Day 6.2

     We've reached the point where I have completely given up and just let the baby eat the Cheerios of the floor.

Clearly a third child

      I'd say I'm embarrassed, but truthfully, I'm not. This is the kid who clung to the 1st percentile in weight for months, falling off the charts more than a few times. She enjoys her food now and if the only way for me to make dinner is to give her a cup of Cheerios, which she promptly dumps on the floor, so be it. 

     The mobility of the baby has completely disrupted life. I used to be able to contain her to a room and distract her with toys and songs. Now there is a big, wide world out there for her to explore and unfortunately our home doesn't really work with gates. So I follow her around to keep her from climbing up the stairs, grabbing a bottle of wine, crawling out an open door and eating every piece of fuzz she can find. All the while, she turns back to make sure I'm watching and gives me the biggest grin. My heart soars every time. 

     Honestly, I had hoped she might be a quiet child who would stay in one place and calmly keep herself amused, so that I could continue to run a household. Thankfully, Caroline didn't get the memo and is growing into quite a feisty little girl! 

     She challenges me each day in ways the boys never did. I'm so grateful she's here. 

     

     On another note, I can finally see my feet again. 

Day 5.2

One year ago I wrote an entry where I bared my very recently pregnant and scarred belly. I thought this could be an honest moment with myself and with other mothers out there who struggle with their bodies.

March 22, 2016

March 22, 2017

     So right off the bat, we need to acknowledge the most obvious thing in this picture. The baby is sleeping in her crib in the most recent photo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

     But seriously, I'm having lots of feelings as I look at both of these photos. The difference a year makes. The difference 25 lbs makes. The difference a frame of mind can make. 

     When I took the photo two weeks after giving birth, I had a real feeling of accomplishment. I knew the hard work my body had gone through to produce Caroline. I had pride in my "tiger stripes" and quite frankly, I was too exhausted to feel anymore than that. Throughout the year I have had ups and downs in regards to the feelings about my body. Recovery has been a slower process than in the past. But what should I expect? This was my third birth and I therefore have three kids to tend to. I don't get to the gym as frequently as I'd like, I often eat food off of my kid's plates, and there was that unfortunate incident where I ate about a quarter of sheet cake from Caroline's christening when I was in the middle of some big depression stuff. 

     I'm not where I wanted to be physically, but that's ok. Sometimes things don't go the way we plan. I rejoined Weight Watchers after the new year because I knew it would work for me. I also found an online support group where we encourage one another through the times we lose our willpower and when we hit our milestones. I've found a few 5k races that I'm planning to run. I even got rid of all my large workout clothes and bought myself some quality clothing in a medium to celebrate the 15 lbs lost since the new year. 

     Yesterday Lucas gave me a hug and pushed on my belly. He said "oh, squishy!" I had to pause and really think about how I was going to respond. I don't want to share my bad habits of self-critique with the kids. I looked at my soft, round middle and then at him and said "Yes, it is. Do you know why?" He responded that it was because I grew my babies in my belly and it stretched out. I told him yes, and that I loved the squishiness because it reminds me of how I carried the three of them within me for (almost) 9 months. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't lying about loving my body.  

Day 4.2

     One year with three children and we are still here.

Yes, that is a bottle of amoxicillin behind me. It's been a rough week.

     We've gone through a lot this past year, but we've gone through a lot every other year.  Thinking back on the early days of our relationship and reflecting on how far we've come as individuals, partners and now a family of five, I'm proud of us. While nothing prepares you for raising children, we were certainly prepared to work together to navigate the tough times.

     Three children is hard, but so were the days with no children. On the mornings I long to sleep in, I remember the mornings that we had an empty bed. When I'm exhausted and thinking about all the things I've lost- sleep, time, energy, my mind… I try to refocus on all that I have gained. Also, I share a bottle of bubbly with my husband.

Day 3.2

     International Women's Day seemed like a fitting day to give birth to my daughter.

Yes she can! 

     This year has been a wild ride. My experience as a woman and a mother seems to be intensified since arrival of a baby girl.

     I never knew how physically strong I could be until I endured the pregnancy that brought her into our lives.
     I never knew the tenacity I had until I had to advocate for her health.
     I never knew the mental strength I possessed until I began the fight through the worst anxiety and depression of my life.
     I never knew the infinite amount of love that I am capable of.
     I never knew the struggles that I would have to work through with my partner as we navigated our new "normal".
   
     I don't know who Caroline will become, but I do know the impact this amazing girl is having on my life.

Day 2.2

     In a rare quiet moment today I sat down to enjoy a decaf Americano, my reward for making it to 1:00PM without breaking down in tears.

Going to the CVS in Target means I can pick up the baby's antibiotics and Starbucks

     My table looks like it is in much better condition than it actually is. The photo does not show the carvings, heat marks and chips along the edges. I looked at the picture I inadvertently took when I pulled out my phone and contemplated how viewing this tiny portion of the table gives off the impression that it is well cared for. Is the picture hiding the wear and tear, or is it simply focused on a section of smooth wood?
   
     I'm often unsure about how I should respond to inquiries about my well being. Do I share that anxiety prevented me from sleeping the previous night? Or do I focus on the joy of my daughter saying "Hi!" to everyone she saw at the grocery store?
     The truth is, I don't have to choose- I can simultaneously experience joy and fight my battles. Acknowledging the good, doesn't take away the bad, just as acknowledging the bad doesn't rob me of the good. Does this make sense?

     I'm not sure I am articulating myself here, but it was a good realization for me and something I want to continue to process.
   

Day 1.2

     Last night I brought two of the three children with me to an audition for a solo in my upcoming concert. As I was leaving the house, I glanced in the mirror and saw a giant wet mark on the front of my shirt. Not sure if it was drool, milk or snot, I grabbed a scarf and hopped in the car to get there before I was late. On the ride over I tried to warm up and practice through the music, but my oldest insisted I stop so that he could hear his favorite Marian Hill song on the radio.
     I had snacks to occupy the kids and thought that I would be able to take five minutes to sing through the music with focus and clarity, just like I had practiced at home. The baby "sang" along with me and my son skipped on and subsequently tripped down the alter.

This is about all the professionalism I can seem to muster right now.

     On the ride home, Lucas insisted that I was the best and would definitely get the solo. I tried to explain that there are many factors that lead to a director's choice for voices- the style of the piece, the performance space, the composition of the choir, as well as the singer's vocal ability. He asked if I would be sad if I did not get the solo. I was honest and told him  that I would of course be disappointed, but I needed to remember that it has been over 15 years since I have sung music like this at a high level.


     I realize that I am finding my voice again. There was once a point when I lived and breathed singing, and quite frankly that was one of the most unhealthy periods of my life. It's almost like I was putting on a costume that was so beautifully and intricately designed. I desperately wanted to fit into that gown, but it just was not constructed for me. I tried to sing with a voice that wasn't mine. For those who care, I trained as mezzo soprano, a voice part that I have subsequently discovered was wholly wrong for me. Every time I sat in the practice room, I thought something was the matter with me because I just couldn't do it. I tried so hard. I listened to recordings, went to performances and completely immersed myself in anything that I thought would help me.
     The issue was, my instrument was not that of a mezzo. The more I tried to sing like one, the more I hurt my voice and my self esteem. I thought I was a complete failure because I was asking my body to do something it couldn't.
     When I left college, I left the performing that I had once loved. Every now and then I would do a show or sing with a group, but I always hated my instrument. I hated the time I had wasted.

     There have been a lot of "wasted" times in my life. Times I gave up on myself and allowed depression and anxiety to rule me. But if it weren't for those moments, I'm not sure I would be able to appreciate the ones where I am truly living.
     With this Lenten season upon us, I've decided to regain my voice as an individual fighting through depression and anxiety. I want to shed the fear of stigma and embrace who I am at my worst, so that I can focus on being my best.