Finding Me

I've been struggling to find my place in the blogging world as of late. In college, it seemed like I had found my place and my groove. But in the crazy post-college time where recovery seemed to be all I was doing, my blogging seemed to fall apart. Blogging friendships weren't maintained (we were going different directions anyways). People got married (and I didn't until I did). Blogging took time and effort and emotion and I was too emotionally exhausted to bare my soul to the world (still true). I've tried to create my little space over here at Wiferella, at a new address, a new place, with my new little life...and it hasn't come together as neatly as I planned. I mean, I didn't really plan things out and life got busy and blogging wasn't a priority...so I didn't do it. I failed to plan, so I kind of planned to fail. I'm still not sure exactly what I want this space to look like, but in my ideal world, it might include blogging some recipes, some activities that I've done with the little, and then some more soul baring-sharing (because that's kind of what I'm all about). I've come to accept that this probably isn't going to be the perfect little mommy blog, and that's okay. I'm just not that kind of blogger. I don't have time for that...and I'd rather keep the memory keeping to something like Instagram. It gets done that way, and I'm a huge proponent of "done is best" sometimes. :)

A few years ago, I wrote a "Mission Statement" as a part of an art therapy assignment. While looking through files on my computer, I came across the document again and it made me start thinking about picking up blogging again. I love being a wife and mom, but sometimes I need to dig a little deeper and search for who I am and what my purpose is in my core inner being. That core purpose has a huge influence on how I wife and how I mother. When that core purpose is lost or forgotten...things start falling apart. I forget how I was made to be a storyteller, made to bear the light of hope found in Christ to a fallen world. So, today, as an act of accountability, I'd like to share some pieces of my Mission Statement.

I will remember, in all things that I do, that I want to guide my life and my decisions with these qualities that I value most:Sobriety, Courage, and Love.
I know that I am my very best self when...I am sober in my recovery,
I am pursuing a passionate personal relationship with God,
and I am engaged in relationships with others.
I am most at peace and happiest when I spend my personal life:focusing on God more than self,
letting my creativity and imagination flourish,
and when things are in their place.
I will be most at peace and happiest when I spend my work life:loving people,
sharing my story,
offering hope to a fallen world,
and sharing the love of Christ.
I will seek out times when I can use my inborn gifts to:be a storyteller
spread the gospel to others,
and shining my light.
I know that I am meant to:love God and love people.
Nothing else matters.
I will work hard to be known as someone who:is strong,
courageous,
bold,
and brave.

Sometimes I lost track of what is important- those three qualities at the beginning: Sobriety, courage, and love. When I lose track of these things, my life begins to crumble. My recovery becomes shakey and behaviors begin slipping their way into my life. I don't speak up for myself and how I feel and I grow resentful of others. My relationships with both my husband and child begin to fill up with irritation and frustration. I become overwhelmed and the cycle repeats over and over again until I am worn down, tired, laying on the ground in a heap sobbing. I find my place in the place that I swore I'd never be again, struggling the same demons. That isn't to say that remembering the qualities means that life is 100% okie dokie all the time either, but I am much more able to reach out for support and do not become as overwhelmed.

Way back in the Spring of 2013, I blogged at a different space (laurenelizabethadam.blogspot.com if you ever want to know what I was like back in college). I changed the name of my blog to "Finding Free" and I wrote the following explanation for the change. Reading it today was encouraging and frustrating at the same time. There are still so many lessons that I need to learn about true freedom, but I have come so far from where I was back then. 

Be brave. Let Him make you brand new. That's what I want to be right? Brand new? A new creation? But, this is a painful process. It kind of hurts. It hurts to be real and honest. But, secrets don't bring freedom. Secrets bring shame. Secrets bring guilt. Secrets keep us entangled. Secrets keep us in chains, in bondage.They hold us back. They keep us from living...really living! But, being open and real and honest and admitting that we have struggles? That we have strongholds that bind us? That brings freedom.

The new name of this little space on the internet is "Finding Free".The title is inspired by Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings". My favorite part of the poem is the last two stanzas:
"But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom."

The truth of the matter is: I feel like I'm that bird standing on the "grave of dreams" with clipped wings and tied feet. I feel like giving up some days. Sometimes the struggle to live and breathe and function seems to be too much work. That's why I entered a treatment program for eating disorders a month ago. For the last four years, in addition to keeping up this blog, I've struggled off and on with anorexia. It's easy to hide things when you feel like your whole life is a secret. It's easier to not let anyone know that you're struggling. But, over the last few months, things hit a breaking point. I wasn't able to hide my secret struggle anymore. I felt so ashamed for living this way. My secret was killing me (literally). So, I finished off a rough last semester to complete my degree, and then I entered a program to help me recover. It's been one of the best decisions I've ever made. Recovery? Is ridiculously hard. But, I'm finding free. And even though I'm not free yet, I'll sing the song of freedom from my cage, because I know that redemption is coming. 

I'm learning to love and trust myself in a way that I never imagined. I'm finding what "free" really means. Life isn't just about growing up, moving out of your parents' house, getting married, buying a house, giving birth to 2.5 babies, and working at a job you hate until you can retire. Life has to be something more. There has to be a purpose for living- a passion behind what you do. I think that when you live life in this manner, it won't matter how the details work out. It won't matter what kind of house you have, when you get married, or how much money you make. It won't matter what color the walls of the foyer are painted or how many smocked dresses your precious baby girl owns. What matters is that you are FREE. Free to be the person that God created you to be. Free to travel, explore, and have adventures wherever life takes you. A life lived "free" is a life without limitations. It's not limited by false ideals of perfection. It's not limited by what other people may think. Finding free means learning to embrace life at it's fullest. It means running with the moment and enjoying what each and every moment brings....the good and the bad. It means shifting your perspective to focus on the positives of the situation, even when everything is falling apart. It means living for today, and letting tomorrow worry about tomorrow. Finding free means running in full pursuit after the coattails of the creator of the universe. It means dancing in the fields of wildflowers... even if they make you sneeze. It means fighting for life with every fiber that you've got. It means clinging to faith when you have nothing left. I may be standing on the "grave of dreams" right now, my voice may waver with a "fearful trill", but it's okay...I'm singing of freedom. As the Beatles' put it in their famed "Blackbird",
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise"
I may be broken. I may be down. But I will rise. I'm finding free.

Maybe the purpose of this blogging drought I've been in is so that I can rediscover the wisdom of old and drink it deeply.

Maybe I was only waiting for this moment to arise.

...to be continued

I Kept Living

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

One of my favorite posts I've ever written on this blog was written on the 10 month anniversary of being clean, being free from the addiction of self harm (you can read it here if you want). I remember being so incredibly proud that I had made it that far, and I remember wondering what it would feel like when I reached a year in recovery from self harm, two years in recovery...

Today marks two years free from self harm.

I am proud of myself and the battle I have fought and won. I am thankful for the incredible support that I have received from my family, most particularly- my husband. He has stood by me through what was literally some of my darkest times- and never ever every given up on me. He consistently models the love of Christ to me. I thought I knew what I was talking about when I said the following in our wedding vows:

You are a breathtaking reflection of God’s heart for me, of how he pursued me and loved me even when I didn’t love myself. You held my hand in the darkness and you pulled me out into the light. You are my life. Because of you, I laugh, smile, and I dare to dream again.

But, over the last year, I've realized over and over and over again how blessed I am by my husband. I struggled mightily with mental health issues during pregnancy, and postpartum hasn't been my best friend. But somehow, someway, T always finds a way to make me laugh and bring me back into the light. He's always stood by me, always supported me...I could go on and on about it, but it would get super cheesy and that's not the purpose of this blog post.

This week is National Suicide Prevention Week. It's quite convenient how it lines up with the darkest times of my life, and the anniversary of freedom from self harm and rebirth. It might get annoying to some of you as the years wear on and I'm still celebrating, but- I don't care. I'm going to scream the message of hope from the rooftops if I have to. There is hope, even when it all seems meaningless and hopeless. There is a reason to keep living, even if all seems lost and life seems crappy and you can't seem to find the escape hatch that you are looking for, but all you see is a dark hole with a big flashy arrow pointing to an abyss full of razors and pills and all sorts of things that scream "at least I might feel something". Here's the thing- there is a life out there for you. The sunshine and brightness might not come right now, it might take a few weeks or months or even years to dig your way out of the darkness and find the sunshine- but go ahead and start digging. You are worth fighting for.

I kept living. At first, I kept living because I was scared. I didn't know how to do "it". I didn't know how to do "it" well, successfully (if you want to call it that). I kept living because I didn't want to hurt the ones I loved. I kept living because I had a tiny bit of hope that there might still be some light out there and I didn't want quit quite yet if there might still be a chance for hope. I kept living for "them".

I keep living. I fight a battle every day with the thoughts in my head. But today, I have a firm grasp on hope and I don't want to let it go. Today, I keep living for "them".

I can't write it any better than I did 14 months ago- so here you go:

Nothing can prepare you for the moment when the person you love discovers your wounds and your scars for the first time. The most horrible, most awful moment in my relationship with T happened when he ran his hand across my leg and found those horrible awful marks, still not completely healed. Having to answer the quiet question of "what happened, honey?" totally gutted me. I felt so teeny tiny at the moment. The first time, I answered something like "I don't really want to talk about it" and he didn't press it. But the next time, he patiently prodded me on to explain this chapter of my story. For the most part, a majority of the scars have faded or blend into my skin. But, there is one section that I fear never will- the section where I carved the word "fat" into my thigh. The scars from these terrible letters haunt me every time I get dressed, every time I see my leg, every time my shorts go up too high, every time I'm lying in bed with my husband and his hand brushes across it. I can't wear a bathing suit without showing the world my scars- literally. They have faded somewhat, but I fear that they will never be completely gone. How will I explain this to my future daughters?

If you are struggling with self harm, please reach out. There is so much more to life than spending your days and nights punishing yourself. It is not worth it- and please, learn from my mistakes so that you don't have scars of your own someday. I don't want you to have that awful experience of explaining to your husband that there was a time when you used to hurt yourself, when you used to carve terrible awful words into your thigh because you believed that you deserved to carry that scarlet letter. You don't have to carry that scarlet letter. Jesus came down and because a man and walked on this Earth and died on the cross so that you didn't have to bear that scarlet letter. He bears it for you. Please reach for healing today? Please reach out for help? Please know that you are not alone in this darkness- Jesus is standing there with open arms, just waiting to embrace you and love you as you are- as messed up and shitty as you might feel that you are. You are never too broken for Him. He redeems. His job is making broken things beautiful. Don't bear your scarlet letter alone.

This year, I have a daughter. I have a daughter that might one day look at her mother and see her scars and ask the questions that I fear she may ask. Honestly, it scares me to death to have that conversation with her. But you know what? I've decided that I will. I will have that conversation with her. I will be honest with her. I fully believe that the scars that we share become lighthouses to others that are headed toward the same rocks that we have hit. 

I will tell her about my struggles, so that maybe someday she will know that even if she has these thoughts- she isn't alone. She is loved. She has hope. I will not hide, I will not be silent, when my daughter's very life could be at stake.

I wake up and fight every day, I keep living- so that she might do the same.

love is the answer, and it starts with me.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction ... The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.

I've been trying to find the way to fit the words together in the proper way to talk about "the situation" that seems to be engulfing America right now (and no, I'm not talking about the election). I've been trying to figure out where I stand on the race war, the racial situation. I've been seeking to understand. This post is the result of these efforts. It's probably going to come out messy, I'm most likely going to say something the wrong way- but I've avoided discussing the issue for far too long, and I'm trusting that God and others will forgive me for anything that goes misunderstood. Grace not perfection.

I'm beginning to realize that the answer to all of this is love. It's about loving our neighbor as if he (or she) was ourself. In Matthew, Jesus was asked what the greatest, what the most important commandment of them all was- his answer was simple and it summed up the ten commandments quite succinctly. First, you should love the Lord your God with all of your heart, all of your soul, all of your mind (basically- all of your everything). Secondly, you should love your neighbor as you love yourself (as if we were in their shoes, as if they were us/we were them, we were on their side of the situation).

This makes me think of something that my Mom used to always tell me: You can only control your own actions. I only have power over myself and what I do in a given situation. I cannot control all of the evil out there in the world- honestly, there is enough evil within myself and it's hard enough for me to control that. I don't have to take on the world- I can't take on the world- I can only be responsible for myself. Change starts here, in the small place inside of ourselves, and when we live it out, it can (eventually) change the world. A giant fire starts with a single spark. A journey to the top of the highest mountain begins with a single step (yes, I'm quoting motivational posters here- you get the idea?).

I think its clear to anyone that reads the news these days that there is evil in the world. There is darkness, hate, violence. The thing about all of these things is that they seem to build on each other. An act of hatred happens (racial shooting), an act of violence occurs in response (riots and looting at a protest), which results in mistrust of a community (police), which can cause darkness (retaliation against the police community as a whole, not just the racist that started the cycle), which results in fear, which results in more acts of hatred and violence and mistrust and darkness and fear as the cycle repeats itself over and over again.

So, how can we stop the cycle? To be totally and completely honest, I haven't figured out a magical perfect answer yet. But, I can make a baby step. I can take a tiny step in the right direction to stopping the cycle by controlling what I do as a part of the cycle. I can choose to not partake in the actions that add to the cycle. I can choose to love my neighbor (even though all my neighbors are Middle Eastern and not African American, I still feel like this is an okay step in moving towards colorblindness). I can choose not to fear a situation just because the color of someone's skin. I can try and be aware of what I am doing and how it may affect others (even if it wasn't my intent to cause harm/hatred/provoke fear). I can try my hardest to raise my daughter to not immediately identify her friends as "black" or "hispanic", but rather as "This is my friend. She likes dinosaurs."

There will always be people out there that are evil and want to do harm to others- that is the world we live in. Way back in the days of Adam and Eve, sin entered the world and things were never the same. Things will not be the same, the world will not be without death and dying and evil and hate until the Day of the Lord. I cannot force others to love their neighbors. But, I can start with evaluating my actions, and maybe, just maybe, it will be enough to spread to the people that I encounter in my life, maybe it will be enough to slow the cycle, maybe it will be enough to see just a small change in somebody's world.

the lie of not enough

I feel like sometimes we like to blame Eve for all of our problems. Sometimes, I think that she's the most hated woman of the Bible. I mean, if it wasn't for her believing that silly little lie from the serpent, we'd still be living in paradise (and we'd have NO pain in childbirth. Seriously Eve, what were you thinking?). We like to blame this women for messing up the world (and causing us to have pain during childbirth...SERIOUSLY EVE. I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that one). We blame her for believing the serpent, we like to pretend that we wouldn't have done the exact same thing in that situation, but the truth is...Satan isn't all that creative. He knows that what worked all those years ago can still mess us up big time today. All this time, since the beginning of time, we've been fed the same lie over and over and over and over again. The serpent whispers softly in our ear just like he did to Eve on that day long ago. He seductively dangles a fruit in front of our hungry eyes and lures us away from the truth. He tells us that who we are is not enough. From the days of childhood, he whispers this thought into our ear over and over again. It begins to seem so natural, a part of our inner being that is so engrained, such a part of who we are that we no recognize this fruit as dangerous or harmful. Just like a Pooh Bear being drawn to his pot of Hunny...we're helplessly, hopelessly lured into the trap and we believe the lies.



As little girls, we believe the lie that everyone in this class is better than us. In ballet class, they're better at the pirouettes. At the playground, they're better at the monkey bars. Some other little girl's dress is prettier and more twirly than ours. At a very young age, we begin to compare our bodies and our clothes and we believe this lie that is whispered to us that we are not pretty enough. The belief that we would somehow be a "better" version of ourselves if only we were smarter, faster, taller, smaller begins flicker in our tiny brains, slowly becoming the very center of our thoughts. As we grow older, these lies continue and morph and spin out of our control. In Middle School, we spend hours obsessing over how to tame our frizzy hair, how to paint on a pretty face, how to put up a facade that everyone will fall for. We spend so much time worrying about being smart enough to make the grade, athletic enough to make the team. We base our entire existence on being accepted by this invisible audience. We play a role, dancing and twirling around the stage. We try and we try, but we just end up exhausted, collapsing in a heap in the middle of the stage with the spotlight shining straight on us. And there we lay. Vulnerable. Weary. Overwhelmed. The serpent whispers in our ear "Darling, you will never be enough. God is hiding something from you, you're just not good enough for him. Trust in me, I won't fail you. I won't hide the magic cure from you. Take this fruit...and eat.". And just like Eve, we fall for his trap.

He's an awfully good manipulator. We believe his lies with all of our heart. We live a life of fad diet after fad diet. We restrict what we eat, and punish ourselves when we eat "bad foods". We run after this false ideal of perfection- if I just reach this weight, if I just can wear this pants size, if I can just get noticed by someone...I will be enough. But, the fact of the matter is...nothing you do will ever be "enough". You might reach that goal weight, but the serpent will whisper in your ear "Just five more pounds". You might suddenly be able to squeeze into your "skinny day jeans", but the serpent will whisper to you "You're still not enough. See that muffin top? So unattractive". He'll plant lies into your head:

• If you eat that, you're going to get fat.
• If you get fat, nobody will like you.
• You seriously just ate that? Go throw that up. You know the drill. You don't deserve "it".
• So what if they say you're skinny? Behind your back, they're probably whispering about how ugly and fat you are.
• If you just lose some weight, you'll have more friends.
• You don't fit into this playgroup with all of these pretty, wonderful women.
• You'd look more attractive if you just had a salad for lunch. Real women don't eat.
• If only you were skinny, your husband would love you more. You don't want him to leave you for some other more beautiful woman, do you?
• If people knew about your past, they'd be gone.

LIES. All of them. This serpent that we allow to linger in our lives is a terrible, horrible friend. He's not looking out for our best interests. He's a toxic and abusive relationship that we choose to remain in- yes, we choose to stay with this terrible one. Why? We find comfort and security in him. Even though he treats us horribly, he still sticks around. And, it's not really that bad, right? I mean, losing a little weight isn't a horrible thing. It's not bad to work hard to achieve success in academic endeavors. We rationalize our "dear friend"and his horrible behavior. The serpent whispers seductively in our ear, "I won't hurt you. I only want what's best for you. Trust in me." But, it is time to fire back. It is time to tell that serpent who's boss. We need to stand up and be assertive and tell him, "Nope. Not gonna listen to you. Not gonna trust you." Will he like this? Probably not. But, that's where we can change our story and stop the lies.

In the story found in Genesis, Eve falls for the serpent's trap. She ate of the fruit and then she felt ashamed. Rather than getting up and confessing her sin, she stays trapped in her shame and guilt. She made clothing out of fig leaves to cover up all she had done. She saw that she had been lied to, but she didn't run away from her serpent friend. She rolled around in her shame and guilt and let it consume her. She decided that she would rather stay trapped in the "comfortable terrible" than face God and say goodbye to the serpent. We can learn a lot from this. True freedom means finding freedom from these chains that have bound us, all of these lies that we have believed. This means that we have to acknowledge that we had a thought (such as, "I am not pretty" or "I am broken" or "I am unlovable"), and then move on from that thought. Thoughts are not fact- lots of them are lies. We need to let go of these false thoughts. They're just holding us back.

Here's the thing: God loves you, no matter what you've done in the past. Our entire faith is based around the principle that we do not have to be enough, in fact we alone CANNOT EVER be enough. There's this not-so-tiny concept called grace. We celebrate the various liturgical seasons (Christmas, Lent, Easter) to remember all of what Christ has done for us. If we were "enough", if we had EVER been "enough", he wouldn't have had to come down to this crappy planet when he could have been partying it up with God in Heaven. But, he chose to die for us. While the serpent whispers in our ear, "You will never be enough", Christ tells us that it is okay for us to not be "good enough". In Romans, it says that ALL have fallen short of the glory of God. But, that is why Christ died for us! It's this wonderful thing that we need to celebrate! We do not have to be enough. We don't have to live up to unrealistically high standards. We are beautiful just the way we are, because we are made in the image of God and he loves us! We don't have to live in the embrace of the serpent any longer. You can choose to walk away from that abusive relationship and start a new journey on the path of freedom. Freedom from the lie of "not enough". Free from the lie of "if I just lose five more pounds." Free from the lie of "if I just make the grade, make the team". John 3:16-17 reveals this wonderful truth:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

We are free. We are free from these unrealistic, unattainable lies that have taunted us since the day that we came into this world. God didn't send his Son to condemn us. Jesus didn't come to Earth, see us in all of our brokenness and say "Ain't nobody got time for that!" and walk away. No.

He came to heal.

He came to restore.

He came to bridge the gap so that we could be forgiven and have eternal, everlasting life!

You are enough to him. Let that sink in for a moment. You. Are. Enough. For. Him. If you were the only one on this planet, he still would have chosen to come down here to save your soul. You don't have to lose five pounds to gain his acceptance. You don't have to pretend to have it all together for Him to gain his acceptance. You don't have to be the prettiest, smartest, or most outgoing to gain his acceptance. He loves you for you, not for what you have done or what you will become. All he requires is that we love Him with all of our heart, soul, mind and strength...and that will be enough.

Fighting the "Shoulds" and the "Mommy Docs"

This whole "becoming a mom" thing isn't the easiest of jobs. Being a first time mom, I have so many questions, and I'm a perfectionist- thus, I feel like if I don't do every single thing the exact right way- I'm probably going to screw up my child. I'm constantly second guessing myself. 

Are we feeding her too much? Are we feeding her too little? Is she gaining enough weight? Is she gaining too much weight? I should know this kind of stuff. I'm her mom- this is my job. Hey, what is this? Is this a diaper rash? How often am I supposed to change her diaper anyways? Is this diaper breaking her out? Do we need to buy the expensive diapers? Or maybe we should switch to cloth? Do these diapers still stink? Am I burping her enough? Why is she spitting up so much? Is it something I'm doing? Is this because I chose not to breastfeed? I should have breastfed. She's going to have attachment issues because I didn't love her enough to breastfeed her. I should have worked harder. I should have wanted to breastfeed. What kind of mom plans on formula feeding? When should we start cereal and baby food? Do we wait until four months or six months? I don't want to give my kid a peanut allergy. But, she seems like she wants to eat now. She's only two months old. How do I hold off for four more months? Do we use commercial baby food or make our own? Baby led weaning? I'm supposed to let my kid feed herself? Am I doing tummy time enough? Are we being social enough? Are we raising her to be too introverted? What are we doing? What SHOULD I be doing?

It all begins to get a little overwhelming, and I begin to "should" on myself as a former psychologist I saw would say. The shame spiral begins and I spiral away into the land of things that I think that I "should be doing", that I "would be doing if I was a good mom". I begin to convince myself that I'm terrible horrible mother (which does absolutely no good, by the way). So, then I go to the internet to research and try to find out all of the things that I "should do" to be a "good mom". But, due to the obsessive nature I have, I take all of the writings of the "mommy doctors" super-psycho-seriously and convince myself that I'm an even-more-terrible-horrible mom. I mean, what kind of mom would consider feeding their kid anything but pure breastmilk? That formula stuff is just poison. I'm setting my kid up for a life of obesity and allergies. And...the shame spiral spirals again.

This process just repeats itself over and over again until I just want to be sick. To make things more fun, different sites have different information. Different organizations, different countries- they all recommend different things. Feed your kid this. Don't feed your kid that. Wait until four months to feed your kid. Wait until six months. Wait until they can cook their own filet mignon. Feed your kid rice cereal. Avoid all gluten. Give your kid a PB&J. Start with applesauce. Start with vegetables or your kid won't like them because they taste bad, so they won't ever eat them and they'll only eat sugar and then they'll get ADD/ADHD/Austism and DIE. Do you want a dead kid? I didn't think so. Never ever let them taste the wonderful deliciousness of natural sugars. It just gets exhausting. 

I think I've decided to move on past the mommy doctors, though. They don't have an MD after their name- their only qualification is that they had a kid before me and they think that they know everything. In all honesty, I think I'm moving past a lot of the doctor-doctors as well. They might have an MD after their name, but many of them are fear mongering monsters that are being paid of by organizations to say a certain line of thinking. You can get "research" to prove almost anything these days. When one pediatrics group says research says that you must hold off on solids until six months and then two months later decides that four months is the magical threshold and then decides that it's actually twelve months, I have to question things. I have to question ones' motivation for speaking on the matter.

In the end, I'm Sarah's mommy. T is Sarah's daddy. God gave us brains and we were made to use them. Just because something is right for one child doesn't mean that it is right for all of them. I'm not a bad mom just because I gave Sarah a taste of chocolate froyo when she was six weeks old. Or that lick of a pretzel when she was two weeks old. Or letting her nom on pizza crust just after a month old. Nothing bad happened. She didn't die. In fact, she gave me a pretty cute, gummy smile. She will let us know if she's hungry. She'll scream if we aren't feeding her enough. If we want to give her a taste of something (within reason), we will. If she starts grabbing or reaching for food, we'll start giving her food. We don't need a group of "doctors" or doctors to tell us when to do these things- it's a basic human instinct. When I feel it in my "mommy gut"- I'll know that its the right thing to do. I don't have to feel guilty because we formula feed- it was the best choice for Sarah, and all of the involved parties (myself, T, Sarah's pediatrician, my OB) agreed that it was was needed to happen after she was born. I'm not less of a mom because I don't provide her with milk from my breasts- I give her the food she needs with the nutrients she needs, she's thriving- we are all good! 

Obviously, feeding your kid real poison is bad. Doctor's recommendations need to be taken into consideration. But, here's the deal- doctor's recommendations are just that- recommendations. I'm the mama. Within reason, I get to make these decisions. So make them I will. Don't try to make me feel guilty- as of this moment, I'm not giving the "mommy doctors" that kind of power over me, my happiness, or my child. I'm putting those critical thinking skills, those decision making skills to work and deciding what is best for my child. And if that means formula, so be it. If that means rice cereal, so be it. If it means feeding her tastes of food at two months, so be it. If it means not depriving her of the yummy foods of life, so be it. I'm the mommy. I make the decisions.

Sarah Claire's Birth Story

We had a baby!

Sarah Claire decided to make her entrance into the world about four weeks early, so we've spent the last two weeks snuggling with a cute baby that squeaks and hiccups. I decided it was about time to write out her birth story, but that's where things get interesting. You see, I don't really remember my child's birth thanks to a mixture of preeclampsia and a lovely drug called Magnesium Sulfate (it's not really all that lovely). So, with some help from my husband and looking through pictures that I have no memory of being taken...the birth story.

It all started on a Saturday.

I was having contractions (nothing new about that- I'd been having Braxton Hicks since I was about 6 weeks pregnant) that were starting to pick up in intensity and becoming closer together (about 5 an hour) along with a terrible headache. When I called the birthing center on base where I received my prenatal care, they were a bit worried about the headache, so they told us to come on in and get checked out. While I was there, we ruled out preterm labor, but my blood pressure was on the high side, so I was diagnosed with gestational hypertension and told to come back on Monday for a Non-Stress Test (which come to find out can be pretty stressful).

That Monday, T and I went to base for my NST. We planned on it being a pretty short event- it was supposed to take about 20 minutes, then we would be on our way and I'd hang out on base while T went to class. We joked about the baby deciding to come that day, since it was February 29th and she'd probably like to be dramatic with her entrance. The test went fine, but as I started to get up, I got really dizzy and my headache got worse, so they took me over to Labor and Delivery for observation to see if we could figure things out. We decided it was probably a migraine, probably not preeclampsia, possibly allergies...but they kept me overnight, just in case. I went home, still with a terrible headache that wasn't really controlled by medication, but we thought that the worst of it was over. I was having a bit of anxiety and overwhelmed feelings, so my mom decided that she would come up for a few days and see if a short visit helped these feelings. She got into town on Wednesday night, and that's when things got interesting.

Early Thursday morning, I began experiencing more contractions. I waited a few hours, but they weren't going away, so I decided to wake T and we went in to Labor and Delivery again. I woke my mom and told her that she could just stay home, because I was 99.9% sure that this was a false alarm...but my anxieties just needed to make sure that everything was okay.

It wasn't.

Once again, it wasn't my contractions that were alarming- it was my blood pressure. This time, my blood pressure was in the 160s-180s (we think- I don't actually remember too much from this point onward, so I'm depending on my husband for the details) so I immediately was placed on magnesium, a terrible horrible catheter was inserted (seriously- it was a traumatic experience- it took three people ten minutes to figure out what they were doing), and since I was only 35 weeks 5 days (and shy of the 36 week mark that they require to deliver on base), I was sent downtown to a larger hospital with a NICU. I'm told that I accidentally kicked a full bird colonel when he lightly touched my knee to tell me that it would all be okay and that they'd take great care of me down at Miami Valley- my reflexes were pretty active.

An ambulance ride later (in the snow, of course), we settled in at our new hospital and I was told that not only were they trying to get my blood pressure down- they were also going to start inducing labor and we would not leave the hospital without a baby. I don't think I grasped the seriousness of the situation (and I wouldn't until about a week later when I finally got my wits about me again, got off of magnesium, and talked to my mom about everything). Apparently, I was in the L&D ICU, but I was pretty out of it (as I've mentioned many times). Over the course of three days, I think that we tried just about every single induction method. It was terrible. I felt terrible. Everything hurt and no progress was being made. Finally on Saturday, we started to see little bits of progress and they broke my water. Sometime that day, I got an epidural (which kind of worked, but I still felt things that I wasn't supposed to feel...). I began to get increasingly frustrated and begged for a c-section- I just wanted it to be over, because it was a miserable experience. Over and over again, the doctors and nurses urged me to give it "just a little longer", telling me that a vaginal delivery would be less painful and the recovery would be easier.

And then things began to happen very very fast. 

At one check I was a seven.

Then, things got very very painful and urges to push this baby out right now happened.

Forty minutes after hearing that I was a seven, I was a ten and the baby was coming.

Fifteen minutes and two contractions later at 12:27 AM on March 6th, 2016 (Sunday), our Sarah Claire entered the world.

I was very worried.
Many of the doctors that I had seen had told me that most likely Sarah would be going to the NICU after she was born. She didn't cry as she entered the world and as T would tell you, she looked quite gray and alien-like (I'm sparing you guys the pictures mostly because she's nakkie and I don't think she'd appreciate me showing the internet those things, but also because it's kind of creepy seeing your baby look that drugged up). She was a little slower to "wake up" as I'd been on magnesium for several days, but eventually she gained some color and even scored a 7 on her five minute Apgar. Our 5 lb 11 oz, 36 weeker surprised everyone by not going to the NICU- she actually did much better than her Mommy (who we think hemorrhaged during labor based on blood loss and what the doctors were doing...but I guess I was at a pretty awesome hospital for delivery, because I didn't have to have a blood transfusion and the doctors stayed pretty calm through it all).

 I was kept on magnesium for 24 hours after birth, and then monitored for 24 additional hours to see how my blood pressure did. My mom stayed with me for many of these hours as T was in the midst of finals and final projects (we like to say that Sarah picked the absolute worst week of the semester to come). Even off of the magnesium, I still don't remember much of Sunday or Monday. I was very swollen from all of the fluids, so I was stuck in a hospital gown for much of the time as none of my clothes fit. I remember being weighed on the Sunday morning after I delivered and weighing 189 pounds- I weighed about 180 the week before at my Non-Stress Test- and that was after delivering the baby and all of that jazz. There was that much fluid on me.

Finally, on Tuesday morning, we got to go HOME!

 Of course, the "excitement" doesn't end there.

After one night at home, I was back in the hospital (this time on base). On Wednesday afternoon, I had a blood pressure check (which of course I failed...). Apparently doctors don't like when you are about 4 days postpartum and the upper number is in the 160s and the bottom number is in the 90s-100s. Who knew.

After another night on magnesium (I really really hate that stuff, even if I did kind of save my life) two lasix treatments, and peeing out EIGHT LITERS of fluid overnight...my blood pressure went down (though I'm still on meds for it), I was much much less swollen, and I felt much better (as in, I could walk and wear shoes and pants). We went out to Panera on the way home to celebrate finally being free from the hospital life. As an added bonus, at my next blood pressure check that Friday, not only was my blood pressure good- my weight had decreased to about five pounds short of my prepregnancy weight- yes, apparently fluid can weigh that much.

At two weeks postpartum, I'm feeling pretty good. My mom has gone home, my husband is on break, and my baby girl is pretty awesome (though she'd be more awesome if she'd quit messing up her days and nights). All in all, we are blessed. Things could have gone so much differently- we could be making trips downtown over the break to visit Sarah in the NICU, but instead we get to snuggle her in her arms. Even though preeclampsia wrecked my birth plans and things turned out wildly different than I imagined it would go (and probably scared me off from having any more babies), I survived and didn't suffer too much irreparable damage- my doctor even says I might be off the blood pressure meds by 6 weeks postpartum. Even T got something good out of it all- with all of the waiting at hospitals, he's apparently caught all of the Pokemon- gotta catch em all, I guess. ;)

And that is the story of how Sarah Claire P entered the world. 

(I think)

Chocolate Chip Banana Muffins

The other day, my husband and I were talking about bananas.

Yes, bananas.

He brought up banana nut bread that his mom used to make when they were growing up, I talked about chocolate chip banana bread that we made in treatment one time- and he was in awe that he'd never thought to combine banana bread and chocolate chips. So, when my former dietitian from that treatment center just happened to post the recipe on her Facebook page, I knew that we'd have to store up some bananas so that we could try this out and my husband could experience the gloriousness of chocolate chip banana muffins.

It took some time to store up the bananas. You see, we both rather like to eat this particular fruit- and so do our puppies. I like them before they ripen too much, he likes them super ripe, the puppies just like whatever we give them. So, having bananas stick around long enough to ripen enough to make banana bread isn't a common thing. But, we bought some extra bananas last time around, I told T that he wasn't allowed to eat two of them, and it all worked out- we had ripened brown bananas and we could make some muffins.

Since they are so so yummy, I thought that today I'd share the recipe on the blog. 

This recipe makes 12 muffins. 12 yummy delicious muffins.

You will need:

• 2 mashed bananas
• 4 T melted butter
• 2 T sour cream
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1/2 t vanilla
• 3/4 cup flour
• 1/2 t baking soda
• 3/4 t baking powder
• Pinch of salt
• 1/2 cup chocolate chips

These are literally the easiest thing ever to make- combine all the ingredients in a bowl and mix them up. I just mashed my bananas up in the bowl as I mixed everything up- pregnancy can make a girl pretty lazy, you know. :)

The original recipe called for 1/4 cup of chocolate chips, but that just didn't seem like enough for me (Baby likes chocolate). So, I used 1/2 cup...and then poured some more in until Baby seemed happy (very scientific and precise, I know).

Once everything is mixed, spray or grease your muffin ban and bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes.

And then- EAT! As you can tell, I was a little enthusiastic to dig in, so a muffin is missing from the pan...oh well. Baby likes muffins, what can I say?

I'm currently over here trying to convince myself that I can eat these things for every single meal (hey- they have bananas in them, they have to be healthy, right?). I'm honestly not sure how much longer these will be sticking around between a hungry preggo (there's just something about these last few weeks of pregnancy- I'm hungry hangry all the time), a hungry Baby, and a husband that is a garbage disposal. As easy as these are to make though, I'm not complaining! :)