While you were sleeping.

While you were sleeping, I paced from room to room desperately searching for tranquility.

Instead, I strapped an ice pack on my lower back and picked up race cars in every room. I folded blankets and put them in their places. I straightened couch pillows and emptied the dishwasher. I stocked the toilet paper and put more napkins on the table. I slid garbage trucks and firetrucks into their bookshelf parking garages. I put puzzles back together and stacked them in their assigned places. I folded the towels that were 2 days forgotten in the dryer and washed the sippy cups in the sink.

While you were sleeping, I thought about my guilt.

The guilt, ugh, the guilt. Carrying a life inside of you is so powerful, so beautiful, so overwhelming. I feel guilty when I have thoughts of despair or frustration because my body feels so awful when left to heave into toilets. I hide at work because I can't go far from a trashcan or a locked bathroom stall. I can't wait for it to pass, and I count the days. I feel guilty when I can't find the energy to chase our son and crawl after him to ram monster trucks into one another because all he wants more than anything is for me play with him. The last thing I want is for him to be upset that his new sibling-to-be is changing his mommy.

Or, maybe you ate four mozzarella sticks for dinner, your 3-year-old had cereal, and left your husband on his own....yeah, that was a low day.

I sat on our couch with the freshly punched pillows and stared out the window. The snow floated lazily by the streetlights and I just tried to breathe. It was 3 AM.

I don't remember feeling this much anxiety the first time. Did I? I am so excited to meet this baby. I can't wait to see how our family grows, the personalities that develop and the memories we will make. It is what I have always wanted. Please, just help me find strength right now.

So, while you were sleeping, I cried.

I cried for all of these things and so much more. For our home. For the giggles you generate, the ambition you flourish, the confidence you swag, the eyelashes you gave our son, your gentleness when you teach him, your embellishments when you read to him. And mostly, I feel thankfulness for you, for us. Please know this even when I struggle to speak or put words to my crazy. Our journey is the best journey.

Mom Guilt.

There is this nagging feeling that I'm guilty of something. It sits in the pit of my stomach gasping for air and giving me hiccups. I don't think there is a cure.

I feel frustrated by this. Anger even. Exhausted. The last few months my mental and physical self has been to battle.

I work full-time and when I pick my son up, it's the best part of my day...unless I had an awful day and pick up a tired kid who says "hate you," or won't give me a hug, and doesn't want to wear his shoes...and then he does want his shoes...and then he doesn't... and I have to toss him in the car because he can't walk there nicely like "a big boy" and screams and twists and contorts his body so that I can't strap him into his seat. Unless that.

Usually, though, on those kind of days, by the time we get home he holds on to me so tight and I can get his hugs and kisses and "love yous." So really, he still ends up being the best part of my day.

The problem is that by the time I get to this point I am so fried from my day that I hardly find the energy to really, truly enjoy our playtime. Maybe I'm extra short on patience or short on enthusiasm, and then I feel sick with guilt and non-worthiness. And, we have barely 3 hours to play (or get groceries and go to Target), clean up and make dinner. Some days I feel successful, but it is rare.

So I feel THAT guilt.

And then I love when I'm made to feel like I wouldn't be able to handle being a stay-at-home-mom. So then I have guilt that maybe they are right. Could I handle it?

I do love that work is also my social hour. Honestly, I get to walk to parks on my lunch break, sit by the water, hit up food trucks and sometimes even have work meetings at happy hour.  I also get to finish my whole cup of hot coffee without reheating it. Sounds great. Moms, I know.

But then I miss the giggles, the play, the snuggle nap times, the adventures, the time outs and learning to teach my children myself.

So, could I handle it?

Or, would I love it?

When you can't give 100% of yourself to what you love and instead divide yourself into quarters over and over, you tend to feel a little lost sometimes as positivity vanishes in the translation of all your parts. That is what I can't handle. And, I know that is on me to reboot.

My pledge for a better future.

Defeated. Un-inspired. Buried.

For months I have been struggling to free myself from the suffocation of world news. Tormenting myself with sucking all this evil into my soul. Allowing it to depress me and question everything that lights my world...like bringing more children into this life.

I've found myself engulfed in Syrian refugee news, Russia, Turkey, Egypt, mindless US battlefields...and the despair and hopelessness that I allowed to filter through me has destroyed pieces of my happiness as I've struggled to stay in the light of this heaviness.

Fall day full of happy.

No more.

The best that I can do, that we can all do, is to love, cherish and protect these children so that they do not become the non-accepting, non-forgiving, wounded, and revenge-seeking destroyers.

To instill in them the values of human life and family.

To sculpt their minds and hearts towards kindness and generosity.

To say "I love you" a million times a day.


To ask for forgiveness and say "I'm sorry" when we need to accept our part in controversy.

To feel laughter and warmth.

To make them feel safe.

I pledge to do my best for every child I meet, in hopes that this is how I will make a difference in our future.

5 points on pregnancy weight loss (it blows.)

Let's get real...gaining 60 pregnancy pounds didn't happen from sticking to fruits and vegetables.

+60# on the morning of Mack, and I still love this pic.

Sure I ate a lot of those, I always do. I love making gourmet salads and dressings, then grilling some salmon or chicken to throw over it. But, I also love a good maple creamstick that I never let myself eat anymore...until I was pregnant.

My Amazing Dad would visit with a bag of 5 maple creamsticks from our hometown bakery and I'd be in heaven with the bag, a glass of milk and my feet propped up. To. Die. For. I'd eat one each day and if my husband was fast enough to snag one then he was lucky. (Not one every day of my pregnancy, just when they were available.)

One time, my parents came in on a party bus with friends to tailgate and go to the Browns game, so my husband and I parked at my office and walked down to meet them. (It was so very far for a 7-month prego chick, I'll tell you that.) Everyone held on to their beers, I held onto the donuts my Dad surprised me with. I walked 2 miles for some donuts. That was effing commitment.

Being a food and wine lover and having a body that has to depend on constant calorie counting and everyday workouts, pregnancy brought freedom.

And freedom was soooo tasty.

When you become a vessel that harbors a tiny human, you experience weakness, light-headedness, dizzy spells, and so much hunger. You constantly need water or some sort of nourishment. Usually it's whatever you can grab because you will die if you don't have it RIGHT THIS SECOND. Anyway, you get the picture.

So...my advice from my 15-month journey to lose those 60 pounds:

1. Forget the first 3 months of working on this goal because you are so overwhelmed with overcoming childbirth (a cesarean for me), learning how to take care of a tiny, tiny person, exhaustion, how to manage housework, dinner and no social life.
   
2. Then forget the next 3 months (6-month parental anniversary mark) because you have probably gone back to work and have a whole new set of problems -- like pumping and exhaustion, housework and dinner.  
3. Now forget the next 3 months because you are SO involved with maintaining and preparing for this kid's daily schedule (thank the Lord, you have a schedule), and also trying to find time to see a few friends again. Yep, you probably have a 9-month old.
4. Finally, you might make some natural progress and feel lighter in those post-prego pants and get your belts back out. This was about the time I began to feel encouraged and really got me to start to focus on myself a little bit again.
5. No one is judging you, except you, so relax and find comfort in who you are now and your new life. For the last few months I am again counting everything I eat, doing daily legit pushups and sit ups, and playing sports when I can. I also don't care as much. I love being a Mom and gushing over my kid with my husband, and anyone who offers the conversation.

I still don't quite have a workout routine back like I used to (that would require a 3:30 am wake-up call and I would never be the THAT committed), but I'll take it. Of course, I never imagined the 2 years of pain and trauma that pregnancy and post-pregnancy would inflict on my body. But, down 49 and counting seems to call for reflection and taking inventory of my beautiful life. I choose to believe that this is a huge accomplishment -- despite those lucky and blessed ladies that people like me love to hate. Maybe I really can do it all (with my best partner), and that makes my heart smile.

 P.S. Next post is about my awesome shoe collection.