My Babies Totally Don't Get It

Everyone has those moments in life. When you have reached adulthood and you suddenly freeze because you realize you just did something that was EXACTLY like one of your parents. For some people this causes them to shudder and essentially freak out, but thankfully not for me. I never set out to purposefully not turn into my parents. They’re pretty amazing people. Many of the things I learned from having them as my parents were very easy to engrain into my own life because they are simply fundamental. Unconditional love, making family a priority, the importance of quality time and all that good mushy stuff just naturally came out of living life as their kid. 

A lot of the things they tried to teach me totally made sense, such as kindness and respect. Other things I didn’t quite comprehend because they were adults and I was just a kid. I remember I never understood my dad’s tradition of making my brother and I give him a little peck on the cheek if we wanted something. I would come bounding into the room blurting out a request and before he would start to get up from his chair he would just barely lean his cheek toward me and slowly reach up one finger to tap the side of his face. He didn't even have to say anything because we knew what he meant. In our childhood impatience we would sigh, run over and give him a quick kiss and then start bouncing again while we asked if NOW he would complete our request. Nearly every time we directly asked him for something, to get the sprinkler out or to have a snack, without fail he would just tap his cheek and we knew. I remember completely not understanding how in the world a kiss on the cheek from me could be payment for spending two hours chasing us around the yard with the hose while we hooted and giggled. 

As the kid, I didn’t understand it. Now, I do. 

This time I’m the parent. Once my daughter reached an age in which she knew and understood what kisses were, I caught myself doing the exact same thing my dad had done so many years ago. My little girl came sprinting over to me to ask if we could play with bubbles, and without even thinking I smirked at her, raised my finger up to my cheek and pointed. The moment my finger hit my cheek I paused and thought, wow, like father like daughter. In the case of continuing super sweet and simple family traditions, I was choosing to have my apple not fall far from the tree. As Grace stared at me with a very confused look on her face, I prompted her again with another tap to my cheek and said, “a kiss please”. She saw this as the quickest way to get what she wanted so she obliged and went on her way. She totally didn’t get it. But suddenly, I knew why my dad had done that for all those years.

Getting kisses on the cheek from your kids is pretty much the sweetest thing in the world. You spend what feels like forever with this baby that you love SO MUCH and the baby literally can’t do anything except eat, poop, and sleep. And then, one day that kid can magically give you a kiss and somehow your heart is filled to the brim just by feeling their little wet lips on your cheek. It’s the best.

So, I have continued my dad’s tradition with Grace and then even passed it on to Emmett when he got old enough. He has caught on to the point where he even includes the kiss in his request. “Hey MomMom can you get my down from this slide? I give you kiiiisss!” And obviously, sometimes they are just not up for my silly requests to get kisses on the cheek. And that’s ok. I’ll never force them to do it, but if they’re in a happy mood I want them to know how much I cherish their affection. 

Dad, I get it now. And I know now that you didn't need the kisses in order to motivate you to do those fun things for us (like chase us around the yard with the hose). You did it because you wanted to. And you asked for those sweet little kisses from your kids because you wanted those too. I promise Dad, I'll never be too old to give you a kiss on the cheek. All you have to do is ask. 

Blessings,

Shantastic 

I took this photo a couple months ago when my husband had gone out of town and my mom came up to visit. I’m pretty sure she would agree that Emmett gives some of the best cheek kisses in the entire world. I mean, look at those puckered lips. You definitely can never say anything bad about his level of commitment when it comes to kisses on the cheek. 

I know my baby.

As we were driving home from church a few weeks ago, my son said from the backseat, “Hey MomMom. I was crying in nursery. Can you say why?” The first thing I thought was, Ok, that was a very mature sentence for a two-year-old. Then I answered back to him, “Why Bub?” He paused then said, “I was crying about you.” …My heart dropped and I flashed back to the tear-streaked moment when I dropped him off in the nursery that morning. I tried to sound totally calm (and not choked up) as I replied, “Oh… because I left you in the nursery?” He answered back matter-of-factly ‘Yeah. You leave and I crying…Sorry MomMom.”

I had to figure this out. We had just spent the last three weeks with me having to stay in the nursery the entire service because he was too scared to be left in there on his own. I figured he just needed to get familiar with the room, so if I had to stay in there a few times, that wasn’t the end of the world. However, I prayed the day would come when I would get to once again resume sitting through a church service without my child crying for me to come save him. The day when he apologized to me for crying was the day I had tried the “ditch and run” in a desperate attempt to get him to see that the nursery was a totally fun place even when mommy wasn’t there. As you know from my previous paragraph, it didn't go so well. 

A week went by and and inevitably, it was Sunday again. This time I tried prepping him a bit more during breakfast. I asked him questions about the nursery and talked about the helpers who are his “friends”. I even pulled up an episode of Daniel Tiger singing the “Grownups Come Back” song. We sang it together and as he nodded his head along to the tune I thought, Oh I hope he is getting this. I so hope he is getting this. 

We walked into church with his hand in mine, and as soon as we neared the corner for the nursery he threw himself behind my legs and began crying. I could tell this was not a show he was putting on. This was not a fake cry. He was committed and he wasn’t going to give up. I smiled at the nursery staff and quietly walked in with him. As we slowly strolled around looking at the toys, I kept trying to peel him off me and get him interested in playing with something. After a few minutes, one of the volunteers came over to me and very kindly said, “Would you like me to just scoop him up so you can leave?” It was a very sweet gesture, and as I smiled at her I said, “Thank you for offering, but I think it will work best for him if I just take it slow and let him ease into it.”

It ended up taking about 20 minutes before he finally started to venture a few feet away from me. Every time he took a step away from me I took a step closer to the door. I made eye contact with one of the volunteers and mouthed “If he cries for more than five minutes you can page me”. I then followed with a thumbs up and made my great escape out the door. I told myself I had to walk away and go sit in the service. He would be fine. They would page me if he needed me. 

Minutes passed and I slowly started to relax in my seat. As the final song wrapped up, I couldn’t deny that I was excited to be reunited with my boy. When the check-in volunteer brought him out to me, his face lit up and I swear I even saw pride in his eyes. He had made it through and he knew it. The second he was close enough to me, he launched himself into my arms and began babbling about what he had played with and who he had talked to. As we turned to leave, the woman who had offered to help scoop him up pointed at me and said, “Now that’s a mom who knows her son.” I froze for a second and then flashed her a huge smile. For the next few hours her words kept resonating in my mind. I couldn’t quite figure out why it had made me feel so happy. As I continued to reflect on her words of affirmation I finally realized…it was touching me so much because it was one of the best compliments I've ever received. 

To know someone, truly know them, is a beautiful thing. From the moment my babies were born, I have given everything I am to learn who they are. God has created two completely different children for me to raise. I want to know what makes them laugh so I can delight in their giggles. I want to learn what makes them feel safe so I can provide security for them. 

I want to know them so I can be the mom they need me to be. My daughter ran into the nursery on her own the very first day and didn’t even say goodbye to me. She didn’t need me in that way. Emmett did. 

But most importantly, above all else, I want to know them so that I can teach them about God in a way that will connect with their own extraordinary heart. Because that, right there, is everything. They will each have unique ways in which they feel God’s presence and they will have their own individual passions that God has given them. I want to know my children so I can connect with their heart. For this woman to spend 20 minutes with me and Emmett and walk away from that saying, “That’s a mom who knows her son,” …that’s everything to me. 

Everything I have been trying to do from the moment he was born…is know him. 

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Have you had a child who struggled with separation anxiety? Got any tips for me because I'm sure this won't be the last time he has a cryfest about me leaving him somewhere haha! 

Respond using the comment section below OR find me on Instagram @TotallyShantastic and comment there!

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Blessings,

Shantastic

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) ? 

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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 :)

My babies swallowed me.

Before I start, I feel like I should explain why I stopped. 

I began writing this blog back in 2012, soon after I found out I was pregnant for the first time. I just had so many emotions and ideas that I felt compelled to write it all down. I felt like it was something God was pressing on my heart. After lots of pacing back and forth and an elevated heart rate, I published my first post. I thought, if nothing else, this will be a cool journal to give to this baby someday, right? 

I think I was so nervous because I thought, why on earth are people going to care about what I have to say? This whole thing is basically just my inner monologue taking over and rambling about silly things. But, I kept writing, and it was a really really cool experience. After a few months I finally had my baby (a girl), and began to write about my new life as a mom. I didn’t quite realize the extent of it at the time, but my old life was gone. 

Motherhood is absolutely beautiful, but it’s so easy to allow it to overshadow who YOU are. At first, I was just so elated and excited to have a baby that the self sacrifices came pretty easily. Certain things that used to be norms, like getting to leave the house on a whim, just simply became things you knew you couldn’t expect from your life anymore. But without even realizing it, my crochet hooks and yarn got tucked away in a closet. My decoupage crafts were moved to the basement. The demands of motherhood were closing in and finding time to write became even more challenging. Although my wild and free little chica gave me quite a bit of inspiration to draw from, it was still hard to find the time. 

After about 18 months of life with one kid, I got pregnant with baby number two (a boy this time) and life began to settle into a whole new brand of crazy. I had pretty bad morning (aka all day) sickness for about 6 weeks. Trying to parent my child who thought naps were a complete and total waste of time was overwhelming. The cherry to this stress-ball sundae was that I had also started a small business that was beginning to require any “free” time I had to be poured into that. I was (and still am) very passionate about my business endeavor so for awhile it became the creative outlet that my personality craves. It was ok that I was letting certain parts of myself get put into boxes in the basement because I had this super amazing business to focus on. I began to stay up later in the evenings, scrambling to finish a post before my weekly “due date”. I still loved doing it but it was just so hard to find the time. What officially made me stop writing though was that I felt the Lord prompting me to hit pause. I don’t always understand everything He wants me to do, and even though I felt much sadness about it, I paused.

I continued on in life, my son was born, I tried to juggle everything that comes with having TWO littles who depend on you for everything…and the blog remained something that was in my past. Even though I wasn’t writing anymore, my inner monologue never silenced. I would catch myself doing a mundane task like washing the dishes or folding laundry and completely write out an entire blog post in my head. The urge to write never left, and truthfully, the longer I stayed away from it the stronger my desire was to blog again. As time went on I started to feel like there would come a time when God would lead me to write again. 

Then, a few months ago I went to visit my best friend for a few days (2.5 hour drive one way so we don’t see each other as often as I would like) and as I was driving back home I realized that during my 48 hour childless trip, I had finally felt like a person again. How long had it been since I didn’t have to worry about keeping two tiny beings alive for every second of every day? I didn’t have to try to think of new things to make for dinner. I didn’t have to stress about how now that my kids are getting older it’s growing increasingly more difficult to work from home. The thing that started out as the creative outlet that made me feel like a person, had grown to the point where it was a bigger beast than I had ever anticipated. It was truly a blessing, but trying to squeeze in time to work during my daughter’s quiet time (aka that time after lunch where I convince her to color in her room and play with blocks for 45 minutes so I can run downstairs to my office and try to get SOMETHING done) had become overwhelmingly stressful. When I was up visiting my best friend, I didn’t think about any of that. I laughed really hard, had intelligent debates about politics, and shared stories without being interrupted. (What a freaking concept!!!) 

I was a person again. 

And I don’t mean for that to sound like I’m complaining about my life. I feel blessed beyond measure to have two completely awesome children and a life partner who always, without fail, points me to Christ. What I’m trying to say is that I hadn’t even realized that I had allowed parts of myself to become swallowed by it all.

So, as I was driving back home I thought and prayed about what it means to me to feel like a person again. Not JUST the one who changes the toddler’s explosion poop with a smile and lets her four-year-old blow bubbles inside because she is just straight up out of fun and engaging ideas for the day. As I drove and asked God to show me how to find a balance in the craziness, I thought about the blog. I also thought about how I just might need to start using some form of childcare so that I can keep doing my dream job. But, I also thought about the blog. For some reason I simply cannot explain, writing makes me feel like a person. So here I am, with that same elevated heart rate, feeling released from the pause button, and choosing…to be a person. 

What makes you feel like a person? Or maybe the bigger question is, DO you feel like a person? 

Blessings,

Shantastic

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Explaining the blog name- 

If you’re finding yourself going, “Totally Shantastic? I don’t get it” then this is for you! First of all, I know it's a little weird. (But let’s be honest, I am a little weird) What started as a silly play on my name has morphed into this bigger idea on my heart. 

“Trying to embrace the crazy and live life with intention”

I've always been insanely passionate about living life with intention and purpose. It's almost as if I feel the immensity of this gift we have been given. Life should not be wasted. To me, when I am being Shantastic it means I am living my life in that truth. It means I am loving others, refusing to get caught in the rat race, and it means I am being who I was created to be. Life with intention. 

Embracing the crazy is the part that has always been more of a challenge for me. When you have young children, how do you embrace the chaos they bring while also cherishing every single second of it? Sometimes I just want (need) to clean the laundry room while my husband wrestles with the kids. Sometimes the crazy needs taming. But where I struggle is to make sure I don't get lost in that. Yes, sometimes you do have to choose to clean the laundry room because you can no longer see the top of the washer and dryer. But then, maybe you need to stop there for the day and go help your daughter finish that final takedown of the Daddy monster. Life with balance. Embrace the crazy.

If you’re still here, thank you for joining me. Until next time <3 

I chased my baby up a mountain

“Hey Mom, can you get me out of here?” 

Hmmm that was a good question. Could I get her out of there? My daughter (who turned four last summer) had thought it would be super hilarious for me to put her in a baby swing at the park. I shared her excited energy and thought that, indeed, it would be pretty funny to see her in a baby swing too.

Literally the second I got all her weight plopped into the swing I thought, “OH CRAP. How am I going to get her out of this??” It was one of those swings where you have to lift the baby up really high until their feet clear the leg holes. With how much I struggled just getting her into the seat, I realized I had absolutely no clue how I was going to get her out of it. We were the only ones at the park. The nearest group of people was a construction crew about a 1/4 of a mile away. I quickly filed that info into my “emergency we’ve been stuck here for an hour and I am desperate for help” folder. As I just stood there silently panicking in my head, she was having the most amazing time. She exchanged excited squeals with her little brother and they both laughed about how much fun there were having side-by-side. Totally carefree. And then, the dreaded question came, “Mom, I’m ready to get out. Can you get me out of here?” ….Sweetie, do you want to know the real answer to that question?? Of course I couldn’t scare her and tell her I was picturing us spending the rest of her life stuck in this thing. I had to stay calm and act as though I was totally capable of lifting her 40lb body up over my head. In this moment I probably should have assessed the situation and come up with a strategy for how I was going to accomplish this. But no, of course I just grabbed her under her shoulders and started heaving. I got her waist out and her body slumped over the side of the swing. Her legs were still stuck in the holes and I had lost my “oomph” to keep pulling her upwards. I froze for about half a second and thought, “Dear sweet Jesus please give me the strength to not drop my kid and make her dangle by her ankles on this stupid swing.” 

The second the prayer left my brain I realized, DUH her giant boots were blocking the leg holes. My fingers barely reached the top of her boots and I was miraculously able to slide them off her feet. Within seconds she wriggled her legs out of the holes to freedom. As we both looked at each other and giggled about our silly fiasco, I realized, she really is a big kid now…no more baby swings. 

Everyone says it happens so fast. You’ll blink and it’s over. Your baby is gone and it has been replaced with this little person who just never. stops. talking. You now have a kid who has her own grand ideas about sitting in baby swings and laughing about it. For me, the transition hasn’t quite felt like blinking. It’s been more like that whole hills and valleys metaphor. You know, the valleys are where everything is all nice and easy, there’s wildflowers and the terrain isn’t as rough. It still might be a little rocky here and there but it’s nothing compared to scaling a mountain-side. For me as a first-time parent, babyhood was a glorious valley of adorable squishiness…and then, all too soon, there came the mountain climb of tantrum-filled toddlerhood.

When I first got pregnant, I didn’t really daydream past the baby stage. I knew that based on my personality, babyhood would be the magnificent valley I had always dreamed of. Yes, of course there would be LOTS of growing and learning that would take place, but I knew it wouldn’t stretch and test me the same way toddlerhood eventually would. I knew the season of life would undoubtedly come where I would have to take my girl by the hand and we would both, together, have to climb the inevitable mountain of growing up. However, little did I know that it would more accurately involve me chasing after her like a crazy person, trying to slow her down, and trying with all my might to figure her out.

Somehow, by the grace of the most amazing God, we both survived. There were times where I didn’t know if my sanity would remain intact. There were days when I questioned if her staying home with me was really the best thing for her. 

I remember one morning I was leaving to go get groceries and tried giving her a hug before I left. She doesn't like hugs. I knew this, yet I persisted. So instead of embracing me like my foolish wishful thinking had hoped, she pulled away, kicked me in the stomach and said “I don luhh you Mom!” I glanced up at my husband with tears starting to form in my eyes and as he started to try to say something to make me feel better I put my hand up and said, “Thanks sweetie, but I just need to leave now.” The last thing I needed was for my child to see me crying.

At the time we were on a pretty tight grocery budget, but on that day I got myself a white raspberry mocha from Starbucks. As I slowly sipped my coffee while perusing the aisles at Target I kept whispering to myself  'My child loves me. My child loves me.' Now, don't get me wrong. She wasn't a mommy-kicking monster all the time. She had her many sweet moments and countless silly ones too. But, I'm embarrassed to admit how much the monster moments crushed me. I can't even tell you how many times my husband has had to console me by saying things like 'You KNOW she loves you Babe.’ I realized over a very grueling and sometimes painful journey up our mountain that learning what she needed from me would be a process. When I started the parenthood stage I just assumed that my kids would need me to be their mom and that the definition of that would be whatever naturally came out of me. I was so very wrong with my feisty, strong-willed little force. It took a lot of prayer, self reflection and patience to finally start to piece together what she needed from me. In my prayers I would ask God why she acted the way she did. Why won’t she just hug me? Why does she fight with me on everything?? During those moments of prayer when I was waiting for an answer, God nudged me to the thought that I need to start seeing HER. I need to ask questions like, “What does she need from me in this moment?” instead of trying to mold her into what I thought she should be. She doesn’t need hugs. And that’s perfectly ok. Instead, she needs me to sit down with her in her room and let her explain how to play the new game she invented during quiet time. That’s what fills her up and makes her feel special. 

As we continued on our trek up that mountain, the more I started to figure her out. And the more I figured her out, the more I noticed the gap between us beginning to close. I wasn’t chasing after her in panic mode anymore.

Then, finally, after a grueling climb of trudging (sometimes crawling) and persevering, the monumental day finally came when she turned four. The moment she reached that age milestone it was like a switch turned on in her brain. We had finally made it to the peak of that seemingly endless climb. And on that mountaintop we were blessed with the glorious, magnificent descent into the valley of being a preschooler. It’s much more peaceful here. There’s less tantrums, there’s sentences that include the words, “Ok Mom that will be a good idea.” It’s so freakin beautiful. Now, her sense of humor has grown to the point where we can have inside jokes and I can lovingly tease her about how sometimes I just NEED a big cuddle-hug from my baby girl. She obliges with rolling her eyes and trying to distract me with a question or anecdote from her day. We can laugh about our differences now.

My baby is not a baby anymore. We’re steering clear of baby swings, I’ve packed up all her little rompers and have started to forget just how chubby her little cheeks were. I thought leaving her valley of babyhood would be heartbreaking, but what I forgot to think about is that there is inevitably another valley on the other side. Yes, it looks very different. I’m now walking with my girl holding her hand-no longer chasing after her in a full on panic. I’m taking what I learned on that trek up the mountain about who she is and applying that to what she needs from me as her mom. Of course I know there will be many more mountains for us to climb together, but for now, I’m going to soak this in. We worked really hard to get here, so I’m going to enjoy it.

Have you had any "monster moments" with your kids? Did you have to buy yourself a coffee to feel better too? :) 

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Baby is Lois Lane

One of the most endearing things about my husband is that he loves superheroes. He’s not into collecting the comics but he gets lost in the stories of the characters. When we met I readily jumped on his “super” bandwagon because I knew fictional stories about people(and aliens) with superpowers would be full of rich storylines and exciting adventures. However, being the hopeless romantic that I am, I would get annoyed with my superheroes when they would pull their lame stunts like, “We can’t be together, it’s too dangerous.” I always wanted to throw my empty popcorn bowl at the tv and scream, “DUDE! You’re a freaking SUPERHERO! What could YOU possibly be afraid of??”

I, of course, would never deny Gracie my love like the superheroes often do. However, after looking into Grace’s eyes for the first time and feeling my heart double in size, I did finally start to understand where they were coming from. When Gracie entered my life she completely changed my understanding of what love really is. One of the most recent things she has taught me about love is that loving someone makes you vulnerable. When you have a child, the kind of love you feel makes you vulnerable to a point that your world would literally crumble into dust if anything bad ever happened to them. I think that must be why the Super guys are always trying to protect their gals by saying they can’t be together. If they openly love their leading ladies then they know their enemies will target the people they love, and that makes them vulnerable.

Obviously, with Grace I have a different situation than the Superheroes. I don't have to deny how much I love her. Thankfully I don’t have to distance myself from her because of a villainous bald guy who’s after me with a grudge. Grace is here, I love her, and by loving her, that makes me vulnerable. You know that gut-wrenching feeling of fear and worry you got the first time you let someone else watch your baby? That’s the kind of vulnerable I’m talking about. It’s irrational but it’s real. I wonder if the powerful superheroes worry about their leading ladies in the same way? Next to their super strength, speed, and magical talents, their loved ones probably look just as helpless as our babies do to us.

Some superhero’s origin stories detail the account of their initial struggle to accept their great responsibilities. With Gracie it’s been quite different; I’ve willingly accepted my calling of being her Supermom and protecting her the best I can. One of my Supermom responsibilities includes swooping in to save her as she is about to fall off the side of the couch. BAM! Supermom to the rescue! I’ll make sure your food isn’t too hot so you don’t burn the roof of your mouth! POW! Have no fear, mommy’s here!! I like being the one to “protect and serve” her, but sometimes I find myself wishing I had an energy source like Clark Kent does, something that could keep me from worrying about her all the time. When he is weak, all he needs is a quick dose of energy from the sun and he’s back to fighting crime with a force. How am I supposed to keep up with my Super-duties when she starts to venture off into the world? What about when she goes off to school? I’m pretty sure Supermom doesn’t get to tag along to Kindergarten.

I recently heard a humorous quote where a writer was asked, “After becoming a parent, at what point do you stop worrying about your kids?” The response that was given was the same response I think most parents would say, “never.” Worrying about your kids will probably always be every parent’s longest standing battle. Instead of defeating “bad guys” like the Superheroes I often find myself locked in a ring with my arch nemesis: worry. 

I try to conquer my worry by being her Supermom, but I hate to admit that I don’t possess the superpower to conquer it on my own. Left to my own devices I would allow myself to be completely consumed with worrying about her. I’ve always struggled in my life with trying to not worry too much and my love for her has made me even more vulnerable to it. I’m finally starting to realize that I need a source that comes from outside myself.  In the same way that the energy from the sun fuels Clark’s superpowers, I crave something in the Heavens that is bigger than myself. I believe I can finally conquer my worrying ways if I seek God and rely on Him to help me conquer my great enemy. Do you remember how I was talking earlier about how much I love Grace? How my world would cease to exist if anything ever happened to her? A mind-blowing truth that I believe in is that God loves her even more than I do. Why should I worry if the God who created the entire universe loves my little girl more than I will ever understand? Worry may be my Kryptonite, but God is my sun.

Epilogue: Oosta! This week’s post was a little heavy! I kept keeping my eyes open for a fun moment so that I could share a lighter perspective of motherhood this week but this idea of a love-induced vulnerability kept weighing on my heart. Maybe deep down I wanted to express it because I secretly wanted to know if I’m the only one who struggles with worrying for her child. I can't be, right? So, other moms and dads out there, do you ever wish you could just keep your kid locked up in a perpetual bubble of safety? Of course, I know that you have to live to grow, you have to hurt to heal, but oh…the worry that tries to creep in….I would never make it through the day if I didn’t have my sun.

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Baby Plays a Symphony

When I found out I was pregnant, I was only a few weeks along. I had taken the at-home pregnancy test and then was given another urine test at our eight-week appointment. It wasn’t until week 12 that we finally got to hear what we had been holding our breath for. Our baby had a heartbeat! Once we heard her heart beating, we could start to dream about her life. 

A few days ago I was moving through a typical pattern of my simple, yet magical days with Grace. As I put away the dishes she munched on her breakfast. I constantly have music playing at home because I love how music can reach into our lives and inspire us, touch us, and encourage us to be better. A song started playing by one of my favorite singers and my ears perked up because I had never heard it before. I started to “jam” along to it because I was connecting with the content. It’s a song about living life to its fullest and not wasting it- dreaming big, and not settling for less. The lyrics draw a parallel “between the dead and the living,” as the writer sits in a cemetery feeling inspired to not waste her life. Part of the meaning of the song is meant to be obvious. The bodies in the cemetery are dead and the people in the city behind her are alive. But I think what she is really trying to say, is how many of those people bustling through their busy lives are really alive? How many of them are just breathing in and exhaling, going through the same motions day after day?

“You said, remember that life is not meant to be wasted. We can always be chasing the sun. So fill up your lungs and just run, we’ll always be chasing the sun.”

I'm in love with the message of this song because I want to chase the sun. I want my life to mean something. I want my days to be full of life and learning and not just be someone with a heartbeat, but someone who lives. A few days ago I had a moment with Grace that could have just been a monotonous encounter but it turned out to be simply beautiful. As a parent, you change so many diapers, wipe so many noses, and try to soothe so many cries that sometimes those moments just blend into the next.  I don’t want to be one of those “bustling through life” people so I try to see the life in every moment, but at 2am, I figured I was in for another same old experience as I was woken from my cozy slumber by her slowly escalating whimper. I don’t look forward to our midnight rendezvous because as much as I wish it would be a time for us to cuddle and for her to fall asleep in my arms, it usually turns into me holding her for a few minutes until she calms down and then her screaming bloody murder the second I lay her back down in her crib.

As her whimper turned into a full-on cryfest I groggily pulled myself out of bed because after 17 months, I know which midnight cries require mom and which ones don’t. This cry was definitely a “I need some milk before I’m going back to sleep” kind of cry. As I gave her the milk and we sat in her rocking chair, I was starting to dread what was about to come next- her wails as I put her back in her crib. But as Grace finished her last gulp, God decided to wake me from my zombie-like state and remind me to be present in my moments with her. Once her bottle was empty, without any hesitation, she fell asleep in my arms. She has always been an incredibly light sleeper and she hasn’t actually slept in my arms since she was just a few months old. I relished the warmth that emitted from her body and smiled as I heard the rhythmic purr of her breath going in and out, in and out. My favorite line from the song, “and the gift of my heartbeat sounds like a symphony” echoed in my mind as I listened to Grace's symphony that proved to us so many months ago that she was real. It was the proof we had needed to give us hope that she wouldn't just be a heartbeat but that she would live.

Since having Gracie there is one piece of advice that has been said to me more than anything else. Whether her and I are out at the grocery store or on a walk, people constantly stop me to say, “Enjoy this, it goes by so fast.” I realized pretty early on in motherhood that what everyone was telling me was true. It goes by so fast. I refuse to waste the ‘gift of our heartbeats.”

We will spend our days “Chasing the Sun.”

Blessings,

Shantastic :)

P.S. If you are curious about the song I referenced in this post then I invite you to listen to the beautifulness that is Sara Bareilles, and sing along as she encourages you to "always be Chasing the Sun."

Week 28: Waddling Without a Stroller at the Zoo

This week Seth and I are visiting family in San Diego, the city with perfect weather, beautiful beaches, and driveways lined with palm trees. It's a nice place to "have" to go visit. We have to see our family right? We lived in San Diego for four years so it’s been like visiting our second home.

Our trip happened to land on our five-year anniversary, which is this Saturday. We decided since we were already finding ourselves in one of the most beautiful cities in America during our anniversary, we should celebrate it here. For our mini vacay we booked a hotel downtown that overlooked the bay and transitioned from being San Diego natives into tourists. I suppose our anniversary celebration could also be considered a “Babymoon” since this was our last vacation before becoming parents. For me everything has been all about the “last time”. This is the last time we’ll fly alone. This is last time we won’t have to be that couple with the screaming baby that no one wants to sit next to. And this is the last time we’ll go on vacation together without missing our child terribly.

Even though I can feel myself becoming impatient with having to wait for little one to come, having time to mentally prepare is actually very conducive to my personality. I like to be able to process major life changes and savor the way things are so that I don’t resent it when it all changes.

This trip has definitely been an opportunity for me to delight in just having to worry about myself. At the airport we had a relatively easy check in experience and I turned to Seth and said, “I hope you enjoyed that.” He raised his eyebrows at me as if to say, “What are you talking about?” I answered his voiceless question by saying, “Next time we go through check in and security it ain’t gonna be so easy!” I then mimed trying to carry a baby in a Baby Bjorn and push a stroller while carrying a diaper bag. He reminded me we are a team and I won't have to do it alone. Then he called dibs on carrying the baby. 

We got to enjoy many more babyless moments on our “Babymoon”. On Tuesday we went to the famous San Diego Zoo. I enjoyed getting to hold Seth’s hand the entire time, see my favorite animal, the giraffe, eat when I was hungry and rest when I was tired. After about five hours I was so exhausted that I succumbed to the pregnancy waddle, but it was totally worth it. Even though I was savoring my moments of independence I kept smiling to myself as I observed all the families with small children and envisioned what my new future might be like. I know Brendon was doing the same thing because at one point he chuckled and said, “All these moms probably think I’m checking them out..but I’m really checking out their strollers.”

Even though I keep thinking about what I’m “giving up” I know I’m going to take one look at our baby and wonder how on earth I ever lived my life without him/her. I'll gladly give up my selfish ways in order to gain a relationship with my child. The next time I go to the zoo I’ll get to see it through the eyes of my long-awaited little one. I’ll no longer be as excited to see the giraffes. Instead I’ll be anxiously watching my child's face light up as he/she sees his/her favorite animal.

I was watching my belly last night as little one went absolutely crazy. I seriously felt and saw a limb push my belly up on one side and slide all the way over across the entire length of my tummy. I was speechless.  It’s just so seriously cool that there is a little person growing in there! 

Blessings,

Shantastic :) 

Week 27: Two-thirds can make you crazy

I’ve always been a little scared of the third trimester. That’s when you see the pregnant women with sweat dripping down their forehead as they try to do the simplest tasks like put on their shoes. I also feel like the third trimester is when women start to tell you how it really is. If there ever was a pregnancy “glow” it’s most definitely gone by the time they hit the seven-month mark. Earlier this week I tried to complete a task that should have taken 3 minutes and ended up taking over 20. There wasn’t even the slightest glimmer of a glow on me that day. The family I nanny for just recently lowered sweet baby girl’s crib, which however necessary, also means I have the daunting task of trying to bend over far enough to be able to reach her. Yesterday I had to attempt to change her crib sheet. No matter what I did I just couldn’t reach far enough! I became the stereotype. Beads of sweat forming on my face, grunting as I tried to reach just far enough to grab the mattress. How my life has changed.

I’ll be saying goodbye to my nanny family at the end of July so I can be a stay at home mom. I’ve already cried multiple times when I think about saying goodbye to sweet baby girl. When I have a four-day weekend I honestly miss her. I’ll be out running errands and wish I could hear her cute, little babbles from her car seat. It’s really helped me to realize that I’m ready to be a mom, because the idea of having a little one around me all time doesn’t feel like an inconvenience. It feels natural.

Not only have I enjoyed creating a relationship with baby girl, but I’ve gained some pretty invaluable insight into the logistics of motherhood. For example, when she sneezes a mouthful of baby food carrots all over my face, it no longer fazes me. Another time I realized I had been walking around for over 30 minutes with spit up caked in my hair. These otherwise disgusting events are just another day at the office for me.

When gross things happen, it’s pretty amazing how much our maternal instincts take over and all we care about is making sure the baby is ok. One time she had an upset tummy and puked with what seemed like the force of a small volcano all over my only pair of jeans that fit. I didn’t care about how disgusting it was to be sitting in a stinky mess. All I remember is my heart aching as I looked at her tear streaked cheeks and saw her sad eyes looking back at me hoping I would have a solution for her discomfort.  

After 10 years of working with children and ultimately having to say goodbye to them at some point, I finally will have a relationship that is permanent. I’ll be cleaning up baby puke out of my hair that actually belongs to my baby. For some crazy reason I have chosen the boogers, diapers, and sneezes.  Bring it on baby. Bring. It. On.

Crazy third-trimester emotional breakdown of the week:

The other day I reached the epitome of emotional craziness. I literally had a mental breakdown when my eggs stuck to the pan and there was no longer even a remote possibility that they would be “over easy”. I completely lost it. I was pacing, screaming at the pan, and clenching my fists to my forehead. At first Seth thought I was just joking and being dramatic. Then I saw worry start to creep across his face as he realized I genuinely was that angry at my eggs. He hovered for a minute or two in that delicate balance of is it ok to laugh right now because she is being so ridiculous or do I need to try and figure out how to help her? He decided to go for the safer option and offered to make me a new batch of eggs.

Baby is getting big enough now (about 2 pounds) that when he/she kicks and moves I can actually feel limbs moving and twisting! It’s not just random bubbles anymore. We’ve also been able to push on my belly and feel the baby creating resistance! 

Come one ladies, it's time to share your own pregnancy related emotional meltdowns! Did ruined eggs set you off too?

Blessings,

Shantastic :) 

Week 26: A spot stopped my heart

Next week marks the beginning of my third trimester. No wonder I’m feeling so uncomfortable…

This week baby has hijacked my appetite. When my friends and family ask me how I’ve been feeling, I tell them I’m hungry. I was joking with my mom and I said, “I’m trying really hard to be healthy but sometimes I just feel like, whatever, I’m getting huge anyways, might as well enjoy this tasty cinnamon roll!” She laughed and then said, “Well, sweetie, the thing is…if you eat like that then it’ll be harder to lose the weight once the baby comes.” …I consider myself a relatively smart person, but my common sense definitely escaped me on that one.

Seth and I started talking about our future hopes of having children before we were even married. We dreamed about names, how many we wanted, and of course, when. After a few months of trying we saw a dark pink line and a slightly fainter but very present second line. All our dreaming could finally be put into motion. However, it wasn’t long after our celebration of running around the living room screaming and crying that a startling reality set in. We thought the hard part would be trying to conceive. What if it didn’t happen for us? Now that we were pregnant we realized the hard part wasn’t over. Just like we had no control of if we could conceive a baby, we had no control of whether or not this little life survives. I could contribute by being healthy and taking care of myself, but beyond that it was totally out of our control. That’s a very sobering thought when the thing you want control of the most in your life is completely out of your hands.

A week and a half ago we had our first real scare. I went to the bathroom and found out I was spotting. I’ve heard that can be pretty normal so even though my heart stopped for a moment I quickly recovered and thought it was probably nothing. I looked up a couple creditable pregnancy websites and both said in big bold letters that if you have any spotting after 24 weeks to take it very seriously and call your doctor immediately. At that point I was 24 weeks, 4 days.  While I was waiting for the nurse at the hospital to call me back I frantically tried to get baby to move. My doctor had told me that active movement actually rocks the baby to sleep and when you lay still baby will most likely wake up. I stopped my erratic pacing and gently lay down on my side. I stayed there frozen for a few minutes, waiting, hoping, praying. Nothing. I started poking my belly trying to urge him/her to just give me something. Finally, I felt the tiniest little bubble. It was enough to calm me down a little but not enough to make all my worry go away. When the nurse called back she recommended I come in just to make sure everything was ok.

By the time we left the hospital we were incredibly relieved and undeniably grateful. We got to hear baby’s heart beating, baby had woken up and started doing cartwheels, I had gotten a cleared urine test, and we found out (the not-so-fun way) that my cervix is still closed. Those of who read my post from Week 21 know exactly what was going through my mind when the nurse said she needed to check my cervix. I blankly stared at her for a moment while the reality set in. Then I said, “ohhh..that doesn’t sound very fun..” She paused and then replied, “You know, unfortunately, there really isn’t a way to make this enjoyable. You just…have to breathe.” So breathe is what I did. And squeezed Seth’s hand so hard I’m pretty sure he lost circulation to his fingers.

One of my friends told me the worry about the safety of your children is always something you have to work through. It’s not over once you finally give birth and see your child breathing for the first time. So I guess Seth and I have embarked on a life-long journey of learning to put our trust in God, especially with the things we hold most dear. I say that like it’s easy, but it’s really not. One of my best friends lost a baby about a month before her due date. The pain and sorrow I felt for her was intense. I remember praying and actually yelling at God. It made no sense to me. Time has passed and I know my friend and her family are still learning how to cope with their loss. Last Christmas marked the one-year anniversary. They sent out a card that said, “A year ago our son joined His Creator in Heaven, his joy far outweighs our loss.” Wow. Trusting God with the things we hold most dear can be extremely challenging when we look at it from our Earthly perspective. But a lot of the time, we don’t know how to look at it any other way because this is all we know. My friends have continued to trust God through the worst of circumstances, and that’s pretty powerful.

Mommies and Pregnant ladies: Did you ever have to go to the hospital because something was wrong? Were you as freaked out as I was?

Blessings,

Shantastic