I have a bit of a confession that may or may not come as a shocking revelation:

I. Am. Exhausted.

There are unpacked boxes scattered around my house because they're at the very bottom of my priority list. There are dishes in my sink that I swear I'm never going to find the end of because for every dish that I wash, three more replace it. There are piles of laundry in my living room and I can't comfortably say which ones are clean and which ones are dirty. There are unpacked suitcases in the office because they're out of sight and out of mind for me, and though they've only been there three days, I'm comfortable saying they'll be there for at least three more. Everything about my house either makes us look like hoarders or like we've been robbed recently, and truth be told, it drives me absolutely crazy. But lately, surviving has been the top priority around here.

My 8 (almost 9) month old daughter hates sleep. I don't know why, because it would appear that I could sleep for days without regretting it at all. I've blamed teething for the past 6 months of her life, but here we are, still toothless. I've relished every minute of her runny nosed cuddles, and closed my eyes and dreamt of sandy beaches and crystal waters while she nursed for the umpteenth time in a day. We've pushed through sleepless nights and napless days for three months now, and it would appear that I've come to the end of my rapidly fraying rope. I find myself extremely irritated by the cries in the middle of the night, and even more annoyed by the tears during the day.

But the truth of the matter is that she's only little once. These days are so long, but this year has been so short. Most days, that gives me great perspective. But today, the most wonderful thing happened. I put the baby in her crib, and she stayed asleep. I decided to put a hot oil treatment on my hair, and she slept through that too. A twenty minute nap is a miracle in this house. So I came downstairs and plotted which chore I wanted to tackle first... when my eyes landed on my bible sitting on the coffee table. And thought long and hard about the last time that I read more than a quick psalm in the mornings to "dwell" on for the day. So cliche of me. But today, I sat down and opened to Psalm 1. And I just kept reading. And reading. And then I stumbled upon Psalm 116:7. 

I found myself intrigued, and to be sure that I wasn't misinterpreting, I looked up multiple versions of the same verse. All leading to the same conclusion:

"Relax. God has been good to You."

And them comes perspective. I don't want to travel down the cliche Christian ramblings of "We have a roof over our head and food in our bellies!" Because while I'm ever grateful for those things, they aren't the point. When I was in my darkest days of adolescence, and my Dad kept tucking me under his arm and saying "You've just got get through the next couple of years, and then the fun starts..." every other day. When I would cry in my room because of MEAN GIRLS and ponder how things would ever get better, I would pray that God sent me a good man. I prayed that we would have a beautiful baby together. I prayed for a life full of love and friendships and an overall sense of happy. And if he hasn't exceeded every expectation! If only I could have SEEN what kind of beautiful baby that was going to come out of me. If I had only known that the obnoxious guy that worked behind me would shape up to the greatest blessing in my life... man, I would've sprinted into his arms and drug him to the altar. But I didn't know then what I know now. I needed time, perspective, and patience. When I finally married him, I was convinced that those were the best years of our lives... and then along came those two pink lines. And pregnancy. Oh, Pregnancy. I loathe thee. I didn't know then that  I would look back and miss baby hiccups and kicks, because I needed time, perspective, and patience. You cannot convince me that there is a sweeter sound in this world than hearing an infant giggle. I'm certain that it's the song of the angels. You see, I'm worn down and battered and exhausted, but all of my dreams have come true. Isn't it funny how even in the middle of the fairy tale, we still wish for the fairy Godmother to come back around? It's just further proof to me that there will never be a phase in my life that I won't fall down on my knees and beg for Jesus to give me grace. There will also never be a day that I wish I was back in high school because DRAMA. 

I'm so thankful that my eyes and my heart were open to hear what the Lord was trying to tell me today. I'm going to Need him even minute, hour, and day of my life. And hopefully Ella learns to say "HELP ME JESUS" when she's stressed out, because she hears it at least 5 times a day right now.

I just wanted to blog today because I wanted to remember today. Is there still a screaming baby in her crib waiting for her mother to finish blogging? Yes. Is the house still a disaster because I blogged instead of cleaning? Yes. Am I brewing my 3rd cup of coffee today? Yes. Will I still throw my head back in angst when Ella screams at 4 o'clock this morning? Definitely. But my soul is at rest, because the Lord has been Good to me.

Ella Morgan: Month Eight

Eight months old. She's been out almost as long as she was in! Somedays feel like she's only been in our lives for a moment, and other days feel like I'm going to turn gray before she ever turns one. This has been a short month, probably because of how chaotic our lives were, but we are living in a gorgeous new home, adapting to life in a new environment, and absorbing every second of what has truly been a dream come true for us.

Ella is as mobile as babies come these days. She's into everything, every minute. If she isn't crawling, she's pulling up. If she isn't pulling up, she's scooting along on her feet while holding on for dear life to whatever she's pulled up on. I've learned over the past month that sometimes she's just going to get hurt. There were times that she would be sitting up and she would just fall straight back... like she forgot that she was sitting. Those were the days that I HATED having hardwood floors. I'm so glad that our new home has carpet. I won't miss those floors at all. Not one bit. Anyway, she's into everything. This made packing a home nearly impossible, because as soon as I would get a box packed, she pulled up on it, tried to walk away from it, and fell. As soon as that happened, she needed Mama... then the rest of the day repeated itself. I tried putting her in her bouncer, playpen, and crib... only to pack to the screams of an abandoned child. It was exhausting. Fortunately, my mother came to the rescue multiple times, and bless my husband, he basically packed the entire house the day before we moved out because I managed to poison myself with something. It was an exhausting time to be a Gaines, never mind being the mother of a tiny Gaines. Those days were the first time since she was born that I really had to control my temper with her. I knew she wasn't intentionally sabotaging my packing plans, but she also didn't have to be so helpful. It was a thin and fragile line that I walked that week, and I'm just glad it's over.

I knew I should've expected it, but this girl is stubborn as a mule. I would say she gets it from her Daddy, but I already know the speeches I would get, so I'll just acknowledge that I am just as stubborn as Ella is. Sometimes this makes for some pretty intense wars in this house. These wars mostly have to do with sleep. I guess it was a month ago that she came down with an awful head cold, and the only way she could sleep comfortably was sitting up on me. Well. since then, she's decided that it's the only way to sleep. We've entered into some dark days here at the Gaines abode. I truly try to fight her from getting into bed with us, but a Mom can only fight for so long before she decides she needs to function the next day. I'm hoping that Ella surrenders soon, because otherwise we're going to revisit "Cry it Out." That's actually a lie. I'm still not strong enough for that form of tough love yet... but if this keeps up, I might be there soon. Sometimes I swear I'm going to lose my mind if she doesn't learn that her crib is the best place for her, but I try to remind myself daily that She's only little once. I'll miss that sweet baby grin when I wake up in the morning... especially when she develops halitosis.

Okay, now that we've covered the initial "whomp whomps," I will say that she is still the ultimate joy in my life. She's a 110% Mama's girl right now. This drives her Daddy absolutely crazy, and if we're being honest, sometimes it drives me crazy, but most of the time it makes my heart flutter. When she wakes up, she will not be consoled by anyone but me. She will scream bloody murder until I take her. In a crowd of people, if I am not in her sight, she has a mild panic attack. I waited and waited for signs that she knew I was Mom, and seemingly overnight, she formed this crazy cling to me. I'm soaking every second of it up, because I know that in just a few short months, she's going to figure out just how wonderful her Daddy is, and it's going to be all over for me as Queen Bee. Most of the time, I welcome those days... but I also know how insanely jealous I'm going to be when it's all said and done. Basically, I walk a thin line between "I love being this baby's favorite" and "I think I'm going to die before I'm done being this child's buffet."

Sweet baby has found her voice. She's trying so, so hard to form words. She's pretty good at "Hi." She'll almost always repeat it to us if we say it a couple of times. Otherwise, through tears we hear "Maaaa" and when she's giggly we hear "Dat." I think we're working toward Mama and Dad. Regardless, I love hearing her figure her voice out, even if we're subjected to shrieks and screams in the middle of a restaurant. Even if strangers stare at us, as if I have any control over what comes out of my eight month old. Ella tries with all of her soul to sing when music comes on, and I genuinely believe that she thinks she's singing. It never ever fails that she makes the funniest sounds and noises when I turn on the "Frozen" soundtrack. Yes, our Eight month old listens to "Frozen." We're already on the train. She can be in a complete and total meltdown, and if I turn on "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?' Silence. No tears, No shrieks, Silence. Cody hasn't been fortunate enough to watch the movie, so he sings along, though he's clueless about the plot.We've entered into a stage of life that I've looked forward to since Ella's birth, and though I may loathe "Frozen" before it's all said and done, it's making some really sweet memories for us right now.

I think in the grand scheme of things, it was a fairly mellow month. Our lives were full of distractions, and we were out of sorts for most of the month, but we're getting settled and adapting to an entire new phase of parenthood. One that involves a walking baby, and and talking baby, and a baby with opinions about what she eats. Most days, I have to convince Ella that it's important to eat baby food. She's usually willing to try anything, but not quite as apt to finish the food in front of her before deciding that she would rather nurse. I'm entering into a phase where I feel okay with weaning her. Not this month, or even the next, but I'll be confident in doing so when she's one year old. She's not really transitioning the way I would like her to, meaning that it is exhausting to me to feed her every three hours. If she took a bottle, this would be a different conversation, but this is probably what needs to happen, or she would breast-feed until she was entirely too old (I'm looking at you, Sharona.) It's a strange bond that happens between a nursing mother and an infant, and I've been so afraid to lose that bond, but I also know it's time to start preparing for other people in our lives to see a side of Ella that I've been so blessed and fortunate to witness. It's time to leave her with Uncle Jake and Aunt Jessi while we go on a date that lasts longer than an hour. It's time to acknowledge that we're closer to having a one year old than we are an infant. Oh, it hurts. But I can say without shame that at least once a week I yell "WHERE ARE YOUR TEETH?!" when we're on our 5th meal of the day at Gaines Dairy. Once a week, I bury my face into Cody chest and say "If you could just lactate for one night. ONE NIGHT." Truth be told, I love breastfeeding her. I will advocate breastfeeding until I'm blue in the face... but I'm also a human. A human that is ready to mingle with other humans without my baby feeders hanging out under a tiny sheet. I truly believe that this is a part of the natural order of things. I'm definitely not ready to be done yet, but by the time July 2nd rolls around, I'll be getting close. 

I think that's all. We're thriving through parenthood, even when we're trudging. Our lives are full of joy, slobber, and giggles. We're better with Ella than we ever without, and we love the clarity that comes with knowing that we have our priorities in order. I fall deeper in love with my husband every single day, and I still find myself speechless when I see how beautiful our baby is. Our lives are wonderful, and each day is a challenge, but it's also so full of the fruits of our labor. I'm blessed and confident in knowing that The Lord has ordained each step of our lives, and we really are Loved and Cherished by our Creator.

Here's Ella's soctopus picture, we'll see ya next month!