problem child

My child is strong. She is opinionated. She is passionate. She is inquisitive. She is teachable. She is excitable. She is beautiful.

You know what my child is not? A problem.

I understand your desire to only have passive, quiet children who are content to spend the day reading (staring at... our children are not even two) a book quietly for the better part of the day. I truly do. However, if every child acted like this I'm fairly certain our society would collapse.

You see, I too was an active child. I had an imagination that roamed far and wide whether I was asleep or awake. I loved to learn knew things which oddly enough did not cross over into my formal education experience until college. I too was misunderstood as I danced outside of the realm of average, unaware of my labeled "shortcomings."  So I watch my daughter and mourn for the trials she will face in "standard" classrooms that will in no way address her unique qualities.

Do you see what I did there? "Unique qualities." Learn that phrase, study it, memorize it. This phrase should be employed when referring to my child for she is unique. She is unlike any other (almost) two year old you will ever meet. She is not superior or inferior. She is perfectly my daughter. There has never been nor will there every be another. She sits squarely and perfectly in the space created for her. I applaud that.

I spend my energy encouraging, molding, shaping, trimming, replacing, building the person she is. I am proud that she is not a shrinking violet. I set lofty expectations for her, not because I am "a stern mother." (<- awesome="" because="" capable.="" font="" for="" fully="" guilt="" her="" i="" is="" know="" nbsp="" set="" she="" thanks="" that="" them="" trip="">

So the next time you decide to spend 15 minutes of my (very short and extremely precious) time with my daughter (picking up from daycare) telling me how she is "exhausting, defiant, too active, does not play well with the other children, or has a problem with authority," please be prepared for rebuttal. (SHE IS TWO YEARS OLD!!!!!!!)

My child is not a problem, she is "beautifully and wonderfully made." and I will make no bones about defending her right to be just that. One day, many years from now when she has succeeded at whatever it is she decides to do with her life, I will not remember you, I will not remind her of this, I will simply smile at the years of love, praise, encouragement and structure that I poured into my child.

EVERYBODY QUIET!

a mother's brain is a frightening place.... just a glimpse at what my brain was doing at 10:30pm while I tried (and failed) to sleep.

ok kevin is at work...I hate sleeping without him...I hope he is ok...I'm so glad he remembered to call at 9... its been an hour and a half since then, so much could have happened...forget that, you are home with the squirt alone...oh man I'm alone... what was that?! lightning...what if lightning strikes the building...that sounds more like a tornado...which room is the interior room in a condo? but I'm on the 2nd floor of 6 so do I go outside to avoid being crushed? game plan... grab squirt, she needs shoes and a jacket, her bag is in the car...no time to get to the car plus its on the first floor. ok grab squirt then shoes then jacket then a few diapers to get thru the night all into a bag. Which bag? no backpacks, take the pink bag. Ok she's set. Now what? (<- a="" also="" and="" are="" back="" bag="" bags="" be="" bedroom="" book="" building="" center="" collapse.="" day="" don="" door="" emergency="" fall="" financials="" font="" front="" getting="" going="" grab="" headed="" heads="" heavy="" her="" i="" if="" is="" laptop.="" life="" m="" may="" metal.="" my="" need="" not="" now="" of="" ok="" on="" one="" our="" out="" phone.="" rain-boots="" safe="" set="" shelf="" shoed="" shoes.="" so="" squirt="" staircase.="" t="" the="" theme="" then="" they="" title="" to="" totally="" wait="" way="" which="">

ok what if a fire breaks out in her room, ya know, like a Molotov cocktail or something....

Seriously brain?! shut up and go to sleep.

"he's got the whooooooole world in His hands...."

5 am alarm for the gym.

How was your night?!

What was the original plan?

10:45pm - uncurl out of bed for 2 ib profen. I'm exhausted to the point of restless. 3 nights now my "squirt" (my daughter) has tossed and turned screaming out, almost hourly, in pain. Tylenol has failed. Molars, I am convinced, are satan's way of reminding parents just how fallible we are.

"so what you survived colic and reflux... here have some molars" love, satan.

When I reach this point of exhaustion (sadly I know this place very well) I tend to prance around the philosophical realm.

 side note: I think this must be what strung out artists feel like. They take drugs to get to a weird, blurry existential place. I could save them a lot of money, just give birth to a child who doesn't believe in sleep. no drugs needed.

aaaaaanyway, I laid in bed listening to my daughter cry (I'm not a bad mom, she did not want me to hold her, she hurled herself out of my arms back into bed) wondering if this was part of the adam and eve curse. Is this the result of Eve's forbidden fruit decision? If so, what was the original plan? Did God intend for women to carry children? What would that have looked like? Would a child have Houdini'd out of the womb? Or did God intend to just have fellowship with Adam and Eve with no procreation?

And furthermore, does He cry with babies as they cry the same as He weeps with adults? Is this what He feels like when his children cry during a death of a loved one or a divorce watching helplessly as we suffer? Did He know all along that Eve would fail and still longed for companionship so much that He was willing to endure watching us in misery if it meant seeing us at all?

I wish I could have answers to these things. Actually, I wish I could stop my daughter's pain. I'd suffer the endless questions forever if it meant she could be pain free. Was this His thought as he watched Jesus suffer and die?

I need sleep.

Then Jesus said, "Mary"

I tried a new church yesterday. It felt so familiar. I've never been to or even heard of this church. As the pastor spoke I sensed something, like I had met him or known him or heard him... or something. But I didn't know his name. As he spoke about the Easter story he recounted how Mary went to the tomb and found it empty. She instantly wept for clearly something terrible had happened. She searched the tomb for something, anything, evidence that would lead her to Him. How could he not be here. Outside she heard footsteps. She looked and saw a gardener (that alone will preach, but I digress).

 "Where have you taken Him?!" she demanded for she did not recognize the man standing before her. How could she not see Him, not know Him?! The preacher continued, in that moment of entering the tomb, the darkness came. It surrounded her, blinded her, pained her. She couldn't even see the wonder standing right in front of her. BUT... then Jesus said, "Mary." His love, His light cast the darkness out just that quickly. She couldn't see who was standing in front of her but she definitely knew His voice. That "still small voice" teaming with love. The familiar, the known, the comforting came rushing over her.

I FELT this story as he spoke on Sunday. I too have been searching in the darkness. I too have felt the empty despair, loneliness that follows loss (and death). But as the preacher spoke, the darkness dispersed and I could see clearly. It was not him that I recognized, it was His voice, His presence, His love that made my world spin. I know this place. Not the church, not the pastor, not a soul in the service... but I KNOW this place, this sound, this smell, this feeling.

I've heard the term, "like riding a bike" and I understand the reference but this particular moment was very different. This moment was much more a kin to waking up to the smell of coffee and country sausage in my nana's house, the sound of my fathers whistle in a crowded room, the feeling of my mothers arms. That's a much more accurate description of this moment. I have spent 5 years up here trying to find somewhere, anywhere to rest, to feel comfortable. On Sunday morning, remembering the suffering on the cross, the sacrifice of a father and the miracle of hope that we cling to; I found that place which isn't actually a place at all.

Just so SQUISHY!!

Body image has become a catch phrase. A phrase shouted from every feminist rooftop at every billboard, magazine, commercial and sexist pig within earshot. I, myself, have carried this banner on numerous occasions (see many previous blog posts for proof).

And yet it slaps me in the face almost every morning as I dress myself and my daughter for another marathon day on this treadmill of life. Sigh, oh to be able to wear yoga pants to work...**sigh**

Anyway, as I was saying. I am no stranger to body image issues. I struggled through my "chunky stage" as a child thanks to boys with no verbal filter; I suffered Kelly-green-like envy through middle school as girls developed and sprouted legs for days but I seemed to have missed that PE course (sadly I never missed a single Tae Bo class, still have flashbacks to punching myself in the face); and lest we forget the dreaded first boyfriend who broke your heart by cheating on you with a skinny blonde or the hellish drudgery that is prom dress shopping when you clearly have womanly curves not the coveted tween willowy frame.

In college I said to heck with it, I found my place among the pj-clad freshmen of my tiny community college and I proudly pranced my faded and tattered walmart supply. I hate to tell ya, no amount of cotton or flannel will hide the insecurity of a girl who doesn't know or like her body.

So I did what any good southern Christian girl does in college when she needs money... I signed up for a beauty pageant. There would be no chance of people seeing my bodily short-comings there!

Oddly enough I was surrounded by family, friends and pageant staff who were pillars of support an encouragement. I dieted, I worked out, I binged when neither one of those worked immediately. I rinsed (and tucked, spray tanned, hair-sprayed, teased) and repeated.  Somewhere around the time I was told, "You will never be thin enough to be Miss (insert southern state here)," reality set in. I don't mean I swallowed that poison, shoot no, I went on to make the Top 10 at state (please, hold your applause til the end :)). No, I realized that someone's idea of perfect didn't have to be my idea of perfect and would never be my idea of happy. I found balance. I had fun again. I met people, made friends, had life experiences and bought bigger (non-pj) clothes. I rekindled the love of my life, got married, moved up north and formally began my adult-ness.

Yes, I misplaced some balance that first year of marriage. You try living in a city with pizza stacked 3 inches high and tell me you won't gain 20 pounds. So, hi ho-hi ho back to the gym I go. And I actually did it. I worked hard. I lost all of that weight and a little more. For the first time in my adult life I felt beautiful with no asterisk. (beautiful* for a size 10 or whatever). I felt even better on the morning that I hit my goal weight. SUCCESS!!! Cue balloons and trumpets!!! Then I felt exhausted. Not gym exhausted I mean EXHAUSTED. "lay down right now before you fall down" type of exhausted. "Why?" I'm glad you asked, that same afternoon I found out we were expecting our first child. So my ideal weight was enjoyed for all of one day. YAAAAY (vomit, nap, vomit again, eat a piece of toast).

Fast forward two years. My daughter is a perfect doll. A screaming, running, torrent of vocabulary, strawberry curls and bright blue eyed perfection. I should be beaming with pride. Yet here I stand in my closet staring at dresses from the pre-baby era dangling slimly next to maternity dresses that I do still wear (don't judge, you will understand some day!!) and all I can think is "not one single thing fits me right." My hips are slightly wider but not as wide and pregnant me, my boobs aren't baby-filling big nor do they fit in pre-baby tops. My rear-end seems to have shifted... well I don't know exactly what's going on back there but pants feel all wrong. (except yoga pants, I love you yoga pants, don't ever leave me)

This is scenic route to my point. How to deal with body image post-pageants, post-baby and very much uncomfortable in the (mass of) skin you now occupy. No seriously, I'm asking. I drag my sorry (oddly shaped) behind to the gym at 5 am, 4 days a week. I am proud to announce my arms no longer jiggle when I wave. My legs are strong and firm (er than previously). But the mommy-belly endures. I have read countless blogs/articles/posts/social media ish stating "wear your stripes proudly, Mama, you are a tigress!" or something like that. Which is empowering and makes me want to pop-tall and salute in full fatigues but not so much wear a bathing suit or even shorts.  I don't know how to be proud of this body. Ya ya, I created, carried and expelled a human blah blah blah... but I'm just So SQUISHY!

Even as I write this I know the answer. I know it will take  dedication, food-journaling, caffeine-limiting, a community of support and agonizing time. But is there a line of clothing for a demographic of women who are "no longer pregnant, but not back to our old size and pretty sure everything has been moved by about an inch"?

There should be. Hey Carrie Underwood, can you get on that? I don't think we need another line of gym clothes too expensive to sweat in, Kate Hudson has that covered.