living with [and finding freedom from] stigma.

In a culture that claims to want to embrace vulnerability, acceptance, difference, and equality...I can't help but to be frustrated by the contradiction that comes with post-partum stigmas.

To preface the rant about to come, I'll jump on the vulnerable bandwagon and share a brief [haha, do you know me?] synopsis of my struggle. My daughter just turned two, and while as a parent these two years have flown by, as a woman battling post-partum, these two years have felt more like 10. It has been a long, difficult journey. One that has only seemed to get harder with the stigmas attached to me as I try to move forward.

My pregnancy wasn't perfect, but looking back, it wasn't terrible. I had gestational diabetes [commonly referred to as my friend "Beetus"] which, quite frankly, sucked. That Beetus, she's a handful. I hate needles...and had to prick my finger four times a day. I love food...but I could basically only eat lettuce. I thought pregnancy was the opportunity to eat for two...splurge on milkshakes....Oreos...ice cream... But no matter how well I regulated my post-meal glucose levels with a strict diet, my body just went cray cray each night causing my fasting levels to be high...100% out of my control. This led to me needing medication, yet I'm allergic to the medication for this. Again out of my control. Great, so insulin was our next option. More needles. 

Around the time they determined this was what we had to do, I was 36 weeks. Reaves was having to be monitored twice a week for growth and movement...and those tests don't come cheap. We were already strapped financially as a result from various other things going on in our life. An extremely sick dog, a haunted house [as I like to call it] that kept taking our money by falling apart, and simply bad decision making/poor stewardship of our resources. That's a whole different story. 

So here I am, 36 weeks pregnant, we're broke, I need medicine that I can't take, my body is freaking out...as it should - helloooo, I'm growing a life. I'm tired, I'm fat, I'm stressed, I'm scared, I'm excited. Insert God's sovereignty. I went into natural labor at 36.5 weeks. Before the insulin had begun and only a week after the expensive twice weekly tests were implemented. What could have totaled thousands of dollars over the remaining 4 weeks of my pregnancy, was now done.

Labor was great [post-epidural], I pushed for 10 minutes, and boom...we were parents. However, during labor, I contracted an infection that passed on to Reaves through the birth canal. This led to me needing extra time in the hospital and Reaves needing to spend the next two weeks in the NICU. I think we maybe had four hours with her before they came to take her back. Maybe. I was sleep deprived from a night of labor, and a sleepless day of joyous anticipation of spending time with our new child. There was still joy...don't get me wrong. But it was short-lived. Doctors and nurses flooded our room for consent upon consent upon consent to run this test and that test. I was trying to educate myself on risks/benefits, understand necessity, break down medical terminology that I couldn't recall from college, work on breastfeeding in between the tests [while I was on the other side of the hospital], meet deadlines for insurance and FMLA by notifying umteen thousand people, update family...all while trying to shoo out the billing department wanting immediate payment and more importantly, take care of myself. Um, I did just push a watermelon out of my body. That's not exactly a walk in the park on a spring South Carolina day.

The bills piled up after we got home. Bills were due almost immediately, and a payment plan was discouraged unless it was an even payment across a 12-month time frame. That forced our hand to pay more than we had coming in monthly. Not to mention, the next 12 weeks we were trying to make ends meet on one income, because in the U.S. maternity leave isn't paid. Debt upon debt. 

So that's my brief synopsis. Ha. I don't do brief. I'm a details person. The next several months were rough. Not because we had a difficult baby, we didn't. She was [and is] WONDERFUL. She slept, she ate, she was happy, and so so cute. We were rested. Grace, grace, God's grace. 

Over the next several months, as rested as I was, I was different. I wasn't sleep deprived. I wasn't dealing with a colicky baby. I wasn't struggling with breastfeeding. I wasn't the mom of a difficult baby at all. But I was struggling. To this day, I can't explain it...but that's what's so scary about post-partum depression and anxiety. Our body just does crazy things...out of our control. Hormones...they must be friends with Beetus. Those stinkers. 

I did not recognize myself. I started checking Reaves' soft spot 20-25 times a day...I became obsessed with thoughts like "Is it bulging? Is it sunken? Has she peed 3+ times today? Maybe she's dehydrated...maybe she has swelling on her brain...I have a headache, what if I have swelling on my brain? What if it's a brain tumor? I'll die and she won't remember me. Nick will remarry and she'll call someone else 'Mama.'" I know how this sounds. I can assume the reaction of some people reading this. "Home girl CRAZY..." 

My thoughts would spiral so fast, I would become irrational. I knew this, but I could not logically process anything. After 4 months, Reaves developed a dairy and soy allergy, requiring me to stop breastfeeding and begin formula. As if I didn't already feel the knife in my gut...now the knife was twisting. I'm not Granola, but I took this hard.

It wasn't long before the debt had swallowed us. We hit our knees. I can remember crying out loud to God for help, for guidance, for Nick and I to be on the same page, for community. Help came. With the support of our church, our community group, our family, and closest friends...we made the decision to sell our house to pay off all we owed. Talk about vulnerable...laying down your pride. Heck, blogging about this brings up all of those shameful feelings. 

Our house went under contract within a week, but since we had to reserve so much of what we were making to pay off our debt, our options for purchasing a home were limited. We knew and were at peace about that before listing. We made the decision to down-size. We made the decision to live a simpler life, filled with more moments and experiences than square footage. We made the decision to steward our resources differently. This was not an easy road...it left us "homeless" for a month [with a 5 month old and three pets], forcing us to move in with my parents an hour away. After losing in several bidding wars on several homes, we felt obligated to consider leaving our community in Powdersville. Homes were just few and far between in the area we had come to know and love so much.

I share that to share this: we had a lot going on. The last thing I was focused on was self-care. Until I took Reaves' to our Med-Peds doctor and burst into tears when he told me she was thriving. Confused, he asked how I was doing. And Nick interceded for me, "not well...we need to talk." I confessed I was anxious...I confessed I felt like a failure...I confessed that I was scared sometimes to take care of my child because I felt like I would just mess her up. I confessed mostly that I had no idea what was wrong with me, that I just did not feel right. I was so overwhelmed with the feeling of being less than. Our doctor immediately put me on his schedule, and we talked for the next half hour. He confirmed what I feared. I was struggling with post-partum anxiety/depression, but assured me that it was totally normal. For the first time in five months, I felt like someone else understood what I couldn't. That was just the beginning of my healing.

       Side note, God was sovereign yet again. We got a call back from an offer of ours that 
         lost to someone else, that it was now accepted if we were interested. YES. And we love 
         our new home, in our same community.

The stigma attached to that diagnosis is what I was afraid of. It's what I'm still afraid of. Mom shaming has gotten out of control, which is interesting since our culture so strongly emphasizes inclusiveness, political correctness, being free to be who you feel you are. Noted. So why am I not free to feel anxious and seek help for it without being stigmatized as having mental illness? Yes, mental illness. 

Nick and I recently applied for life insurance. Adulting. The intitial interview was incredibly detailed...too detailed...and that's coming from a person who LOVES details! It was almost personally invasive. "Oh you've had a baby?....okay did you file any medical claims for this event?...Oh, short term disability?...okay, let me check that box. Were you hospitalized for your disability?" Excuse me, what? That claim just gets me paid [50% of my salary - eye roll] while I care for my child [and heal from said watermelon] on unpaid leave. "Well, ma'am, it's a disability claim."

"Are you currently on any medications? Oh Lexapro?...okay let me write that down. And what are you on it for? Anxiety? Okay, mental health...let me check this box. Were you institutionalized for your illness?" Wait...what?

        Side note, this is in no way is intended to minimize the seriousness of or poke fun at true mental 
        illness. That is real and raw and an area that needs even more attention in our country
        in its current state today. This is not that. 

This went on for about 40 minutes. Thank goodness I didn't have to have a cesarean section, which was also asked when we got to "surgeries in the last 10 years." 

Needless to say, after the interview process was complete, I had to fill out a mental illness waiver which resulted in a higher premium by a few hundred dollars. Mental illness. No wonder we read about women who don't seek help for post-partum depression, or anyone for that matter who struggle with some sort of depression/mental illness. I can't apply for life insurance to  guarantee my family is taken care of because I sought help? I'm being penalized because I chose to speak out? I found myself regretting that I ever mentioned my anxiety to my doctor, even though I'm incredibly grateful for where I am now. I feel like a new person. I'm no longer irrational. I'm logical. I'm reasonable. I can love on my daughter instead of obsessing over statistics and growth charts and whether or not her finger nails are growing appropriately. I'm a better mom. I can give grace freely...to my husband, to my family, to myself. To this insurance interviewer on the phone. But it comes at a cost. It's absurd. 

I get that money is money, business is business. But this is only a small example of a larger problem. The stigma attached to women who struggle with PPD/PPA needs to end. Mom-shaming needs to end. We are not weak, we are not less than, we should not be ashamed for not being okay. If our culture wants to be one of acceptance and equality, then let's be that. The more we stigmatize women fighting this battle, the less likely they will be to seek help. Our culture has become one big contradiction and it's infuriating. If we stop stigmatizing, and start supporting, our world - though inevitably broken - may just be a little better off while we're here.

God has changed our hearts in this season and as I've mentioned in previous posts, the past two years have been a turning moment for me in my faith and walk with Jesus. Ironic, huh? But the Bible tells us in 2 Corinthians, "'My grace is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong," (12:9-10) 

           and again in Isaiah... 

"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak," (40:29), "but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint," (40:31)

           and again in the Book of Psalms... 

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble," (46:1)

           and in Habakkuk...

"The Sovereign Lord is my strength, he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights," (3:19).

I hope and pray that mamas going through what I went [and am still going] through will seek help without fear of retribution. If you're a mama who shares in my suffering with PPD/PPA, there is freedom in speaking out, in seeking help, and most importantly, in Christ. 

We are weak, but He is strong. It will be hard, there will be groaning. "Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you." (1 Peter 4:12) As creation subjected to futility, we must come to expect this. But may we place our hope in that "creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God," (Romans 8:21-23). I may groan here on earth...over my anxiety, over the judgment thrown at me, over inequality, over mental illness, over insulting stigmas, over Beetus and Hormones, over lettuce diets....but I anticipate what's to come. The judgment of others on earth holds no merit on me. On us. On you, mama.

"I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world." John 16:33

traveling as a 29+1

I made my way to The Windy City this morning, and have much work to do so this should be short. This is my third time traveling alone in 29.95 years. All three times have been for this same work conference. Talk about taking a job that challenges you. Putting me in an airport without a chaperone - I may never find my way to the bathroom, let alone my destination. Challenge enough. Common sense leaves me...I anxiously panic at the crowds, signs, thought of gate changes. It’s like I all of a sudden can’t read or speak English. Really. As I sit here, eating microwaved frozen chicken fingers passed off as Chili’s chicken crispers, I realize that there are things I now appreciate the closer I approach 29+1 that I could never appreciate before.

1. Taking my time. Whaaaat? First time flying alone, I was in such a rush to make it look like I knew exactly what I was doing. It made my airport anxiety worse, made airport security angry, and probably delayed a lot of helpful samaritans cleaning up my mess of misdirection. It got me lost. It actually caused me to almost miss a connecting flight if it hadn’t been delayed on its own, and caused a kind lady on my first flight to miss her connecting flight waiting on me.

2. Signs are there to READ. Why did I think they were there? As if taking the time to read them was “uncool” or something. Pick me last for dodgeball then, because I’m reading them three times today.

3. Eating alone. Oh the quiet in the middle of this loud airport restaurant. It’s glorious. And I’m blogging...refer to #1. I have no anxiety over the 15 other people in line who would love my seat. I’m Driving Miss Daisy-ing this lunch for One. This hour is MINE.

4. Hospitality really is a southern thing. Cherish its specialness and the accent. It makes us southern gals unique. I’ve been thanked countless times in the past three hours for simple acts of what I just consider respect. That doesn’t exist everywhere. And I don’t consider myself an overly friendly person.

5. Engaging strangers doesn’t mean you will get murdered, every time. Of course, use your better judgement when befriending a stranger, but it’s okay to delight in some casual conversation...especially when you eat alone. I hate engaging in small talk. I literally cringe at the thought of having nothing to say. Awkward silence is one of my biggest panic attack triggers. Use caution, but it’s okay to sacrifice your comfort for some friendly conversation. Also, you never know where the power of networking can take you. As long as you’re smart and know how to throat punch your way out of a bad situation.

6. A good book > social media. No explanation is necessary. I just lost myself for a two hour plane ride...and it was incredible.

7. There are still good people. Similar to #5. I assume the worst, at all times. I assume the man next to me is the leader of a sex traffic ring, that the waitress hates me, that everyone’s judging my outfit. News flash AK, no one cares. Those are self-consumed thoughts. Some people really just like small talk and are just nice people. Also, home slice gave me some gum when my ears were popping. Hopefully it wasn’t threaded with anthrax. See? I have a problem.

I’m sure I will learn more this weekend as Nick and I take on this incredible, ABSURDLY cold city. I’m excited for this conference, the things I will learn, the relationships I will develop/strengthen, and the sites my hubs and I will see as we take a few days for ourselves. Life as a 29+1 may not be as dreadful as I imagine. I am already finding that I like this me better than who I was coming into my 19+1s. Oh here comes my bill for these frozen Walmart fingers. Until later.

the whole world...and candy

For anyone who has ever had a conversation with my toddler, even if only for a brief minute, knows of her love for the song "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands." She doesn't just love it, she's obsesssed with it. Beyond obsessed with it. I love(d) this song, but if I'm being totally honest, the mention of it now makes me cringe. I am just not one of those "play songs on repeat" kinda people. 

To be fair, I set her up for it. I used to sing her to sleep with this song during the super little season. Before she could talk, or soothe herself back to sleep, she needed my singing, and I needed to not sing the same words for two hours. Therefore, I started using this song as a means of praying for all of the people we love and care about. I love multitasking. I would fill in "the whole word" lyric with people's names - i.e. "He's got Lolly and Pop, in his hands..." Usually by the time we got through all of our family, extended family, friends, loved ones in Heaven, and community group members, she'd be out.

Now, as she's about to turn two [what?!], she has an extremely high vocabulary and an extremely big heart for...everything. Nick and I get asked multiple times a day "Whole world, Mommy? Whole world, Daddy?" When we start to sing, she calls the shots on who we're filling into the blanks. It's always fun to see who she thinks about. Most of the time it's her Lolly and Pop, Yaya and BobBob, her aunts, uncles...Mia and Stella... Sometimes we get "hairbrush," "jacket," "cow," "bird," "flower"...I mean... she's not technically wrong (Matthew 6:26, Luke 12:28) Lately, I've been trying to bring the lyrics to the song a little more full circle...asking her who has the whole world and all of these people in His hands. She can now answer that 'Jesus' has everyone in His hands. I continue with 'And where does Jesus live?' -- 'With Cookie Monster.' Noted.

Hold that thought. 

We've been weening off of the paci for about two weeks now. Daycare, because they're 'extra' [if I'm even using that word right], has weened her off completely during naptime. However, we've also always let her have it in the car, and at night, selfishly for our sanity. Car rides are miserable without our Papi. Like, as loud as I can turn up the music without causing damage to our ears doesn't drown out the trantrums [I'm guessing... :)] So we're working on it. Anyway, long story short, we've been managing. She's done well, but when she's about to lose it, she has a list of demands to focus her attention elsewhere... snacks, books, blanket, snacks, phone [what?!], "sing Whole World", pictures, sing "Jesus" [aka Jesus loves me], snacks, snacks, snacks... you get the idea. We usually, if possible, give her what she asks for, because we know the No-Papi-Tantrum (NPT) is close. Choosing battles. 

Yesterday was no exception. No papi on the ride home, but tons of requests. The whining started...and for any fellow mamas reading this, can I get an amen for how weary even a 2-minute car-tantrum can make you? There are no words, but it has, on a number of occassions, brought me to my knees in tears of frustration and defeat. So after raisins didn't satisfy, Brown Bear Brown Bear got boring, the "phone" [which is a Fisher Price remote control] got chunked toward the window, the Larabar didn't taste good, she requested "CAAAANNYYY." Aka - Candy. Buh. We rarely give this child candy, but that one time at the doctor after handling shots well changed her life forever. I get it, chocolate changed my life and it probably only took one taste for me to decide I needed it to soothe my rough days, too.

I gently told Reaves that we didn't have any candy [even if I did, her having it in the car terrifies me], so I told her if she was really good, she could have a sucker when we got home. I'm sure this goes against everything we learned in the parenting class at church on Establishing Authority. She almost went NPT on me. She argued a bit, repeated her request for candy several more times. I just kept repeating back to her my compromise [WHY am I compromising with a toddler? Battles]. So I'm speeding home, waiting for the NPT that inevitably is about to come, small tears, pitiful...sad tears, not angry tears..and she, of course, asks "Whole World, Mommy?" Because I feel bad that she isn't screaming, but is genuinely sad she doesn't have candy [I'm the sucker, here], I comply and start singing the song. 

I wait for her to tell me who Jesus has in His hands, and with the sweetest, quivering, tearful voice, she said "Reaves' candy." It's comical to me that candy is up on her scale with the whole world. But again, chocolate. I get it. It was a hilarious reminder that Jesus does have all of the cares of our heart in His hands...however little they may seem. So sure, Jesus has your candy in His hands, sweet one. Why not.

baby behr: up, up, and away shower

Yesterday we hosted a baby shower for one of my dearest friends. Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love to throw a party! Especially for people I love.

First, about this girl. Lauren and I are both from Greenwood. Knew each other in middle school, went to high school together, and had the same friends. While I wouldn’t say we were super close, we were friends and I have several memories of us hanging out or getting into typical teenage trouble. Her husband, Kyle, and I have been friends since the 2nd grade. We lived in the same neighborhood for several years, and always seemed to end up dating friends so we double dated a lot. 

We all went to different colleges, and were reunited when a mutual friend got married. Lauren and I, after not seeing each other in about 4 years, went on said friend’s bachelorette party,  and I remember thinking [and probably saying], “where have you been all my life?” Nick met Kyle for the first time at the wedding, and they’ve been friends ever since. For the past 8ish years now (wow), we have walked alongside each other in everything. We are framily. Dinners, holidays, concerts, vacations, lazy nights in our PJs, bachelorette parties, weddings, baby showers, deliveries, recoveries,  moves, new jobs. 

Lauren and I are pretty much the same person...though she is a much quieter and sweeter version of that person than I am. She is always thinking of others, always. She always stops everything to help everyone. We pick on her at work because she talks to everyone, she knows everyone...not out of obligation, but because she genuinely wants to know about their life. She is always kind...even when I try to tell her she has “the right to mean” sometimes. I’ve seen her upset, angry, and offended, but not once have I witnessed her act unkind as a result of those emotions. I’m wondering if she even has the capability of being a jerk. I admire her weird kindness, and aspire to give grace as freely as she does. 

She doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, but she pushes me to look beyond myself. This is one of 134,500 reasons I'm thankful for her. She brings so much perspective to our friendship, and without her, God help me. We have  acquired something almost like twin telepathy... no words needed 85% of the time. We just know. The same absurd things make us laugh and cry.

I am so grateful for this decade that is about to end for me and excited about the one to come. This decade, post-college, has been so refreshing. I’ve learned the value in quality over quantity of good, solid, fruitful friendships. Fruitful. I love that word. That is what our friendship is, in a nutshell. We rejoice together, we mourn together, we vent, we offer perspective, we pray for each other, we call it like it is. We have fun, we [belly] laugh, we support each other, we work together, we share books, stories, fears, dreams, clothes, recipes, grief, joy. She cares. She is genuine. She loves...well. Very well. She is a chosen Aunt to my daughter and she loves Reaves like her own. Any mama knows why this makes me ugly cry. She is the type of friend people want, and everyone NEEDS. I like to think we balance each other well, but I often wonder how could I possibly bring anything to the table when she’s just that awesome by herself. I am thankful for who I am now, post-college, because of my Framily, because of friends like her. 

In the past two years our Framily has grown [tis the season for BABIES]. What an amazing season we’re in. It’s one thing to grow up with people, but to begin raising your children together, and walk through the craziness of parenting together...there are no words. Well sometimes there are words. “Help” is one that comes to mind, and a few choice others I won’t mention. Lauren has always showered us with love. When I had Reaves, when Jessica had Larkin. She visited, she spoiled, she decorated, she brought food [food = LIFE to a new parent]. I remember wanting nothing more than a large cheese dip from Moe’s and a cold Coke after I delivered Reaves [#gestationaldiabetesprobs]. Sure enough, in pop Lauren and Kyle not 6 hours later... Moe’s cheese dip and a Coke. I seriously think I drank it straight from the cup. 

So now it’s our turn. It’s time for us to shower and love on her. We are so incredibly excited to see our dear friends welcome their baby into the world in two months. I can’t wait to love on this sweet child and to walk alongside Lauren and Kyle in this next chapter. Yesterday's shower was so fun. Lauren and Kyle aren't finding out Baby Behr’s Gender, so we did our best to keep it neutral. But hey, #girlmomprobs. 

Here’s to you, Behrendt Family. We love you so so much.

I mean..who looks like this pregnant? Seriously...

Missing our other hostess, Jessica! She got the flu and had to stay home. We missed you, J!

...because this is us.

So this week [SPOILER ALERT] we finally found out how Jack Pearson died on This Is Us. Two episodes, Super Bowl Sunday and it's regular Tuesday night episode, have put my emotions into overload. It's just too much to process for one week.... thus discovering just how emotionally fragile I am. Whew. 

I realized I never really posted an introductory post about me or my family, so how appropriate I introduce "Us" this week. Disclaimer: we are not as cool as the Pearson family, fyi.

Here goes. I'm Alicia! I'll be 29+1 in a few short months [I dare not say the word]. I am married to my husband, Nick, [five years strong] and together we have a sassy and sweet almost two-year-old daughter, Marian "Reaves". We have two fur-babies, an almost 11-year-old Cocker Spaniel, Mia, and a 3-year-old cat, Stella. RIP to our former four-legged babies, Murphy, our golden retriever, and Paisley, Stella's litter sister, who both passed away within the past year and a half. 

Nick and I were both born and raised in South Carolina. Nick is from Simpsonville, and I was raised in Greenwood. We've now settled in the Powdersville community, and hope to never live anywhere else. This small town and the people in it have been so good to us, and we look forward to raising kids here, and chickens...one day.

I'll start with me. I grew up a dance and choir nerd, and stayed [against better judgment] in Greenwood for college [Lander], joined Phi Mu fraternity, and majored in Business Administration with an emphasis in Health Care Management. For the first five years of my professional life after college, I worked in the senior living industry in many different capacities ranging from rehabilitation and life enrichment to sales and community outreach. I have a passion for two things: addiction recovery/women's ministry and the aging population/senior citizens. If I could do any job in the entire world, salary aside, I would become a senior advocate, helping seniors and adult children prepare for the golden years, while maintaining their purpose and quality of life. I now work in graduate medical education, which I have come to really enjoy. It provides me a better work/life balance, and I'm incredibly grateful I just so happen to work with amazing people, some of which have become great friends. 

Oh my gosh, she was so little.

While spending time with my little family is my favorite, I love to read, go on trips, serve in our community, plan/host parties, tailgate, watch Clemson football or basketball, spend hours browsing around Target, and hang out with our closest friends, which we refer to as our framily. I'm also in love with all things Joanna Gaines, have an unhealthy obsession with sushi and chocolate, and am a major musical theatre nerd. I only wish I had been talented [and brave] enough for Broadway. I hate hotels, booths, public restrooms, and flying [mostly because planes are a giant petri dish]. I struggle with germs...which is even harder with a toddler who loves licking and touching everything [CRINGE]. I regret to admit that I love a good Netflix binge [wait, it gets sadder] and could make watching cat and/or sloth videos on YouTube my daily workout routine. I love old things and family heirlooms, but hate clutter so I'm constantly battling with the accumulation of too much 'stuff'. I organize when I'm frustrated, but it is also the very thing that frustrates me the most. I sound like one big contradiction. 

Mostly, I love being a mom and the bond that happens so effortlessly with other mamas. It's like an exclusive club where no one knows what's going on, but we all know what's going on and can support each other in that confusion. That's one reason I became so drawn to women's ministry with moms recovering from addiction. Because they're fighting, too, for their kids. Our challenges may look different, but that's really what all of us moms are trying to do, big picture.

 

BABIES (circa Summer of 2007)

Enough about me, more about Nick [all the heart eyes]. First, he is such a private person, so I'm sure he's hating the fact I'm about to talk about who he is. Nick and I met online back when you had to have a college email to have a Facebook account [there's that 29+1 age showing]. We had mutual friends on Facebook the summer before starting Lander, and my brother worked with several people who knew him and could vouch he wasn't an axe murderer. We began chatting via Facebook for several weeks, which led to AIM [old], which led to texting, which led to phone conversations, which led to a blind date [and learning he was a Ginger]. After six months in the friend zone during our first semester of college, I ended up loving that red hair, big smile, and great heart so much. We dated for five years before he popped the question, and have been married now for another five. There have been wonderful moments, and terrible ones. Joyful moments, and sad ones, some that were both at the same time. We have failed, and succeeded. We have sinned and forgiven, loved and lost, lied and corrected, celebrated and yelled... we have learned, but know we will fall short again in the years to come, and put our hope in the Lord that he will guide us through all of what comes our way, just as He has thus far.

Nick also majored in Business with an emphasis in Health Care Management, and works as a financial analyst for graduate medical education. Ergo, we carpool to work and he manages my budget, at home and at the office. Fun, huh? Seriously though, my husband is awesome. He is far wiser, stronger, optimistic, driven, hardworking and capable than I could ever hope to be. Without him, I would surely be lost. He obtained his MBA all while putting up with a  pregnant "me" and during the first six months of parenthood...holy superhero. He is a nerd about a few things: numbers, money, clothes, and realty. He loves to engage in hours of conversation about budgeting, discounts, cost savings, and always looks at property in our area, for fun. He also spends more time getting ready than I do, most days, and it probably shows. He has two major love languages, which play out in everything he does: quality time and acts of service. He is not affectionate, but shows his love by providing, helping, supporting, and being present. His favorite candy is a persona of who he is, Sour Patch Kids, and when once asked what tv sitcom best described his life, he answered Everybody Loves Raymond [Wait, am I Debra?]

He loves golf, craft beer, Clemson football, baseball, and his daughter...above all else. He is championing this girl dad stuff. He hates to be bored, and has a major case of Misophonia...chewing, gulping, smacking gum...breathing too loud. For his sake, I hope he loses some of his hearing in 40 years. Most wives wish their husbands would listen more...I wish he could hear less ;) Recently, he's become quite handy, teaching himself home DIY skills. His latest project was hacking Reaves' IKEA Kitchen for Christmas to look more modern [will post before and after on another day]. He also did a board and batten wall in our back hallway to serve as a mudroom area for our coats, bags, and shoes. To me, he looks like he could be Chip Gaines long lost little brother... amiright?

Twinsies

Now about our little one, Marian Reaves aka Nick Jr. Reaves was born three weeks early and her birth story was quite theatrical. She was in the NICU for two weeks, which I believe to be a turning moment in our lives; the beginning of "Our Story" if you will. Not just because we had our first child, but because [among other events] that's when we began to learn what it meant to fully seek and depend on the Lord in the midst of anguish and complete lack of control. Both growing up in a protestant church, 'christian' was just something that we were, stories we heard, a life we claimed. I think this moment was the moment that ignited true life change for each of us, shifting us from acknowledgers of Jesus to followers of Jesus.

2 days old

Reaves is an independent, spunky, sassy, and sweet little toddler. She keeps us laughing, and of course, is very busy. She hates to be bored, like her daddy, and is always caring after others...including us. When our plates are empty, she tells us to get more to eat. If we don't have a drink with supper, she tells us to get some water. She tries to pick out our clothes, and help us with our shoes. She reminds me of our grandmothers, one of which she is named after...always making sure everyone has what they need and that no one is left out. She even has to kiss us, hug us, and high five us an equal number of times. She will be a great mom one day. She loves Elmo and any stuffed animal she can find. She, like her mama, is OCD about dirt and cleanliness. She loves to wipe down surfaces, swiffer the floors, and put things away. She loves to sing and dance and is incredibly bright [and coordinated] for her age [of course, I'm biased]. She loves her Mia, Stella, and the Clemson Tigers. I have high hopes for her future as a Clemson Rally Cat! 

And of course, our fur babes. Mia, my first baby, has been with me pretty much as long as Nick. I got her right as we started dating, and she has been through hell and high water with me. She is the smartest, most loving dog in the entire world, even when she makes me cuss from eating the trash. She loves Reaves, even though she tries to make us think otherwise. She naps beside her crib, kisses her goodnight, is first to greet her in the mornings, and follows her around everywhere [maybe because Reaves is always eating]. 

Stella, our cat, is the greatest, too..for a cat, as Nick would say. She is so cuddly and would never hurt a soul. Well, that's not exactly true...she's the neighborhood bird murderer...but humans. We are blessed, now only if they didn't shed.

So this is us! And if you didn't watch This Is Us this week, hug your family extra tight, grab some tissues, and maybe an inhaler. Oh, and some eye cream for the next morning. 

Hubs thinks it's hilarious to snap pictures of me sobbing over my shows.
[This Is Us - Sunday Night Episode]

talk. don't listen.

Finally, I can feel the tension in my shoulders settle a little and am able to breathe a sigh of relief rather than nausea and the impending ‘effects’ that have been all too familiar to us this week. All three of us have been knocked off our feet with different viruses and strands of the flu. Mine started Sunday night of last week. Nick fell victim to it Tuesday, and Wednesday, Reaves spiked a fever of well over 103 which eventually climbed to 105 by Thursday. Yes mamas, cue anxiety attack. We all three visited our [amazing] doctor and all three tested negative for flu. Unfortunately for us, and the rest of the nation, flu swabs are showing negative results for positive cases of ‘other’ strands this season. Fantastic.

My husband hasn’t been to the doctor in 15+ years. He’s been sick twice since I’ve known him… treatment never included a trip to the doctor; only Alka-Seltzer PM, solitude, and a good nap, which he swears by. However, I do have to admit, if Alka-Seltzer doesn’t actually treat your symptoms…at the very least, it knocks you out so hard you don’t realize you’re uncomfortable, so hey… cheers. For him to be out of work a half day, let alone three days, and agree to see our family doctor…you know it’s bad. I think our doctor was equally surprised to see his name on the schedule.

Me, on the other hand… I’m professionally sick. Like really. I suffered major abdominal issues throughout middle and high school that kept me feeling terrible. I basically keep the immune system of a pregnant woman… [which would make you think pregnancy would’ve been a breeze for me…false]. I catch any and everything, always have sinus issues, and random dizziness and nausea isn’t something that really concerns me because it happens often. I’m lucky I guess, but I've learned how to make it work, get it done, and not let it slow me down. Healthy? Probably not.

So “unknown GI bug, flu-like virus” it is. The details should never be spoken of out loud, so I’ll spare you and just sum it up to say a week of an upset stomach, intense migraines, and a super-sick toddler [and husband] has had me exhausted. We had no clean towels, were already wearing our “laundry day” items on Sunday, and we now all needed clean sheets and toothbrushes. Not to mention:

·   I needed to finalize [eh, start] things for a baby shower I hosted for my sister in law this weekend

·   I have two presentations [public speaking, yikes] coming due at work for a National Conference

·     We start recruiting in a week

·    And I have no PTO.

#workingmomprobs

Tension.

I recently finished Present Over Perfect by Shauna Niequist. If you haven’t read this book, stop reading my post and put it in your Amazon cart. I'll make it easy: click here. It is truly an amazing read.

As part of my 2018 journey to “engage” more, I am trying to implement her simple practice of letting go of perfect, and focus on being present. So when we all three got sick, I stopped. The word “stop” is one I legitimately need to look up in the dictionary every now and then…it just isn’t something I do. I’m too busy [or OCD]. But Shauna has encouraged me that it’s fine to stop. It’s fine for me to choose to cuddle my [not so baby] baby over folding the three loads of laundry scattered along our hallway. It’s fine to leave the dirty dishes in the sink until later so I can spend more time with Reaves while she’s awake. It’s fine. Her words have helped me engage. They’ve helped me live for the present and stop worrying about perfection. It’s uncomfortable sometimes, but refreshing.

So while we were sick, I was present. I was present in our discomfort. I was present in our  mess. I was present in the joy that snuck in when fevers settled and jokes were made. I was sick, we were sick, I stopped, we stopped. We rested. Also a word I need to reference with Webster. That’s what the doctor orders…but it’s never an order I’ve taken seriously.

Now, let’s not get crazy…I am just starting this journey, so my present over perfect mission hasn’t been perfected just yet [ha]. My family wasn't forced to use dirty towels, turn our underwear inside out, or sleep on diseased sheets, so hold your judgment. Just rather than selecting a clean, freshly folded towel from the linen closet with its matching wash cloth, we dove through the crinkled clean clothes basket shoved in our laundry room when we mustered up enough energy to take a shower. See the difference? I feel like such a rebel.

Okay, getting back on track. As much as I made the decision to let go of perfect, and be present, for my own health and for the health and emotional well-being of my family this week, I still felt the overwhelming tension of my to-do list. Every day, I still battled with myself before actually making the decision to let things ride. I came home from work yesterday to a completely clean home. Floors mopped, furniture dusted, laundry put away, toys organized, CANDLES burning...[I've said it before, and will say it again, my hubs rocks]. Even still, I feel the weight of the few articles of clothing that's been added to our hamper and the bags that haven't been unloaded from my car from a  busy day. So as you can see I still have a long way to go. 

Thursday night, I almost let my 2017 habits take over. I briefly became obsessed [and unpleasant to be around] over my decoration and food to do list for my sister in law’s baby shower…something I had been 'planning' for for weeks. 

I sat down, did some work, and when Reaves wanted ‘Mommy’, I stopped. Again. Who am I? I went to bed early, with her and Nick, all cuddled up in our bed ready to take on the three hour shifts of administering medicine to her to bring down [and keep down] her 105 degree fever. Despite the anxiety, that moment, her snuggled in between us, combing her daddy’s hair with one hand and squeezing mine with her other…that moment I was present. And it was perfect.

Because I’m flesh, I woke up yesterday morning…relieved our girl’s fever broke, but grumpy that I still had not gotten everything done for my sister in law’s shower…which was today. Procrastination is not something I can tolerate…in anyone, much less myself. I was rude to Nick. A jerk actually. He offered to help…to cut up confetti, to tie bows, to string pom pom garland… I snapped and told him he couldn’t do it 'like I wanted' so he better not touch it while I was at work. Whoa. What a butthole wife. How much worse did I feel when I walked into a completely cleaned house later that day? Ugh, such a butthole.

So finally to get to this point of this post. Stream of consciousness I tell ya.

When I was pregnant with Reaves, I was gifted an audio-book set of thoughts on faith. Kid-friendly devotionals with CDs for the car. I put one of the CDs in months ago [haven’t listened to it since] when Reaves and I were heading home from daycare in hopes of allowing opportunity for her be exposed to biblical truth. Anyone with an almost-two-year-old is probably laughing at me...because let's be real, toddlers. The CD became just another noise in the car - our drives home usually consists of screams, tears, and instant demands, so I turned it off the same day and forgot about it completely.

Yesterday morning, as I was driving to work, after being a butthole wife [and not apologizing], something deep inside of me told me to play the CD. I had honestly forgotten it was even in there, so how strange that I was so prompted to turn it on. I did and the charming British narrator opens with "Talk to Yourself."

How often do we wake up anxious, mad, or upset about something? [everyday] Probably because we are listening to ourselves and the thoughts that are circulating in our minds. Perhaps something happened the day before that has us sad, or we're anxious about something coming up on our schedule...so we're listening to our thoughts...which for me, was a running checklist of what I had not gotten done. Fair enough. 

But this charming man went on to ask how often do we talk back to ourselves? Telling ourselves who we are, who God is, versus listening to what is consuming our thoughts. Ultimately, stop listening to yourself, and start talking back. Start preaching the gospel to yourself each morning. Ask yourself what has you so anxious, so upset, or angry...and remind yourself that God is Sovereign over all of it and hope is found only in Him, not in the successful completion of a mile-long to do list.

This week I prayed for God's guidance and for the strength to make it through the sickness, the lists, the stress of not being paid for work days missed. The Holy Spirit urged me to tune my ears to the 3-minute children's lesson on that CD. I all too often ask for God's help...but how often do I do my part? The Bible tells us in 2 Corinthians to take our thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ [10:5]... It's easier for me to be lazy and ask God to show up, when I don't. I ask, but I don't seek. I don't talk back to myself, preach the gospel to myself. I listen to myself, and allow my thoughts to captivate me. 

I am constantly amazed at His creativity in how he chooses to connect with us and reveal more of who He is. He also gave my husband a servant heart, which is a blessing to me. A clean house does make me feel better, even though I am working on not letting that control everything else in my life. It's like a good massage for me. It relaxes me. I worked a full day, and was able to come home [to a clean house] and knock out everything on my list, without sacrificing time spent with my family. And the shower ended up being totally fine.

I wish I could say this means I've got it figured out, pat myself on the back, and check this one off of my list of things I need to learn. I really have an issue with checklists. However, knocking my pride down a few pegs [or 10], I know I will battle with this as long as I'm on this side of Heaven. But I find it encouraging that God knows this about me...he actually created me this way. After I turned the CD off, I turned on the radio and "What A Beautiful Name" was playing...I end with these lyrics because they are just so powerful:

"You didn't want Heaven without us,

So Jesus, you brought Heaven down...

My sin was great, Your love was greater

What could separate us now

What a wonderful name it is...

What a wonderful name it is...

The name of Jesus Christ, my King."

cheers to 42 years

On Saturday, we celebrated my dad’s retirement after 42 years!

My dad graduated from Clemson with a degree in mechanical engineering, and went to work for Milliken & Company right out of college. Over the years, he worked at many different locations in SC, but settled in Abbeville when we moved to Greenwood somewhere around the time I turned three. The Abbeville plant became Sage Automotive several years ago, and thankfully, Dad stayed on in his position. With the minor exception of the company name change, he has basically dedicated his entire career to one company.

I can remember throughout my childhood Dad getting calls at midnight [after a full day of work] with a “problem only he could fix.” He’d get up, get dressed, go into work, return around 2:00am only to get called again at 4:00am and repeat the process. Never once did I hear him complain. Never once did I hear him curse. Never once did I witness any type of frustration.

How am I his daughter, again? I’m pretty sure that’s the one gene I did not inherit from him. #goals

My dad’s work ethic is just one example of the many traits that make him amazing. His hardwork, his loyalty, his dedication, his patience, his drive, his ability to lead and serve, his ability to love others well. I remember my mom once telling me he wished he had been present more for us when we were kids….excuse me, what? Literally my exact response.  I was totally confused as to why he would ever feel that way.

I was blessed with an amazing childhood, with two very involved parents who were [and still are] intentional about family time. I never felt I missed out on anything. My dad never missed a dance performance in 15 years; in fact, he would be at all three showings [in one weekend], each time with flowers. He never missed a school play, a soccer game [insert chuckle], a football game to watch me cheer, a chorus performance, or a graduation. He was always home for dinner. He never missed family vacations or holidays. He was always out in the yard with us on the weekends. He volunteered extra time at our school(s) to help set up for performances, assist with fundraisers, build homecoming props… how could he have spent any more time with us? As I saw it, he gave us all of his time.

As if freely giving us his time wasn’t enough, he always gave us his undivided attention. He never sat on his phone while we played in the corner [something I am guilty of every day]. He was always first to volunteer to help me with my math homework, to teach me to drive, to help me move [eh..SEVEN times], to take care of our pets, to bring us dinner. He taught us the difference between right and wrong, and no matter how many times my brother and I got it wrong or deliberately disobeyed [which was often], he never yelled, he never gave up or let his emotions take over. He listened, he forgave, he hugged, he told us he loved us…unconditionally. Each time we failed, he would rescue us first, ask questions and discuss later. It was something I always admired about him. I was never afraid of him or how he would react. He was a safe place. Consistent.

As I’ve become an adult I realize how exhausting and difficult that must’ve been. And to have done it so gracefully. I don’t think I will ever be able to manage the balance between work and home that well. It wasn’t until I became a mom that I fully understood God’s love for His children. However, I now see it in everything I do. Every lesson I strive to teach Reaves, are lessons God is [and has always been] trying to teach me. To trust, to obey, to follow, to love, to be kind, to serve others. The comparison of God’s parenthood to ours is endless. 

I truly believe God is using this season of my life to reveal more of who He is to me. More about His mercy, more about His unconditional love, more about trusting Him for my needs, more about understanding He has gone before me, more about my need for His wisdom and direction, more about coming to Him with my questions, cares, and anxieties. He is a safe place, a place where I can rest, even when [especially when] I fail. And now, through my own parental lenses, I can look back and see how well my earthly father applied the love of our Heavenly Father to us. How he engaged us. And if my earthly father's love is so great, how much greater is God's love for me, the Creator of the universe... this idea is way too big for me to process. It is overwhelmingly satisfying. 

I am learning more about what kind of parent God is, and what it looks like to follow His example, just as my dad did, so that Reaves may grasp the lesson of the loving, patient, great God we serve.

“Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.” Ephesians 4:32

“Fathers do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged.” Colossians 3:21

“May the Lord lead your hearts into a full understanding and expression of the love of God and the patient endurance that comes from Christ.” 2 Thessalonians 3:5

My dad is amazing, and deserves celebration. Mom worked for months to pull off a surprise party with our family and their closest friends, and I must say, it couldn’t have gone better. Dad was so surprised. He deserves it, and so much more. I hope he always knows how much he means to us, and to others whose life he has impacted. I only speak to the type of father he is, but the presence of everyone who came is a testament to the type of husband, brother, uncle, brother-in-law,  father-in-law, “Pop”, and friend he is to so many others.

Happy Retirement, Dad! Here’s to the first Monday in 42 years that you can snooze [or just not set] that alarm clock. Enjoy it! We love you to the moon.

Pictures from the party

Party venue: T.W. Boones