The day of your birth

Family and friends have all gone home. Food is mostly eaten, with a few leftovers in the fridge. The backyard is full of water toys, and chalk, and borrowed lawn chairs and tables. The trash is ready to take out, and your birthday cake sits half dug into on the counter. Today we celebrated your 1st birthday. One whole year its been since you've joined this side of the dry world, and I sit here in the silence of the aftermath and I am so emotional thinking about all the implications of what tomorrow (your actual birth day) brings.
  

My first emotions are just feelings of overwhelmed. The party, although low-key, had a lot going on. People came and went, I was keeping track of two children around water, getting things for this person and that, making sure people felt welcome, my kids were fed, I was talking enough to my family, telling helpers where this decoration goes and to place that beverage placed over there. It's a lot. And of course I wanted a pinterest perfect party. I know, big mistake. It's a lot of pressure to think that anyone cares about the edible seaglass that you made. Yes. That was on the pinterest board for this party. NO. I didn't get around to it. And then, sweet child, you did NOT take a nap today. So you were not the most pleasant of children to be around come 3pm when people began to arrive. I did nurse you and let you nap for an hour, because let's be honest, a screaming birthday child is not exactly what we came to celebrate. Although, it is your party, and you can cry if you want to. But it's all over, and you're in bed, and I'm left with my thoughts.

There are so many things I want to remember about this past year, Emerson. First, you are your name my son. Emerson means brave and powerful, and you embody those two things. You have from the beginning. From the 3rd, yes the 3rd contraction, you showed your power. Much like your brother before you, you made it clear that you were ready to come out with intensity and force. 10 hours I labored with you (you would think it was a breeze after 40+ with your brother!) until I decided it was time to go to the hospital. The doctor wanted you out via cesarean, but I was stubborn. Not dumb, just stubborn. I knew he measured you the day before labor at our appointment at 11 lbs 12 oz. Well, what do you know, those dumb machines were right. You came out 11 lbs 13 oz. I was quite familiar with labor. I was ready for another 40+ hour labor, and convinced myself that it would be worse case scenario pain-wise, but was honestly hoping for only a 24 hour labor. Well, you were powerful, and all the Bradley method, positive affirmations, bathtub sitting didn't hold a candle to your strength my son. I threw in the towel after 10 hours of contractions every couple of minutes apart. I remember telling Amy, your aunt and a fabulous doula, that I was ready for the hospital and if they say I'm only 5-6cm I'm telling them I'm ready for a c-section. I threw in the caveat that if I was 8-9cm, I might try to push and see how it goes. I wanted to leave myself an open door because after hearing about all the risk of vaginally delivering an almost 12 pound baby (from a person of my stature)...risks that included death, although that didn't scare me, and rectal incontinence, yup, that was the deciding factor right there, I needed to tread lightly and not be so rigid in insisting my birth plan be followed to the t. I still remember that 15 minute car ride to the hospital. I had a contraction every minute, it was miserable. I remember covering my face with a pillow too so people didn't see the agony and wonder...not that I cared. I could have been butt naked and walked through the hospital for all I cared. What is it about labor that you just don't care about your looks or state of being? Maybe it's just me? Anyway, I digress. I still remember insisting that I walk down the hall to labor and delivery, and not being able to even walk across the lobby! My eyes were closed the entire time, and I heard, "She needs a wheelchair" "She doesn't want a wheelchair" "get her a wheelchair" "She's having bad contractions." It was like chaos all around me, and I kept my face in that pillow. Finally my legs planted into the ground, I could not shuffle a step further, and they brought me a wheelchair. I remember them asking me questions and saying, "Oh wow, you must be having strong contractions" No shit Sherlock. The nurse checked me and said plain as day, "5-6, and the head is way up there." Emerson, it was like a switch in my brain. I opened my eyes and said, "I'd like a c-section please." I turned it off. I turned off the mental you tube affirmation videos of positive natural birth. I turned off my dream of a quiet birthing room where I scooped you up on the second push, onto my chest. I turned off all of that. So another whirlwind, that took almost an entire hour, and my spinal kicked it. Bless the Lord for spinals. Labor is still going, but I no longer feel the agony. I remembered this part from last time, so I intentionally soaked in the couple of minutes I had to remember the smells, remember the faces, remember the feelings...because I knew it went quick after this. Well, it took quite a while to get you out. They made a bigger incision than normal, and (I was told) two doctors got on the table and pushed on my sides to pop you out like a pimple after you decided you didn't want to come out easily. And they say cesarean is low-risk, pssshhh. You showed your strength, but finally they got you. And just like that my love, you were here. I still remember them taking you to the scale and everyone in the room waited forever to see the number that would come up. Finally there it was...11.13. I remember asking a couple of times, "Is that correct? Are you sure?" It was correct. And then, the most important moment of the whole day...your dad said to the nurse--knowing how difficult a time I had in bonding with your brother--can he stay with her while they finish? The nurse had a look of, Hmmm, no one has ever asked that before...and said, "Okay, if so and so is okay to stay here." So and so nurse agreed to stay in the operation room, and there you were my love. Your wrinkly furry skin. Your smushed face. Your pointy ear, just like mine. You just laid there on my chest, as if you knew. You knew it sweetheart that this was mama. You didn't really even cry. They let you stay with me for a long time, and I'm so grateful they did. Right when I got in the room, you nursed like you'd done it a million times before, and I spent the rest of the days in the hospital totally attached to you--physically and emotionally. You let us know when you were cold--loudly. You slept longer than the hospital pediatrician felt was good without eating (but I knew better). You had to redo your hearing test several times. And I made several nurses uncomfortable when I slept the whole night with you on me in bed. You are perfect my son, and I cherish the time we had in the beginning. I think our bond is strong now because of those few things that went so very well on the day you were born.

We came home and what a sweet boy you were. All 12 pounds of you. I can still smell your newborn hair on my chest. I can see your chubby face smashed as you sleep. I can hear your sweet coos as you breathe. Emerson Xavier, I could not be more proud to be your mother.

Over the past 12 months, you have amazed me with your spunk, wowed me with your strength. You have sucked down more milk I think than the average kid, and demanded to have your voice be heard. I hear you my child. You are loved, you are valued, you are cherished, you are adored. I have seen you love your brother with a glimmer in your eye--almost as though you recognize him from even before birth. He loved you even then, sweet child. I have seen you get excited when you reach a milestone and realize it--the joy you have in accomplishing something. I know full well that you have in mind the exact way you plan to do something, and you make it known when someone does not fulfill that plan. You have a confidence about you, in your step, in your thinking, in your development. I think you're exactly "on target" as far as development goes, and I see the trend is you accomplish the next milestone boldly and with poise. 4 years ago, I would've thought a person crazy for saying all of that could be identified in a child so young, but I see it in you bubbies. You're middle name, Xavier means "new house." You are our anchor to this place where God has called us into this specific community. You bring a sense of peace to this new house, my love. Not in the way of sleeping at night ::sigh:: but in feeling that God is good.

It's remarkable to see you individually for your characteristics, your personality, and your uniqueness. You look more and more like your brother each day, but you could not be any more uniquely you. The Lord has designed you and created you for purpose. He loves you, and your are perfect in His eyes...and mine, let's be honest.

So tomorrow marks 365 days of you living on this earth. I pray that your life be full, that you have much influence for good, that your strength be courageous and steadfast, and that you bring hope and a fresh start to many in the name of Jesus. You were preciously made in my womb, and I am honored to be your mom. I love you with my whole being, baby. May you always know how much you are loved. Happy birthday, Emerson Xavier.

My Sweet Emerson

Dear Emerson,

I've been so reflective the past few weeks or so as your first birthday draws closer and closer. I can hardly believe we made it through a year. I remember the day you were born like it was just last week, and how you've grown in such a short (or long??) amount of time! What continues to amaze me is how different you are from your brother. I mean, duh. You're your own person. But you have to understand, I've only ever known Denzel as my child. So to have you develop into your own individual and be uniquely you is such a treat to see.

 One of my favorite things about you is your passion. When you are happy, you are obviously happy. You laugh, and it instantly makes my day better, your smile is precious, and those eyes--they are captivating in a personal way. On the other hand, when you're upset, you are obviously upset. You scream like a banchie, kid. I mean, how on earth did you learn to do that? Is that a second-child-I-need-a-voice-too kind of thing? Do you notice that when you're upset I say, "I hear you baby"? I want you to know that you aren't just an accessory, or a baby human that I'm required by law to supervise at all times. You do have a voice, and I recognize that you have needs, wants, desires. I wouldn't be opposed to keeping the banchie scream at home though. I mean, the other Target guests would probably agree with me on that one. :)

My son, you are one of the strongest children I know. I know you're a little big for your age, but the way you manipulate your muscles is well beyond your age and even your size. You are confident physically, and you are sure of your steps. I admire that about you, and pray that you use that boldness to empower those with less strength than yourself. Use your power and strength for good, sweetheart.

The way you love is the most precious thing ever. I'm absolutely giddy over the way you wrap your arms around my neck and give loves. And those eyebrows...everyone comments on how cute they are, but I'm so about your old man eyebrows. I love your chubby feet that don't fit in any shoes, and your baby body that is quickly transforming to look like a little boy's. I love the way you look up to your brother and want to do everything just like him. He's a good kid, I'm glad you look up to him and love him. But I also want you to be you. God has designed you for a specific purpose, and baby you are going to be a world-changer. Your dad and I don't expect you be a CEO or doctor. I could care less what your title is. But I do care that you love people and love God. I already see that in you, my love. When those you care about are down or are crying, your face falls and your empathy is visible. And when someone you love walks in the room, you get so excited then hurry to greet them. You are a joy to know, sweet Emerson.

I've had a few moments of mommy guilt, as they call it, and it's usually remorse that I can't give you exactly what Denzel had as a baby. I can't give you undivided attention, because my arms hold two children now. I can't spend hours reading you books or teaching you new things, because I have work, and another child to balance as well. The guilt is really silly, and is especially silly for you, because I see that the only thing you need is my best. You are thriving right now on the best that I can do. Part of me loves that, and part of me is saddened at the idea that you don't need me quite as much anymore. I mean, the goal is for you to be a fully functioning,  well-adjusted, independent and critically-thinking man. But my soul cries out to hold you one more time as the fresh newborn who hasn't yet opened his eyes. You came from me, and there will always be that bond between you and I, my love. I knew you before you took your first breath. Not as intimately as the Lord, but in the beginning it was me and you kid. And I will be here until the end too. There is nothing you can do that will make me not love you. Nothing. Jesus loves you even more than that, sweetheart. Give him your heart, love him with your whole being, and seek the Lord before anything else.

So as we come up to this milestone of one year of your life outside the womb, my womb, understand that I may be a little emotional. I maybe have to pause and soak in the moment. Because you my boy, are my joy, my delight, and my sweet baby. Remember that when you're 16 years old and 6' 5".

I love you, Emerson.

~Mom

 
  

   

 
 

 
 
 
 

Growth

Personal growth is a pretty incredible thing. It is. Sometimes it pushes you to be a more true version of who you were designed to be. Sometimes I think growth refines a certain part of us. But I don't think personal growth is ever only easy. There might be easy parts, but growth sometimes creates stretch marks. Just ask my torso after carrying a nearly 12 pound baby past 40 weeks. My body has seen growth physically, spiritually, emotionally and mentally in the past handful of years. So let me catch you up to speed.

This journey of pursuing the work I was designed for (aka social work) has been a beautiful and difficult process. I've written in previous posts about how my transition from music to social work was difficult for me, but now looking back I can see the journey was predestined. I worked in foster care and adoptions until I had E, and because we were/are fairly certain he is our last, I knew I couldn't miss out on this time with him. I was able to spend 8 months with Denzel when he was first born, and I wanted more than anything to give "the same" to E. I'm sure all you second borns can understand. Lest you think I was given 8 months of leave by my employer, let me clear up something for you. I was finishing up my master's program and (glory of glories), I had Denzel the week of finals. No really, it was actually a great thing because I had all written finals and presentations (professors let me be the first to present in case he came early) complete prior to that last week. So when he came late, I only missed 1 or 2 classes. Of course I was excused ;) So I graduated, had my new baby and waited to really find a great job. During that time, Patrick and I had a great opportunity with his work to move to California. We had always planned to "end up" here, we just didn't know the timing. So we sort of made the quick decision and knew it was right. We lived with Patrick's parents for 9 months while we carefully decided where to plant roots. For some reason, it's different with kids. As a couple, we moved several times. But once we had Denzel, we knew community and a place to call home were at the top of the priority list. Long story short, I found a great job in Orange County when D was 8 months old. Fast forward to a year ago. I had been looking and looking for a job that provided flexibility, but helped me stay at least somewhat career focused. I enjoy being with my kids, but I never saw myself as a stay-at-home mom long term. God bless those that do!!! So, I proposed a few ideas to the company I was working for and got one door shut after another. I was even offered a supervisor position while I was on leave! I accepted, but guys, it wasn't right. In all of my reviews at work one of my personal goals was to be a leader in a supervisory position. Here it was, and no. It just wasn't the right time, but I literally had no other choice for work and we needed the paycheck. Two weeks before my leave was up, I had a supervisor call me from a different agency about my resume and application. She explained the job to me and asked me if that was truly what I was looking for. I, of course, said yes, we scheduled an interview 2 days later, and she basically offered me the job on the spot. Miraculous my friends. I called my supervisor and told her about my new position. It was something I asked to do at the old company but was told I could not. After hearing I was hired somewhere else, she looked into keeping me on in a similar role to the other agency...and badda bing badda boom...I now contract with TWO agencies! So let me tell you what I do. I write family assessments for prospective foster and adoptive parents. Basically, I come in someone's home, ask them a bunch of super personal questions and say, "You're ready" or "Let's look at this again." I analyze people, work my own schedule, am around a bunch with both my kids, it's incredible. The pay is not so incredible, but this is temporary. And you know what? Sacrifice for these two precious little guys is so worth it.

More than just career-wise, I've sort of taken up a new...hobby. Yeah, I'll call it a hobby. Nutritious eating and healthy living has really become a passion of mine. It began with a realization of a serious addiction I have to sugar. I'm dead serious. Not caffeine, not drugs or alcohol, sugar. Most people eat more sugar than they're aware of, but after some real observations of myself I realized I rely on sugar for my mental health. Basically, when I'm stressed, happy, depressed, any overwhelming feeling, I eat sugar. Cookies, candy, and many other things I forgot I even ate. It became routine to put sugar in my mouth. It has been quite a process to cut out sugar, which by the way is not food but a chemical, but I continue to fight the good fight. My kids are my inspiration in that. I stick something in front of them, and they eat it. Even Denzel knows the role sugar plays in our house. One of his favorite statements is, "Sugar is not good for our bodies, it just tastes good." Parenting win folks. Parenting win. I'm not a perfect, sugar-free mom, but I try my best. And when I fall, I eventually pick back up and try again. So, this new way of eating has spurred my interest in natural living, which means different things to different people. For me it means no chemicals, toxins and going back to the old way of living. You know, like growing your own food, being active, prioritizing sleep...those sorts of things. It's been probably 9 months or so since I've been serious about the food we put in our mouth, and I've seen some pretty incredible changes. After month 3 of this, we all got sick with Jonesmagedden. 3 months we were sick with *different* ailments. Colds, fevers, no fevers, flu, runny nose, stuffy nose, throw up, diarrhea, rashes, croup, respiratory, ear infections, pink eye. It was UNENDING. 2 or more family members were sick at all times during this 3 months. It's only a theory, but I think because we had changed our diet so much, and Denzel was exposed to so many new germs from his new preschool, and the new baby, and the no sleep...I think that was to blame for Jonesmagedden. But you know what? We've been sick since, and whoever is sick is only down for 24 hours or less, and it's been pretty minor. Even when others around us are dropping like flies, we are okay. So I'm hooked. I can't undo the knowledge I have now, and I can't unremember the feeling I have when I eat well versus eating crap. There's no going back, but that's okay because it's been fun to learn new things about healthy living and nutritious eating. This way of eating has also expanded my ability to cook and bake good things. It feels good to feed my family well, and truthfully, to see my own body transform as a result. I know I'm still breastfeeding, and that is a large part of my weight loss, but I haven't weighed this little since before we got married. I'm hoping this is where I'll stay, and the muscles continue to develop. (Emerson really messed up my muscles. In some respect I feel like I'm starting over at square one with my strength.) So there's health.

Mentally I think I've struggled a little more. I had postpartum for a good long time after Emerson. And I sort of knew it, but literally could do nothing about it. And my poor family felt the effects. I remember struggling so much with Denzel those first three months, being just a generally angry person, and struggling to find joy in anything. It wore on my marriage, my relationship with my kids, and just my outlook on life. There was a point when I remember very clearly thinking, "I don't want this life." I don't want a relationship, don't want kids, diapers, nothing. I don't want any of it. I want to run away. A few times I planned where I would escape to. One time I remember thinking (you're going to laugh), "Maybe I'll just go to a hotel for a few nights...but then I'll have to pump and I don't want Emerson to have formula." Just nonsense. But it's real dude. I thought about escaping to many places. I thought about how long I would be gone. Nothing made sense in my mind, and thank goodness because I never acted on it. I broke down one night at the kitchen sink. I told Patrick I don't want this any more. He came up behind me and just held me. I didn't appreciate it fully at the time. But now I see what a gem of a partner I have. Soooo....I'm fine now :) I went to my therapist, have extended myself and my family grace, and have really just set priority in choosing what I do with my time intentionally. Again, a process, but things are starting to settle in place. Patrick and I are going on dates again, Emerson isn't nursing as much, Denzel is balanced again, and we're functioning as a cohesive family. Things are good. But it doesn't come naturally--you have to choose this and find some way to make it happen. Can I just make a plug here? If you have some sort of stigma against therapy, can I just challenge you? I have heard many, many positive things come from work in therapy. I have experienced positive things from therapy myself. Don't knock it and think you can do life on your own all the time. We were designed to be communal beings. You don't live on an island by yourself. If not therapy, find a quality friend. Ok. The end.

So there's been a lot going on, below the surface and above. All positive things, and I can say that now that I'm on this side of the tough stuff. Personal growth has been a process, but it feels good to look at this life I've been given and feel good about the direction ahead. Grow. Stretch. Challenge yourself. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Music, Beauty, and Wholeness

My soul is full tonight folks. It is alive, well, and complete. Patrick and I haven't been on a date in a while and tonight we went to a choral concert at CSULB. The reason we went was really because our alma mater (Northern Arizona University) was singing with Long Beach State, and what a perfect opportunity to experience...forgive the cheesiness...sort of the metaphorical journey of our lives. We lived in AZ first, went to school there, met in Flagstaff at school, and now our current journey takes place in Long Beach. To make things more "small worldish," my very dear friend, and mentor was engaged to one of the directors at Long Beach State, and also went to NAU. Crazy. Small. World.

Tonight's concert was a remarkable event for me. Bare with me as I reveal some of my innermost feelings to you. I've been accused of many things, but being short and sweet--no, definitely not that. So, go on if you so choose. You have been warned :)

There was something so incredible about the music I heard tonight. Something about seeing my previous choral director, seeing her beautiful gesture ::those hands and arms are art themselves!!:: hearing what can only be described as juicy fruit, and nutritious meat that entered my ears, processed happy juice in my brain, and penetrated my soul. What is it about music that speaks to the inner most parts of you? It definitely does me. But the crazy thing is, it's taken me 30 years to see the beauty of the art, the beauty of humanity, and joy that results in experiencing the art form you understand so well, and yet are surprised by, moved by, and brought to tears by again and again. When I was listening in the audience I experienced so many emotions I could not begin to process them all. I was taken back to my undergrad experience, the memories I made as a wee babe, a cute little kid that thought she knew everything. Nay nay, Andrea. If I could go back and talk to 22 year old me, wow, I would have so much to say.

I think I would start with this...this is your journey, and soak it up. What I never imagined back then was that my career would change. I never imagined that there was life outside of music. Because in undergrad, I ate, slept and breathed choral music. I sang in multiple choirs and groups, I taught voice lessons, I took voice lessons, I listened to music for enjoyment and for every single one of my classes. I analyzed the black dots to death. I practiced piano for HOURS a day. Per day, every day. I wore that choir dress like 75% of the school year. My life revolved around choir tour, conferences and networking with other choral directors. So if you told me back then that I might not be a choir teacher for life I would have laughed in your face. I gave my life to music for years.

Let's fast forward a teeny bit to after graduation. I student taught with my mentor teacher that was my student teacher when I was in high school--Germán. That's when the shaping of my adult self really started to begin. I became a choir teacher because teaching was my calling and music was my medium. I was never a musician first, always a teacher first. I was a good musician, but my priority was the children in front of me. Each individual. Each life. My first year of teaching was really really hard. Not because of the music. Shooot, that was the easy part. It was because I took over Germán's program and I was a wee babe. I don't think I made poor decisions or anything, I think the stress of the work and the expectation that I put on myself (and the community put on me as well) sunk in fast. I was big time depressed and anxious. I remember a handful of times when I could not physically get out of bed because I was so anxious about the day and going to work. Stress was seeping in my pores. I was an angry person too. I remember Patrick would always hear about my day at work and say, "Is that how you taught today or are you just venting?" I was always baffled that he would ask! I would never talk like that in class, I just needed to vent...but the venting was constant. It was too much. But the expectation was still there, and my life was music. How could I make a life in something...anything else? I knew nothing else. I only knew music.

Well, after two years of teaching in a public school, my journey led me to social work. I struggled with facing the music community because I felt like they wouldn't understand. Quite honestly, many of the people I knew didn't get it. I don't know that I got it totally. But God was calling me to move down the road, to transition to the place that he would begin to refine me in the fire, and fire is...well...hot. You know what though? Germán got it. He was all music too, like I was, but our friendship didn't change just because my life led me to another career. The things he taught me were universal lessons that any person in life could benefit from. And tonight. Tonight I realized that that is what music did for me. I no longer view my music life as my "previous career" and me cutting ties and doing something else. It's no longer "life A" and "life B." I had an epiphany tonight, and realized that music made me who I am. So these are the things I learned about life from music:

1. Community is most important. Community is so fundamental to an individual's well-being, and finding people that are like-minded, people who support you, compliment you, care for you...all these things are necessary in the human race. We do not exist in a vacuum. We were designed for community. Choral music is very much that: community. If you've been in music for any length of time, I'm willing to bet you have fond memories of the people that you stood next to, or those you spent hours with. Music has the potential to build incredible, positive, community. I think the Bob Cole Conservatory Chamber Choir exuded this in many ways tonight. It was evident that they were a family.

2. Individuality is also important. No one does things exactly the same as the next guy or gal. That is the beauty of the human race. Well, in music being unified has a time and place just like individuality has it's place. The unique characteristics that we bring to the table make the buffet all the more sweet. Be you. That is the best person to be.

3. Experiencing the moment is so precious and should be practiced more. Do you ever have a truly moving moment? I've had many that are a result from music, but I think this applies to life also. Being present in relationships is so important--with your kids, your spouse, your grieving friend. Even taking a moment to yourself and soaking in peace is a good discipline to practice. I experienced this on many levels tonight. Patrick and I had a wonderful night together, and we shared conversation and experiences in ways we had not in a long time. It felt intimate--from the concert experience alone. I experienced many nostalgic moments too, as I heard my alma mater sing. Truly, a flood of memories bombarded my brain. But maybe the moment that I will always remember from tonight was "And So I Go On." This song was commissioned in honor of Germán, and tonight NAU and CSULB sang it together. The two worlds joined as one, and in a weird sense I felt that that happened for me a little too tonight. You see, we shared many of the same decisions or paths--districts we taught in, student teaching experience, NAU for undergrad, appreciation of jazz, teaching philosophy, coffee!, and our friendship bloomed from those shared experiences. And this lesson is important because...

4. You must experience the beauty around you since you aren't guaranteed it will be there again. Germán was a remarkable person, and I miss him so deeply my body hurts sometimes at the thought that I will never see my precious friend on this earth again. It's hard for me to even reread that sentence as I write it. But I experienced beauty tonight in a crazy way. There was a part of the song that NAU and CSULB sang together--the Germán commissioned work--where I swear to you, Germán was singing. The tenor part sounded exactly like his voice. I'm not making this up. I said nothing about it, and when we left the concert hall Patrick said, "The tenor part in that song sounded like Germán was singing it--like he was in the choir!" That is the beauty I needed tonight. The sweet voice of my beautiful friend, in my current place in life, with my past and my present looking to me to continue to forge the road ahead. Guys, this life, this right here and now, is your chance. This is your chance to experience, to soak in, to do, to be, to dream. This is the time. Don't let it fly by you. There is beauty for everyone to enjoy, to experience. It may not be music for you, but find the beauty you need to experience or make or participate in. Go now and experience beauty.

I'll remember this night for a long time. And I'm happy to say that my memories of tonight will be that I realized my journey was uniquely designed for me. My musical experience was the building blocks that began to shape the person that I am today. And I'm happy to say that withouy guilt or shame, no feelings of failure or regret. I am whole, I am unique and I was made a better person because of the life lessons I learned in music.
----

Love you, G. Thanks for the treat tonight. 

Creeeeeepers

Today was all-the-creepy-old-men-talk-about-your-baby-day at Sprouts apparently. Or perhaps Emerson was looking particularly handsome in his green plaid button up shirt. Either way, there were many that noticed him.

I was carrying him in the Ergo while I went to get a few things--hoping that he would take a nap. I went through the grocery store minding my own business when a man, probably about 55 said, "Wow, that is a beautiful child. Wow." "Thanks," I said. "He is beautiful." This dude was in awe. Super nice with a tinge of creeper, but still fine. A very appropriate thing to say about someone's child that you DON'T KNOW. Thank you sir for indicating that my son is beautiful. I appreciate that.

But the second guy, not so appropriate. I was getting my last two items from the bulk section, and another guy, maybe early 50s was on the other side of the isle when he said,

"What a great-looking little man. How old is he? A year?"
"Almost 9 months."
"Wow! He's big isn't he? How much did he weigh? 9 pounds?"
Wow, do you need my approval to say something socially inappropriate like that? What do you want me to say dummy?
"When he was born? No."
"How much did he weigh?"
Hey creeper, go away, isn't it obvious I don't want to talk to you?!
"11 pounds" I know he was more, but there's no need to cause a scene.
"11 POUNDS?! WOW. Did you have him natural?"
WTF man! The only thing natural will be my fist in your face. Quit inquiring about how this child exited my body!
"No"
"So you had him c-section? Yeah, I would imagine that would be a lot! I mean, that must have been a lot of work for you, right?"
"Yup"
Ok seriously. Go away. And mind your own business. You aren't even a mom trying to share her birth story or something weird like that, so you have no excuse...

Or so I thought...

He goes to the next isle in the bulk section and I keep getting my things. Then I look up and there he is trying to make conversation again.

"Is he your first?"
(I ignored him because I wanted to get out of there, but he persisted...)
"Is he your first?"
"No, my second"
"How big was your first?"
"9 pounds"
"Oh so it's definitely genetics"
Excuse me. Ex-cuse ME. I'm 5'4" and weight 127 pounds. I'm not a large person. And how DARE you make excuses that have to do with a family that YOU DON'T KNOW!! YOU DON'T KNOW ME! You don't my child, and you don't know my hoo ha, so this conversation needs to be over.

I frowned at him when he said that thing about genetics. I'm kind of used to people commenting about Emerson's size, and I'll be the first to say I need to stop saying anything about it myself. I don't want him to feel ashamed about his body in any way, and he already comprehends a lot. But strangers?! That's just incredibly rude. So not only did he gawk at my kid, he insulted my genes...and me! This guy went on and on about how he has 7 children ::shaking my head:: and he cut every one of the umbilical cords, and all were born at home with a midwife. Then he said, "Pretty cool huh?"

I started feeling my emotions well up inside me. This guy triggered too much for me. Stuff I didn't know was still an issue. First I was angry that he said my son was anything less than perfect, but then when he told me about his "perfect birth children" I felt like the grief and loss of my own dream to have that "perfect birth" came back. All I ever wanted was healthy children, and a beautiful, natural birth. I went to Bradley classes twice--that's 24 weeks of preparing for natural birth. I wanted a water birth, I didn't want any meds, and certainly no epidural, God forbid a c-section! I wanted to have an intense (I'm a realist) but empowering birth experience. I wanted to show the doctor and nurses that I was strong, and they were wrong about my body--I knew my body better than they did. I wanted to reach down and pull up my baby, and put him on my chest. I wanted to leave the cord until it stopped pulsing to get all of that good cord blood into his body, not be clamped and spilled out on the floor. I wanted a midwife, and a birthing center. But that wasn't my reality. This guy couldn't have known that his pride in how his family was born, and the role that he played in it would have stirred up all this in me. But it did.

I came home feeling defeated again, a lot like I felt after Denzel's birth. Like I had failed. I pulled into the driveway and walked around to the backseat to get Emerson out. And there slept my beautiful child. His long eye lashes, tiny scabs from the scratches he gave himself, a little leftover carrot on his shirt, and his peaceful body breathing in and out. I didn't fail. As if I were completely in control to begin with. I've been blessed with two incredible children. Already I've seen them grow up to have morals, empathy and compassion. They aren't perfect of course, no human being is, but they are the perfect blessing I've always prayed for. And no stupid birth story changes that. And certainly no large baby in perfect health is cause to feel like a failure. I think what I often forget is that there was a risk of maternal or fetal death had I attempted a VBAC. Nothing is for sure, but what if that had happened? What if my "dream birth" has resulted in Emerson's death? Or mine? And let's be honest, there's no dream birth when the child you're pushing out is nearly 12 pounds. But I'm definitely living the dream with these two boys now.

So thanks creeper for stirring all that up in me. I needed a reminder of the riches I've been blessed with.

Honesty in a Very Raw Form

Motherhood is possibly the most difficult role I've been tasked with...in my life.

I'm finding out that adding a second child to the mix has really brought out all the stress to our entire family. I certainly do not blame my son. I mean, it's not like he asked to be born. It is not his fault in any way really. I mean, to be perfectly honest, he's a much easier child than Including baby.my first. Sorry Denzel, but it's true :) But what our family has been going through lately has been really difficult for me, maybe because I'm emotional. Although I have no doubt that each of the other three in their own way have struggled with this new adjustment over the past year.

I went to therapy today for the first time in two years. First, some context. I'm a social worker. I'm a strong proponent of mental health. And part of me believes that because I know and have all these skills, I should be able to work things out on my own. Number one, that statement could not be further from the truth. God has designed us for relationship and community. You were not designed to walk through life alone. But all that to say, if I'm going to therapy, as much as I believe in it, you know it's because I'm at my end. And I was. No more rope left, no more wick...what's that saying? Who cares, I was spent. So I went and saw her.

The drive to my therapist's office was ridden with shame, with guilt. Why am I going? Of course I'm stressed, we've been sick for months, I'm exhausted, these are all normal things. Dumb. What is she going to think? How can I help this girl with NORMAL problems? But then I walked in and was greeted with the upfront, bold therapist I instantly loved from years ago. P.S. My therapist is not a soft spoken, tell me how you're feeling, type. She is gentle when I cry, bold when I'm angry, listens all the time, but has NO problem adding her two sense, or humor. I appreciate a strong personality. That's why I came back. I caught her up to speed with new life changes, we talked about new baby, new house, new job, new challenges in my marriage, and my overall feeling of anxiety from being overwhelmed. I said through tears, "I do so fucking much, I don't even know where to start." And cue floodgates. I try not to curse often. I think it's dumb, but lately the f word is the only constant word going on in my head. It's the stress. She didn't judge me though. She sympathized, she empathized, she validated that this stage of life is extremely stressful and that I'm not the only one who has ever or is even currently going through this. So it was one session, and I walked away with some homework.

If there's anything I enjoy, it's being reflective and learning more about thought process. I always want to better myself--I just don't always say it in those words. So I drove back feeling instant relief. Not 100%, but definitely like 50-60% of my sanity had returned. One of the things we talked about was having this need to do it all myself. Have you felt that? I mean, WHAT IS THAT?! Why on earth do we (moms or dads or just people in general) have this feeling like we have to get the list done each and every day? I didn't realize what a problem it was for me until today when I caught myself every. single. time. I didn't want to let go of control several minutes of every hour. And what compounds the issue is, if it doesn't get done the way I want, or sometimes even if it's done the way I want but not by me, I have intense guilt about it. Tell me I'm not the only one. I realize it's ridiculous, but I'm being honest. I'm a mom that wants, in a perfect world, my children to eat only healthy things, have beautifully prepared meals each day, baby to drink only the very best breast milk packed with nutrients for his growing body, a nap and sleep schedule to be followed perfectly to the t, no one to get sick, a thriving marriage, a healthy spiritual life, friends all over the place, time to invest in every friendship, clothes that fit, a tummy that doesn't look like I just birthed the largest bowling ball known to mankind, hair that cooperates, work that is done faster than I expected, more money that I was expecting...I mean, the list goes on! And no one can live up to those standards. Notice I didn't say anything about a clean house. I have all but given up on my house. But really, why the guilt? Truth is, I don't know. I don't know why I can't rely easily on others for help, even though I'm better than I used to be. I don't know why it's so difficult for me to feel like I have to be the best at everything, do all things with a sweet demeanor, and have time for eyeliner. Why?

My therapist also said something pretty remarkable. She encouraged me to multitask in a different way. Instead of cleaning the house and making dinner, maybe I should nurse baby and cuddle D at the same time. She said your kids need your physical love at this age. Duh. Why didn't I think of that. I've been working on that more recently because Patrick told me the same thing, so I've really been trying to be cuddly with my 3 year old. And it's hard when you can't use the sink because there are so many dishes, or have no clean clothes as the laundry sits in a jabadahut pile on the floor. But I'm the one who wants these memories with my family, I have to create them, I have to be in them. So that's my goal: letting go of control long enough to capture the beautiful moment for future recall. I don't want my kids to remember their mom as the clean nazi that was always doing dishes or had her back turned from them to fold the clothes. I want them to remember a mom that threw the ball and got down on the floor to play. That's the mom I am, and want to keep being.

The issue isn't solved. I still feel like I'm in a fog of sorts. I still feel waves of anxiety or feelings of being overwhelmed, but like anything you take it one moment at a time, right? That's my approach. Because I'm tired of just barely hanging on. I'm tired of...ha ha, my eyes are heavy...I'm just tired!! So, I leave you with this thought...what one thing do you need to let go? I could write a list longer than jolly old St. Nicholas has of his naughty AND nice kids. But the best place to start is with just one.

When I'm critical of criticism

I'm bombarded with criticism all over the internet right now. People are upset about Paris (and rightfully so!), but others are critical of the France flag superimposed on the FB profile pictures. I read how some are more upset about Paris than Kenya, and still more are critical about how some lives are valued more than others. Can I just suggest something?

Can we take a step back? Just stop. And breathe.

Consider this prospective: we are all one humanity. We all live here on the Earth together. And whether you like it or not, that's the reality.

But all this criticism is getting out of hand. And maybe it's really showcased right now because of all the presidential debates that are going on. She said this. He proposes this. Obama is an awful president. I mean come on. Is anyone else sick of this? No, just me? You think it's just politics, but I think this mindset has seeped into the depths of our society. And criticism is quickly becoming hate. Now people are talking about blocking refugees. Criticism...hate. Just like that. Man, that was quick.

I think it's important to think for yourself critically. I do. I also think it's very important to take a look at why you individually, act or say what you do. But at some point grace needs to enter the scene. No more opinions, let's be gracious. I mean, really. At some point we need to say, I'm going to not be an angry person. I'm not going to act out of fear (that's really what I believe this is). Instead I'm going to *do* something (emphasis on the action of this word) that will benefit another human being that I live with on this earth. Stop making it about you. Stop saying me me me. I read an article that said someone compared the Paris attacks to climate change. Why? Why are we making an event of people's lives about our soapbox? That's enough with the criticism of everything. It's one thing if you're seeking just-thinking and encouraging equality. It's completely another when you bash people to get your point across. And just stop putting a population in a box. Stop saying we have to shut down the country, build a wall, be it literal or figurative to protect ourselves from "the enemy." No wall is going to protect you. It's not. I'm sorry, but you are not safe from terrorists. Do you really think cutting off refugees is going to help? Let me ask you a serious question...what experience do you have in fleeing a life-threatening situation? None? That's what I thought. I have no personal experience, but here's something you probably didn't know about me-my extended family has fled dangerous situations to preserve their lives, and haven't always been successful. I don't really want to go into details, because I don't want a pity party. But I do want to say until you know what it's like to have your fingers cut off, literally, tortured, children held for ransom, you don't really know what these people are going through. Just imagine for a moment-your life is at stake, and the country that offers freedom and piece of mind-they just said, "Nope, not here."

This world is not getting better. I know that the media broadcasts only the negative and positive happens daily all over the place without recognition. But maybe we don't add to the already negative world? Maybe the change starts within yourself. Because this toxic way of thinking you have to be on the opposite line from your neighbor--that's how the hatred starts. So quit with the criticism, and quit acting out of fear. Leave a little space, take pause to really consider what you're doing.

I have to believe in the goodness of humankind. I have to. I guess I just yearn for the day that goodness peeks through more than the darkness. I look forward to that day indeed.