The Good, the Bad, and the Only

Most days I rarely ever think about the fact I'm a single parent.  I'm always of aware it, like in the same sense I'm always aware that I have blue eyes and curly hair, but it's not something on which I fixate. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with that I've never known anything else- it's not as if I started off as part of a duo and then went to being just me.  In many aspects, but not all, I think that would be even harder; to get used to someone being there, helping out, making tough decisions, etc., only to wind up having to do it all by yourself.  And if I'm being completely honest, there are many times I have actually thought that being a single parent is sometimes easier, especially for a control freak know-it-all like myself! 

But recently, I've felt things start to shift a little.  More and more I'm thinking about how exhausting it is to be just me, the only, the good parent, the bad parent; just me.  And by exhausting, I mean completely and utterly draining of all my mental faculties; exhausting.  Spencer is extremely precocious and very strong willed. And by strong willed, I mean possessing the inner strength and willpower of a Buddhist monk on his 20th day of a fast; strong willed.  Most days I appreciate this about her and I celebrate that I see so much of myself in my little girl.  But then there are other days, like yesterday, when I want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry like a baby because I can't stand being the "bad guy" for one more second.

I am a control freak, yes, but it's not in my nature to be the constant disciplinarian.  I can remember being a little girl and telling my mom that I was going to let my daughter eat whatever she wanted for dinner and if she just wanted to eat cookies, that would be FINE with me!  Cue last night:  Spencer has her head down on the table crying and crying that I don't love.  Why?  Because I said she couldn't get up until she finished her mac-n-cheese.  Spaghetti was her first meal and then she informed me that she didn't want spaghetti, she wanted mac-n-cheese.  So I gave in.  Probably not the smartest decision, but in the end, I think it's more important that she eats then trying to make another issue out of something.  Well, three bites into her second meal, I hear "I'm fuuulll."

I counted to three, took a deep breath, and told her that she wasn't getting up until she had eaten at least half of what was on her plate.  And that's when the full on you don't love me, no one loves me, theatrics began. I told her that I will always love, no matter what she does, I will never stop loving her- just because I'm not happy with her or I'm making her do something she doesn't want to do, doesn't mean I don't love her- because I will never stop loving her. Twenty minutes later and she's still sitting there, giving me the same look I know I gave my mom many moons ago.  Here's the thing- logically, I know that she's just three years old and she doesn't really understand that the words she's saying to me are like little daggers to my heart- but, every time she said "you don't love me anymore?" my heart broke a little.  I wished there was someone there with me to help share that burden, to be the bad parent, if not instead of me, than at least along with me.

Eventually, she ate her food and then when she was finished she asked me for an Ogre Bar, aka, a Shrek granola bar, which made me laugh and laugh.  Everything was fine again except that I felt like I'd been through a war.  I don't like that I'm so rarely the fun parent- the mom that I thought I'd be. I know that a lot of what I used to envision was seen through immature eyes and that being a good parent means making rules and then enforcing them.  But every now and then I wish that there was someone else to help me do those things. 

I think part of what is getting to me isn't the current, but the future.  Is this how it's going to be 10 years from now when she wants to wear some inappropriate outfit, something I used to fight with my mom about ALL the time?  I can see my past words, something along the lines of "I'll always let my daughter wear what she feels comfortable wearing and NOT what I feel comfortable with her wearing" coming back to haunt me.  Haunt. Me. 

Naughty Nights

At one time in my life this title might have meant something very different than it does now.  The only naughtiness that fills my nights these days is that which involves my little Spencie.  Ever since we got rid of her noonie, or since I got rid of her noonie for her, nighttime has been an uphill battle filled with lengthy back scratches, leg tickles, and "I just want to give you one more kiss[es], Mommy!"

For the first couple of days I totally fell for the one-more-kiss line. But then my little sweet-talker picked up on my weakness for her displays of affection and all of a sudden I was getting and giving about ten to twenty kisses.  Kisses turned into hugs which turned into her telling me "your my best best friend in the world."  She came up with that line all on her own and it just melted my heart into an oceanic sized puddle,  Or at least it did until I heard her tell many other people that they were else her "best best friend in the world."

Even after I realized her new nighttime lovey-doviness was just a ploy to stay awake longer, I was having a really hard time resisting her charms.  During the day, Spencer is, well, not so fond of the PDA.  She is fiercely independent and wants to do everything with no help from me.  So when she turns into that sweet little smooth talker as soon as she realizes it's getting dark out, I'm putty in her hands. 

Or at least I was.  Tonight I put my foot down after 20 minutes of her attempts to try and "love me" into letting her stay awake longer.  It about broke my heart when she said "but I just want hold your hand!"   But we'd already held hands, done our kiss routine, sang songs, etc.  One more hand holding would turn into two more hugs and she'd be no closer to going to sleep.  I felt like the worst mother in the world.

But I had to do it, right?  I feel so guilty about this whole thing- everything was fine with her sleeping habits until I put an end to her pacifier.  I knew it was going to mean that nights were going to be a little more difficult for awhile and that I'd need to be patient and understand during the transition process- but that was in the middle of March!  Isn't the transition period over?  My answer to that was yes, but now I'm starting to question whether or not I'm wrong here.  I don't know- what do ya'll think?  How would you handle this situation?

My Ministry

This week's Show Us Your Life is a little bit of a departure from our normal carefree bits about how we live.  Everyone has a secret struggle and often times we hide these fears and painful difficulties. Most of us are all burdened in some way or another and we frequently keep it to ourselves.  I want to be a source of encouragement for those who are experiencing similar situations and I want to show other women that even in our darkest hour, He will not  leave our side. I am a single mother and that is my ministry.

I don't think any little girl grows up thinking she wants to be a single parent, or at least I didn't.  That was something I never pictured for myself- couldn't even have imagined it would ever happen to me.  I grew up in a strict Christian home, went to church three times a week, plus youth group, choir and Bible study and had a very real personal relationship with Jesus. My best friend was/is my pastor's daughter and my boyfriend was her brother- the pastor's son. All I ever wanted was to marry him and have lots of babies. We dated for almost ten years, from the age of 13 to 22, and when we broke up I was beyond heart broken.  I couldn't, and didn't, go to church because seeing him was too difficult for me and I was in college- there were a million other things I could be doing on Sundays besides going to church.  I guess it didn't take too long for me start living completely for myself.  I was angry with God for so many things and it was just easier to hide from Him rather than facing and dealing with everything.

I began dating someone new, someone who was not a Christian.  But he was a lot fun and nothing like my ex boyfriend, which was exactly what I wanted then.  I never planned on us having a long term relationship, I thought he was just my rebound guy.  Or at least that's what everyone told me, I'd only dated one person in my life, so I'd never had a rebound relationship.  But then a few weeks turned into months and then into years.  It started off like smelling like roses and I quickly forgot all about my shattered heart.  And then things changed, the newness wore off, and the real personality emerged. But by then it was too late, I had fallen in love with someone who didn't really exist and I thought if I could just be a better, more perfect version of myself, that I could get him to be who I thought he was. It became an unhealthy relationship and we were quite the dysfunctional couple.  I thought I was in love with him though and I made excuses to myself for why I should still be with him.

And then my life really fell apart.  My beloved Mema passed away completely unexpectedly during my first week at a top tier law school.  Just four months later my invincible, genius, top neurologist in the world, dad was diagnosed with an incurable form of cancer- Non-Hodgkin Small B-Cell Lymphoma, specifically Small Lymphocytic Lymphoma. I couldn't breathe, every second of every day was more painful than the one before it.  I couldn't fathom what God trying to do to me and I became so angry with Him.  My faith had already been on shaky grounds and when all of this happened it became practically nonexistent.

When I found out I was pregnant I was in my second year of law school.  I had worked so hard for my perfect future and my whole perfectly imagined life was in front me.  I had everything to lose and nothing to be gained from having a baby.  (Or at least that's what I thought)  Her father did not want me to keep the baby and for awhile I was miserably waffling about what I should do.  My parents would be devastated and my life as I'd dreamed it would be over.  I didn't choose the easy road.  I could have done what he wanted and gone on about my life as if nothing had ever happened- no one would know and and no one would ever have to think any less of me because I wouldn't have to drop out of law school and become an unwed single mother.  But I couldn't do it.  The chances of me becoming pregnant were slim, like so slim, and I knew that there must be a reason or a higher purpose for this baby that was growing in my tummy. 

I didn't have a decision to make, my baby was my only choice.  The next eight months were the worst of my life.  I really don't even like to think about that time because it makes me sick to my stomach. I'd always been the kind of child that my parents were (mostly) proud of- they were eager to share my accomplishments with their friends/co-workers/anyone who would listen, had impossibly high hopes and expectations for my future, and always pushed me to succeed in everything I did. While my personal life left much to be desired by my mother, she often overlooked it because of how well I did in my educational/professional life. And then it all changed; pride was replaced with shame and embarrassment. It took me my mom months before she was able to go back to church; I had humiliated her and she was ashamed of me.

For the first few months, (5 to be exact) I hid indoors. I only told one other person and basically was cut off from the world. My parents didn't want to tell my grandparents, so I wasn't allowed to go to any family functions. Who knows how long that would've gone if it hadn't of been for my Grandma passing away when I was six months along. There was no way my parents could explain my absence from her funeral, so they were forced to tell the rest of my family. It was their reactions to the news, which were so unexpectedly supportive and encouraging that I think it gave my parents, my mother in particular, a different perspective. My Grandpa said "We lost our girl (meaning my Grandma) but God's given us another one."

But I don't want to give the impression that I deserved better. My mom had invested her life in making sure my dreams could and would come true. Countless hours and thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars were spent on my behalf, as an investment in my future. And then I threw it all away as if it meant nothing. My mom now saw her life as a waste, everything she'd done and sacrificed was now worthless. She was devastated and mourning the life she thought I would have. And I understand that because I was also mourning the life I had worked so hard to have. It took me awhile to fully come to terms with the new direction I was on and to say goodbye to the old hopes and dreams. It would have been very different if this hadn't had been something I did to myself, something I chose to do. I made the conscious choice to go ahead with my pregnancy and have my daughter when I could have made a different decision. I could have gone on my merry way, deluding myself that nothing had changed.   But I didn't.  And I thank the Lord daily for my precious daughter.

My church was unbelievably supportive of me, even when I couldn't gather the courage to show my face and walk through their doors.  The ladies gave me a baby shower and my best friend's mother gave the devotion.  The verses she read changed my outlook on everything, as if a blindfold had been removed from my eyes. Psalm 139:13-17:

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!  How vast is the sum of them!

I had been hiding from everyone, but mostly from God.  The only reason I was having a baby was because of something I did wrong; because of a sin I committed.  But out of my sin He created something beautiful.  He formed her in my womb and He saw her and the life she would have before time even began.  This was the beginning, the first of many, turning points in my road to redemption; I stopped hiding and began thanking.

She has changed my life, for sure, but more importantly she's made me a better person.  I used to be very self-involved; I was the axis point about which the world revolved.  Since becoming a mother it's as if the floodgates of my empathy have opened up. I have a new purpose in my life.  It helps me get through the rough days- to know that my daughter is the greatest gift this world has to offer me and I need to be up to the task.  And now that I'm two and half years into this wonderfully unexpected journey, I'm still alive!  I don't see myself as a failure anymore and I hope that any other single mother in a similar circumstance can see that better days are ahead.  I wasted so much time hiding and being miserable because I hated seeing how people now looked at me- and I wish I could get that time back.

One of the most difficult things about being a Christian single mother is that there's not much hope for the kind of marriage I'd always dreamed of having.  I'm still working on that, still trying to trust and believe that all things are going to work out together for good.  But I have good days and bad days and every day presents new challenges as well as opportunities.  I'm working on seeing the opportunities instead of focusing on the obstacles.  I try to be a source of encouragement to other single mothers- to let them know that they can do this! I still have struggles with my faith, but it's something I work on daily. One of the real changing points was last year when I felt I really needed to do something to jump start my relationship with the Lord and I decided I would pray every day of Lent instead of giving up something. I can't begin to tell you the transformation this had on my hardened heart.  I'm still far from where I want to be and I still have a lot of work to do, but I'm getting there, slowly but surely.  Over on my sidebar and in the upper menu tabs you can find links to previous posts where I write about how I've worked through and managed everything, from faith, to finances to family.

Before I had my daughter, before I become a parent- I had no real appreciation for just how precious life is; and now it's something I think about daily.  I am so grateful for my daughter and for how being her mother has made me want to be a person worthy of her. No, this isn't the life I imagined for myself, but having Spencer in my life has made it infinitely better than anything in my wildest dreams.

Three Things Every Parent Should Teach Their Kids

1. That the punishment for telling the truth will always be better than the punishment for lying. The reason kids lie is because they're afraid of getting in trouble- trust me, I know! In the beginning I used to always tell the truth and I quickly realized that I was in DEEP trouble. I decided early on that the punishment for lying could be no worse than the ones I received for telling the truth, plus I got the added bonus of doing what I wanted to do in the first place. If kids know that they can tell you the truth without being grounded for life, I think there's a much greater likelihood for an open dialogue and that your children will believe they can really come to you to talk instead of to someone else who might be giving them very bad advice.
2. Always stick up for the underdog. If someone is being bullied then you come to the other person's defense. There is no excuse or justification for cruel behavior and it's so easy to jump on the bandwagon of picking on someone who is too shy or too afraid to stick up for themselves. By coming to that person's defense you will show others your true character while highlighting that bully's lack of it. And while sometimes it may be hard to be that person who openly goes against and defends the person it's popular to pick on, ultimately, they'll feel better about themselves and others will soon recognize their true worth in spades!
3. No matter what they do, you will ALWAYS love and support them. A child or teenager should never be afraid to come to their parent because they fear their parent will stop loving them. They should know their parents will be their advocate throughout life, their biggest fan, and a constant source of love. Of course that doesn't mean a parent should just say "do what you want, it's your life," they should be a guide, pointing out when their child is in the wrong and what they should do to fix it. And sometimes, if their kid has wronged someone else, or hasn't followed through with something they should have, a parent should be there to right that wrong- not just for their child, but for the other person, and to be an example of magnanimous love. As parents, I believe it's our job to right our childrens wrongs until they do so, or else it's just a poor reflection on us as parents. But ultimately, every kid should know that beyond a shadow of a doubt, no matter how badly they screw up,- their parent(s) will always be there for them, with open arms full of love. Think of the prodigal son!

So that's my list, not surprisingly, it comes mostly from experience. Like yesterday when Spencer knocked down a huge display of cards at the hospital and refused to pick them up. I didn't leave them there for someone else to pick up my slack, I did it myself. Or how I didn't tell my parents I was pregnant for almost a month after I found out because I believed my mom would disown me. What do you think are the three most important things to teach a child?

Show Us Your Life - My Baby Shower

This week on Kelly's Korner Show Us Your Life, the topic is baby showers. My baby shower was given to me by my best friend Sara. She did such an amazing job, especially when it came all the weird things I wanted and didn't want (Like the Chik-Fil-A chicken nuggets I had to have!) Unfortunately, I was on my death bed with a 102 degree fever and I felt a little better than I expect to feel right before I die!

Even though I was so sick, it was still wonderful, the best day of pregnancy. It was the only time my mom was nice to me for more than 50% of the day and the only day I didn't cry- not even once! It was what I had been waiting for - a day to celebrate the upcoming arrival of my precious little girl rather than hiding away in my parent's house.

This was over two years ago, so making onesies at a baby shower was still a novel idea! Everyone made Spencer a onesie and they were all so cute.





Didn't my friends do a great job? I still have all the little outfits, they meant so much to me!

Sara made the cupcakes! I was so impressed, especially since she had so much to do to get ready. They were delicious, funfetti cupcakes- my absolute favorite.

Spencer still has that Care Bear!





I think I smiled more that day than I had in the previous 8 months combined.

That's me opening up my presents. (That's my mom on the right)
I never would have guessed that day that I'd be having Spencer in less than two weeks! During my pregnancy, Sara was my ROCK, without her, I'd have been lost. I am so lucky to have had such an amazing friend. Even now, two years later, I'm still filled with gratitude for all she did for me.

**More Show You How I Live Posts**

Favorite Vacation Spot
I Have a Child. The Jig is Up.
Here Comes the Maid Of Honor

Trying Days

Spencer goes through phases so fast, that by time I've gotten a grasp on how to handle it, she's moved on to the next one. And it applies to everything, behavior, likes, dislikes, sleeping, eating - pretty much all major aspects of life.

Some of them are so cute.

Like when she insisted on wearing my Kappa flip flops until she broke them.

Or when found my makeup bag, gave herself a makeover, and then wanted to do it everyday - even with blue magic marker.

And then some are not so cute, like the two weeks where she made herself throw up every time she cried more than two tears. NOT cute, but just as soon as I began effectively dealing with those tantrums, she had moved on something else.

And today was not cute. She's begun a few new things, I'm not sure which is driving me the most batty at the moment. Is it the game she plays with me, where I call her name and she looks at me and smiles, turns her back, runs into her room her slams the door? Is it the game where she lifts up my dresses, skirts, and shirts when we're in public? Or is it the all all consuming, body heaving, sobbing that she does when I don't want, or like, to play these games?

I really don't know the answer. Each one is exasperating, but it breaks my heart when she's crying, and in between gulps for air, says "Why" gulp "NOT. Mum Me?" gulp, cry, gulp "Oh, no Mum Me" cry, breathe "Pweese, Good Gul Mum Me!" Like she's trying to get the point across that it's just a game, she doesn't really mean it, and why don't I want to play with her?!

But then again, I was pretty MAD at the Dollar Tree today when she kicked up my dress with her foot, got her shoe caught in it, and my unmentionables were on display for the gazillion people all staring at us, as I tried to free her foot while she's wailing because I'm not playing this game with her. I don't think there's a color that would accurately describe the shade of red that was my face. Even Fire Engine sounds too pale. Is this the worst? I can't decide.


So yes, these are trying times, but hopefully, this too shall pass. Until then, I think we'll be avoiding stores, especially the Dollar Tree. Who knows when I'll be able to summon up the courage to ever go back there again!

I Have a Child. The Jig Is Up.

This week on Kelly's Korner Blog Carnival, (it used to be Show Us Your Home) the topic is wedding dresses. Well, I haven't gotten to wear a wedding dress yet. Since I have a baby, I'm pretty sure that if I ever do get married, my dress will look nothing like the one I'd envisioned before the kiddo. I still want to wear a beautiful dress, I just don't think it would be appropriate to wear the big, white, 50 foot long train (haha), poufy but still classic dress I thought I was going to wear.

In my head, or fantasy land, I always envisioned myself in a Grace Kelly-esque (a little more modern though) dress.


The reality, was more like this. I would have loved to wear a dress like this- it seems so romantic and beautiful.

This is the back of that dress


Now, I think I'd like to wear something like this. It doesn't look to I'm a trying to be a blushing-bride-without-a-child, at least I don't think it does! I think I would probably like to have little caplet sleeves and have it be a little more ivory and a lot less white. Like as least white as possible, while still being ivory-ish. The last thing I'd want someone to say (besides Doesn't she look fat?) is Why is she wearing white?

I can't wait to see some of ya'lls dresses, I'm sure there are some really fantastic ones! Oh, and the title is a SATC quote that's always made me laugh.

Forget Me Not

The Forget Me Not Flower

I have an excellent memory. Not photographic, but I did memorize the entire Gettysburg Address in the 5th grade (I still know it), I could tell you what you wore on any given day, and can playback entire conversations from as long ago as nursery school. I just remember things, which can sometimes be good or bad.

Most of these things are facts or feelings, I often can't remember where I hid my keys from Spencer. But recently I've noticed a startling a trend- I've forgotten, or blocked out, large parts of who I used to be. Before Spencer (BS), I was the ultimate hopeless romantic, the girl who believed love conquered all, and there was no romantic comedy that I didn't like. During my freshman year of college, our hall ordered t-shirts that had our names and a quote about us on it- mine was "Katie 'I love love." I had a kissing wall, every year, in all of my dorm rooms- photos and magazine cut outs of various kisses. I unconditionally gave my whole heart to the love of my life.

Then one day I had a baby and all my love went to her. It no longer seemed appropriate to be that girl anymore, after all, it was my amorous ways that got me here. Deep down though, I'm still that same hopeless romantic who believes in soul mates and true love. But, it makes me sad to remember that Katie (uh oh, I'm talking in the 3rd person) and how I thought I was going to grow up, become a pro bono lawyer, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. That's still no excuse for completely excising that part of myself just because it makes me wistful.

Yesterday, I realized that it wasn't just the "I love love" me that I put on the back burner, I also did it with, to a lesser extent, the government loving patriotic me. I still talk about politics, but if you knew me BS you'd know that it was one of my favorite topics to discuss- I don't think a day went by when I didn't talk about it in some way or another. But then I had a baby and continuing law school was no longer an option- talking about politics, governments and laws only reminded me that I wasn't going to have the life I'd spent years preparing for.

I was listening to NPR on the way home from celebrating the 4th with the PGP's and they did a segment on the WASPs, no not White Anglo Saxon Protestants. The WASPS, Women Airforce Service Pilots, were female pilots during WWII who flew military aircraft for the United States Army Airforce. They were flight instructors, test flew sick planes to make sure they were suitable for flying before the men flew them, and were often used to pilot planes that were being used as target practice for the men learning how to shoot while flying. Thirty-Eight of them died and not one was allowed to have a military burial or a Gold Star- the US didn't even pay to have their bodies shipped back to their families. After the War, Congress defeated a proposed bill that would have given these women the military benefits they deserved and went so far as to seal the records of the WASPs, their contribution hidden from the world. On July 1, 2009, 65 years after their records were sealed, President Obama awarded these courageous women with the Congressional Gold Medal.

When I heard this, I burst into tears- which surprised me. But I thought about why it had elicited such an emotional response and the answer came to me- these ladies were heroes who were unjustly forgotten. They dedicated a part of their life, some gave their lives, to a cause and were then forced to ignore it, to pretend like it never happened.


And here I am, shutting out, ignoring huge parts of myself just because it makes me sad?! So what if I don't have the life I imagined? It may be different, but I LOVE it. All I've really wanted, my whole life, is to be remembered, have a legacy- change the world for the better in some small way. I still plan on achieving that goal, I'm not sure how, but I still see endless opportunities in my future. I'm not sure why I've going about these past two years as if the old me no longer exists, or isn't really relevant to the current or future me.
My baby turns two on Friday. Two. She's a little girl now and I'm having some trouble accepting that. I keep thinking about our life together and how I wouldn't trade it for anything in this world. I'm happy- there's no longer a reason for me to forget who I was. Spencer is almost at the age where she's going to remember her life- our life- and I want to be all of me for her, not just the parts I've carved out. After all, if I hadn't been me I wouldn't have had her, and that's not something I ever want to forget.

My First Blog Award!

I got my first Blog Award today from Katie over at A LITTLE CRAZY & A LOT OF LOVE! I'm so glad my first bloggy award was about being a good mom, because sometimes I need that little bit of extra encouragement and today was one of those days, so thank you so much, Katie! (not me Katie, Katie who gave me the award!)

Rules for Mom of the Year Award:

(1) Admit one thing you feel awful about involving being a mom. Get it off your shoulders. Once you've written it down, you are No Longer allowed to feel bad. It's over with, it's in the past. Remember, you're a good mom!


I feel badly about so many things when it comes to being a mother, a new one pops up every day. But I guess the one that is always with me is I feel guilty that Spencer isn't ever going to have the typical (well I guess it's atypical nowadays) nuclear family like I had. I hate knowing that her father is going to let her down and that she might think it's her fault. It's a weird type of guilt because I wouldn't do anything differently, as it would mean that I wouldn't have Spencer just as she is. But it's always in the back of my mind.

2) Remind yourself you are a good mom, list seven things you love about your kids, you love doing with your kids, or that your kids love about you. These are the things to remind yourself everyday that you Rock!

1. I love rocking Spencer to sleep every night, especially when she takes my face in her hands and gives me kisses.
2. I love that when she gets hurt (I don't love that she gets hurt) I'm the only one she wants and only my kisses make it all better.
3. I love that I've been able to stay at home with her these first few years of her life.
4. I love teaching her something new and the light she gets in her eyes when she's figured it out for herself.
5. I love that she loves animals as much as I do and I really love how she talks to them like they're humans who can understand her.
6. I love how open minded I've become since being a mother.
7. I love that she's all mine, my daughter, my little Spencer.

(3) Send this to five other Mom's Of The Year that deserve credit for being great moms and remind them that they are the best moms they can be!! Remember to send them a note to let them know you've selected them, and add a link to the person who nominated you.
Here you go ladies, I think you're all amazing moms and I love learning new things from you!

Hayley at Hayley n' Cade

Amy at The Maisy Report

Micha at Dandelion Daydreams

Patti at Emersyn Grace, Our Biggest Little Blessing

Anne at Anne with an 'e'

Off to the Doctor We Go

So after Spencer threw up again last night- this time after crying for less than 15 seconds, I decided to call the doctor today. I talked to the nurse and she thought it would be a good idea for Spencer to be seen by her doctor tomorrow.

The nurse seems to think that there might be some acid reflux component to it. That would make sense, because she had really bad reflux for her first two months of life. After Spencer would eat, I'd have to keep her sitting up for 30 minutes, or else she'd spit up her entire meal. The doctors said that was all part of her preemieness, and as she got older her esophagus would be stronger and have an easier time closing and staying shut. And they were right, around month two of her earthly life she stopped spitting up and I didn't have to stay up an extra half hour at 3am.

I would LOVE it if there's some medicine out there that could make it more difficult for Spencer to puke up all the contents of her stomach. I'm thinking that because it's so easy for her to throw up, that's why it keeps happening so frequently. So we have an appointment tomorrow morning and I'm hoping all will be restored to normal.

And Here It Is

I was trying to get a little distance from the day before really posting on it, but I'm fairly certain "distance" can't change reality. So here it is, a sugar coated Easter 2009 would read "not the best."

But in reality, it was more like a a level of hell in Dante's Inferno or comparable to Sisyphus having to push a boulder up a hill every day, only to watch it roll back down again- for all eternity. Maybe that's a tad extreme, but what can I say- distance hasn't given me perspective yet.

The day started off lovely and normal, Easter baskets, chocolate, peeps, etc. I went to give Spencer a bath before going to Worship Service, and that was when the trouble started- she did NOT want to get out of the bath. Granted, it was a shorter play time than usual, but she still played. I powdered and dried my babe and then went to get her dress out of her closet. In that 25 second window, she managed to produce the mother lode of all crapolas; leaking out the side, running down her legs- which she managed to wipe on her chest and get under her finger nails.

I tried to stay calm, I really, really did. I picked her back up and gave her another bath. There was no play time, just cleaning time. Needless to write, we did not make it church- the first time in my 27 years of life. My mom and brother also didn't go- a first for her in her 56 years of life- because they were waiting for us- she was not happy with me.

There was no way under the sun, that I wasn't going to get some lovely pictures of Spencer in her Easter dress. I spent hours looking for the right dress, only to order it and then get an email that it was sold out in her size. I then spent more hours of my life finding an equally suitable dress. Usually we take the pictures at church, but since that wasn't going to happen, I had too think of an alternative. So we decided to go to Maymont Park- which is a beautiful, huge park, with gorgeous gardens, animals, a mansion and other pretty bits of nature.

In the car, we all sang traditional Easter hymns and had a mini Easter service. When we got to the park we realized that Spencer's stroller wasn't in my mom's car. Not a huge problem on the surface, but it turned into one very shortly.

In my mind I had imagined finding a scenic spot where Spencer would frolic and play and I would take pictures. Well, you know how they say when we plan, God laughs? Trust me, he was laughing with a capital L.

We started off on our jaunt to the Japanese Gardens. The park is very hilly and winds up and down, taking you to many places in order to get to the "sites." You cross bridges over rivulets, pass the bears, the bison, the eagles- normally it's great. However, Spencer was enthralled with each new thing she encountered and it was impossible to get her to listen. This was made worse by the lack of stroller. It was tripled in awfulness by the fact that GiGi and Batt ( what she calls my mom and brother) there. When Spencer is around them, she does NOT listen to me and runs to them.

Every single time I tried to get her to do anything, she screamed and threw herself on the ground, or put her head in between her legs, or screamed like a pterodactyl. Normally I love the fact that my family can entertain her, but she would have nothing to do with me. After walking about a quarter of a mile (no joke) we realized that we had parked in the parking lot the farthest away from the Japanese Gardens. Based on Spencer's quickly deteriorating mood, we decided to go to the Italian Gardens, which were much closer- just up the hill.

Well, the hill turned out to be more of a mountain- literally and figuratively. It was pretty steep and about 1/4 of the way up, Spencer gave out. She sat on the ground and scowled at me. My bro picked her up and carried her up the hill, but this too, displeased her- she wanted to walk. So going up the hill, she'd sit, Matt would pick her up and carry her a few feet until she squirmed out his arms and she's start running again, only to sit down after a few more feet. This cycle continued all the way up the hill.

Finally, we made it to the top, and it was beautiful! Only the Italian Gardens were roped off!!!!

I realized that my idea of scenicly posed pictures were out of the question. I had been snapping pictures the whole time, but most of them were of Spencer's backside or of her scowling at me. I wanted at least one picture of her looking at the camera and smiling. Alas, this was not to be. I took 220 pictures on Easter and I don't have one where she is smiling and looking at me.

There we are at the top of the hill and we can see the entire park, it was really beautiful. The moment quickly passed when I realized that we are smack dab in the middle of the park, with no easy access way to the entrance/exit. We were well over 1/2 mile away- a half of mile of hills, valleys, and endless Spencer distractions. Each time she saw her shadow she would try and catch it- very cute, but after the first ten times... well you get it.

Playing with her shadow

It only took us about 35 minutes to make it to the roped off Italian Gardens. It took us an hour and fifteen minutes to make it back to the car. When the exit was in sight, Spencer threw a huge temper tantrum. She didn't want to walk anymore, or be carried, or anything. She sat on the ground, and began kicking her legs, pounding her fists on the ground, and screaming at the top of her lungs. As these wails echoed throughout the park, hundreds of judgmental eyes on me, it was like the echo was mocking me, saying "bad mama!"

Embarrassing.

Matt picked her up off the ground and held her at an arms distance, as to avoid getting kicked by her flailing legs. I could see the eyes of everyone around, and they were asking themselves "Why is that mother doing nothing to control her child?"

Trust me, I tried, but each time I got near her she would bury her face on Matt's shoulder or run to my mom and hold on to her legs. On the rare times when I was able to pick her up before she ran away from me, she would pull my hair and hit me until I couldn't take it any longer.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I have a torn rotator cuff. I severely dislocated my shoulder in high school, requiring months of slings and physical therapy. It's never been the same since then and it slips in and out of socket all the time. It hadn't bothered me too much since then until I had Spencer. Carrying her and holding her all the time took it's toll and now my rotator cuff is torn. There's no way to fix it except to have surgery, which is out of the question at this point in life. So this is why I can't hold Spencer when she's having a tantrum.

But I couldn't exactly say that out loud to all the staring eyes and frowns. It was a definite low point in my history of motherhood- I felt like the worst mom in the world. We finally made it back to the car, Spencer kicking and screaming the whole way out. As soon as we got in the car she fell asleep, thank goodness.

She slept for about two hours and then we went to my aunt's house for Easter dinner. Neither her behavior or her attitude towards me changed. She only wanted to play with Batt- I couldn't get one smile out of her. Thankfully, the day ended. That's the best thing I can say about Sunday- it finally became Monday.

__

As I was rocking Spencer to sleep that night, my sweet girl returned to me. She kissed my cheek and patted my face and held my hand. I can never resist Sweet Spencer, and we cuddled until she passed out. But the feelings of inadequacy still lingered, they're here now. I know all the logical answers to my fears- but it doesn't help all that much. One of the worst parts about being a single parent is that I never get to be just "the fun one." I'm the disciplinarian, the rule maker- I don't have the luxury of being "fun."

Don't get me wrong, Spencer and I do have really great, good times together. But it's not like I can ignore her bad behavior because I never see her and want our rare times together to be fun. So I'm always the only one who makes her behave, and I don't really like that so much. On the flip side though, I don't want anyone else to to punish her either, because that takes a certain amount of knowledge about the child in order to do it correctly and effectively.

It's a Catch-22 and one that I entered into willingly with open eyes, so I can't complain too much. But there are times when it gets to me and feel like I'm not doing a good job, and Easter just happened to be that day.

So this officially puts an end to Easter 2009, a day that will live on in infamy. Good- freaking-Bye!

21 Months

Today, my little baby turns 21 months old. I know everyone says that it goes by so fast, and I'm amazed at how right they are. It feels like yesterday that she was a little preemie and I was struggling to find my groove as a new mother. Those first few days in the hospital felt like an eternity of worry.



When Spencer was born, it wasn't like a light bulb went off and I felt "motherly." I went to the doctor for my regular weekly appointment at 11:30am on July 10, 2007; my mom dropped me off and I went in. When my OB/GYN used the Doppler to get her heart rate, she frowned and said she was going to go get another machine. When she did the next reading, the frown appeared and her eyebrows furrowed. That's when she told me the baby's heart rate was very fast and she was a little concerned. A few minutes later I was told to to head on over to L&D- they were expecting me. She explained it most likely wasn't anything to worry about, but to be on the on the safe side I was going to be hooked up to a fetal heart rate monitor and a bicarb IV drip.

It all seemed very surreal and I in no way thought I was having my baby that day. My mom was waiting for me in the parking lot and when I told her she said I was NOT having her today, they were doing this as a precaution- and that she had to leave to pick my brother up from volleyball. So off I went to L&D all by myself. After three hours of being on the IV, Spencer's heart rate had only come down a little, not nearly as much as they would've liked. They wheel-chaired me over to the Perinatology department where they performed a very uncomfortable internal ultrasound. VERY uncomfortable! I don't know why I wasn't panicking at that point, I think it's because everyone was acting as though this was just a weird thing and it was all precautionary- everything would go back to normal shortly. But when that wand came out the technician looked at me, shook her head and said "that baby's comin' out today, I hope you're ready!" The words didn't really sink in, and I was like "when?" But she was already on the phone calling L&D to give them the news. When she hung up she said "Now! You're having the baby now, they're booking you an OR as we speak." Everything after that was hurried- hurrying to get my family there, hurrying to get my doctor there, and hurrying to have me prepped and ready for surgery. In some ways I'm glad that it was so rushed because it didn't give me the time to have an emotional breakdown. I went back to the OR around 4:45pm and Spencer was born at 5:24pm, weighing an impressive 6 lbs 7 oz. for being 5 weeks premature.

They took her away from me immediately and my parents actually saw her before I did. In the recovery room they worked to stabilize my pain- due to some extra "trauma" done to my insides when Spencer stubbornly refused to come out of my uterus. I was purposefully not thinking of her because I was so scared something was going to wrong. I had feared all along that God was going to punish me for what I'd done by bringing some harm to my daughter. My thought was that I'd spend as long as possible in sweet denial- I was in no hurry for what I feared was going to be my fated reality.

I was so thirsty in that recovery room, and freaking HOT. I was sweating and shaking from all the medicines and one of the younger nursed took pity on me and gave me little sips of room temperature cranberry juice. If I was able to keep it down, she said she'd give me a small glass of it, but before that could happen, some other nurses took me to my regular room. When I asked for my cranberry juice, a different- and much more stern- nurse informed me that I couldn't have any liquids for another hour.

My voice started to quiver as I said "But, they other nurse said..."

"I don't care what the other nurse said," she said, cutting me off mid-whine, "you cannot have any liquids for another hour!"

"But I already had sips of warm cranberry juice and I was fine and IjustwantalittlecupofsomethingtodrinkPLEASE!" Tears had started to well up in my eye and my words slurred together, as one might expect of someone on a morphine drip.

By this time everyone in the room was looking at the two of us as if we were a powder keg and I as if I was a little nuts. But I didn't care. I was thirsty, in pain, hot, I hadn't seen my baby, and I was still terrified about her prognosis. The least this mother- freaking (not the word choice I actually said in my head) nurse could do was give me something to drink!

When she calmly, and firmly restated her former position, I burst into hysterical, uncontrollably sobbing. I tried to explain to everyone that I didn't know why I was crying, I couldn't help it! This went on for a few minutes until my doctor, the perinatologist, and few others walked in. I got that sick, pitty feeling in my stomach, knowing that the moment had arrived. It was hard to breathe.

I didn't notice the smiles on their faces, only that since they came en masse, it must be really bad! When they said she was perfect, I didn't believe them. I kept asking what's wrong with her, what weren't they telling me- I wanted to know every negative, and every possible negative, thing that could be wrong with her. My doctor said that the cartilage in her ears hadn't completely formed yet, but that in the next month they'd be completely formed. She still had a lot of lanugo, fetal hair that usually falls off in the last weeks of gestation, and her temperature was a little bit lower than they'd like, but otherwise she was a healthy, normal baby.

No sooner had she told me the wonderful news, the "mean" (she actually was very nice and soon became my favorite) nurse wheeled my Spencer baby into the room for her first feeding, and our first real meeting. I'd say this was the moment that my heart exploded with love. I'd been too afraid to fall in love with her before, too afraid that she'd be taken from me- but the moment I looked into her eyes, all those pent up feelings came flooding out.

She was mine, I had made her, and she was perfect.

The next few days were quite miserable. My baby had to spend all of her time in her little isolet to keep her warm, except for the 30 minutes they gave me every three hours, when I'd feed her with a syringe. I felt so alone. My parents tried to be there as much as possible, but they were so busy at their house trying to get it ready for us to come home- so it was just me all by myself. Her early, unexpected entry to this world meant that nothing was put together or washed. My emergency C-Section meant no stair climbing- hence a makeshift room had to be made for us. I think they might have been more tired than me trying to get everything done in time. My grandpa was also in the hospital at the time, so that meant my aunt was dividing her time between us. I eagerly anticipated each new day, hoping it would be the one when they'd finally let me take her home, when I could be with all day. It took three days after our expected release date before Spencer was able to maintain a temperature of 98 degrees for 24 hours. Then she had to pass the mandatory preemie car seat test, where they hooked her up to electrodes while she sat in her actual car seat. She had to be able to maintain a certain heart rate for 35 minutes (the amount of time it would take for us to get home) or else we weren't going anywhere. The Britax seat worked it's magic and Spencer passed the test with flying colors. Finally, one week after making her grand entrance into the world, we went home!

This was NOT the outfit I had bought for her to come in, that one was WAY too big. My mom bought this for her at a local store called Milby's, which is where both my coming home from the hospital outfit and my mom's had come from! I think that's pretty neat.

I expected to feel depressed, everyone was talking about post partum depression and how normal it was. But I didn't feel depressed, it was the first time in months that I could breathe again, (literally and figuratively!). I don't like for people to see me cry, I always try to come off as strong- like things don't matter to me, when they actually do. That all changed on July 10, 2007. I became a fountain of free-flowing, frequent tears. But I wasn't sad- it was as if my heart had been cracked open, and I was consumed with love- not just for Spencer, but for everything. Every emotion I felt was amplified by 1000. I never used to cry when I was happy, but all of a sudden I was getting teary eyed at commercials, choking up during So You Think You Can Dance, and crying when she'd smile at me; all tears of love and happiness.

I'd love to be one of those women who can honestly say that becoming a mother was the single most wonderful thing that ever happened to them. I wish I could honestly say that becoming a mother gave purpose to an un-purposed life. But I can't. It wasn't motherhood that changed me, or defined me, or gave me a reason or purpose to wake up each morning:
It was Spencer.

Spencer is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me, the most precious gift I ever received. Spencer gave purpose to my un-purposed life. Spencer is the reason I wake up each morning.





These last 21 months have been the hardest, the most emotional, the most trying, the most happy, and the most fulfilling moments of my life. It was my beautiful, precocious, strong-willed, colicy, milk intolerant daughter who made me smile again. She makes me want to make the world a better place for her. She has taught me empathy (almost too much) and compassion. Not a day goes by that I don't think about how lucky I am- even when I'm having a pity party. One of my favorite Bible verses has always been To whom much is given, much is expected - Luke 12:48.


As undeserving as I am, I was given so much. Because of that, I know owe an un-payable debt, that I have a unending job. Spencer may only expect me to feed her and change her poo right now, but I have much greater expectations of myself. And that is amazing. I love that it's my duty and obligation to give her the best life possible, to make sure her life is filled with happiness, and for me to leave this world a better place than when I entered it.

I hope the next 21 months don't go by as fast, but I hope they are just as wonderful!

Isn't she cute?!!