2:30

Amelia did not sleep by herself until she was somewhere between eight and ten months old. Between bouts of colic and digestion issues she became accustomed to sleeping on my chest. That is, of course, if she slept at all that night.

Being a new mother is exhausting. Being a new mother with a baby who does not sleep is especially exhausting. We called it "The witching hour." Every night around 10:00 p.m. it would start. The inconsolable screaming. We would rock and rock until about 6:00 a.m. She would finally be going to sleep at about the time Daddy was heading out to work - only to be wide awake by 8:00 a.m.

As you can imagine, her sleeping on her own came as a big relief.

Fast forward to the present. Amelia sleeps about an average of twelve hours a night. She goes to sleep without being rocked. She sleeps in her own crib. She knows what "night night" means, and often tells me "Night! Luh yuh." when I'm putting her down to bed.

Precious.

From the time she wakes up in the morning she is raring to go. She starts her day by telling me all the things she sees in her room, right before her demands for food begin. There was a time where she would wake up super early so that I would put her in bed with me and we would get a few hours of sleepy snuggle time before beginning our day. I loved that.

We have now entered the days of independence. She no longer wants me to feed her or dress her. She is tiring of diapers. The long cuddles are few and far between. She is much too busy for all that. Yesterday was no exception.

I could tell right away that I was overly emotional. As I went in her room to get her I just stared at her, wondering how this beautiful blonde haired little girl telling me about owls and pigs is the baby I brought into the world? When did she grow up?

Guilt has a way of creeping in. You start thinking about the times where the selfishness of human nature took precedence over the cries of the baby in the middle of the night. All the times I begrudgingly got out of bed, mumbling mean thoughts that stemmed from my exhaustion. I prayed over and over that she would just go back to sleep so I could as well.

As she ran around the house like a maniac I prayed a different prayer. "God, please just let her slow down. Please, just let me hold her for a while."

I tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to scoop her up and cuddle during a brief episode of Mickey or Dora. Now a days she is much more interested in wrestling than snuggling. I busied myself with work around the house and errands we needed to run, savoring the moments I would carry her from the car to the store before she started wanting "down!!!"

Last night's sleep was fitful. Our room tends to stay on the warm side no matter the setting on the thermostat. Also, I have a lot of pressing issues on my mind. These tend to grow in the evening and interrupt my sleep. I finally got to sleep around 1:00 a.m. Shortly after I heard some whimpering over the monitor. I listened to see if she was actually awake or just dreaming. The whimpers turned into full blown cries.

When your child uncharacteristically starts bawling in the middle of the night you hope it is not an illness. There is nothing worse than a feverish baby in the wee hours of the morning. I went into her room to check, she didn't feel warm. What a relief!

As I picked her up I expected her to continue crying or to want to get up and play. Instead, I felt the weight of her body increase against mine and knew that she had returned to sleep. I placed her in our bed, and instead of rolling against her daddy or sprawling in the middle, she laid her little head on my shoulder and put her hand on my face. I couldn't close my eyes at that point. I just watched my precious baby, who isn't quite a baby anymore, sleep and dream. I counted my blessings and basked in another moment that will flee too soon. I thanked God for the sweet smell of a clean baby and the feeling in my heart that only my daughter can provide.

God answered my prayer at 2:30 this morning.

The Bottomless Pit

"Lolllyyyyallll....Maaaamaaaaaaa....LOLLLLLLYYYALLLL!!!"

This is what I generally hear over the monitor between 6:00 and 7:30 every morning.



Translation:

"Cereal, Mother. May I please have some cereal?" 

Well, maybe someday.

 For now it is a near panicked whine and request for nourishment as we struggle through our morning diaper change. The panic intensifies as I pull whatever I'm going to fix out of the cupboard. Lately it has been cold cereal, because you DO NOT want to hear the beagle-like sounds that radiate from this child as I take the time to microwave oatmeal. I'm afraid she will pass out if I take the time to scramble an egg or two.

You would think the circus that is our morning would lessen as she is able to eat. No. I wish. But no.

After she eats her "Lollyal" she usually starts barking for fruit or "Fooot," oranges specifically. You cannot rationally explain to a toddler that Mommy forgot to pick up oranges.  Once I have convinced (tricked) her into eating a banana instead she seems calm for a while. We play, run errands, whatever the morning brings.

An hour or two passes. The cycle repeats. Only this time everything is "Cheese!" "Cheese!!" "CHEEEEEEEEESSSSEE" "MAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This goes on throughout the day with different requests. Cheese, crackers, grapes, oranges, bananas, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chicken... it goes on and on.

The only respite from the constant hunger is the two and three hour naps this growth spurt is graciously providing.

It isn't just the constant requests for food. It is the sheer amount she is eating per meal that is startling. Take last night for example, we went out to Los Bravos (Best Mexican food ever!) with my dad. She was incredibly cranky on the ride over, so I knew she either didn't get her nap out or was hungry.

My kid is a Mexican food fiend. I attribute it to the fact that it is all I wanted to eat while pregnant with her. She is pretty familiar with the routine. As soon as we sit down she is asking for "Chips and Dip Dip." She proceeded to eat no less than 20 chips with salsa and cheese dip. I ordered her a plain cheese quesadilla, which is more than she normally eats.

She devoured it.

Along with half of my chicken chimichanga, rice and beans. Where is she putting it?!?!

In case you were wondering, my word processor does not recognize quesadilla or chimichanga as words. 

   (Ice cream is not a daily food  for her, these are just the only photos of her eating I can find.)

If anything she is thinning out. She has always been tall. Hovering between the 90 - 100th percentile. She was 8lbs 12oz and 20.75in long at birth. At our last well visit pediatricians appointment she was 25lbs and 30.25 inches long. That was about a month and a half ago. She had to go last week for a sick appointment and was only at 25.4lbs. Here's the kicker. She is now measuring 33 inches tall!!! 33 INCHES! That is 2.75 inches of growth in A MONTH AND A HALF!!!

Hopefully this spurt passes soon. If not, I'm either going to find myself decrepit from exhaustion or in the poorhouse from our grocery bill.

 I feel like I'm feeding a linebacker. Who knows, maybe she will be the first lady in the NFL?

My Wrecking Ball

This is my daughter Amelia. 

She is the light of my life, the miracle child I never thought I would have. 

From day one she has surpassed my expectations and given me a run for my money. She has been eerily aware of her surroundings from the time she was born. When the doctor laid her on my chest she raised her head up and looked around at all of us, as if to say "What are you looking at?" 

She is spunky as all get out!

She is my little wrecking ball. She can rip through our house like a tornado. She is stubborn, strong willed, and passionate about every little thing she comes into contact with. She can knock my heart into a million little pieces with a single look or one utterance of "Mama." She makes my world go round. 

She came into our lives and turned them upside down. She wrecked every preconceived notion I had about being a parent - for the better!  Once a wrecking ball hits you cannot put the pieces back together. I would never want to go back to who I was before her. I love her more than words can say. 

She is my Precious One.

Amelia,

Mommy loves you!

24

**Please let me preface this by saying this is not directed towards mothers only. This is for anyone who is facing their own struggle and is looking for encouragement and hope.**

“ It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” - Charles Dickens

Charles Dickens has been my favorite author ever since I read David Copperfield in the 7^th grade. I checked it out of the Malan Jr. High library upwards of 30 times that year. I am not sure how many times I have read it since. I own special edition copies – I just love it. Since then I have read most everything of his I can get my hands on. Who doesn't love a guy who is absolutely coo-coo about Christmas?! Most everyone is familiar with the aforementioned quote from A Tale of Two Cities. I think this quote sums up my 24^th year on planet Earth perfectly.

I have learned so much over the past year. I have grown in ways I never expected. I have learned lessons I wish no one had to learn. I have learned lessons everyone should. I'm not usually one to reflect openly, but I feel that some things are meant to be shared. Some things hold the capability to help someone else who may be going through the same things you have lived through.

On December 21, 2011 I was blessed with the greatest gift of my life. It was on that day my sweet baby girl was born. She was and continues to be everything I ever dreamed of. The days that followed were full of joy and wonder as I looked at this little miracle her daddy and I had created. I worked up until the day before I had her, but decided home was where I needed to be during her developmental years.

Along side the awe and wonder of motherhood came days of darkness and intense sadness. I chalked it up to the “baby blues” and an adjustment period that came with settling into my new role as a stay at home mother. The months passed, but the feelings didn't. I would have moments, entire days and even weeks where I just couldn't process things the way I used to. I was stricken with intense anxiety that provoked incredibly irrational thoughts. I was convinced something terrible was going to happen to Amelia at any moment or that something would happen to me and I wouldn't be able to see her grow up. I was an emotional mess. Something wasn't right. I was so ashamed.

You enter motherhood with the vision you have been programmed to expect. Diaper commercials, Gerber and other companies present us with the fantasy that you will come home, he/she will sleep through the night, you will get back in shape the next week and everything will be the same between yourself and your significant other. Not the case. Why didn't I have that? Why is everything falling apart? Why am I not good enough? These hideous thoughts and many more flooded my thoughts, no, dominated my thoughts. Korey came home most nights to a sobbing, red-faced, emotional mess – and I'm not talking about the baby. It was time to get some help.

I went and spoke to my GP who diagnosed me with PPD/PPA or Postpartum Depression/Postpartum Anxiety disorder. She prescribed anti-depressants and sent me on my way. This opened up a whole new door of problems. The medicine made me incredibly ill. It completely put me out of commission while eliminating my immune system for the most part. I am not against medication if it works for you, but it was not for me. I did not have the capability of spending time trying a multitude of different options and combinations either, as I didn't want to be sick and unable to care for Amelia. I decided to handle things naturally.

I chose to rely on a limited support system, as I was too embarrassed to tell anyone outside Korey, my dad, and a therapist. Therapy helps. It was what I needed to get myself on the right track and able to see that I didn't have to live this way forever. This was just a season.

Above all else, it made me realize that I can not do it alone. There were times that I felt I could not make it another minute. There were times that I could completely empathize with people who have made the choice to take their own lives. However, I had my beautiful family to keep me grounded enough to see the repercussions that would have. We often call upon God in our darkest moments. This was no exception. There were days that I couldn't do much more than lie in bed and pray. I picked up my Bible for the first time in a long time. I started nurturing a relationship I had been neglecting. I found hope. I poured out my heart and was met with grace and mercy. That my friends, is a beautiful thing.

It has been a very long, difficult year. At the same time, it has been an amazingly wonderful year. The clouds do have a way of lifting. It is possible to start to notice/feel the good things again. It gets better.

I am so incredibly blessed to have an amazing husband and family. It would have been very easy I'm sure for Korey to say “Enough! I can't do this.” I know I have not been easy to live with. Instead, again, I have been met with grace. I can't say enough good things about that man.

I found new interests and hobbies that made me happy. I found self-worth. I read book after book and article after article about natural medicine. I started exercising. I lost 90lbs. I made the choice to focus on the joy my daughter brings and the memories and moments that are fleeting. I stopped focusing on the exhaustion, the tough nights and the difficult times. I put more of my focus back into my marriage. I will go back to school starting next month. We have been incredibly blessed in the last year by a new job opportunity for Korey and a new hometown. Relationships I thought were irreparable have been healed. I've learned forgiveness. I'm able to roll with the punches.

I am not sharing my story in a quest for sympathy. I have spent a year and a half harboring my secret in shame. I don't want anyone else to ever feel that way. There is such a huge stigma attached to issues that relate to mental health, chemical imbalances, hormonal imbalances, what have you. I have heard so many negative things from people who do not understand:

“Depression isn't real.”

“If you have to take medication to be happy there is something wrong with you.”

“Medication/Therapy is a weakness.”

None of which is true. There is no shame in getting help. There is no shame in admitting that you are going trough something bigger than yourself.

I am looming on 25 years old and still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. All I know is that I want to be an encourager. I want to provide hope for others that are lost in a sea of hopelessness. I want to be a beacon of joy. I have no idea what 25 is going to hold. I'm sure there will be ups and downs, and I am happy to say I know I can handle it. I still have hard days, but I know the good outweighs the bad. I know that there are far more blessings and reasons to choose joy than there are reasons to be sad. All I know is that each day I am blessed by another 24 hours with my beautiful daughter. I'll take it day by day. That is enough for me.

This is the day the Lord has made;
We will rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24

“Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has many – not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.” - Charles Dickens

Oh, Charles Dickens, you just get me. :)