If you must know, I'm a ball of emotion over this month. Maybe it's because I know that next month means 6 months, which means this is the last month on this side of her first year of life. Whenever people ask me how old she is, I've always shrugged it off. "Oh, She's 3 months old." OR I would even round up. If she was 3 1/2 months, I would say "She's about 4 months." Those days are coming to a quick end. It'll be so hard for me to acknowledge that my baby is almost half of a year old. It shreds my heart to pieces. PIECES. But until then, Ella Morgan is 5 months old. And she's beautiful... I swear she's the prettiest baby I've ever seen. I don't know if I feel that way because she's mine, or because it's true, but I stand by my conclusion. She's putting on weight so quickly that it's getting difficult to carry her around for an extended amount of time, because even though she's got great head control, we're still working on our back muscles, and that means that I have to use both arms to balance all 25 inches of her. I'm just a bit over 25 inches myself, so it's a battle to carry her to and fro. I love and hate this season of rapid growth. It makes me happy and sad. Joyful and Mournful. Welcome to Parenthood, right?
Month 5 was one of the first big doses of "Parenthood" for me. Right at the beginning of the month, my little turtle started hacking and coughing and sneezing her head off. I suctioned her nose countless times, and she still sounded congested to me. I took her to the doctor for the first time, and we were basically given a pat on the back and a "It's just drainage." Apparently she was teething so intensely that her saliva accumulated in the back of her throat until it tickled her, causing her to slurp air in, causing spit to go down her breathing tube, causing her to cough. I felt like a goon for taking her in, but the best thing about Ella's pediatrician is that she always makes you feel like the world's greatest parent for bringing her. I love that she spends time with us, instead of rushing through the appointment. I need that in a doctor for my child. For me, just tell me I'm okay and go about your business. For my baby daughter, tell me the tiniest of details. Please, give me another reason to obsess over her.
Shortly after the first doctor appointment, we scheduled Ella for her first haircut. Never in a million years did I think I would have a baby with so many hair needs. We have to wash her hair every single day, or homegirl has an oily, homeless, hobbit looking mess of hair. We have to brush through her hair, or it tangles. If she gets a nighttime bath, we have to blow-dry it, because otherwise she has a lion mane of frizz the following morning. If she lays in the floor and rubs the back of her head on the carpet, it gets this gross looking texture to it, and the only way to fix it is to wash it. This girl is a hair diva already. Fortunately, she loves bath time, and tolerates her mother's excessive need to control her hair pretty graciously. Anyway, she was so incredibly adorable during her haircut, smiling at herself in the mirror and slurping on her fingers. It only took a month for her hair to grow back to the same scraggly lengths, but I'm trying to be strong and allow her hair to enter the awkward stage and pray it passes quickly. Until then, I hang out with my Frodo haired baby and keep her hair out of her face with a bow.
A couple of weeks after the first doctor's visit, Ella's eyeball started acting sketchy. We've always battled watery eyes because of clogged tear ducts, but this was a different type of eye issue. There was a lot of goop. Her eye was matted shut, gooped back up after I cleaned it out, and got super raw and red. I sent pictures to several mom friends, a PA (Sorry Sheri), and family members. I didn't feel like it was pink eye, and neither did anybody else. I was stubborn and convinced myself that we were going to ride it out, because clearly it had something to do with the tear duct, and I wasn't going to look a fool at the doctors office again. Well, I made it 3 days before I caved. Her eye made my heart hurt, even though she seemed fairly unaware of the nasty side effects. Of course, her eye looked completely fine at the doctor, with the exception of super red skin surrounding the eye. I was prepared, and showed the doctor pictures of how gross it looked the night before. Fortunately, she said that bringing her in was the right thing to do. She pushed on Ella's tear duct, made Ella angry, And a bunch of goop came flowing out with the tears. She basically said there was an infection in her eye, but it definitely wasn't pink eye. Yay! We were prescribed eye drops and sent about our way. Ella took them like a champ, and her eye looks healthy again. Yay!
Ella is gaining weight rapidly (like, a pound in ten days), and it's exhausting to keep up with her in terms of "feedings." I mentioned this to her doctor, and while we both want me to continue breastfeeding exclusively for another month, she gave me the go ahead to give Ella cereal once a day if it gets too hard to keep her satisfied. I've only done it a handful of times, because it makes me so sad to fathom not breastfeeding my baby someday, but Ella has loved the special treat. She only gets a tablespoon of it, so I don't know if it's the spoon she loves or what, but she's so funny to watch. I video it every time I feed her. It's been a nice break, but I think I'm going to be selfish a little bit longer, and wait until 6 months to make it a part of our daily schedule. I love that feeding her is something that only I can do (except for between the hours of 12 A.M. and 7 A.M., then I hate it) and I want to hold on to that for as long as I can. Maybe we'll try again at 6 months. Maybe I'll wait a little longer. We'll play it by ear.
I didn't say anything last month, because I prayed it was a phase, but my perfectly sleeping baby has disappeared. It started with the time change and never went away. I'm assuming it's a mixture of a growth spurt, teething, cold weather, and bonding to me, but I'm fighting the war of my life to get this baby to sleep through the night, forget about trying to make her sleep in a cradle. She sleeps mostly okay if she sleeps next to me, but I don't sleep at all. Somehow, my infant baby daughter manages to take up the entire side of my bed, leaving me with achy muscles and a bad attitude. However, if I try the alternative and put her back in her cradle every time she falls asleep, We get about 45 minutes of sleep at a time, with a 20 minute fit upon awakening. This means no REM sleep for me, no feelings of good rest, a coffee overdose, and a moody wife for Cody. Basically, at this phase in our lives, I sleep horribly any way we word it. I wish so badly that Ella would take a bottle, so I could at least take her to my mom's one night and let her battle the baby so I could get at least 4 hours of constant sleep again (Sorry Mom,) but alas, she won't have anything to do with it. I refused to give her bottles the first couple of months of her life because I didn't want there to be any confusion... but that's definitely something I regret. We have to plan our dates in about a 2 hour time span, which pretty much cancels out doing much more than a quick dinner. But we make it work, because we know that it won't be like this for long... and I'll miss it. "Kaylea, You don't work. Why don't you just sleep during the day?" Oh, you. I've joined forces with SAHMWTD (Stay at home moms work too, Doofus). I'm not actually sure that's an organization, but I could recruit members in an instant, I'm sure of it. I've become one of the women that grows angry with people who claim that SAHMs live the easy life. I can tell you with all of the confidence in my soul that a stay at home mom works just as hard as anyone else. Even if Ella took naps longer than 20 minutes at a time, I would consider laying down with her. Maybe I could forget about everything else long enough to take a nap with her. But twenty minutes isn't worth putting everything else off. By everything else, I mean The laundry, the dishes, the meal prep, the grocery shopping, the housekeeping, the whole "raising a baby" bit, the feedings, the battle for control of your own house.... it's never ending. It's a vicious cycle. The job is never through. There are no breaks. The only perk is doing it in yoga pants. Sure, we get to love and hug on our babies, which makes it all worth it... but if staying at home with the baby meant lounging around and watching "Teen Mom," then everyone would be a stay at home mom. Real talk. Motherhood is exhausting, hard, and the greatest job in the world. All of the corny hallmark cards are true.
I feel like I'm complaining a lot. That tends to happen with my cool new sleep schedule, but I don't want any of my words to be interpreted...so I just want to make it really clear that we are crazy about this little girl. Cody always laughs at me because he'll hear me say "You drive me nuts, Ella!" and usually about 2 seconds later, he hears a baby giggle and a Mama say "Oh, I love you madly." And really, I think that sums up this section of parenthood for me. She drives me absolutely crazy. She frustrates me to the point of tears. Sometimes, I sit in the floor with her and laugh while she throws fits, because I can't please her. She makes getting anywhere on time pretty inconvenient, so I've turned into a bit of a hermit. But I cannot fathom trading her for all of the sleep in the world. Her laugh brings me more joy than anything else on this planet. She has a grin that she gives me lately, it's almost like she knows I'm on the verge of tears, and it melts me. I like to pretend the grin means "Hey, I think you're the greatest person on this planet. Sometimes I can't even believe that I get to be your baby. I'm so lucky!" And it helps. It gives us both a clean slate. In perfect honesty, the grin probably translates to "Wow, what a whack job. What could there possibly be to cry about right now?" But I choose to believe otherwise. I have to believe otherwise. For better or worse, she's changed our lives completely. I really don't think there's any worse to it, but the phrase is boring without it. My husband loves me more because of this sweet baby that I baked for him. I love my husband more because he loves our daughter so much. We know how blessed we are to be in a loving, functioning marriage after Hurricane Ella blew through, and we know that as she grows and changes, our love for each other will too. Even if the occasional "Don't yawn in front of me. YOU stay up with her and see what tired feels like!" or "I'm sorry that I don't lactate, Kaylea. I would help you if I could" is thrown across the room at each other. At the end of the day, we know that this entire life we lead depends on us staying in love through it, so we both put a valiant effort into our marriage, and I appreciate that I have a husband that cares enough to fight for me.
Even on my most exhausting days, I appreciate my quiet time with the Lord. These days, my quiet time consists of putting on "Baby Einstein" and tuning out "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" while I try to journal my thoughts down. It tends to calm my anxious heart, and I feel refreshed when it's all said and done. I'm so thankful that I don't have to barrel through motherhood alone. I'm aware of a sweet, merciful, gracious Jesus in my life, and I wish everyone could know the peace that comes with knowing him. I really, really, really do. I'm really rambling this blog. It probably has something to do with the fact that it's 12:45 A.M. and I have a sleeping baby sprawled across my upper body. Maybe I'm afraid to move, because I know that as soon as I do, she'll wake up again, and we'll have to start the bedtime routine all over again. Either way, it's nice to vent. So what else can I cover? Oh. I'm so thankful for great friendships in our lives. I'm thankful that we have so many friends who love our baby so deeply, whether that be Cody's co-workers (and friends) making sure that Ella and I are included in their worlds, Ella's Aunt Lexie making the trek to spend time with her so that they can build a relationship, or My BFFL Alyssa showing up and my door and flaring her nostrils at the fact that it's 2 P.M. and I'm still in my pajamas... people pursue relationships with us. Lexie loves to cuddle Ella while Ella plays with her Hair, Alyssa spoils my daughter entirely too much, and our friends demand that Ella calls them "Aunt" or "Uncle." Alyssa makes me leave the house one day a week. She makes me put makeup on, brush my hair, and stand in the sunshine for a few minutes before she lets me go inside. I am drowning in community and a text is always there to remind me of that when I start feeling sorry for myself. I love the relationships that the Lord has provided for me, because it's truly the answer to a prayer that I prayed continuously while pregnant with my tiny baby. I guess that's all. I could go on and on. OH! Ella's first thanksgiving was wonderful. We spent the day loving on our baby, and she was a big winner in the "I'm thankful for..." game. I'm aware every moment that our story could have ended so differently, whether that be never conceiving, a hard pregnancy, or a bad labor. I bless the Lord for his goodness, and I'll forever be reminded that we never walked alone. Never once. She wore an adorable turkey outfit (Thanks, BFFL), and then we changed her into camo so that her Daddy would know somebody was cheering him on... and we took a three hour nap. It was the best. We decorated our Christmas tree during the Ice Apocalypse of 2013, and my heart of full of love and joy as we cuddled together and watched "Home Alone." It was such a wonderful three days. For me. Cody was ready for it to be over around noon of day 2.
Okay. I need to stop! Thanks for holding on through the world's most random blog. We'll see ya next month!
P.S. These Socktopus pictures are getting harder and harder to take. Seriously. She can't be still.
If we're being honest, I shouldn't be blogging right now. I should be taking full advantage of the fact that my daughter is taking a nap for the first time in at least twelve days. We're right smack in the middle of a sleep pattern change, and I hate it. I'm just being totally, completely, sincerely, brutally honest. I was quite content with Ella sleeping 8 hours a night, and I don't know if we're in a growth spurt or her first attempt at rebellion, but she's killing me. The logical side of me believes that she's adjusting poorly to the temperature change. Our room is a little colder, but we're not quite ready for the heater yet. When I finally get tired of fighting her and pull her into bed with us, she sleeps like a queen... but I sweat all night long. And I sleep with my arm against my husbands back so that he doesn't roll over on her. And I keep my body stiff so that I don't fall of the bed (which has actually happened recently.) And I wake up every morning cussing myself for letting her stay there. My neck hurts, my back hurts, my head feels like it's going to explode, and I really feel like I'm going to have a meltdown if I don't get coffee coursing through my veins immediately. My excessively chipper husband greets me with a "Hey Baby!" and my morning child smiles at anything and everything. I ponder how I could possibly exist in a home full of people who enjoy sunrises and getting out of the bed in the morning, and don't respond to any questions or baby shrieks until the coffee light ticks on. One of my favorite movies is "A Knight's Tale." Not because of the plot, necessarily, but I love to quote movies, and this movie is a great one for quoting. One particular line is from the character named Geoffrey Chaucer, and in this line he says: "To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on." Y'all. I'm trudging. I'm trudging through motherhood right now. I feel the best form of blogging is honest blogging. I. Am. Trudging. Anyway, I should be creating my grocery list. Or possibly doing laundry for the first time in three weeks. I could finish cleaning out Ella's closet, considering we've transitioned into the next size up, and that means finding a new house for all of the clothes that we bought just a short month ago. It would be a good idea to clean up the mess I made while cooking dinner. Logic would state that I should be proactive in preparing a crockpot dinner for tomorrow's lunch. But I'm not going to do any of those things. I'm going to sit in this recliner, drink my coffee, and collect my thoughts. I'm going to pretend that my daughter's vaccinations haven't made her a complete psycho for the past 24 hours. I'm going to pretend that I have so much money that I don't need to worry about making a budget friendly grocery list. I'm going to pretend that my toenails are painted a vibrant shade of red, and there's no such thing as callouses. I'm going to close my eyes while I type, because I know that as soon as I put my head on a pillow, that darling little princess is going to open her eyes. So I wait. I have a Coldplay album playing in the background, I ponder a few of the lyrics in-between keystrokes, and I wait for those sweet little shrieks to fill my ears again. Yet... in the midst of the chaos... in the midst of trudging... in the midst of the never-ending cries and the 24 hour buffet I've been running for the last week... I'm grateful. My heart is full. I have a healthy, happy, rapidly growing daughter in my home, and she's just about the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. I can say with completely certainty that I will not miss these sleepless nights. I will not... but I'll miss her tiny face burying into my neck when a stranger speaks to her. And I'll miss the way she looks curled up on her Daddy's chest when she takes her ten minute power naps. But I will not miss these sleepless nights. I just want to make that real clear. My heart is thankful for a husband that understands that this is just a phase. One of these days, he's going to come home and dinner will be ready. He's going to walk into the room, and Ella is going to shriek with excitement to see him, his wife is going to come around the corner with hair done and makeup on, and she's going to throw her arms around him. He's going to sit in his recliner, watch an episode of some television show that I don't understand in peace, and then he's going to sit down with his family and enjoy dinner. Someday. Right now, he comes home to a wife with dirty hair and dark circles, a baby thrown on her hip, some form of protein defrosting in the sink, and an overall sense of exhaustion in the air. He takes the baby as soon as he walks in, and hastily kisses his wife on the cheek so that she can start dinner. He bounces the baby until the baby gets too hungry to hang out with Dad anymore, then he cleans up the living room so that he can find his recliner. We're in the heat of new parenthood y'all, and one of these days we're going to find a routine. Until that day, we soldier through and collapse into the bed at night. My heart is thankful for the vaccinations that have wrecked our world lately. I know there are so many thoughts and opinions and warnings about vaccinations, but I really don't care to talk about them. We chose to vaccinate our daughter because we aren't willing to risk the consequences of opting out. I'm thankful that we are raising our daughter in a world of countless medical advancements, and that we're able to protect her through modern medicine. I won't lie, I wish that I had the ability to disappear through some of these fits that Ella is throwing, but I clearly can't be upset with her for responding to her body building antibodies. My heart is thankful for the chaos. Someday, we'll look back and laugh. We'll be the parents of a teenager who knows everything, and we'll smile to ourselves. "Ha!," we'll say, "And we thought things were complicated with an infant." We'll look at each other with tired faces, and say "Remember when she couldn't talk?" and smile. We'll look at her baby pictures with whatever device technology has advanced to by then, and our hearts will hurt a little bit. Was the teething phase so bad? Were her cries really so exhausting? Were we being dramatic? Surely things were easier when she stayed where we put her. My heart is thankful that I'm aware of how quickly this is going to pass. I picked up a pair of newborn jeggings today and I just about crumbled into pieces. I scooped up my cranky baby, sat down in her bedroom floor, and I held her. She screamed bloody murder, I prayed that the tylenol would kick in soon, and it wasn't a moment that I would call "precious," but I soaked it in. I soaked in all 24 1/2 inches of her. I kissed her cheeks and her forehead. I kissed her nose. I held her close to me and ran my fingers through her hair. I love being her mama. She wears me out, and sometimes I really do wish she came with a pause button, but we're going to make it. She is worth every minute. My heart is thankful that even though I am certain my body will never be the same, it continues to amaze me. It managed to grow a human, recover from two abdominal surgeries, heal itself remarkably fast, and feed the human it grew in a year's time. I have aches and pains all of the time, but in the grand scheme of things, the Lord crafted us so brilliantly. I push myself to the breaking point, but my body always bounces back. I never want to take that for granted. I'm thankful for the Lord's design. Especially when it comes to feeding my baby. For free. Basically, this blog is just a way for me to collect my thoughts. To sort through the million things I have coursing through my brain at any given moment. I'm so, so tired. I swear I've never been this tired... but I said that while I was pregnant. I said that when Ella was born. I said that after her first round of shots, and I said it last week. I think eventually I'll just adapt to being tired, and then life will get easier. And that's just about the time that it'll be time to start thinking about another baby. And then it'll start all over. It already makes me smile, and it already makes me want to punch myself. I hope that if you're exhausted, and plotting how many grown up beverages you're going to have when your child has its first sleepover at your parent's house, and wondering how in the world you're going to keep living this way... You remember that it's just a moment in the grand scheme of things. It's going to get better soon. Until then, hold the baby a little tighter. Cuddle through the screams. Ponder your sanity while you kiss baby toes. Laugh when you want to cry. You won't miss the mundane, but you'll miss the little years. I'm sure of it.
"When a woman gives birth, she has a hard time, there’s no getting around it. But when the baby is born, there is joy." John 16:21
I just want to begin this blog by saying that we had a baby in the PERFECT month. It was hotter than hades outside (Actually, that's not true... during our hospital stay and the drive home, it rained cats and dogs. but the months leading to her birth were hot.) And it was miserable carrying her in the heat, but we are having so much fun as we enter into this holiday season. SO MUCH FUN.
October is my favorite month of the year. The 4th of July is my favorite holiday, but October is my favorite month. I love the transition in the weather. Long sleeves, but no jacket. Gorgeous sunsets that always shine the brightest on a drive home. The prettiest colors decorate porches and mantles. I just love it. I think it's a wonderful, wonderful month. And having a baby that isn't old enough to voice an opinion about wardrobe choices has just been a blast. I bought one halloween outfit at the Beginning of October (featured in her monthly picture) and a sickness was born. I love dressing this baby to the season. I already love what Ella has done to rejuvenate my enthusiasm for holidays. We ended up with four halloween outfits (all super cheap) and we wore them into the ground. I feel a little bad for how neglected the rest of her clothes have been. I'm only allowing two thanksgiving outfits. Both have been purchased. She's growing so fast. The halloween onesies were really too small when it was all said and done, so I'm glad the month is over and I don't have to continue to fight her into her clothes. Mom Fail.
This month was so full of milestones that I can't imagine typing all of them. It has been without a single doubt the funnest month so far. Something happens between month 3 and month 4, and you really begin to see little peeks of the personality beneath the baby fat. I don't have a single doubt that she's going to be sarcastic, and I'm on the fence about how I feel about it. I've lived my life with an extremely dry sense of humor that a lot of people really don't understand. I'm sure any number of people think that I'm just rude, but those are the people that don't understand the quick wit. Those that understand me love me, and I'm making a very conscious effort to tone down the sarcasm knob. I especially want to make a change for the sake of my child. I never want to pop off and hurt her feelings because she misinterprets my words. I know it's going to happen, but it's my responsibility to control how often it happens. However, if she's anything like me, Cody is in for a world of zingers and laughter... maybe at his expense. On the other side of the sarcasm, we're raising a daddy's girl. The moment she hears her daddy's voice, she cranes her head anyway it will go until she finds him. She usually shrieks with excitement when she sets her gaze on him, and he always wraps himself a little tighter around her finger. It's very sweet. I do think she'll be more like I am in social settings, where she observes before engaging. I've never liked it about myself, but it's who I am. I would prefer she was like her Daddy, with the ability to talk to a vase if it so intrigued him, but we'll just have to see where we end up. She's got the funniest little smirk, hates being in a quiet room, watches our every move, and randomly let's out a coo or a shout whenever her heart so wishes. She kicks her legs with glee, moves her lower jaw with discontentment when she's getting upset, and opens her eyes to record breaking scales when we talk to her. She slurps on her pointer and middle fingers (because a thumb is just too easy), and loves to play with a toy elephant that she found in her crib. The kid is obsessed. It's hysterical to hear her talk and shake it around.
Ella's first "major" holiday was Halloween. Her first technical holiday was 4th of July, but I was recovering from a c-section and bringing a newborn home from the hospital that day, so a red, white, and blue dress was the extent of recognition. Next year, I plan to have Ella's birthday party of July 4th, with a "Little Firecracker" theme. It's going to be 200 percent adorable, but we have at least 8 months before that blog post, so we'll discuss that at a later time. I was a little conflicted about Halloween, because I was raised in a home that didn't partake. We went to an occasional trunk or treat at a church, but we never bought costumes and we never went door to door. We were raised in a church that believed that Halloween was evil, and if you partook in its festivities then you were participating in evil. As an adult and as a member of a church that has truly allowed me to learn and love my Jesus now, I don't know that I believe what I was raised to believe. Do not misinterpret my words. Don't send me links to the history of All Hallow's Eve. Don't tell me I'm blind to the evils of this world. I'm not oblivious to the horrors of Halloween or the "darkness" that accompanies it. But I also didn't dress my daughter as a zombie and take her to a haunted house. I put her in a pumpkin and pushed her in a stroller with her cousins down one of Midland's better known neighborhoods. There were so many people that I was feeling a little claustrophobic. I observed the costumes and the scariest one I saw was a woman in her 30's dressed as a... well I don't really know what she was going for. Leggings aren't for everyone, guys. Each house had a theme, from Duck Dynasty to Queen Elizabeth. The candy bars were legit, not fun sized. I was shocked. As a first time "Trick or Treater," I had no idea that this is how it went down. One house handed out Juice or water with their treat bags... and inside the treat bag was a piece of paper, and on that piece of paper was all kinds of scriptures and encouraging words. And I kind of thought to myself "Maybe that's how you do it." Maybe that's how you go out into the world and be a light. Maybe that's how you carry your candle "in the darkness." I was truly impressed by the kindness of the woman and the subtlety of her witnessing techniques. Truly. Anyway, the wonderful thing about my parenting decisions is that they're decisions of Cody and myself. We aren't obligated to adhere to anybody else's decisions, just as you aren't obligated to agree with ours. It's one of the coolest things about having a child of your own.
All of that aside, she is everything I hoped for in a child. She's happy, smiles at just about anything, and loves to cuddle. She sleeps in her own cradle, for at least 8 hours, sometimes up to 10. Her fussy days are hard days, but they're few and far between. This child has brought more love into my marriage than I ever could've thought possible. I guess it's maybe because we look at each other and we know that she needs both of us so much, it requires the two of us to need each other more. She has deepened the partnership between us, and I love it so much. Sometimes I truly can't remember what we did before Ella was born. I know we sat on our front porch a lot, but the memories stop there. I'm being a little dramatic... but I also feel so inclined to point out that most days, in the heat of motherhood, I look at Ella and say "All I've ever wanted was 5 minutes to stare at a wall and forget my name. Can you just give me 5 minutes?" Her response is usually a smile and leaning toward me. Then she buries her face in the crook of my neck and my heart crumbles all over again. It's hard to be a Mom. You learn how selfish you really are as a person. But it's also made me so aware of how deeply I need Jesus and how deeply I love my husband. I fall into the lap of Jesus and the arms of my husband every single day, mostly because I just need a little affirmation. It's okay to need affirmation. It's okay to take a break from the baby. Not because the baby is a burden, but because it's important to brush your hair. We are rapidly approaching the one year mark that I learned I was pregnant, and my heart is so full of gratitude that it only makes those sweet little cries something I want to remember. This time last year, those tears were my own, and I longed for the cries of an infant in my home. I think maybe that's what pulls me through. I choose to remember everything that brought us here, and I choose to praise when I want to hide in my closet and pretend like I'm in a 5 star resort where spit up and alarm clocks aren't permitted. I choose to laugh on the days when Ella is crying just to hear the sound of her voice. I choose to rejoice in the mundane rather than considering what it would be like to take a shower in peace again. When I was pregnant, a friend told me that the days are long, but the years are short. Even though it's going to be so great when Ella has an established routine, eats Peanut butter and Jelly for a snack instead of me, and can tell me what the issue is before she has a meltdown... I'll miss those baby feet. I'll miss the coos that fill our home. I'll long to hear the sweet giggles that we had to work so hard to hear. I'll miss it all, even though living in the middle of it is exhausting. So in the meantime, I'm thankful to have a partner that needs me as much as I need him. I'm thankful for a husband that understands that even though the house is a wreck, the dinner isn't cooked, and the wife looks like a Tim Burton character, He knows that his baby is growing up in a world that revolves around her happiness. That her mother is giving everything she's got to raise a baby that knows what it means to be dearly Loved. A mother who prays for grace in every step she takes. A mother who fights the negative thoughts that can so easily consume a new mom. He knows that some days, I'm too arrogant to ask for help. He's so wonderful to clean when I'm not in the room, because it's so easy to feel attacked when he cleans in front of me. I know that it sounds so silly, but some days, it hurts my feelings that he cleans the living room. My advice to new Moms would be to let your husband help you. It's incredibly hard, because you'll get this weird feeling that you aren't good enough when he starts cleaning, like he's doing it to spite you. But he's not. Some days, you'll conquer every aspect of motherhood. Other days, you're lucky if the baby has on clean clothes when it's all said and done. It's a part of the ride. It'll pass. Try again tomorrow.
I don't know if I've said it before, but I'll say it again. Motherhood is such a blessing. I'm learning everyday just how gracious the Lord is, and I'm so glad that he blessed us with Ella. She's a handful and I swear somedays she purposely waits until I'm in the middle of something before she decides to get hungry, but she's changed me so completely. She's 4 months old and has been the sole reason that I've clung so tightly to Jesus, and I can only imagine how much deeper I'll dig in when she starts walking and talking. Geesh Louise.
I think that's it. Here's her socktopus picture, and we'll see ya next month!
My parents have been married for 25 years today. TWENTY. FIVE. YEARS. That's pretty much longer than I've been alive. Which is a good thing, because it means that they got married because they were in love with each other, and not because they had to. Wouldn't that be a sad beginning to this blog? "Well, my parents got married because they got knocked up and it was the right thing to do." Whomp Whomp. I know that kind of thing happens every day, and I know that sometimes it works out for people, but I think current Divorce statistics prove the opposing side of the argument. The wonderful thing about the last 23 years of my life is that I've never known a minute without love. I've made some really stupid decisions and sometimes I made them twice, but my parents have consistently taken me under their wings and shown love before they showed discipline. Don't get me wrong, my mother has a stare that would put the fear of God into any grown man, and my dad has a certain "Please explain your actions" voice that still sends chills down my spine... but I always knew love before I knew anger. I can't think of a single "Dad speech" that didn't begin with "Do You know How much I love you?" It was usually met with a sigh and a tear before a "Yes" was mumbled in hushed tones. It was always followed by "Can you help me understand why you did what you did?" That's when the middle child syndrome with an excessive need to please kicked in and I cried instead of answering. Eventually he would sigh, let me know that we were going to talk about it, but I needed to go outside and gain composure first. And we always talked about it. My mom had a sharp contrast to discipline, and it usually involved a lot questions. "What were You thinking?""Were you using your brain?""Can you tell me why you thought that was a good idea?" The difference between the two is that with Mom, you could always be forward about it. "Mom, I didn't think you would find out about it." With Dad, there was always soul searching involved. What inner turmoil sparked this bad decision? The blazing differences in discipline made for a nice balance in our house. Eventually, I started telling my mom when I messed up before she found out about it, and I found myself hanging out in the room with my Dad in an uncomfortable silence before he said "Do you want to talk about something?" The common thread between the two is that we never went to bed at night without them saying "I love you." Even when I knew they were still disappointed, even when I knew that they were still confused by my actions, and even when I wasn't sure how much I liked them... I was loved. And I knew it. I'm thankful for that. I don't know much about my parent's dating life, except that the met in a honky tonk (I don't actually know that it was a honky tonk, I mostly just like the phrase), and that my mom was a diva about her ear monitors to my Dad, who wasn't even running the sound at the event. I know that my dad pestered her into a dance, and she still claims that he's the best two stepper around. I know that my Dad fell in love with my Big Brother, and enjoyed him more than he enjoyed my mom some days. I know that my Dad fell in love with my mother quickly, and informed her as such. I know he "passed gas" on their first date, and my mom thought that something was dead in the car. I know that he still doubles over in laughter, and she still shows no emotion but annoyance when she talks about it. I don't know much else about it all, but I know that it led to a marriage, which led to me, which was obviously God's plan and purpose in it all. No? Hm.
I grew up in a home with parents who enjoyed public displays of affection, sometimes to aggravate us, and sometimes when they didn't think we noticed. My dad always said hi to us when he came home from work, but he reserved his first hug for my Mom. He hugged her for an excessive period of time, usually until she said "Okay! I'm busy." He hung out in the living room while she cooked, and they usually yelled tidbits about their day back and forth to each other. Yes, he could have stood in the kitchen and talked, but the Rangers were usually on, and anybody who knows my dad knows his obsession. My mom always made my dad's plate, and he always said "You're such a good wife." She always said "mm-hmm." My parents two stepped in the living room when an appropriate song came on, laughed until they cried at old jokes, and talked about all of the things they were going to do when they were rich. I was usually annoyed that none of those things included me, but that was before I began to see how life worked and just how hard it is to get rich.
I would never begin to imply that things were always good. They raised three kids, and those kids turned into teenagers. Kids cost enough without throwing cars and insurances into the mix. Things were tight, and they tried their best not to let us know it. I'm sure things went on behind closed doors that we never knew about, but I always loved that about them. They never attacked each other in front of us, battled things out behind closed doors, and always let us know they were still in love with each other when they realized that we picked up on tension. I've never lived in a world where my parents being divorced was an option, and I think I take that for granted more times than not. I'm not naive. I know that my brothers and I are the exception. So many of my friend's parents are divorced, and holidays are so complicated for them. I go to one house to see both parents, and I don't have any step-siblings. I recognize how immensely blessed I am for that. I know how hard it is to be married. I'm only 3 years in and sometimes I wonder how they did it living in a 900 sq. ft. house with three kids. There was no privacy. There was no "alone time." The first 10 years of their lives together was spent in that house before they were able to move into a larger home. When we moved again, they had a house that was almost 3 times larger than the first house, but still found at least 2 out of 3 kids in their bedroom until way past bedtime most nights. My brother and I loved going into their room and telling them anything they were willing to hear. We loved wrestling with Dad while mom attempted to read. We would creep into the room after nightmares, and mom stepped on me more than once while I slept on the floor next to her bed. My Dad was forced to find the balance in convincing his jealous daughter that she was #1 in his world, while still letting his wife know that she was the real winner. He did pretty good most of the time, but there were still times when he slipped up and told my mom "I love you more than anyone in this world." I can still feel the daggers in my back.
What it all comes down to is that today is a day worthy of celebration. Today I celebrate and honor my parent's commitment to each other. I like to believe that they stayed together for my benefit, but I think that maybe they just love the other that much. I know times were hard, but they never let on. I've never seen two people balance each other out more than they do. I've never seen two people fight so passionately about silly things like whether or not Donny Osmond is getting fat. I've never seen two people love each other so selflessly. Because of it, I'm confident in my love for my husband. The poor guy is forced to deal with my comparisons to my excessively romantic father, because Cody is really more like my mother, who could not care less about love letters and flowers. Because of their love for each other, they made me... and because of my love for my husband, I've made the single greatest gift in our world. Ella Morgan is subjected to two grandparents that have loved each other all of their lives, two parents who have followed that example, and years of sitting through PDA from both parties. The girl will be a hopeless romantic. She doesn't stand a chance. What a sweet, wonderful life to live.
Happy Anniversary, Dad and Mom. Thank you for choosing to let love win. KG
My sweetest tiny baby is 3 months old. A trimester. Bless her, Jesus. This was long month. Sometimes I can't believe that the past few weeks have only equated to ONE month. This is the truth. However, It appears that we have survived Ella's reign of terror. I appreciate so deeply the texts, comments, and encouraging words over the past few weeks. I have come to the conclusion that Squeaks was: A. Exhausted from driving six hours, getting passed around like a hot potato, sharing a full size bed with Mom & Dad, being in houses that are much warmer than ours, and driving an additional six hours in three short days. B. Battling her first bout of sinus/allergy problems. Cody started fighting his the day before we left Wheeler, mine started acting up the day we got home, and I found myself bed ridden and convinced the end was near for three days. This also explains my lack of patience and high sensitivity levels. I always get that way before I get sick. Poor girl probably cried even harder because of how cranky I was. Fortunately, Ella waited until I was on the mend before she started her sniffling and sneezing, so maybe she's like me and has two days of cranky, then gets sick. C. In a growth spurt. Her feeding and sleeping habits have changed drastically over the last week, but they appear to be returning to a regular schedule. My "Nursers" are thankful. D. Just being a Baby. I have a feeling that the answer is actually E. All of the Above, but that answer always stressed me out on state tests and college exams. I always felt like they were intentionally making me feel the need to hyperventilate, so I didn't want to add it to my list of options.
Regardless of the reason, we're beginning to see more of our sweet baby and less of the stranger that was in our home. And while it was nearly the end of my sanity, I'm thankful for the experience. I got a little glimpse into the world of the newborn that we could have had, and I was just so thankful that we didn't. It made me so thankful for our laid back, sweet baby. I was so thankful for my Aunt Sarah's advice of repeating "Things will be different in two weeks" to myself over and over, because it truly helped me absorb. I also found myself saying (screaming in my head) "Lord, Help me adjust!" as we battled it out every day. And I did. I learned new ways to calm her down. I prayed for that baby more in 6 days than I ever have. It was a pleading prayer, and it was probably more for me than her, but there were lots of chats with Jesus. I knew it wasn't her fault. She was trying to tell me something the only way she knows how, and even though it was frustrating, I couldn't be upset with her for it. I will say in the bluntest of terms that sometimes they're just going to cry. There were times that it didn't matter if I was holding her, feeding her, cuddling her, or pacing the floors while she hung out in her swing... the kid just cried. That's where the phrase "Work it out with Jesus, Ella!" became the most popular sentence in our home. Those were the times that I had done everything I could to help her. She was fed, changed, warm, given medicine for a tummy ache, in the presence of a humidifier to help with her nose, and still felt the need to scream just to scream are the times that she sat in her swing while I got myself together. It was hard, but I knew I had done everything I could do for her. And most of the time, if she sat in the swing long enough without me caving, she'd cry herself to sleep. Kaylea! How could you just let that baby cry? You could've held her to comfort her! She can't help it!
Shut up. Just... Shut. Up. We started to see little peeks of Ella again after a week of cranky, and then it was time for her shots. "Surely it can't be that bad," I thought to myself as I carried her into the doctor's office. Well, let me just say that it's pretty bad. The first two shots were a breeze. She kind of stuck her lip out, but kept to herself. Then I caught a glimpse of the needle for the next shot, and it broke my heart. And it broke Ella's too. Oh, that baby screamed. Then she let out a new level of hysterical for the next shot. I tried and tried to console her. It took me fifteen minutes to calm her down. As a new Mom, I felt helpless. She needed the shots. This was beneficial for her in the long run. But in that moment, I wished we were hippy parents who opted out of vaccines. I wished that vaccines didn't exist, because knowing that she'll have to go through this every two months for the first year of her life just tore me to pieces. We made it home and she actually seemed pretty content for a couple of hours. And then we entered into the witching hour. I realize now that the Lord must have been preparing my heart for an entire week prior to the shots. I have never felt more distraught, clueless, or helpless as a mother. Never. My husband had to stay at work a little late that night, and there could not have been a worse night for him to do so. After forty minutes of constant screaming, my daughter had worked me into a frenzy so extreme that I called Cody in hysterics begging him to find somebody else to do his job for him. There was no consoling her. If I calmed her enough to breathe normally, she ended up screaming again if I sat down or adjusted positions. She was burning up with a fever, and it was miserable holding her. If I laid her down, she kicked her legs, and apparently they were sore, so we started all over again. If I tried to give her tylenol, she spit it out because she didn't like the texture. I tried to trick her during one dose and waited for her to yawn before I shot it into the back of her throat. She gagged and ended up slurping it into the back of her nasal cavities, which brought on a coughing/screaming/gag filled rage. I was seriously so upset that I couldn't form sentences. Fortunately, my mother chose that exact moment to call, she heard about 4 seconds of my child's screaming before she announced she would be right over. Bless my mother. She held the baby while I cooked dinner, and then took a shift of comforting my inconsolable child. The magic trick to calming her was putting her in a bathtub. The more submerged she was, the happier she got, so I ended up sitting in the bathtub holding her while I was completely clothed. She was pretty cranky for three days following the shot, but I guess I can understand why. The best summation for 3 of 4 weeks of Month 3 was that I felt defeated almost everyday. I was lucky if dinner was on the table by 9 o'clock at night. I swore that I was going to run out of milk to feed her because she was nursing excessively. By midnight of each day, my selfish nature began to rear its ugly head, and all I wanted to do was switch to formula so that Cody could take a shift so that I could lay in the bed and not cater to her every need. I am aware of how ugly that makes me sound, but I want you to know that it's okay to feel that way. I really struggle with "Ella's Mother" being my identity. She is one of the greatest priorities in my life. But she doesn't come before my marriage, and she doesn't come before who I am in my Jesus. My inadequacies as a mother don't equate to me being a failure in everything else. It's a hard, hard thing to remember, but it helps keep me sane.
That being said, the last week has been a breeze. I had my first "oops" moment as a mom, when I discovered my poor child was covered in a heat rash because I was dressing her too warm at night. She hates blankets, so I was trying to compensate her tiny exposed appendages. I had a small panic attack when I saw the rash, but after consulting moms that I trust the most, we worked it all out. I was super unprepared for how unhelpful pediatrician's offices can be. On one hand, I'm sure they get too many calls saying "Something is wrong!" but I would've appreciated them at least looking at the rash before they said "Oh, put hydrocortisone on it and then call us tomorrow with an update." Uhm, thank you for the most OBVIOUS treatment in the world. Whatever. Ella made it through, is rash free, and spends most of her days in a diaper. There's nothing in this world that compares to baby fat rolls. It makes me want to eat her alive. She's gaining weight so fast, so I get to see the fruits of my nursing labors a little more every day. People are finally starting to say "Look how big she is!" instead of "She's so tiny to be that age!" High Five, baby feeders! Was that inappropriate? I don't care. Breasts sounds even weirder.
She is getting so, so fun! We're beginning to see little glimpses of the personality that is hiding behind those sweet grins. Is it too soon to say she's sarcastic? I feel like she's sarcastic. Bless the child. She has a smirk that makes you feel like a doofus for speaking to her like she's an infant. It's almost sympathetic. Like "Oh, you poor thing. Here's a hint of a smile so that you'll stop talking to me." I'm afraid she's going to be quite the firecracker, but she also finds the subtlest ways to melt us. We've anxiously awaited the day that she laughed out loud, and I spent hours every day trying to coax it out of her. Finally, one week ago today, my tiny turtle laughed out loud at her Daddy at the most random moment. I'm mildly ashamed to admit that I cried. Not because I was happy, but because it hurt my feelings. I held that baby through the worst three weeks of motherhood, I fed her in the middle of the night, I spent hours of my day talking to her in random voices and singing random songs... and she laughed at him. Part of me smiled because it only made her Daddy fall even harder for her, but most of me felt the need to crawl into a cave and die. I cried for two hours. I see now that it was mostly exhaustion and embarrassment (You know, those times when you feel stupid for crying so it just makes you cry harder), but at the time... she just broke my heart in two. And she didn't laugh at me the next day. Or the day after. She laughed at me for the first time on Sunday night. Just a light hearted chuckle, but it was the greatest of victories for this Mama. This morning, on the day of her 3 month birthday, we got our first round of belly laughs. It was indubitably the sweetest thing she's ever done. Fortunately, I already had the camera on, so I caught them. I'll cherish them always. I hope that she always captures my heart with her giggles. I hope that it always gives me butterflies to know that I made her laugh. As always, we're learning about things that we need to get through the days, so of course I wish to share them so that maybe somebody else can benefit from them. 1. Our Baby carrier.
I've often heard it said that breastfed babies attach to their mother quicker than formula babies, but I never considered just how much that would hinder the day to day chores. I finally strapped her into the carrier and cleaned the living room for the first time in 3 weeks. We move at a slow pace, and it takes me back to pregnancy back aches after about fifteen minutes, but a little cleaning is better than no cleaning. 2. Our Play Gym.
We use this for Tummy Time and for developing our motor skills. She's started grabbing the toys while she plays, screaming at the top of her lungs, rolling towards them, and attempting to lift her head to get closer (I assume.) She spends at least 2 hours under this thing throughout the course of the day, and I love love love it. 3. Our "Friend."
She hates pacifiers. Spits them out if we give them to her, cries if we force it in her mouth, generally holds grudges if we try. Not this guy. I don't know if it's because she can cuddle up with it or what, but this thing was my sanity during the dog days of Month Three. 4. Our Mobile
I don't know what it is about the mobile, but the kid is in love. She lays in her crib and watches the mobile for long periods of time. I put my make up on, fix my hair, and get dressed every day while she lays in her crib and watches it spin around. It's a life saver. I guess that's mostly all. I could talk about motherhood from sunrise to sunset. I adore my child, I adore being at home with her (even on the bad days), and I can't possibly imagine living a single day without her in it. Even when I leave her with my mom so that I can get a break, I find myself anxious to get back to her. I'm sure that'll change as she starts talking excessively, but for the moment, I miss her every moment I'm not with her. I am so thankful for my husband, for the days that he hugs me until he feels me relax, for letting me stay home and raise our daughter, and for generally choosing to love me in spite of my meltdowns. We're both learning. We have good days and bad days as new parents, but we choose to remain a team... and I'll never take that for granted.
OH YES, I should probably mention we are moving, and we NEED to sell our house! Please stand in agreement with us that the house sells FAST, the process is a smooth one, and that the Lord sends the perfect family to live in this house that holds so many sweet memories for us. If you know anyone in the market for a new home in our area, please send them our way. We are anxious to get out of this house and into our new one! Here's my sweet baby with her socktapus, and we'll see ya next month!
Y'all. My brain is fried. It's done. I've got nothing left but maternal instinct to rely on. I don't know if it was traveling so many miles in so few days, a terrible growth spurt, or a sudden change in my diet that sparked it all... but my child's goal in life has been to make me cry lately. I've thrown my hands in the air in despair, I've buried my face in my hands, and I've even cried as loud as she has in the late hours of the evening. I don't know what's going on in this baby's head, but I'm scheduling a massage as SOON as we survive it. Things got so bad around here yesterday, I turned on an episode of "Teen Mom," just because I needed to feel like I was doing a better job than somebody else at motherhood. These are dark days. She has cried more in the past 72 hours than she has in the last two months combined. I've got a bald spot where my bangs used to be, I'm sure of it. Yet somehow, in the midst of the chaos, in the midst of hysterics, and in the midst of my feelings of failure... the Lord brings comfort. Whether that be through my husband taking the baby away for a minute so that I can pull myself together, whether it be my mother reminding me that I'm a good mom, or whether that be a lyric in a song that reminds me that this is just a part of the story. Redemption is coming, but so are harder days. Maybe a screaming baby will be a piece of cake compared to trying to comfort an adolescent facing her first heartbreak. It's hard that Ella can't tell me what's wrong right no, but I fear it will be harder when she can tell me... but I still won't be able to make it better. Oh, Lord, give me grace. And let those days be far from now. ANYWAY! Let's not dwell on those thoughts. I really don't even know why I felt obligated to write about the wretched turmoil of the past few days... but then again, writing helps me escape. Some people run their stresses away (I've never been one of those people. Those people and their Greek God legs can just shut up), some people bake (I have a terrible habit of overcooking and making things dry out), some people drive (Those people are not budget savvy like I am), and some people listen to music (Sometimes this works for me... not today.) I write. I lay it all out in my journal... or sometimes I hop on the Internet and blog about it, because I know that somebody else will relate. I never want my blog to imply that our lives are peaches and cream, because that would be a lie. Some days, we're lucky if I shower... let's not even discuss the look on my husband's face when he caught a glimpse of my leg hair a few days ago. 5 days out of 7, I'm irritated if I have to get out of my pajamas. 6 days out of 7, there's no make up on this face. Some days I look in the mirror and think "Who are you?" Those are usually the days that my shirt clings to my stomach just enough to remind me that I still have a little bit of a baby belly. Those are the days that Ella spits up all over me, so my hair ends up in a ponytail that looks like a first grader did my hair. Those are the days that I notice my teeth aren't as white as they are in the pictures from high school when I used white strips and weighed 90 pounds. Those are the days that the circles under my eyes look a little blacker than they did the day before... and those are the days that I hate that I'm not a fitness guru. Those are the days that I wish I was more committed to a diet regimen. Those are the days that I'm disgusted by the way I look, and it manifests itself in my attitude. The time phase following birth is simultaneously the most sacrificial and selfish thing I've ever experienced. The days that I need to hear that my husband still thinks I'm sexy are the days that he's missed Ella madly. And while it normally melts me to see him walk by me and go love on our baby... some days, I want to throw a shoe at his head and scream "JESUS SAYS YOU HAVE TO LOVE ME MORE THAN YOU LOVE HER!" The funny side of that selfishness is that when he does come to me ten minutes later and playfully taps my behind, I'm annoyed with the gesture. "Why do you have to be such a guy? Why can't you just be romantic this one time!," I say in a tone dripping with disdain. So he embraces me, and tries to kiss me, to which I roll my eyes and push him away saying "You're just doing it because I said something." So he waits awhile. Then he tries again while I'm cooking dinner. And While I used to love the sweet interruptions, today, there's a ticking time bomb laying in the swing in the living room... and if dinner isn't cooked by the time she wakes up, we won't eat dinner until 10 o'clock. So I swat him away again, annoyed by his timing, yet still thankful that he tried. It's an uphill battle for Cody. I need the affirmation that he still wants me, even though I'm covered in spit up and Ella's slobber, but on the days that I feel bad about myself, I don't have any interest in letting Cody see the scar from delivery, or the stretch marks from the pregnancy... because my hormonal brain convinces me that he'll somehow be repulsed by the sight of me after all of this time. What kind of silliness is that? Though I go to bed with good intentions to get up the next morning and put a little make up on after my shower, most days, I get caught up in trying to keep up with the messes in the house, feeding my infant, and keeping her content. By three o'clock, it kind of becomes a "What's the point!" situation regarding make up, and "I guess I'll just shower when Cody comes home" regarding the leg hair blowing in breeze. I would like to clarify that hygiene still stands in this house; I do brush my teeth, and I don't stink. Things haven't got that bad around here yet. But it's very easy to get wrapped up in the mindset that you're about as appealing as an ogre, and someday, when you're not so tired, you'll start working out and wearing make up again. On the sacrificial side of it, I find myself not caring so much about what I look like when my baby grins at me. I live everyday of my life bettering hers, and even though she's exhausting, she's worth every minute of it all. I know her days of cradling in my arms are limited, and I'm not about to waste them feeling sorry for myself. Basically, I'm a hot mess of contradictions, and things get substantially better when I shave my legs.
Kaylea, if things are so bad around your house right now, how do you have the time to blog? Well, that's a good question, judgmental stranger. At the moment, Ella is having a moment to herself in the swing. I wouldn't say she's happy about it, but she's not screaming either. She's under strict instructions to lay her burdens at the feet of Jesus, because Mommy is going to lose her mind soon if we can't learn how to co-exist under this roof. I've considered chugging a glass (or bottle) of wine, but unfortunately, I'm breastfeeding, and that's just not an option for me right now... So I had to lay a few things out there for the pregnant moms, the new moms, and the veteran moms to laugh and relate to. The veteran moms are slapping their knees and saying "Just wait until Ella starts teething!" The new moms are sighing with relief that somebody else is fighting the same fight. The pregnant moms are either scoffing and thinking "My baby is never going to annoy me so badly that I let it cry in the swing. It's just a baby, it can't help it!" (To which I smirk, because they'll see in their own time) OR they rubbing their bellies and being okay with the fact that they still have a few weeks before reality hits. The single friends in my life are raising their glasses of wine up to the monitor and saying "this one's for you, Kaylea!" and the married friends are saying "Yeah, kids can wait." Kaylea, if something is really so wrong with Ella, why haven't you called the doctor? Well, judgmental stranger. The answer is simple. I don't know what to tell a doctor. She doesn't have fever, has no obvious symptoms of illness, and is using the bathroom frequently. I spoke to my doctor's nurse today, and she's told me what to watch for. I sincerely believe my child exhausted herself this weekend and we're paying for it now that she's home. Basically, I'm not leaving town again until she's eighteen and I'm not affected by whether or not she sleeps. Kaylea, You're a really good Mom. I feel like you need to hear that. Thanks. I'm giving it everything I've got. I just wanted to clear up a few of those questions that I knew people were thinking. My daughter is 9 weeks old, and I've heard more opinions than I ever thought I would. I've heard all about why breastfeeding exclusively is the wrong choice, why we shouldn't have taken our daughter on a road trip, why I shouldn't vaccinate her, why I shouldn't consume caffeine, and why it's important that I enroll her in some sort of daycare to prevent her from becoming a hermit. To all of those opinions, I smile. And I file them in my "Whatever" folder, and I drink my coffee. I think the most important information I can convey to ANY mom is that you are the best thing for your child. Motherhood is a heavy load, and sometimes I really hate the responsibility that comes with it. Everyday of Ella's life involves a Mama that cries out to the Lord for wisdom because she's so terrified of messing up, and a Jesus that probably smiles because he has every minute of Ella's life figured out. I'm merely here to provide calories and shelter. And cuddles. And kisses. But those are just bonuses to this gig. It's so, so hard. And sometimes I wonder what in the world I was thinking when I told Cody we were ready for this. Sometimes I miss crawling into bed with my husband and going to sleep in his arms. Some days, I just want to go to Target and spend every dime of our money on clothes that make me feel attractive. But those are the little things that I won't remember when she's grown. I'll remember talking to her at 5:30 in the morning when she's so ready to wake up and play with me. I'll remember watching her grin at Cody when he comes home because they're so excited to see each other. I'll remember the look on her face the first time I sneezed without trying to stifle it. And I'll smile. The petty things are the things that I can deal with, because raising Ella is so much better than life before her. I'm in love with my husband, and my husband is absolutely crazy about me. Our lives revolve around a baby that has captivated our hearts, and absolutely mad about her. We're a family that relies heavily on Jesus, and we need grace every day of our lives... but what a sweet life it is.
And maybe, just maybe, that makes the bad days better.
