Becoming a mother is, hands down, the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. Until I actually experienced it for myself I was never able to grasp the depth of that love. I get it now. I totally get it now.

But this blog is not about the beautiful parts of motherhood, even though, in retrospect, every part was beautiful in its own way.  This blog is about postpartum depression. It's probably going to get pretty ugly, so if you're not up for it, I suggest you move along. When I prepare to write a blog, I always consider the purpose of what I plan to write. The purpose of this one is simply to tell my story. It's probably similar to some you've read. My prayer for this blog is that it reaches that one mother who may need to hear that she isn't alone. Whoever you are, this one is for you...

Emma's birth was a complete whirlwind. Bedrest for a month. Preeclampsia at 36 weeks. Failed Induction. Emergency C-Section. I don't know when I actually got to lay eyes on my baby and I still don't remember a lot about those days in the hospital.  When we finally got home, life really was grand. We had this baby that we had planned for and dreamed about. She was perfect in every single way. I can't remember how far in to motherhood I was when the PPD hit me, but it wasn't very far. It started gradually. The recovery from my emergency C was rough and painful. I struggled from the start with breast feeding, which is something I knew I wanted to do. We were busting out of our tiny house and preparing to house hunt. Bradley was barely a year in at his newly co-founded company. I had decided to leave my teaching position after 9 very hard-earned years.

I wouldn't describe it as a bomb dropping on me, because it wasn't that intense, but it was like land mines going off here and there. I cried for no apparent reason. I ignored phone calls. I distanced myself from my inner circle, my husband included. I pretended we lived this perfect life. I pretended.

My baby was not thriving from my breast milk, so we began supplementing with formula. Failure at my natural-given ability.  Work required Bradley to travel more often. I can't hack it alone. Emma constantly received the "under weight" trophy after every single doctor visit. Fail. Fail. Fail. I am not good enough.

It kept on like this for a few months. I told myself I was coping. Coping meant treating my husband like a stranger when he came home. Coping meant finishing that bottle of wine when I shouldn't have. Coping meant yelling and screaming at God for all of these emotions that felt so wrong.

I can't tell you when the turnaround point was. I wish I could. At a certain point I felt safe enough to share a tenth of my feelings with my 2 best friends in the world. Conveniently, those 2 best friends had birthed their children 2 weeks before and 2 weeks after Emma, respectively. Maybe because they are my best friends, or maybe because they are just mothers, they didn't shun me. As a matter of fact, they embraced me.

I am not a medical professional. I am not a mental health professional. I hold EXACTLY ZERO degrees in either field. Before PPD I was a teacher, a fiancé, a hopeful wife waiting for a perfect stint at motherhood.  After PPD I am a MOTHER, a WIFE, a DAUGHTER, a FRIEND, a CHILDREN's PASTOR. I survived.

If you are that mom that needs to hear this, then HEAR this....

-It will get better.
-Tell your doctor about how you are feeling. It isn't weird. It's normal. You've birthed a child. Your body and mind will NEVER be the same. Don't expect it to be.
-It is tempting to shut yourself off from the world. Do that if you need to. But then crawl out. Tell someone (mom, friend, pastor, ME) how you are feeling.
-Know that PPD doesn't just go away. It will always be there. After Adley was born (not that it is anyone's beeswax, but via a much smoother, planned C-section), the PPD was probably worse. I was more successful with nursing, she slept better, she was just a GOOD baby...and it still crept in.
-Bow, Bow, Bow at the feet of Jesus.

When We Pray

This will probably turn into some kind of ramble, but it’s on my heart so I’m just going for it. 

Yesterday in Sunday School we discussed the condition of our world today. We mainly focused our discussion on mass shootings  and how we respond to them inwardly and outwardly. We also pondered the questions we had about how we, as Christians, are called to respond to these things when they happen.  

We read a response from pastor and author Max Lucado who suggested inviting Jesus to join us in these surely turbulent times. He referenced  John 6 when Jesus walked on water to join His disciples in the midst of a storm and says to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.”

“This is the title of steadiness and power. When we wonder if God is coming, he answers with his name: ‘I AM!’ When we wonder if he is able, he declares, ‘I AM.’ When we see nothing but darkness, feel nothing but doubt, and wonder if God is near or aware, the welcome answer from Jesus is this: ‘I AM!’”

It didn’t really resonate with me yesterday in class. Then we sat through a wonderful sermon about listening when the Holy Spirit speaks to us.

All afternoon and this morning I’ve continued to think about my responses to the terrible things happening in our world. Even as a child of God, knowing full well His hand is mighty and present, I still feel angry. I still feel scared. And I mostly feel helpless. What can I do? How can I change things? 

If I am being honest, hearing that still, small voice is difficult for me. And then sometimes it just smacks me right in the face. The first song on the radio this morning was “When We Pray.” 

I thought about how tiny my prayers seem compared to the weight of the world and the heaviness of life waking up to bad news almost daily. I thought about how my prayers are often just out of desperation. They are often intercessory  on behalf of a hurting soul or an ailing body. But isn’t this a desperate time? Aren’t these souls and bodies in need of healing? 

My favorite lyric from that song says this: 

“All the world starts changing, when the church starts praying.”

If you’ve never witnessed the power that prayer has, I can tell you first hand that it is an incredible testament to the strength of God. There is something so powerful in being both on the giving and receiving end of laying hands on a person to have a heart saved or a body healed. 

I say all of that to say this. In a world that seems beyond help and in a time when we feel hopeless to change it, God is saying to us, “I am.” We just have to open our hearts to hear it. 

Per•fec•tion

Me - Perfect Mother = THIS

perfection: noun

per • fec • tion

1 : the quality or state of being perfect: such as

  a  :freedom from fault or defect : FLAWLESSNESS
  b  :MATURITY
  c  :the quality or state of being saintly

2  a: an exemplification of supreme excellence
    b: an unsurpassable degree of accuracy or excellence

3 : the act or process of perfecting

"Perfection is the antithesis of authenticity." ~ Willie Garson

Now that we've gotten all of that out of the way, don't bother Googling Willie Garson. He's "Stanford" from Sex and the City. I will wait while you google him anyway....

I've been pondering this idea of perfection quite a bit lately. What does the perfect mother look like? The perfect wife? The perfect Christian? I can't explain where these thoughts come from. They just have this sneaky way of creeping into my conscious thoughts every. single. day.

I wish I could say that I've come to some profound conclusion. I haven't. I doubt I ever will. But here is what I know...

The perfect wife...

Honors her husband all the time.

Takes it on the chin when she's wrong.

Is slow to anger.

The real wife...

Needs those reminders to let her know he deserves to be honored.

Argues until there isn't anything to argue about.

Is a hot head.

The perfect mother...

Has perfect children. Well-behaved. Well-mannered. 

Keeps a tidy and functional house.

Beams at the mere sight of her angelic children.

The real mother...

Has children. She picks her battles. She is not Emily Post.

Keeps her children in clean clothes. Her house is lived in.

Loves them deeply, but savors private moments to herself.

The perfect Christian...

Tells you they are the "perfect Christian."

Judges you.

Lives a life without sin.

The real Christian...

Wants to share their faith with you, but is probably anxious because you know them.

Walks alongside you, without judgement.

Sins. Falls short. Every. Single. Day.

Perfection. It's a myth. A tall tale. An urban legend. We can wish our lives away waiting to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect Christian. While we are on the quest to perfection, we might as well make everyone around us miserable because they don't meet the ideas of perfection the world has created for us.

Salvation. It's a true story. It's a big story. We can strive to be perfect without Jesus and it will never happen. We can accept Jesus and we will still never be perfect. But we will be His. Forever. And man, isn't that perfect...

Me + Bradley + All of Our Imperfections {GOD} = THIS

Dad

Disclaimer: This blog is heavy-hearted compared to my norm. Proceed accordingly.

If 16 year-old Mandy had to chose 3 words to describe her dad they would be: annoying, embarrassing and pre-occupied.

If 35 year-old Mandy had to chose 3 words to describe her dad they would be (in no particular order): selfless, genuine and hilarious (and maybe still a little embarrassing). 

I will be the first to tell you (now) that I had one amazing childhood. I didn't want for anything. I was a happy kid, adolescent and teenager.  I will also tell you, and so would my father, that I didn't have a super close relationship with him then. He was and is the hardest worker I know. He dedicated his entire life to making sure that my brother and I had everything we needed and wanted. Needless to say, he wasn't home a lot. He missed lots of concerts. He missed lots of ball games. He missed things. Growing up I really thought he just missed them. He wasn't physically there. Now I know how much he really missed them. 

If you ask my mother {or my husband} she would tell you that my dad and I were "cut from the same mold." I blame genetics for the reason that we butted heads during my teenage years. Now that I really know my dad as an adult, I realize how identical we actually are. I look a lot like my mother and I would like to think I have some of her best qualities, but I am a carbon copy of my dad. My personality is his. My attitude is his. My ability to hold a grudge is his. My temper is his. My worrisome mind is his. My burdened heart is his. 

Just a few weeks before Christmas we were bombarded with a new word that we now use in association with dad....CANCER.

It happens quickly. There are concerns. There are appointments upon appointments. Tests upon tests. There is the confirmation that it is, indeed, cancer. There is hope because "if you're going to get cancer then this is the best kind because it's treatable." More tests. More scans. More bad news. Bad news upon bad news. Statistics. Now we use words like rare and aggressive. 

Nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare your faith for this. I am here to tell you that THIS REALLY FREAKING SUCKS.  In the past 2 days I have been the angriest at God that I have ever been in my entire life. I am so mad that this has happened to my dad. This man who would give anything he has to anyone who needs it. This man who is so devoted to his family. This man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders but still offers a smile. This man who my husband calls his best friend. This man who has loved my mother for 40 years. This man who loves his grandchildren so fiercely. This man. This man who is my dad. My dad.

Here is what I know about my dad. He is strong. He is courageous. He is determined. He is not ready to go. He is a fighter. He prays. He has people praying for him.

But, here is what I know about my FATHER. He has fought this fight. He has won this war. There isn't a day ahead of us that He hasn't laid His eyes on. Whatever the outcome of this journey my dad is embarking on, I rest tonight knowing that one day we will all stand in Glory with Jesus. HEAR THIS THOUGH. It isn't easy to rest this easy. It is a battle every day not to just lay down and cry. But I cry out to Jesus. I throw my hands up to Him.


“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

Mommy Is From Mars, Daddy is From....Somewhere Else!

Disclaimer: I'm having a bit of deja vu here, because I feel like I've used this line before, but y'all...I really do love and adore my husband. He reads all of these blogs before I publish them. He is my editor-in-chief, purchaser of my cheap wine, warmer of my cold feet, my best friend and my babies daddy. I wouldn't write anything that I knew would harm him, belittle him, or anything he couldn't take (because he can dish it out just as well). With that behind us....

Do you married people ever just get in a married people funk? I'm not talking about a fight, just a funk. It's kind of like when you're a kid and you spend a lot of time with one friend, so much so that they start to get on your nerves? Marriage is a lot like that at times...or at least my marriage is.

We were in one of those funks this past weekend. We weren't fighting, but we just weren't on the same page by any definition of the phrase. This got me thinking about how different we really are. I think anyone would agree that men and women, in general, are very different creatures. This also applies, in my humble opinion, to mommies and daddies. A few examples...

• A mommy gets about 2 minutes alone in the bathroom each day. The other times she is accompanied by a 2 year-old asking inappropriate anatomy questions.  A daddy can spend a full 45 minutes alone in the bathroom on a Saturday (and a Sunday) morning doing Lord knows what. He is able to completely ignore the chaos happening mere steps from the door.

• A daddy can use words like "vented soffit" in conversation. He knows how to build a PVC frame for a photo booth. He knows what "PVC" stands for. He knows things about dirt and plants. A mommy needs a daddy to tell her that the Washington Redskins are located in Washington, D.C. and not, as it turns out, the state of Washington. 

• A mommy understands the importance of a family photo. She knows that it will be difficult, but she plans it anyway. She doesn't plan it around naps or sporting events like, for instance, the Wolfpack football schedule. A daddy doesn't understand the importance of a family photo. In fact, he would just rather never have his picture taken, ever. Unless it's a photo taken when his family is all wearing red, watching the Wolfpack play football.

• A daddy appreciates history. He appreciates it so much that he spends what little t.v. time he gets watching shows devoted to learning more about history. He loves making random comments about said history, seemingly with the desire to teach his wife about history. A mommy understands that the 30 minutes she might get of t.v. time each day should be spent watching something mindless and trashy. A mommy also doesn't know what to do with herself with those 30 minutes, so instead of watching the entire show, she {SPOILER ALERT}'s it with her trusty pal, Google.

Next to being a mother, being a wife is probably the most challenging title I've ever held. But it's also the most rewarding. I wouldn't be a mommy to Emma and Adley if I wasn't first a wife to Bradley. Sometimes I focus so much on everything that we don't get right, I miss out on the times that we get it exactly right. 

• A daddy knows that the way to a mommy's heart is by saying "absolutely" when she asks to go on a Girl's Night Out.

• A mommy knows that she doesn't need the Halloween candy, but if she brings it in the bedroom, the daddy will indulge with her, thus making her feel less guilty.

• A daddy knows when the mommy is exhausted. He tells her to skip her coffee and take a nap with the baby. Sometimes she listens.

• A mommy realizes that if the daddy didn't work so hard, she couldn't love on her little girls all day, every day. Sometimes she stops to take time to express that appreciation.

...and sometimes, just like that, the daddy reminds the mommy exactly why she married him in the first place. 💜

"Here's to love and LAUGHTER, and happily ever after."

TWO

In preparation for this post, I started reading quotes about parenthood. There are so many out there. Most of them are those feel good, children-are-the-world types of quotes. A few examples...

"While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about."

"Your children become who you are, so be who you want them to be."

and my personal favorite...

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body."

You feel good now, don't you? Told ya so. Today wasn't one of those "feel good" mommy days for me (and if I'm honest, neither was yesterday), so I looked up "funny quotes about parenthood" instead. For your reading pleasure...

"If parenthood came with a GPS, it would mostly just say: RECALCULATING."

"I used to have functioning brain cells, but I traded them in for children."

And this gem...

"Turns out, I'm the mom most likely to teach the neighborhood kids how to swear."

If you care enough to read this, then you know that we recently added a baby to our family.  While we were waiting for Adley to arrive, we got lots of (mostly unsolicited) information about how families handled having more than one child.  There is the camp that believes going from zero to one child is the hardest. Then there are those that believe going from one child to two children is the most difficult.  Lastly, there are those folks who claim that any children after #2 are a piece of cake. Lunatics. 

Emma meeting Adley at the hospital was about the most precious thing I've ever witnessed. I just knew that this was going to be amazing, having two children. We were going to rock being #girlparents. They were going to be the best of friends. Emma was going to be such a big helper while Adley is small and needs lots of attention. And better yet, Emma would be so understanding of that as well, because two year olds are totally rational. 

I feel certain that the good nurses at the hospital were passing out a lot more than just Ibuprofen. We came home and, for a few weeks, life was bliss. Bradley stayed home for several days until we were both ready for him to go back to work. Emma was at preschool in the mornings. She'd nap when she came home and then we had the afternoons to play. Bradley came home at a reasonable time and cooked dinner (thank you, Hello Fresh).  Life was good. We were navigating life as a family of four with grace and ease. 

I can't tell you the exact moment when the proverbial (and lots of times literal, because babies) s#*t hit the fan, but it hit hard. Sometime between late May-early July, we entered into a time that we thought we'd avoided. Calling this phase of child development the "Terrible Two's" is generous. Each new day brought with it a fresh form of hell that we had no idea how to deal with. Temper tantrums, meltdowns, hissy fits, whining that she's hungry but refusing to eat, the list could go on and on and on. Around this same time, we thought it best to start potty training this feral child. Oh, and "monsters" entered her world, and apparently EVERY room in our home.

Bradley likes to tell people that, most days, he comes home to find me in a standoff with a miniature version of myself. It's a battle of wills that she usually wins. My husband is exactly right. This girl is me up one side and down the other. Well played, karma. We battle every day, but I am learning to choose those battles wisely. 

Bradley told me the other day that he knows how Bill Murray's character felt in the movie Groundhog Day. Parenting is kind of like that. Wake, feed, play, thank Jesus for nap time, keep children alive, attempt to cook dinner (see survival technique in photo below and proceed to call CPS), feed, bathe, survive until bedtime, sleep. Repeat.

Old-ish people like to tell new-ish parents that time goes by so quickly; that we will miss these days when they are older. They are probably right. I know, eye roll, middle finger, etc., etc., etc. If you're like me,  the mere utterance of that word, "TWO," sets you on edge. Whether it be the age of your toddler or the number of children reeking havoc on your home, two, it seems, is a blessing and a curse. Consider these few thoughts...

TWO: the number of times a week someone will ask you if you're going to have another baby.
    Rumor has it, this thing is still MY UTERUS. I'll let you good folks know if and when it decides to change the sign to "vacancy."

TWO: the amount of hours, per night, of sleep that you will get. This is an average. Here's hoping yours is higher.

TWO: The number of week nights you will send your husband this text: "Bring wine or die."

TWO: The number of pairs of braces, cars, college educations  and ridiculous weddings you'll have to pay for.

TWO: The number of times per day that you text your mother a photo asking, "Is this normal?" Also, the number of times you search Google to reassure yourself that, yes, that thing you were about to do or feed them WILL give them cancer/brain damage/etc.

And after you've considered all of that, remember this...

TWO: The precious hours before waking and after bedtime that you get to just be "Mandy" instead of "mama."

TWO: The number of times she asks you to sing "Purple Jesus" at night while she hums along and wraps those perfect little arms around you.

TWO: The kisses you get from your husband each day. One to say "I'm cheering for you today. You've got this." And the last to say, "You did good, babe. Thank you."

TWO: The opportunities you forget to thank God for all of it. The chaos, the mess, the love, the life you have.

and...

TWO: The number of times you'd do it all over again, if given the chance, because it really does go by so fast.

My sweet mommy friends: savor it, soak it all in, and for Heaven's sake, tell someone when it's hard, because that is how we teach each other how to be better. And when it's just too much, too hard, and the days are too long, remind yourself that someday, not too far down the road, you'll have two (or one, or more) real, live human beings walking around out there in the big, wide world, thankful that you are their mama.



~Proverbs 31:30~

Sister

For my precious girl

My dearest Emma,

     You're only two, but I know that you've noticed Mommy crying a lot lately. I know this because you always take my face in your sweet little hands and say "You okay, Mommy?" Lately, I've been telling you that I am crying because I am so happy.   It's true. I am so happy, but I am a little sad too, which I think is "normal" and okay, but I want you to know why.

     In a few days, you're going to become a Big Sister. I know that you won't remember that day or anything about it. You won't remember coming to the hospital, seeing your sister for the first time or holding and kissing her.  You won't remember the absolute joy that will be radiating from me and from Daddy.  It's okay that you won't remember. We'll tell you all about it many, many times.

Up until now, it's been me and you. I tell your daddy all the time that you're my "little bestie." We do everything together. We have gotten in a groove and routine and it works perfectly for us. You go to school a few days, then we have the afternoons to play. On the days you stay home we get to do whatever we want. It's the best life, getting to be with you everyday and watch you learn and grow.  

In a few days, our routine is going to change quite a bit. It won't be like that forever, but it will be different for a while.  This is the part that makes mommy a little sad. There will be times that we can't just go do whatever we want and times that we can't spend as much time together as before.  I know that you won't remember life before your sister arrived, but I will, and I'm going to miss it a little. However, I cannot wait for the day that you, me and your sister can explore and adventure together every day.

These past two years with you have been the best time of my life. I need you to know that.  I need you to know that I know why God picked you to be my girl, and for me to be your mama.  Every time I look at you I notice how much you look like your daddy, but when I watch you play and laugh and just live life, I see so much of myself. God knew that I needed a little girl who had her daddy's go-with-the-flow attitude but just enough of her mama's stubbornness and independence to make her an individual.  That's you kiddo. And you're the most perfect thing that I've ever laid eyes on.

As our lives are changing with the arrival of your little sister, I want you to remember that you are the one who made me a mama.  You have helped me learn patience that I never thought I possessed. You have helped me learn who I am and what I was put on Earth to do. You have helped me become better...a better wife, a better daughter, just better. Most importantly, you have taught me to love deeper than I ever dreamed of.

I will never forget these two years that we've had together, just the two of us. I will cherish them for the rest of my life.  Words can't describe how excited I am to watch you become a big sister. I know that you are going to be amazing at this new job of yours. I can't wait for all the fun that we're going to have together...just the three of us, and Daddy, when we let him join in.

You will always, always be my baby girl. Nothing will ever change that. My prayer for you, as you enter this time of transition, is that you and your sister will have a bond that is unshakeable. I pray that the two of you will be the best of friends. I pray that the two of you will never forget how important the other is to you. I pray that you will both always know that out of everything that Daddy and I have done, the two of you stand far and above as the proudest and best things.

Thank you for being my girl and for letting me be your mama.

I love you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky.

~Mommy