Finding Your Way

Our first pictures as a family of four; way back when.
Thank you to my wonderful friend.

They say you lose yourself when you become a mom. They say your identity changes. They warn you about the confusion, the anxiety, the depression, the happiness, the sadness, the pure love, the loss of oneself as you knew it. You say, "duh." 

You are prepared for this. You want this. You were made for this. 

But what you don't know is how freaking hard that actually is to feel it and live it. 

I have been a stay-at-home mom for seven years now; this is absolutely unreal to me. In this time, my despair has been real. My defeat, my insecurity, and grief has brought me to my knees many times. I was not prepared for this job to feel so much harder than my "real" job. I was not prepared for how hard I missed the things that I used to do so easily. 

To make it more confusing, my absolute pure joy and thankfulness seemed to come hand-in-hand with the latter. In the beginning, I tried to work during nap times and after bedtime, but my work was quite inadequate. I had no room in my brain to turn the smart side on. I was exhausted and failing. It heightened my anxiety and insecurity. But I craved to feel successful, accomplished. 

Little by little, I found my way and realized that I was getting that success that I craved. I earned it, every single day. I let go of everyone's expectations, my expectations. I held on to those little fingers and toes that wrapped around me, that laughed and learned with me. They didn't care who judged me or who asked me what I did all day. When I cried, they hugged me. When I needed to breathe, they let me. We grew together. 

It took a few years to accept that the old me was still a part of me, a part that could occasionally come out and play. I sit here, these seven years in, and for the first time feel like there is room to figure out what more I can do. 

Pressure cooker & Baby Mack has lots to say.

Remember when I said that I may be ready to go back to something that I am sure of?

Yeah, well it seems that hasn't worked out so far.

You work your ass off through sleep deprivation and trying to stay afloat in your new identities, but it seems like nothing is getting your all. When I let someone down, I agonize over it for days. It's my nature. And lately, my 110% is divided amongst too many things so that every one, and every thing, gets the shaft. It's a crappy feeling.

The pressure is on to succeed...at everything...is that super-mom syndrome? Whatever it is, I hate making mistakes and feeling sub-par. While you know everyone understands that it's hard with a new baby and juggling roles, it's not an excuse and you don't want sympathy. To say so implies that I don't love the way Macklin's little body curls over my shoulder after another middle-of-the-night feeding. Or, the way his plump little cheeks feel against my face when I smother him in kisses. Or a million other things that make me want to make sure he gets my 110%.

I'll figure out the juggling act eventually. I will just have to ride out the lows until then and keep trying.

I'll just watch this insanely adorable video a few hundred more times. You should too.

Macklin #babymack

When you spend 40 weeks planning, surviving, loving and daydreaming about your child, you know what you are asking for and have an idea about what to expect. However, no amount of any of these things can really prepare you for how bad it can feel at times.

When you have only slept for an hour and can't figure out how to calm your crying baby, or get them to eat, or hardly get past your pain after a major surgery, are questioning your ability and adequacy to do this...

But, then you stare into his eyes and at his little lips, and kiss his tiny little fingers, and hear and feel him calming against your heartbeat, you know that you can figure it out together...and nothing could feel better.

Macklin William O'Loughlin
12/19/13 @ 07:59

I thank God for my mother and amazing husband for helping me through. As Macklin and I struggled through his feedings and my pain, my mom sat beside me wiping my tears and softly giving encouragement and advice. Ryan knelt in front of us to help keep Mack and I both calm and able to keep trying.

Through those tears I felt so much love, humility, adoration, and a million other emotions that I could never explain.

And then, just when I thought that I would never be able to sleep in bed again or get off the couch, I was pumping breast milk and flipping pancakes at the same time. Hellz yes you read that correctly, I became a true multi-tasking mother and my abilities are growing every day. True pride and accomplishment.

That was the first two weeks, and here we are, Macklin's one-month birthday and I can't believe how much we have learned about one another. His snuggles are the best and nothing feels better than kissing the top of his head and smelling his baby scent as he sleeps on my chest. The up and down of his little body as he breathes and the little squeaks that escape his resting lips will forever melt my heart.

Now, if he would just begin to like having his diaper changed or give us a steady four hours of sleep at night...

Fulfilling sigh.

I keep waiting for a day to come that I won't have a moment of panic that I am about to have a baby very soon.

I'm not sure if I ever have moments of clarity or calm, or sighs of relief knowing that I can do this. Though I sigh heavily, all the time, so that must be those moments, right?

Either that, or I just can't breathe with this little guy expertly expanding every centimeter of my body in places that make me waddle, grimace, cringe and limp.

Sighing helps.

Leaving work last week, I stepped into the elevator and joined another woman. I took a place off to the side and leaned against the wall.

And sighed. 

The woman said to me, "Are you very uncomfortable? How long do you have?"

I laughed and replied, "I'm so sorry, did I sigh? I really have a problem with that. I'm doing pretty well, it's the countdown, thank you."

She said, "Well you can sigh all you want my dear and best wishes to you."

And when she walked away tears sprung to my eyes (of course) but I couldn't stop smiling and laughing about it. That is not the first time my sighing has been noticed, but it was nice to hear the fondness in her voice.

I'm not going to lie, I've had moments of breakdown bawling and hyperventilating...which at least end in laughter at some point because it really is hilarious to see "The Belly" jump up and down all at once like a jolly 'ol Santa Claus. I've cried about it all, just as much as we've laughed about it all. 

I honestly didn't think that being pregnant would hurt this much, but I'm sure that I will forget all about that when I finally get to hold my little man.  I know that it's only the beginning of what a Mother will do for her child.

Movie reel.

A few weeks ago I saw a little girl sprint off the school bus and run down the sidewalk to her beaming father. He was taking pictures of her as she ran to him, and I really can't find the words to describe the smiles on their faces. He grabbed her and swung her around, kissed her cheek while she talked at full-speed and he carried her home.

I captured their moment in my head and it spins like a movie reel on repeat.

Two weeks ago, on one of my regular Target visits, I listened to a little boy, who was sitting in the cart, carry on a conversation with his mother. And she spoke to him like an adult, not in baby talk, and he completely understood her. They talked about what kind of pillow to buy, which color of pillowcases he wanted, and what color his daddy would like him to pick.

I absentmindedly seemed to have added this to my movie reel. 

Last week, I rushed to my best friend and sister as it seemed she might be having their baby a little early, and there was no way that I was going to miss it -- I was on her delivery team!  Arriving just after midnight everything had calmed down and we were going to be able to wait. But it was a bit of a scare with her tiny breeched baby.

Because it was such a drive, and I was so afraid to miss anything, I stayed with her for a few days and we waited together. While she was too stubborn to stay on bed rest, we grabbed groceries and movies and tried any which way to get her baby to flip. We laughed our asses off at the things that only happen to pregnant ladies -- like the grunts that escape our lips when we try to get off the couch -- and, we cried about the miracles coming to us. I will forever cherish those days that we spent together.

My nephew, Grady = tiny perfection.

Baby Grady still had to be delivered through c-section but he came out ready to explore the new world. He was so bright-eyed and beautiful. The love I felt for him in that moment was instantly overwhelming. I have never felt so proud of my sister. Their perfect little family is just beginning their adventure.

I could go on and on as the reel keeps spinning as I keep attaching the scenes -- and chokes me up every single time.

Holy baby.

Big news, I've been overtaken by a precious little life-sucker, so its been really hard to write without sharing!

We found out in May that we were pregnant while on our Florida vacation! After a few too many nights involving wine, vodka, beer and shots of Jameson, I just knew that we had to make sure I was in the clear.
We grabbed a pizza and a 3-pack of pee sticks. I poured a glass a wine and drank it slowly before hiding in the bathroom with the tell-all box.

Each pee stick revealed the same result. Positively pregnant.

I freaked...and Ryan laughed hysterically.

I was so confused by my reaction, but incredibly happy about his. After all, I had my 30th birthday party and a girls trip to Nashville when we got home from Florida, and things were going to go a bit differently than planned.

And then I saw our little baby's heart beating. The overwhelming sense of protection and love that washes over you, easily overtakes you. The shock lasts for quite awhile -- I still look in the mirror after four months and say, "I can't believe I have a little baby growing in there."

Literally until week 12, I was so sick to my stomach, lethargic beyond comprehension and an emotional basket case. I was scared about our future and the drastic changes coming into my life, our lives. I couldn't imagine giving up my competitive hobbies or our quiet time in the evenings.  Not to mention, the weight battle that I've struggled with my whole life that was finally getting somewhere... but all that was put on hold as incubation took over.

I am now the lifeline for a little miracle and my life is no longer my own.

I don't have control over the sleepy-ness -- it's almost like narcolepsy -- and it feels so very good to climb into bed. Which is already my favorite place to be, other than the football fields on a Saturday.

I went through some extreme guilt over dealing, or rather not being able to deal, with my wifely and household duties. I mean, I've cooked dinner maybe five times since May and if you know me, I plan dinners daily. I like to take care of my husband who works his butt off and always takes on extra work, he deserves to have a good meal at the end of the day. That's just one example.

But, I also just had a hard time coping with the loneliness of pregnancy. I say "loneliness" because while there are plenty of friends that have had babies, the roller coaster is all your own. Every time I didn't feel good, I felt like I couldn't tell anyone because no one can really sympathize or understand. I have too many obligations to my sports teams, or work, or my husband that the guilt weighed heavily. Ryan felt like every time he finally came home he had always missed his moment with me...and he did. And I felt the guilt every time he would walk in the door and I was on my way to bed.

Through these things and more, I was still in awe that I had this little tiny human, created with so much passion and love, growing inside me every day. It really is such a beautiful thing.

My doc said it best at the time, "it's really all about survival in the beginning." And how true that was and it really made me feel better.

And, how much that guilt has lifted into excitement.

Our BABY BOY is already bigger than average and I seem to be doing a good job at protecting him so far. It does wonders to hear that I'm doing a good job, and to talk to my sister every day who is so much closer to delivery day than I! Thankful, is an understatement.

Ry and I have turned into this next chapter with googly eyes and smiles, and it feels amazing.

Uncover.

Slicing through our pacing shadows,
the thickness of unspent rain
clings to my breath --
refreshingly innocent
as a child gathers dandelions
for her mother.
Sweetly reflecting the forbidden
heavens of fascination --
indulging in the essence of purity.

Finding the power.

You can only recommend one book in your lifetime, what would it be? 

My friend posted this question to Facebook with the goal of generating ideas for her own book collection and it really made me think. If I borrowed a book from someone and loved it, I will go buy it. The reward of keeping something in my personal library and sharing something great with someone else, is what I love to do.  

Anyway, when she posed this question I instantly thought of The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay. It's a story of a young boy and his journey to find power within himself through adversity, torment, knowledge and racism (cliche subjects but so far from a cliche read). If you haven't read it, you should. It was loaned to me a few years ago and it crosses my mind pretty often. However, what was most ironic was that shortly after this Facebook post, I read a friend's blog that referenced this novel in his journey to figure out what matters most to him. He is wiser than I, and my trivial writing equates to sugar-coated Peeps in comparison to his, (you should check it out) but we look at life similarly and just relate to the world differently, stylistically.

Or maybe he just has more courage than I to dive in and do the work it takes to understand his meaning in life.

But, what are the chances that this thought-provoking and soul-searching 1980s novel would touch me twice in one day?  Is the universe telling me something? I'm trying to find meaning, maybe this was a hint that I really need to dive deeper and that I am nowhere close to my own center.

Solace between the blows. Literaly.

There is something magical that happens in the wee hours of the morning. The silver lighting on the fresh lain snow reflects icicles on the backyard's evergreens.  Deer perk up at the tap of my finger tip on the window pane and cock their heads to listen before arching back down to dig for any food left at the end of winter. The quiet is beautiful. Magic really happens while we sleep, so if we can catch it before the world wakes up, we can keep a piece of it for ourselves.

That's how I spent my early morning, sick on the couch, staring out the patio door and thinking about how great life is, even between Kleenex breaks.

Tip-toe.

I know that this is true: I care too strongly for things that I should have let go a very long time ago.

Weeks can go by and these crazy emotions will become dormant. But, one tiny thing can set me off and they will consume me all over again. It's a vicious, heart-stopping cycle that twists me around the invisible and blurry-coded lines.

What to do is always obvious, no matter the prick starting it. But how to do it is a whole different matter.

It's like I can feel that I have become two different people. I stretch and run, and push myself to fall back in line, back into myself. I throw myself through the days with little sleep and athletics. I don't stray from routine and do everything to make sure my husband doesn't get the short end of the stick.  It's exhausting, physically and mentally.

This sounds insane, I know. I should probably give up on trying to explain my craziness.

Tomorrow, I will be me again. Celebrating birthdays and babies with a glass of wine, hugs and kisses (from the best hugger ever) and relishing in the weekend reprieve.

Strive Tough.

Not working hard enough, not pushing or believing enough, a flailing heart, a possible fail...the negatives that can restrain you are incredibly exhausting to carry. There is such a heaviness in allowing these pieces of yourself in the forefront.

Nothing that you have means anything without the pride in the paths you took to get there. The work that it takes to build, grow and strengthen all that you deserve and earn. So why make excuses when the reward is courage and strength? You can't become great if you don't put in the effort. Shortcuts won't push you to change. 

I remember so many renditions of this practiced inspiration.  Our high school varsity volleyball shirts even read, "You don't get what you pay for, you get what you work for." The volleyball had a bad-ass face flying at you, to show you just how we were going to stomp you to the ground because we worked harder than you did.

And you know what? We probably did most of the time.

Those words seem to have imprinted their forever stamp on my brain and in my soul.

When people ask me if I think it's time to slow down, to take a break, to take a season off from softball, volleyball, football...I tell them that someday I will have to, so right now it is necessary to cram in as much as I can.

Some days I do feel exhausted, and wouldn't mind a breather. But most days, nothing feels more exhilarating than using the long developed fundamentals of hard work, confidence, discipline and teamwork.

Trying.

I tend to look at the darker side of things. I'm sure you've noticed.

Why are there so many more words to use when writing about sadness, torment, falseness?  Those words alone are prime examples of my recent vocabulary.

Is happiness just much easier to visually express that I don't find as deep of a need to express it in writing? Is it too gag-y to express true love or joy and tall tales of frolicking in fields?  It might be. Just know that I do feel those things too, despite what I write, there is a lighter side.

I think happiness is so much easier to relate to, for everyone, that you just don't need the words to understand it.

You probably know what it feels like to love someone so much that you just need to reach out and touch them, hug them, kiss a shoulder or feel your heart flutter.

You know what it feels like to feel a breeze around you as you tilt your face towards the sunshine and breathe the fresh air.

You know what it feels like to be genuinely touched by someone's thoughtfulness in a gift, in a card, in a phone call.

You've had that moment when sitting with friends through a whole evening of laughter and secret stories.

And then there is sadness, empty pits of despair that you can't climb out of when you want to. You tumble, you cry, and you hide and your support system may not know what to do with you.  You have to find your own expression... and mine comes from finding the words that piece together the fragments of my life that I've momentarily forgotten in the blackness.

Jacob Ross.

The most awful kid to babysit.
A wirey and scrappy little punk. 
Smart mouthed.
Stubborn.
A white Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. SERIOUS.
Fast.
Always trying to prove that he is not in anyone's shadow.
Quietly thoughtful.
Strong-willed.
Sweetly emotional.
Entertaining.
Humble.

That's my little-brother, Jacob, and there is one more week until he leaves for Texas, and from there to Afghanistan. It's a time when everyone keeps saying, "I thought we were bringing them home." So did we.

When he told us a year ago that he would be going, we grappled with anger first. Anger at him for joining the Army Reserves, for volunteering his life, for believing that he didn't think of all the hearts that would break because of the hold he has over us. It was a selfish hurt that I think we were entitled to carry for a few moments.

When we were little, our brother and sister would team up against us for every game or vicious fight, but Jacob and I were naturally close and just as tough together. We always had people to play with, there were four of us and we did almost everything together (our parents really did give us the best childhood).

Jacob (who hates when I don't call him Jake) has always understood what I was trying to be about. When I fought, when I cried or screamed at my family, was tormented by shitty boyfriends, struggling with the competition that happens with a twin in high school, or when I made stupid mistakes, this little brother of mine always made me laugh and asked for advice. As we've grown up, I still feel protective over him and I still love that he tells me his secrets and fears. 

But, I've also seen what a wonderful man he has become; a wise, disciplined and intuitive husband and Sergeant.

And while my fear hasn't faded and the tears sprout a few times a day, I think that I would add to the list; admirable, proud, strong -- alongside my overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness.

So, we are having a party to showcase all the people that will miss him while he's over in that thousand degree shithole. Food, booze, barn-style cornhole, laughter, and all the necessary means to make sure he knows how loved he is. Something to take with him, and protect him.

Thank you Troops, for all that you have done and continue to do for us.

Truly.

I used to feel obligated to keep up with 15 people, all truly my best friends. They are split into groups of friendships that have been built at different stages of my life. I've carried these friendships on for years, making myself sick if I missed anything that was important to anyone of these 15 people. I made it to almost every birthday or bachelorette party, bridal and/or baby showers, theme/keg parties, good ol' wine times, and just traveling anywhere to be in the company of my best friends.
 
I have the most insane, balls-to-the-wall memories with these people, which Facebook has documented very well. But over time, people have fallen off the face of the earth and through the cracks, and they just don't reach out anymore. I admit that I also quit reaching out when I became to overwhelmed with filling my schedule with my own events, and even developed a bit of the "if you don't care, why do I" mentality. But really, all these people just became too much to keep track of as we've grown, started our own families or careers, and have began reaching out to other circles that seem more relevant to my life at the time.

But isn't that what builds a friendship? Each relationship should hold a charming slice of quality in them, something that you need or love, and it links you together.
 
It seems so cheesy to use that term, "my best friends." But many of them have been my best friends at one time or another, and for one reason or another we were bonded by something extraordinary, or even tragic.
 
The tears and swearing that have come with fading friendships weighs heavily in the pit of my stomach. But I've realized that you can't truly value those that are truly closest to you while keeping up with so many distractions.  Everyone can't be everything in every moment that you need it. The best thing to do is to honor those memories, and know that true friendship always picks up where it left off, if and when, the paths meet again.

Riding the wave.

You know that solid ache in your throat that you can't swallow around, that blocks your breath, makes your heart beat deep in your eardrums and through the depth of your soul, that piece of yourself that you didn't even know existed?

A freaking ocean that pounds you against it's rocks and you don't know how to stop it.

 And it always catches you off guard.

When I get like this blood rushes through my chest, up my neck and through my face. I get bright red and choke. I choke on the pain I feel for everyone around me, fear for myself, fear for the silent drops of love and craziness floating down my cheeks.

Have you ever loved someone so much that to accidentally envision them gone gave you hiccups because you stopped breathing? Have you ever thrown yourself at a wall and fallen down looking for support in your hysterics? It's the soul-control battle and you can't always come out on top.

It's the sort of beating that I have endured a few times in my 29.5 years and I still don't know how to manage it. Though I know that it does not compare to so many other stories, the torment should not be diminished. We all have those up and down waves, the direction-altering and humbling stories, but we so often bury them far far away.

I tend to bring them up and blow those feelings out of the water before I drown and sometimes it gets me into trouble.  But, usually it saves me, and it saves others.  I've always been one to share too much, as I've said before, but I know that this has been my saving grace. I believe in driving compassion and finding the calmness in the symmetry of soul-control and hysteria.

I just spent a week with my family on vacation in Florida.  My parents (married for 36 years), my twin sister and brother-in-law, my two brothers and sisters-in-law, and my 6-month old niece... and it was blissful mayhem and madness. Nothing feels better than getting along and feeling so good about being who you are with the people who have helped build you. I know how blessed I am to be able to laugh and love as much as I do. In light of the deaths, and near-deaths, my family has faced we have pushed ourselves closer and closer together. Sure, we get pissed or annoyed with one another, but we wouldn't have it any other way, and I am amazed at how much we have grown.

So mostly, it is these experiences that move me and catch me off guard these days. I get that solid ache in my throat and have to swallow so hard it hurts, to endure the love and thankfulness that crashes me into the rocks and allows me to keep my head up through the low blows.

Is there someone you can reach for that steadies your trembling fingertips?  Where do you look for comfort? I guarantee that steadiness will find you easier than you think.

Surrender.

Beneath the surface

a fairytale unwinds

breathing through relentless

ignorance.

Opening into the brilliance

of glassy waters,

surrendering

to the sweetest ecstasy

that was once scarred of bitterness,

left in the emptiness of the cold.

Now cozy and warm

your eyes lingering within mine

twirling me endlessly,

indulging in your integrity of

unending tenderness.

Prickling my spine,

gathering in my throat,

so sweetly innocent.

Amidst the iridescent nights

smothered with caramel thirst,

persuading me endlessly.

The spirals of fear.

Since I've started this slow-moving journey I've been trying to wrap my brain around things that people want to read about. The popular blogs seem to be about food, fashion, crafting -- things that I follow along with and have nothing new to add, but do take recommendations from.  I keep finding that every time I write something ... I delete it. I do not trust that I have something worthwhile to say. 

I have not really shared this writing trial and I'm finally admitting that I've been waiting to see if I do have anything to say, or that maybe those few that I have shared with might show encouragement to the process. I wonder why I need that encouragement.  It's as though I need to perfect my writing, and ultimately myself, before I really allow anyone to share this with me.  But no one wants to share with someone holding back and I am wondering what is really holding me back from expressing my fears and my dreams or passions, to anyone listening?

I've realized that it's fear. Fear that I really don't have anything worthwhile to share. Fear of embarrassing myself. Fear that I will not find what I'm searching for.  Fear that I won't be able to develop my soul into it's whole.  Fear that maybe I really am just a cheese-ball chic who wears her heart on her sleeve, feels too much, over-analyzes everything and always doubts herself.  It is a panic button of self-doubt and no way to be if I want to instill myself as a writer and one day an author.

I need to write with what I'm good at, from the heart and wearing all my emotions out in writing.  I used to be able to find the words that truly flowed through any emotion and I want that to fill me again.  My background is in creative writing and the techniques that I learned will need to be refreshed and the soul-searching anguish will have to be pulled from the depths and absorbed into language.
 
I was reading back on a good friend's blog and realized how right he was to reference this in helping to find just what he needed, and what I've now found inspiration in. So I share both of them with you and hope that he doesn't mind: 

You’ve got to sell your heart, your strongest reactions, not the little minor things that only touch you lightly, the little experiences that you might tell at dinner. This is especially true when you begin to write, when you have not yet developed the tricks of interesting people on paper, when you have none of the technique which it takes time to learn. When, in short, you have only your emotions to sell…But literature, even light literature, will accept nothing less from the neophyte. It is one of those professions that wants the “works.” You wouldn’t be interested in a soldier who was only a little brave.

F. Scott Fitzgerald in response to a story sent to him by the daughter of a family friend and aspiring author (Full Letter).

 
It may be poetry, it may be a comical rant or something that has inspired insight (or hindsight), but whatever form the words come out in, I hope them to be honest and moving, and maybe even a little jacked up.


Do you have something to share? Let me know!