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Being Mama

In Being Mama on
November 6, 2017

Hey Satan. GTFO.

There are some links sprinkled through this post, they’re all Bible verses that intertwine with the things we’re talking about today.

It’s just been a really long week.”

My answer to the inevitable question my husband is going to ask at some point between the days of Friday and Sunday: “are you okay?” I don’t say inevitable in a condescending way, I say it because I completely understand why he asks. It has been a long week. I have a three year old, a seven month old, a business, a home to keep up, and about 1000 other plates to keep spinning. I’m pretty sure every week will be long for the foreseeable future.

For the foreseeable future, personal space is some mythical concept that will always be out of reach.

For the foreseeable future, getting things done in an orderly, time effective manner will be downright laughable.

For the foreseeable future, the laundry will never be done. Neither will the dishes or the disciplining or the cooking.

For the foreseeable future, my needs come last on a very long list.

This is my reality. A reality that is very easy to get bogged down by. I don’t mean to be negative, there is so much joy and goodness in my life sometimes I get absolutely overwhelmed by it. But are you with me that it’s just all so much? I want to make sure we’re calling it like we see it. Yes, being a mother is so dang beautiful it’s ridiculous, but holy cow – it’s also hard. They don’t call it in the trenches for nothing. I’m here to tell you that I spend a lot of my time overwhelmed, bogged down, grouchy, foggy. There’s a reason my husband and I have a weekly standing are you okay conversation. Because honestly, a lot of the time, I’m not. I feel somehow entitled to this shitty attitude. Like look how hard my life is, do you see all this crazy? Of course I’m pissy and checked out, I have to do everything (um, lie). It’s a vicious cycle that I think if we’re being honest, we all get caught in one way or another. Your negative emotion just may look different than mine.

But you know who freaking loves it, no matter what negative place you land in? Satan. Yeah, I went there. I’ve spent a lot of my Jesus loving years avoiding blaming things on the enemy out of fear of sounding like I was copping out. And I’m sure there are people who do use him that way. But you know what – it’s straight up biblical. The last thing Satan wants to see is a mother enveloped in joy and peace, resting in the assurance that her worth does not come from how much of her to-do list she’s knocked out. What a weapon is a woman who enjoys her children rather than dreads them? Who is present and available to those around her, rather than checked out and overwhelmed? I had this gut check the other day, and have carried it with me at the front of my mind since. Satan had me right where he wanted me. And you know what, it pissed me off. I’d let my defenses down, I’d let his lies infiltrate and settle in and rob me of the joy that I’m promised.

No more. I said the words out loud in my living room. I’m not living like this anymore. You’re already beaten, and you’ve just lost again, okay? Get outAnd not to get all heeby-jeeby, uber Christian on you, but this peace just washed over me. I felt like I was seeing through clear eyes for the first time in a long time. Nothing about my circumstances had changed, I was still surrounded by complete and utter chaos, I just wasn’t drowning in it anymore. My girls stopped being annoyances (did I just call my kids annoyances? Oops.) and I could actually see them again. My house stopped closing in on me with all the things that need to be done, and became our home again. I don’t know, it was just a really cool moment. One I keep finding myself thankful for over and over again, asking the Lord to draw me back, remind me.

And I wanted to share it just in case you need to have this moment with your Jesus too. This wake up call. A moment where you hold up your shield and tell Satan to GTFO. Where you reclaim your motherhood and your life for the gift that they are. Where you stand in truth instead of lies and stop drowning in it all. It’s a pretty damn powerful moment, so get ready. Be prepared to have to push out some guilt, because none of that junk is from Jesus. But even better, be prepared for God to meet you there. I felt like I could feel His arms around me, whispering my girl, in that proud, just-knocked-one-out-of-the-park, daddy kind of way. Because as much as Satan wants us immobilized, foggy, drowning, oh sister – the things Jesus wants for us. Dancing in freedom, standing in truth, pointing people back to His glory. It’s so good, it’s indescribable. And this is what He desires for your motherhood. Isn’t that just the coolest thought?? His ultimate plan wasn’t for us to be pulling our hair out all day every day (those moments are inevitable), but to be resting in His goodness and faithfulness and raising these tiny arrows.

The days are so long, mama, but the years are short. How you spend your days is how you spend your years. How do you want to remember them?

(As always, if you need someone to process stuff with – I ❤️ to talk. Seriously.)

In Being Mama on
October 23, 2017

Warrior Mama

I hadn’t even pulled the three year old out of her bed before she started asking for things. A certain stuffed animal. Some juice. A banana. The barrage wouldn’t end until we put her to bed that night, and even then, it’d probably continue. She is kind and so funny, but as most three year olds are – needy. Obviously not as needy as the five month old, who has an affinity for being held and a staunch objection to sleep. They’re the light of my life and all I’ve ever wanted, but they drain me. I’m here to say that they drain me and they frustrate me and every once in a while they make me question my decision to become a mother (or have anymore children, if we’re being truly honest). Tonight, after my husband and I spent 10 minutes pulling out the couches in search of our eldest’s favorite figurine so that she could go to sleep, as I sat giving the youngest a bottle after an hour and a half of my boobs not cutting it, this term popped in my head. Holy work. I’ve heard it tossed around in bible studies and podcasts, but I’ve never really dug into it. And therefore, it’s probably never made the impact it really could, you know?

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In Being Mama on
August 22, 2017

Mama is Missing It

 

The other night as I lay in bed, attempting to quiet my non-stop brain and get some sleep, I started thinking about fear. Real fear, in a deep, tangible way. Moving aside the things that just give me the heebie jeebies like roaches and tornados, I started dialoguing with God about what I’m actually afraid of. What strikes a chord deep inside, that something isn’t right. And the same phrase kept repeating.

Missing it. 

I wasn’t really sure what I was afraid of missing, as I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling, I started that real childish way of praying that I tend to get stuck in. But what, God? But what? Missing what? Will you tell me? Huh, huh huh? Until I was honestly annoying myself, and let everything go blank so I could maybe, you know, hear the answer. And then it started to come through, slowly – like a pinhole of light.

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In Being Mama, Our Little Life on
April 8, 2017

Surrendering Her Birth

I realize as I sit down to write this that I never wrote Pacey Claire’s birth story, even though I totally intended to, just for myself. If that’s not the epitome of motherhood, right? It can be summed up fairly simply: her due date came and went (that’s always a fun day), and 3 days later we induced. I had gestational diabetes with the Pacers, and my doctor was a little worried about her getting too big. All good. I know we both barely slept from excitement, got to the hospital around 4, & started the pitocin. Going into her birth, med-free was the plan. Going into September 22, it was obvious meds were going to be involved, but I was hoping for no epidural. 6 hours into pitocin-level contractions (which, come to find out, are regular contractions on steroids), I went ahead and got the epidural. She was born and hour and a half later. All together in labor for 8 hours, pretty sure I pushed all of 4 times. I remember through the haze my darling OB mentioning something about my body being “made to make babies”.

Fast forward to now. Pregnant with baby girl Guichet number two, all prepped and ready to go for med-free birth, attempt two. The books are read, the playlist is made, the essential oils/diffuser/bluetooth speaker/birthing affirmations are packed. The postpartum necessities are bought. I am ready. I’m even thinking if for some reason we have to induce again, even though I’m GD free this time, we can just take the pitocin a little more slowly and I should be able to get through it. The 35 week ultrasound rolls around, and we’re all super excited to get to see baby sister. The ultrasound tech nonchalantly mentions “and she’s breech”. I’m fairly certain I blacked out. Not really, but I definitely tuned out. I could feel the oh crap vibes pulsating off of my poor husband sitting next to me. When the tech walked out of the room, he quietly asked if I was okay, and I answered with a simple and short no. I was very not okay.

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