“Enjoy this phase while it lasts because you’ll miss it one day.” How many times have you heard that phrase in your lifetime? How many times have you found that to be true? Hindsight is 20/20 so how do we appreciate the present and live without regrets? Continue reading
Phew. That is me exhaling. We made it. And Lawd, it wasn’t easy or always pretty. But when I look back at a year of photographs I realize just how *supremely* blessed we truly are. Why is hindsight always 20/20? Why can’t we appreciate what we have while we still have it? Continue reading
I’m crying. Partially because my littlest baby will be ONE on Thanksgiving this year and also because I survived. I made it an entire year staying-at-home with a then newborn, 2 & 3 year-old and now 1, 3 and 4 year-old. Looking back at photos, it seems so fast. Remembering it for what it was, it feels like it took an eternity to get here. And yet here we are, and here is what we have learned: Continue reading
Why does it always seem that as soon as you start to feel ahead, something changes and you find yourself once again treading water? It’s demoralizing and often leaves me desperate with thoughts of throwing-in-the-towel because “what’s the point?” Continue reading
It’s everything I ever wanted: three beautiful, healthy children and the opportunity to stay-at-home to raise them. But I’ve been doing this for four years straight and I am so tired. As selfish and ungrateful as this sounds, today I don’t want to do this anymore. And yet, I have no choice. Or, do I?
Have you ever worked hard on something and later felt guilty anytime you resented it? Perhaps it was getting through school to get the job you thought you always wanted or maybe it was caring for someone in your family- someone sick or frail. And when you are at that job or at the hospital, you know it is where you are supposed to be and yet, you feel tired. And you think, “Not today. I just don’t want to do this today.”
But there’s no one to take your place. There’s no substitute for you. And you feel trapped. You need the job to pay for the things you own or the person you are caring for truly needs you by their side as they battle whatever it is that is ailing them.
Today, the two and four year-old argued so loudly they woke the baby. I knew I wouldn’t get another break from her for at least three hours and I felt the despair setting in. I called my sister and lamented that as much as I didn’t want to do this, I had no choice. We chose to have three children back-to-back and now, here we are.
But as I said it, I could hear my devil’s advocate chiming in. “You do have a choice, Lauren. You can put them in daycare.” The thing is, I don’t want to put them in daycare and in deciding that, I have made a choice. I chose to have them. I am actively choosing to stay home with them.
You chose to have the things you need that job to pay for- a home, an education, a car, the things you purchased on your credit card. You choose to be the person at your loved one’s bedside. Sure, you could choose to leave them, but would you? No, you wouldn’t. You choose not to.
By tweaking the way we perceive our hardships, we are more-able to handle them. After the baby woke, I went for a brisk run. I burned off the stress, I released my exasperation so that I could jump back into the ring.
I felt trapped until I remembered I chose this life and I continue to choose it every day that I stay home.
I love my children, I do. But I’m tired. And today, I didn’t want to do this anymore. Still, I found peace in the realization of my choice to stay. I hope, you, too, find peace in yours.
Photo by Camille Vaughan Photography
You know what I am talking about. It’s not just the voice inside your head, it’s that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your gut, your intuition, something almost palpable. Whether we like it or not, we tend to feel more “balanced” when we go with our gut. Unfortunately, we don’t always like what it is telling us, which leads us to put our blinders on to the blaring red flags, leaving us feeling inharmonious. Today, I went with my gut. Today, I pulled Harper out of school after just one day. Continue reading
Swinging, strolling, playing, nursing. None of it has worked. It is 9 PM and you should have been asleep two hours ago. Instead, you are awake and crying when placed in your crib. What is a mom, to do?
You had me up at midnight and 5 a.m. Your sisters, collectively, woke me at 1, 2 and 4 a.m. I haven’t slept in years.
After all of the trying, the rocking, the swaying, it dawns on me just what you need. It’s so simple, why didn’t I think of it all along?
My energy changes. I lay you on your tummy. You fight. I place my gentle hands upon your back. Your head. You settle.
I caress the soft skin on your sweet, little chubby arm and you lift it begging me to continue. So I do. I channel all the love I have for you through the end of my fingertips. I calm and so do you.
We’ve been connected since the beginning and we always will be.
I set aside my exhaustion, my frustration and I send my love to you.
I slowly stop moving, resting my full palm upon your body. A fingertip. Hovering.
I’ve waited all of this time for you to sleep and yet I pause to marvel at your perfection before shutting your door, leaving my energy safely enclosed so that you feel safe. Secure.
All my love, to you.
It took three attempts for me to succeed in having an unmedicated childbirth. I attended nearly 70 hours of childbirth classes before my first baby, read countless books, and spent many-a-night role-playing labor with my husband before falling asleep to my hypnobirthing CDs. The message was clear: LET GO. Succumb to the pain instead of fighting it. Relax even when your body instinctually clenches. Unless you have been in labor, you have absolutely no idea how impossible that seems when you are experiencing gut-wrenching pain. By the third labor, I knew what to do and my unmedicated birth was everything I had hoped it would be: raw emotion that cannot be imitated.
Unmedicated childbirth isn’t just about “proving you can do it.” Sure, you feel proud, just as a marathon runner does after her grueling race, but at its core, unmedicated childbirth inherently embraces FAITH. Faith in our bodies to do what they were designed to do and faith in our resolve to see it through. Unmedicated childbirth celebrates the beauty of nature. As miserable as she may feel, a pregnant woman cannot deny the miracle of feeling tiny little feet responding to a hand on the belly. It truly is a miracle.
What I did not expect was how my experience would permeate into other parts of my life, long after the birth was over. This notion of embracing nature- of having faith – of being fearless. Just as labor has the opportunity to progress smoothly once the mother lets go, so does life.
So I have decided to let go.
As a result of my experience with unmedicated childbirth, I no longer fear letting go of toxic relationships, for I know that fear was the only thing that kept me in them in the first place.
As a result of my unmedicated childbirth, I am not concerned with using my “things” – my house, my car, my clothes, my jewelry- to show my worth, for my value lies underneath the surface of my skin, in the chambers of my heart and the core of my soul.
As a result of my unmedicated childbirth, I am not afraid of aging. In fact, I embrace it. My wrinkles represent my time; the more I have, the luckier I feel to have lived long enough to display them.
And as a result of my unmedicated childbirth, I believe in myself.
I am capable. I am worthy. I am humbled.
First it was the newborn diapers, then the newborn clothes. Next was the Rock-N-Play you slept in until you were four months old and then the Snug-a-Bunny Swing. Today, it was the Bumbo and floor activity play mat. All stored in the attic, likely waiting for a larger-than-life, baby gear liquidation yard-sale.
You. Are. Growing. So fast, too fast. Just a week ago you couldn’t sit without toppling over and now you are army crawling across the room. I feel a mixture of anticipation and panic. I can’t wait to see the development of your relationship with your sisters and yet I am terrified of you not fitting into the cradle of my arms anymore.
All there is left to do is absorb it; to allow it to permeate my skin. To leave the chores left undone and blow raspberries with you, instead. Your giggles are my gasoline and while I yearn for a full night of sleep, I am not quite ready to turn this page.
If I have learned anything from having your older sisters, however, it is that each new chapter offers more to love and cherish. So while I will continue to marvel at your tiny fist wrapped around my pinkie as you nurse in the middle of the night, I will still look forward to the day we can walk alongside each other, holding hands.
Your book is just beginning, Emma Jane, and I am hooked.
Special thanks to Danielle Ice Photography for the first photo.
New Leaf Parenting 