Finding Love: Afterwards

she wanted to share something with you

she wanted a baby

got pregnant

went to the hospital

had a baby

and here's what happened next

this is how the story ends, but it's not how it began:

one mama, one baby boy

who just can't get enough of each other

after thirty-eight weeks of dreaming, wishing, hoping, blessing, sacrificing and

seven hours of labor

he was laid in her arms.

she waited for the rush of love and the bursting open of her heart that had been promised

and she waited and she waited

he was small, swaddled, a stranger

she felt nothing and she knew something must be wrong with her

she smiled and chatted and felt empty inside

going through the motions, trusting that love would come 

everyone else wanted to hold, to snuggle, exclaim

she just wanted a nap and a snack

how could she carry this baby for nine months and not know him?

she wanted to cry when he cried

but in secret

on the outside she wanted to hold it together 

so that the people around her would think she was a good mom

that she wasn't overwhelmed

or tired

or lonely without a baby in her belly

but she was

then after days and weeks of going through the motions

of holding it together

of practicing love when she didn't feel it

he found her eyes in the mirror and locked his gaze

he settled sweetly into her arms

he slept through the night

he smiled when he was fed

and loved going shopping

she suddenly realized who he was:

hers

her heart began to grow

sizes in single moments

the shame she felt was replaced by grace

and by love

oh! by love

Guest Post: Confessions of a ...

When I started posting my confessions, it was one of the most cathartic experiences of my life.

Here I am, World.

Raw. Vulnerable. Unvarnished. 

It's terrifying and terribly freeing at the same time.

Today our guest blogger confesses what it's like to be single. 

It is raw, unvulnerble, unvarnished.

Dear Ones, let's share some love with her. 

Do you have something to confess?

email it to reliasen{at}gmail.com

Dear God,

I am really angry at you. And sad. Do you want to know why? Probably not, because you don’t

seem to care about what I’m going through, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I have been asking

you for something for 15 years, but I’m done now, because you haven’t delivered. I change my

mind all the time about everything: college, grad school, career paths, places to live...but there

has been one thing that I’ve wanted my whole life: a man to love me. But none does, and never

has. There have been guys who wanted me for my body and nothing more, guys who wanted

to be my friend but didn’t want to love me, and guys with so much emotional baggage that they

don’t know how to love anyone.

So I’ve had to watch all my friends get the things they want and deserve: boyfriends, fiances,

husbands, honeymoons, and houses to share. These women all get to know what it feels like

to be loved and cherished, while I am rejected and alone. Always. Every time. And I don’t

understand why. I’m just as deserving as they are; no better, but no worse, either. You trying

to teach me a lesson? Because I get it. “You have to be happy and complete with yourself blah

blah blah.” You know what? I know I’m worth it. I’m smart, attractive, fun, and I have a lot of love

to give. Sure, I can SURVIVE my life if no one ever loves me. But who wants a life like that?

is that really all I can hope for? Don’t I deserve more than just survival? I want to share my life

with someone, to have a partner, a teammate, a lover. To have someone to laugh with, eat with,

and build a home with. Is that so much to ask? Seems pretty simple to me, but apparently it’s

too much for you to lift a finger and help me. Year after year, first date after first date, I think to

myself, “maybe this is it. Maybe I’ll meet him soon.” But you know what? Hoping has only led to

pain and disappointment. So has praying. I have journals full of unanswered prayers, enough to

fill a library. So why bother?

And to add insult to injury, my perpetual, unending singleness puts a wall between me and my

friends who are loved. Because they’ve entered a world I couldn’t hope to understand. Because

I’m jealous of them. Because I feel left out when everyone around me is married, engaged,

or dating. Because couples get to plan couple-y things together: vacations, dinner parties,

camping trips, and double dates, whereas I have to go everywhere alone and pretend that I’m

oh-so-secure and confident. Because I hate being the only single one, whether the husbands

and boyfriends are around or not. Because they have someone to greet them at the end of the

day; they are someone else’s priority. Because I never get to feel special. And because it’s

embarrassing to be single at this age, like getting picked last for kickball, but about 100 times

worse. My friends have someone to tell them they look beautiful, and someone who wants to

spend a life with them. I have never had any of this, and my life is smaller for it. Oh yeah, and

going to church alone really sucks too.

People say that they experience You through the love of others. Well, if that’s true, then why

don’t you want me to experience that love? Sure, I have family and friends who care for me

I guess, but it’s not enough. You say you can do anything? Well, you could fix this now by

bringing me a caring, honest man who wants to love for me--truly--forever. Don’t I deserve to

be swept off my feet? I’m never going to be fully content without him, so if that’s what you’re

waiting for, you might as well give up. I didn’t realize perfection was a prerequisite for love and

marriage. What’s more, no one else has to wait “to feel complete in themselves” or any of that

other b.s. before they are given someone who loves them. Maybe he’s not ready, you say?

Fine: either make him ready or find someone who is. It’s been 28 years, that’s long enough.

The Bible says men and women are made for each other, so why are you letting me live an

incomplete life, day after day, and year after year? With every month that passes I have less

and less of my life to share with someone, less time to feel the joy of communion with another.

I’m not getting any younger, either.

So guess what? Pretty soon, I’m going to start doing things my way. Those “Christian” guys you

want me to date? They treat me like a leper, and most of them have no idea how to engage a

real live woman. It took that one guy nearly 5 and a half months to work up the courage to hold

my hand. That’s just sad. But those “non-Christian” guys? They make me feel feminine, they

aren’t threatened by success or assertive personalities, and they actually, you know, like to date

women. So what are my choices here?

I’m waiting, God. Not only for someone to care about me, but for you to prove you’re not a

vindictive jerk who takes pleasure in seeing me disappointed, hurt, and rejected over and over

and over again.

Sincerely,

Heartbroken

An Open Letter to Pacific View Mall

Dear Pacific View Mall,

I owe you a big apology.

Maybe it was your many, many teeney bopper stores. 

Maybe it was the men who work the kiosks in the middle-- I just don't have time to try all the Dead Sea Salt hand scrubs.

Definitely it was the food court. I think we outlawed food courts in Santa Barbara.

I don't know why I didn't love you with my whole heart, but I had a wall up.

Clearly, after today, I see that it was me, not you.

Today we had a connection.

Today you had a Target and an Old Navy in the same mall. 

Today you had a platoon of high chairs in the food court.

Today you had stroller parking.

Today you offered me not one, but two private nursing rooms.

And when my squiggly baby needed to blow off some steam, you provided us with a kiddie play area. 

I guess I'm not one of those germaphobe moms... 

What can I say?

Forever yours,

Becca

Before College

So we've talked about this before, I think.

I like it when things are on time and as expected. 

I certainly don't like to be behind, especially in this parenting gig.

Cruz is not crawling yet. 

Although he is pretty close.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that when Cruz is not crawling and other babies are crawling, I get a little flutter in my stomach.

Is it my fault?

Did we fail to do enough tummy time when he was an infant?

Ok, he's definitely mobile on the army-crawling-front, so putting something tempting in front of him (dog, cell phone, Wii) hasn't produced any real crawls.

(Sometimes he does a kangaroo-style hop with both legs that is way cuter than crawling. I could settle for that.)

To calm my competitive spirit, I've had to resort to my parenting mantra:

No One Goes To College Still _______

And yet...

I want the world to see what I see in my baby-- Cruz is awesome! He's the best! And I'm a good mama! (Contrary to what strangers may think-- I'm looking at you Albertson's Lady Who Thought Cruz Should Be Wearing Socks in California in Summer. Also, be my guest trying to keep them on.)

So I've thought about helping him.

But how? Getting behind him and moving his legs?

Showing him videos of babies crawling?

Crawling alongside him?

(None of these methods work by the way, I will just save you the time.)

But really, really this is Cruz's figurative and literal journey. 

He needs to figure out mobility on his own.

I need to step aside and allow that to happen. 

Because look-- he's practically ready for college now!

Well, just as soon as he figures out that books are more than just snacks. 

Guest Post: Confessions of a ...

Our next guest blog comes from Zoe.

Zoe and I served together on Westmont's Spring Break in the City core team during our sophomore year.

During that year I was completely intimidated by her.

Zoe, I have never told you this before. I was. You're just that great.

Knowing Zoe is like having your own personal Jane Austen heroine around. 

Thoughtful, witty, put together, wise, creative, a good friend. She's what I would call "an accomplished woman."

(Yes, Mr. Darcy, you scoundral, she even improves her mind with extensive reading.)

And she blogs! Check her out on her regular blog Long Distance Lobsters

Hey. This confession thing is hard (even for the most accomplished among us)-- it's time to love on Zoe for sharing her heart with us!!


{do you have something to confess? email reliasen@gmail.com and get it off your chest}

Confessions of a New Mama

I’m a pretty open book, especially if you can see me face to face. It’s hard for me to hide what I’m really thinking and I have a tendency to over-share. My grandfather says I have “logorrhea” a.k.a.  “diarrhea of the mouth.” (for proof, note the exorbitant length of this post)

For the past several months, I even let my logorrhea spill out into the internet and joined throngs of bloggers, effusing even more of the thoughts filling my head. It was great fun, sharing my life with whichever other three or so readers might be kind enough to care that day. I felt like I even encouraged a few people by being honest about things that challenged me instead of being one more model of flawless perfection making others feel guilty for not living up to impossible standards. Maybe they could see that there were others who struggled with things they struggled with, they were not alone, life isn’t really a cakewalk. My transparency could possibly have been a gift – not just me getting weight off my chest.

Now I am a new mom (my baby Sofia is four months old) and I struggle with so much day-to-day. I want to share confessions and challenges with others so they know they’re not alone. I am certainly encouraged by other mommy bloggers who comfort me with their honesty.  But here is my own “confessions of a new mom”: I’m too afraid to confess.

In all my working years, I have had at least twenty-four different direct supervisors. Too many of those bosses micro-managed to a life-stifling degree. Frankly, its pretty grand having no one supervise me at my “job” right now. Granted, in order to enjoy this luxury a) I’m working at least twice as many hours now [and “on call” for the rest of the “day,” while Sofia sleeps] and b) I get none of the support a supervisor is supposed to supply in exchange for the management. Making public my confessions feels a bit too much like I’d be inviting the nastier supervisors to rain on my parade that is the joy of being Sofia’s mom right now. 

Furthermore, my training is in social work. My emphasis was on childhood mental health. That’s kind of like getting a degree in judging people’s parenting. I know more than the average woman about how important it is to take good care of this fragile little thing that will one day grow up to have an affect on society – be it good or bad – she will for certain shape the world she lives in. I know that basically whatever I do as a mom, there’s someone out there who will disagree with my approach. Shoot. The fact that I even am a mom, that unqualified little me would consciously choose to bear offspring in the first place, probably offends plenty of people.

This whole raising a kid thing is so much more intimate and precious than I ever could have imagined. It’s one thing for people to critique how I write a letter, analyze research, put together a layout, counsel a child, or create an excel spreadsheet [I’m darn good at creating spreadsheets by the way]. It’s something altogether more terrifying for someone to evaluate whether I love my own child correctly. I need grace like I’ve never needed it before.

I have never poured myself into something more fully. I have never felt a force more strongly than when I love my daughter. And I have never felt so incompetent and unsure of how I’m going about the work.

So maybe, hypothetically, there’s tons I need to confess. Maybe another mom out there would feel better knowing things like how, hypothetically, I might not quite do tummy time the “several” times per day that my doctor commands, because a) it hurts my heart to hear my baby girl cry from the discomfort and b) I’m just too worn out and maybe a little bit lazy. At least right this minute, I’m not quite ready to share many of those things that, hypothetically, I might be feeling. But maybe I’m not alone in that, and maybe even the fact that I confess that I’m afraid to confess brings someone else a little comfort?

I hope at least that this can highlight how incredibly strong the women, like Becca, are who can put themselves out there. Courageous are the women who reveal all their struggles with getting their kids to sleep, helping them reach all their developmental milestones, breaking down from public diaper disasters. I am so relieved, entertained, encouraged by the tales they share. When I grow up, I want to be like them. Pray for me that I will get there soon. For now, I’m gonna take a little more time to enjoy this supervisor-free season where I can hide in my ignorance, love my baby girl the best way I know how, and celebrate the mama’s who give me greater goals to strive for.  

Guest Post: Confessions of a ...

I want to tell you about two things today.

The first is about my friend Sarah.

Sarah has taught me  that so much grace and love is available when you let your bad parts show. 
Like, she loves you even when she knows the worst thing about you.
I don't even clean when she comes over anymore.That's how convinced of her love I am.

Amy, me, Colette, Sarah 

The second thing is about confession.
Over the last seven months, I have grown to love this particular sacrament.
It is so freeing to tell the world what's really going on.
I love confession so much that I want it to be a regular part of this blog, 
and I am extending the opportunity to you!
It seemed perfectly fitting that our first guest post would be from the gal who has taught me so much about confession.
Sometimes the posts will be funny
sometimes serious
always written in truth and love.
So here's Sarah.
Sarah, thank you for being brave this morning!
Let's leave her some love in the comments, shall we?


{do you have something to confess? email me at reliasen@gmail.com}

for anyone who knows becca and i, you know we both enjoy a good schedule. predictability of what's next accompanied by a good organizational design which leads to an accurate set of expectations. maybe it's because we're j's but lately i've been thinking my need for a good schedule comes from my great joy in the church calendar. becca and i count down to advent like a 9 year old counts down to the double digit birthday. and lent, don't even get me started on lent. there's something so comforting about the church's seasons: advent, christmas, epiphany, lent, easter and pentecost. they happen every year, just like the year before. during advent we learn to wait. and in lent we learn about suffering. and year after year i take out my advent book or my copy of " the irrational season" (by madeline l'engle) for lent and i read about waiting and i read about suffering. and i pray, that just one of these days, i'll embrace waiting and suffering outside of advent or lent. the beauty of these two church seasons is that there is a prize at the end. the birth of our savior, the pretty lights and the gorgeous decorations. the birth of our savior. his life celebrated, year after year. we wait in anticipation and we learn to be patient. and lent, we recall jesus' suffering, sometimes partaking in our own humble, meager attempt at suffering, and we learn to be patient. but come easter sunday we get to rejoice, and take our alleluias out of their box and we are grateful for the resurrection. advent and lent remind me every november and february what i love about my mysterious lord.

but did you catch my mention of the p word? yup, that word patience which sings in my ear, day in and day out. patience is supposed to be a pretty word isn't it? its perfect pitch singing in my ear, gracefully poised, with a perfect pink bow on top. but sometimes i feel like that p word is taunting me, mocking me. surely this must be the devil masked as patience because the angel of patience is the one clothed in the pretty pink bow. but patience stares me in the face, each day causing me to partake in lent and advent all year long.

after dating jon for 3 1/2 years (insert charlotte's exclamation regarding big and carrie's engagement) he proposed. i was engaged, and becca was pregnant, and we coined our summer and fall "advent". the season of course continued for me until march, and now it's april, and i'm married, but i still find myself waiting. i'm no longer being patient. i think all day long about where we will live and when jon will be done with his huntington beach contract work. i plan, i scheme, i daydream, i get distracted easily. i dream of granite counter tops and hardwood floors. a leather couch and a long dining room table to enjoy good food and good wine with dear friends. i wait for the day that i get to come home and cook a meal for my husband. i want a schedule, people. remember, i crave that? i am not patient, i am done waiting. i'm ready for christmas and easter and i've convinced myself that i've waited so long that i deserve both the christmas tree and the easter basket in the same day. i've been so busy feeling righteous about the amount of time i've been waiting, that i forgot to pray about it even. it's ok though because i'm remembering to pray about it again, and i'm remembering that with every lent and every advent there is easter and there is christmas. they come every single time, and the lord will not disappoint on this season for me either. i love a good schedule but i'm going to keep on embracing my waiting and remember that god's work happens in all the days leading up to christmas and easter.

Confessions of a Jetsettin' Mama

We just returned from a long, lovely, relaxing trip to Kauai. 

As usual, I have some thoughts.

From now on, I will have to travel with an entourage. End of story. We had seven adults and two kids on our trip. Anything less would have been crazy! If we weren't in a group, who would have held the baby while I worked on my tan?

I brought along So. Many. Toys. I wanted to ensure that my kid would be properly occupied on the plane. Could have saved myself the trouble. All he wanted was the plastic cup from the flight attendant. 

Don't want to change a baby on a plane? No problem. Double stuff that diap.

Want to know how much I love Harry Potter? I set up the pack-n-play in a closet. That's how much.

Ok, it was a really big closet. And it had windows, relax! 

Traveling with a baby is really different than with just a husband. We went to London in 2009, and one of our best memories of that trip was walking around Regents Park in the pouring rain. No one else was crazy there, which made the experience unforgettable. Well, it rained plenty in Kauai, but you just can't take a baby out in a monsoon. 

If you must travel with a baby, make sure he's a really cute one. Cruz literally stopped traffic wherever we went. See, fellow airplane passengers? Babies in flight aren't so bad!

Have you been to Kauai? No? Then you might not know about the Kauai chickens. These chickens seem to run the island. They are EVERYWHERE. One day, we picked up lunch at a tiny snack shop and took it across the street to a park. I had my plate next to me, when a rooster boldly walked up and ate something straight off of it! 

I may or may not have kept eating.

Hawaiians know a thing or two about cooking ribs. 

Just sayin'.

Also, these chickens are crazy. My father-in-law was describing (in great detail, natch) how he used to kill chickens as a young boy in Brazil. Even that didn't scare them away. 

Cruz was teething on the way to Kauai, and it showed. Omg, Fussy McFussersen. I was dreading the plane ride home, but he was a De.Light. He napped. He ate. He flirted with other passengers. He had a ball trying to grap everyone's ipod cords. I love God's Creation, and even more, I love God's People. I loved sharing one small bit of that with my son this week.

Don't tell my husband, but he was right. The minivan made getting the baby in and out so easy. 

Well, with that embarrassing confession, I think our time is up!

Finding Love

I've been thinking about a lot of things lately.

Like the role of Planned Parenthood in our country.

How to curl my hair with a curling iron. 

Living without a microwave.

(That last one is a serious style-cramp on my Trader Joe's based lifestyle, by the way.)

And what the heck am I doing with this blog.

Because, as it turns out, people are reading it.

In the last five months, this blog has been read over 12,000 times.

Frankly, I am staggered by that number.

Humbled. Challenged. Overjoyed.

so... Thank you! From the deep, dark bottom of my heart, thank you.

Writing a blog is interesting in that it's happening in real time and space. It's interactive, but I don't always know who I am interacting with.

You might be my mom and Grandma, who are probably thinking, "more pictures please!"

You might be my dad and Grandpa thinking, "Did we forget to teach her about avoiding sentence fragments?" And also, "more pictures."

Maybe we went to high school together and you read this blog, marveling that someone our age would be choosing to have a baby rather than go to grad school.

Are you pregnant? A new mom? Maybe you read this and think, "I will never make that mistake! Thank goodness."

Maybe you are trying to get pregnant, or are single but longing for a family. You read this, and it might cut you to the core because I seem to have what you want. And even though it hurts, you keep reading.

But whatever has brought you here, I hope that just one time I have shared something that made you think,

You too? I thought I was the only one.

As I think about where this blog will go in the next few months, that is the thought that keeps propelling me forward.

You are not alone.

I am small, flawed, insecure, jealous, and sometimes I leave our dinner dishes in the sink for far too long. And I'll keep sharing those things because you keep telling me that it makes you say, "you too?"

Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing the story of Cruz's birth and of Finding Love. 

There are parts of this story that I am scared to share with you, but I will because I am certain that I am not the only one. 

(And did I mention, thank you? Thanks for letting me share my life and my heart with you. Let's be besties, mmmkay?)

What He Wore On Wednesday

I have been trying not to buy too many new clothes for myself these days.

Fortunately, I get to shop for this smiley guy!

Cruz started eating solids this week! 

Ok, looking at this picture is the first time I have ever thought he looked like me. 

He's not too sure about it, but at least his bibs are cute!

And back to looking like Tovi!

My little guy is wearing 9 month clothes now... sniff sniff...

Oh yeah... and sitting up!

Whew! It's been hard to keep up with this guy.

Ok, may I be real with you for just a sec?

Until last week, I worked fulltime. 

Everyday, I managed to get myself and Cruz ready for work by 7:30am.

Showered and everything, people! 

I realize now that it was simply by the {Grace Of God} who must give special blessings to working mamas.

Now that I am home all day, I can barely shower and have spent many a day in my yoga pants. Fashion faux pas!

Which is exactly why I am in none of these pictures. 

Happy Wednesday!

i wish you were napping

do you want to know how tired i am?

too tired for capitals, that's how

someone has taken my sunshiney babe and replaced him with a fussy, non-sleeping, non-eating monster.

we better get some teeth out of this sitch.

i put him back down to sleep

tiptoe back to our room

turn on the monitor...

he's already crying again

so tired i haven't even taken a picture of his delightful chub for days

and it is delightful

oh sorry

i meant to keep writing

but i for reals just fell asleep

this is an oldy but goody

maybe one that will inspire the teething monster to take a snooze

Awkward and Awesome... and a Winner!

Sydney at The Daybook invented Awkward and Awesome. I think I would like to be her friend. Isn't she cute?

She writes Awkward and Awesome on Thursdays. I know it's Monday, but what the heck, people, life is short.

Awkward:

Realizing that your boy now asks for a meal by pulling down your shirt.

Realizing this at the office.

Nursing under a cover and having one lone chunky hand reach up and grab your lips while you're talking.

Standing in front of the church as a bridesmaid and hearing your baby cry in the middle of the sermon. And then again during the mealtime prayer. 

Trying to explain why I love the show Sister Wives.

Getting to a restaurant waaaaay before the rest of your party. The waitress tried valiantly to make small talk with me. But let me tell you, small talk is not my spiritual gift, ma'am.

Awesome:

Being a  bridesmaid in a breathtakingly beautiful wedding. 

Listening to two people make lifelong marriage vows and thrilling as I remember and cherish my own.

Kicking someone's butt in our March Madness bracket. 

The new season of Sister Wives.

I was at my wit's end trying to get everything done (in the pouring rain!) when a good friend called and offered to help me out by going to the store for me. Yes, yes a thousand times yes.

Spending the weekend with some besties from college.

Cloth diapers, y'all. Can't believe I was ever a hater. 

And we have a winner!!

{KIMBERLY} is the lucky new owner for her very own Wallflowers Inc accessory.

Send me an email:

reliasen{at}gmail{dot}come 

and we can talk details.

A huge THANK YOU to everyone who participated. :D

Randomize

We are a little bit under the weather these days. So Cruz and I have been using tea tree oil to cure all that ails us. 

Some of us are losing hair like cray-zee and some of us are finally growing some.

At Macy's today we met an 85 year old woman named Pearl. Cruz thinks that Pearl is Where It's At. And he's right. 

I gave this guy a bath. 

Hey Cruz... didn't you know that sick days are for staying in your jammies, snuggling and watching movies all day? You have a lot to learn about life.

Cruz's high chair came in the mail today. This kid is getting ridiculously old. Like, he'll be five months old on Friday. Get out of town!

Remember when I told you that our family is starting some new adventures? Well, here's one piece of that... in April, we are switching to cloth diapers.

Do you ever think that some things are myths until they happen to you? Like morning sickness, senioritis and the four month sleep regression?

Speaking of... maybe I should give up sleeping through the night for Lent. Ha ha! A holier-than-thou attitude might freshen up our 3am wakefests.

Cruz and I had a good snuggle while catching up on The Bachelor. So who do you think he'll pick next week? Emily? Chantal? A personality?

Happy Tues, everyone. 

I rest my hand on his chest to make sure he's breathing in the middle of the night

Certainly I'm not the first mama to have big ideas about parenting before realizing the reality of the situation.

As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I bought Skinny Bitch: Bun in the Oven and had a lot of ideals about eating great while I was pregnant.
Organic. Spinach. Nothing processed.

Then I started throwing up seven times a day and ate McDonald's vanilla milkshakes, potato chips and bacon. 

Oh lord, the BACON. 

Attachment parenting is something else that I had scoffed at pre-baby. To me, attachment parenting conjured up images of eight year olds who cling to their parents and parents who have never said no. 

Not pretty. 

I had a lot of ideas in this arena. 

My child was going to be on a schedule.

My child would sleep in his own room by three months.

And etc.

But here we are, almost five months into this journey, and guess what, Pre-Baby Judgmental Me? We have accidently done attachment parenting!

Feeding on cue? Yup. 

Breastfeeding? Not only are we breastfeeding, I love it and hope we'll do it for at least a year.

Babywearing...

Sleeping close to each other...

Compromising on a nap schedule...

Oy! 

And guess what, I love it. Baby and I are bonded far beyond what I could have imagined. He is happy, adjusted, social and darn cute. {Ahem... this does not mean I think this is the only you shoulda coulda woulda bond with your baby. No no no. Me With A Baby is simply giving a gentle correction to Me With No Baby}

But tonight we are taking a giant leap forward.

Right now, as we speak, Cruz is sleeping in his own room.

I have to tell you this because I am freaking out!

He's just a little guy and the world is so big. 

I am not ready to send him out into it yet.

{um... you are thinking. He's sleeping in his crib, woman. This is not exactly sleep-away camp or a semester abroad}

I hear you, but still.

So little!

So Lord, please watch over my little guy tonight. If you have any extra Jammie Angels who'd like to hang out in Cruz's nursery, they'll be welcome tonight. 


{Morning After Update}


So I may not have slept too well, but this guy sure looks happy!

One of those big, flashing neon signs.

Cruz and I are sleeping through reading Proverbs together. To be honest, I have never read through the entire book. Possibly because that Proverbs 31 gal is one intimidating chickie. 


But reading Proverbs out loud has stirred in my heart a desire to pursue wisdom and purity of heart in a new way. We have some new family adventures in front of us, and I can sense that the Lord will be using the months ahead to refine my character. 


Well, the Lord knows I need big bright neon signs before I wise up and start paying attention. So it was no surprise when our sermon at church was the first in a series on Proverbs. 


Our pastor talked about the need for a humble heart in order to gain wisdom. 
And that a humble heart comes from confession. 


And here's some truth, I can no longer just read the words of Proverbs. I need to start living them. 


Dang it. Confession is so hard. 
But here we go...


I have a jealous heart, and am so not proud of it. 


I say a lot things that I regret. I wish I spoke with more grace. That's good to remember: less snark, more grace.


I gossip. And I'm not just talking about celebrities. 


I watch way too much Real Housewives.


I am sorry that I am not always the wife/mama/daughter/friend/coworker that you deserve. 
Thank you all for the grace you continually give me. 


I don't like writing these things down. I'm afraid you'll look at me and think me undeserving. That you'll think badly of me. That you'll know (probably correctly) that in fact you are a better mama than I could hope to be. 


But, man oh man, do I want need to be humble and wise. 


Because look at this guy!

I want to be the kind of child of God that deserves this happiness.


And that starts with knowing that I never will. 


Guess that's grace. 


And there's this too:
Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
don't try to figure everything out on your own.
Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
 he's the one who will keep you on track.
Don't assume that you know it all.
   Run to God! Run from evil!
Your body will glow with health,
   your very bones will vibrate with life!
Honor God with everything you own;
   give him the first and the best.
Your barns will burst,
   your wine vats will brim over.
But don't, dear friend, resent God's discipline;
   don't sulk under his loving correction.
It's the child he loves that God corrects;
   a father's delight is behind all this.

{Proverbs 3:5-6}

from The Message