a little bit about flipping out and kindness

cannot find the source for this...sad.

I flipped out today.

It wasn't pretty.

After a morning of pregnancy symptoms setting me back, feeling inadequate when it comes to ...well...most everything, missing my husband who is out of state for a bit, struggling to get some of the "business-y" loose ends tied up so I can open my shop (someday!), a sink full of dishes, and toys literally on every surface of my home (seriously, they are even in my bed...), I snapped.

All because I stubbed my toe on one of those blasted toys.

I started getting after the kids about how they need to pick up their toys--saying things like "I hate toys!". Which sounds pretty funny as I sit here typing it out.

After the ranting came the sobbing.

The ugly cry.

Nora started scooping random toys into a pile on the floor (blocks, necklaces, princesses)...because that's the same as picking up I guess. She was mothering Byron to help pick-up.

Byron started singing our picking up song while he sat in one place and did nothing at all.

"Clean-up, clean-up, everybody everywhere.
Clean-up, clean-up, everybody do their share."

Apparently he thinks that if he sings his support then no one will notice that he is, in fact, doing nothing.

I think I have said this a million times but I am tempted to throw all of those toys in a massive pile and light a match to them.

Not really. Really, but not really.

Why is liquidating the toy chest so hard? I love seeing my children play--and whenever I get to purging I pick up an alphabet puzzle with the intention to get rid of it and then my mind is flooded with memories of Byron learning the alphabet super early in life and how proud and surprised I was. And then it's a hard choice.

90% of the mess in my house is toys.

And guess who is too pregnant and round to bend over a million times in a row in order to fix this mess? Me.

Hence the melt down.

I put my make-up on while crying my eyes out (really effective), loaded up the kids, and headed to Granny's house where friendly faces and fried fish awaited me. It really was just what I needed.

Later, Nora out of the blue said, "Mommy, are you happy now?" and my heart nearly snapped in two.

I hold such a responsibility to these children and the God that entrusted me with them.

I should never treat them so poorly.

They are my ultimate happiness and are so special. I am blessed to have them.

Kindness has been on my mind lately. It's crucial.

Yesterday I felt like the only person who was kind to me was the guy behind the fryer at lunch who gave me an extra chicken strip with a wink (I wanted to point simultaneously at my belly, wedding ring, and sloppy hair and ask him if he saw it all).

I needed kindness yesterday after another rough morning.

I thought how important it is to be kind to everyone because we really have no idea what they are facing.

And then the very next day I snap and let that whole concept fly out the window so easily.

Moral of the story >> Be Kind.

Everyone deserves kindness.

Even ourselves.

confession >> this anxiety might kill me

I kind of hate myself for posting this picture.
And do you love how everyone is using the "A Beautiful Mess" App now?
Funny, but totally understandable. 

Saddle up. It's a doozy.

For those of you who don't already know, my husband is in Medical School. Back before this song and dance began (and man is it a long one) my Uncle informed me that he hoped I was an independent person--because that's what it takes to be a Med School student's wife.

I was. I am...most of the time.

Then school started, we moved an hour away from family, and reality checked in. Long hours, stress that I have never seen before, inability to relieve what your spouse is going through...That was the first two years anyway.

Third year has been much easier overall. More like a job--with the exception of a few months here and there.

Fourth year begins this summer. This is an exciting time. My husband has chosen a medical profession, he is applying for "auditions" with programs around the country for his Residency program (which will tack 6 more years on), then after auditions he will go back and interview, and then the magic day will happen where he will me matched to a program--hopefully one we want--where he will do his Residency. Alas, a light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

This is all good news. It's progression.

But I am pregnant. 

And I am due this fall.

And he will be gone for four consecutive months out of state while I am in my last two months of pregnancy. 

While I give birth to our sweet little girl. 

And while she lives out the first few months of her life.

It's hard for me to think about directly because I will randomly burst into tears. Yet I am always thinking about it on some level because lately this cloud has been following me around pouring anxiety and sadness over me constantly. 

And I don't know how to address it.

If I address how I feel head on will it make it easier? Or will it make it worse?

It's hard to live with. It's spoiling the month or so I have before he leaves. I am more tired, more short tempered, more emotional, less determined, less motivated...less myself.

I don't know. I always know what to do with my emotions but this is too big for me.

I am independent, but sometimes what lies ahead and what will be required of me feels bigger than I can bare. 

Deep down I know it will all work out. I have family who will help me out and keep me company. I have wonderful friends who have already offered their support. I am blesses and truly grateful.

But they aren't Tyler. And this new baby is ours, mine and his. I want to experience all of the newness with him. And I can't.

It's not so much about needing help in the middle of the night, or having someone take my kids so I can sleep, or dinners, or any of the daily tasks. It's about his presence being gone. He is my source of comfort. I want him to be apart of all the newborn-ness.

The worst part is that as sad as I feel about it all (and I do), I picture my husband far away in Pennsylvania while I am on my last leg of pregnancy and needing someone to mop my floors for me. And he can't help. And then in Chicago while I am bringing our new baby home to a house with one parent. And he can't be there. And I think about how he will feel.

No matter how hard it will be for me, it will be harder for him. While I am missing him, he is not only missing me, but he's also missing everything.

I know that people have to go through much harder things in their lives. I really don't want to come across as if I am belittling those events and the people who are forced to live with trials. I am grateful that at this time things aren't worse for me, because they definitely could be.

Regardless, I am still nervous, scared, sad, lonely, and terrified a little. And getting larger by the second.

Blah, blah, blah.

Done.

wishing you a glamorous mother's day

I was probably 9 years old. Mom was keen on making sure her only daughter was girly. And I was okay with that (except when I was 11 and she still wanted to dress me in head-to-toe ruffles for church).

We did a Glam Shoot. We were soooo with it. I remember being so excited about dressing up fancy and looking all grown up.

I also remember thinking how dumb it was that all they did was tie a purple sash around my shoulders and stuffed a scarf strategically around my mom's bra straps.

That's when I learned that glamour is fake.

I like my mom. I obviously love her, but I like her too.

She has taught me independence. I remember her telling me to always stand up for myself and what I believe in, even if I am outnumbered. I listened.

She has taught me commitment. "You can't pick and choose commandments!", she would always remind me. And she's right. It doesn't mean much unless you put your heart into your religious commitments--which means abiding by it all.

She taught me to never neglect myself. Growing up I watched my mom be a Real Estate Agent, a Broker of a Property Management company, a hair dresser, a nail tech, an antique dealer, and my personal favorite--a professional clown. Winky was her name, and she was the best clown I have ever seen to date. I am a clown snob. Although mothering was her priority, she didn't put her dreams and ambitions on hold. She didn't lose herself.

She taught me to present myself appropriately. My mom showers everyday and always does her hair and make-up--no matter what. She also never lets her house get out of control. She's one classy lady.

She taught me to be brave and serve others. I remember an elderly couple trying to get into a car. The man was wheelchair bound and his sweet wife was struggling trying to get him into the front seat. She saw, pulled her car over, jumped out and without thinking twice lifted that man into his chair. I remember thinking about how brave she was. Never second guess an instinct to help others.

She taught me to laugh. This is my favorite past time with her. She laughs at everything I say. And she's pretty funny herself. We make a good pair. My favorite thing to do is take pictures with my phone of funny things I see and ask her for a caption. She's great at it.

She taught me to teach. I wish everyone could hear my mom teach. The ability to touch other's lives through her words is a gift that not many people have.

She taught me to give. If my mom were rich, she wouldn't be rich--because she would have used all her money to fix every homeless person's teeth in the city. She has a very generous heart.

She taught me a lot. I am who I am because of her teachings.

I hope you all have a "glamorous" Mother's Day. We all deserve some extra love!

Now, tell me. What has your mother taught you? I would love, love, love to hear! Please share!

self image during pregnancy

What a topic, right?

I am 23 weeks along and I am already having issues.

Which, in my mind, doesn't make much sense.

See, I carried twins. That's the only other pregnancy I have known. I assumed this one would be cake. Ha! So wrong.

Maybe I will feel that way in my 38th week of pregnancy when I am measuring as 38 wks pregnant instead of 50 wks pregnant...

Surprisingly I am in much more pain and discomfort with one baby. Rumor has it that this is because my abs aren't as strong (the twins kind of, well, destroyed them and they never fully recouped). And my other magical inside baby involved parts must be week as well. Oh the aching...at 23 weeks! Come on! Not to mention I have two three year olds I am chasing around. It all feeds into my symptoms.

Now to the topic at hand. I realize I will double in size before I hit 40 weeks. Yet I feel ridiculous already. Too soon to feel ridiculous!!

I mean the kind of ridiculous where I cannot in any way wrap my head around the fact that my husband is still attracted to me. How? Why? What? Love is surely blind.

Then I see pictures like this:

photo via Faas Studio

and I get it. I really do. But I am not comfortable enough in this pregnant body to want to remember every feature of it. And maybe I even look more like this beautiful pregnant lady than I realize.  

But I usually feel like this:

photo via Louise Bleakly

I see this monkey and I can relate so much better. Even down to the expression on her face. Yep. 

I look at that first picture (as well as other pregnant women) and I honestly think she looks beautiful. She exemplifies motherhood and all the beauty in that. 

Why can't I see myself in that light?

And why am I more uncomfortable with my self image being pregnant with one than with twins?

Now I need your honest opinion. Which sight is worse?

This obese orangutan pictured above?

Or this pregnant lady with twins complete with a bad haircut and a doughnut keeping her company on the coffee table?

You can laugh. I want you to. Go ahead.

drum roll >> our new baby is a...

Finding out what gender your ever-growing baby will be is the best doctor appointment ever. Hands down.

We first went to find out at 16 weeks, but the baby was shy with ankles crossed. We left with nothing more than an impression of what it may be.

Yesterday I went back in for my check-up. Finally we would know for sure!

We decided that the best way to let three year old kids know what gender their new baby will be is over color-coded snow cones, naturally.

Nora wanted a pink snow cone for a girl and Byron wanted blue for a boy. I was expecting some drama. Someone was going to be disappointed. I made sure we had some video recording going on to catch the fit so we could laugh later (such a caring mother, I know).

Here they are waiting for the grand snow cones to arrive....

...and what arrived is a pink snow cone for our sweet baby GIRL!

Nora was excited! Her dreams came true!

We honestly expected this little boy to throw his head back and wail because he didn't want a pink one. He surprised us with contentment. This is is "happy face". It's new.

After leaving the doctor's office I shed a few happy tears. I am sure it was partially because I am pregnant and hormones have a way of really activating your tear ducts, but it was mainly because Nora will have something I never had and desperately wanted: a sister. Women need women. And I will have my girls. And they will have each other. Sure--we will see plenty of cat-fights and many differences. My hope is that in the end they appreciate having each other.

I may or may not have already bought fabric for her bumpers already....maybe.

And now I leave you with her sweet semi-profile that makes her look like an alien. I love that little alien face already.