Thoughts on 30: Who Was that Woman in the Pictures?

Eight years ago I was in full-on wedding preparation mode. With just a couple weeks left until our wedding, I got my first professional makeover. I walked out of Sephora with products I absolutely loved, new techniques I’d never heard of, and a lot less money in my bank account. As years went by, I finished grad school, started a new job, then eventually had two babies and became a stay at home mom. With so much going on, makeup (and hair and clothes) became a much lower priority and I stopped putting much thought into what I was buying and instead just grabbed whatever was quickest and cheapest. 

But then a weird thing started to happen. When I saw photos of myself, I would have this moment of surprise and disorientation almost every time because the image didn’t look like how I felt. Anyone ever had this moment? At the time, my kids were 3 and 1 and I hadn't taken much time for myself since starting our family. And the thing was, it wasn't that I was having a pity party over the way I looked. It was just that I would look at the photo of that moment, and I would remember exactly how I felt and what I was saying and doing, and those feelings were never frumpy or lost or forgotten like the way I often felt I looked. Inside I felt young and bright eyed and like my life was full of wonderful surprises and joys, and it was bizarre to feel like I didn't seen that in myself in a still shot.

So I decided to make a change. And hear me say this: I truly believe your physical body is not what defines you. Even at my most out of shape or least trendy, I was always witty and smart and kind and no amount of exterior change could take that away from me. But I also decided there was nothing wrong with enjoying the fun things that come along with being a girl. I was confident in who I was because I was confident in who made me, but now I was ready to look in the mirror and see the girl I felt like I was inside, the girl who had been lost while focusing on everyone else but herself.

So I got more serious about having a healthier diet and regular exercise. I went and got a new haircut and started researching makeup. I had no idea what contouring was or a beauty blender sponge or even what shade I should pick in anything. And it bears repeating, the hair and makeup were not what made me me, but I was having SO much fun learning and playing around with the options and doing something that was just for me.

I went back to the basics, and in this case, that meant a lot of Google research and Youtube videos (which is so fun, but you will get sucked in for DAYS watching those makeup tutorials). I wrote all about the products that were a part of my beauty evolution here, you can read it to see all the ones I love the very most. But most importantly, I realized this journey was only a little about the products and a lot about taking the time to invest in myself and the things I enjoyed. My makeup looks better now, but more importantly, when I see pictures of myself I see the joy and energy that I am experiencing at the time. The photos feel like me, like how I see myself.

So take heart, my friends! It's never too late to start over and it's never selfish to spend a little time on yourself.

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A Season for Everything

Do you ever feel like you just have so much on your plate you don't even know where to begin? As a mom of toddlers, I feel like I'm constantly forgetting things and dropping the ball. But every parent who's a life stage ahead of me says you shouldn't expect for it to slow down; kids grow bigger and they get busier. The big picture can be overwhelming, I don't even always know what to tackle first on my to-do list. The questions start swarming in my head and I feel like I need 50 hours in a day instead of 24. 

Am I teaching my kids good character?  Do I participate enough in my husband's ministry job? Should I play a more active role in our church? Am I exercising enough? Am I eating healthy enough? Will God allow us to have another baby? If we can even get pregnant, how tight will our budget be with three kids while I'm staying home? Should I go back to work? Should we sign the kids up for sports already? Should I lead a small group? Am I teaching my kids about volunteering and serving others? Should I continue pursuing a career in graphic design after the kids are in school? Or do something with more of a steady income? When will I have time to finish all these house projects? Am I modeling how deal with hard things to my kids? What am I doing with the specific gifts God has given me? What are we going to do about the broken dishwasher? Should I be discipling more young women? How are we going to pay this bill? Am I meeting my husband's needs? Have I even seen him much this week or have things been too crazy? What even are my needs right now? When will I have time to do all this laundry and clean the house? HOW WILL I FIND TIME FOR ALL THESE THINGS??

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

So many questions, so many directions. And then it hits me, I'll never be able to solve all those questions and problems in a given week/month/year. But here's a question I can focus on:

What is my God-given purpose in THIS season? 

For each of us, this is different. For all of us, it's important. 

Some of you may have read that and known IMMEDIATELY what your God-given purpose is in this season. Some of you may have had a lightbulb moment that this is exactly why you feel so lost, you're unsure of what task you should be focusing on. Both of those are ok. Now is when you allow yourself time to think it over.

For me, once I posed the question and cleared out the clutter in my mind, it was pretty clear. I feel very peaceful about being home with my kids, that is a very specific role and list of duties that I can nail down. For this season, I need to focus on helping Titus learn to express his emotions in a healthy way and how to problem solve instead of exploding. He's having way fewer of his out-of-control tantrums, and I really believe that is happening because I've been home with him and his life is consistent. This is my purpose.

God gave me that little boy and knew I would make a great mommy for him, that I could handle the outbursts and love him through it; that I could calm him down and bring him comfort like no one else. This is my purpose. 

That when he wants to start screaming because he's unable to put into words how he feels, he needs me to look him in the eyes and explain things to him in an adult manner that most people don't use for kids, because he's unique and it works for him. This is my purpose. 

To tie shoes and brush hair and cut up apples because sometimes, you're too small to do things on your own. This is my purpose. 

To sit down with my kids and tickle them and teach them that joy can trump all other emotions if you let it. This is my purpose. 

To empower my little girl to be more than pretty by showering her with compliments about how she's smart and funny and silly and sweet and brave. This is my purpose. 

To teach them that sometimes, life isn't all about you. They don't know how much I serve them now, but one day they will look back and realize the sacrifices I have made (just like I did with my mom) and that sometimes loving someone means putting their needs first. This is my purpose. 

That's mine. Yours is yours. None is better, none is worse. There are so many things I could be doing or focusing on. But when you try to juggle them all, no one person or thing gets your full ability. I feel so much clearer when I let the other things fall away and lean into my purpose in this stage.

There will come a time for all the rest, because there is a season for everything. A season for laughter and dancing, a season for mourning and tears. A season for hard work and a season for respite. A season for speaking many words and a season for speaking few while we hear others instead. A season for health and a season where your body doesn't act or look how you want. A season for serving others and a season for recognizing your own needs. A season for your anger and a season for offering forgiveness. A season for pushing through trials and a season for relishing the good days. A season of recognition and a season of humble selflessness. A season for independence and a season for vulnerability. A season to celebrate new life and a season to let go in death. A season to cry out in anguish and a season to cry out in praise.

But not all of those have to be accomplished all at once.

For me, this is a season of service, sacrifice, and nurturing. Realizing my God-given purpose for this season doesn't make all of those other questions magically disappear. And it definitely doesn't mean there won't be a season in the future where my God-given purpose is directed at one of them. But it does make me feel washed over in grace to know I can focus on the task at hand and set a more realistic bar for what is expected of me.

When Are You Going to Have Another Baby?

Titus is 3.5 years old and Haddie is 1.5 years old and we have reached the point when people start asking us, "soooo.... Are you thinking about having another baby?" I get it, I really do, because we have always wanted a third and it's about the time that conversation begins (and the time that feeling in my momma heart starts to think a baby sounds cute and squishy and doable again). But the thing I can't get out of my mind, the thought that chases me down and grows into a softball size lump in my chest is this: I'm not ready to have another baby because I'm not ready for my first baby to grow up. 

We have been discussing timelines and birth orders and relationships between siblings... (All of which only matters slightly since we probably won't actually be able to "schedule" when we get pregnant, I trust that God is bigger than any Type A plan I might come up with). But if I'm being honest, like 'don't-like-to-say-it-outloud-because-it-hurts-me honest,' I struggle with the timeline discussion because it always goes like this: "well if we had a baby in X amount of time, then Haddie would be X old and Titus would be X old." There are a lot of practicals that go into this 'distance between siblings' discussion (as a SAHM, can I handle 3 at home? Will Haddie be potty trained? Am I getting enough sleep currently to even consider adding an infant?) But one of my main struggles in fully committing to a third is that honestly the idea of Titus being old enough to go to school kills me and make me want to crawl into his bed every single night and sleep there forever. 

Right now we're in this sweet spot; he can communicate and obey (if he's in the right mood), play independently, he's an incredibly sweet and protective big brother and most importantly to his mommy, he thinks I've hung the moon. Every machine he builds, every "marble city" he imagines, every bedtimes story he dreams up, he's always begging me to participate in. But in just 18 more months (oh my, literally felt chest pains typing that, ugly cry about to begin) he will start school and spend more waking hours with someone else rather than me. All of his excited exclamations and creative thoughts and funny observations, those won't be exclusively mine anymore. And it kills me because even on the hardest days, that's MY baby.

So what does this have to do with the possibility of baby #3? I guess in some far off corner of my mind that is usually buried under rationality and practicality, I'm putting off thinking of baby #3 because I'm hoping baby #1 (and baby #2 when she stop feeling like a baby) will just stay little forever and always be more excited to see me than anyone else on the earth. It's easy to be in denial about how quickly your kids are growing up. But when you sign up for another pregnancy, you commit to a very firm 9 month timeline in which you know exactly what will happen: everyone, mommy, baby in utero, and older siblings, will get bigger and older. You can't help but shift attention to the newest arrival that will require so much of your time and energy in the beginning, which inevitably divides what you can offer to those around you. 

If there has been one phrase I've caught myself saying lately it's this: motherhood is weird. It's honestly such a melting pot of emotions, ranging from "I'm about to pull my hair out if you jump on my head/stomach/leg one more time" to "that giggle you've had since you were a baby will forever undo me- never, ever change." It's weird. It's everything and all the things, happening in the very same moment. You can't dissect it and you can't control it, it's an unconditional heart-bursting love while also being a crazy strong desire to be be selfish and left alone (especially when you need to use the bathroom). 

But this I know, I have less than a year and a half left with my first baby (whether we have a new baby or not) and I get to choose what those days look like. As much as I'd like to say otherwise, I'm sure some of those moments will be impatient and frustrated and angry. But my hope is that what my sweet baby boy remembers are the days when his mommy climbed under the covers at naptime and read him book after book and tickled him until neither of us could breathe anymore. That the picture in his mind would be of me building hundreds of marble towers with him and clapping and cheering when we finally got it right. That the soundtrack playing in his dreams would be daddy's record player blaring Christmas music while we dance like uncoordinated fools in the living room. 

To my forever baby; I love you to the moon and back, to infinity and beyond, forever and ever. Once day you will grow up and maybe be a big brother to many, but you will always be the first to capture my heart in a way I didn't know was even possible. 

Psalm 113:9

He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the Lord!

{Photos courtesy Courtney Halligan Photography}

A Prayer for My Son

Today has been one of those days. From the moment he woke up my three year old was unsatisfied and disobedient. He didn't want anything I suggested for breakfast, slow and distracted when picking up toys so we could go to Mother's Day Out, followed by kicking and screaming in his car seat.

After school I took him to Target to get a birthday present with his gift card and he cried and yelled at me the majority of the time. On the way to the car he hit his baby sister for no reason and then melted down when he got scolded. I knew he needed some positive attention but if we could just make it home first...

Then comes the biggest battle of all, nap time. Yelling and crying and demanding of longer cuddles and more stories... My skin was crawling to get out of there before I let my frustration get the best of me. So I did what has to happen sometimes, I kissed him and told him I loved him then tucked him in before leaving the room. I could tell he wanted me to stay longer and was still a little upset, but I had already used up all my parenting energy.

I went to my own room and sat down on my bed and started venting to the Lord about how hard being a mom is sometimes. I feel like I'm constantly failing, constantly needing to be better, more patient, more fun. But in the midst of my pity-party I realized that I'm focusing on the wrong things. My kids won't remember the times I snapped at them or the tone in my voice when they weren't listening, they'll remember the moments I loved them, which is a majority of our moments. They'll remember how I laid in bed with them and sang hymns before they went to sleep. Or the times I bought him popcorn at Target and let him share my drink. And the countless silly faces I made at him in the rear view mirror to try and make him giggle. In the long run, it will be our shared joy, not my weak moments of impatience, that will become his best memories.

So I went back in his room where he was still somewhat tearful and I climbed into my big three year old's bed with a renewed energy. He looked up at me and in his sweet little voice said, "mama, hold me like a baby." So I did. And I fell in love with my baby all over again. I held him and gently brushed the hair out of his face with my fingers. He held my hand and I watched his eyes start to flutter as he fought the inevitable heaviness of sleep. I took his hand in my hand and when his fingers curled around mine I let my prayers wash over his sweet little body. Teach him to be truly loving to those around him. Let him stand up for others and never make anyone feel small. Allow him to be patient instead of angry. Grow him into a man of character. But most importantly, teach him to love YOU, Jesus. Share with him Your irresistible grace.

And then it was time for my own prayers. Please make me more gracious. Make me patient and forgiving. Remind me of his tender spirit when the anger and frustration starts to rise up inside of me. Make me kinder, overwhelmed by my love for him and not my frustration. Allow me to soak in these moments, take advantage of this closing window where he still wants to fall asleep wrapped in my arms. And most of all, remind me to be forgiving of myself; his memories of childhood will not be my sigh of exasperation or my snappiness when he disobeyed for the hundredth time, but it will be moments like this where I loved him when he needed it most.

-Sarah

A Humbled Heart

I have been quite a bit about my own pride over the past few weeks. Really, it's more a lesson in humility than anything, but the two are irrevocably tied together. I feel like so often I know I need to work on this area or that, I read scripture and sing songs and pray that I can be more like Jesus and less like myself. But this, THIS is different. Because this has been one of those rare times when without seeking it, the Lord has just demanded a heart change. Not that this probably wasn't a long time coming, but when Jesus decides that you need to be sharpened (and softened) there is no resisting. 

So here are my lessons in humility, in only as much detail as necessary so as to keep the focus on God's journey in repurposing me instead of my individual story. 

1) Humility through Under Appreciation

I have been faced with a few interactions over the last couple of months that left me feeling greatly under appreciated, and because Satan would love to justify my sin of relying on the approval of others, I initially masked my pride with anger. "How dare you?! Look at all I've done for you, and all you want is to ask for more? What gives you the right? If anything, you should be THANKING me for what I've done. I'm not going to do anything else for you until you acknowledge how much you need me and how great I am."

Pride demands recognition and awards. 

Humility serves quietly in the background. 

2) Humility through Forgiveness

You ever have an argument with someone you really care about and even though it's not easy for you, you hold your temper and apologize? Pride demands a pat on the back for that. And if that apology or kind words aren't reciprocated? Pride tells you to cut the relationship off, let them come to you if they want to make things right! You did your part, you offered the olive branch. For heaven's sake, don't GROVEL. 

But humility sees things differently. Humility says to forgive, to empathize, to think of others instead of yourself. Humility says it's not good enough to just be the "bigger person" and apologize first, but instead to seek reconciliation to its completion. Humility says to forgive without expectations of receiving forgiveness or an attitude of humility in return. 

Pride insists on everything being equal. 

Humility is never interested in winners and losers. 

3) Humility through Immaturity

Recently, I have been lucky enough to have my path intersect with some wonderful women who are older and wiser than me, and for the purpose of this post, much MUCH more humble. Women who truly have very little interest in self-promotion. Women who seek the Lord's counsel in everything, even something as small as posting an Instagram pic (or publishing a blog post). Women who are quick to admit they are still a work in progress and imperfect in many ways.  

The more time I spend with them the more I recognize that I am a closet know-it-all, feigning the passion for growth but always ready to prove how grown I already am. This is especially hard for me as a pastor's wife, because sometimes I feel that there is a higher expectation of "holiness" that I am required to meet. And that expectation allows for pride to take root in my heart with the need to prove to everyone that I won't let them down, that I AM super holy. But in the end, this doesn't prove anything except that the Cross is the only holy thing about me, without it I am incredibly broken and in need of saving. 

Pride doesn't care about age or life experience, it already knows everything and is always right. 

Humility is insatiably teachable, always looking for an opportunity to learn and look more like Christ. 

The thing is, I like being right. And I like winning, oh my GOODNESS how much I like winning. Which is exactly why I know that this lesson in humility would have never been my idea. To be completely honest, there have been many, many tears shed on this journey. Why am I not being treated the way I feel I deserve? Why do I keep having to be the bigger person all the time? Why does it feel like I'm the ONLY person choosing to be humble? It's just NOT FAIR (and I really, really like things to be fair. I'm a middle child, justice is my domain). But there is no scale in God's book measuring the goodness of me verses other people. The only scale He is using measures my character against the character of Jesus and I am sorely off balance. 

In the end, this painful lesson in humility is God's way of evening the scales, His way of nudging my side a little closer to Jesus; narrowing not only the gap between his character and mine, but also between who I thought I was and who I really am. 

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. James 4:10

Be kind. Seek compassion.

There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light
And I'm frightened by those that don't see it.
-Avett Brothers

The death of actor and comedian Robin Williams has left me feeling brokenhearted on so many levels. The first of which is the simple fact that I can identify with his depression and understand the cloudiness that becomes your rational thought process while you are in the thick of it. During my relatively short bouts with Postpartum Depression after the births of both my children, I experienced an array of feelings that were completely abnormal for me, ranging from deep and uncontrollable sorrow to a choking feeling of desperation and a lot of times just a complete numbness, like I'd fallen asleep on my brain and it went numb like an arm or a foot.
I personally never had thoughts of suicide, but I did have moments where I just wanted to stop time and not exist. I couldn't leave my house but I didn't want to stay. I wished I'd never had children and thought my life would end without them. It's a daily battle of inconsistencies that cannot be explained or understood, even by the person experiencing it.

So my request is simple:
If you have never battled depression, seek compassion in this moment for those around you. Author Wendy Mass wrote, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." Her words could not ring more true in this scenario. Even someone who lives their whole life and builds a career out of bringing joy to others may be themselves, joyless. BE KIND. SEEK COMPASSION. Take the loss of this beloved man and learn from it. Those around you may be waiting for someone, ANYONE, to ask them how they're doing. And not just ask, but LISTEN. Be that person.

There is a darkness that accompanies depression that only the individual can sense, and there is nothing more isolating in the world than to feel like you are lost and alone in the deep. It's murky and you're drowning and it's exhausting to just EXIST some days...
and I think some people just get tired of swimming.


Be kind. Seek compassion. For everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

Photo courtesy of Ashley Tanaka

-Sarah Autry

A Morning in the Life of: June 5, 2014

As of today I have an eight week old and a two(ish) year old. Today starts at 4:30am with baby's night feeding.

4:30am- Monitor goes off. Wander half asleep to the nursery. Breastfeed. Change diaper. Pray that baby goes back to sleep.

4:50- Back in bed. Lay there feeling exhausted but now wide awake due to staring at phone screen to stay awake while nursing.

5:00- Start to drift off. Monitor alerts me to baby movement. PLEASE NO. False alarm. Baby was working on some gas. But now I am wide awake again from the Mom Adrenaline Rush. Realize I need to pee. Pee in the dark, realize we're out of toilet paper. Guess we're doing the tinkle and shake maneuver. 

5:30- Finally back in bed with husband's knee in my back. Don't care, need sleep.

7:30- Monitor goes off, toddler is awake and yelling "no no! yes yes!" whatever that means.

7:35- Change toddler's diaper, cuddle on couch and watch Sesame Street while wishing I could nod off for a few minutes (impossible, toddler uses me as a climbing tree/punching bag because he is a testosterone-filled crazy person).

7:45- Try to schedule playdate so we can get out of the house.  Friend has her mom in town to help her with kids and is going to take advantage of her free time. Feel resentment toward friend for living my dream life.

8:30- Toddler rejects all breakfast food options screaming "POPSICLE" at the top of his lungs.

8:35- Toddler finally accepts an apple. Repeats "apple" 293054119 times.

9:10- Trick toddler into eating a waffle with peanut butter by turning on another cartoon. Go to bathroom to fix hair and put on makeup. Realize I haven't taken off last night's makeup. Crap. Wash off makeup and take a quick look in the mirror. Regret looking in the mirror.

9:12- Monitor goes off, toddler is in nursery "tickling baby's feet," aka, waking baby up. Forget makeup. Instead settle for deodorant and quick teeth brushing.

9:13- Decide to pee before I'll have to breastfeed again. CRAP. Still no toilet paper. Tinkle and shake.

9:15- nurse baby. Toddler brings random objects over and insists I take them all. I am now holding a nursing baby, a plastic banana ("NO NANA, MOOOOON!!!"), excuse me, a MOON, two empty water bottles, six plastic balls and one Easter egg.

9:17- remind toddler to be sweet to baby while he squeezes her head for the millionth time. Toddler gets bored with baby and goes to stand right in front of the TV. I don't even correct him because it means I get one minute of nursing without him climbing on my shoulders/back/face.

9:25- friend without kids comes over and brings me a coke. PRAISE THE MAKER. Feel bad that all I can give in return is a gassy baby and a toddler yelling, "OH NO NO NO FOUR!" (what.)

9:37- finally done nursing. Ask friend to hold baby so I can go change my clothes. Decide to do hair and makeup but don't have time for both. Choose to dab on a little makeup so I don't look like the Walking Dead and accept the greasy bangs. You can't always get what you want.

10:05- finally get everyone dressed and ready to play outside so toddler will burn off some energy. I look out the window and it has started to rain. NOOOOOOOO.

10:07- cave and give toddler iPad to keep him busy inside. He's playing with alphabet apps so that counts as a learning moment, right? Right.

10:45- realize I haven't eaten breakfast or taken my birth control. MUST TAKE BIRTH CONTROL. Breakfast can wait.

10:50- sweet friend offers to take toddler to play in the rain. GLORY HALLELUJAH! toddler picks up dead worms and cuddles them to his face then proceeds to use said worms to make letters on the concrete.

10:53- toddler takes now mangled worm from alphabet activity and floats it down the stream on the road, saying, "bye bye worm." RIP wormy.

11:30- time for wet trampoline jumping. I take this opportunity to go to the bathroom again since I have to drink like 3000 gallons of water a day while breastfeeding. The baby comes with me because she is strapped in the Baby Bjorn, the only place she will nap, obviously. Realize I STILL HAVE NOT REPLACED THE TOILET PAPER. Tinkle and shake. Again.

11:35- Make lunch for toddler. Floor is wet because he insists on wearing his rain boots to eat, but hey, he isn't paying attention to the fact that he's eating veggies so I'll take it.

11:40- Start to feel nauseous. Think it may be due to parental annoyance. Remember I haven't eaten yet today so that's more likely. Grab the first thing in the fridge, leftover corn in the cob. Dribble corn all over baby's head who is still strapped in the Bjorn. Oh well, she needed a bath today anyway. 

11:42- Toddler announces he is done with lunch by dumping plate off of high chair to test gravity. Gravity is still in play, food splatters across the kitchen floor. Call our dogs into the kitchen to eat the spilled food because I don't have the energy to sweep and mop. Which is a win-win because I also forgot to feed them this morning (whoops).

11:45- make popcorn and turn on movie to hopefully get toddler to wind down while I feed baby. Another round of "NO NO YES YES!!" from the toddler, this time aimed at the popcorn bowl. I have no idea what he wants so I just put some popcorn in his mouth to stop the noise. Didn't move fast enough, baby is now awake and wants to nurse again.

11:49- FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING IS IT NAP TIME YET

12:03- Officially afternoon. Time to sit on the couch and rest for a second. Or clean the dishes. Or put up laundry. Or finally replace the toilet paper. WAIT. There is one chocolate chip cookie left, I will do get to that first. If I eat it in less than 3 seconds while hiding in the garage I can have it all to myself. Priorities, people.

Birth Story: Haddie Mae!

Starting around 34 weeks I had become incredibly uncomfortable because Haddie was breech and completely in my ribs. I couldn't sleep on my back or side so I was forced to sleep sitting up in the living room. I had rib pain at all hours of the day and constantly felt like she had no room left. Luckily, she turned at 37 weeks and dropped a little, so I because immensely more comfortable. Unfortunately, I also had a feeling this could mean I'd actually go all the way to 49 weeks this time. Thirty-seven weeks came and went and while I was regularly having contractions, but they were never close enough together or painful enough to time them. Everyone kept joking that she was waiting to be born on Titus' birthday, which was the 10th and very possible. His birthday rolled around and I was 38 weeks and 2 days pregnant. Garland asked me like he did every day if I was having contractions or thought today could be the day. I'd actually had no contractions even though I'd run a ton of errands and been to the chiropractor, so our sweet boy got to keep his special day to himself.
But lo and behold, at 12:30am (30 minutes after Titus' birthday ended) I woke up to a very pretty strong contraction. I immediately thought it could be something significant because I'd never had a Braxton-Hicks contraction that was painful enough to wake me up at night. Even though they were pretty close together, the pain was manageable, so I tried to go back to sleep. After 30 minutes I realized that would be impossible and started timing them: 4 minutes apart. I decided to take a shower in case it was the real deal and they started getting pretty painful at that point (1:30ish), but still not so bad I couldn't breathe or talk through them. I woke Garland up and told him what was happening and then told him to go back to sleep while I timed them and bounced on the exercise ball (which he did, because on the second child you do things like that, I'm realizing).
After another hour they were 3-4 minutes apart and hard to talk during so we called for Tito backup at 3:00am. Arrived in the ER at 3:45, checked in at 2cm and 60%, told to be monitored for an hour to check for progression. The contractions started getting pretty awful, but standing and rocking made them more manageable. An hour later (4:45) I was shocked to be at a 4 and 80%; we were having this baby!
At this point my doctor walks in, which is so great that he was on call that night! Not so great... He tells me has had to leave by 8:00am to get to Dallas. It's 5:00am so I am disheartened that I probably won't deliver by then, but he thinks I may do it.
Then we entered the most intense part, the epidural waiting game. I'm transferred to a room and getting my IV and everything set up and they're waiting on some lab result so I can get my epidural. I'm at a 6 and having to breathe deeply and rock through every contraction, every 3 minutes at this point. Got my epidural at 6:00 but it only took on my right side. They prop me up on my left side and give me an extra dose, it helps some, but I'm still having pretty intense back labor on my left side. Checked at 6:30am and I'm at a 7. Dr. Mason assures me he thinks I will have this baby by 8 and Garland and I exchange shocked glances. Titus' birth was 16 hours and that was even encouraged with Pitocin for the last 9 hours!
I have to breathe through each contraction even though I have the epidural, but they're manageable. The good part about not being completely numb was I started feeling pressure and knew I was getting close. By 7:30am I was at a 9, by 7:45 at a 10 and ready to push!
Since I passed out several times pushing with Titus, I instructed Garland to count out loud during pushes and poke me in the face if he had to, anything to keep me present if it happens again. On the second push, boom, I'm out like a light. The nurses get out oxygen and smelling swabs for me to breath into (think hand sanitizing wipe) and that is surprisingly helpful. Because my epidural wasn't working all the way I was feeling the contractions which was not good, but I could also feel the pressure to push, which was very helpful (with Titus I couldn't feel anything). After 9 minutes and a couple more rounds of passing out, Haddie Mae came into the world at 6 pounds 9 ounces and 19.5 inches long. It was absolutely just as cool as it was the first time I delivered, although slightly more shocking since I was only in the hospital for 3 hours before she was born. Best of all? She was born at 7:58, two minutes before my doctor needed to leave for Dallas :)

We stayed in the hospital for 48 hours (I failed the Strep B screening and my labor wasn't long enough for HM to get all the antibiotics. They wanted to keep her for observation but everyone checked out fine) and she's been a super easy baby so far!

More to come on her first weeks home in another post!

The Truth about Postpartum Depression

One year ago today I was in the darkest place I could imagine.

I had given birth to Titus two months earlier and Garland had to work a summer camp in Colorado all week. The morning Garland left I held it together for about 2 hours before putting Titus to sleep in his nursery and collapsing on my bed, unable to do anything but cry. Cry isn't the right word, this was more like body-shaking-can't-catch-my-breath-wailing-like-a-feral-animal absolute sobbing. I didn't know what to do. I alternated between rocking back and forth like a lunatic and feeling unable to move,  as though I weighed 900 pounds. I kept pressing my hands to my face, like maybe if I pushed against my eyes hard enough it would force the tears back inside. Or maybe it would even pop my head like you would pop a bubble floating by, at least then I wouldn't be able to cry anymore. I was praying that Titus wouldn't wake up because I was afraid I would just pull the cover over my head even tighter and ignore the little baby in the next room. I sent a text to my friend Katelyn that said simply, "I need you." She immediately responded with, "coming right now." I laid back down, completely exhausted, and just stared at the ceiling fan as the numbness settled over me like ancient dust once again.

This, my friend, is what Postpartum Depression looks like. 

Luckily for me, we recognized the signs and symptoms quick enough that I was feeling completely back to normal within 5 months of delivery. While I had a relatively short bout with depression, I make no bones about the fact that it was by far the most difficult thing I've ever gone through in my whole life. I can tell you that one of the things that helped me immensely when this all started was hearing stories from other women who struggled with the same thing. The idea that I was not going crazy or alone in this struggle made me feel like it was possible to overcome. So because of that, I've chosen to use my blog to answer some of the most common questions I get asked about my battle with Postpartum Depression (PPD). My hope is that maybe another new mom would happen across this link and realize that there is hope and life after PPD.

When did you know something was wrong?
Nothing was wrong for the first few days. Then I started to not be able to sleep in the same room as Titus because every little noise he made gave me an adrenaline rush and a million questions rushed through my head (is he waking up? is he hungry? is he cold? is he stil breathing?). During the day when he was napping I would try to lay down in a different room and nap, but as each minute ticked by all I could think was, "I'm one minute closer to him needing me," and just could not fall asleep. After a few days of this cycle my ravenous appetite that I had gained from breast feeding dropped off drastically. I started throwing up and having diarrhea all day and could not keep any food down, I could barely even drink Gatorade. I just assumed I had a bug, but this continued for over 10 days. I would have times where I had to practically throw Titus to someone else while I was breast feeding so I could run to the bathroom and throw up. I had tons of tests done, a trip to the ER for fluids, a false guess by a doctor that it could be mastitis which resulted in a horrible pumping regiment (which only caused engorgement and leaking from too much milk), but still no solution. After all my medical tests came back negative, my trusted OB gently suggested that we should look into the possibility of PPD, which seemed absolutely absurd to me. I didn't FEEL depressed, my main problems were physical (I would even run a low-grade fever some days). How could this possibly be related to a hormone-induced depression? Not to mention it took us over a year to get pregnant, so I felt like having PPD meant that I was not grateful for the gift we had waited so long to receive. But in the end, he was absolutely right.

How did you know it was PPD and not Baby Blues?
This was the same question I kept asking myself over and over and over for the first few weeks after delivery. Baby Blues are usually classified as general emotional highs and lows that a new mom experiences within the first couple of weeks after delivery. This is a natural reaction to your body's hormones trying to adjust to no longer growing a human being inside of you! Before my PPD kicked in I had the Baby Blues, which manifested for me by having an emotional meltdown every night at 8pm. No joke, every night at 8:00 I would cry for absolutely no reason, I wasn't even sad! I talked to a lot of other moms who said they experienced the same thing at different times during the day.

I knew I had something greater than Baby Blues when I was having trouble getting "mushy gushy" over Titus. I had this desperate need to take care of and protect him, but I didn't really have that, "Oh my gosh, my heart could burst from love!" feeling that so many moms described. I tried to casually mention this to other moms without giving myself away completely, but it seemed like no one quite understood what I was trying to describe, so I stopped telling anyone how I really felt. This coupled with the physical symptoms made me realize that something extraordinary was happening to me.

What's the difference between Postpartum Anxiety (PPA) and PPD? Did you have both?
I would say that I mostly had Postpartum Anxiety with some PPD, but they generally go hand in hand. Since I was so anxious about Titus eating enough, and breastfeeding not going well, I wasn't sleeping hardly at all. The thing about sleep is that you need it not just to keep from being exhausted, but to give your body time to regenerate the things it has used up during wake times. One of these things is Serotonin, which is the chemical that creates the calming and happy feeling in your brain and is made while you sleep. If you don't sleep, you don't make Serotonin, and you can't feel at ease and happy. When the PPA would kick in, my heart would race without explanation throughout the day. No matter how exhausted I was, I would lay down and try to nap and feel like I had drank 6 cups of coffee. The best way to describe it is to say it was like I had no "off switch," I could not figure out how to make my brain power down and relax. The less I slept -> the less Serotonin I made -> the less relaxed I was -> the less I was able to sleep... and so the cycle continued. Eventually that lack of Serotonin also caused the crash in my emotional state, resulting in the depression on top of the anxiety.

Does PPD look the same for everyone?
No, it does not. For me, it was mostly numbness. I couldn't make myself feel anything toward Titus to the degree that I longed for. I just wanted to curl up in bed and not exist. I never had suicidal thoughts, I just didn't want to be where I was. The funny thing was, I also didn't want to be anywhere else. Thinking about leaving the house made my anxiety just as bad as thinking about staying in it. I was stuck. I just didn't want to BE anymore.
I have talked to women who did feel suicidal though, and others have even had thoughts of harming their baby. One friend of mine told me she would stare at a painting of bubbles in her bedroom and wish she could just disappear into it. Another mentioned she never consciously wanted to hurt herself but when she would go to sleep she would dream of ways to commit suicide and wake up panicking because she didn't want to do that. Yet another friend told me she would have horrible panic attacks whenever her husband left the house. She thought she might be having a heart attack and had to go to the ER because she would black out.
These things are all out of your control, it's a hormone-based brain response that is happening whether you want it to or not. However, if you are experiencing ANY thoughts of hurting yourself or your baby (even subconsciously you need to see your doctor right away.

When did it start getting better?
Once I accepted and acknowledged that I had PPD it was much easier to work on getting better. 

• My mom came down from Missouri whenever she could and I had her read the bible to me, or write down and post scripture in different places. A lot of people don't understand that if you are depressed and feel unable to connect with God, it's not necessarily from lack of trying. As much as I wanted to feel connected to Christ, I was numb in that area too. But when I would hear God's words spoken aloud I just cried, it was the only thing that could create a true emotional reaction in me.
• I started forcing myself to only think one hour at a time instead of focusing on the overwhelmingness of making it through a whole day or week. I would tell myself, "just make it through this nap time" or "Garland gets home in an hour, you can make it til then."
• I made myself get out of the house even if it was just going on a walk or to the mall. Even though I got extremely anxious about things going wrong when I left the house, it was a good reminder that the world had not ended and one day I would be a part of "normal life" again.
• Garland made me run to Sonic or get a pedicure or just go read at the park 3-4 times a week. The time away from Titus was stressful but also helped me to realize he would be fine if I wasn't there every second of the day.
• I tried to have someone with me at all times. Even though I was capable of taking care of Titus myself, I felt a huge burden lifted when someone was there. Katelyn Graves was my lifeline. She stopped whatever she was doing as soon as she got my call and would bring her laptop over and work from my house for entire days. She didn't even have to do anything, she just sat there beside me while I held a sleeping baby and watched tv and I had this overwhelmingly joyous urge to yell, I AM NOT ALONE. I will never in my whole life be able to explain to her the amount of gratefulness I have for how selfless she was during that time.
• Lastly, I talked with my doctor and decided to start taking the lowest dose possible of an anxiety medicine. This is a personal choice and I would never tell anyone to start medicine if they don't feel comfortable with it, but I know that for me it helped immensely. It took about 4 weeks to fully kick in, but I could notice things changes in about 2 weeks (read about that moment here). I stayed on it for 3 months and then just forgot to take the pill for a few days and that was that.

Are you worried about having it with your next baby?
Sometimes I do wonder about what will happen with our next child. Women who have suffered from PPD have a 50% chance of having it again (the average woman has only a 15-20% chance). I pray about it anytime we discuss having another child. It is definitely not a situation that I am in a hurry to revisit, but I know that I can't let the fear of a possibility rule my world. My God is bigger than any darkness and prepared a way out of the pit for me once, so I have no reason to think he could not do that again. I praise Him for the doctors, friends, and family that he sent me as individual ropes to tie around my waist and lift me when I was too weak to climb out myself.

So if you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please remember that it is a real thing but it doesn't have to be EVERYthing.

I waited patiently for God to help me; then He listened and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out from the bog and the mire, and set my feet on a hard, firm path and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God. Now many will hear of the glorious things He did for me, and stand in awe before the Lord, and put their trust in Him. 
Psalms 40:1-3

To Work or Stay at Home: Is the Grass Always Greener?

I saw an interview the other day with a woman named Sheryl Sandberg, who is the COO of Facebook. The conversation was all about her new book, Lean In, and how not just men should be getting important roles in the workforce. Sandberg's main point was to say women should be treated equally and deserve high powered jobs just like men, which is not necessarily a novel idea (nor an idea that I disagree with). But the interesting part was when the interviewer asked Sandberg if she felt like she had a good balance between her home and her work. As a married mother of two, she seemed pretty reluctant to admit any difficulties in navigating her extremely busy lifestyle (after all, this was an interview in support of women working, admitting it was hard might be like admitting it was wrong). Sandberg, like all of us (working or staying home), seemed to be trying to convey the message that she could do it all! and everything on her plate was manageable.

This really got me thinking about the work vs. stay home discussion that has been passed around mom groups everywhere. There's no easy answer, and there are obviously pros and cons to both. But when Sandberg was asked if she felt like she spent enough time with her kids, the busy COO said that she, like every working mother, feels "job guilt" about not spending enough time with her family and is "somewhat intimidated" by moms who DO stay home. I started going through my mental rolodex of working moms that I know and I couldn't disagree with her. In fact, I couldn't recall many (if any) that had not mentioned at one point or another that they sometimes wished they could stay home or felt guilty that they couldn't. On the flip side, as a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) myself, I have often felt intimidated by working moms because when people ask me "what I do" it often falls flat to say, "Oh, I stay at home." It seems that some people have a viewpoint that SAHMs lounge around most of the day and then cook dinner at night, leading me to feel defensive and inadequate compared to moms with "real jobs."

Which leads us to the topic of the discussion, is the grass always greener when it comes to your career as a mom?

To be honest, right after Titus was born I wondered if I had made a HORRIBLE mistake in quitting my job as a crisis counselor. I had such a passion for my clients and our ministry, and all of the sudden instead of a highly challenging and stimulating job, I was now sitting on the couch 17 hours a day and watching Real Housewives marathons because he would only sleep if I held him- and when he wasn't sleeping, he was eating.

I was bored. I'm not afraid to say it. And here comes more word vomit: sometimes I still am. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, I'm just trying to be transparent here. Titus is almost one and although things have gotten much more interesting around our house as he's gotten older, there's not much mental challenge in walking a baby in circles or sitting behind him while he bangs on the coffee table. I love him dearly and I find him so funny and sweet and entertaining, but that doesn't mean that he fills the mental space that my job did. In fact, that's why I started my Etsy shop, because I needed something to STIMULATE me. That is, in fact, the best way to phrase the missing piece of the puzzle. When you hang out all day with a person who can't communicate and does very little besides roll around and drool and try to eat their own fingers, you don't feel very stimulated. I know, there are play dates and trips to the park and running errands, etc., but in all sincerity, a majority of my week as a SAHM is spent staying home (i.e. the title), even with all that stuff plugged into our schedule. And when we do get out of the house for "activities" ( Target, mall walking, Hobby Lobby) it seems like we mostly do so just so we can fill up the time in the day, not because we actually need to do it.

On the flip side, I can't imagine having to get myself and a baby dressed and ready to go in the morning. Most days I wear yoga pants and sometimes I don't even brush my teeth til 10am, so I can't imagine getting my hair and makeup and clothes fixed plus diaper bag packed and breakfast for a baby. And if I only had time to clean, cook, and do laundry after 5pm I feel like it would never get done! My house would be a total disaster. Not to mention that I would hate only getting to see Titus early in the morning and late at night. Plus, even if I still had my old job, the majority of my income would go to childcare, which would make the financial benefit just about a wash.

So what's the answer? Work and feel guilty for missing out on time with your kids and rarely having a clean house? Stay at home and feel jealous of those who leave the house each day and actually have adult conversations?

I know for me I wouldn't trade staying at home for anything. That's not meant to sound noble, there are definitely days I wonder what it would be like had I chosen to do things differently. But at the end of the day, I know for me the pros outweigh the cons at this stage in our life. When I'm done having kids and they're a little older I think I would love to go back to work, but its been a huge (and ongoing) process for me to accept that this is not a temporary setup, but instead the career path that I have chosen long term. I will hold the job title of "mom" longer than any other job in my life, and this is only the beginning of putting others wants and needs ahead of my own each day. And as cheesy as it may be to say, I really can't imagine doing a more important job than raising my children to be respectful and contributing members of society and trying to create a sane and stable living environment for them to grow up in.

So what do you say? Is the grass always greener? Have you ever wondered or wished you were doing the opposite of what you chose?

Rushing, Rushing, Rushing

When you have a baby everything gets a little more complicated. Grocery trips become extravaganzas, simple errands like running to the Post Office can turn into a disaster with the click of a car seat buckle, and don't even get me STARTED on going out to dinner! None of that to say that it's necessarily a bad thing or that I would even change it, but I do find that I feel like I'm rushing every second of the day. During his nap time I rush to clean/craft/read/nap/do laundry, when he's awake we have to rush and get errands done before his limited patience for the car seat runs out, when we go on a play date we have to rush there and back to make sure we make it between naps, when we go out to dinner I rush to get everything packed and get Titus in the car and (hopefully) make it there on time, and then rush back home before bedtime. When we finally get settled in to put him to bed, I often times find myself rushing to put him down for the night because I feel like I have a billion more things to accomplish before crashing and starting all over. And lets be honest, sometimes I'm just ready for a little adult time.

But here's the thing. I've been missing it.

Tonight when I was putting Titus down he pushed the bottle out and I could feel that it was almost empty and I thought to myself, "Alright, this means I've only got a couple minutes left in here then I can finish working on my Etsy order before Garland gets home." I had the choice to put him down awake (like I usually do and like he prefers) or rock him for a minute longer. I started to put the bottle down and get ready to stand up when he reached up and put his hand on my heart. I'm not kidding, my sweet kiddo reached his tiny fist up and put his open palm right on my chest.

When I felt him touch me it was like all the air in the room stood still and I didn't feel like rushing anymore. I didn't feel like rushing because I couldn't help but think of Amy Hill and wonder if she ever rushed through day-to-day stuff with Tucker like I do with Titus. The thing is, this is normal, this is life. We are taught to be efficient, to make the most of every second of the day, and above all, never miss out on a moment of productivity. I'm sure Amy, like most moms to toddlers, had to multi-task to get everything done each day, and probably, like me, had a lot of nights where she was checking bedtime off a long list of to-do's.

But Tucker died last year in his sleep and no one knows why, and all I could think about as I held my baby boy was, "I bet Amy would give anything to go back and not rush through rocking Tucker to sleep."
So I tried to take it all in.

The sound of his breath getting deeper as he drifts into sleep.
His short fingers raised in the dark, trying to find my face so he knows I'm still here.
The way his body curves up against mine and his head rests in the crook of my arm like we are two puzzle pieces that were made to fit together.
His tiny feet rubbing against each other as he always does when he's nodding off to sleep.
The feel of his eyelashes tickling my cheek as I bend down close to kiss his chubby cheek.
The deep sigh that comes from his little chest that signifies his sense of comfort in my arms.
The feel of his soft baby hair brushing against my forehead when I lay my head close to his.

We are promised nothing here on this earth. Titus may live to be 100, he may be taken away tomorrow, or Jesus may come back before either of us die. All we know in this world is that nothing is promised to us beyond this moment. For me, that was holding my little boy for a few minutes longer as he drifted off into sweet dreams. Tonight I encourage you to stop rushing and really revel in whatever is happening in yours.