My Baby Doesn't Know I Have a Job

Ahh life. You busy little thing. 

When I restarted the blog back in April, it was during my quiet season for work. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a small business that I run from home. It’s a seasonal job so there are months in the year when I don’t have any projects I’m working on and then there are other months when I get to immerse myself in super fun creativeness. I like the change of pace. It’s nice to have seasons that are vastly different. 

However, now that the little cogs of my business are once again moving, it may mean that my blog posts will become bi-weekly (or even monthly). 

I wish I had a more definitive answer, but honestly I’m figuring this out as I go. Last year I took on way too much in all areas of my life, so I am trying really hard to have a better balance. However, the busyness of last year WAS a bit of an exception because we sold our house and lived with my in-laws for six weeks and THEN moved into our new house (all with a 3.5 and 1.5 year old). Add in the normal responsibilities of work and raising children and life was pretty crazy. We were too busy. 

When winter finally came and my work slowed, I felt God ushering me into a season of rest. I finally slowed down and experienced life at a much healthier pace. It was very eye-opening. We were now in our new home and no longer living out of boxes or spending every extra second going to a showing. I don't like to be that busy. I think we all have different levels of busy that we want to have in our lives, and the important part is figuring out what is best for you and your family. Are you putting too much on yourself? Are you taking time to just be? To enjoy something you love? During my season of rest I finally learned the importance of self care. Sometimes you just have to stop. Oftentimes the blog has been a form of self care for me. It’s something that feeds my soul and rejuvenates me. But as my work begins to pick up and my belly continues to grow to epic proportions, I don’t know what self care will look like for me this time around. Last week I touched on how much different this pregnancy has been compared to my other two. To twist a T. Swift lyric, “I’m feelin’ thirty-two oooo ooo” and you guys, instead of writing the next blog post I may just need to take a nap. But like I said earlier, I really don’t know yet what the future will bring. I hope I can continue to spill my thoughts in this space, but if I can’t make that happen every week, that’s ok too. 

Recently, I was packing up my work bag and about to head out the door for a few hours to complete a job. My son saw me heading towards the door and ran after me inquiring about where I was going. I told him I was going to work but I would be back soon. He froze and stared at me wide-eyed and then yelled, “You don’t go to work! Daddy goes to work!” I laughed and realized that the last time I left the house to go to work, he was too young to remember it. I thought it was super cute and realized that my season of starting work again would be something that wouldn’t just affect me. We would all have to adjust to it. 

If you read this blog every week, thank you. I’m looking forward to figuring out what the right pace is going to be going forward. And once I figure that out I will let you know. 

So, if there comes a Thursday and you don’t see my inner monologue ramblings pop up, know that I’ll be back. 

Sending a plethora of virtual hugs to you and yours,

Shantastic 

My Baby is Not a Burrito

Imagine this scenario. Eight weeks pregnant, feeling like a bloated, nauseous beast and basically just trying to keep my life together. For the past three weeks my new best friend had become the big green bowl that I carried with me everywhere I went. I’ve been elated and felt blessed to have a new little life growing inside me, but man this kid has been kicking my butt. Obviously my husband has known from the beginning about this pregnancy, but our two kids still didn’t know that there was another sibling in their future. They just thought “mommy was feeling a little sick and needed some prayers.”

One evening when I had just reached the eight week mark, I was cleaning up the remnants of dinner and decided that the shirt I had been wearing for the last 48 hours was in desperate need of changing. I felt a slight twinge of annoyance (and a little guilt) because I realized that since I had been riding the morning sickness train so much lately, I was almost completely out of clean clothes. Who has time to keep up on laundry when you’re just trying to keep your oatmeal down? I figured there had to be at least something I could put on so I huffed and puffed my way up the stairs to my room. I threw open my drawer of t-shirts and found it almost completely empty. I quickly scanned my options and hesitantly picked up a plain red baby-tee and stared at it for a moment. I was hesitating because I knew it would fit a little tight. In my current state of baby-growing, I was in that awkward middle ground where it sort of looked like I might have an emerging pregnant mound OR a complete stranger may have easily thought that I just really like to eat burritos and cheeseburgers. You couldn’t exactly tell yet if it was a food baby or a real baby. I had been trying to wear looser fitting shirts lately so that my daughter wouldn’t start to grow suspicious about my stomach getting bigger. So, I wasn’t all too excited about wearing this shirt that I knew would emphasize my recent weight gain. We still had two whole weeks before we planned on telling her. As I continued to stare at the shirt I thought that I was probably just overreacting. She’s only four. She’s probably not paying attention to my belly. I quickly changed into the red shirt that I knew would hug my baby bump just a little too tight and then slowly met my reflection in the mirror. Confirmation. This shirt made me look pregnant. As my mind flashed back to those first “belly pics” I took when I was pregnant with Grace, I realized that the way my eight week belly was currently looking was more like my 18 week belly pic with her. My how things change the third time around. I stood there staring and my protruding mid-section and decided in that moment that I could either let this be something that got me down, or I could laugh about it and embrace the fact that I’m not in my twenties anymore. The first time I got pregnant my stomach muscles were actually in descent shape. Somewhat tight, not over-stretched by the pressure of an eight pound human. This time it was as if my stomach said to the rest of my body “Oh? This again? Meh why even try to hold it together?” and then it raised its figurative white flag and completely gave up. Imagining my stomach with a lazy personality somehow made me feel better. It actually made me chuckle a little to myself. Tis the season for growing babies and having ab muscles that just totally give up. 

As I marched back downstairs after having given myself a pretty good self-esteem pep talk, I passed by my daughter, Grace. She looked stunned as I rounded the corner to the kitchen and halted all conversation by throwing her hands up in the air and proclaiming, “OH Mom! Look!” I paused and said, “Look at what sweetie?” She ran over to me and put her hand on my belly. I froze and felt speechless because I realized what was going to come out of her mouth next and I had no idea how I was going to respond. She then blurted, “MOM! Your tummy!” Next she pursed her lips to the side in a matter-of-fact sort of way and said definitively, “I think you got a baby in there Mom. Because, look at how big your tummy is! Yep. You gots a baby in there.” My eyes about bugged out of my head and I suddenly heard the muffled laughter of my husband who was standing five feet away. My glance shot over to him with a look of “Please help me NOW!” but all I saw was a man holding the collar of his shirt over his face to try and hide the fact that he was totally losing it over our daughter’s allegations. He finally met my eyes and I had to nearly pinch myself to keep from erupting with laughter. I pressed my lips together dramatically as I tried not to panic. We weren’t ready to tell the world yet about the baby, and if we told my daughter then the world would surely know about it. I didn’t want to lie to her though so I went for the classic “Oh..wouldn’t that be cool? Hey look we still have some cookies from yesterday! Do you want a cookie?”  Maybe not the best method, but hey, it worked. She bounced away down the hallway, cookie in hand, and the talk about a baby being in my belly ceased. 

I feel so relieved to have made it to the ten week mark. Now my girl knows all about the real reason why my belly is getting bigger and I no longer have to distract her with cookies to keep her from talking about it. Right after our kids found out about the baby I overheard my husband explaining to them that this baby means that Mom might need more help around the house. When I walked over to them in the middle of this conversation Grace was beaming and said, “Mom! Daddy says we can help you by putting our dishes in the sink and helping you clean because your tummy is going to get SO HUGE! Is your tummy going to get really big Momma?” I smiled down at her as I relished the joy that was emanating from her. She was so purely happy about us having another baby, and she was already feeling proud of herself for knowing that it means we might ask more of her. I chuckled and pulled her close as I said, “Hon, I will definitely need more help and yes, my tummy is going to get huge.” 

Cheers to the season of growing a baby. I like to joke about some of the unpleasant side effects (like abs that give up on you) but really, this is such an amazing journey. I’m honored to be on it …even if I can’t find a clean shirt that fits. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

P.S. If you missed last week’s post, surprise! I’m expecting baby number 3! You can get caught up here ——> My Baby is a Kumquat and find out what made us want to jump on this roller coaster one last time! 

My Babies Have a Pet Alligator

So…I totally lied to my kids (by accident).

We moved into a new house back in September and our yard now backs up to a very small pond. When people have come over to see our new house, the very first question they ask is, “Doesn’t the pond make you a little nervous with the kids?” 

Of course, it does a little. But, they are still so young that we NEVER let them go outside by themselves. Even when we lived in the middle of a neighborhood, if we were playing outside and one person needed to pee, we all went to go pee. Plus, the pond has about a five foot wide layer of thick and spiky weeds, wildflowers, and thistles surrounding it. We knew that the owie-inducing brush would for sure help to be a deterrent and keep them from wanting to explore the pond ‘where the duckies live’. 

But then, as fall approached and the foliage everywhere began dying and wasting away, we realized that the secure layer of “pokey thingies” no longer existed. As I was playing outside with the kids on one of these brisk fall afternoons, I noticed they were getting a little more brave about stepping across the weed/wildflower threshold. I not only wanted them to listen and respect my instructions about not going near the water, but I hate to admit, I did want them to be just a teeny, tiny bit afraid of it. A little healthy fear never hurt anyone right?? (Please tell me I’m right because here comes the part where I turned into a liar with her pants on fire.) 

Really, I blame my daughter. My firstborn who came into this world with a firecracker sizzle would rather give the general concept of authority a big kick in the gut. She wasn’t being swayed by my steady warnings about staying on the grassy side of the yard. I knew that if I really put my foot down and we went through the whole consequences song and dance that we would achieve the same goal, but I was just. so. over it. As she stared me down and began to lift her foot ever so slowly up and over the weed barrier, I quickly blurted out, “Be careful baby. You don’t want to wake up Larry.” She immediately froze with her foot in the air and her eyes grew wide. “Who’s Larry??” she asked with a flash of worry on her face. “Oh hun, he’s the alligator who lives in our pond. He’s pretty cranky so you don't want to get too close to the water and make him mad.” After the words left my mouth I thought, ok, she totally knows I’m kidding right..? This is like that time when she said there was an elephant sitting with us at the dinner table and we all pretended to serve him dinner…Right? 

She slowly lowered her foot back onto the grass/safe side of the yard and then began grilling me with questions about Larry. 

How did he get here? The ducks pick him up and carry him here every spring and then in the fall they bring him down to Florida for the winter

What does he eat? All the food that Emmett wastes (He's a picky eater=lots of wasted food)

Who feeds him? (At night mommy carefully walks down to the pond and sets the food out for him. Larry only likes mommy but even mommy has to be careful because he’s such a cranky alligator) 

After about ten minutes of chatting about Larry I realized, oh my gosh, she totally 100% believes me. So, I decided I would just let it go and assumed that after a few days of not mentioning Larry, he would be lost and gone forever in her little mind. 

Over a week later when Grandma and Grandpa came to visit, Gracie started rambling on about everything that had been happening to her recently. Without any warning, she began reciting EVERYTHING about the alligator who lives in our pond. Even Emmett chimed in with important little details about him. My parents kept glancing at me trying to figure out what in the world she was talking about. I finally just threw my hands up in the air and sheepishly said, “Well..atleast I know they’re scared to go in the water…??” 

Now, months have gone by, Larry went to live in Florida for the winter, and my kids keep asking if the ducks have brought him back home yet. I keep saying, ‘No, not yet.” because I’m trying to decide if he will. Maybe he’ll stay south for the rest of their childhood and instead of using a fake alligator to keep them safe we’ll put up a fence.

Or maybe…I’ll buy a “Beware of Alligator” sign for our backyard.

Have you ever lied to your kids (by accident, of course) ? 

………………………………………………………

It’s been exactly one month since I started up the blog again! If you’re here with me, thank you. Starting to write again has been very life-giving (and maybe just a little scary). Sometimes I write about deep and personal revelations I feel God has given me about motherhood, and sometimes I talk about the fake alligator I lied to my kids about. Either way, my brain feels less cluttered by having a place to let my inner-monologue run wild. Thank you for listening. And please don’t underestimate how much I enjoy hearing from you. I don't have to be the one doing all the talking :) 

New: FOLLOW BY EMAIL option on the top right of the page! Just type in your email address. That’s it! It’s super simple to unsubscribe at any point if you change your mind.

Also sort of new: I finally got with the times and joined Instagram! You can find me @TotallyShantastic 

Hugs, love, and onward,

Shantastic 

My baby doesn't let go

Wow. It has been super fun (and maybe just a teeny bit scary) to be back in the blogging world! If you have been following along with me over the past few weeks, thank you. Thank you for joining me on this wonderful world wide web of ramblings. I’m so glad you’re here.

One of the most recent blog posts I wrote was a heavy one. (Read it here: I chased my baby up a mountain) It was about my daughter and the grueling (and now so rewarding) process of her growing up. It’s just crazy. When I started this blog I was barely pregnant with her. And now, I’ve written a post about the two of us tackling the mountain of toddlerhood. It was a really cool way to come full circle. 

This week the topic on my heart is much lighter. Can you guess what it is? Just close your eyes and picture yourself slowly wrapping your arms around a tiny little cuddle of warmth and adorableness. The fresh smell. The safety and security. Ahhhh can you feel it? Baby hugs! 

I sort of don’t understand when people say they’re not a “baby person”… Babies are totally the best. They’re so cuddly and their cheeks are just always so kissable. Ahhh babies. 

I’m a baby person. Surprise! 

I’m also a hug person (Surprise again?). Maybe that’s why I love babies so much. Baby hugs! Babies are an automatic person you can squeeze. Especially when they’re newborns, all they want to do is get hugs from you. They’re someone you can soothe with a hug, rock to sleep, and cuddle. When I was little, if something scared me or I was hurt, my reaction was immediate. I was running over to my mom and dad as quickly as my little legs would carry me. Hugs are where it’s at. So when I had kids I thought, YES! A brand new human being for me to hug ALL the time! This is fantastic. 

When my kids were babies I hugged them endlessly. Every time I was about to swoop them down into their carseat: hug. Every time I scooped them up from their crib: hug. Ahh I just loved to squeeze them tight and smell their skin. I had heard people say over and over how fast the baby stage goes, so hugging them was my way to stop for those few seconds and just breathe it in. I also think part of the reason why I love hugs so much is because I really enjoy just being still. I like to slow down, watch the waves, soak in the sunset, and just be. I don’t always have to be doing something. I could just sit, hold my child and be. 

But as my firstborn started to get a little older, she began to resist my mommy cuddles. She didn’t want to sit in my lap to watch the parade, she wanted to chase after the floats. She didn’t want to cuddle on my lap during the movie, she wanted to see how high she could jump off the couch (but we couldn’t turn off the movie because she was “still watching it”). This girl is the polar opposite of still. When she was a baby and I first started to sense some hug-resistance from her it was just a little tensing up, almost as if she felt uneasy. Then it evolved into full on back arching and swatting me away. My daughter, my own child, wasn’t a hugger. I wasn’t prepared for this. 

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I remember reading an anonymous quote that made my heart skip a beat. It said, “When your child hugs you, never be the first to let go.” I remember internalizing those words and thinking yeeeessssssss that is some beautiful stuff right there. I’m gonna do that. Never let go first. But as my daughter kept getting bigger and bigger I noticed she pretty much never initiated hugs. There was no opportunity to turn that quote into my life. It took a long journey of me figuring her out for this difference of ours to not make me feel bad. Like seriously, what kid doesn’t want to hug their mom? Apparently my kid and she’s still awesome and she still loves me. She just shows it differently than what I expected.

And then…God decided to rain down another big beautiful blessing in my life by giving me a second child, my son. He is quite literally, the best natural born hugger in the entire world. This little boy loves nothing more than to come running right at me-full speed and launch himself into my arms. When I walk into a room: hug. When I hand him his lunch: hug. When I discipline him for taking his sister’s toy: tear-streaked hug. It feels a little silly to admit, but his hugging ability is one of my favorite things about him. 

Each of my kids are answers to prayers in very different ways. Grace is my quirky, beats to her own drummer kind of perfect that I, truly, always wanted. As I wrote in that previous post --> here, figuring her out was a process (oh wait, it’s still ongoing). I had to learn through a lot of patience and persevering that hugs just weren’t gonna cut it for her. And that’s ok.

So when my Emmett joined us, he felt like the answer to my prayer for a child who just wanted to sit and be with me. I’ve had countless moments where I have thought that he fell asleep on my shoulder because there was just no way a hug could reasonably go on for that long. But no, as soon as I would fidget just a little (trying to reach my phone so that I could use it as a mirror to see if he was sleeping) he would jolt his head up and give me a huge chubby-cheeked smile. 

He loves to just sit, be, and hug me. He doesn’t always have to be doing something. Ok, well he’s two so he kind of does. But when we go outside to draw with chalk, he wants to sit in my lap. When we watch Finding Dory for the ten thousandth viewing, he cuddles right up next to me the entire time.

I love that God knew how much I would delight in an affectionate child. Sometimes when I’m thanking God for my children I specifically say a prayer of thanksgiving for blessing me with my little boy who always (every single day) has a hug for me. 

I get to be the one who doesn’t let go first.

What do you delight in about your child? I would love to know :) Leave a comment below!

Blessings,

Shantastic :)