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

Ella Morgan: Month Three

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!