Confession: I have been watching Jon & Kate Plus Eight recently. Ok...a LOT of Jon & Kate Plus Eight. Blame it on the Netflix or lack of cable, but I can't help it. I'm actually watching it right now. DON'T WORRY, my child is sleeping...I'm not that neglectful. I watched the show when it came on originally, but, like many, discontinued viewing after the family went to splitsville. I'm not sure why, but the whole "we are horrible to each other but love each other" lost it's luster after they both went a little cray-cray.
Watching this show has allowed me to think a lot about the roles men and women play in marriages, particularly, what roles Ben and I play. Call me crazy or not a "modern woman", but I am a big fan of traditional gender roles. ::gasp:: I know, I am the problem with the women's rights movement (not really). No, but in all seriousness, I really enjoy the roles Ben and I play in our marriage. I cook, clean, and take care of the kids and he works and brings home the bacon. It's pretty simple. Now, that's not to say Ben does not have chores around the house. He does and he happily serves me in those areas. He takes out the trash, does the dishes every night, bathes Oliver, plays with him from the minute he gets home, reads him stories, takes care of the yard work, and so much more. I really can't complain, but then again, neither can he. ;) I feel like we are a great team and together we encourage one another to be better and love one another well.
So, what does this have to do with Jon & Kate? In the earlier episodes, and even right until they split, I really noticed how they genuinely are a team (a well oiled machine even) and each of them had their different jobs to do, but the one thing I noticed was missing in all of this was JOY. They were cold to one another, and constantly criticized each move or decision that the other made. How can you be willing to serve and help your spouse when they are constantly making you feel like you didn't get it right again and you probably never will? I know that Kate could definitely be a B, but old Jon was not much better. Sure, they had their moments of love, but those were definitely few and far between. You all can hate me if you want, I'm just calling it like it is. I know I am not always going to have a giant smile on my face and radiate joy when I'm folding the 8th load of laundry that day, but to grumble and complain about my husband or to my husband doesn't make it any better and sure doesn't fold those clothes any faster.
As a wife, I want to help my husband. I feel that is my number one job. It is my duty and my privilege to come along side him and live life together. I will be submissive to him. That does not mean he is the boss and what he says goes, but that we make decisions together, compromise, and I need to believe he has mine and O's best interest at heart when he makes a decision for our family. You can say I am setting women back 50 years with that kind of thinking, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I want to encourage my husband, not put him down every chance I get. I want to be his helpmeet. I want him to feel confident to take care of our son when I'm not there, or even when I am there, and not make him feel like I am going to nag him for everything he does that isn't the exact way I would do it. Above all, I want him to love the Lord more than me, as I know he wants the same for me.
As women, we have a natural bent to control. You can thank Eve for that. Our desire is for our husband, but not in the way that sounds; we want to do their job. We think no one can do it like we can and so we might as well just do it ourselves. The world tells us that mindset is OK, but people, IT IS NOT! Instead we should teach others how to do things and TRUST they can do it and if it's not exactly the way you would do it, WHO CARES?! The sun will rise again and it will all be OK.
I know that with life and more children comes more stress on a marriage. I've seen it happen and I've seen it ruin many, many marriages, but I believe it comes from a wrong mindset. Children are a blessing, even on their worst days, and life is going to be hard, but find the joy in it. I know these two concepts are easier said than done, but at the end of the day, it's what matters. I pray that through good times and bad, I continue to love my husband well, but I know this can only happen by God's grace. We have to remember how the Gospel has changed us each and every day and remember why we are here: the glorify God and enjoy Him forever.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Biting the "Bullet"
First off, I want to say thank you for all your support in my blog endeavor. All of your sweet words and encouragement have meant so much. It has also put some pressure on me to have fantastical blog entries. I need to say that each blog will not be moving and gut wrenching, but it will be practical, and hopefully, entertaining. So I apologize in advance when I disappoint with an entry. ;)
My sweet little O is almost 9 months old. That means he has been eating solid foods for nearly 3 months now. I can't even believe it. I remember the first bit of food I gave him, I could've cried. For 6 months of his life, I was the only person/thing he needed for food and sustenance. Look at that baby face; how could you not want to eat that up?
I have said before that I was going to make O's food once he got started, and I have. For 3 months now I have been boiling, baking, steaming, slicing, dicing, and pureeing and I love it. I am surprised at how much I have enjoyed it. I knew that deciding to take on this task could be a little daunting, but I wanted to make this sacrifice for O. There were two main reasons I wanted to make his food for him: 1-It is far cheaper to make it myself, and, like I've said before, with me not working, we are looking for any way possible to cut corners. 2-Have you SEEN what is in baby food? And have you tasted it?! It's horrible. We went out of town about a month ago so I had to buy some jars of food (I even bought organic) and he HATED it. With the food I make, I have only found one thing he can't stand (peas...texture, my friends) and, to be honest, I would actually eat any of the things I make him (yes, I tasted them). He. Loves. To. EAT. Mangos, blueberries, avocados, green beans, squash, sweet potatoes, peaches, cauliflower, and so much more. And I know the rule: food for fun until they're one and we are most definitely subscribing to that mindset, but we've had so much fun experimenting and exploring with food.
I write this post to say, making your child's food is actually really easy AND...you don't need anything fancy to do it. I am here to say, as much as I love it, you do NOT need a Baby Bullet or any of the stuff that comes with it. I am making this bold statement as someone who owns ALL of it. That's right. I, Katie Strout, love a gimmick. Advertisers basically have me in mind when they make anything cliche. For whatever reason, I am just drawn to it. So, of course, when we were registering for baby things, I clicked ALL THINGS Bullet related: processor, steamer, trays, storage, you name it, I clicked it. We got a lot of it. We got the processor (which comes with a ton of accessories) and I went a little later and purchased the steamer, because I NEEDED it...right...
Hear me out; I'm not saying the stuff is bad, I'm just saying it isn't necessary. Ok, if I'm being honest, it's bad. There, I said it. The steamer only lasted about 2 months before it has started to act completely insane (I did have a minor episode with a batch of blueberry juice overflowing, BUT that thing should be better than that...come on now) and it never knows when it wants to work so I have given that up. We have another food processor already in our house (The Ninja--I HIGHLY recommend it...it is ah-mazing...makes the most beautifully smooth smoothies you've ever tasted in your life) so I decided to do a comparison between the Ninja and the Bullet, assuming the Bullet would win, annnnnd I was wrong. The Ninja was far superior and I was able to make larger batches because it has two different size blenders. I mean, with a name like Ninja, is it any wonder it won? Come on, people.
There are some things I love about the Bullet. All the little accessories that come with it have been super handy. The little portable storage containers are great for taking food with us when we have somewhere to be and the little book that came with it gave me great ideas for recipes but HEY, guess where else you can find that sort of stuff...the internet.
If any of you are venturing into the baby food making world and want some advice, I'd be happy to help. I won't bore you with a mundane post about making food, but I am here to say, if you have an oven, a stove top, some pots/pans, and cookie sheets, you are good to go. Deep thoughts...from Katie Strout.
My sweet little O is almost 9 months old. That means he has been eating solid foods for nearly 3 months now. I can't even believe it. I remember the first bit of food I gave him, I could've cried. For 6 months of his life, I was the only person/thing he needed for food and sustenance. Look at that baby face; how could you not want to eat that up?
I write this post to say, making your child's food is actually really easy AND...you don't need anything fancy to do it. I am here to say, as much as I love it, you do NOT need a Baby Bullet or any of the stuff that comes with it. I am making this bold statement as someone who owns ALL of it. That's right. I, Katie Strout, love a gimmick. Advertisers basically have me in mind when they make anything cliche. For whatever reason, I am just drawn to it. So, of course, when we were registering for baby things, I clicked ALL THINGS Bullet related: processor, steamer, trays, storage, you name it, I clicked it. We got a lot of it. We got the processor (which comes with a ton of accessories) and I went a little later and purchased the steamer, because I NEEDED it...right...
Hear me out; I'm not saying the stuff is bad, I'm just saying it isn't necessary. Ok, if I'm being honest, it's bad. There, I said it. The steamer only lasted about 2 months before it has started to act completely insane (I did have a minor episode with a batch of blueberry juice overflowing, BUT that thing should be better than that...come on now) and it never knows when it wants to work so I have given that up. We have another food processor already in our house (The Ninja--I HIGHLY recommend it...it is ah-mazing...makes the most beautifully smooth smoothies you've ever tasted in your life) so I decided to do a comparison between the Ninja and the Bullet, assuming the Bullet would win, annnnnd I was wrong. The Ninja was far superior and I was able to make larger batches because it has two different size blenders. I mean, with a name like Ninja, is it any wonder it won? Come on, people.
There are some things I love about the Bullet. All the little accessories that come with it have been super handy. The little portable storage containers are great for taking food with us when we have somewhere to be and the little book that came with it gave me great ideas for recipes but HEY, guess where else you can find that sort of stuff...the internet.
If any of you are venturing into the baby food making world and want some advice, I'd be happy to help. I won't bore you with a mundane post about making food, but I am here to say, if you have an oven, a stove top, some pots/pans, and cookie sheets, you are good to go. Deep thoughts...from Katie Strout.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
What is Birth? (Baby, Don't Hurt Me)
A few days ago, I made a post on Facebook that I feel the need to dig a little deeper into and explain a little better.
Birth. It's a magical, wonderful, spiritual thing, right? Right?! OK, in all honesty, it is; but for some women, like myself, it can be source of insecurity. When I was pregnant, I LOVED birth. I loved reading about it and loved hearing about it. I loved to hear how people brought their babies into this world, the journey they took, the struggle and anguish, and the sweet reward that waited for them at the end of it all. Well...except of course if you had a c-section, because, in my mind, that didn't really "count" as giving birth. Feel free to slap pregnant me at any time. I don't know why I felt this way; social stigma, lack of knowledge, pure naive arrogance, I'm not really sure which. I think I always viewed c-sections as the easy way out. It was the super fancy, ultra celebrity way to give birth. You scheduled it, they take your baby, maybe slip in a tummy tuck, bing, bang, boom, you're out. That is, until I had one of my own. *Queue dramatic music and pause here*
Honestly, a c-section was never, EVER something I thought would happen to me. My husband and I had planned an unmedicated delivery, but obviously the Lord had something different in mind. It needs to be said that I had a pretty difficult labor. My labor started at 4 o'clock in the morning on July 26th and Oliver wasn't born until 3:24 am on July 27th...so...a long day. I had pretty terrible back labor and it wasn't long before I threw in the towel and decided to get an epidural. That, I could deal with. I told myself that I would be disappointed with myself if I got an epidural, but I could live with it. Honestly, I didn't know labor was going to be as bad as it was. And newsflash: labor sucks. Sorry for all of you out there who had a supernatural, out of body experience and felt no pain or still think it's wonderful, but mine was terrible. I truly remember wanting to kiss the anesthesiologist on the lips after my epidural (I had been laboring for close to 20 hours).
In my mind, I had really envisioned Ben and I in the perfect birth setting. A utopia of sorts. Warm lighting, soft music, me completely zoned in and visualizing all the things we practiced, and Ben being the perfect coach. Not so much. Ben was wonderful, but I was stressed, and in agonizing pain, and honestly, I just wanted to rest, so I got the dang drugs. Sue me. I regret nothing because when I finally got my epidural they hooked me up to the fetal heart monitor only to discover that with each intense contraction I was having, Oliver was going into distress. His heart rate was dropping quickly and there was no sign that he was going to come out anytime soon. To be frank, if I hadn't gotten an epidural, I'm not sure what would've happened to my sweet boy.
Everything was so chaotic when my OB told me what was about to happen. She KNEW it wasn't what we wanted, but at 2:30 in the morning and after 22 hours of labor, you do what your OB says. Everyone was rushing around and I started to feel extremely anxious (I have never had major surgery ever) and think I may have had a borderline anxiety attack, I'm not so sure. I just wanted to rip off my oxygen mask, get up, and run out of the room, but seeing as I couldn't even wiggle a toe, that wasn't happening. All I could think about was how would I nurse my baby immediately, how would he know me, how would I take care of him if I was on heavy drugs? I had never planned out how to handle this scenario. The Lord really has a sense of humor. They rushed me off to surgery, did some tugging and pulling, and minutes later, I heard the sweetest sound I have heard in my life; the sound of my baby crying. In that moment, nothing mattered. He was here, he was safe, I was happy. Then, all of a sudden, I realized how incredibly exhausted I was, and the drugs they had me on did not help. All I wanted to do was look at my baby, but all I could do was close my eyes. Mom. Fail. I did manage to slip in a nap while they were sewing me up, but I has pretty dang out of it all day (thanks, morphine drip). To this day, I still do truly believe we made the right choice for us and our baby, but I have never been more disappointed in myself. I didn't get a magical moment, a rush of endorphins, to hold and nurse my baby as soon as he came out, my husband didn't get to cut the cord, none of it. All of those sweet moments that I wanted to make into memories didn't happen.
I think I'm realizing more and more how much I was making the birth of my son an idol in my life. I worshiped it. I was arrogant. I was prideful. I just longed to do what I was created to do, but I feel like I was robbed of that opportunity. I recently watched the documentary "The Business of Being Born" followed by the TV series "More Business of Being Born" and it was very interesting. For those who don't know, this is a documentary series done by Ms. Ricki Lake where she reports on just that, birth being a business and women being robbed of the opportunity of the birth they want with forced inductions and scheduled c-sections. I loved hearing all the things they had to say. I actually enjoyed "More Business of Being Born" a little more than the original film. In it, there is a whole episode where celebrity mothers share their birth stories. Most are unmedicated home births with a few hospital births. I really appreciated all of the brutal honesty. They talked about how hard it was and how much they wanted to quit, but how they knew their baby was at the end of that struggle. I even wanted to hug Kimberly Williams Paisley (AKA Annie from "Father of the Bride") when she shared basically an identical birth story to my own. I was not alone! And then there was Gisele Bundchen. She recounted how calm and wonderful her pregnancy was, how amazing she is, how fabulous her birth was, how she felt no pain, and I just wanted to punch her in her beautiful, Brazilian face. Birth is raw and nasty and she was just so dang perfect. I hate her and she is a l-i-a-r. She is the reason I have issues with myself and my own birth experience. It's all your fault, Gisele (OK, I'm being slightly dramatic, but come on, she sucks).
I say all of this to say, I believe everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to happen. Am I happy with it? Yes and no. Will I try again for a VBAC if I am blessed with another child? Yep. Will I hate myself if it doesn't happen? I surely hope not. I am learning as a mother, and a woman, to give myself some grace. I am learning that every mother's story is different. Some deliver vaginally, some have a c-section, and some mothers don't even get the opportunity to do either. I am blessed that the Lord allowed me to carry my son for 9 beautiful months. I know that full well. And every story of birth is beautiful...even a c-section. ;)
Birth. It's a magical, wonderful, spiritual thing, right? Right?! OK, in all honesty, it is; but for some women, like myself, it can be source of insecurity. When I was pregnant, I LOVED birth. I loved reading about it and loved hearing about it. I loved to hear how people brought their babies into this world, the journey they took, the struggle and anguish, and the sweet reward that waited for them at the end of it all. Well...except of course if you had a c-section, because, in my mind, that didn't really "count" as giving birth. Feel free to slap pregnant me at any time. I don't know why I felt this way; social stigma, lack of knowledge, pure naive arrogance, I'm not really sure which. I think I always viewed c-sections as the easy way out. It was the super fancy, ultra celebrity way to give birth. You scheduled it, they take your baby, maybe slip in a tummy tuck, bing, bang, boom, you're out. That is, until I had one of my own. *Queue dramatic music and pause here*
Honestly, a c-section was never, EVER something I thought would happen to me. My husband and I had planned an unmedicated delivery, but obviously the Lord had something different in mind. It needs to be said that I had a pretty difficult labor. My labor started at 4 o'clock in the morning on July 26th and Oliver wasn't born until 3:24 am on July 27th...so...a long day. I had pretty terrible back labor and it wasn't long before I threw in the towel and decided to get an epidural. That, I could deal with. I told myself that I would be disappointed with myself if I got an epidural, but I could live with it. Honestly, I didn't know labor was going to be as bad as it was. And newsflash: labor sucks. Sorry for all of you out there who had a supernatural, out of body experience and felt no pain or still think it's wonderful, but mine was terrible. I truly remember wanting to kiss the anesthesiologist on the lips after my epidural (I had been laboring for close to 20 hours).
In my mind, I had really envisioned Ben and I in the perfect birth setting. A utopia of sorts. Warm lighting, soft music, me completely zoned in and visualizing all the things we practiced, and Ben being the perfect coach. Not so much. Ben was wonderful, but I was stressed, and in agonizing pain, and honestly, I just wanted to rest, so I got the dang drugs. Sue me. I regret nothing because when I finally got my epidural they hooked me up to the fetal heart monitor only to discover that with each intense contraction I was having, Oliver was going into distress. His heart rate was dropping quickly and there was no sign that he was going to come out anytime soon. To be frank, if I hadn't gotten an epidural, I'm not sure what would've happened to my sweet boy.
Everything was so chaotic when my OB told me what was about to happen. She KNEW it wasn't what we wanted, but at 2:30 in the morning and after 22 hours of labor, you do what your OB says. Everyone was rushing around and I started to feel extremely anxious (I have never had major surgery ever) and think I may have had a borderline anxiety attack, I'm not so sure. I just wanted to rip off my oxygen mask, get up, and run out of the room, but seeing as I couldn't even wiggle a toe, that wasn't happening. All I could think about was how would I nurse my baby immediately, how would he know me, how would I take care of him if I was on heavy drugs? I had never planned out how to handle this scenario. The Lord really has a sense of humor. They rushed me off to surgery, did some tugging and pulling, and minutes later, I heard the sweetest sound I have heard in my life; the sound of my baby crying. In that moment, nothing mattered. He was here, he was safe, I was happy. Then, all of a sudden, I realized how incredibly exhausted I was, and the drugs they had me on did not help. All I wanted to do was look at my baby, but all I could do was close my eyes. Mom. Fail. I did manage to slip in a nap while they were sewing me up, but I has pretty dang out of it all day (thanks, morphine drip). To this day, I still do truly believe we made the right choice for us and our baby, but I have never been more disappointed in myself. I didn't get a magical moment, a rush of endorphins, to hold and nurse my baby as soon as he came out, my husband didn't get to cut the cord, none of it. All of those sweet moments that I wanted to make into memories didn't happen.
I think I'm realizing more and more how much I was making the birth of my son an idol in my life. I worshiped it. I was arrogant. I was prideful. I just longed to do what I was created to do, but I feel like I was robbed of that opportunity. I recently watched the documentary "The Business of Being Born" followed by the TV series "More Business of Being Born" and it was very interesting. For those who don't know, this is a documentary series done by Ms. Ricki Lake where she reports on just that, birth being a business and women being robbed of the opportunity of the birth they want with forced inductions and scheduled c-sections. I loved hearing all the things they had to say. I actually enjoyed "More Business of Being Born" a little more than the original film. In it, there is a whole episode where celebrity mothers share their birth stories. Most are unmedicated home births with a few hospital births. I really appreciated all of the brutal honesty. They talked about how hard it was and how much they wanted to quit, but how they knew their baby was at the end of that struggle. I even wanted to hug Kimberly Williams Paisley (AKA Annie from "Father of the Bride") when she shared basically an identical birth story to my own. I was not alone! And then there was Gisele Bundchen. She recounted how calm and wonderful her pregnancy was, how amazing she is, how fabulous her birth was, how she felt no pain, and I just wanted to punch her in her beautiful, Brazilian face. Birth is raw and nasty and she was just so dang perfect. I hate her and she is a l-i-a-r. She is the reason I have issues with myself and my own birth experience. It's all your fault, Gisele (OK, I'm being slightly dramatic, but come on, she sucks).
I say all of this to say, I believe everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to happen. Am I happy with it? Yes and no. Will I try again for a VBAC if I am blessed with another child? Yep. Will I hate myself if it doesn't happen? I surely hope not. I am learning as a mother, and a woman, to give myself some grace. I am learning that every mother's story is different. Some deliver vaginally, some have a c-section, and some mothers don't even get the opportunity to do either. I am blessed that the Lord allowed me to carry my son for 9 beautiful months. I know that full well. And every story of birth is beautiful...even a c-section. ;)
Friday, April 5, 2013
The Truth About Being a Mom...
I know, I know. I am literally the worst. blogger. ever. Cut me some slack, I have an 8 month old. He has, however, finally decided that he wants to take part in the schedule I've been trying so hard to implement, so I do have blocks of time where I could actually make this writing thing happen. And to top it off, I come back with the longest. post. ever. You are all quite welcome.
I have to say that I usually go for the route of humor in the blog world. Nothing personal, it's just my style. That is not to say I won't read a serious/heartfelt blog post. However, today, I am going to speak very candidly and from the heart. I feel like this is something I need to share so other moms out there (all 3 of you that will read this...you're welcome) don't feel alone.
I love my child. I really do. Next to Jesus and my husband, he is my most favorite thing. He is hilarious, sweet, adventurous, loving, and all around easy going, but I hate what he has done to my body. I said it. Out loud. I think admitting it is the hardest part. I have spoken with a select few about this issue mostly because I'm just embarrassed. I can honestly say I hate the way I look. I can't believe I'm even typing it right now, but it needs to be said. I know I am not alone in this battle, but in the midst of all my insecurities I feel so alone. I see beautiful, tiny, thin mamas everywhere. At the gym, in the grocery store, at church, in Chick-Fil-A. There seems to be so many women out their who have babies, you blink, and they look as if nothing ever happened. Mind blowing. Before I had Oliver, I just knew I would be one of those. I would have him, nurse him, and BOOM-like magic, a few months later, I would be back in my pre-preggo jeans (with no muffin top, might I add), no problem. Well I'm here to say that 8 months later, while still nursing, ain't no way those jeans are coming on right now. I feel like the Lord loves to humble me. The one thing I am realizing with age is that I, Katie Strout, am extremely prideful. I have this assumption that things will just come easy for me. What I am learning is if I think that, the opposite will most definitely come true, and if I think it's difficult, it will be a breeze. Go figure.
I know that my body will one day go back to some sort of normal and that nothing lasts forever, but it's just hard. I go to the gym, I run, I go to classes, and it is slowly but surely coming off (so my husband says, I do not see it), but I will be the first to say that I am not rigorously dieting. I have now been nursing Oliver for 8 months and I am so afraid to do anything that will mess with my supply at this point. We have made it so far and it was SO HARD and trying in the beginning that I am just not willing to compromise in this area. Sometimes it makes me a little resentful that I have sacrificed so much of myself and my body for him, but I would do it over again in a heartbeat. I don't eat crazy. I eat like a normal person, but I am by no means living the paleo life.
The main reason I have felt compelled to write this is because I feel like the Lord is truly breaking me over this bondage I have. Last night, I was supposed to accompany my sweet husband to the grand opening of a project Appleseed just got finished designing/building. I'll be honest, I did not want to go. I don't mind going out and about everyday because I can throw on workout gear and not feel guilty, but, these days, dressing up to go somewhere has to be right up there with being shut off by myself in a room full of birds (which I'm terrified of, btdubbs). I made up some excuse about how hard it would be to get Oliver out and could we find a sitter and I even said, if it's really important, I'll go, but I'd just rather not; never being TRULY honest about why I didn't want to go. He told me it was perfectly fine, he'd go and mingle and be back around 6. And truthfully, I don't think he nor myself realized how big of a deal it was until he got there. I mean, this WAS a big deal. This was the largest project they have ever done. And it was fabulous. No one is more proud of my husband than me. He is one of the hardest working men I know, waking up at 3:30 or 4 am most days just to be home in enough time to spend with Oliver and me. I am his biggest fan and cheerleader, but last night, I let him down and didn't show up. And with that move Satan won. He wants me to believe I am not lovely, that I am not beautiful, that my husband is not proud to be seen with me, and I let that voice win. He got home, we talked, he was tired, I apologized for not being there, he said it was fine, but I knew it wasn't. There was this gnawing in me all night (the LORD, hello) and I finally broke down (and I mean I was weeeeeeping, like uncontrollably) and I had to wake him up and confess everything to him. He poured grace over me and reassured me of all my insecurities and picked me right back up. Precious lamb.
I say all this to say I am still not 100%. The Lord is most definitely doing a work in me. I still get weepy today when I think about how I let Ben down, but how much he showed me the gospel in that moment. How I confessed my sin to sweet friends and they picked me up and reminded me who I am and how much I am loved. I cannot let my fears and insecurities keep me from living. I know there are millions of women out there who would give their right arm to have a baby and be miserable with the way they look just to have a child of their own. I know that and my heart breaks for them. But this is where I am. I pray the Lord would use this post in your life in some way. Maybe you don't empathize with me, and maybe you do. I pray you let the Lord remind you of who you are. That we are daughters of the King and nothing, not even the lies of Satan, can take that truth away.
I have to say that I usually go for the route of humor in the blog world. Nothing personal, it's just my style. That is not to say I won't read a serious/heartfelt blog post. However, today, I am going to speak very candidly and from the heart. I feel like this is something I need to share so other moms out there (all 3 of you that will read this...you're welcome) don't feel alone.
I love my child. I really do. Next to Jesus and my husband, he is my most favorite thing. He is hilarious, sweet, adventurous, loving, and all around easy going, but I hate what he has done to my body. I said it. Out loud. I think admitting it is the hardest part. I have spoken with a select few about this issue mostly because I'm just embarrassed. I can honestly say I hate the way I look. I can't believe I'm even typing it right now, but it needs to be said. I know I am not alone in this battle, but in the midst of all my insecurities I feel so alone. I see beautiful, tiny, thin mamas everywhere. At the gym, in the grocery store, at church, in Chick-Fil-A. There seems to be so many women out their who have babies, you blink, and they look as if nothing ever happened. Mind blowing. Before I had Oliver, I just knew I would be one of those. I would have him, nurse him, and BOOM-like magic, a few months later, I would be back in my pre-preggo jeans (with no muffin top, might I add), no problem. Well I'm here to say that 8 months later, while still nursing, ain't no way those jeans are coming on right now. I feel like the Lord loves to humble me. The one thing I am realizing with age is that I, Katie Strout, am extremely prideful. I have this assumption that things will just come easy for me. What I am learning is if I think that, the opposite will most definitely come true, and if I think it's difficult, it will be a breeze. Go figure.
I know that my body will one day go back to some sort of normal and that nothing lasts forever, but it's just hard. I go to the gym, I run, I go to classes, and it is slowly but surely coming off (so my husband says, I do not see it), but I will be the first to say that I am not rigorously dieting. I have now been nursing Oliver for 8 months and I am so afraid to do anything that will mess with my supply at this point. We have made it so far and it was SO HARD and trying in the beginning that I am just not willing to compromise in this area. Sometimes it makes me a little resentful that I have sacrificed so much of myself and my body for him, but I would do it over again in a heartbeat. I don't eat crazy. I eat like a normal person, but I am by no means living the paleo life.
The main reason I have felt compelled to write this is because I feel like the Lord is truly breaking me over this bondage I have. Last night, I was supposed to accompany my sweet husband to the grand opening of a project Appleseed just got finished designing/building. I'll be honest, I did not want to go. I don't mind going out and about everyday because I can throw on workout gear and not feel guilty, but, these days, dressing up to go somewhere has to be right up there with being shut off by myself in a room full of birds (which I'm terrified of, btdubbs). I made up some excuse about how hard it would be to get Oliver out and could we find a sitter and I even said, if it's really important, I'll go, but I'd just rather not; never being TRULY honest about why I didn't want to go. He told me it was perfectly fine, he'd go and mingle and be back around 6. And truthfully, I don't think he nor myself realized how big of a deal it was until he got there. I mean, this WAS a big deal. This was the largest project they have ever done. And it was fabulous. No one is more proud of my husband than me. He is one of the hardest working men I know, waking up at 3:30 or 4 am most days just to be home in enough time to spend with Oliver and me. I am his biggest fan and cheerleader, but last night, I let him down and didn't show up. And with that move Satan won. He wants me to believe I am not lovely, that I am not beautiful, that my husband is not proud to be seen with me, and I let that voice win. He got home, we talked, he was tired, I apologized for not being there, he said it was fine, but I knew it wasn't. There was this gnawing in me all night (the LORD, hello) and I finally broke down (and I mean I was weeeeeeping, like uncontrollably) and I had to wake him up and confess everything to him. He poured grace over me and reassured me of all my insecurities and picked me right back up. Precious lamb.
I say all this to say I am still not 100%. The Lord is most definitely doing a work in me. I still get weepy today when I think about how I let Ben down, but how much he showed me the gospel in that moment. How I confessed my sin to sweet friends and they picked me up and reminded me who I am and how much I am loved. I cannot let my fears and insecurities keep me from living. I know there are millions of women out there who would give their right arm to have a baby and be miserable with the way they look just to have a child of their own. I know that and my heart breaks for them. But this is where I am. I pray the Lord would use this post in your life in some way. Maybe you don't empathize with me, and maybe you do. I pray you let the Lord remind you of who you are. That we are daughters of the King and nothing, not even the lies of Satan, can take that truth away.
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