“You’re Doing a Great Job”

“You’re Doing a Great Job”

On our first sea day on the boat, we were out by the pool.  I was brave enough to wear my two-piece swimsuit, and I was COMMITTED that I was going to have fun (and not hide in it).  Remi was playing ALLLLL around the pool (which is like in the middle of the main deck).

Tyler was staying in the pool to play with her when she jumped in- and I was outside the pool as she went around the pool and into the sprinkler showers. While we played, there was music going- so I was sort of dancing around and letting her have fun.

I was giving her space, playing with her when she was trying to engage me, letting her explore and trying to have fun myself.

And that’s when it happened.

A lady came over to me and I braced myself. I thought she was going to either get onto me for letting her sort of “run wild” (though she wasn’t running…and wasn’t really wild) around the pool.  Or I thought we were going to get questioned AGAIN about her being potty trained (diapers weren’t allowed in the pool- so a Carnival worker approached us to make sure she was toilet trained).

But she didn’t.  She said “Oh my goodness, she’s so FREAKING cute (well, she had a little alcohol in her system, so she used another word). I’m sorry if we are staring, but she’s adorable and we are loving watching her.”

I relaxed a little.  I thanked her.  Then she said it.

“And you’re doing a great job, mom. She’s having fun. You’re having fun. You’re setting a great example for her. You’re doing a great job.”

I hugged her.  Those words meant SO much. All I want to do is a good job.  I’ll never be perfect (at anything, but especially this mom thing). But I want to do a good job.

That lady will never know the impact of her words, but I need to remember to encourage others when I see it and think it. Because it mattered to me.


What my daughter is teaching me about my body

What my daughter is teaching me about my body

One morning last week, I went to wake Remi up while my shirt was tumbling in the dryer (because who has time to iron?).  I woke her up wearing my dress pants and a fitted tank.  When I get her up, we snuggle in the glider for a few minutes.  And she saw my belly under the fitted tank and started sort of pouncing and pressing on a roll of tummy.

She giggled.  She did it over and over.  It was funny to her.

I cringed.  I cringed because I don’t want that tummy roll when I sit down (I don’t want it on my body at all).  I cringed because I don’t want her to hate herself like I do some days. I cringed because it wasn’t exactly flattering.

But then I realized, she’s learning from me.  I want her to love herself.  I’m working on that more and more- having a healthy mindset about myself. I want her to learn acceptance and empowerment come from her mind- not from what anyone else thinks about her.

So I told her that morning all about momma’s tummy.  I told her that she used to live in there!  She was grown in my tummy and lived there for 9 months.  I told her that my tummy is where all my belly laughs come from.  I couldn’t laugh without it!  I told her that my tummy is where all my yummy food goes- the ice cream and the veggies both.  My stomach and other important parts are in my tummy.  I told her that I like when I hold her close to my tummy.  Feeling her weight when I hold her is so sweet, and I’m glad she is comforted when laying on my tummy.

I asked her where her tummy was and she happily patted her belly. I told her I loved her tummy too!

She won’t remember that conversation, but I do hope she remembers the acceptance and love. I know I will.

On the mental side of becoming a mom

On the mental side of becoming a mom

I want to share what my mental state and thoughts have gone through in the last 10 months (or rather, the last 19 months including pregnancy). I don’t know if these feelings are a universal thing, but I have been vulnerable to a few friends who could relate. I had never heard anyone open up about these emotional issues before baby, so I felt crazy and awful experiencing it. I want to share in case I can help anyone.

Pregnancy was physically easy. (Sorry to those who had a rough time). I felt great. No sickness at all.  Gestational diabetes wasn’t awesome, but the resulting healthy eating kept my weight gain to a minimum, which helped me feel physically great.

The mental side of things was an entirely different story. Everything was a disappointment. Not the actual pregnancy, of course. We were trying and happy that it happened so easily and things went smoothly.  But everything else. Tyler’s response to my telling him we were pregnant wasn’t grand enough. I was upset. People weren’t fawning over pregnant me, and I was upset. I just felt like everything was a bigger deal and a bigger disappointment.

I was  15 weeks pregnant in NYC on a work trip and was already feeling like I was failing my baby. I was struggling. I saw “Waitress” the musical and heard these lyrics:

“It’s not simple to say, that most days I don’t recognize me……

She’s imperfect, but she tries
She is good, but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won’t ask for help
She is messy, but she’s kind
She is lonely most of the time
She’s all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone, but she used to be mine”

I cried hearing that. That’s how I felt. I was broken. I was lonely. I was gone.

Side not: What was crazy is that the character in the musical was pregnant too….it was a big parallel of that NYC trip. I saw THREE musicals with pregnant characters that trip!

I hated how it was all going. I wished for a do-over. I spent lots of time crying and upset. I know now that I was suffering from some anxiety and depression. I did reach out to my doctor at one point, but they just handed me medication over the phone (I had called to schedule an appointment and the nurse prescribed me Zoloft over the phone). There were scary things about pregnancy in the medicine brochure so I didn’t take it long (like a week, maybe?).

After baby, I did have some emotional high. But that quickly faded.  I did many things to try and help. I got outside. I walked. I did some hormone stuff.  But I always felt like everyone had the best time with my baby — holding her while she slept while I cooked dinner. And then she would have her witching hour (THANK GOODNESS it was only her first few weeks of life) and I felt like she hated me. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right for her. Everyone else seemed to have an easier time than I did (looking back, well DUH! They hadn’t actually been the one giving birth. Of course things were easier for them!)

I second guessed every decision. I felt like a bad mom. I looked forward to going back to work so I wouldn’t have to. To what? I’m not sure. But life just felt heavy. I finally asked for help. Help and understanding from my husband, from my family, from my doctor.

I did take some medication, but I also prioritized myself. I made eating healthy and working out and sleep a priority. I made sure to do some things that felt like they gave me life. Sometimes that meant fighting guilt and leaving baby to get a break.

I had lots of moments where I felt like the worst mother on the planet. I have to be honest that those days are (thankfully) fewer and far between, but they still happen. Days when I yell-cry. Days when I call my mom freaking out because I feel like my chest may cave in from the weight of it all.

But it does get better. With help. With intentionality. With work. With medication. With supplements. With sleep. With laughter. With understanding.

I guess I just share that to say, if you’re feeling like you’re gone, there’s hope. There’s hope in Jesus. He wants better for me (and you!) and he is the provider of truth – and I knew those thoughts weren’t the truth (even though they felt truthful in my heart).  Reach out. To me, if you want. I’m happy to help. But let someone in. You don’t have to be stuck there. I’m so thankful I’m not.

And if someone around you has had a baby, ask how they are. REALLY ask. I read from someone recently that a friend asked how her soul was. That’s profound. Dig until you feel like she’s telling you the truth. She may be ok, but she may need someone to say “It’s ok to not be ok.” I reached out to a couple different people who didn’t know how to respond.  Take her to lunch.  Come over and bring chocolate and wine and queso and a funny movie.  Laughter is medicine. Friendship is medicine. Funny memes texted late at night are medicine.

I’m grateful that now I feel much more joy than I do worry. Much more pride than I do shame. Much more happy than fear. Much more peace than I do anxiety. Much more love. From others, from my baby, for my baby, and for myself.


Having the Courage to Chase After What Matters

Having the Courage to Chase After What Matters

I had a conversation recently with a friend who is struggling.  She knows she needs lots of things- she needs more time with God, she needs positive people in her life, and she needs to do some courageous things like ask for help.

I told her, I’ve been there.  I’ve tried to do this on my own and decided I couldn’t. I’ve been bottom of the barrel and had to find ways to climb out. I told her that the crazy thing is, most people wouldn’t know my story unless I told them. We are great at hiding our problems…when in reality, the only person you’re fooling is yourself.

In this season of life, I’m finding so much more contentment. I’m trying to chase after God and what He values more than what the world values. There are so many “yes, ands” and “yes, buts.” Yes, I want to get health, and I don’t want that journey to become an idol in my life. Yes, I want to have friends, but I won’t compromise to be liked. Yes, I want to be successful, and I want to do it by doing my best. Yes, I want to help others, but I won’t enable them.

I saw a shirt from Cross Training Couture that I immediately ordered because it’s so what I’m feeling right now. It says “Seeking my perfecter, not perfection.”


And that’s totally the mindset I want. Yes, Lord.  Give me the courage to chase after what matters and help me loosen my grip on the things that don’t.