Dear Second Baby (I've Learned Some Things)

I’m sitting in the same rocking chair I used to hold and feed your brother in. It’s classic, wooden, painted in soft yellow. It came from a distant relative and its history started somewhere in Florida, hauled to Kansas after the relative passed away, then to Colorado to your brother’s nursery. We brought it back to Florida two years ago, apparently it knew where its home is.
  
I've thought about getting a new one. Something bigger, softer, more modern. But I realized I don’t need a new one, I just need to modify this one a bit to make it better. I’ll get a pillow for the top, so it’s not so uncomfortable if we drift off to sleep together. I’ll find a better footstool that doesn’t leave my back aching after a thirty minute feed.

You see, I’ve learned some things.

The chair is sitting in the corner our bedroom. It’s next to a poor-man’s dresser I made out of plastic cube shelves and fabric bins that hold your tiny clothes. The other corner is for your bed. I’ve hung heat and noise blocking curtains and a bible verse print. There’s not a good space in this house for your own room so you’ll have to put up with us for awhile. I know your brother had his own, a room I spent weeks on getting just right. We brought him home and he slept in ours for four months.

You see, I’ve learned some things.

The first time around I registered for all the things to fill up all the space. Then there were the hand-me-downs, the random gifts, and we did indeed fill your brother’s room with stuff. But there were toys that were never played with, clothes never worn. I’m being more mindful this time about what you and I and we truly need.

You see, I’ve learned some things.

Yes, you will come into this world with less stuff, less space, but no less room for love. 

Love in Three Parts

I sat on the white chair in the front room, the faux leather one with the scratches in the seat from where the dog had tried to make it more comfortable. I was seven months pregnant and eating a stack of golden Oreos. The May afternoon sun was streaming in through the open blinds of the picture window. My husband was on the chaise lounge, but he wasn’t relaxed. We need to talk, he said.

Read more at Coffee & Crumbs.

When You Can’t Be Home for the Holidays

We’re at my grandparents’ house on the farm, just a few short miles from ours. My siblings, cousins, and I are at the kids table, making jokes and stealing each other’s food. The adults are in the dining room, no doubt having some boring adult conversation. There are seconds and thirds and then it’s time for pie, but not before you tell Grandma what you’re thankful for this year. I always go for the pumpkin, of course, but there’s also apple, maybe cherry. My uncles head downstairs to watch football and there’s a good chance Grandpa and Dad are already taking a nap. The dishes have been started ⎼ Mom washing, Aunt drying, Grandma putting away.

Read more at Sarasota Mom's Blog.

What if it's not all about you?

It’s September 23rd. The calendar above my desk thinks it’s still August.

Hurricane Irma stole most of this month from me. We started hearing about her at the end of August and by Labor Day we knew she was coming for Florida. We evacuated to Georgia on the 7th, she hit on the 10th, we came back on the 14th. I was on high alert the entire time but I feel like I’m just starting to wake up.

If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook you saw my attempts at documenting our story. I also shared about evacuating on Sarasota Mom’s Blog.

I’ve always believed that God led us to this place at this time for a reason. How else do you explain moving to a place where you know no one and have no rational excuse to do so? From the time I came home from work and said, “Let’s do this,” to the way our house sold in one day, to the fast connections we made when we got here, I knew that we were doing what we were meant to. But I always thought it was for us, for me. The first 22 days of September have shown me how wrong I was.

There was a point as the hurricane was getting close to making landfall and I was tired of being anxious and scared. Instead I got angry. Why would God bring us to this place only to put us in the path of a storm like this? Why did we give up everything in Colorado to come here and possibly lose even more? We had come here to reset, to heal, to grow and now all of that was being tested. It didn’t take long for Him to answer, “What if it’s not all about you?” Oh, ok then.

After we got home, took care of the leak from the bedroom window, did laundry, cleaned out the refrigerator, and tried to get back into our normal, we started hearing about those that may not have a normal for a long, long time. Homes that had been flattened or flooded, possessions destroyed, jobs and businesses lost. The poorest among us that were already living with next to nothing now literally have nothing.

The stories keep coming. This video broke me wide open yesterday. Before the hurricane I was crying for myself, now I’m crying for them. And now I know what He meant. We did come here for ourselves, but He knew better. We are here for this. For the help we can provide and for the work he’s doing in our hearts.

The Beginning and End of Crib Season

I snagged my son’s crib off a listing on Craigslist.

It was an Ikea one, simple but sturdy, and came with the mattress. All for $40. I stood in the Craigslist stranger’s garage, surrounded by other outgrown baby gear and two kids who rode their bikes in and out without much regard for who was in the way. The original owner told me how to put it together, and as I handed her the money and put the pieces in my Jeep, I wondered if she was sad to be giving up this season of her motherhood. On the outside she didn’t seem to be. She seemed relieved that it was going, making space for the next one.  

Like many naïve first time moms, I thought that crib would be used right away.

Read more at Sarasota Moms Blog. 

Pieces

I search through the pieces 

Trying to find the whole

The broken outnumber the perfect 

Once all the same 

Jagged edges and reshaped lines

Reveal their true beauty 

34

I remember when I was twelve and approaching my thirteenth birthday. I was SO excited to turn thirteen. I would finally be a teenager and imagined how cool and different it would be when I wasn’t a “kid” anymore. Of course all thirteen got me was an awkward body and middle school. I don’t recall being that excited about a birthday since (well except maybe for twenty-one).

Today I turned thirty-four and my husband said something that has made me want to rethink how I approach birthdays. He asked me if birthdays even feel like birthdays anymore. They definitely don’t feel like they did when I was younger and even if we celebrate with dinner or an event the anticipation that I felt when I was little just isn't there. This could just be the nature of getting older, but what if I could recapture even a bit of it?

I’m going to start by making a list of what I’m excited about in my next year of life. I’m excited about doing more writing and seeing where that goes. I’m excited about exploring parts of Florida that I haven’t been too yet. I’m excited about opportunities at work and work travel. I’m excited about friendships that are growing deeper. I’m excited (and terrified) to see my son as a three year old.

What are some things you’re looking forward to about your next birthday?