This summer while in Barbados, Reid and I were inspired when we heard someone say they gave their kids an experience for their birthday, rather than buying them a gift to unwrap. With Sadler’s 7th birthday right around the corner, I put a plan in motion. Continue reading
One year ago yesterday, I shared my very first blog post on this site. I actually bought this laptop for the sole purpose of starting this blog.
It wasn’t the first time I had written on the internet; I had a Tumblr account that I piddled with once-upon-a-time. But, when this site was born last February, it was different.
I’d been pulled in a direction that led me to write again, but this time, it’d be different. I had recently made the decision to leave my career to stay at home and be a mom. I felt God telling me to be patient and not to worry, but to slow down. I knew I’d have to find ways to make money from home and did a little bit of research on making money through blogging. But that wasn’t what was important to me. I was eager to walk in my truth and tell my story.
I felt called to put my creative gifts and love for communication and passion for inspiring others to the test, creating the ultimate trifecta. Writing gave me life and fulfillment and sprinkled pure joy in my days. (I pray it always will.)
What may come as a surprise, however, is that when I get the urge to write, it stops me in my tracks. My blog post ideas l i t e r a l l y come out of nowhere, and I usually have to stop what I am doing and go write. And the not-so-cool part about it is: I can’t stand writing from my phone or tablet. It MUST be on a laptop or something with keys. That I can aggressively and quickly bang (ask my new co-workers/roommates or darling husband, they will attest to my annoyingly loud typing. Bless them all for their tolerance.) But my point is, I have to get to my computer, dial up my diffuser and get busy. I’m not much of a mobile blogger much at all. Ever, really.
But y’all. I can’t help it. I just get moved to say stuff. All the feels. ALL THE JOY.
When I opened my laptop to pull up WordPress to write this post tonight, I noticed a folder on my desktop that I created a few months ago: “Things That Move Me”.
I only saved one thing in it…
This quote says so much about my journey last year. There was so much uncertainty and many faith-based decisions. I had no idea when I started this blog what it’d lead to. I just figured I’d inconsistently write when I felt the urge. I wrote each post from the heart and was sincerely moved by each opportunity to share my journey with a friend or stranger.
Writing became my safe space. My release. My peace.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think that 2,220 people would view my site 3,288 times in 27 countries all over the world in just one year. Goodness gracious, am I grateful.
I’m deeply touched for each blink of an eye that my words sit between. I appreciate each kind remark and comment. It’s been an honor to share my heart with you.
To think about all that’s happened since this blog began brings me back to grace, and gratitude, and awestruck wonder. God’s led me into deeper waters. I never want to feel like I’ve arrived, but I sure do long for more.
If there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that this time of year is just not my best. I battle darkness during this season each year of my life. I’m certain lots of us do. I’m thankful that things like writing and hot yoga and coffee and worship music bring me back to life on tough days.
Here is to Spring being around the corner. But for now, may we ride the wave of this season together and keep our eyes on what we can’t see. There’s beauty there.
You didn’t like to make a big deal about your birthday. Looking back now, I realize that’s only because you never made things much about yourself in the first place.
I’ve needed to look into your eyes a lot of times lately. Looking there always kept me honest. Your eyes were soft and they cradled me. You wept behind your glasses as you’d take in my words.
We’d sit for hours around that table; you’d fidget with your leftover lunch napkin, rolling and twirling it through your hands. But you’d never take your eyes off me. Sometimes you’d close them, but I know now you were only trying to take my pain away.
There’s a picture of you in our house that I tend to go to when I need you. You were young, holding a guitar, in the middle of a field. And you almost smiled. You didn’t like to smile for pictures, and you didn’t play the guitar as far as I know. That’s what makes this picture so amazing. Someone captured you out of your comfort zone, a place you didn’t go often.
But that picture, it saves me. Something about it allows me to connect with you unlike the others. To have known you at such a young age in your life, at a time when you were so wild and free and innocent. I imagine what you did on the day you took this picture. Who was behind the camera? And what you did after you posed for this one photo?
You were the safest space I ever knew. I’d give anything to be around that table with you again and to share just one more tomato sandwich, one more bowl of vegetable soup, play one more hand of Uno, wrap one more Christmas present, send one more sympathy card, or hold your precious hands just once more.
You saved me. And you still do.
I’m so grateful you got a wild hair that day and decided to pose for this picture, and I’m so glad you were born. I’m sending you the biggest “wowee” kiss in heaven today and appreciate you staying with me over the years. I feel you here, and I like it.
Happy birthday, Mama Dot. I love you a bushel and a peck.
Happy Birthday, my sweet child!
It’s been 5 years.
Five years since you joined your Daddy and I on this Earth. I woke up this morning and instantly started to think back. Back to what life was like before you, and the thing is, I can barely remember. You’ve made life more fun, plain and simple.
I remember being pregnant with you and wondering what you’d look like. What your voice would sound like. How old you’d be when you learned to read, and what color eyes you’d have. I remember sitting at Herbie’s eating breakfast with your Daddy the morning you were born. It was a Saturday. You weren’t due until 13 days later, but I had an eerie feeling from the second I woke up that day. Not a scary kind of eerie, just a feeling like I hadn’t felt before. After breakfast, I went to get a prenatal massage (which I don’t rule out as what put me into labor), and then it was Chick Fil A and a movie that afternoon.
We watched Savages. I remember thinking how pretty Blake Lively was, and the movie was pretty intense so it kept me on the edge of my seat (and awake! I usually fall asleep in movies, which I’m sure you know by now).
After the movie, we headed home to get Gladston so we could head out to Uncle Ryan and Aunt Sarah’s house for dinner. When we got to their house, I opened the door, stepped out onto the driveway and there it went. Everywhere. A big, warm gush all over my flip flops, down my legs. I remember crying immediately, I knew it was time.
Your Ga Ga looked at me, deep into my eyes and said, “It’s gonna be ok.”
I don’t think poor Gladston ever even got out of the Jeep. Daddy drove us (safely but quickly) back to the townhouse to get our stuff to get ready to go to the hospital.
I took a shower. I cried more. I prayed, a lot. (Looking back, it wasn’t a time in my life when I was close to God. I rarely prayed, if ever. But in that moment it washed over me as the only thing to do. I cry as I write this, because it reminds me how far I’ve come.)
We got our stuff and headed to the hospital. Since you were breach, and with no success in you re-positioning, a cesarean was planned for 6 days later. But since my water broke and I was now in active labor on my own, things were a little different than my mind had played them out.
We got to the hospital and it was around 5:30 or so. It seemed relatively quiet there, but as luck would have it, the entire hospital was transitioning to a new software THAT DAY and the “go live” date was THAT DAY. So, I sensed panic in the nurses right away.
As we were getting prepped for surgery, something went wrong. I was fortunate enough to have the hottest anesthesiologist in the history of time talking to me and explaining things as the spinal block was going into my back. Your daddy was still in the hallway scrubbing in, and I was gazing into Dr. McDreamy’s eyes, trying not to think about the excruciating pain taking place in my body…when, in walked Dr. Grewal.
In my mind, I to this day think she said Code Red. It could just be that my brain remembers the story that way, I don’t really know. I just remember that that’s when everything changed.
I remember saying, “What’s wrong?!” She grabbed me by the hand and explained to me that your umbilical cord had prolapsed and that the surgery needed to begin immediately. “Incision!” I felt it, left to right. Your daddy still wasn’t there.
“My husband, I need my husband!” Dr. McDreamy held my hand and kept me calm until Reid got in the room.
It felt like hours. They were working hard to get you out of there, and it became clear then to me why you never turned – you couldn’t move! You’d gotten yourself all cozy in there in a position that you couldn’t get out of!
When the nurses and doctor finally got you out, we waited to hear your cry. I couldn’t wait to look at you. To hold you. To nurse you. To kiss you. To smell you.
I got to do all of those things, but they were too fast. Too fast for firsts.
They wheeled me off to recovery, and Daddy took you to the nursery for your bath.
That seemed like the longest 2 hours of my life. I wanted you in my arms. I couldn’t stop shaking. The nurses seemed to ignore me as they stumbled through their new software. I felt so alone, and I couldn’t wait to see your face again.
When I finally did, nothing else mattered anymore. There was no pain. I became overwhelmed with joy. And a sense of love like I’d never known before.
Once we got home, it sort of just became me and you. There were visitors, but we also had lots of time together, alone. I watched you sleep a lot. I slept beside you, and I loved listening to the coo under your breath as you slept.
You were like magic to me. I wanted you near me, all of the time. And you didn’t seem to mind. You were perfect in so many ways. Even strangers would say it. The shape of your face seemed perfectly symmetrical. You were beauty in every form.
I fell in love with baby-wearing. And you were always such a good sport about it. Looking back at this photo, I know that this type of carrier isn’t really ideal for hip support and we only used it this one time, but I remember how proud I was at this very moment to be a mama. To walk around the neighborhood as you slept on my chest, and to feel full. And proud. And that I had done something right in life. Calling you mine was easy, and I felt worthy. You filled me up with love, you see.
Gladston loved you immensely, too. I sure hope you remember him. He sat by your side a lot of the time, and watched you sleep much like I did. We’d pick “Gladston boogers” off your clothes constantly. But we didn’t mind. In fact, I think that’s how he got the name “Booger Bear”.
Watching you grow up into the young lady you are today, well the magic hasn’t stopped. It only continues. Your spirit is stubborn yet true, your soul is genuine and whole, your heart is open and honest, and your imagination inspires me. I love every single thing about you, and couldn’t be more proud to be your mama, Sadler Mae.
I hope today is the best birthday yet and that your Daddy was able to find that unicorn you’ve been asking for.