Anxiety Sucks.

Looking back at those first few weeks... Well I guess those first few months even. I wish I could go back. 

I wish I could go back and brush off the layers of fear that I experienced everything through. I remember bathing my tiny baby wrecked with anxiety his head would go under or I'd hit his head on the faucet. I was afraid to leave the house, knowing he would cry in the car, knowing I just couldn't bare it. I couldn't bare him crying for me and not being able to comfort him. Bed time was an obsessive panic dance instead of a relaxing time in the evening. 

Absolutely everything was covered in a quiet panic. "New moms just worry a lot." As if it was just worry. I don't think I felt safe for ten minutes for the entire first 4 months of his life. 

I wish I could go back and experience having a newborn without feeling like something horrendous was about to happen every second. It makes me frustrated that the anxiety will always be apart of my memory of my sweet boy's newborn phase. 

I'll try to come to peace with it. I'm not sure how. But I'll try.

This is (9 months) postpartum

He jabbers on about his dreams last night  in that soft and wise voice that my son has.
"Ah bah bah baaaaah bah" he informs me as I'm wearing trails in the carpet, moving here to there in our small apartment.
The conversation grew quiet, and not in that peaceful way, like when we are staring into each other's eyes, discovering what's there. No, this was a mischievous quiet, one that is usually followed by the clang of the dog bowl tipping over. I find him around the corner of the bed with a wad of soggy paper in his mouth. I shake off the anxiety that tells me that paper is going to block him up for days. I scoop him up and pull the electric bill out of his mouth. The irony of my crazy baby eating my energy away is laughable. 
My coffee is hot, but if my calculations are correct it will only be the right temperature for approximately ten minutes and within those ten minutes there is a 70 percent chance Uriah is going to need to nurse... or shit his pants. That's what microwaves are for though, for the two to three ounces that will inevitably grow cold in my abandoned cup that I placed somewhere ridiculously high and pushed back on a shelf. Somewhere away from sticky fingers. When I do find my cup again, the microwave will be there for me.
Mornings are peaceful this way. Peaceful in a predictable way, not in a calm or relaxing sort of way. I probably won't shower, but if I do I'll probably have a baby in there with me, taking his time in tearing all the bottles of soap and shampoos off the shelf.
My stale hair actually does the "mom bun" better on day three of not getting washed. But it's all flopped over to the side, and the back of my hair fell out of the bun from yesterday. I gather it back up on top of my head again except this time I'll add a head band. There is a pile of hair on the floor from my postpartum hair loss that I have to pick up so it doesn't get picked up and eaten by the baby. The baby who doesn't like food, but does like eating hair.

Those hunger pains start hollering at me reminding me to eat. Usually the caffeine quiets them for awhile when I actually get to drink it. It's funny because before pregnancy if I would get hungry, I only really worry about myself suffering. When I am breastfeeding every meal is mandatory to keep up my milk supply. Then there is this lingering guilt when I only eat Rice Crispies for breakfast. There is nothing in there for me. Not for me and certainly not for Uriah. I know how important nutrition is for the both of us. I do my best, but when people comment on how much weight I've lost I know I should be rounder. The weight that does or doesn't cling to you isn't a health report, but an observer doesn't care about that anyways. 

This is nine months postpartum. This is a funny place where I still feel like a brand new mom and I still do brand new mom things, but my newborn crawls around and gets into trouble, and shouts "Mama" at me, and I beg him to slow down.

Rośe Conversations

My weight transfers from hip to hip as my eyes dart over, past the bottles of wine I stand behind. To my little boy playing on the lawn with his daddy.
I'm trying to tell my customers about the delicacy of the vanilla notes that dance across the rośe they are tasting. How can I bring up casually that the cute baby over there is mine? Though I feel like I'm covered in it, that new mom skin. It isn't so obvious to strangers. When my baby isn't right next to me, I feel this aching, nagging desire to identify myself as a mother. As if withholding such information is being misleading.
"Oh is that your baby over there?"
Thank goodness she finally asked.
"Yeah, that's my son! He's 9 months..." But I don't stop there. Suddenly I'm emmbarassed that I have to bring my baby to work with me. How do I explain the anxiety? How do I explain that I didn't really try to give him a bottle till recently, and now it's kinda too late. I stumble across my words, knowing it's too much information for someone I just met. For someone who just wanted to taste some wine.
"He won't take a bottle, and he is a busy boy, so he nurses every hour or so. He doesn't really like food either. So all those rolls, I made all of them. So he just comes with me everywhere." I spill.
It's the truth, it's a simple truth, but it sits awkwardly in my belly. I feel inconvenient to most everybody, but I feel so deeply connected to my son that it outweighs the inconvenience. He's 9 months, he only drinks from my breast, and he is always by my side.
I finish pouring the pinot noir, the Avelina, and our marechel foch, and bring the subject back to the weather, and how big our grapes will get this year.
"This weather is way too hot, but the grapes love it! They should be grateful they aren't breastfeeding every hour."
It slipped again, another breastfeeding comment. My confidence withers knowing my ability to make small talk has evaporated.
They bought a couple bottles of the rose though. So I must not have been too bad.

Gentleness

My Moose is growing older, more sweet, more passionate, just as babies should.
His daddy and I are already stretching our minds. How will we raise him to to thoughtful in his actions. It's obvious we have arrived at the time when he can see, feel, and react to what we show him.
So we have a lot of conversations about how we respond to him. When he's fussy. Is he just fussy? Or is he tired? Is he just lonely? Or does he have an intense curiosity about that plastic bag, so do I need to sit with him so he can play with it safely while I watch.
I've found he's usually never "just fussy." Which is both wonderful and challenging. It means that I have to be more present. I can't write off what he's feeling because I'm too involved with my phone, or the TV.
It's so hard listening to him when he tells me, "I'm tired, and I need held," or "I'm frustrated because I don't want to play alone."
When I choose to become a mother I wanted to be a mother who responded to all of his needs. Not just, hungry, or needs a diaper. It's exhausting, and I fail at it a lot, but I keep trying because I want my Moose to know im there for him through it all.
He's got a intensity about him, and when he plays, sometimes he plays too hard. He'll pinch and scratch and it hurts us. Our immediate reaction is to yell "NO." And put him down. But we thought about it, and how does anger encourage him to be gentle? So we rationalized that gentleness begets gentleness.
We slowly pick his fingers off our faces, take a deep breath, and say "gentle Uriah." We can still play without hurting.
It's harder when the day has been long, and the heat of the day has worn us thin. We are the adults though. We must reign in our feelings if we expect him to. That's why I have my husband, and he has me. To help each other through our emotions. To take over when the other just can't. Uriah has us, to help him through his emotions because 9 months is too young to understand those things.
I love our little boy so much. He's pure goodness. I try so hard to think critically about how we are raising him. And what we are showing him.
I'm thankful for my husband, who supports me so I have time to think through my actions. I'm thankful he gives me time to myself so I can take care of myself so there is more of me to give. He's a good husband. He's a good father.

Best Love Story Ever

The longer I'm married, the more I understand why God bound my heart to my husband's when I started dating Zach.
The Lord knows that I was in no place to be finding my husband when Zach and I met. To say that I was a mess at the time would be an understatement. I was even worried about myself at the time.
I was at a point where I recognized something needed to change, but I was entirely surrounded by the consequences of my mistakes, and no life experiences thus far had taught me how to pull myself up by myself. I was lost in shame and did not turn to the Lord because although I knew he was there, waiting and full of forgiveness, I had no faith in myself that I would stop my behavior. Why would I ask for forgiveness if I felt like I was doomed to make the same mistakes again.
I never stopped believing in the Lord, but I was at a point in my life when I was learning the heaviness of consequences from my mistakes, and this is something my church never could have prepared me for.
So when I met Zach, I knew the timing could not have been worse, but it didn't stop me from falling in love. I was attracted to him not because he made me laugh, though he did, but because of his loyalty to the people he cared about. Ironically, it was that same loyalty that drove us apart, but more importantly it brought us back together after our separation. I also loved the sense of adventure in him, I knew that life with him would never be dull.
Honestly, looking back, although those are great reasons to love a man, I think I loved him for reasons I didn't even understand. I have no idea how those qualities about him that I loved were enough to keep us together despite our bad relationship habits, but I knew two months into our relationship that he would be the man I married someday.
Our relationship was fun, exciting, and passionate, but most weekends were spent partying, and having drunken arguments about things that would never have existed had we been sober. But we would sober up,  make up, and do it again the next weekend. I think everything in us wanted to "live the life" and stay "wild and free" but for whatever reason we just needed each other despite all of that. I think we can thank God for that.
We stayed in this pattern for a long time, until it came to the point where it just had to stop. We were hurting each other too much, for the sake of the party. We broke up. It was ugly. I couldn't understand how I was supposed to marry him if we weren't together.
We tried to stay apart, but we did the typical,  "together, but not together" deal. I needed him. He needed me. The situation was down right stupid, but looking back, it had to happen this way. Our friends and family thought we were crazy (they were right) and after a month or so of being together, but not, I just severed the cord. I couldn't do it anymore. I loved him so passionately, but our relationship was toxic, and it definitely wasn't headed to marriage at that rate anyways.
We didn't speak for one week. We simultaneously tried to lose each other in the party. We both failed. As it turns out, we did need each other.
He broke the silence and texted me. I was sitting with my best friend, who is the only person in my life who would have given me the advice that she did. It must have been a combination of her life experiences, how well she knew me, and definitely a little bit of God turning her heart, because everyone else on God's green earth would have told me, "no way, Carol, don't you dare go to coffee with him." But my best friend told me that maybe Zach needs another chance. Maybe I should hear what he has to say. (Dustin you seriously have an incredible wife.)
So I found myself drinking a soda at a bar at 8 pm,because the coffee shops had closed, with a man who I'd never, ever, seen even a little bit nervous; awkwardly shifting in his seat, and trying to make small talk. I enjoyed watching him squirm, as he tried to bring up casually what a horrible mistake he had made. How he was wrong in thinking you cannot live life for your friends. He said everything a very convicted person would say to bring back the woman he loved. He put his shame aside, and apologized over and over. We talked about what we would have to do to save our relationship. It wasn't as simple as pick it up, and dust it off. So we picked it up, blew it up, and then sorted through the rubble of hurts. It's really hard to forgive. It's hard to kick habits. We were crazy for trying to sort through our disaster of our relationship. But we did it. We are still doing it. We are better people because of it. It doesn't make sense why we are together if you had seen us 4 years ago. There were a couple key players, and a couple key moments that have been defining for us.
The most important thing we have taken from our struggle is humility. Zach and I apologize to each other so frequently. We have learned that it is harder to forgive than it is to apologize, and neither are easy.
When Zach asked me too marry him a couple years ago, I knew that our marriage would be rough. I knew we would have to work so hard to not just stay together, but to love each other so passionately to inspire each other daily. No marriage is easy, anyone could tell you that.
Now we are looking back at a humble 2 years of wedded bliss, with this perfect child to raise, and I can tell you with certainty, that I am a better person because of my husband. He has challenged me to love when I don't feel like it, to dig deep inside of myself so I can help him understand me, and to challenge the deep rooted selfishness that was buried in me, disguised as pride.
I am wrong all the time. That's ok though. Zach doesn't hold it over my head, or throw it back at me, and for him to love me that much, that he graciously forgives me, instead of using it as ammo when he is hurt. Now that is something. And that sort of love is what we didn't have in the beginning. But here we are, 2 years, and we have so much to show for it. We don't just stay married. We don't just simply love each other. We freaking rock at being married. We work at it every day, and are constantly improving.
I used to be embarrassed about where my husband and I came from. But this love is way too special to be ashamed about that. I am so proud to be the woman I am today. The wife, the mother, the daughter, the sister, the friend I am today. I have my sweet husband to thank for that. My sweet, sweet, loving, caring, more handsome than any person I know, husband. I love you so passionately Zach.

Bed time

Bed time is always interesting with children. I'm almost 25 and in my 25 years of experience going to bed every night (erg well except for those few all nighters at Corban) I still struggle sometimes to fall asleep.
So it's no wonder that falling asleep isn't always simple for my sweet Uriah. We do bedtime between 8:30 and 9:30 each day. Every night we take everything we have done that day to bed with us and falling asleep is the process of letting it all go.
Sometimes the tiredness weighs heavy on Uriah's eyes, but his little body can't quit tossing. He'll try nursing to sleep and his feet are kicking and his arm is waving a taxi. The day clearly took a lot of energy that he needs to let go of. Sometimes as he nurses the sweet, warm milk will be what he needs to slow his body down. As he lays close to my body I practice deep, slow breathing to calm my own body down. I find that most of the time, if I'm a mess, he's a mess, and so this deep breathing really helps me to relax my own body. My body relaxes with each new breath, and I imagine the oxygen seeping down all the way to my toes. I imagine that it extends all the way to my sweet boy. Just like it did when he was in my belly, and I really did supply him with oxygen.
At the end of the day, with all of the day on my mind, sometimes I feel like I'm going to just tip over the edge of crazy. As if so much relies on my boy going to sleep. And if he fights sleeping then surely I'll go crazy. Helping a little person fall asleep is actually a really big job. It's important for babies to sleep, and they need us to show them. A lot of stuff rides on bed time.
So on those occasional nights when my milk doesn't send my Uriah off to dream land, I try not lose my sanity. He only has 7 months of life experience far. And falling asleep is a skilled craft.
He will nurse and nurse and just when I think he is fast asleep, he will barrel roll, pop his head up and stare at me. Upon making eye contact he flashes the biggest grin, "Yes," that cheesy grin says, "I get a few more minutes of hanging out with mom and dad."
And we just hang out. Zach and I are the crib bumpers so he can roll around and get all the extra energy out that he needs to. We smile and laugh till his body slows down and he is actually ready for sleeps.
Very rarely now, but every once in awhile I will have to wrap him up and walk him to sleep while wearing him. I can't imagine how good that must feel. To be gently swayed to sleep, with your head nuzzled in your loved ones chest. Close, secure and warm. I'm sure it's heaven for him. Even though I count down the minutes I'll miss of sleep for myself, I know I'm doing the important job of teaching my boy how to sleep. And if you just have to be awake, Uriah Blaine, then you will be awake with the best company ever.

Hi

My poor little blog. I've always been a writer. I always have something to put down. It's been quiet over here though. I've been doing a lot of observing, perhaps not as much evaluating. Every time I try to write I end up deleting everything because by the time I'm finished I feel completely disconnected from what I wrote. But that's ok.  These things aren't meant to be forced.
I've been enjoying my sweet boy and all of his new tricks. He's so lovely. He's so fascinating. This time is so dear to me.
I've been wanting to work on Uriah's birth story (the out-takes edition) to tell you about the more candid moments of my labor (I labored for more than a day, you can imagine it got a little silly.) But it will all come in time.
Just wanted to say "hi" and I'm still here for those of you who enjoy reading my blog!