Talking About My Joys and Taking Back Motherhood


I have noticed a trend in parent world. We write about things that are tough. We write about how hard life can be. We write about things we find funny…. Gross things we find funny, but no one else does. Often, in our writing, we tend to leave out all mush and gush (for the most part). I mean if I tell you I think my boys are possibly the sweetest, kindest little beings on this planet with the faces of angels… you are going to gag. The thing is I actually do feel this way a lot, but it doesn’t really work for purposes of humor. And with all this being “real” and not “fluffy”… I have traumatized my sisters.

And I quote: “This is not making me want to have children.”

A feeling I think they should have for a while, but I mean, I want them to know it is not all diapers and being perpetually sleep deprived. Sort of. Furthermore, I have noticed that this sentiment is also found on the World Wide Web. On many public forums I have noticed that more and more people are getting a bad taste in their mouths for parenthood.

Sidenote: I actually think this is a direct result of our culture’s view of sacrifice and selflessness. Traits that actually make your life better and make you happier, but that is a topic for another day.

I think in an effort to be real many of us have focused so much on talking about the hard stuff that we forget to speak about our joys. So without further adieu:

A Few Reasons Why I Love Being a Mother

I love the tiny cuddles and wet kisses that will one day turn into big, strong hugs and quick cheek kisses. There is nothing purer then the adoration a child has for his mother (and father). Nothing. To be loved wholly and entirely as you are, Jesus is the only one that trumps that. And on the flip side, there is nothing stronger than the love a parent has for a child. Which brings me to my next point:

Children teach you to love. I remember giving birth to my first son and feeling completely overwhelmed. Never in my life had I been so flooded with emotion. I could not even feel it was so much. Too much of everything. Of joy. Of fear. Of pride. Of love. I couldn’t decipher one from another. But when I came out of my haze, I stared at a perfect little being. I wondered at all that he was. The mystery. The smell. The tiny toes. The smiles. And a strange thing happened. Flowers smelled sweeter. I loved my husband more. I loved my mother more. I saw beauty in the everyday. I looked at animals that I previously ignored (I know I am a terrible person), and I found myself making squeaky love noises at them. I grew so much as a person that first year. Yes it was hard, but it was also so good.

And then my next son was born. Whatever hard part was left in my heart melted into a puddle. I didn’t have the haze I had with my first son. I could decipher the feelings. I knew this love. With his birth my ability to love grew by two more tiny hands. Living a life that is not just about me has given me new purpose and made me happier. Learning when to sacrifice and when to take care of myself has made me stronger. I have learned to be a teammate with my husband. Loving and caring for my little ones has spilled over into my relationships with others. I find that I have more compassion and more empathy. I recognize that everyone is someone’s child. Children have changed my character. They have made me a better wife, a better daughter, and a better friend. I care about people because I care about my people. You can’t have love completely encompass one part of your life and not have it spill over into other areas of your life.

Joy. SO SO SO MUCH JOY. Joy that makes you a crazy person. Joy you cannot explain. Ridiculous happiness that makes no sense. Holden said “Mama” for the first time, and I almost cried. Watching them do anything for the first time is a tear jerk moment. I mean look at all these parents with their video cameras and phones. They cannot get enough. And if you don’t have a 1509650_10153378807330824_3729871436344178622_nkid, you don’t get it. Parents look absolutely ridiculous. But I tell you, you have not lived until you get home from being gone and a little face peeks out the door and takes off in a full sprint towards you with a big smile on their face. Joy people.

Forever friends. My kids are my people. Just like I am my parent’s people. We get to do life together. How awesome is that? We as people are made for relationships, and the family structure gives us that. I could travel the whole world, own my own company, own a country, and I tell you that at the end of my life all that will matter to me is my family.

I once heard it said that saying “Why have kids when you can just have nieces or nephews, and send them back?” is like saying “Why fall in love when you can just be friends?” Is motherhood all giggles and smiles? No. Have I always felt so optimistic? No. Do I think everyone needs to have children? No. Love is not always easy, but it is always worth it.

So my little sisters, my readers, and the skeptics online, do not fear having kids. Children bring unimaginable joy, growth, and love.

Now excuse me while I go clean up the absolute destruction my kids caused while I was writing this. I did not want those DVD’s in the shelf anyways. Oh… joy.1779704_10153378806535824_4037883357466843504_n

Tales from Sick Season

I have been absent due to sickness. The plague. Sick season this year has not been kind. My life has been a whirl of fevers, sleepless nights, lukewarm baths, coughs, and humidifiers. I have war stories. Stories of survival. Like the day I decided it was time to go to the doctor (again). MjAxMi05ZWIyYzlkZmYwYTRjZTVm

Tay and I had been up what felt like a month with the kids. Calming coughing babies, bringing down fevers, it had been rough. But one morning Holden started to cough so bad he couldn’t breathe (croup), and Mommy about had a mental breakdown. It was time to go back to the doctor.

Last time we went (2 weeks before), it was for a week of high fevers for Hudsy… who was better by the appointment… only to give his brother his sickness AFTER the appointment.

Sidenote: Why are kids never that sick when it comes time to go to the doctor? Does Mommy having to fork over the copay make a child magically feel better? I can’t count how many times I have called in with a sick baby only to show up with a bouncing, giggling child. Maybe next time I will just gather my children…  take $50… flush it down the toilet… and then see if they feel better. But I digress.

So I made the appointment. I swept my hair up in a bun. Wiped some unidentified (ignorance is bliss) smears off my shirt. Dug in the laundry basket for a pair of yoga pants. And attempted to compose myself.

As for my children, I left them both in footie pajamas. Yes, even the 2 1/2 year old. Holden is obsessed with his footie pajamas. He almost had a meltdown when I tried to put shoes on him, and I was too tired to care. So whatever, footie pajamas won.

(For those of you who do not know what a “footie” pajama is, it is a one piece outfit that has built in socks… with one zip your child is completely dressed.)

I threw both boys into the car and headed off to the appointment. Chaos ensued.

First, I went to the wrong office. This was a new doctor and stinking google maps took me to the office she had in 1975. I got the kids out of their carseats and walked around the medical center for nothing.

I then realized that my phone was dying. I had moments before radio silence. So in a panic I burst into the nearest medical office and begged to use their phone before all was lost. Luckily, I found out that my doctor’s office was in the next building over, but this still required me to strap the kiddos in again. So much for being early… or even on time.

When I arrived at the correct building, I rushed to get the kids out, but something was terribly wrong.

The lower half of Holden’s body was completely soaked.

Did he spill his sippy cup?



It was not his sippy cup.

The kid had peed through his diaper and pants in less than an hour.

Hydrate sick kid? Check.

Now the problem was that I had no clothes for him. He is 2 1/2. I thought we were past having to bring an extra pair of clothes everywhere. Furthermore, I had no shoes because, well, he was in footie pajamas.

He could not go in naked, and I couldn’t exactly take him in drenched in pee… Hello social services… so what was a Mom to do?

I looked at my watch and furiously tore through the car looking for any clothing I could find. I found a pair of Hudson’s 6 month shorts and a nice yellow onesie to match. That’ll do.

So picture this.

A doctor’s office full of sick children and parents. So many that they spill out into the hallway. And in walks a frazzled mother with two boys on her hips… one child is frantically trying to escape her grasp… poor thing… and then you look at the other. She sets this one down before she collapses. He is barefoot, wearing short shorts, and a yellow onesie with the button end sticking out. Hmm.

She takes out crumpled papers from her purse to give to the nurse.

You think to yourself, “Well at least she came somewhat prepared.”

And then you hear it.

“I filled these out at home. I hope it is ok that there are coffee stains all over them.”

If that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what does.



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