am daily (so NOT a liberal feminist, but oddly close seeing as I breastfeed) and who I have been for so many years---pro rights. Make your own decisions. Go big or go home.
But now I'm all, "it's a baby, not a fetus" and what not. I guess this is really easier said than done. Good luck to you if you're still trying to figure it all out. I'm getting nowhere.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
I'm not poor, I'm just used to working with my hands.
Ever wonder about the difference between poor people and really poor people?
Just me, huh?
Well, lately I've been trying to wrap my mind around the sometimes subtle, other more obvious, divergences of those with wealth and those lacking.
I began my mental foray through poverty and richness with a closer observation of my habits, my preferences, my actions, and lastly, my thought processes.
See, I know realistically I'm not poor. I'm not homeless, I'm never without food, and I always have a bed to sleep in. I have Facebook, a car, and a washer and dryer. As many might say, in comparison to the majority of the world, I'M RICH!!
And yet, I feel unwealthy.
I have wants that go unmet. I have dreams I see as unrealistic in any near, or otherwise, future.
But it's more than that and I persist in this line of thinking not as an ungrateful American, but as one surverying the intricacies of the haves, the have nots, the sometimes we have but we always make do, and the we have so much we hardly know what to do!
I find myself in the "sometimes we have but we always make do" category.
Here are some identifiers if you are wondering if this is your category as well:
1. You enjoy fancy coffee drinks, but make do with a creamer and home made brew most days of the week.
2. You could really use a new wardrobe, but you'll instead choose to ravage your mom's or sister's or best friend's closet for the upcoming social event.
3. You'd love to have a pet, but realistically know you could hardly afford the shots, the food, the toys, etc. so you pacify yourself with weekly or monthly visits to Petco to pretend adoption is an option.
4. You love to eat out! And who doesn't? But you convince yourself that another homemade meal and time around the dinner table far surpasses the joy and excitement or a bustling, over-priced, stuffy, noisy restaurant.
5. Even fast food is too pricey, so you give yourself the consolation prize of having less salt in your homemade French fries.
6. You can't afford the gym, but you'll be darned if you'll let that stop you. You get your leg lifts in while brushing your teeth, you tone your calves while standing on a curb, and you always park a little further from wherever you are because you actually could use the extra walking.
These are fine distinctions that identify the lower middle class from the upper, but I'm happy I'm here.
I feel resourceful, powerful even.
Excuse me as I go and join my husband as we watch some Netflix.
Are you kidding me? Lower middle class cannot afford a regular television provider! Dream on, but remember, at least we don't have commercials we have to fast forward through!!
Just me, huh?
Well, lately I've been trying to wrap my mind around the sometimes subtle, other more obvious, divergences of those with wealth and those lacking.
I began my mental foray through poverty and richness with a closer observation of my habits, my preferences, my actions, and lastly, my thought processes.
See, I know realistically I'm not poor. I'm not homeless, I'm never without food, and I always have a bed to sleep in. I have Facebook, a car, and a washer and dryer. As many might say, in comparison to the majority of the world, I'M RICH!!
And yet, I feel unwealthy.
I have wants that go unmet. I have dreams I see as unrealistic in any near, or otherwise, future.
But it's more than that and I persist in this line of thinking not as an ungrateful American, but as one surverying the intricacies of the haves, the have nots, the sometimes we have but we always make do, and the we have so much we hardly know what to do!
I find myself in the "sometimes we have but we always make do" category.
Here are some identifiers if you are wondering if this is your category as well:
1. You enjoy fancy coffee drinks, but make do with a creamer and home made brew most days of the week.
2. You could really use a new wardrobe, but you'll instead choose to ravage your mom's or sister's or best friend's closet for the upcoming social event.
3. You'd love to have a pet, but realistically know you could hardly afford the shots, the food, the toys, etc. so you pacify yourself with weekly or monthly visits to Petco to pretend adoption is an option.
4. You love to eat out! And who doesn't? But you convince yourself that another homemade meal and time around the dinner table far surpasses the joy and excitement or a bustling, over-priced, stuffy, noisy restaurant.
5. Even fast food is too pricey, so you give yourself the consolation prize of having less salt in your homemade French fries.
6. You can't afford the gym, but you'll be darned if you'll let that stop you. You get your leg lifts in while brushing your teeth, you tone your calves while standing on a curb, and you always park a little further from wherever you are because you actually could use the extra walking.
These are fine distinctions that identify the lower middle class from the upper, but I'm happy I'm here.
I feel resourceful, powerful even.
Excuse me as I go and join my husband as we watch some Netflix.
Are you kidding me? Lower middle class cannot afford a regular television provider! Dream on, but remember, at least we don't have commercials we have to fast forward through!!
Thursday, April 23, 2015
My Journey through Depression
Pregnancy was emotionally, mentally, and psychologically difficult for me.
Of course, I felt like an idiot when I explained that to my sister-in-law who was on bed rest during her second pregnancy. It's still hard for me to feel legitimate when I examine my situation, since I know it mostly takes place on the inside and leaves scars very few will ever notice.
I found out during my first pregnancy that depression while expecting is called perinatal depression. I had happened to be walking through the mall, feeling more than just bloated, fighting back tears. My husband and I were fighting again and I was mortified to be doing so in public, when we should have been enjoying ourselves. I felt angry, betrayed, and sad. An overwhelming sense of sadness. Why? I'm not sure exactly, except I know there was a hint of dashed expectations in there, too.
We had married after only 5 months of courtship and I was pregnant less than two months after the honeymoon. With everything happening so quickly, I was just as quick to blame this seemingly consistent numbness and pain on the trials we were facing, rather than to label my illness.
I didn't want to admit the problem. I didn't want to say that word, "Depression."
And not just depression, but perinatal depression. A depression because of raging hormones and God knows what else happens in our bodies the moment we conceive.
I often look back on that first pregnancy and my second and I can see glimpses of moments I am not proud of. Questioning friends who contacted my husband with a fierce sense of obligation and protectiveness. It's embarrassing now and honestly it hurt some of my friendships, but I was just doing what I thought I had to at the time. Call it primal, if you will. I know it to be what happens while I'm pregnant, because as soon as the baby is born, I have an overwhelming sense of relief.
Actually, the first time I was flooded with relief. The second time, I did have lingering feelings of isolation and detachment for about 6 weeks, but I recovered and now those blues are a distant, albeit sometimes painful memory.
The reason I'm writing this is because I don't want other soon to be moms to feel alone in their angst. We all experience different symptoms, to varying degrees. Try to carry on the best you are able and forget all the rest. Just remember, even if no one else can relate and you feel ashamed or unsure of who you can talk to, this too shall pass. It's beyond your control and you need comfort- NOT judgement! Good luck and remember the little life inside of you completely appreciates the sacrifices you are going through to get where you are! Good job, and keep going strong! You're doing a great job and I'm proud of you momma!
Of course, I felt like an idiot when I explained that to my sister-in-law who was on bed rest during her second pregnancy. It's still hard for me to feel legitimate when I examine my situation, since I know it mostly takes place on the inside and leaves scars very few will ever notice.
I found out during my first pregnancy that depression while expecting is called perinatal depression. I had happened to be walking through the mall, feeling more than just bloated, fighting back tears. My husband and I were fighting again and I was mortified to be doing so in public, when we should have been enjoying ourselves. I felt angry, betrayed, and sad. An overwhelming sense of sadness. Why? I'm not sure exactly, except I know there was a hint of dashed expectations in there, too.
We had married after only 5 months of courtship and I was pregnant less than two months after the honeymoon. With everything happening so quickly, I was just as quick to blame this seemingly consistent numbness and pain on the trials we were facing, rather than to label my illness.
I didn't want to admit the problem. I didn't want to say that word, "Depression."
And not just depression, but perinatal depression. A depression because of raging hormones and God knows what else happens in our bodies the moment we conceive.
I often look back on that first pregnancy and my second and I can see glimpses of moments I am not proud of. Questioning friends who contacted my husband with a fierce sense of obligation and protectiveness. It's embarrassing now and honestly it hurt some of my friendships, but I was just doing what I thought I had to at the time. Call it primal, if you will. I know it to be what happens while I'm pregnant, because as soon as the baby is born, I have an overwhelming sense of relief.
Actually, the first time I was flooded with relief. The second time, I did have lingering feelings of isolation and detachment for about 6 weeks, but I recovered and now those blues are a distant, albeit sometimes painful memory.
The reason I'm writing this is because I don't want other soon to be moms to feel alone in their angst. We all experience different symptoms, to varying degrees. Try to carry on the best you are able and forget all the rest. Just remember, even if no one else can relate and you feel ashamed or unsure of who you can talk to, this too shall pass. It's beyond your control and you need comfort- NOT judgement! Good luck and remember the little life inside of you completely appreciates the sacrifices you are going through to get where you are! Good job, and keep going strong! You're doing a great job and I'm proud of you momma!
Loving the life you live...
Do you ever think about, daydream perhaps, about an alternative universe where everything you ever did was a direct result of good decisions and resulted directly in positive outcomes?
I'm talking about being fulfilled because you know that you've never made a mistake, and therefore have "arrived" at a very beautiful place in life.
It isn't real, this place (or your place, either). Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but none of us live that fantasized existence of perfection. We dream about it sure, but dreams only take us so far. They are lacking the spontaneity of improvisation when we find our selves up "Crap Lake" (most likely due to our own mistakes-but quite as probably due to unforseeable, unfortunate events beyond our control). Either way, there we find ourselves, and we are grumpy at this point, bewildered at how a simply beautiful, impeccable day, had gone so bleak-so quickly.
But then it happens, we make a change. We decide to laugh in the face of this disastrous circumstance and we succeed. We turn the grumpy mood of our child into a game of hysterics as we go on pretending to bump our heads into the wall over and over for the shear joy of watching their distress disappear. We are good people and parents and we want the very best for our children. We might not always live in the ideal land of sweet talk and lively conversation, but when we do get a glimpse of that Heaven, we dwell there- cherishing every last second!
I find myself here today. In solitude, seeking a distraction from the room I desperately need to organize and the bathroom longing to be scoured. I need escape, I need levity, I want FREEDOM. So, I come here. I seek solace in the words I imagine give others comfort. And perhaps I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am not alone in wanting to come away from my real life, to escape the monotony of sleep deprivation and melt-down wails and cries, and be someone assured and comforted by an idealized existence. Maybe some people really are "living the dream," but it seems more like I'm living to dream at this point. I know this is only a season, kids only stay small for so long, and that on the horizon I am there, looking back wondering where all that time had gone.
Someday, I'll look back and think to myself that I wish I could have back one moment, one day, when the kids were so little and we had nothing to do but sit around and take baths and play imaginary games. Someday. Far, far away.
I'm talking about being fulfilled because you know that you've never made a mistake, and therefore have "arrived" at a very beautiful place in life.
It isn't real, this place (or your place, either). Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but none of us live that fantasized existence of perfection. We dream about it sure, but dreams only take us so far. They are lacking the spontaneity of improvisation when we find our selves up "Crap Lake" (most likely due to our own mistakes-but quite as probably due to unforseeable, unfortunate events beyond our control). Either way, there we find ourselves, and we are grumpy at this point, bewildered at how a simply beautiful, impeccable day, had gone so bleak-so quickly.
But then it happens, we make a change. We decide to laugh in the face of this disastrous circumstance and we succeed. We turn the grumpy mood of our child into a game of hysterics as we go on pretending to bump our heads into the wall over and over for the shear joy of watching their distress disappear. We are good people and parents and we want the very best for our children. We might not always live in the ideal land of sweet talk and lively conversation, but when we do get a glimpse of that Heaven, we dwell there- cherishing every last second!
I find myself here today. In solitude, seeking a distraction from the room I desperately need to organize and the bathroom longing to be scoured. I need escape, I need levity, I want FREEDOM. So, I come here. I seek solace in the words I imagine give others comfort. And perhaps I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am not alone in wanting to come away from my real life, to escape the monotony of sleep deprivation and melt-down wails and cries, and be someone assured and comforted by an idealized existence. Maybe some people really are "living the dream," but it seems more like I'm living to dream at this point. I know this is only a season, kids only stay small for so long, and that on the horizon I am there, looking back wondering where all that time had gone.
Someday, I'll look back and think to myself that I wish I could have back one moment, one day, when the kids were so little and we had nothing to do but sit around and take baths and play imaginary games. Someday. Far, far away.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Why Those People are Morons...
I read countless books when I was pregnant with my first son.
Here are a few examples:
What to Expect When Expecting
What to Expect During the First Year
Parenting Your First Child*
How to Raise a Good Kid*
All the Things You HAVE To Do To Be a Good Parent*
(*The names of these books have been changed to represent the only information I remember about them. I'll get into that later.)
Now, into the second month of having my second son, there are some notes I'd like to send to the asterisked books' authors.
"You are idiots."
"Thank you for the undue stress you placed on a pregnant woman (and, I'd wager, countless other emotional wrecking balls) during the most vulnerable state in our lives, particularly those reading during their first pregnancy."
"You have no idea what you are talking about UNLESS a)you never had children so you were guessing or b)you only had one child therefore you think everything you did worked great or c)you are a judge mental therapist with a God complex and would never admit to getting it all wrong!"
Ok, I feel a little better. Well, a little relieved anyway. Not quite better because it pains me (figuratively) to be so snappy.
However, here is what I'd actually say in an effort to not just criticize, but to do so constructively.
"Please stop telling parents to limit their adoration and pleasure in their first born."
I read a book that told me that parents look foolish when praising their child for going pee in the toilet for the first time. Similarly, it sighted our indecency when we dare to play with our children while feeding them ominous vegetables. All of the things that come so naturally as first time parents- hours awake during the night but never enough time to stare at that little face, cuddles among cuddles while just doing the routine diaper and pj swap, bottles or breast offered prematurely "just in case" the little one is hungry. All of these things we do because WE HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON. And we want to succeed.
Now, introduce baby number two. We KNOW we can succeed. We have successfully birthed, and partially raised a previous child. We are comfortable with swaddling, even if we aren't that good at it, we can already distinguish between types of cries (oh, that just means he's wet, etc). All of these things we do because we must and we know what produced one other healthy child.
But, had I limited myself to only the needs of my first born. Had I listened to those fools and not let my first son take up all the extra room in my heart, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be so enamored by a child that I might miss those opportunities to do so with my second born.
I am comfortable with routine. I am secure in repetition. So, when my newest child sits in his swing, it is tempting to think, "Yes, good, his needs are met. Check check." And carry-on with my list a mile long. But when I turn to walk away from my blue-eyed baby to change the laundry or to "use this opportunity" to finish a load of dishes, I remember piles of laundry adding up while I sat and sang and nuzzled and cooed and goo goo ga gaed over my first born. I look back at the fool I was for that first child and I struggle to find the moments now when I have the time to just be me with my youngest son and give him the fullest view of how nuts and wild I am over having his angelic presence in my life. I'll look crazy, stupid, and ignorant every day of my life if it means that my son will feel strengthened to listen to his heart, to know he is completely loved, and that people who get to publish books can be so completely and absolutely wrong.
Love,
Jenn
Here are a few examples:
What to Expect When Expecting
What to Expect During the First Year
Parenting Your First Child*
How to Raise a Good Kid*
All the Things You HAVE To Do To Be a Good Parent*
(*The names of these books have been changed to represent the only information I remember about them. I'll get into that later.)
Now, into the second month of having my second son, there are some notes I'd like to send to the asterisked books' authors.
"You are idiots."
"Thank you for the undue stress you placed on a pregnant woman (and, I'd wager, countless other emotional wrecking balls) during the most vulnerable state in our lives, particularly those reading during their first pregnancy."
"You have no idea what you are talking about UNLESS a)you never had children so you were guessing or b)you only had one child therefore you think everything you did worked great or c)you are a judge mental therapist with a God complex and would never admit to getting it all wrong!"
Ok, I feel a little better. Well, a little relieved anyway. Not quite better because it pains me (figuratively) to be so snappy.
However, here is what I'd actually say in an effort to not just criticize, but to do so constructively.
"Please stop telling parents to limit their adoration and pleasure in their first born."
I read a book that told me that parents look foolish when praising their child for going pee in the toilet for the first time. Similarly, it sighted our indecency when we dare to play with our children while feeding them ominous vegetables. All of the things that come so naturally as first time parents- hours awake during the night but never enough time to stare at that little face, cuddles among cuddles while just doing the routine diaper and pj swap, bottles or breast offered prematurely "just in case" the little one is hungry. All of these things we do because WE HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON. And we want to succeed.
Now, introduce baby number two. We KNOW we can succeed. We have successfully birthed, and partially raised a previous child. We are comfortable with swaddling, even if we aren't that good at it, we can already distinguish between types of cries (oh, that just means he's wet, etc). All of these things we do because we must and we know what produced one other healthy child.
But, had I limited myself to only the needs of my first born. Had I listened to those fools and not let my first son take up all the extra room in my heart, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be so enamored by a child that I might miss those opportunities to do so with my second born.
I am comfortable with routine. I am secure in repetition. So, when my newest child sits in his swing, it is tempting to think, "Yes, good, his needs are met. Check check." And carry-on with my list a mile long. But when I turn to walk away from my blue-eyed baby to change the laundry or to "use this opportunity" to finish a load of dishes, I remember piles of laundry adding up while I sat and sang and nuzzled and cooed and goo goo ga gaed over my first born. I look back at the fool I was for that first child and I struggle to find the moments now when I have the time to just be me with my youngest son and give him the fullest view of how nuts and wild I am over having his angelic presence in my life. I'll look crazy, stupid, and ignorant every day of my life if it means that my son will feel strengthened to listen to his heart, to know he is completely loved, and that people who get to publish books can be so completely and absolutely wrong.
Love,
Jenn
Monday, February 2, 2015
And then there were four...
It's been an uphill battle, and I'm winded.
Countless times, I've wanted to throw down my sword (and that's not including the times I've cowered behind my shield for protection and cried bitterly like a little girl).
However, I'm not there right now.
In this moment, I'm somewhere in between.
It's not really the eye of the storm because, for now, there is no impeding doom just minutes from my doorstep.
It's more or less like I, and my invisible army, have just defeated our enemy on sacred ground and are in reprieve---until we meet again.
I'm not angry and not sad. I am, as I mentioned, winded.
In this time of catching my breath I have been able to think and here's what I've come up with:
Four is better than three. There is another baby to love and it requires so much more of me to do so.
I am not the only one loving this baby though. In fact, he is getting loved from his father and his brother, too.
I cried rapids a few times over this next one.
I am unable to love my first son the same anymore.
Oh, wait for it, my heart hurt so much over this point I thought I'd never be the same.
But, God intervened graciously on my part and pointed out that the moon and the sun do not revolve around a mother's love. Thankfully, I have a husband who can snuggle and hold our boy while I nurse or change the baby. I saw this, of course. The extra bonding time for Dad and Son, but I still yearned for our time together that was lost.
Until I understood God more clearly. If it were just up to me to make my first son feel forever loved and entirely fulfilled, I would fail and fail miserably. I have a husband who loves me and who I vowed to make number one in my life. I didn't see how easily entangled my heart had become by also loving my first son so much. I could, quite literally, give that little boy everything I have and it would never seem like enough to me. Now, introduce baby number two and I am forced to divide my time even more.
I thought at first I couldn't do it.
I thought at first that I would surely fail.
But, now, I see the bigger picture.
God gave Oliver an older brother to play with, to laugh with, and to love.
They need each other already and it is the relationship they have and the one that will flourish, that will allow me to step aside. Not every day, and certainly not in everything, but little by little, as their needs are more in sync with one another and they can provide the joy that only one little boy can bring to his brother.
Countless times, I've wanted to throw down my sword (and that's not including the times I've cowered behind my shield for protection and cried bitterly like a little girl).
However, I'm not there right now.
In this moment, I'm somewhere in between.
It's not really the eye of the storm because, for now, there is no impeding doom just minutes from my doorstep.
It's more or less like I, and my invisible army, have just defeated our enemy on sacred ground and are in reprieve---until we meet again.
I'm not angry and not sad. I am, as I mentioned, winded.
In this time of catching my breath I have been able to think and here's what I've come up with:
Four is better than three. There is another baby to love and it requires so much more of me to do so.
I am not the only one loving this baby though. In fact, he is getting loved from his father and his brother, too.
I cried rapids a few times over this next one.
I am unable to love my first son the same anymore.
Oh, wait for it, my heart hurt so much over this point I thought I'd never be the same.
But, God intervened graciously on my part and pointed out that the moon and the sun do not revolve around a mother's love. Thankfully, I have a husband who can snuggle and hold our boy while I nurse or change the baby. I saw this, of course. The extra bonding time for Dad and Son, but I still yearned for our time together that was lost.
Until I understood God more clearly. If it were just up to me to make my first son feel forever loved and entirely fulfilled, I would fail and fail miserably. I have a husband who loves me and who I vowed to make number one in my life. I didn't see how easily entangled my heart had become by also loving my first son so much. I could, quite literally, give that little boy everything I have and it would never seem like enough to me. Now, introduce baby number two and I am forced to divide my time even more.
I thought at first I couldn't do it.
I thought at first that I would surely fail.
But, now, I see the bigger picture.
God gave Oliver an older brother to play with, to laugh with, and to love.
They need each other already and it is the relationship they have and the one that will flourish, that will allow me to step aside. Not every day, and certainly not in everything, but little by little, as their needs are more in sync with one another and they can provide the joy that only one little boy can bring to his brother.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Christmas Traditions!
MooI've always been one to love the holidays. If it's Easter, you can bet I'm dying Easter eggs and participating in an Easter egg hunt. On Halloween, I've always dressed up or at the very least attended a ghoulish party. Thanksgiving, which used to be my "favorite" holiday, is an occasion to absolutely see family and cook up a storm in the kitchen. I'm sure you get the idea by now, so you must be thinking, get on with the Christmas traditions already!
That's been the problem this holiday season. I've been living in Texas for the last month and getting into the holiday cheer has been both a tremendous success and simultaneous failure. The bad of it is, I've allowed the loneliness of missing family to creep into my quiet moments and threaten my positive outlook. However, while I miss them indeed, I'm always trying to find the bright side. And on that side, there are many reasons to celebrate!
For starters, this is my first married year living in an apartment with only my husband, my son, and a belly getting ready to explode on January 12th, 2015 with yet another bundle of joy! I can bake when I want, leave dishes until I have time, and pretty much run the household as I see fit. I can also decorate in ways I've been previously unable to do so. And that's precisely what I've been up to.
This has been a Christmas for all new traditions. On a DIY budget I've made a Santa Claus tree topper, snowflakes made from coffee filters, hand painted Christmas cards (which might not make it out), our door is draped in wrapping paper, and I've made one goodie I'd love to make again... brownies with crumbled Christmas candies on top! We still have a week, so there may be more new traditions to come. That's it for now though, so I hope you're enjoying your holiday ad much as I am mine! :)
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Tis the season....
...to, work on your marriage. Is it now? Apparently it is for me.
All things are actually going very well, but in my prayer time and my spare time, I'm being led to read things, such as, A Wife After God. It is a devotional by Jennifer Smith. Today was Day One.
To be honest, I wasn't very excited about beginning this devotional again. I've done it twice before and there is NOTHING wrong with it...except that it requires a certain amount of submission to God's will and a lot of self-sacrifice to our husbands and time out of our days to do the reading and the journaling and the praying and the thinking. All of these add up to the perfect reason for not starting until today, which of course was not a very good reason at all, but got me where I am. To be clear, I am sitting in a position quite comfortably because I recognize that I have finally done something good for the inside of me and that God is not mad at me for waiting, but pleased I've finally taken the opportunity to make my "load" lighter.
See, we are all capable of gathering up our own strength to get the job done. I know how to love my husband, I know the actions I could take to express that I love him daily and I definitely know the things to say to show this as true. However, I have these little (sometimes monstrous) things called feelings that get in the way of my love being expressed. And when I'm feeling down, or used, or selfish, or like I am the only one in the world who cares (cares for me, cares for the kids, cares for the house, cares for the daily duties of life)- it gets exponentially harder to express love or gratitude and it looks a little something like this.
Instead of saying what is nice, I say something horribly wrong. I say mean things. I say "You're wrong" because in my mind I haven't seen him do anything right.
I go to bed angry, because I'd rather be upset than admit that I was sad, or felt negative emotions (anger somehow escapes that ruling because I control anger-not sadness or loneliness).
I don't do things I normally have no problem doing, and in fact, typically consider my job. These could be silly and random, such as, hanging up his clothes he has tossed onto the chair, or straightening the living room before I go to bed. The point is, what I refuse to do out of indignation hardly affects my husband at all (he has NEVER mentioned me not doing it and ONLY acknowledges when the cleaning I've done looks good). Instead, it is done out of an ugliness burning in my soul that I somehow expect to share with him indiscriminately and subtly----
Which is horrible!
But, it's God honest truth.
So, you can see why I probably need to work on things. Which is why we are here. Me starting this devotional for that's right, count it, the third time around and beginning my Bible reading again daily. I started in Ezekiel today for many reasons. Ezekiel will be my son's middle name. When I had Hezekiah, I was obsessed with reading Isaiah and each Psalm rumored to be written by Hezekiah. I couldn't get enough of learning about the man who would share a name with my son. I have the same feeling now as our son, Oliver Ezekiel Cotham, is just one month away from being born. I want to know more about the story in the Bible and how Ezekiel conducted his life. I want to be able to tell my son all about it one day (or probably every million days before he is old enough to tell me "yeah, Mom, you've told me this a million times").
Anyways, imagine my delight (literally, I was delighted) to find that Ezekiel wasn't just about me wanting to know about my son, but about God wanting to help me AGAIN with my marriage. This verse, in particular, stood out to me:
Ezekiel 2:8 "But you, son of man, listen to what I say to you. Do not rebel like that rebellious people; open your mouth and eat what I give you."
Bam! You know what that is? Confirmation. In one little verse, I heard these words over and over, If everyone jumped off a bridge would you? Would you act like a total snob or forget the words of The Lord, just because everyone else was or had forgotten how to walk in it? Unfortunately, I sometimes do. But this was a reminder today that we are not always surrounded with those we feel are edifying or lifting us up (emotionally, spiritually, mentally) but it is OUR OWN responsibility to dig deep, to call on God and spend however long it take seeking Him, until that sense of value, of calm, and reassurance comes back to us and we can, quite literally, start acting more like His children- instead of just flat out, little kids.
Cheers and may your Season be merry- whatever journey you are currently walking it out with.
~Jenn
All things are actually going very well, but in my prayer time and my spare time, I'm being led to read things, such as, A Wife After God. It is a devotional by Jennifer Smith. Today was Day One.
To be honest, I wasn't very excited about beginning this devotional again. I've done it twice before and there is NOTHING wrong with it...except that it requires a certain amount of submission to God's will and a lot of self-sacrifice to our husbands and time out of our days to do the reading and the journaling and the praying and the thinking. All of these add up to the perfect reason for not starting until today, which of course was not a very good reason at all, but got me where I am. To be clear, I am sitting in a position quite comfortably because I recognize that I have finally done something good for the inside of me and that God is not mad at me for waiting, but pleased I've finally taken the opportunity to make my "load" lighter.
See, we are all capable of gathering up our own strength to get the job done. I know how to love my husband, I know the actions I could take to express that I love him daily and I definitely know the things to say to show this as true. However, I have these little (sometimes monstrous) things called feelings that get in the way of my love being expressed. And when I'm feeling down, or used, or selfish, or like I am the only one in the world who cares (cares for me, cares for the kids, cares for the house, cares for the daily duties of life)- it gets exponentially harder to express love or gratitude and it looks a little something like this.
Instead of saying what is nice, I say something horribly wrong. I say mean things. I say "You're wrong" because in my mind I haven't seen him do anything right.
I go to bed angry, because I'd rather be upset than admit that I was sad, or felt negative emotions (anger somehow escapes that ruling because I control anger-not sadness or loneliness).
I don't do things I normally have no problem doing, and in fact, typically consider my job. These could be silly and random, such as, hanging up his clothes he has tossed onto the chair, or straightening the living room before I go to bed. The point is, what I refuse to do out of indignation hardly affects my husband at all (he has NEVER mentioned me not doing it and ONLY acknowledges when the cleaning I've done looks good). Instead, it is done out of an ugliness burning in my soul that I somehow expect to share with him indiscriminately and subtly----
Which is horrible!
But, it's God honest truth.
So, you can see why I probably need to work on things. Which is why we are here. Me starting this devotional for that's right, count it, the third time around and beginning my Bible reading again daily. I started in Ezekiel today for many reasons. Ezekiel will be my son's middle name. When I had Hezekiah, I was obsessed with reading Isaiah and each Psalm rumored to be written by Hezekiah. I couldn't get enough of learning about the man who would share a name with my son. I have the same feeling now as our son, Oliver Ezekiel Cotham, is just one month away from being born. I want to know more about the story in the Bible and how Ezekiel conducted his life. I want to be able to tell my son all about it one day (or probably every million days before he is old enough to tell me "yeah, Mom, you've told me this a million times").
Anyways, imagine my delight (literally, I was delighted) to find that Ezekiel wasn't just about me wanting to know about my son, but about God wanting to help me AGAIN with my marriage. This verse, in particular, stood out to me:
Ezekiel 2:8 "But you, son of man, listen to what I say to you. Do not rebel like that rebellious people; open your mouth and eat what I give you."
Bam! You know what that is? Confirmation. In one little verse, I heard these words over and over, If everyone jumped off a bridge would you? Would you act like a total snob or forget the words of The Lord, just because everyone else was or had forgotten how to walk in it? Unfortunately, I sometimes do. But this was a reminder today that we are not always surrounded with those we feel are edifying or lifting us up (emotionally, spiritually, mentally) but it is OUR OWN responsibility to dig deep, to call on God and spend however long it take seeking Him, until that sense of value, of calm, and reassurance comes back to us and we can, quite literally, start acting more like His children- instead of just flat out, little kids.
Cheers and may your Season be merry- whatever journey you are currently walking it out with.
~Jenn
Thursday, October 23, 2014
4 Reasons We Should be Teaching Abstince in Schools
Abstince is just another way of saying, "Practice Self-Control." Why, in a fast-paced, technology driven society, when any image is at your finger tips and any newest model of this game or that car is just a credit card/loan away, should we teach the very basics of controlling our sexual desires? From a young mother's perspective (relatively young, based on the youth of my children and not necessarily my own), I'll give you four reasons I wish I had been taught in school how to hold off on having sex, rather than how to care for a crying baby doll and a flimsy eggshell baby.
1. We don't need to be taught how to do the bad things, we get into all that mess naturally. How many people have witnessed a mom or dad repeatedly telling their children in a store, "Now, don't touch that" or "Come here, little Johnny, stay by Daddy" or (in a hushed voice), "That isn't nice, we don't say F-A-T." People don't need to be trained to do the wrong* thing, simply because at our wits end we have decided society is too far gone to ever learn to behave. Not even close! In fact, that's a quitter's mentality. We press on, we believe that one day, in fact sooner than later, our little ones will learn to acknowledge wisdom and recognize it upon an encounter. We could teach the wrong* stuff all day, every day, but then we really have no right to be appalled at the outcome of a selfish, morally bankrupt, depressed, and lonely generation, do we?
2. I know what you might be thinking. "I am offended! You kept saying 'the wrong thing,' as in, sex before marriage is wrong!? Well, that's just rude! In fact, it's a matter of opinion."
I couldn't agree more. See above. My opinion, is that we should no longer few sex as something young couples do to see if marriage will in fact be tolerable. Trust me, I've heard it all...
"How will you know you'll like it for the rest of your life, if you don't test the merchandise?"
"It's just fun! I wanted to, he wanted to, so we tried it..."
All the way to:
"So, who drove you to the clinic?" "How long did you have to wait after it happened until you could have sex again"
To:
"I told him I thought I was pregnant. I haven't talked to him since."
"I had to pay for the Plan B pill. It was $45.00. He didn't even care."
Obviously, I could continue, but I won't. There isn't really much more to say. While sex can be "fun" it can also be unsafe, isolating as a female if you deal with a pregnancy alone, sad as a male if you thought she was THE ONE, but she wasn't, etc.
Sex isn't easy to navigate, even as a married couple. Sometimes you hit bumps in the road, but at least you have a partner who was committed enough to plan a wedding with, a life with, who you should know well enough to share your fears, your anxieties, and ultimately, your deepest joys with.
Whoever tells you sex is just sex is a liar. Your deepest emotions are all caught up in that little act, in those sweet moments. Wouldn't it be better to tell our youth the truth about that and ask them to reconsider casual sex for what it is? An attempt to repeatedly rip out your heart and throw it under a bus in some sick game of Russian roulette?
3. One day, you'll get pregnant and, assuming you keep the baby, you'll be a mother or a father. While these times are great and wonderful and could be the best of your life, they will also be tiring, confusing, and down-right emotional. You might it feel like dressing up in some skanky costume once you've given birth to your eight pound child and you might not feel right about having your breasts exposed as pleasurable objects, when you spend the majority of your new life using them as feeding utensils.
Is it okay if I say this? Is it okay if I present the problem with not teaching Abstince as a link to the reason mothers are still feeling pressured to squeeze back into skinny jeans and being paranoid that if they don't start putting out as soon as they recover, their husbands might not start stepping out?
See, if as a youth I'm told, "Since you can't control your urges, here are condoms and here is how to care for an eggshell if you forget the condom," I perceive that sex is bad. I perceive that sex had consequences. I perceive that maybe I shouldn't do it, but if I do....it's not that bad.
But, if I'm told that sex is SO much better when I wait. That if I wait to have sex with my partner until we are financially ready to be married and respectful enough of each other to trust one another and to put the other above our own sexual desire, well then I've learned two very important lessons.
1. I am important enough to wait for. That no matter how beautiful I am, or even sexy I appear, my heart and my value lie more in what life I can produce eventually, than with this momentary pleasure called sex and
2. The man I love has already waited once in his life, for however long it took before we were both ready to be married, that in the future, when it takes me one year or six months to start feeling comfortable again as both wife AND momma, I still have no fear that I have his heart and that he would wait for me, for however long it takes, for us to be sexually reunited, in one accord.
4. There is a lot of fear that goes into the approach of sex after children.
"Well, he's ready and technically, so am I...."
"He says he feels forgotten, like number two since the child arrived..."
Let me just say it like this,
A child arrived (if you are married, hence you were taught Abstince) family makes three. It does not make mom and baby And dad. No. It makes, Daddy, Mommy, baby 1, baby 2, etc. So where the mommy is tired and feels sexually unenthused, Daddy steps up, takes baby, helps mom rest. When Dad feels overloaded by work, financial responsibilities, Mom can help by cooking at home saving money on meals or anything else they think of. The point is, having children, of done right, will strain Mommy and Daddy. Did we learn that in sex ed? Oh no, because my egg she'll broke in a day and instead of go to jail or divorce my partner, we laughed, got a C and thought "Hey, having a baby with my partner was lots of fun today!"
1. We don't need to be taught how to do the bad things, we get into all that mess naturally. How many people have witnessed a mom or dad repeatedly telling their children in a store, "Now, don't touch that" or "Come here, little Johnny, stay by Daddy" or (in a hushed voice), "That isn't nice, we don't say F-A-T." People don't need to be trained to do the wrong* thing, simply because at our wits end we have decided society is too far gone to ever learn to behave. Not even close! In fact, that's a quitter's mentality. We press on, we believe that one day, in fact sooner than later, our little ones will learn to acknowledge wisdom and recognize it upon an encounter. We could teach the wrong* stuff all day, every day, but then we really have no right to be appalled at the outcome of a selfish, morally bankrupt, depressed, and lonely generation, do we?
2. I know what you might be thinking. "I am offended! You kept saying 'the wrong thing,' as in, sex before marriage is wrong!? Well, that's just rude! In fact, it's a matter of opinion."
I couldn't agree more. See above. My opinion, is that we should no longer few sex as something young couples do to see if marriage will in fact be tolerable. Trust me, I've heard it all...
"How will you know you'll like it for the rest of your life, if you don't test the merchandise?"
"It's just fun! I wanted to, he wanted to, so we tried it..."
All the way to:
"So, who drove you to the clinic?" "How long did you have to wait after it happened until you could have sex again"
To:
"I told him I thought I was pregnant. I haven't talked to him since."
"I had to pay for the Plan B pill. It was $45.00. He didn't even care."
Obviously, I could continue, but I won't. There isn't really much more to say. While sex can be "fun" it can also be unsafe, isolating as a female if you deal with a pregnancy alone, sad as a male if you thought she was THE ONE, but she wasn't, etc.
Sex isn't easy to navigate, even as a married couple. Sometimes you hit bumps in the road, but at least you have a partner who was committed enough to plan a wedding with, a life with, who you should know well enough to share your fears, your anxieties, and ultimately, your deepest joys with.
Whoever tells you sex is just sex is a liar. Your deepest emotions are all caught up in that little act, in those sweet moments. Wouldn't it be better to tell our youth the truth about that and ask them to reconsider casual sex for what it is? An attempt to repeatedly rip out your heart and throw it under a bus in some sick game of Russian roulette?
3. One day, you'll get pregnant and, assuming you keep the baby, you'll be a mother or a father. While these times are great and wonderful and could be the best of your life, they will also be tiring, confusing, and down-right emotional. You might it feel like dressing up in some skanky costume once you've given birth to your eight pound child and you might not feel right about having your breasts exposed as pleasurable objects, when you spend the majority of your new life using them as feeding utensils.
Is it okay if I say this? Is it okay if I present the problem with not teaching Abstince as a link to the reason mothers are still feeling pressured to squeeze back into skinny jeans and being paranoid that if they don't start putting out as soon as they recover, their husbands might not start stepping out?
See, if as a youth I'm told, "Since you can't control your urges, here are condoms and here is how to care for an eggshell if you forget the condom," I perceive that sex is bad. I perceive that sex had consequences. I perceive that maybe I shouldn't do it, but if I do....it's not that bad.
But, if I'm told that sex is SO much better when I wait. That if I wait to have sex with my partner until we are financially ready to be married and respectful enough of each other to trust one another and to put the other above our own sexual desire, well then I've learned two very important lessons.
1. I am important enough to wait for. That no matter how beautiful I am, or even sexy I appear, my heart and my value lie more in what life I can produce eventually, than with this momentary pleasure called sex and
2. The man I love has already waited once in his life, for however long it took before we were both ready to be married, that in the future, when it takes me one year or six months to start feeling comfortable again as both wife AND momma, I still have no fear that I have his heart and that he would wait for me, for however long it takes, for us to be sexually reunited, in one accord.
4. There is a lot of fear that goes into the approach of sex after children.
"Well, he's ready and technically, so am I...."
"He says he feels forgotten, like number two since the child arrived..."
Let me just say it like this,
A child arrived (if you are married, hence you were taught Abstince) family makes three. It does not make mom and baby And dad. No. It makes, Daddy, Mommy, baby 1, baby 2, etc. So where the mommy is tired and feels sexually unenthused, Daddy steps up, takes baby, helps mom rest. When Dad feels overloaded by work, financial responsibilities, Mom can help by cooking at home saving money on meals or anything else they think of. The point is, having children, of done right, will strain Mommy and Daddy. Did we learn that in sex ed? Oh no, because my egg she'll broke in a day and instead of go to jail or divorce my partner, we laughed, got a C and thought "Hey, having a baby with my partner was lots of fun today!"
Monday, August 18, 2014
Beautiful Things: Love Yourself :) (Day 3)
Day Three:
Love Thy Self.
Love thy self. You might be
wondering why this is so important. Why would self-love come before so many
other Godly principles, especially when this devotional is about God? I believe
it is the highest calling to love ourselves as we love our neighbors
(inverted). I personally was raised to believe that you aren’t rude to strangers
and you always put your best foot forward. You show kindness in public
(especially!) and you always say a kind thing (if you have nothing nice to say,
stay quiet). These are not bad principles.
But, sometimes you need to
say something unkind. Sometimes, you need to know your own needs and feel okay
expressing them. Sometimes, you need to know you are loved, highly-favored and
a child of God and then step out from there and assert yourself. God doesn’t
want doormats, He wants children who will stand up for what is right and make
His name known. This means saying what you believe in, even if everyone isn’t
or believes in something else. That means not laughing at the inappropriate
joke, just because everyone else is. If it is cruel and hurtful to someone
else, you don’t need to laugh, you need not conform. Some people know this,
they were raised this way and maybe they need to be softened. Maybe they are
very comfortable expressing themselves, but have never learned to do it with
love, with understanding that all people make mistakes. We can relate in one
way or another. But knowing ourselves and what we need to work on is the
beginning step to letting God work in us and give us guidance along the way as
we begin to see ourselves as He sees us- wonderfully made and beautifully
crafted and too precious to be let astray.
Prayer:
Dear God,
Thank you for knowing me and
forming me in my mother’s womb. Thank you for spending time crafting me to be
so perfect. Thank you that I do not have to compete with another woman or man
out there, because we are all precious and beautiful- just like the roses in
bloom. I know you desire for me to be free, to be comfortable being me, that
even in my faults you have created a masterpiece. I appreciate the quirks in my
sense of humor, I acknowledge that time alone with you is really about filling
me up with your grace and message, so that all my doubts and insecurities can
be erased, Forgive me for doubting your plan or your intentions and please help
me on this path, wherever we may go. I love you God and I can see a very
beautiful work being done in me.
Amen.
Psalm 139:13-16
“13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.”
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.”
Song: Beautiful Things by Gungor
Your Thoughts, Your Changes, Your Progress. (Space for your quiet
time with God).
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