Mama said there'd be days like this... I just didn't know it'd be today.

 I don't even know where to begin.

I guess I'll fill you in on the picture here right now.  I'm currently sitting on the couch looking at a sea of toys scattered everwhere.

Everywhere.

That's just the toy mess in this whole hot mess right now.

My kid is in his bed screaming goodness-know-what hateful toddler tears at me.  He is SO tired.

How dare mommy put me down for a much needed nap.

I'm shoving heated up left-over casserole in my mouth while I type, because I have to type, but I haven't eaten yet, and I'm starving, but I'm starving to let this out.  So I chew and type.  And hey, at least a toddler's not pointing at every bite I eat and wanting it, so really this is like a vacation.

I'm not sure who has more blood-shot eyes today from lack of sleep and crying, me or the kid, but it's a sure close competition.

Just keeping it real.

I have a confession.

Ya know the moms who really struggle with the infant phase?  The at-a-loss lostness?  The begrudging?  The feelings of bitterness?  Of being suffocated?  The end-of-the-rope tightrope walk day after day?

That wasn't me.

I LOVED the baby stage.  Ate. It. Up.  In the hospital, after I had Silas, I nearly immediately declared that he would indeed be a big brother, I was definitely having more of this amazingness (which he will, and I will- another lil boy's due here this fall).  I remember that first year... even plus a few months... exclaiming how every day just got better and better and each stage was more and more fun.... and they did, and it was....

And then something stopped.

This is my confession.

That struggle... that begrudging... that suffocation... that end-of-the-rope... that I expected to face in those first several months....

they're hitting me like a mountain now.

Maybe I'm not cut out quite right for the toddler phase...

Maybe it's the discipline joy we get to have now....

Maybe it's the fact that we've moved 2 times in the not-quite 2 years of his lil life and moving takes such a toll and family and friendships are hours away.

Maybe it's that I'm pregnant now and I don't glow and am only running on maybe 10% between the sciatica and hormones and CAVING IN pelvic floor, and my pregnancy with Silas seems like a breeze compared to being pregnant with a toddler in tow.  And when I was pregnant with Silas I read every baby up-date and just sat and felt my belly move and now I swear if it weren't for the yucky symptoms I'm pretty sure I would forget I'm even pregnant.

Maybe it's the fact that my son is an early riser, and has never been a good napper and in the time he naps I can maybe get a shower and have a few sips of coffee, maybe.

Maybe it's the fact that we're currently living in an apartment that's filled with all our stuff from our last house, mostly still in ugly boxes, and there's not even hardly any window space we can see out of and we trip everywhere we can walk, which isn't much area, and the neighbors are SO noisy... I mean, I know we need to love our neighbors as ourselves but so help me, right now as I'm desperately wanting my kid to fall asleep I swear they are just jumping up and down above his room and I want to go up there and scream for them to SIT DOWN for the love just SIT.

Whatever it is, all I know, is that today by 11am I was standing over the sink, face in hands, bawling, SOBBING, while my kid bawled too and screamed at me and we both sobbed and then as I sobbed harder he switched to laughing, because I guess he thought it was funny, and this made me sob harder.

And the toys are everywhere, and his pee is all over the floor, and we have to change outfits AGAIN, and I've been up for almost 5 hrs and have not stopped for a stinking second and yet NOTHING is done and we are late for something AGAIN and the house that I cleaned yesterday is a mess, and we're a mess and it's one. big. mess.

When he was an infant I was prepared for these feelings and prepared for these tears and prepared for these days, but they didn't come and certainly anything close to this was rare.

And it only would FEEL like he would be yelling at me, and now... now no doubt he IS yelling at me.  And I WANT to yell at him and it takes every last little ounce that I have in me to NOT yell at him and to maintain some type of calm as I deal with him but inside I am depleted.

Utterly.  Depleted.

And then the mommy guilt comes.  And the thoughts of women with real problems come.  And I feel bad for feeling so sad and I want to do better but I just keep falling on my face.

In the back of my mind I hear the whispers of clueless women who say such genius things as...

"If I was a stay-at-home mom I would be SO bored."

"What do stay-at-home moms even do all day??"

Heaven help me.

Sheesh, what do I do all day... when nothing's done??

I dress him.  Just getting his pants on can take hours.

I take him potty.  He throws a fit because I won't read to him on the potty this time because I have to brush my teeth.

I clean up any pee that's not made it into the seat quite right since he was throwing a fit.

I re-dress him from the pee that's instead made it onto his pants around his ankles.

I feed him.  While I'm cooking, he's whining and saying and signing "EAT! EAT!" over and over and over while yanking on my pants.

I get him his food, and by the time I get mine, he's finished his and I had 3 bites and now he's relentlessly signing ALL-DONE while he whines and I just want to eat and I try making him sit there while I eat but he's losing his mind and so...

I clean up him and the disaster around him from his eating.

I re-dress him from the spilled yogurt that is all over him.

I brush his teeth while he cries for me not to.

He has to go potty again.

I read him the book while he goes.

He starts "playing", aka TEARING UP EVERYTHING, while I hurriedly eat a few more bites.

I warn him of impending disclipline as his behavior veers.

I execute such disclipline.

I clean up breakfast while he finishes bringing out every toy he can into our 5 sq ft of play space.

 And I non-stop keep him from choking/falling/breaking things and comfort him and dry the tears when boo boos still happen.

I listen to "mommy" a million times, "help" a million and one, and "mommy help" 3 trillion times in a day.

And again I feed him, and I take him potty, and I correct him, and I dress him, and I clean him up, and I do all of this over and over and over and yes it's monotony but there's no time to be bored because my kid just tripped and is sobbing and reaching out saying "mommy" and something spilled and I realize it's past time for him to go potty and I better hurry him there while I comfort him from the fall or we're gonna have to change outfits again.

I take my son to the potty a million times and yet I have to go most of the time but can't get a stinking bathroom break.  And when I do, you better believe privacy is a luxury that's not involved.

I spend so much of the day in the kitchen cooking, feeding, and cleaning and am yet hungry and forget to eat.

And then there's the errands and groceries and appointments and to-do lists and no, no I'm not bored.

And my hair is always in a pony tale that I'm starting to feel bitter against and make-up almost never happens and when it does it's in the parking lot of wherever we had to get to as I sit and throw on some mascara in the review mirror before we run in.

But thank goodness there are those sweet moments still, they're just rarer than that first year, but he does something extra cute or extra sweet and he signs "thank-you" for something and he says a new word and he smiles HUGE and hugs me... and I desperately cling to those moments like they are air and I need them like I need water.

And I laugh along with the little giggles.

And I blink back tears.

I tickle.
And I snuggle
And I kiss.

I dance.

I drown.

I play.

I panic.

I comfort.

I cry.

I sing.

I scold.

I worry and try not to.

I wonder what day it even is.

I answer a million little questions and ponder a thousand more.

I pray desperate so-help-me prayers and whisper ones of utter thanks.

I'm a cook.

I'm a day care worker.

I'm a maid.

I'm a teacher.

I'm a principal.

I'm a nurse.

I'm a mom.

I'm "not working" and I'm working all the time and 9-5 has become 5-9 and then some, and I look back and miss the days of getting to get ready for work and the days of LEAVING work till the next shift and now there's no closing time and it's all just so relentless.

All this giving and I still don't feel like enough.

And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I wouldn't.

It's going to be the end of me but maybe that's a good thing, and it's relentless but so is my God and He won't give up and so I won't either.

And so this is this season of life and this is my mission field and I remind myself that one day I'll miss it because older women tell me so and I believe them.  And so I cling to the moments that are sweet and sometimes sob through the ones that aren't.

And I tell myself, over the lies of Satan that say contrary, that it's not something I'm doing wrong.

And it's okay.

And it's going to be okay.

And I know this isn't really a "big" deal and I'm so glad God cares about all the deals, not just the big ones.

And by the way, let me fill you in on the scene now....

Silas maybe slept, at least he was quiet, for about 15 minutes, and then as our neighbors got louder and louder he woke up screaming and sobbing and I had tried to get him back to sleep, and then I gave up...

So now, he's sitting next to me watching The Cat in the Hat on PBS and he has crackers and juice and milk...

and the toys are still everywhere and now there are crumbs everywhere too...

and these are all the things I said I would never do but mommy needs to breath...

and I've heard mommy and help and help mommy over and over again since he got up and it's Round 2 and I'm not ready, but He's ready.

And one day I'll miss this and it's okay and it's going to be okay.

It's going to be okay.

So here's the story...

This past summer my hubby and I officially decided to start trying for a baby.  Awkward phrase?  Yes.

And as we started this process, I was one of those this-will-be-tons-of-fun and I-will-get-pregnant-right-away types. Literally.  I was convinced we'd get pregnant on the first attempt.

That didn't happen, and sheesh was I crushed.  What a unique pain to realize that the "attempt" was a fail; and there was for sure no prego ego.

But after google-ing and figuring out exactly what we needed to do differently, my hopes were high again as round 2 came up.

And again, nope.

Round 3?  Uh, no.

And 4....  nope.

And of course, each month I had different reasons for being pretty expectant that I was expecting.  Every time, I was wrong.

This was getting less fun.  This was getting to be work... and math, and when was the science gonna kick in??

So as this journey went on my frustrations grew.  I believed in my mind and said with my mouth that God was in control and for goodness sake's it was none of my business to tell Him when to make a life.  But deep down I knew I had a plan, I had a timeline and none of this was matching up.

It didn't make it any easier when at the grocery store a teenage girl was buying a pregnancy test and giggling with her friends about how she was so excited that she thought she was pregnant.

Frustration increased.  I told my husband "I'm so tired of this roller coaster ride... every month it's up and down and then the next month it's alllll over again!!"

And then the end of October my pastor preached a sermon that I blogged about because it impacted me so deeply.  The title that popped up on the power point, "Ride the Roller Coaster, Trust the Designer", mine as well have said "Emily, this sermon is for you so listen up!".  My pastor talked about everything I already knew... that life is a roller coaster and when we give our highs and lows to God they even out.  He read a ton of awesome Scripture.  At the end we all stood for the invitation time, and next thing I knew, I couldn't stand.  I was sobbing sitting in the pew being under deeper conviction then I've ever experienced before.  And I prayed and apologized and felt such sweetness in my faith... it was unreal.  It was priceless.  It was God.

And as I prayed... I needed less and less words.  I could literally feel God take the baby burden from me and replace it with such peace.... peace that passed my understanding.

Right after the service was over, as I was still wiping my blotchy eyes, another couple in the church came over and started chatting and shared that they were about to work on starting a family.  An hour ago that would have hit my heart and brought the discouragement waves a comin'.  Instead, I inwardly smiled and thought "Sorry Satan, this battle's done.  Go pick on somebody else!" :)

That next week I actually kept forgetting that I needed to be tracking certain things and what-not to get ready for attempt #5.  Jason says I was like a different person.  I was.  The things I believed in my head and said with my mouth where now a part of my soul and deep in my heart.  God had it... my plan was handed over... complete trust in Him was truly in me.

If I were God, I'd look at me and smirk and say "Yeah... we'll see how much you mean this.  Let's give it another year and see if you pass the test."

Thankfully, I'm not God:)

And God, in His kindness... in His mercy... in His grace... let us have a "successful" attempt #5.  Just a few weeks later we took the at-home pregnancy test and were so thrilled at the precious plus sign!

I can with deep conviction say that if we hadn't seen that plus sign, it would have been okay.  My boat would not have been rocked because Jesus was Captain, and I was no longer telling Him how to drive.

Isn't God amazing??

Oh, and here is the link to my baby blog... I've been working on it for several weeks, starting it secretly since Baby Hart was still a secret to everyone else.  Now it's finally a public blog!  Too exciting:):)

http://baby-step-by-step.blogspot.com/

Huge Tiny Miracles

Well it's been several weeks since I last blogged, thanks to the crazy holiday season and being in my first trimester of pregnancy:)

While it's totally public now that I'm pregnant (once it's on Facebook, everyone and their puppy knows;)), this is the first time on this blog that I've talked about it.  And while it's caused a lag on this blog, be happy to know I've still been blogging- on another new blog I've started to journal this journey!  And while I haven't published it yet, keep posted as I'll be making it public in the next handful of days!

For now, I want to share this video clip a great friend shared with me.  It is AMAZING to watch and think about the miracle God does creating a baby!!  It's so interesting and truly sad to see the perplexity of Mr. Tsiaras as he wonders how this could all happen.  He talks about the "magic" of the process and how it is "beyond our comprehension".  Ah, but we can comprehend more than just this:)  It's not magic... it's a miracle.  And while it is indeed overwhelmingly impossible to figure out completely, we can know that the "how" is all God.  It beautifully blows our minds, as God always should.  And instead of simply being baffled, we can turn our wonder into praise and glory for Him!  Honestly, I don't know how you could have any other reaction!  "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you." Jeremiah 1:5.