Keepin' it Real Monday

It's time for another installment of "Keepin' it Real whatever-day-of-the-week-I-decide-to-keep-it-real-on". These are my confessions, people.

First to bat...

1. Christmas is AFTER Thanksgiving. The end.

Now, if you know me, you know I L-O-V-E Christmas and all it's wonderful, magical glory. You can ask my husband and my family, I honestly lament the end of Christmas every. Single. Year. It's like I go into some sort of post-partum seasonal depression. Now, that being said, WHY ON EARTH ARE PEOPLE ALREADY DECORATING FOR CHRISTMAS??? Did Thanksgiving already come and I missed it or something? That's right, I'm calling many of my friends out, and I don't even care. This is what keepin it real is about, y'all. In my Christmas loving mind, it has always been this unspoken rule that the holiday season doesn't begin until Black Friday, and then, you can do whatever you want! Put on the Pandora holiday station, set up that tree, pull out the tacky sweaters, put Elf on repeat, deck the halls in whatever you want, BECOME Clark Griswald, but not before Thanksgiving! I swear, I feel like it gets earlier and earlier every year. Before we know it, Halloween will be known as Pre-Christmas and Thanksgiving will be legally changed to Almost Christmas. I am no Scrooge. Just a stickler for dates and order of events. #RuleFollower #ItsNotChristmasYet

Which brings me to my next topic...

2. I love a #hashtag.

Whether used in various forms of social media, a blogpost, or a simple text with a friend, I love a hashtag. I know I'm like two years late on this trend (I live in Alabama...that's usually the way it goes), but I don't care. They make me laugh and I love it. The more ironic and inappropriately used, the better the hashtag. However, there are rules in my book one what makes a good hashtag a good hashtag. I hate a serious hashtag. Like one that's deep and passive aggressive. Ain't nobody got time for that! Hashtags are all about the laughs, folks! And the #overuse #of #hastags #is #so #incredibly #stupid. Is there a need to compartmentalize every word that you've ever typed in the history of the internet? Seriously, what's the point? In conclusions, hashtags are for laughing and not making people want to #punch you in your #face.

Now, this next one is one I have only ever confessed to my husband, and I gotta say, I'm a little nervous confessing it here, buuuut...

3. I don't actually like U2.

Like, at all. In fact, I kinda think Bono is d-bag. Oh my gaaaaaash, I can't believe I said that. I can literally feel some of you screaming at me through your screen. I know, I'm the worst! But really, I think they're the worst. I know as a Christian (and someone with good musical taste) I'm supposed to like them because Bono loves Jesus and all, but they just don't do it for me. All their songs sound the same to me and they're just boring. I feel like I'm committing mortal musical sin by thinking this. I have TRIED and really wanted to like them, BUT I just don't. My apologies to all U2 and Bono lovers everywhere. I'm going to quit before you guys come and burn my house down. 

And BONUS! I can't stop watching this Vine video. All my teachers will love this one.

Seasons of LOOOOOVE

It is Fall. I have developed a fond appreciation for this season. The nip in the air, scarves, the changing leaves (my personal favorite), boots, the pumpkin flavored EVERYTHING, babies in adorable costumes, college football (though, let's be honest, I don't know any of the rules, I am mildly apathetic towards it, but I love the ambiance of it all. Truth bomb). It's really just a great time of year. Growing up along Alabama's coastal shores, we didn't have much of a Fall. Or seasons, really, for that matter. In Mobile, it's mostly just summer, end of summer, Christmas, and almost summer. Yep. It's funny 'cause it's true.

Which brings me to my point. Seasons. Whether we are talking about the literal four seasons or the seasons of life, seasons always bring about change. Warm summer nights end and falling leaves take their place. Late nights of chatting and drinking wine with your besties are replaced with late night feedings and chats with, well, yourself (because ain't nobody keeping you company at 2 am, friend). Whatever changes have taken place in your life, most of us can say that where we are right now and is not where we were five years ago. You are in a different "season of life."

That phrase once drove me crazy. Like, it truly got on my nerves. I thought to myself, "Seasons of life, how laaaaame." I'm not sure why I felt this way, until I realized just how applicable it is to, well, life. We are in seasons. Some seasons are so much more fun and exciting than others (hello, summer and all your sweet summertime glory) while others are bitter and cold and bring about new change and growth ("Always winter, never Christmas"). Like being a newlywed, for instance. For me, it was kind of a combination of summer and winter all rolled into one. I was so excited to FINALLY be able to live with my husband and do all the other wifely new and exciting things that come along with that (keep ya heads out of the gutter, people). And then you quickly realize that hey, boys are messy no matter how clean they say they are and sometimes they get on your nerves and do they ALWAYS snore and why are there socks everywhere and close the shower curtain back and on and on and on. My. Sinful. Heart. Was. Ex. POSED. I quickly realized how selfish I was. So I worked on that. This was a very sanctifying season in life. And I thought to myself, "Well, I must be done growing and surely I am the most selfless version of myself I can be. Look how great I am. The Lord has done wonders." And then I had a baby.

Two of my most precious, dearest, and oldest friends have recently been thrown head first into the dark, deep-end of motherhood. Their sweet baby boys are both around a month old, and, it has to be said, God made newborns adorable because sometimes, you don't really like them all that much. A friend in my bible study described those first six weeks as "such a dark season" and while she was joking and we all laughed, IT IS SO TRUE. It is. I'm watching my sweet friends struggle and battle with some of the very same things I dealt with and I just want to rescue them and help them, but that's not my job. It's no ones job. This is their story. This is their dark season. I encourage them often that it will get better (and it does, it really does), but that you can't wish to be in a season you're not. You can't skip winter and go straight to spring. You have to trudge through the snow to get to the green grass (or some winter-to-spring analogy). THE POINT IS, the Lord has designed our lives in such a way that we can look back to see the growth. 

As I watch my friends become wonderful, caring, nurturing mothers, I am reminded of where The Lord has brought me in only a years time. I am in a different season. And a year from now I'm sure I'll be somewhere completely different, as will they. And we will look back on these times and laugh (God willing), but until then, we must learn to embrace the season that we are in and remember, there's always summer. ;)

Ain't No Shame

I'd like to start a "Frankly Friday" segment. Or "Shameless Saturday". Or "Keepin' it Real <fill in the day of the week>" as I've heard on other blogs out there. This would be a time where I share things that I should consider embarrassing, but I just can't help but confess. Let the judgement begin.

1. Sometimes I want to put Oliver on a back pack leash.

No, I do not know that kid. And yes, I did google images for kids in back pack leashes. This is one of those things, that, until you're a parent, you just don't understand why they are invented. "Children are not dogs," they say. Oh yeah? Why do they run away like one then? How about you chase your 14 month old around downtown Birmingham on a Friday night because he refuses to stay in his stroller and doesn't want you to hold him and you might be singing a different tune. That's the moment you realize "Hey, a plush teddy bear harness leash would sure be awesome right now." Fear of the judgment from the childless gets the best of you and so you tuck that desire away...until your next outting. Say what you will, but those things were made for a reason. And hey, at least they're cute??

2. I still watch Glee. And I cried at last night's episode.

Some of you will say, "Katie, why are you embarrassed of this? That's not so bad." But then you must remember I'm a 28, almost 29 year old adult woman who is still watching a teen dramedy. And I don't even actually like it anymore. That's the embarrassing part. But for some reason I can't stop watching it.  I pretty much dislike most of the storylines now, they've gotten far too agenda-y for my taste, the new characters are kinda lame, the songs aren't as good (bring back the show tunes!), and HEY IT'S FOR 14 YEAR OLDS. It's like I'm afraid I'm going to miss something if I stop watching it. A TV show. That I don't even like. Insanity. And then I go and watch last night's episode, The Quarterback. An episode in which everyone bid farewell to the late Cory Monteith (aka Finn Hudson) and I wept like a small child. And need I repeat, I DON'T EVEN LIKE THE SHOW ANYMORE. Didn't stop me from watching it and crying like the pathetic little tween girl I am. Lame-o. Though I do have to admit, if you didn't cry at some point during that episode, your heart must be made of stone. Talk about a tear jerker. #andthatsnotthefirsttimeicriedwatchingglee #movingon

3. If I could, I would eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch everyday of my life.

Or any other delicious, sugary cereal. I love cereal. I practically lived off of it for a good portion of my childhood. However, I never buy it now as a responsible wife/mother/adult and do you know why? BECAUSE ALL I WANT IS THE TERRIBLE STUFF. Lucky Charms? Count Chocula? Cap'n Crunch? Yes please. Kashi-Go-Lean-I-Taste-Like-Cardboard-Crunch? PAAAAAAAAAASS. I do, however, like Raisin Bran, but I'm sure it has to be terrible for you in some way because rarely do I like something that isn't. So instead I just stick with my half a bagel (which isn't that great...I just love carbs...more on that later) and a banana for breakfast. Bor-ing, but at least the dia-beetus isn't calling my name...yet.

That's all for this week. Tune in next week when I'll probably forget to post more embarrassing shameless things. Forgive me in advance. 

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Im an infrequent blogger. Sue me. I just tend to write when I feel compelled to do so. I have a couple of ideas floating about in my cranium for some posts, so bare (or is it bear...I digress) with me as you might get a blog overload here soon. 

Becoming a mom changes you. It changes you mentally (mom brain is real, people), emotionally (I can cry much easier now...boo), spiritually (Oh, let me count the ways), and last, but not least physically. This last one has probably been the hardest for me to grasp. 

You'll recall in an earlier post I lamented about my new body and the shame and embarrassment I felt over it. Feeling embarrassed to go to events with my husband because I was ashamed of the new body God had given me. Lies, lies, lies. I am here today to tell you that the old saying, "It gets better" is actually true.  

Just the other day I was feeling bummed because I LITERALLY had no jeans in our home that I could wear. None. That weren't maternity (and we are not there yet, folks). I had no clothes that fit last fall/winter (which is basically the same season in Alabama), especially jeans. I was far too depressed to purchase any in the size the stores SAID I wore (liars) so I protested and refused to buy any. Mature, I know. But I decided to suck it up and go look for some dang pants.  Worse case, I would leave depressed and I could go get some yogurt after (because it helps. Trust me.). None of that was needed, friends. I found not one, but TWO pairs of jeans that fit great AND were in a size I could deal with. Were they the same size I used to wear? Um, doubtful. But they fit, and fit well.

**On a complete side note, the more I shop for jeans, the more I realize I literally cannot wear cheap denim. Call me a denim snob, but I end up wasting my money at Old Navy or Target only to have a diaper butt or muffin top after about 5 minutes. However, my love and desire for expensive denim is hindered by my wicked tight budget. BUT FEAR NOT! For that is what Nordstrom Rack is for. Designer jeans at half the price? Yes, please. I could write an entire post about jeans...don't get me started.**

Let me back up and state that I have been taking care of myself in order to find these magic traveling pants of wonder. I work out 4-5 days a week (and in mom world, that's a lot, people) and I've set up a routine so that I HAVE to go. And the truth is, I enjoy it. O gets a break from me and gets a chance to develop some social skills and I get to burn some calories. It's a win/win. It's a nice, and welcomed, break in the day. I don't say all this to make myself look awesome. Im not at all. I'm simply saying that me being comfortable and confident with me has taken work. I still have the pallet of a five year old when it comes to the foods I love, but I'm working on it. And truth is I have to eat better because I'm forcing my child to eat well. Talk about accountability. 

I know everyone who has seen me for the past year has thought, "Hey she has a cute kid and husband, but she looks borderline homeless most of the time." I'm working my way out of homeless status, friends. I have come to grips with the fact that no matter how hard I work, my body may never be the same as it was BC (before children ;) ). My hips are wider, things aren't quite as perky as they once were, but that's ok. I know my worth does not rest in physical appearance, but The Lord does call us to take care of ourselves. That's a fact, Jack. Will I ever get rid of my pre-Ollie jeans? Probably not. I like to hold on to the ghost because, hey, ya never know...

Meanwhile...how cute is he?

End of an Era

It's no secret to anyone who knows me (or has read this blog) that I am a bit of a lactivist. For the past year, I have subscribed to the notion "breast is best" even when it was not what I wanted to do. When I had Oliver, I set a goal for myself that I was going to nurse him for a whole year. I HAD to do it because 1.-it was what was best and healthiest for my child (even if I do eat cookies with my lunch...there are vitamins in chocolate chips, right?) and 2.-we literally couldn't afford for me not to do it. Those are the cold hard facts. Well, I am here to say that 14 months later, I did it. I met my goal. ::cue wild applause here::

It seems slightly unreal. I. Did. It. Me. The person who sometimes stops mid-workout because "I'm tired," and "It's really hard." Without a doubt, nursing is the hardest thing I have ever done. In fact, during those workouts where I want to quit, I remind myself, "Well, you didn't quit nursing even when you hated life and everyone else, so finish you big sissy." But seriously, it was so hard. My motto to anyone is, if you can make it past the first 6 weeks then you can do it. Those 6 weeks seem like an eternity. I can remember hearing other moms say that to me and at the time thinking, well yeah but their baby can't be as lazy/sleepy/terrible an eater/"underweight"/tiny/fill in the blank of horribleness as MY baby. But now I know. They're all terrible in the beginning. Now, there are those rare exceptions who come out of the womb, eating like a boss and sleeping like a champ. Mine did the second thing REALLY well. Too well. All he wanted to do was sleep. And sleep. And sleep. Don't know if you know this, but you can't really eat well if you're asleep. Brand new information, I know. And not to mention I had not the FAINTEST idea what I was doing. I dove head first into a world full of words like nipple shield, engorgement, lansinoh, let-down, clogged ducts, flax seed, fenugreek, and on and on and on. I thought it would be simple. You have the baby, you put them to your boob, they eat, they poop, you change them, they sleep, you're done. Eventually, yes, this happens. But in between several of those steps insert crying hysterically, from mom or baby and hey, sometimes BOTH. Because that is reality. 

I don't write this to make mothers who didn't nurse, or couldn't nurse, for whatever reason, feel bad. There are so many odds stacked against us. Supply issues, latch issues, pumping, returning to work, medication, adoption, the list goes on and on. You did what was best for your baby, mama, and don't let anyone take that away from you. It's not for everyone and thankfully we live in age where you don't have to find a wet nurse from the village down the lane to feed your baby. There is formula. Thank the Lord. I write this, however, to encourage new mamas or mamas to be that you can make it. You can do it. I didn't have super debilitating issues, but I still had issues. It's so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, the rainbow in the midst of the storm, but it's there, waiting for you! Ready to shine its glorious light upon you! Remember this: It. Will. Get. Better.

I did it. I made it through those 6 weeks. And then I made it to 3 months. Then 6 months. Then 9. And now all of a sudden I have a one year old who drinks almond milk (he's a snob, what can I say) and doesn't need me the same way anymore. It's bittersweet. Weaning Oliver has been a lot more of an emotional experience than I thought it would be. Let's be real, its been like two days since I last nursed him, so the emotions are a little fresh. I mean, for over a year now, my body has not been my own. I have had my life and schedule revolve around when this little boy needs to eat and I was the only one who could meet that need and comfort him in that way. I was needed. I know I still am, but it's not the same. Those sweet tender moments are some of my favorite. I'll never get them back, but I'll treasure them always. 

So hang in there, new mama. Rest is just around the corner. And if not, that's why God invented the breast pump...and the daddy. ;)

Busy

College.

Those were some good times.

I can remember being in college, living in the sorority house, telling everyone just how "busy" I was. I had "such little time to do anything but school and work."

I want to slap college me in the face.

College Katie didn't really know the meaning of the word "busy."

If you have time for 2 1/2 hour naps in your cold and cozy dorm room, College Katie, you are not "busy."

If you can skip biology class for the 100th time and go grab lunch at Foosackly's for hours on end and still pull out an A in the class, you, College Katie, are not "busy."

If you can hang out with your friends on the pier discussing deep issues of life and theology, you, my sweet precious College Katie, are NOT "busy."

But to me I was.

I'm not going to lie, I loved college. I didn't have the college experience that most had; it wasn't filled with wild weekends and crazy parties, but it was awesome. I learned about God. I learned how to love Him, how to study His word, how to struggle, how to come of out that struggle, and how to love myself because He first loved me. Some of my sweetest and most treasured friendships come from my college years. We were immature, yet we had it all together. We spent summers together. There were Beach Projects and trips to Mexico and everything in between. We suffered. We yearned for Eden. We longed for something better. And then we really grew up.

Some got married. Some continue to wait on a spouse. Some had babies. Some lost babies. Some wait on babies still to come. Many lose touch. We make new friends. We all long to be known. And then we feel "busy" all over again. 

If you ask me now, I will tell you I'm the busiest I've ever been. If you asked me five years ago, I would tell you the same thing. Talk to me in 2018 and I'll probably be singing the same song and dance and be wanting to slap "New Mom Katie" in face along with "College Katie." But the difference is, now, I rejoice in the busy. For God heard my prayers; He granted me the desires of my heart and He didn't have to do that. Not at this point in my life. What a joy. What a treasure. What a Savior.

So join with me in rejoicing in the busy. It just means you have more to be thankful for today and the days to come.

One Whole Year of Wonderful

I love my son.  I do.  To me, he is the cutest thing that I have ever seen.  He makes me laugh and smile (and sometimes cry and frown) all the time.  He's awesome. I wanted to take a minute to share with you all some of my favorite things about him and what he is up to at 12 months of age.

Oliver has truly never met a stranger.  I know some people say that about their babies, but seriously, the kid loves everyone.  At Bed, Bath, and Beyond last week we were walking around and he saw this sweet older lady and he just toddled right over to her and threw his arms in the air as if to say, "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"  She told me she would take him home right then and there.  She can't have him, though.  He's too sweet to give away.

He is a happy baby.  Sure, he has his moments of whining and fussiness (though I'm sure his grandmothers and grandfather would NEVER believe that), but he's just good.  Again, I know a lot of people say that about their babies, but this is really true.  He smiles and waves at everyone.  He doesn't get sad when I leave him at babysitting at the gym (YET...).  He's just super easy-going.  He must get that from his dad.  I'm honestly not sure what we did, but Ben and I pray for all our babies to be as sweet as Oliver. However, we're sure the Lord will throw us some curve balls.  Gotta keep things interesting!

He loves his dog.  He seriously thinks Talulah is his best friend.  He chases her around, grabs her beard, touches her ears, and giggles at the noises she makes ALL. THE. TIME.  I love it.  There is nothing sweeter than watching a little boy love on his dog and I am so excited to see how the relationship between the two of them unfolds.  Talulah has been mighty sweet and patient with her new playmate.  I'm sure she wouldn't have picked him on her own, but I know she's glad to have him around.  It's better than being stuck in a crate all day, am I right?!

He's very inquisitive.  He wants to know about everything.  If he is awake, he is moving.  Whether that is taking all the toys off all the shelves or dumping the puzzles out for the 900th time that day, he is a busy, busy boy.  He loves to climb on everything. He loves being outside (and trying to eat rocks--so far, he has been unsuccessful) and going for rides in his new wagon.  He just sings to himself and is searching the whole time he is riding.  I know...I'll stop with the cuteness.

He's a good eater.  His favorite foods would include bananas, cheese, green beans, cheese, yogurt,  cheese, mangos, cheese, sweet potatoes, and did I mention cheese?  The boy loves cheese.  He really loves any fruit and most veggies.  I have found if there is something he doesn't like, it's generally to do with texture (he is his mother's son, after all).  Like all kids, some days he is an awesome eater and will eat whatever I put in front of him.  Then he decides the next day that it's disgusting and Talulah would really like to eat it instead.  See...loves his dog.

He's a passionate little fella. He loves hard. And he will get his feelings hurt if you take that thing he loves away. He has recently started to cry everytime his Aunt Kellee leaves our house. It's enough to break your heart, I tell you! He also really loves random inanimate objects. Particularly long animate objects: spoons, drumsticks, wands, whatever. He loves to carry them around all day and will have a full on meltdown when you try to take them away. Sorry, baby. Mamas gotta cook.

He loves standing on his head. I don't really feel like that needs explaining and I don't know the why of it, but he does. Sweet little weirdo. 

Most of all, he loves his papa.  I have loved watching Oliver get older because it's so fun to watch him notice things.  When he was 6 months old, he never really noticed when Ben came home.  Now when Ben walks in the door, he stops whatever he is doing, gets up, and runs as fast as his tiny little legs will carry him to greet him at the door.  STOP.  I know, it will melt your heart.  It has been a joy watching Ben love on his son and I can't to see what all his papa will teach him in the years to come.  He is a blessed little boy and we are even more blessed parents to have him in our lives.  Thanks for being you, little boy.