Dear Baby,
I need you to know that I love you. I need you to know that I want you; I have always wanted you.
To me, you are not just some ideal number. You are not wishful thinking. You are more than a hope and bigger than a dream. You are abstract, but you are concrete. You are not living and breathing, yet. But I believe you are real--you exist somewhere out there in the universe. And you are mine.
I think about you often, Baby. I imagine my first knowledge of your presence and the joy that it would bring. I can nearly feel your tiny flutters inside my belly, the weight and the warmth of your body lying on my chest. I can see the smile on your Daddy's face when you enter the world, ready to prove to him that you were well worth any struggles that a bigger family may face. I can see that you are the apple of your big brothers' eyes. I can almost hear your tiny laughter and your big, hungry cry.
Baby, you are something that I have waited for all my life. When I dreamed of your brothers, I dreamed of you, too.
I want you for all your experiences. I want you for your newborn smell, your toddles, your first day of school, your first date, your teenage drama, your wedding day, and the grandchildren you will one day bless me with.
Baby, I long for it all.
I may not hold you in my arms, Baby, but I am holding you in my heart. Wherever you may be, a piece of me is there with you. One day, I hope that you will arrive with that piece, and I will feel the wholeness of knowing you are here.
Until then, Baby, I will be here. Searching, hoping, loving, wanting, and waiting.
Forever Yours,
Mama
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Monday, January 12, 2015
Unwavering
This morning, as my oldest and I waited outside for the bus, I turned to him and said "Let me get your picture, Goob. You look so big and handsome today." And he did. And he does every day. But some days it takes me off guard.
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I snapped the picture but behind his little smile I saw something deeper. "You okay, bub?", I asked. He began to tear up. He told me he didn't want to go to school. He said that school is "too long" and he just wanted to be here with me. Of course, as much as I wanted to say "Okay, lets just go back inside and snuggle", I needed to send him off to school. I gave him a big hug and looked at him face to face. "I will miss you too, sweetie. But you will have fun at school. And when you get home, I'll be here waiting." He hugged me tight as his bus rounded the corner and when it stopped and the doors opened, he turned to me with a smile and a wave. "I love you!" he yelled back, and off he went.
As I opened the door to come back inside, a small whimper met my ears. My little guy..standing with two stuffed animals wrapped in his arms and a tear in his eye. "I was missing you, mama."
He had woken up in the few minutes that I was out front with his brother and he'd felt scared and alone. I wrapped him in a hug and told him I was only putting Xander on the bus. "Mommy will never leave you alone. If I'm not inside, I'm right outside sending Goob off to school. Are you okay?"
"Now I'm okay," he answered. "I love you, mama."
Some days the gravity of how much they love me hits me and I can't explain the way it makes me feel. I know they won't be this little forever. Along the way, I'll make some mistakes. I'll upset them or let them down. New loves will develop in their lives. As they mature, their love for me and all things will mature and change.
But here--in the quiet of this still, gray morning--their love is the most indestructible, unwavering, devoted, and adoring that it will ever be.
They still say things like "I wish I could be stuck to you all day so I could just kiss you and hug you when I wanted to." and "I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much" and "I don't know how to say it but I just love you, love you, love you."
And I am so honored. I can't describe how lucky I feel to be the mother of these two amazing boys and how completely enamored I am with them.
I want them to know that the way they love me now--fully, wholeheartedly, with all their energy and commitment--that is the way I have always and will always love them.
From the moments I knew they were forming inside of my body--I was thankful for them.
The first seconds they were placed on my chest, I felt the weight of a love heavier than any I had ever known.
I spent my nights holding them close. I smelled their little heads, kissed their little faces.
I held my breath with their first steps and their first times on their bikes.
I feel pride swell within with every milestone they achieve. My heart melts every time I see their personalities blossom and with each time I experience or witness the fullness of their kind hearts and giving souls. I sneak into their room each night and watch them sleeping, in awe at the beauty that my husband and I created. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and take it all in each time they snuggle close to me or sit in my lap and nuzzle their heads into my neck.
Right now, in this day and this year and this phase of our lives, I am privileged enough to have these two boys look at me like I have hung the moon.
I don't know how long that will last. But I do know that for me, they will always be my sun--the center of it all, the light of my life.
They will always be my everything and I will always feel like the luckiest woman in the world to belong to them, and to have been loved by them in such a precious and pure way.
I snapped the picture but behind his little smile I saw something deeper. "You okay, bub?", I asked. He began to tear up. He told me he didn't want to go to school. He said that school is "too long" and he just wanted to be here with me. Of course, as much as I wanted to say "Okay, lets just go back inside and snuggle", I needed to send him off to school. I gave him a big hug and looked at him face to face. "I will miss you too, sweetie. But you will have fun at school. And when you get home, I'll be here waiting." He hugged me tight as his bus rounded the corner and when it stopped and the doors opened, he turned to me with a smile and a wave. "I love you!" he yelled back, and off he went.
As I opened the door to come back inside, a small whimper met my ears. My little guy..standing with two stuffed animals wrapped in his arms and a tear in his eye. "I was missing you, mama."
He had woken up in the few minutes that I was out front with his brother and he'd felt scared and alone. I wrapped him in a hug and told him I was only putting Xander on the bus. "Mommy will never leave you alone. If I'm not inside, I'm right outside sending Goob off to school. Are you okay?"
"Now I'm okay," he answered. "I love you, mama."
Some days the gravity of how much they love me hits me and I can't explain the way it makes me feel. I know they won't be this little forever. Along the way, I'll make some mistakes. I'll upset them or let them down. New loves will develop in their lives. As they mature, their love for me and all things will mature and change.
But here--in the quiet of this still, gray morning--their love is the most indestructible, unwavering, devoted, and adoring that it will ever be.
They still say things like "I wish I could be stuck to you all day so I could just kiss you and hug you when I wanted to." and "I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much" and "I don't know how to say it but I just love you, love you, love you."
And I am so honored. I can't describe how lucky I feel to be the mother of these two amazing boys and how completely enamored I am with them.
I want them to know that the way they love me now--fully, wholeheartedly, with all their energy and commitment--that is the way I have always and will always love them.
From the moments I knew they were forming inside of my body--I was thankful for them.
The first seconds they were placed on my chest, I felt the weight of a love heavier than any I had ever known.
I spent my nights holding them close. I smelled their little heads, kissed their little faces.
I held my breath with their first steps and their first times on their bikes.
I feel pride swell within with every milestone they achieve. My heart melts every time I see their personalities blossom and with each time I experience or witness the fullness of their kind hearts and giving souls. I sneak into their room each night and watch them sleeping, in awe at the beauty that my husband and I created. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and take it all in each time they snuggle close to me or sit in my lap and nuzzle their heads into my neck.
Right now, in this day and this year and this phase of our lives, I am privileged enough to have these two boys look at me like I have hung the moon.
I don't know how long that will last. But I do know that for me, they will always be my sun--the center of it all, the light of my life.
They will always be my everything and I will always feel like the luckiest woman in the world to belong to them, and to have been loved by them in such a precious and pure way.
Monday, January 5, 2015
And the word of the year is....
Content.
The new year is upon us. 2015--it's hard to believe. I've decided that this year, instead of making resolutions that I'm unlikely to follow through with, I'm going to give the year a theme and build on it. My theme for 2015 is to be content.
2014 was a very trying, exhausting, saddening year for me. I won't go into details but I will say I fought my own demons, faced trials in my marriage and family, and was met with some very big changes. I found myself feeling more hopeless and worthless than I had in a very long time. My anxiety and depression reached an all-time high and it seemed that trouble awaited around every corner. 2014 was just a culmination of so many years of things working their way into my life and my heart--negativity, frustration, disappointment.
I looked back on my life, namely on my adulthood, and realized that two emotions were prevalent: fear and guilt.
I have allowed these two emotions to control so much of my life and it's time that I regain control.
Despite the trials we faced this year, my little family came out of it with our heads above water and we're working to make ourselves even stronger than before.
I want this next year to be filled with love, laughter, and progress. I want this year to be filled with contentment.
Some people confuse contentment with complacency. That's not the case. You can be content with the goals you have set for yourself but achieving them still takes work. It's not always going to be a "sit back, relax, and take it all in" type of feeling. But, one thing that I know for sure--I want it to be a happy feeling.
I have so many things in my life to be happy about. So many. And yet, I've realized that I've not been experiencing all the happiness I can. I haven't allowed myself to. Some of that has been due to my anxiety and depression--which I'm working on--but some of it comes from insecurity and those two pesky emotions I talked about before: fear and guilt.
Fear of being rejected.
Fear of being abandoned.
Fear of not being worthy.
Fear of others' perceptions of me.
Guilt about not "adding up".
Guilt surrounding not being the best wife, the best mother, the best daughter, the best friend.
Guilt about wanting something for myself that others may not approve of.
Guilt about doing things differently; being myself.
I've spent many years of my life so worried about what other people think, what society says I should be doing, and what I might be messing up, that I've not allowed myself to truly enjoy the blessings I have in my life. And for that, I'm sorry. Because those of you who have been a blessing in my life deserve to be truly, fully appreciated.
How often do we let others dictate how we feel, what we do? How often do we follow through with something, knowing it will bring us no joy, simply because we feel constrained, obligated, or forced?
I'm not saying we should be totally selfish. We shouldn't ignore the needs of others. We shouldn't be so self-absorbed that we don't notice when someone could benefit from our time, our words, and our presence. But, we shouldn't be forced to tolerate negativity because we feel it's "just the way life goes."
I'm talking about allowing others opinions to influence your choice of career, how many kids you have, when you make big life decisions, who you marry, or what religion you practice. I'm talking about "going through the motions" every day because you feel you owe it to your family or your peers. I'm talking about beating yourself up with each mistake. I'm talking about setting unrealistic expectations for yourself and others and being torn apart when they aren't met. I'm talking about the constant feeling of competition--someone is always prettier, always a better mom, always smarter, always more advanced in their field, always richer. I'm talking about drudging through life doing everything you feel you have to do without stopping to think about what you want to do.
In 2015, I want to rid myself of all of that. If nothing more, I want to begin to make a more positive impact in my own life.
I just recently graduated college and you know the first thing I thought? "Well, now I have to go get a job in my field, I guess."
No true, genuine excitement. Now that it's here, and it's real, I wonder if this is even what I want to do with my life. I've always been smart. I had big dreams of double majors in psychology and poli sci. I wanted to run for Congress some day. I went straight into college, because that's what you do. But then, I got married and I had kids. And I realized life is much more than checking boxes off of some giant "must-do" list. My loved ones are my passion. Singing makes me happy. Writing fulfills me. And I honestly don't even really care for politics anymore. I realized that shortly into my college career, so I went with Psychology and then back to school for Substance Abuse Counseling. Substance abuse hits close to home for me and I love helping people so I could see this being something I enjoyed doing. But is it my passion? No. And now here I am...several years later. I've put what truly makes me happy on the back-burner to do something more tangible, something that will make me some money, a "real" career. I've got two college degrees, a whole lot of debt, and a commitment to something I'm not sure will ever make me feel fulfilled.
Why have I not tried to make anything of my writing? Fear. There it is again. Fear that I'd fail. Fear that I'd waste my time and then when I realized I couldn't make it, I'd have to scramble to find a "real career". Fear that people would look down on me. "Oh you're just a mom and an aspiring author?" I can just hear the contempt.
2015 is about being content. Content in my choices. Content in my abilities. Content in my discernment. Content in my love, in my relationships, in my own worth.
2015 is about not letting anything get in the way of my self-confidence. It's about being an awesome wife and an awesome mom and an awesome family member and friend---not based on certain accomplishments or comparisons but just because I am awesome. At least, my husband and kids and family and friends think so. And I'm going to stop trying to convince them otherwise.
2015 is not about fear, it's not about guilt, and it's not about proving something to everyone. There aren't resolutions to lose X pounds, to get a job paying X salary, to do X amount of new things. Sure, all those things would be wonderful. All those things can be goals. But if I set them, I want to be the dictator of what those mean for me. I'm freeing myself from doing things based solely on the idea of negative repercussions if I don't do them,
2015 is my year. I can feel it. I won't stand for it being anything other than mine. I have amazing people in my life, big dreams, talents, and a heart full of love. I won't squander those things anymore based on guilt and fear. I will be myself, I will own it. I will be content.
And I invite you to do the same.
Happy New Year!
The new year is upon us. 2015--it's hard to believe. I've decided that this year, instead of making resolutions that I'm unlikely to follow through with, I'm going to give the year a theme and build on it. My theme for 2015 is to be content.
2014 was a very trying, exhausting, saddening year for me. I won't go into details but I will say I fought my own demons, faced trials in my marriage and family, and was met with some very big changes. I found myself feeling more hopeless and worthless than I had in a very long time. My anxiety and depression reached an all-time high and it seemed that trouble awaited around every corner. 2014 was just a culmination of so many years of things working their way into my life and my heart--negativity, frustration, disappointment.
I looked back on my life, namely on my adulthood, and realized that two emotions were prevalent: fear and guilt.
I have allowed these two emotions to control so much of my life and it's time that I regain control.
Despite the trials we faced this year, my little family came out of it with our heads above water and we're working to make ourselves even stronger than before.
I want this next year to be filled with love, laughter, and progress. I want this year to be filled with contentment.
Some people confuse contentment with complacency. That's not the case. You can be content with the goals you have set for yourself but achieving them still takes work. It's not always going to be a "sit back, relax, and take it all in" type of feeling. But, one thing that I know for sure--I want it to be a happy feeling.
I have so many things in my life to be happy about. So many. And yet, I've realized that I've not been experiencing all the happiness I can. I haven't allowed myself to. Some of that has been due to my anxiety and depression--which I'm working on--but some of it comes from insecurity and those two pesky emotions I talked about before: fear and guilt.
Fear of being rejected.
Fear of being abandoned.
Fear of not being worthy.
Fear of others' perceptions of me.
Guilt about not "adding up".
Guilt surrounding not being the best wife, the best mother, the best daughter, the best friend.
Guilt about wanting something for myself that others may not approve of.
Guilt about doing things differently; being myself.
I've spent many years of my life so worried about what other people think, what society says I should be doing, and what I might be messing up, that I've not allowed myself to truly enjoy the blessings I have in my life. And for that, I'm sorry. Because those of you who have been a blessing in my life deserve to be truly, fully appreciated.
How often do we let others dictate how we feel, what we do? How often do we follow through with something, knowing it will bring us no joy, simply because we feel constrained, obligated, or forced?
I'm not saying we should be totally selfish. We shouldn't ignore the needs of others. We shouldn't be so self-absorbed that we don't notice when someone could benefit from our time, our words, and our presence. But, we shouldn't be forced to tolerate negativity because we feel it's "just the way life goes."
I'm talking about allowing others opinions to influence your choice of career, how many kids you have, when you make big life decisions, who you marry, or what religion you practice. I'm talking about "going through the motions" every day because you feel you owe it to your family or your peers. I'm talking about beating yourself up with each mistake. I'm talking about setting unrealistic expectations for yourself and others and being torn apart when they aren't met. I'm talking about the constant feeling of competition--someone is always prettier, always a better mom, always smarter, always more advanced in their field, always richer. I'm talking about drudging through life doing everything you feel you have to do without stopping to think about what you want to do.
In 2015, I want to rid myself of all of that. If nothing more, I want to begin to make a more positive impact in my own life.
I just recently graduated college and you know the first thing I thought? "Well, now I have to go get a job in my field, I guess."
No true, genuine excitement. Now that it's here, and it's real, I wonder if this is even what I want to do with my life. I've always been smart. I had big dreams of double majors in psychology and poli sci. I wanted to run for Congress some day. I went straight into college, because that's what you do. But then, I got married and I had kids. And I realized life is much more than checking boxes off of some giant "must-do" list. My loved ones are my passion. Singing makes me happy. Writing fulfills me. And I honestly don't even really care for politics anymore. I realized that shortly into my college career, so I went with Psychology and then back to school for Substance Abuse Counseling. Substance abuse hits close to home for me and I love helping people so I could see this being something I enjoyed doing. But is it my passion? No. And now here I am...several years later. I've put what truly makes me happy on the back-burner to do something more tangible, something that will make me some money, a "real" career. I've got two college degrees, a whole lot of debt, and a commitment to something I'm not sure will ever make me feel fulfilled.
Why have I not tried to make anything of my writing? Fear. There it is again. Fear that I'd fail. Fear that I'd waste my time and then when I realized I couldn't make it, I'd have to scramble to find a "real career". Fear that people would look down on me. "Oh you're just a mom and an aspiring author?" I can just hear the contempt.
2015 is about being content. Content in my choices. Content in my abilities. Content in my discernment. Content in my love, in my relationships, in my own worth.
2015 is about not letting anything get in the way of my self-confidence. It's about being an awesome wife and an awesome mom and an awesome family member and friend---not based on certain accomplishments or comparisons but just because I am awesome. At least, my husband and kids and family and friends think so. And I'm going to stop trying to convince them otherwise.
2015 is my year. I can feel it. I won't stand for it being anything other than mine. I have amazing people in my life, big dreams, talents, and a heart full of love. I won't squander those things anymore based on guilt and fear. I will be myself, I will own it. I will be content.
And I invite you to do the same.
Happy New Year!
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Becoming a Father: A Wife's Perspective
With our oldest having just turned 5 and Father's Day coming up tomorrow, I felt inspired to reflect on the wonderful gift that it's been to watch my husband become and grow as a father.
It's sort of a funny thing, the way life works. My husband and I began dating between our Junior and Senior years of high school. While the feelings of lust and infatuation often lead to daydreams of happily-ever-afters, I think it's fair to say that no seventeen-year-old truly and adequately imagines a life beyond drive-in dates, love notes left in lockers, and the ever-pressing dilemma of studying for the big Calculus test or snuggling with your cutie.
At 17, my husband never wanted to get married and definitely never wanted kids. Yeah, he was one of those. lol. At 17, I dreamed of us being together forever. I assumed the white veil and the bouncing baby would come at some point, though the idea of it always seemed kind of like that distant 4th cousin you have that acts on Broadway. You know it exists. It's there somewhere, way in the distance, and one day it'd be cool to cross paths.
Eventually, those ideas became more real. Our life together grew and blossomed into something I don't think either one of us could have imagined or predicted. We walked down the aisle at 19 and 20 and within two months from that day, that boy I knew with the newly acquired title of "Husband" was off to serve his country in the United States Navy.
By that point, I was a bit older. You know, 20 years old. Completely ancient. I was in a rush to start our family. I assumed my PCOS would make it a long, difficult journey and it was one I was anxious to embark on. I'm not sure my husband would have said the same. We were just beginning such an incredible endeavor with the military life, we were going to be out on our own and "living the dream". The world was our oyster and I don't think a screaming, pooping, sleep-depriving pearl was what he had in mind. But, we both knew we wanted a family. Again, eventually. But we had no idea when that day would come.
We spent 4 months apart from each other and at that point it seemed like forever. Now, 4 months seems like nothing. You grow immensely and realize your strength as a military couple. But that's another day, another blog.
On August 28th, 2008, I joined my husband in Great Lakes, IL and our "married life" truly began.
On September 7th, 2008, I got pregnant with our first son.
Because of my PCOS and some wacky cycles, I had no idea what my body was doing. I knew I felt "off" but it could have been anything. I tested, and it was negative, and so I went on thinking that my period would come any time. On my 21st birthday, I chose to test again. Big fat blue plus sign. I remember tears streaming down my face. Happy tears. It was my birthday..and the first one I spent away from home. I got phone calls from my friends, my family, my mom. I was screaming inside but I wanted my husband to be the first to know so I held it in.
6pm, he comes home. I'm waiting on the bed with the positive test. For 12 1/2 hours I'd kept the biggest secret of my life. I was ready to burst. He walks in the room "Happy birthday, baby. I'm sorry we can't do anything. I'm so upset that I can't take you out, but you know money is so tight right now. Duty was awful, as usual."
"Can we talk for a sec?"
"Maybe in a minute. I need to take a shower and unwind."
"Just a second. Listen, I know you're upset about not having any money, but I'm okay, I promise. We don't need to do anything big for my birthday. It'll be memorable regardless..."
"I doubt that."
"Hey, sometimes we think things are supposed to go one way and they go another. And sometimes the second way is a better way, after all. God only gives you the things you can handle.."
"I know, I know. I'm going to go shower and maybe I'll feel more like talking after."
"Babe.."
"Robin, seriously. We can talk in a minute. I'm just really stressed out.."
Okay, this wasn't going how I expected. But I'd waited long enough. Another 20 minutes would seem like an eternity. I blurted it out..
"We're having a baby."
And then something happened that I wasn't ready for. My husband literally jumped for joy. His entire expression changed. He ran to me, hugged me, kissed me, looked at the test with shining eyes. "We're having a baby!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Woohoo!!!"
And it was true. We were having a baby and our lives were changing. Our lives would be forever changed.
On June 3, 2009, Xander Wesley Lunsford came into this world. He put up a fight and this mama was exhausted but he was glorious. He was precious and perfect and amazing.
I remember my husbands expressions changing over the course of labor and delivery. Disbelief, confusion, fear, encouragement, excitement, pure joy. Tears of happiness filled his eyes as he looked at his baby boy. It was a beautiful moment, forever etched in my heart.
It's sort of a funny thing, the way life works. My husband and I began dating between our Junior and Senior years of high school. While the feelings of lust and infatuation often lead to daydreams of happily-ever-afters, I think it's fair to say that no seventeen-year-old truly and adequately imagines a life beyond drive-in dates, love notes left in lockers, and the ever-pressing dilemma of studying for the big Calculus test or snuggling with your cutie.
At 17, my husband never wanted to get married and definitely never wanted kids. Yeah, he was one of those. lol. At 17, I dreamed of us being together forever. I assumed the white veil and the bouncing baby would come at some point, though the idea of it always seemed kind of like that distant 4th cousin you have that acts on Broadway. You know it exists. It's there somewhere, way in the distance, and one day it'd be cool to cross paths.
Eventually, those ideas became more real. Our life together grew and blossomed into something I don't think either one of us could have imagined or predicted. We walked down the aisle at 19 and 20 and within two months from that day, that boy I knew with the newly acquired title of "Husband" was off to serve his country in the United States Navy.
By that point, I was a bit older. You know, 20 years old. Completely ancient. I was in a rush to start our family. I assumed my PCOS would make it a long, difficult journey and it was one I was anxious to embark on. I'm not sure my husband would have said the same. We were just beginning such an incredible endeavor with the military life, we were going to be out on our own and "living the dream". The world was our oyster and I don't think a screaming, pooping, sleep-depriving pearl was what he had in mind. But, we both knew we wanted a family. Again, eventually. But we had no idea when that day would come.
We spent 4 months apart from each other and at that point it seemed like forever. Now, 4 months seems like nothing. You grow immensely and realize your strength as a military couple. But that's another day, another blog.
On August 28th, 2008, I joined my husband in Great Lakes, IL and our "married life" truly began.
On September 7th, 2008, I got pregnant with our first son.
Because of my PCOS and some wacky cycles, I had no idea what my body was doing. I knew I felt "off" but it could have been anything. I tested, and it was negative, and so I went on thinking that my period would come any time. On my 21st birthday, I chose to test again. Big fat blue plus sign. I remember tears streaming down my face. Happy tears. It was my birthday..and the first one I spent away from home. I got phone calls from my friends, my family, my mom. I was screaming inside but I wanted my husband to be the first to know so I held it in.
6pm, he comes home. I'm waiting on the bed with the positive test. For 12 1/2 hours I'd kept the biggest secret of my life. I was ready to burst. He walks in the room "Happy birthday, baby. I'm sorry we can't do anything. I'm so upset that I can't take you out, but you know money is so tight right now. Duty was awful, as usual."
"Can we talk for a sec?"
"Maybe in a minute. I need to take a shower and unwind."
"Just a second. Listen, I know you're upset about not having any money, but I'm okay, I promise. We don't need to do anything big for my birthday. It'll be memorable regardless..."
"I doubt that."
"Hey, sometimes we think things are supposed to go one way and they go another. And sometimes the second way is a better way, after all. God only gives you the things you can handle.."
"I know, I know. I'm going to go shower and maybe I'll feel more like talking after."
"Babe.."
"Robin, seriously. We can talk in a minute. I'm just really stressed out.."
Okay, this wasn't going how I expected. But I'd waited long enough. Another 20 minutes would seem like an eternity. I blurted it out..
"We're having a baby."
And then something happened that I wasn't ready for. My husband literally jumped for joy. His entire expression changed. He ran to me, hugged me, kissed me, looked at the test with shining eyes. "We're having a baby!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Woohoo!!!"
And it was true. We were having a baby and our lives were changing. Our lives would be forever changed.
On June 3, 2009, Xander Wesley Lunsford came into this world. He put up a fight and this mama was exhausted but he was glorious. He was precious and perfect and amazing.
I remember my husbands expressions changing over the course of labor and delivery. Disbelief, confusion, fear, encouragement, excitement, pure joy. Tears of happiness filled his eyes as he looked at his baby boy. It was a beautiful moment, forever etched in my heart.
From that moment on, life was an entirely different creature than it had been before. Our time was not our own. There was someone else, far more important than we two, to think about. Every decision was made in the interest of that boy.
I remember the great things: my husband enjoying dressing our baby in the silliest of outfits, the times when Xander would giggle and then Robert would giggle and then I would giggle and we'd all be in a full-on laughing fit before we knew it, the moments when Robert would come up behind me while I was nursing or rocking the baby and just stare at us in amazement.
I remember the bad times: my husband pacing the floor while bouncing a screaming baby.."I don't know how to help him", he'd say in desperation. I remember the sleepless nights. The exhaustion and stress induced arguments between us. The fear that we were doing everything "right" but somehow we were messing it all up.
Over time, I watched my husband totally get the hang of the "dad thing". I hated seeing the heartache in his eyes every time he had to leave us. He missed first words, first steps, and birthdays. But he would always jump right in the second he got home.
We loved being parents so much that we thought, hey, let's do this thing again! When Xander was about 15 months we started trying for baby #2. We were excited to find out I was pregnant just a couple months later, but we felt the truest form of heartbreak when we lost that baby. It's a phone call I'll never forget. My husband had gone underway that morning. He called to check on me, as he knew I'd been feeling bad and experiencing some concerning symptoms. I heard his voice crack on the phone when I uttered those words. It was so difficult and I knew that more than anything, he longed to be home with me and Xander in that moment.
After that underway, we decided to try again right away. We had a limited amount of time before he would be leaving again, for his second official deployment. My doc gave the go ahead, and a mere 3 weeks after we experienced our loss, we were pregnant again.
On New Years Eve, 2010, I excused myself into a hotel bathroom for just a minute. It was too soon to test. It was too late in the day to test. But I just felt I needed to. "I just want to make sure I'm not before I have a drink tonight.", I told Robert. A dear friend of ours, Jenifer, was there with us while we awaited the arrival of some of our other friends. I walked out of the bathroom and they both looked at me. "Still waiting. Gotta wait 3 minutes."
So we did. We talked about how excited we were for all of us to be back together and spending the holiday together, save Jenifer's husband, Ryan, who was deployed at the time. "I wish Rybo was here", I said. She and Robert kept talking and I walked back into the bathroom to check the test, expecting to immediately toss it in the trash and go on about our night.
"Oh my gosh." I said. Kind of quiet but audible. They both turned to me, silent..waiting. "It's a yes! It's a yes! It says pregnant right on it!!" I yelled. We all jumped up and down together. And we totally took a mirror selfie of ourselves with a positive pregnancy test and confetti blowers.
On September 8, 2011, just under two months after my husband returned from deployment, Archer Reichen Lunsford was born. That morning my husband was taking the advancement exam at work and--he wasn't allowed to miss it. I was scheduled to be induced at 7. He breezed through the exam and got to the hospital at 9. I hadn't even been seen yet. "Sorry about you having to rush.", I said. "Of course I rushed. I wasn't going to miss our son being born because of some Navy bs." He wasn't even close to missing it. Archie came at 6:02pm. But my hubby was there through it all. He failed the exam, though. I think he'd say it was worth it.
We spent the next year and then some in familial bliss. We were all together. Of course, we had our bumps in the road, but things were really good. My husband was so happy with his two little boys. I loved seeing them grow into funny, active, charismatic little people. Mini versions of their Daddy. I could see how much he loved being with them. We'd spend afternoons at the park, watching our big run and climb and our little, early bloomer, trying to keep up. We'd have dance parties in the living room. Robert bought a bike trailer and took the boys on rides around the neighborhood. I think he loved that as much as they did.
In February of 2013, my husband left for deployment #3. It was by far the most difficult of deployments we'd seen. He was leaving an extra loved one behind this time. He had been home for over a year, aside from a few underways, and we'd gotten into a routine of being a family of four. Now we were being torn apart again, for the longest time we'd had to be--hopefully for the last time, but that was no comfort.
After 9 long months, my husband returned. Our boys had grown up so much. A lot changes in 9 months when you're a child. My husband had already missed nearly half of Xander's life. And that 9 months alone was a 3rd of Archer's days spent on the Earth up to that point.
Now, looking back, it seems like such a short period of time. It drug on, but the time passes so fast when you're looking back on how your babies have grown. I couldn't imagine being in my husband's shoes--having to sail away for huge chunks of their lives. Having to see milestones through emails and pictures. Having to ask yourself "What is my son like these days?".
But my husband did it with strength. He did it with grace, with commitment, with dedication. I thank him for that, and I know someday our sons will too.
Tomorrow will be my husbands 6th Father's Day. It will be only the 2nd one that he's been able to spend with his kids. I know it's just another day of the year and I hope he feels loved and appreciated every other day, as well. But tomorrow is a special day. It's a day for my sons and I to look at him and say "Thank you for being an amazing father."
So, Babe, thank you. Thank you for finding so much joy in teaching our sons new things. Thank you for getting down on the floor and playing Hot Wheels and building Lego dragons. Thank you for spending hours watching Disney movies and for having coloring contests. Thank you for being here, even when you've had to be away. Thank you for taking training wheels off of bikes and then putting them back on again. Thank you for filling pools, for setting up tents, for spending countless Christmas Eve's piecing together the most complicated of play sets. Thank you for apologizing when you lose your patience. Thank you for being my savior on some of the longest, most challenging days of my life as a mother. Thank you for loving, for caring, and for spending time. Thank you for growing..for becoming not only a man and a husband, but a daddy. A million times, thank you. We love you.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Up in the air..
I stumbled upon an article today {here} that seemed to have been written by me. Aside from the whole Puerto Rican bit, and the mentioning divorce, I could have written that myself.
Everything else was spot on.
If you know me, you know I want another child. If you've known me for a long time, you've known that fact about me for a long time and you've known that it has not faltered over the years. Ever since I was old enough to name and play with my baby dolls, I wanted at least 3 children. In my fantasy, they were a set of boy and girl twins and one other boy..maybe even another girl, too. But of course, your fantasies rarely come true and you often find that your reality is even better.
I've got two amazing, wonderful, handsome, intelligent, healthy boys. And I thank God for them. And I cherish them. And I realize how much of a blessing they are. I try with all my might not to take them for granted. I want them to know they are precious to me, they are irreplaceable to me, they complete me.
But, I still want another. I'm often caught off guard by how many people believe that my wanting another equates my not appreciating the ones I have. I do appreciate them. I appreciate everything about them--that is one reason I so long to have more.
If I would have had children and realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be--maybe I saw that my lifelong dream was silly and it left me feeling regretful--I wouldn't have wanted to continue building a family. But it was quite the opposite. Although I realized raising children was much harder than I could have ever expected and much more demanding than I could have ever prepared for, I also realized it was much more rewarding and sweet than I could have ever dreamed.
My boys are the most important things in my life. I have other loves and I enjoy other things. I never want to say that my life has no meaning outside of my children, because that indicates that without children life can have no meaning. And that is not true. But what is true is that when these tiny humans invade your world, they become the most meaningful thing in it.
And I want more of that.
I love my children with my entire heart, and if I never had another, I would continue to believe I've been blessed beyond measure. But there is a part inside of me that longs for, aches for, another baby.
Each time my oldest enters into a new phase of life (he'll be starting Kindergarten this fall..say it isn't so!), I feel a bitter-sweetness that is indescribable. Here he is, growing before me, and try as I might I cannot slow time down. He's reached the age where the moments of his life that were spent toddling and learning basic human functions are outnumbered by the times that were spent running, climbing, and carrying on intelligent conversations. His baby days are long gone.
And then, you have the times when my youngest meets certain milestones. And in addition to a feeling of bitter-sweetness, I feel a sense of shear panic rise inside of me. "Is this it?" I ask myself.
Not too long ago, we moved our littlest man into bunk beds with his brother. The crib was taken down and stored in the garage, until I could bring myself to sell it (which btw, hasn't happened yet). Shortly thereafter, I was going through the boys' closet and moving summer clothes into their dresser when my mom stopped me and said "And what about this drawer full of crib sheets? You don't have any use for them anymore."
Tears. Tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about the fact that those old, worn-out, sometimes discolored crib sheets were no longer needed.
At this age with Xander, we already knew we were expecting another baby. I kept every article of clothing, every sheet, every blanket, every bottle.
Now, there's a very good chance that those things will not be used again in this household. And it tears me completely apart.
I've been trying to convince my husband to have another child since Archer was born. "Just one more..down the road.." I'd say. But he's held firm to his decision to be finished at two. And there seems to be no budging in sight.
This last summer, knowing we had a big move ahead of us, I finally gave in and sold the baby items we'd been storing in the garage. It was a little bit freeing to say goodbye to that swing--the one bought for us by dear friends, used for both of the boys. The one that they both spent acid-refluxy nights sleeping in. The one that cast stars on our bedroom wall at 3am. The one that eventually needed to be pushed to get it to start up, after years of use. It was freeing simply because it was a placeholder for another baby that may or may never come. And every time I looked at it, I wondered.
We let go of the bouncer, the high chair, and about 10 totes of baby clothes. I stuffed all my just can't part with stuff into one tote and that tote made the trip with us. It's now sitting in the garage, calling me to go look through it with tears in my eyes but I just can't.
The problem with freeing myself from those place holders is that I have two little reminders of my adoration for motherhood right here with me, every day. Like I said, every new milestone that is met, every cute little "I love Mommy" shirt that is grown out of, these things beg the question for me: is this it?
Contrary to what this blog may make you think, I don't really want another baby right now. I just want one someday. Maybe in a year or two, or even three. I just want the promise that we'll try again. I just want the comfort that these toddler days are not my last.
As my boys grow, they will do amazing things. And I vow to enjoy every single stage of their lives. I know that even when they are 14 and 16, my heart is going to ache a little bit that next year, I'll never have a 14 year old again. Even if I have four more kids, I know that those days will come.
I am just not ready for them yet.
I am not ready to give up or give in. I am not ready to throw in the towel. I am not ready to say "this is it."
My husband is by no means a bad guy. He wants the best for this family and he has his own vision of what that is. He is an amazing father. He loves our boys, he plays with them on their level, he dreams of their bright futures. And I respect him, as much as I want his mind to change. I realize that he has his reasons for being done, and I realize that as much as I want him to "come over to my side", he is wishing the same of me.
It breaks my heart that we're in this limbo. Of course, I want us to be on the same page. But I'm not ready to concede and neither is he. So we continue to go back and forth, we continue to talk, we continue to wait for the other.
No one knows when the wait will end. People say when you're done you "just know". Our problem is that he knows and I don't. And like the woman stated in the article above, it is a bad situation because there has to be a "yes" or "no" answer. Someone is the winner and someone is the loser. And who that is is yet to be determined.
The thought of having another child overwhelms him. It makes him anxious. It worries him. It causes him strife.
The thought of not having another evokes the same things within me.
I cannot stand the thought of me having had my last trip to labor and delivery 2.5 years ago. I cannot stand the thought of the newborn smell having drifted away from my nostrils, never to return again. I cannot stand the thought of not having the ability to nourish another life with my own body ever again. I want another baby, but I also want another child. I want the toddles again. I want the first day of school again. I want more field trips, more first dates, more weddings, more grandkids. I want it all.
When do I decide that these wants are irrelevant? When do I decide to let them go, to give them up, and to move on?
I don't know. All I know is that it isn't now. I'm not ready yet. It remains up in the air.
Everything else was spot on.
If you know me, you know I want another child. If you've known me for a long time, you've known that fact about me for a long time and you've known that it has not faltered over the years. Ever since I was old enough to name and play with my baby dolls, I wanted at least 3 children. In my fantasy, they were a set of boy and girl twins and one other boy..maybe even another girl, too. But of course, your fantasies rarely come true and you often find that your reality is even better.
I've got two amazing, wonderful, handsome, intelligent, healthy boys. And I thank God for them. And I cherish them. And I realize how much of a blessing they are. I try with all my might not to take them for granted. I want them to know they are precious to me, they are irreplaceable to me, they complete me.
But, I still want another. I'm often caught off guard by how many people believe that my wanting another equates my not appreciating the ones I have. I do appreciate them. I appreciate everything about them--that is one reason I so long to have more.
If I would have had children and realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be--maybe I saw that my lifelong dream was silly and it left me feeling regretful--I wouldn't have wanted to continue building a family. But it was quite the opposite. Although I realized raising children was much harder than I could have ever expected and much more demanding than I could have ever prepared for, I also realized it was much more rewarding and sweet than I could have ever dreamed.
My boys are the most important things in my life. I have other loves and I enjoy other things. I never want to say that my life has no meaning outside of my children, because that indicates that without children life can have no meaning. And that is not true. But what is true is that when these tiny humans invade your world, they become the most meaningful thing in it.
And I want more of that.
I love my children with my entire heart, and if I never had another, I would continue to believe I've been blessed beyond measure. But there is a part inside of me that longs for, aches for, another baby.
Each time my oldest enters into a new phase of life (he'll be starting Kindergarten this fall..say it isn't so!), I feel a bitter-sweetness that is indescribable. Here he is, growing before me, and try as I might I cannot slow time down. He's reached the age where the moments of his life that were spent toddling and learning basic human functions are outnumbered by the times that were spent running, climbing, and carrying on intelligent conversations. His baby days are long gone.
And then, you have the times when my youngest meets certain milestones. And in addition to a feeling of bitter-sweetness, I feel a sense of shear panic rise inside of me. "Is this it?" I ask myself.
Not too long ago, we moved our littlest man into bunk beds with his brother. The crib was taken down and stored in the garage, until I could bring myself to sell it (which btw, hasn't happened yet). Shortly thereafter, I was going through the boys' closet and moving summer clothes into their dresser when my mom stopped me and said "And what about this drawer full of crib sheets? You don't have any use for them anymore."
Tears. Tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about the fact that those old, worn-out, sometimes discolored crib sheets were no longer needed.
At this age with Xander, we already knew we were expecting another baby. I kept every article of clothing, every sheet, every blanket, every bottle.
Now, there's a very good chance that those things will not be used again in this household. And it tears me completely apart.
I've been trying to convince my husband to have another child since Archer was born. "Just one more..down the road.." I'd say. But he's held firm to his decision to be finished at two. And there seems to be no budging in sight.
This last summer, knowing we had a big move ahead of us, I finally gave in and sold the baby items we'd been storing in the garage. It was a little bit freeing to say goodbye to that swing--the one bought for us by dear friends, used for both of the boys. The one that they both spent acid-refluxy nights sleeping in. The one that cast stars on our bedroom wall at 3am. The one that eventually needed to be pushed to get it to start up, after years of use. It was freeing simply because it was a placeholder for another baby that may or may never come. And every time I looked at it, I wondered.
We let go of the bouncer, the high chair, and about 10 totes of baby clothes. I stuffed all my just can't part with stuff into one tote and that tote made the trip with us. It's now sitting in the garage, calling me to go look through it with tears in my eyes but I just can't.
The problem with freeing myself from those place holders is that I have two little reminders of my adoration for motherhood right here with me, every day. Like I said, every new milestone that is met, every cute little "I love Mommy" shirt that is grown out of, these things beg the question for me: is this it?
Contrary to what this blog may make you think, I don't really want another baby right now. I just want one someday. Maybe in a year or two, or even three. I just want the promise that we'll try again. I just want the comfort that these toddler days are not my last.
As my boys grow, they will do amazing things. And I vow to enjoy every single stage of their lives. I know that even when they are 14 and 16, my heart is going to ache a little bit that next year, I'll never have a 14 year old again. Even if I have four more kids, I know that those days will come.
I am just not ready for them yet.
I am not ready to give up or give in. I am not ready to throw in the towel. I am not ready to say "this is it."
My husband is by no means a bad guy. He wants the best for this family and he has his own vision of what that is. He is an amazing father. He loves our boys, he plays with them on their level, he dreams of their bright futures. And I respect him, as much as I want his mind to change. I realize that he has his reasons for being done, and I realize that as much as I want him to "come over to my side", he is wishing the same of me.
It breaks my heart that we're in this limbo. Of course, I want us to be on the same page. But I'm not ready to concede and neither is he. So we continue to go back and forth, we continue to talk, we continue to wait for the other.
No one knows when the wait will end. People say when you're done you "just know". Our problem is that he knows and I don't. And like the woman stated in the article above, it is a bad situation because there has to be a "yes" or "no" answer. Someone is the winner and someone is the loser. And who that is is yet to be determined.
The thought of having another child overwhelms him. It makes him anxious. It worries him. It causes him strife.
The thought of not having another evokes the same things within me.
I cannot stand the thought of me having had my last trip to labor and delivery 2.5 years ago. I cannot stand the thought of the newborn smell having drifted away from my nostrils, never to return again. I cannot stand the thought of not having the ability to nourish another life with my own body ever again. I want another baby, but I also want another child. I want the toddles again. I want the first day of school again. I want more field trips, more first dates, more weddings, more grandkids. I want it all.
When do I decide that these wants are irrelevant? When do I decide to let them go, to give them up, and to move on?
I don't know. All I know is that it isn't now. I'm not ready yet. It remains up in the air.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
I miss you.
This morning I heard a radio segment about a girl who called in saying how she felt overwhelmed and upset. She had moved away from home, and when she moved back she felt like all her friends had moved on and she didn't have the connections with them that she longed for. The radio hosts were quite mean, and basically told her to grow up. "You should be so busy going to college and taking care of your own business that you don't even have time for those friendships, anyway.", they told her. "You're sadly mistaken if you think that the friends you have at 20 will be the same friends you have at 30, so it doesn't matter anyway."
I thought to myself, maybe I'm just odd. Maybe I'm the exception. I had a discussion in one of my social networking groups recently that brought this to my attention, as well. The question was "Is your husband your best friend?" Most people answered yes. Now, I love my husband a great deal, obviously. And we have a great time together. But my husband holds a different position than friend. Husbands and wives have a different relationship than friends have, in my opinion. And while I can do the things with him I do with my friends, I still need my friends in my life. They fulfill a part of me that others don't. Just as my family fulfills a part, my husband fulfills a part, my sons fulfill a part, etc.
I realized in talking to most of the people who said that yes, their husband was their best friend and that honestly, they talk to other friends but they don't feel they need them, that I was the odd-ball. I'm 26 years old and my closest friends are ones that I've had since I was very young. One of which, I've had since I was 5 years old. And most of the others came along during middle school. I feel like I do need them. Of course, I've met other friends in adulthood and some of them have become very dear to me, as well, especially my brothers and sisters in Christ who have shown me such true love and important lessons. And I do need these people. I need them because they remind me of who I really am.
I love being a mother. I love being a wife. But those titles come with expectations. There is much pressure to do and to achieve. The relationships rely on certain expectations being met. I can't say to my kids "I need to just do me for a minute." That's not possible, not acceptable. If I have a rough day, it's hard to tell my husband "I just really wanted to sit here and just veg out today.." because that means that the functioning of our household got put on hold--things weren't cleaned, dinner wasn't planned, more work was made for him.
I have a certain expectation to remain strong in my household. I have an important position and everyone relies on me in some way. I understand how much of a blessing that is, but it also comes with a price. I love to serve my kids and my husband, but I can often get caught up in that and forget about the things that are just "Robin things".
I rely on my friendships to remind me.
If I want to turn on Erykah Badu and dance around for hours, my friends get that. They'll do that. They won't ask questions or be waiting for something else to happen.
If I want to watch Ax Men for 2 hours..not because it's a good show..but because it's just so easy to laugh at..my friends are fine with that. We do that. And they don't get upset that we talk the whole way through it. That's part of the fun.
If I want to drive around, and yell at people that are out in their yards..even if all I yell is the exact thing they are already doing (Yeah, you mow that grass! Walk that dog!), and it brings me an illogical amount of joy lol, my friends do that. They yell things like "Geneva Convention!" and "You're fake bald!" and we laugh at the looks we get until our sides hurt.
No one expects anything from me but to just simply be me. I don't have to look a certain way, I don't have to be making plans or fixing things or explaining myself.
I'm just Robin. And Robin is all that's needed in that moment. It's refreshing.
I often think about how I miss the days before my life became such a blur. I'm not at all saying I take these things for granted--my husband, his military career, our children..they are all blessings to me and I couldn't imagine my life without them. But that doesn't mean I don't miss the way things once were..when I actually saw my friends more than once a year. Or when I made it to my family functions and celebrated everyone's birthdays. When I had the time to do the things that brought me pleasure--like singing, and writing, and scrapbooking, and watching late night talkshows.
I try to make time for those things in my life now, but it's next to impossible. I want to write, but I don't have the time. Between the boys and school work and house work, it's just not there. Pumping out a quick blog like this is about all I can count on. I don't have the time or the focus to organize my thoughts for much of anything else. I want to sing, and I make time for it when I'm cleaning around the house..but there are always distractions. There is always a chaotic backdrop to my voice. There is no silent intimacy in which I can communicate my deepest fears, deepest passions..in which I can connect my heart strings with God's. I want to laugh with my family and friends, to goof-off, to let my guard down and just "be". But they are all hundreds of miles away..living their own lives..being everything for everyone around them, just as I am doing here.
Maybe I do need to grow up. Maybe this attachment of myself to other people is unhealthy or unnatural. I expect them to hold onto a piece of me that I often leave behind, so that when we are together, they can give that piece back to me, little by little. And perhaps, I'm asking too much.
But, that's just the way I am. I thought maybe I'd get used to the way things are now. I thought maybe I'd "grow up" and "move on" and I'd find that I didn't need those pieces to be held onto or replaced anymore because I'd discover how to nourish them and protect them alone. But that hasn't happened yet and I don't foresee it happening any time soon.
Here in this life I'm living--full of love, full of happiness, full of blessings and rewards, full of laughs with my husband, kisses from my children, pride in my educational accomplishments, experiences that I never thought I'd get the chance to experience...
There is still a heavy emptiness that hangs around me. There is still an image of my closest friends, and a piece of my true self with them, somewhere off in the distance. I reach out and I try to grab a hold, and even if only my fingertips rest there, I will not let go.
I miss you, friends. I miss the well-rounded feeling that you provide me. I miss the belly-laughs, I miss the shoulders to cry on, I miss the complete acceptance that I feel around you. I miss myself..the carefree person that you allow me to be.
I thought to myself, maybe I'm just odd. Maybe I'm the exception. I had a discussion in one of my social networking groups recently that brought this to my attention, as well. The question was "Is your husband your best friend?" Most people answered yes. Now, I love my husband a great deal, obviously. And we have a great time together. But my husband holds a different position than friend. Husbands and wives have a different relationship than friends have, in my opinion. And while I can do the things with him I do with my friends, I still need my friends in my life. They fulfill a part of me that others don't. Just as my family fulfills a part, my husband fulfills a part, my sons fulfill a part, etc.
I realized in talking to most of the people who said that yes, their husband was their best friend and that honestly, they talk to other friends but they don't feel they need them, that I was the odd-ball. I'm 26 years old and my closest friends are ones that I've had since I was very young. One of which, I've had since I was 5 years old. And most of the others came along during middle school. I feel like I do need them. Of course, I've met other friends in adulthood and some of them have become very dear to me, as well, especially my brothers and sisters in Christ who have shown me such true love and important lessons. And I do need these people. I need them because they remind me of who I really am.
I love being a mother. I love being a wife. But those titles come with expectations. There is much pressure to do and to achieve. The relationships rely on certain expectations being met. I can't say to my kids "I need to just do me for a minute." That's not possible, not acceptable. If I have a rough day, it's hard to tell my husband "I just really wanted to sit here and just veg out today.." because that means that the functioning of our household got put on hold--things weren't cleaned, dinner wasn't planned, more work was made for him.
I have a certain expectation to remain strong in my household. I have an important position and everyone relies on me in some way. I understand how much of a blessing that is, but it also comes with a price. I love to serve my kids and my husband, but I can often get caught up in that and forget about the things that are just "Robin things".
I rely on my friendships to remind me.
If I want to turn on Erykah Badu and dance around for hours, my friends get that. They'll do that. They won't ask questions or be waiting for something else to happen.
If I want to watch Ax Men for 2 hours..not because it's a good show..but because it's just so easy to laugh at..my friends are fine with that. We do that. And they don't get upset that we talk the whole way through it. That's part of the fun.
If I want to drive around, and yell at people that are out in their yards..even if all I yell is the exact thing they are already doing (Yeah, you mow that grass! Walk that dog!), and it brings me an illogical amount of joy lol, my friends do that. They yell things like "Geneva Convention!" and "You're fake bald!" and we laugh at the looks we get until our sides hurt.
No one expects anything from me but to just simply be me. I don't have to look a certain way, I don't have to be making plans or fixing things or explaining myself.
I'm just Robin. And Robin is all that's needed in that moment. It's refreshing.
I often think about how I miss the days before my life became such a blur. I'm not at all saying I take these things for granted--my husband, his military career, our children..they are all blessings to me and I couldn't imagine my life without them. But that doesn't mean I don't miss the way things once were..when I actually saw my friends more than once a year. Or when I made it to my family functions and celebrated everyone's birthdays. When I had the time to do the things that brought me pleasure--like singing, and writing, and scrapbooking, and watching late night talkshows.
I try to make time for those things in my life now, but it's next to impossible. I want to write, but I don't have the time. Between the boys and school work and house work, it's just not there. Pumping out a quick blog like this is about all I can count on. I don't have the time or the focus to organize my thoughts for much of anything else. I want to sing, and I make time for it when I'm cleaning around the house..but there are always distractions. There is always a chaotic backdrop to my voice. There is no silent intimacy in which I can communicate my deepest fears, deepest passions..in which I can connect my heart strings with God's. I want to laugh with my family and friends, to goof-off, to let my guard down and just "be". But they are all hundreds of miles away..living their own lives..being everything for everyone around them, just as I am doing here.
Maybe I do need to grow up. Maybe this attachment of myself to other people is unhealthy or unnatural. I expect them to hold onto a piece of me that I often leave behind, so that when we are together, they can give that piece back to me, little by little. And perhaps, I'm asking too much.
But, that's just the way I am. I thought maybe I'd get used to the way things are now. I thought maybe I'd "grow up" and "move on" and I'd find that I didn't need those pieces to be held onto or replaced anymore because I'd discover how to nourish them and protect them alone. But that hasn't happened yet and I don't foresee it happening any time soon.
Here in this life I'm living--full of love, full of happiness, full of blessings and rewards, full of laughs with my husband, kisses from my children, pride in my educational accomplishments, experiences that I never thought I'd get the chance to experience...
There is still a heavy emptiness that hangs around me. There is still an image of my closest friends, and a piece of my true self with them, somewhere off in the distance. I reach out and I try to grab a hold, and even if only my fingertips rest there, I will not let go.
I miss you, friends. I miss the well-rounded feeling that you provide me. I miss the belly-laughs, I miss the shoulders to cry on, I miss the complete acceptance that I feel around you. I miss myself..the carefree person that you allow me to be.
Monday, February 10, 2014
I am not disgusting.
Before hopping in the shower this afternoon, I looked in the mirror and my first thought, surprisingly, was "I am not disgusting."
There are many things I've been called in my life regarding my weight: pathetic, lazy, gross, repulsive...but the D word, disgusting, is the one that tends to stick in my brain the most.
It's the one I conjure up when I'm slipping on my swim suit to head to the beach. It's the one I repeat to myself when I am meeting new people, when I'm shopping for new clothes, and pretty much every single time I eat anything.
And it's the word I usually use to describe myself, in my own mind, when I look at my body in the mirror. But today I said to myself it's not true.
I decided to look at my body for what it truly is, beyond what may be seen with the naked eye. I looked at the parts that I usually look at with disdain and I thought about what they represented for me, as an individual..as a living, breathing human being.
My "huge hips"...they may be wide, but they aided me in delivering two healthy baby boys. They are perfect for slinging a toddler on or pulling my 4 year old's head into when he's scared or sad.
My breasts may not be as perky as they once were but they have provided nutrition for two sweet, tender lives.
My stomach is covered in stretch marks but those are my constant reminders of housing my sons, of my body making room for theirs.
My body holds a brain..a very intelligent one that has helped me through countless years of education and will lead me to obtaining my second college degree this year.
It's a creative brain..one that enjoys expressing itself through writing, one that loves to learn, one that remembers all the sweet details of my childhood, my friend's birthdays, my loved ones' most precious moments.
My body houses a voice that led me to discover my very first true love and passion--music, particularly singing.
My body houses a heart that in the literal sense keeps me alive every day to enjoy my life's many blessings. In the figurative sense, it loves deeply, it cares strongly, and it embraces thoroughly.
My body is much more than can be slipped into a size 18 jeans. My body is mine and it is not disgusting. It is quite the opposite.
My body also struggles to overcome the effects of a disease, PCOS. This disease makes gaining weight very easy and losing weight extremely hard, due to insulin resistance and hormonal imbalances.
But I am not trying to make excuses for being overweight or to even say that I couldn't stand to lose some weight for my health. I could. And I should. And I will.
It may take a lot of effort; I know it does because I've done it before. I also know that in order to make the changes I need to make, I have to believe that I am worth the hard work. I have to believe that this struggle is worthwhile and that I have the power and the strength to succeed.
That comes with believing that I am valuable.
To put it simply...
I am overweight, but I am not disgusting.
No matter my size, I have something to offer and I am beautiful both inwardly and outwardly.
From this day forward, I refuse to allow myself or anyone else to shame me into believing I am the D word.
There are many things I've been called in my life regarding my weight: pathetic, lazy, gross, repulsive...but the D word, disgusting, is the one that tends to stick in my brain the most.
It's the one I conjure up when I'm slipping on my swim suit to head to the beach. It's the one I repeat to myself when I am meeting new people, when I'm shopping for new clothes, and pretty much every single time I eat anything.
And it's the word I usually use to describe myself, in my own mind, when I look at my body in the mirror. But today I said to myself it's not true.
I decided to look at my body for what it truly is, beyond what may be seen with the naked eye. I looked at the parts that I usually look at with disdain and I thought about what they represented for me, as an individual..as a living, breathing human being.
My "huge hips"...they may be wide, but they aided me in delivering two healthy baby boys. They are perfect for slinging a toddler on or pulling my 4 year old's head into when he's scared or sad.
My breasts may not be as perky as they once were but they have provided nutrition for two sweet, tender lives.
My stomach is covered in stretch marks but those are my constant reminders of housing my sons, of my body making room for theirs.
My body holds a brain..a very intelligent one that has helped me through countless years of education and will lead me to obtaining my second college degree this year.
It's a creative brain..one that enjoys expressing itself through writing, one that loves to learn, one that remembers all the sweet details of my childhood, my friend's birthdays, my loved ones' most precious moments.
My body houses a voice that led me to discover my very first true love and passion--music, particularly singing.
My body houses a heart that in the literal sense keeps me alive every day to enjoy my life's many blessings. In the figurative sense, it loves deeply, it cares strongly, and it embraces thoroughly.
My body is much more than can be slipped into a size 18 jeans. My body is mine and it is not disgusting. It is quite the opposite.
My body also struggles to overcome the effects of a disease, PCOS. This disease makes gaining weight very easy and losing weight extremely hard, due to insulin resistance and hormonal imbalances.
But I am not trying to make excuses for being overweight or to even say that I couldn't stand to lose some weight for my health. I could. And I should. And I will.
It may take a lot of effort; I know it does because I've done it before. I also know that in order to make the changes I need to make, I have to believe that I am worth the hard work. I have to believe that this struggle is worthwhile and that I have the power and the strength to succeed.
That comes with believing that I am valuable.
To put it simply...
I am overweight, but I am not disgusting.
No matter my size, I have something to offer and I am beautiful both inwardly and outwardly.
From this day forward, I refuse to allow myself or anyone else to shame me into believing I am the D word.
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