An Empty Cup Doesn't Pour

I never knew how much I would have to give as a mom; I could’ve never imagined it before becoming one. I knew it wouldn’t always be easy, that there would be hard days. But I thought that I would be able to handle those hard days. They can’t be that bad. Some days though, I’m not so sure I can.

I don’t always want to be so giving or selfless. I don’t always feel like putting them first. Sometimes I just want to worry about me. To take a break from all the giving of myself and just give to myself instead.

This is why self care is so important especially as a mom. If you’re running on empty, there’s nothing to give. You can’t pour from an empty cup. Although it’s not always easy, your kids need you and they need what you give them.

You need to take care of yourself so you can take care of them. Find those things that fill you up inside and do them. Every day. Find what works for you, whether it’s waking up before them, during naptime, after they go to sleep… or locking them in the closet with some chocolate? Or locking yourself in with that chocolate? But make sure to carve out the hour or two to do what makes you – the girl inside the mom – happy. Because you need to be running on fuel, not fumes, in order to run your family.

We fight many things to make this time for ourselves. Outside forces such as house chores or kid interruptions. Inside forces like mom guilt or tiredness. Yes, mom guilt is a thing. Making your own things a priority in these hours makes you a better you. Which makes you a better mom.

And that is better for all involved.

My Bad Days Don't Define Me

My personality test results tell me that I’m social, energizing, and inspirational. No, I’m not that I think instantly. Then the next phrase clicks: When you are at your best. What a relief! When I’m at my best, this is what I am. When I’m feeling good, and at my highest point, I am full of energy. I love to be with people, connecting. Laughing and having a good time or talking about the things that actually matter. I am happy to do my mom stuff, hobbies, and just DO things. Be active.

When I am at my low, that is definitely not the case. I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep. I don’t want to see anybody, let alone talk to anyone. Even the smallest chore like changing a diaper or feeding the kids breakfast feels like a mountainous task. These low points make up a part of me, and it’s easy to let them define how I am. That yes, I like to be social and sometimes I have great amounts of energy, but how I actually am is in these low moments. That is the real me.

But why does it have to be that way? Why can’t the true me be the bubbly, energetic and laughing version, who hits low points sometimes? (Just like everyone else does. I don’t have the trademark for them.) Why do I let the low times define who I am and drag down my sense of self worth?

They don’t get to define me. All of my days, moods, and happenings make who I am. My energetic days and the days where I just want to be in sweet sleeping oblivion. My happy moods and my angry moods. Phases where I organize things to do with friends and phases where I want to be by myself. I don’t have to let my bad days tell me who I am. I am all of it.

My bad days don’t get to define me.                            

Who Am I Even?

Nic and I celebrated our sixth anniversary- how can it be six years ago already that we spent hours walking downtown Spokane taking pictures? How can it be six years since I walked down the aisle towards him, barely even remembering to focus on him because I was filled with thoughts of tripping over my dress, saying goodbye to my family, and everyone’s looking at me!

So much has happened in these years we’ve spent together, that the girl who said “I do” feels like a different person, someone separate from me. She was physically different- a flat(ish) belly with no stretch marks racing across it; ribs and hips were still those of a girl, narrow. She was also different on the inside- her mind was filled with grand ideas of how married life would be, how motherhood would be. She thought that being a wife and a mom were her greatest life ambitions, that was all she needed to be happy. She was light, free, and excited about the future that was just beginning. 

Four months out of these six years, I have been just me. The other sixty eight months I have been either pregnant or breastfeeding. Just think about that for a moment. All the changes that your body goes through-physically, emotionally, hormonally- during each pregnancy and postpartum period. And to think that I have been going through these changes most of our married life.. who am I even?! Does Nic even know the me that’s under this hormone roller coaster and flux of my belly? (Big, saggy, repeat.)

Sometimes I miss it, that body that was actually my own. No weird symptoms without a clear cause. (Pregnant?) I can't say I was less hormonal. We'll just leave it at that. I didn't have little hands on my legs at every hour of every day as I tried to accomplish tasks. It was just me.

But as I've heard before, my body tells the story of my children-it has grown, birthed and nourished them. Through all of these changes, my husband has been beside me. Loving me in all the different stages; my good days and bad days, just had a baby days, early pregnancy tiredness days- everything. I guess it's not that there is a real me hiding underneath the changing seasons -this is me now. 

My body also tells the story of me, how I have grown through birthing and raising these children. Of learning how to multitask, to take responsibility for more than just me. Of learning how to care for these littles, and to love them. Motherhood has made me me.

A Proud Momma

To the cashier at the grocery store this morning,

We walked past your line in search of a shorter one. There wasn’t one to be found, so we returned to wait in yours. My baby was fussing because she was hungry. My boys were sitting in the cart, one squishing our hamburger buns while the other was busy ripping the Cheerios box. My daughter was holding onto the cart and asking for every kind of chocolate in sight. I should’ve bought myself at least one for braving the grocery aisle with all 4 munchkins, come to think of it.

I saw you give us the once over, and the thought bubbles were all but exploding above your head. “1-2-3-4?! Does she know where babies come from? She looks like she’s 18.. poor kid must’ve gotten knocked up at like 12! Who in their right mind would have so many kids so close together? They must have been oopsies. Her cart is so full, she’s probably going to try sneak something past me.” I tried to ignore this onslaught of thoughts and continued my attempt at soothing Rosie.

It was our turn to put our items on the conveyor belt and chaos ensued. Amidst many “Sit downs” and “MOMMY will put the eggs, thank you very much!” and “Don’t touch that!” we got all of our purchases out of the cart. I try to remind myself that at least the kids are eager to help me. But MAN is it easier to come to the grocery store by myself!

You greeted me with a stare and a sharp “Bag or no bags?” Where was the “Good morning! How are you? You have your hands full! They sure are beautiful!”? None of that. Ok, I said to myself. I can deal with that, I won’t ask you about your day either. Then came the clincher though.

“And the book is free today?” you asked. I was confused, my brain trying to rapidly make sense of the words it heard- I knew I should’ve had my third cup of coffee before I left the house. Is she making a joke that I’m taking one of the kids for free?

You clarified: “That book in the cart-you’re taking it for free?” I glanced at the cart, thinking I had missed something, but it was empty. Well, as empty as it can be with 4 kids and a diaper bag in it anyways. “I don’t have any books”, I told you and you realized what you thought was a book was indeed nothing. You don’t even apologize, you simply tell me, “Oh, that’s okay.” And proceed to ring through the last purchases and ignore me.

I was hurt and angry that you made such a rash judgement of me. I stewed for a while over all the hurtful words I could toss back at you, but I held my tongue. As I was leaving the store however, a new feeling dawned on me. Not everybody is going to think my kids are beautiful, and most probably won’t understand why I have four kids so close together. They might not respect me and my decisions, and some might be bolder with letting their opinions be known. But as I walked out of the store into the sunshine, I held my head a little bit higher. I smiled at my kids and took a running start before jumping on the cart to ride it to our red minivan. Because, you know what? I love every single one of my four, and I would not get rid of any of them just to look more normal. I am a lucky mom to have such a full cart.

So, I just wanted to say thank you, lady at the cash register. Thank you for acting how you did, because it strengthened my belief that this life is what I want.

And by the way, I hope you have a good day.

Sincerely, A Proud Momma

With Love

The room is dark, light only coming from the kitchen. I wish I could say I set the mood, that I chose to be in this darkness with a few candles burning for aura. In truth, I didn’t even think of it. Our month old baby is contentedly suckling and kids are quiet upstairs at last. If they are sleeping though, is another question altogether.

My mind strays to all the things I didn’t get done today- dishes are piled high, crumbs all over the floor. My mind also strays to the things I did today that I wish I could erase- getting upset at my toddler for being whiny, my others for playing too loud. I wonder about tomorrow, or next week, and how will we ever get this four kids thing down pat?

I hear a creaking of floor boards from above, then the creaking of the steps. A sure sign that it’s not a ghost coming down to pay a friendly visit. Guin cautiously pokes her head around the corner- “Mom, can I get a drink of water?” She quickly drinks a cup of water and starts up the stairs again. When she reaches the second step though, she turns back around and runs over to me. She throws her arms around my neck and gives a tight squeeze. A quick kiss on my cheek, accompanied by an “I love you” and back to bed she goes.

I lift baby to my chest to burp, and think about that small act of love. Maybe she recognized my tiredness? Maybe she simply wanted me to know how she felt about me. Either way, that was a perfect example of what will happen tomorrow, and next week, and next year. This is how we will get this mom thing down pat.

With love.

This Is Not A Burden

Confession: Sometimes I resent my husband his freedom. He comes home from work and eats supper while reading his book. We’ve had discussions (read: arguments) about this particular topic many times, but he tells me this is his nothing box time. And I know he needs his nothing box, so that is that.

Then he’s done eating and after profusely thanking me for the delicious supper, he sits down on the couch. The kids will usually sit with him for a while, maybe they will read a story together. Then he may or may not fall asleep. Chances are good that if he falls asleep he won’t come up to bed until the wee hours of the morning, because when he’s out, he is out.

On this evening, he falls asleep. The alarm goes off at 8 pm because today is Friday, and that means hockey night for him. He gathers up his stuff and off he goes, forgetting that he told me he would put the kids to bed tonight. Or maybe he never even agreed to doing that, come to think of it- did I even mention it?

So here I am, just another evening with me and my four kids. Diapers to be changed, teeth to be brushed, blankets to be tucked around little bodies all snug and cozy. Forget the pajamas tonight, I want as few steps as possible before I have a quiet house. There are fights and disagreements to be settled, scraped knees to be tended to, and many reminders to listen to what mom says. This evening routine. I know it won’t be like this forever, but this phase stretches out infinitely ahead of me.

Sometimes I get tired of being the one to always tuck them in. I wouldn’t mind to sometimes be the one heading out the door before the bedtime chaos begins. Or to be the one that falls asleep on the couch and not wake up until the house is silent; in full confidence that the kids and house will be taken care of. It would be nice to take a break from the daily routines so that I don’t get so tired of this burden.

Because it’s not really a burden, is it? It’s a privilege to tuck your kids in safely in their beds each night. To know that they are safe and within arms reach. The only sneaking out that might occur at this stage is to grab a cup of water.

This is a good reminder for me as I start the daunting task of bedtime tonight. I get to tuck my four little loves safely in their beds. I let their “Good night, mommy. I love you!” fill my heart. No, this is surely not a burden.

Hold My Hand

“Mommy, I wanna hold your hand!” says my little 3-year-old boy. My arms are full with my toddler and my belly is near to bursting with my 35 weeks along baby. I shift Gus to my other hip and juggle my purse around so Emerson can grab my hand as we walk from the van to the house. His hand is a little sweaty in mine, from a long day playing at his grandparents. Now we are home, and that connection between mom and him is needed. His hand is still so small in mine.

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“Mommy! Mommy!” I hear Gus waking up from his nap. I just sat down with my afternoon snack and try to work up the energy to climb the stairs to get him- why can’t he just climb out of the crib by himself I think? And immediately take that thought back. I’m SO glad he can’t climb out by himself yet. I hike up the stairs to get him from his crib, and he wraps his arms around my neck for a quick squeeze before squirming down. “Daddy, daddy!” He exclaims, butt wiggling as he runs to search for him. We get to the top of the stairs and he holds his hand up towards me, not even looking at me, just trusting that my hand will be there to meet his. With his chubby fingers safely inside mine, we begin the climb downstairs.

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Rosie’s little fingers curled into my shirt as I nurse her. I slip my finger inside her grasp, and they instantly close around mine, holding so tight. She guzzles, content, and I stroke her hand marvelling at the softness. Her body is so warm against mine, but the feeling of her hand in mine is like the cherry on top of the sundae. Her fingers are so small, as is all of her. She’s here with me, and she’s safe.

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We are driving in the van and Nic reaches over to grab my hand. I have to sit crooked on the seat so my arm will reach over to his arm rest. I feel the callouses and scratches that he has gotten from days at work to provide for us; the many evenings spent working on our fixer upper home. The strength and security I feel when my hand is in his; my hand is the smaller one now, the one that gets enveloped.

It’s such a simple thing, to hold hands. I remember our dating days, when holding Nic’s hand was such a huge thing. That small connection that means so much. It’s a simple show of I love you. I’m here with you.

I imagine this is how my kids feel when their hand is in mine. Safe, close, and loved.

A Future Thanksgiving

I’m sitting on a big, soft armchair with a fresh little newborn snuggled tight against my chest. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell that nothing in this world can top. There is laughter all around me as Nic tells another one of his hunting stories- at this point, I can probably tell half of them better than he can for how many times I’ve heard them. His eyes are lit up, his hands going this way and that as he approaches the punch line. Yells and laughter come floating up the staircase as all the grandkids are busily destroying the playroom downstairs. My daughters -by birth and through marriage- are finishing the last touches on our Thanksgiving dinner. I look at each and every face and I thank God for everything that He has given me. I snuggle the little bundle closer to me and let the tears fall softly down my face. It is joy that I feel, with some wonder at how I made it- clearly not on my own. My heart is full.

I can so clearly see this vision. I know that in forty years I want this to be my reality. A full house with my children and grandchildren- and maybe even throw in a few great grandchildren to the mix?! I want so many that it’s hard to keep track of them. I want a little birthday book where I write down each new addition. This life feels like the epitome of blessed.

But how do I get from here to there? I have four now and my hands already feel so full. To think of adding ten more to this feels absolutely insane. How do I translate that dream of a thanksgiving dinner far in the future to my current thanksgiving situation? Accepting another pregnancy when the baby isn’t even a year old yet isn’t always easy to do. I easily get caught up in the everyday work, feeling tired and overwhelmed. And to add a newborn on top of everything?

I remember wondering each time another baby was born, “How will I manage?” Somehow, we always do. I can trust that God will give me the strength to accept and raise these children that He gives me. Slowly but surely, that new addition wiggles it’s way into the daily routine. Then before you know it, you don’t even remember what life was like before they were born. It’s as though they were always a part of the family; you can’t imagine them not being there.

So as I set the table after a long day of food prep, I keep my mind on that Thanksgiving dinner in the future. I know that I will be thankful that I stuck it through, that I stayed the course. There are hard and tiring days, but that clear picture reinforces why I keep going.

Six Babies, Four Kids

I don’t usually think about that. I’ve had 6 babies, but I have 4 kids that wake up each morning with rumpled hair, sleepy smiles, and warm bodies that press close to me for a hug. I have 4 kids to dress for the day, pile into the van, read books to, and tuck in bed every night. The other two are little angel babies, looking down on us from a better place.

The first one I never heard the heartbeat. This pregnancy I wasn’t quite ready for. I had two babies and I felt that how can I handle a third? I don’t have room for another one. The bleeding started after a particularly hormonal day and I just knew that I was miscarrying. I felt grief, some relief, and guilt for feeling the relief. I felt sad that I would never meet the little human that had started growing inside me. I worried that the baby had somehow sensed my doubts. I worried about everything, maybe this had caused my miscarriage? Or if I hadn’t done that, maybe I wouldn’t have miscarried?

My second one that I lost was also around 6-8 weeks. What I thought was my period starting was actually implantation bleeding. I was completely knocked off my feet when I found out that I didn’t have 4 weeks before getting pregnant, I was in fact already 4 weeks along. It took me a couple days of laying on the couch with no motivation for anything, before I allowed myself to be happy and prepare space in my mind for baby number four. I was getting back on my feet when the bleeding and cramping started for the second time in my life. I never heard the heartbeat of that baby either. I remember getting called to my family doctor’s office and walking down the hall to his actual office instead of one of the examination rooms. I sat across from him and watched his face as he told me, “There was no heartbeat. We got the ultrasound results, and they didn’t find the heartbeat.” My mind went to the day before, the ultrasound tech asking how many weeks I thought I was, and asking how sure I was that I was 8 weeks along. I tried to analyze my emotions- am I sad? Heartbroken? Relieved? Guilty? All the feelings coursing through me, but there I sat in the doctor’s office- feeling everything but feeling numb.

Looking at my four healthy beautiful children, I can’t help but wonder what those other two would be like. What would their smiles have been like? Would they have dimples winking out on one side like two of their siblings? What would their personalities have been? Would they be go-getters or more laid back? Who would they have looked like- maybe they would’ve had my blue eyes or Nic’s green ones? I will never know their quirks, their sleep habits, what they liked to eat. I will never see their eyes light up when they look at me, or feel their arms around my neck. I will never be able to kiss their owies away.

I miss them, even though I never got to meet them. My arms crave to hold them close to me, to feel their warmth and the slow rise and fall of their breathing. But I can trust that they are in a better place and in better care. I will meet them there someday.

True Friendship

A weekend with the girls. San Diego, CA. One flying in from Seattle WA, one from Austin TX, one from Outlook SK (where’s that?), and one from Toronto ON. Four girls and one baby ready to spend Mother’s Day weekend on the ocean.

We grew up together, these three girls and I, not in the sense of childhood years but where we started to find out who we are. Those high school years of drama and fights, forgiveness and tears, laughter and peed pants, outfit changes and crappy cars- these are what brought us close. We were there for each other when one would make a detour while on the path to finding ourselves. We were like sisters, and became blood sisters by a nick on each of our thumbs. I know, gross. The one thing that kept us together was the unconditional love, the knowledge that we would love each other no matter what.

After six years of being spread to the four corners of the continent (could we be ANY further apart?) it’s still there, that love. We talk on the phone sporadically, messaging and posting pictures on our groupme a bit more often, but when we meet it’s still the same. I think we are a more mature(ish), responsible versions of ourselves, but the girls inside of us are still there. Ready to laugh, cry, and have a good time.

To have a friend that knows you, gets you, forgives you and still loves you is so huge. I used to think that’s how all best friendships are- how could you be best friends if you can’t talk about absolutely anything with them? Creating this kind of friendship, especially as a mom, is challenging. Opening yourself up to someone completely and letting them see the whole you is so scary. Being vulnerable, admitting that you don’t have all your stuff together- what would they think of me? It seems to be easier to stay closed off and safe.

But look at what you miss out on when you don’t open up. These friendships are the ones that last a lifetime. It takes effort from both sides to build the friendship and keep it going, but it takes one person to open up first. So thank you, my BFFs, for letting me be vulnerable with you and accepting the whole me. Most of all, thank you for showing me what a true friendship can be like.

Yes, I Can!

Ever since Rosemary was born, I’ve been struggling with postpartum anxiety. I’ve never been a really anxious person so this tummy turning feeling, the thought that something bad is sure to happen, or stressing about all the things that could go wrong is new for me. I think it has something to do with hormones (blame everything on the hormones, right?) and also the fact that I now have four kids, with the oldest a fresh five years old. Numbers 1 and 2 were relatively easy, I still had one hand for each of them. Number 3 was an easy baby which helped with the adjustment. But with number 4 I am so outnumbered that it’s not even funny.

If I go grocery shopping, my cart has no room for any food because it’s already full of kids. Do I push two double strollers when we go for a walk? Getting everyone ready and out the door is a feat for sure -being on time? A whole different story. Being outnumbered, my chance of staying in control of any situation is doubtful; there are four variable factors now and who knows what could happen?

A normal evening trip to town to do errands would consume my thoughts that whole day. In the morning, I would start figuring out my plan of action. Where we would go and in what order. Then I would think of all the things that might happen.  What if Rosie starts crying in the grocery store because she’s hungry? What if the kids are just being wild hooligans and not listening to me? What about if the van breaks down? Or we get in an accident? My belly would just be in knots thinking about the doom that waited for me.

I’ve realized that my anxiety comes from when I have to go out of my comfort zone- again, a new feeling for me. I’ve always loved exploring new places and trying new things. I like to be able to just pick up and go when the mood strikes. Now however, we have our rhythm at home. Although the daily life might not be so exciting or different, it’s comfortable. And comfortable is easy. So anything outside of this easy felt heard, scary, and unknown.

A podcast that I listened to on anxiety said that when you start to change yours or your family’s lives because of your irrational fears, that’s when you know you have anxiety. Up until Rosie, I thrived on my ability to be spontaneous, as spontaneous as one can be with kids anyway. I loved to not have schedules, to be able to come and go as we pleased. These new anxious feelings that came with the spontaneity or doing different things were baffling and not welcome.

Being aware of how I am feeling versus how I want to feel is a step in the right direction for dealing the anxiety. Knowing that most of my fears are irrational also helps to keep my mind in check, as well as planning what I can do if a situation arises. Slowly but surely, I am learning how to go places with my whole brood. It takes longer to pack up and get out the door, but it feels good to think “Yes, I can do this!”

Five Years Ago

I’m frosting the cake on my daughter’s fifth birthday. It’s a delicious looking cake, and I’ve eaten almost half the frosting already. I decided to indulge my sweet tooth, plus Guin said she wanted a black cake (chocolate) for her birthday. So, we are making a double chocolate layer cake with peanut butter buttercream frosting, topped with chocolate ganache, crumbled Reese’s cups and Reese’s pieces. I’m putting on the final touches when it hits me. FIVE years ago, my oldest daughter was born. That means that FIVE years ago, I became a mom.

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I remember that evening like it was yesterday. We had spent the previous night in the hospital because I thought I was in labor. I was 5 days overdue, I had been having contractions every 5 minutes for a couple hours and I figured this was it. No, they didn’t hurt but I just figured that I was tough like that. I figured that labor wasn’t going to be painful for me. Boy was I wrong! So, we had spent an uneventful night in that hospital bed, going from 1 cm dilated to maybe a generous 1 1\2 cm. We got sent home, feeling tired, drained, and oh so done with this pregnancy! That night though, as I was trying to get some sleep between contractions, my water broke. It was like a big balloon inside me kept getting bigger and I literally heard a “Pop!” and I knew this was finally it! Another tell tale sign of my ignorance- I figured since my water had broke already, there wouldn’t be any more liquid coming out so I simply put a thin pad in my underwear and off we went to the hospital. When we arrived, my pants were completely soaked and I waddled inside feeling like a complete noob.

Guinevere Irene was born that following day just after noon. I remember getting upset at my nurse because she told me to try a football hold to nurse my daughter, that maybe she would latch better that way. But I had never seen my mom nurse that way so I was determined that I absolutely would not try anything different. That first night was tiring as she just wanted to nurse the whole time. At approximately 3 am I rolled Guin in her crib to the nurse’s station, bawling and asking if someone could look after her while I went bathroom. I was too scared to leave her by herself for even a few minutes. I came out of the bathroom and the nurse said, “I think she’s just hungry!” I felt like I was going to pull my hair out, “what do you think I’ve been doing for the last 5 hours?!” My introduction to motherhood wasn’t as easy as I had been expecting. Walking into the hospital that night before, I thought I knew everything I needed to know. Walking out of the hospital the following day, this façade was left shattered behind me in the hospital room.

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I try to dissect my emotions- how does this realization make me feel? It feels like the years have flown by in a flash- how can that night be five years ago already? How can I have a daughter old enough to go to school? All her milestones are just one big blur. A few memories jump out at me; Guin with a tiara on her head at her first birthday party; swimming with her at the lake the summer before Emerson was born; her hands around my neck for her good morning squeeze; her blabbering on her phone while acting like me- I don’t really look like that, do I? How are those moments already just memories, all jumbled together?

While it feels like it has gone so fast, I also feel like I’ve been a mom forever. Mom life and my daily mom routines are so normal. Long gone are the days before kids. It’s normal to wake up without needing to be at my job for a certain time. It’s normal to have a flexible schedule. It’s normal to look forward to naptime and quiet time. To cook supper everyday and do the dishes afterwards. How distant seem the days when this was not my life.

The paradox of time- sometimes going too fast and sometimes going too slow.

Why This Matters

I got married at 19 and I moved here to Toronto, Ontario, where I had only been twice before in my life. One time was with my family the summer before 8th grade. I still remember that trip- my excitement over my brand new pink striped purse. I thought I was so old because I had my very own purse to put my very own things in! But then I felt too awkward, like I was trying too hard to be older, to bring it into the church with me. So, in the van it sat. I remember going to my future husband’s house, completely unaware that he was my future husband. My friend and I wanted to hang out with him and his brothers but they started chucking pillows at us so we left. I also remember the traffic, miles long; watching the same pink car pass us in the next lane over, then we would catch up and pass it, and there it would go zooming past us again. A very long game of car leap frog, something for a bored and hungry girl to focus on.

My second trip here was when I was engaged to aforementioned pillow throwing future husband. He wasn’t throwing those pillows at me this trip, and definitely wasn’t telling me to go away! That week that I was here, it didn’t even enter my mind to get to know the people here- like, actually get to know them. I literally had my blinders on and the only thing I cared about was being with Nic. He took the week off work so he could show me all the sights; a day trip to Niagara Falls, a day spent in downtown Toronto, and shopping at all the different malls. We hung out with his family, met some of his friends at church, and I got to meet his extended family at our engagement party, but I never viewed those happenings as a time to reach out to possible future friends. I was solely focused on the day that I would say “I do”.

So here I came as a fresh bride, to a place I didn’t exactly want to be. I wanted to be with Nic though, so living here came with that. That first year was full of learning. Learning how to be a wife, adjusting to pregnancy, and making this place be home. I missed my family and friends, and that hurt. I made some new friends here, but I always felt that there was a line that I couldn’t cross; I wasn’t allowed to need anyone more than they needed me. I buried my true self and tried to ignore the void that I felt in my life.

I went through the daily motions, had days both good and bad, and just lived my life. Then the winter that I started my second pregnancy was one of the darkest times in our marriage. I numbed the feelings that were too hard to face and down I sunk. Nic would come home from work and I would feel nothing at seeing him. Not happy, not mad, just apathy. I slept in as late as I could so my days would seem shorter. I played candy crush all the time- ALL the time. Instead of filling my days to keep my mind busy, I tried to not do anything. To move as little and as slowly as possible.

I lived this way, not realizing how far I had gone. I remember thinking “what’s wrong with me?” and “why am I not happy?” I just thought that this was how my life was going to be, now that I was a mom. I thought it meant that I was a bad mom and that nobody else had ever felt this way. That spring, I decided enough was enough. My unhappiness was affecting my marriage, my self confidence, and every other aspect of my life. I decided that it was time to learn to be happy again, and that I needed to take control of my happiness. I started Operation: Happiness, a journal with daily writings about my explorations to find what made me happy. That was just the beginning.

I now know that I can’t avoid hard emotions. Or I can, but eventually I will have to face them. All that I have learned about myself (as a mom and just ME) and living true to that has inspired me to start this blog. Motherhood is hard and it’s not easy to talk about the hard stuff. I want this space to be an encouragement to work through the rough spots that come. I want it to be an inspiration for deciding what is most important in your own life, and living true to that. Yes, this is for you, but it is for me at the same time. This is motherhood as I’ve experienced it. I need to remind myself every day how I want to be: I want to live a full life with a full heart.

It's not always easy, but it's worth it.

Full

Full

Definition: containing or holding as much or as many as possible; having no empty space

This. This is what I want my life to be. Full days- of living, of normal moments, of family vacations, of quiet times, of noisy and messy times. As many as possible. I want a full house- full of kids and someday grandkids. Full of friends coming over for suppers, coffees and saunas. Full of my kids having friends over, filling the house with their imagination and laughter.

Definition: involving a lot of activities.

I want my life to be full of moments. Hot sunny days at the beach and cozy rainy days at home. Trips to the farm to feed the animals and trips to the thrift store to sift for hidden treasures. Sundays at church and Mondays at home regrouping. I want my days full of activities, both quiet and relaxing and spontaneous adventures.

Definition: strong and resonant. Rich or intense

I want my life to be rich. Sure, in money-let’s be real, here- but more importantly rich in memories. These moments are what fill my heart. Writing in the quiet hours of the morning before the kids wake up and chaos reigns. The moments of chaos reigning, because I know it won’t be like this forever. Soon kids will be going to school which is the first step towards an empty nest. I want these days with my kids at home to be full of love, so they remember their childhood with happiness.

Definition: not lacking or omitting anything; complete.

At the end of my life, I want to look back on these days and not feel like I missed something. I want to feel content with how I lived. I want a complete life with a strong marriage and as many kids as God gives us. I want those special family moments, and I want those hard times too- because those are what makes us stronger and brings us closer together.

And when I am living a full life, that is when I am happiest. I am being true to who I want to be and how I want to be. My heart is where I feel my feelings so strongly. When my heart is full, I don’t need anything more.