let's all be more like bath and body works

 

Does anyone else feel like no matter how many times they unsubscribe from Bath and Body Works emails they still get at least one message every day telling them how desperately they need a new candle or soap or wallflower thingy, and how this is the last sale they'll ever have? Even though they had the same sale about 5 days ago? Thinking about it, Bath and Body Works is about the most forgiving establishment there is. No matter how many times they tell you it's your last chance to get a $2.95 hand sanitizer, they'll let you have another go at it next week. 

Today, during the twilight zone that is Daylight Saving's Time Sunday, I succumbed to the pleadings of my child and got the play doh out. We will be finding/stepping on the crumbs of this stuff for days, but I took advantage of the opportunity and found 14 tubs of it that could be thrown away. In addition, this guy who is supposed to blow slime bubbles and his corresponding pieces but mostly just had the slime dribble out of his mouth in a rather gross way. Plus we don't own any slime. 

head count to date: 65

peace and cardio barre do I even know what I'm getting myself into tomorrow???

rrww

still in this

It's been busy and I missed a day but I'm taking it in stride and persevering. 

I was able to get rid of a rubber chicken because I mean it's a RUBBER CHICKEN a kids bowling set that actually sounds like a bowling alley because that's all a parent needs, an old art project, three random infant toys that never really did the job, a tiny dented magnetic drawing board, a dollar store fishing game missing more than half the pieces, a knock off nerf gun that worked surprisingly well but doesn't get play time, a crystal that was grown at home, and a tiny plastic pumpkin. 

Tonight I threw away two old cans of Dermoplast if you know you know and a single, random nursing pad. Not pictured is the 3 inch pile of owner's manuals that have not been opened in 2 years and exist on the internet anyway. Here is your permission to throw them away. IT IS FREEING. 

peace and daylight savings

head count to date: 48

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parenting hack

I'd like to start by saying thank you to the eleven people who have expressed interest, support, and enthusiasm for this endeavor. I'd also like to thank the hundreds of others who at least didn't say anything mean. This place is a community and I just feel safe and like I've really found my people, you know? 

Minutes after sending that first post into the web-sphere I saw a video on instagram validating me and my quest for less, which I took as a sign from the universe. According to this account "studies show" that having less stuff in your home could improve your child's behavior! I do not know what these studies are! But hey, that eliminates some guilt I feel for wanting to get rid of toys! And it fits into my already comfortable world view! And she has hundreds of thousands of followers so that's basically the same thing as a peer reviewed paper! We're going with it!

Day two of No Stuff November was a hard day because motherhood. But as I brushed my teeth and realized I hadn't actively found anything to get rid of I decided to open my bottom bathroom drawer and see what I could see. In less than two minutes I know it was this amount of time because my toothbrush doesn't trust me to properly clean my teeth and counts for me, which is valid and only slightly patronizing of quip and also a selling point for me I found 4 things to throw in the trash.

Here we have a plastic pouch which contained a manicure set Harry got this from his last employment. While I held on to the clippers, file, and tiny little scissors baby steps guys I got rid of the pouch. 

I found my retainer, which says enough about my orthodontia habits, and gave myself permission to be rid of it since it doesn't even fit over my teeth anymore. And technically it was both the case and the retainer, so plus one on my body count. 

This is the box my engagement ring came in. I told Harry I was letting it go and he gave me a little grief about that until I reminded him that I still have my wedding rings and he is 0 for 3 in our marriage. He responded that his commitment to me isn't represented by a piece of jewelry and I said the same holds true of this box.

And lastly, tweezers that have no right to be called such.

Moral of this blog post is that, in less than two minutes, you can rid your home of clutter and get perfect children. Just look at me. 

body count to date: 26

peace and nap time

rrww

No Stuff November

 

Welcome to the documentation of my attempt to purge my home and force myself to be creative. It's gonna be a good time.

Now, let me just preface this by saying I am not a minimalist, nor am a maximalist read hoarder but I am the product of two very frugal and prepared families. If something has the potential to be reused, for whatever reason, I hold on to it because you never know. Will I suddenly find the time and motivation to embroider our Christmas stockings after 7 years? MAYBE. Am I going to find myself in dire need of 5 old, currently-not-working analog watches? I MIGHT. Who knows, maybe I'll suddenly have an identity makeover and actually use more than 4 items of makeup. IT COULD HAPPEN. 

As you can assume, I have a lot of things that I don't need. 

Hence the self-proclaimed No Stuff November. Each day I will be addressing some area of my home and seeing how many things I can say goodbye too. I think we often hold on to things because letting go feels like forgetting a memory, so instead I will be documenting those memories here, then letting the stuff go.

On the first day of No Stuff November I decided to relinquish two old picture frames we used in our wedding. They were on sale from Pottery Barn because they had someone else's name engraved on them which we covered with sticky tape. In addition I am getting rid of 4 picture frame stands I bought for Winnie's blessing day and have never used again, a cute wooden bead garland that I've never been able to hang on a mantel, 4 Halloween candle holders that I bought from the dollar section of target when we were in the midst of our poor, poor law student life, a binder notebook that I got in order to look professional and prepared in my job interviews in Minneapolis, a yarn holder gifted to me by an old roommate and 4 skeins of yarn which I accept will never become cute knitted booties. and breathe. 

I also decided to try to sell 3 Willow Tree figurines which are completely sweet but not quite my style, along with a very decent bluetooth speaker that has played many a Grateful Dead tune.

These blogs will not be my most creative or edited writing, but in addition to cleaning out my home I'm hoping I can clear out some creative blocks, dust off my brain, and get back in the game. 

body count to date: 21

peace and way way way too much Halloween

rrww

what i wanted to hear

I want to hear from a mother. I want to hear from someone who is in the throws of helping another person develop and learn how to navigate a fallen world. I want to hear from a mother who is giving her all, who will be real about the pain, stress and sorrow, and who will weep from the overflow of love and gratitude and fulfillment. Perhaps it's unusual to not want to be called an "angel mother" or be bathed in praise and stories of perfect moms who gave everything and did no wrong, but I don't want the motherhood experience to be brushed aside with a "You're the best" or an "I don't know what I'd do without my mom." While true, and I'm sure meaningful, I want to hear from someone who can speak to motherhood. From experience. Whatever that infinite variety of experience may be.

So, while somewhat self-importantly, here goes.

Happy Mother's Day moms. Here's to a day that's filled with the same responsibilties as yesterday was and tomorrow will be, but it's ours. It's ours to connect and support and share with each other. Mothers to single babies, to crowds of kids. Mothers to angel babies and mothers with longing in their hearts.  Mothers who are now caring for their moms, who miss their moms, who see themselves becoming their moms in all the best ways. Mothers whose work keeps them in the house, and mothers whose work keeps them out of it. 

I can only identify to a few of the types of mothers listed above, but no matter what your mothering looks like, we have a commonality. 

We are human. 

We are not perfect. We are not angels. We are not a fictional orange dog named Chili who can do no wrong. We have struggles and weaknesses and guilts surrounding motherhood and life in general. We have likes and dislikes and dreams and talents and so many strengths outside of being "mom." We are faceted and unique and are blessed with feelings that can overwhelm and also connect and guide. We have insecurities and goals and are here to experience the ups and downs just as fully as any other human. We are allowed to feel sad, or stressed, or confused, or lost just as much as we are allowed to feel happiness and wonder and pride and confidence. Being this way doesn't diminish our mothering, it enhances it.

What is astonishing about motherhood is that, given all that we are and all that we'd like to do with our lives, the places we could go, the freedom and success we could experience, we keep giving motherhood all that we can. 

"And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living."

We are casting in all of our living. We cast in our living body to bring another into this world. We cast in our hearts to be broken and filled and broken and filled time after time. We cast in our laughter and our sighs of exasperation. We cast in our brains, to be filled with endless schedules, preferences, and PBS kids trivia. 

So here's to this day. Not because we never make mistakes, never get worn out, or never question if this is really what we wanted. 

Happy Mother's Day because we keep trying.

rrww

three

creator

I create an art studio at my kitchen table. I create a moment of connection to nature in his room. I create bubbles in a bath, a mountain made of pillows quickly turned into a wrestling ring and endless construction zones for digging. I create a safe space on my lap where stubbed toes can be healed with a kiss and a rub, where questions like "what is life?" and "what is speechless?" can be answered. I create simple cookies that bring smiles and jumps for joy. I create a nest of a bed where he can be wrapped "like a burrito," snuggled, smiling, and surrounded by his closest friends. I create moments of breathing when the world seems too cruel and the emotions too much. I create a campsite, restaurant, doctor's office and repair garage with a simple invitation. I create concerts full of train, twinkle, and temple songs.  I create made-to-order lunches of endless mac n cheese. I create window washing games and weed-pulling sports. I create opportunities for him to prove himself to himself. I create his vocabulary and the little library by the side of his bed.

I create his world. Every day. 

These creations are not seen by anyone but me and him. There is no credit for or documentation of the creations that now consume my life. This work does not connect me to anyone outside of this little two person sphere. And sometimes that's lonely and exhausting and patience-trying and boring. 

But I am a world creator. He is worth it. And I hope it's enough. 

peace and motherhood

rrww

nothing new regarding social media

I just finished watching The Social Dilemma on Netflix and I would just like to add my testimony that it is true.

But in all seriousness, I've been trying to cut way back on my social media intake lately and I will tell you I feel like I've been freed. While my Facebook account has been basically obsolete for years, my Instagram usage was sky high at the beginning of the year. I'd find myself on that app for hours a day, coveting things I never knew I wanted, reading endless and mostly forgettable memes, and feeling despair and anxiety at the seemingly hopeless state of the world and the people in it. 

What a great way to spend your life, right?

After an especially consuming and depressing season on the gram, I and my husband knew I had to do something. I took the app off my phone and began my rehab. That might sound like a joke, but it's not. For days my fingers would automatically swipe twice to the right and hover over the empty space where the app used to be before I even knew what I was doing. I would sit and wonder what that especially appealing influencer was doing this weekend, or whether I was missing out on awesome shopping deals for things I didn't want but hey, what's the harm in just checking right? 

It was weeks before I stopped missing it. 

And instead I have sat and played in the sand more, been more aware of my son's point of view which point of view usually consists of garbage trucks, diggers, and airplanes. I've passed my reading goal for the year and enjoyed moments as they happened, rather than worrying about whether I got a photo. I've caught more of the nuances of a two year old, played a few more board games, and been more content with what I have. 

I haven't left completely. This documentary describes the usefulness of a tool that sits and waits for when you need it to accomplish a task - like a bike. It's there and helpful, but only when you need to use a bike. Social media can be this, but it's not designed to be so. Social media doesn't sit and wait for when you decide to use it. It reaches out with likes and pins and mentions and emails in order to get your attention at all times. 

I want to use it as the tool it can really be, which is why I followed the example of a cherished freshman roommate who only looks at social media on her computer. The apps are off our phones, and I have to make the conscious decision to type in the website to see its contents. At this point, I can catch up on new babies being born, friends celebrating various achievements, sisters running absurd distances, and brief checks on the influencers without the weight of it being carried around with me all day. My mind literally feels lighter. 

And if I ever do feel the strong desire to share something again, I do. I re-download the app, post my thing, and then delete the app off my phone again. 

This program presents quite dire circumstances due to the the manipulation and algorithms behind social media. It is well worth watching and considering how you use these apps, or how they are using you.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

A moment I witnessed from the back window which I could have easily missed 

rrww

let's hear it for the blog

 

Around December of 2019 I was brought face to face with my hubris. My hard drive, with 10 years worth of photos, gave up the ghost. Me, being the combination of frugality from both the Frost and Weiler families, had turned my nose up at the idea of paying to store my photos online. In my mind, my little hard drive, dutifully named "HARRYPOTTER," would always be there for me. It was a blow to my ego, and I felt betrayed by a hobby that I had found so much joy and fulfillment in. Since that time, I have almost stopped taking photos altogether. What's the point in putting so much effort into documenting and organizing your memories if they can all just be gone in an instant? 

But then I remembered the blog. It's been warming this little web address on the internet for just shy of 10 years. And during my more dutiful years of blogging, had more than two posts each week. While I laugh and cringe at my younger documentation techniques, it has been a joy to relive memories I had forgotten, see pictures I thought were gone, and recognize the growth I've gone through.

I made a goal in my Sanvello app to start taking a few photos again. It's a major way that I've found creativity in my life. This week we went to Hebgen and that seemed like a great place to start again.

I often roll my eyes when the blog gets mentioned, laughing it off as an old hobby from a long ago time. But I'm so grateful for the time I took to document. Moral of the story? Let's all blog again. 

Or just back up your hard drive.

peace and the blogosphere

rrww

the best two years

To our golden boy.

love,
rrww

i'll miss you, i'll miss you not

Things we will not miss about Minnesota:
-snowpack on roads from December to April
-poorly timed traffic lights
-merging lanes shorter than our couch
-having to bag our own groceries

Things we will miss about Minnesota:
-strawberry/raspberry/apple picking
-parks on every other block
-ice skating on frozen lakes
-cheese curds
-excellent hospitals
-lakes and trails
-hearing the Minnesota accent while up north
-the people the people the people

I better stop before I convince myself to stay here. *gasp* If only we were moving in the middle of February. This state has the unsettling ability to replace gray with green and white with blue, making all residents forget winter ever even existed.

Just glad this little man is coming with me. Families should never be separated.

peace
rrww

one

My son turned one yesterday. 

One. 

The simplest and most basic number, and yet it holds innumerable memories, emotions, and events. 

Best one yet. 

peace and birthdays

hunger games

Zero sum game: a mathematical or economic situation in which each participant's gain or loss of utility is exactly balanced by the losses or gains of utility of the other participants.

In other words, if you are happy or succeeding, then I am not. And if I am happy or succeeding, then you are not.

And in even simpler terms... There is one donut. If you get the donut then I don't and I am sad and hungry. And if I get the donut, you are sad and hungry.

I'm sure that mathematicians and economists are all shaking their heads in shame at my very basic understanding of zero sum game, but I didn't do so hot in ECON 110 i was distracted by a cute TA before i knew harry existed so just go with it. I'm guessing that there are some actual life situations that are zero sum games - the donut example above, maybe a promotion at work, definitely class rankings in law school eye-roll, and The Hunger Games. But you know what's NOT a zero sum game?

Basically every other piece of good news in the world.

We are not battling each other in a zero sum game of good news. Good news for you does not equal bad news for me, and vice versa. I have found myself falling into this twisted game mentality when I see photos of people traveling. Somehow I end up resenting them for their vacations, blaming them for my lack thereof. Do I wish we were traveling as well? Of course! But are we NOT traveling BECAUSE this couple holding hands and jumping in front of the Eiffel Tower ARE? did you follow my emphases? 

No! We aren't traveling because we've chosen to freeze our eyelashes off in the great white north while pursuing a law degree. Our lack of travel has nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with poor student life.

The examples of good news being turned into resentment are endless, especially between moms and moms to be. Motherhood and all it entails is an incredibly sensitive subject, close to many tender hearts. It requires consideration for others feelings and as much sympathy as is humanly possible. However, we should be able to share our good news of motherhood- whether about our child's health, our different labor experiences, satisfaction with successful breastfeeding, getting a good night of sleep, or when we manage to get an hour of gym time in - without the fear of being blamed or shamed for it.

Good news should be shared in a tasteful way. If you're bragging and rubbing it in people's faces then stop it because you're wrong. But if you have good news, share it. If you've accomplished something difficult and are proud of it, share it. And if you find yourself asking people to stop sharing their good news because you wish it were your own news, get out of the game. We all know Katniss wins anyway.


peace and sugar
rrww

ps. i promise to post photos on here again at some point.

guest post

 

Harry wrote this credo for one of his many ethics classes I guess schools think lawyers need to learn more about ethical living and said I could share it here. His professor asked to meet Harry for coffee or hot chocolate after reading his submission, calling his writing and story "powerful." I completely agree.

 

*****

 



"Rain pounded the windows. I pried open the drapes to catch a glimpse of the golf ball-sized water droplets only to peer into the endless black abyss. I could only hear them. The weather service issued a tornado warning for the area and the nurses would dance into the room with their light blue scrubs to instruct us on evacuation routes. I sensed it was only protocol. The weather, for once, was the least of our worries, because it was the early morning on June 16, 2018, and my wife had been in labor for eight hours. I slept next to her on the stiff, sterile couch in the delivery room. Sleeping a half hour every hour, I could not tell if I was waking up from that faux leather donned couch that squeaked every time I moved, the pounding rain, or my indescribable fear. I would wake up and examine my wife, who at this time was half-way through her epidural and rather enjoying it. She smiled at me, but I can see in her eyes the same unrest and uneasiness that I felt. In a few hours, our lives would change.

The great architect Frank Lloyd Wright designed his homes with small, enclosed hallways, doorways, and awnings dramatically opening to grand and open spaces. This idea promoted an emotional catharsis, or, a sudden release from pain, pressure, and stress. He conceptualized the theory of being born again in his designs. As I watched my son being born, the rain still pounded the windows, the sky emanated a pale green prominence, and tornados warnings remained in effect. However, my fear, uncertainty, and selfishness conceded to feelings of profound euphoria. As my son drew his first breath, the way I viewed the world rushed with indescribable clarity. It was no longer about my goals, aspirations, and desires. It was about him. And I could not be happier about it.

I was raised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or more colloquially known as, “Mormon.” I believe that the bible is the word of God. I believe in the Book of Mormon, not as a sacrilege Broadway musical, but as additional teachings from God’s prophets. I believe that families are not separated at death, but an entity that continues into the eternities. I do not drink alcohol, coffee, or tea. I try not to curse, lie, cheat, or steal. I do not gamble, shop on Sunday, or view R-rated movies. I believe in the cleansing power of Christ’s Atonement, that our mistakes, burdens, struggles, and sins will be completely, utterly exonerated. Lastly, I believe that God loves every man, woman, and child who ever lived on earth, lives now, and will live on this earth and amen to my salvation if I do not try to do the same.

When I was 19, I gave up my family, friends, worldly entertainment, and schooling to be a proselyting missionary for two years. I was assigned by church leaders to proselyte in Denmark. I learned Danish in nine weeks and before I knew it, I was doing the very thing that my parents, family members, church leaders, and friends had influenced me to do my whole life. I wore a white button-down shirt and tie every day. I trudged through the pelting rain and the brutal North Sea winds. I walked kilometers down winding, narrow country roads, along colorful beaches, and stumbled over cobblestones in three-century-year-old streets. I knocked on cottages with thatched roofs, crooked doorways from the medieval era, and luxurious downtown apartments. I spoke with atheists, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, and Jews. I spoke to drug addicts, single working mothers, college students, and wealthy businessmen. I spoke to them on the busses, on the trains, on the streets, in their homes and apartment buildings. I ministered to those that were in need, and I taught these people about what I believed in. This was among the hardest experiences I was yet to have, but by genuinely serving others and learning about others, regardless of their beliefs, I grew to love them deeply. There is a special veneration in my heart for the Danes.

My experiences living in Denmark and in Minnesota have taught me that there is no such thing as atheism. Most Danes claim that they believe science, or themselves, or in the power of love and kindness. What they did not realize is that God is manifested in all these areas. God is omnipotent and omnipresent, he is in everything good and wholesome, and is everywhere good and wholesome. People may not fully recognize that or are quick to disprove the forces they cannot see.

There have been many of my friends and family members, who Mormon or not, have failed to remember the goodness that God has brought them. The process of losing faith is not sudden. It begins by small sinful actions that go unrepentant, or it begins when we skip a couple days from reading in the bible or praying. It could also begin by skipping church a number of weeks in a row. When we fail to nourish our spiritual intellect, our spirits concede to worldly, tangible thinking. Science becomes a way to prove a nonexistent God, rather than science to prove the existence of God. They replace spiritual happiness with worldly happiness, chasing big jobs, expensive homes, and extravagant lifestyles. I have wet my pillow at night, when I see strong believers I loved and respected slip into states of faithlessness.

As I wrote this credo, I reflected upon the instances that defined me. My job now is to take what defines me and be confident in raising my newborn son and strengthening my marriage. Everything I do, whether it is being a successful lawyer, a strong member of a workplace community, or a societal figurehead, trickles down to what provides me with the greatest sense of self-worth and happiness: my family. On June 15, 2018 I did not see that. It is incredible how your entire perspective can change in 24 hours."

 

Photos by Mal Wolfgramm
@malwolfgrammphoto

birth

Well, it's been a quick minute since I've written - except not really that quick. More like one of those minutes when you're waiting to see if your screaming baby will fall asleep before you go back in there and let him know that the world isn't ending and that goodness does exist. those minutes are even longer than microwave minutes. We haven't done much of what we usually do in the summer. We didn't camp once, go on any road trips, take a single picture with my nice camera, canoe across any bodies of water, swim more than once, or make a cute documentation video. But man did we have our biggest adventure yet. And while I would like to acknowledge that Harry has been along for the adventure as much as I have, I think that my physical exertion beats his out. Just a tad.

While I was pregnant I loved reading birth stories. I was desperate to try to learn from as many experiences as possible so I could anticipate everything and anything. There's no way to completely prepare for labor and delivery, but that didn't stop me from reading all the tips on Pinterest about what to bring, what to ask, who to contact first, and generally how to make the whole thing more like a trip to the spa rather than a 20 hour long menstrual cramp for the record it's usually more intense than a menstrual cramp. And now that I've been through it here are my two cents: my favorite things to have at the hospital were my nice body wash, lotion, and lip balm. Maybe a pair of comfortable sweats and socks. Other than that... forget the robe, down pillows, full face of makeup, and extra 3 outfits for baby.

And now it is my turn to wax wise in the ways of birth. Gather round young chicks, and listen to my tale.

Friday morning I started the day off with a prayer. I was 4 days overdue and OVER IT. So the prayer was less like the kind the teach you to say in Sunday School, and more of a demand that it be over. Tears were shed. But that wasn't unusual at the time, or any time in my life. I spent the remainder of the day sending angry texts to Harry at work "everything hurts!" "I'm losing my mind!" "I would rather die than be pregnant one more day!" "Answer me!!! I'm carrying YOUR child!", eating cottage cheese straight from the container, and wearing as few clothes as possible. The weather in Minneapolis that weekend was about 102 degrees with 90% humidity. It was death.

Harry came home from work around 4p. I'm sure he was delighted at the idea of spending the weekend with his overly pregnant, emotional, angry wife. He was probably praying for it to be over as hard as I was. Fortunately both our prayers were heard when, at almost exactly 4p, I got my first contraction.

It was strange. I didn't know exactly whether it was a contraction or not. I mean, how was I supposed to know that's what it was and not just bad gas from our Olive Garden the previous night? I hesitantly told Harry that I thought I had had one, and he immediately jumped to action counting minutes, taking down times and finding the standard deviation of the contractions we did meet in a stats class, so that's appropriate. This continued for about 6 hours. We watched a movie with Cate Blanchett while I sat on a towel in case my water broke. Glamour.

My sister called and talked me through a handful of contractions while discussing with Harry whether the contractions were close enough to constitute going to the hospital. They decided that they were and while Harry called the hospital I did the dishes, made the bed, took a shower, and shaved my legs. Considering how distraught I was that morning, I felt surprising calm during the whole thing once it started. I was practical. I wanted to bring the baby home to a clean apartment, so I cleaned. Harry's teased me about that since.

Well, 10:30p rolled around and we headed out. I had labored for about 6.5 hours at home and was dilated to a 5 when we arrived at the hospital. I got my epidural around midnight and climbed in to the bed I'd be living in for the next 13 hours holla atcha catheter.

Thanks to that epidural, I was able to ride out the contractions without too much pain. Given, it didn't take very well in the right side of my body, so I spent those 13 hours on my side to help the elixir seep its way through my body. There was a small misunderstanding with the epidural. I was told that in case the pain got to be too much, I could administer myself an extra dose of the pain med with a click of a button, but no more frequently than every 15 minutes. Somehow I understood this to be "click the button every 15 minutes or your epidural will stop working." So I religiously clicked the button for more epidural every 15 minutes because there was no way I was going to let that thing run out. Finally, towards the end of my labor, the nurse came in to ask if everything was alright- I had pressed the epidural button 21 times. Usually people press it maybe 4 or 5 times. Moral of that story? 1. Don't let me self-administer drugs and 2. I had a great labor experience.

The hours ticked by. We pretended to sleep on uncomfortable beds and in a very bright room because we couldn't figure out how to turn the TV off I swear we are 77 years old, I threw up a couple of times, and I started to lose my mind because I just wanted to be able to MOVE. Finally, 10a Saturday morning the nurse told me I should try to start pushing.

I panicked. I gripped Harry's hand and told him I couldn't do it. I couldn't push a baby out of me. It was physically impossible. I couldn't be a mom. I couldn't do this because as soon as I did everything would change and I wouldn't have my life anymore. I told him I was so scared.

I don't know what really happened, but one minute I was panicking, and the next I was taking a deep breath and accepting what I had to do. So I did it. I pushed about 5 or 6 times when suddenly the nurse told me to stop and not push again until they could get the doctor in the room. I closed my eyes to gather myself, and when I opened them again there were about 9 more people surrounding me than there were before one to deliver my baby, one to learn how to deliver a baby, one to wipe my brow, one to hold my juice straw to my lips, one to give me a facial. The doctor took one look at me and then said, "Alright, looks like we're about to have a baby. I need you to give me one good push." So I did.

And just like that Hans was born. They quickly put him on my chest and I was stunned. And then immediately in love. I had always doubted that I would have that bonding experience that other moms had spoken of, but I did. I was amazed at how strong and sweet and brave this little baby was, and that he was ours, and will be forever.

This moment.

We can't get enough of him.

peace and hans

a month

Who would have thought that these two delinquents would ever have a baby, let alone be responsible enough to keep that baby alive even a month?

And yet, here we are. We have managed to keep our son alive for a month and I'm not entirely sure how. But man are we glad that we have. And since I'm such an expert now, here are 6 ways to tell if you are a new mom besides the obvious "I watched a human come out of me" thing:

-you can only remember the last time you went to the bathroom by tracking when your child took his last nap, and even that isn't always reliable.

-you try to paint your fingernails because "happy mom means a happy baby" but you run out of time before the baby calls for your attention really he just wants the boob. You fully acknowledge that you've committed a fashion faux pas but just don't have the heart to either take off the polish you've already applied or find the time to finish the other hand. So you're now going on a week and a half of one hand being manicured and the other not.

-you've taken more naps using your nursing pillow than you have with your actual pillow.

-your clothes are always wet. Whether it's urine, spit up, poop, or your own breast milk, you haven't been completely dry since the babe was born.

-you not only change newborn diapers all day, but also your own. That is all I will say on the matter.

-you cry while rocking your baby to sleep because your heart is so full and you never thought it could be this good.

Hans Fitzroy Williamson

You are loved. 

rrww

photos by Mallory Wolfgramm 

***You guys, pregnancy was NOT for me. Hormones reigned supreme I was a grouch ball for 9 months, and there were some dark, difficult times. I dreaded labor and resented the loss of my physical abilities. I was convinced I wasn't cut out for motherhood. Now, it's still tbd if I'm actually cut out for this, but in case you're reading this and pregnant and not feeling super hot about it, just know that actually having the baby beats being pregnant 1,000 to 1. At least it does for me. I could say all the cliche things that are supposed to make you feel better, but I won't because they didn't ever make me feel better either. The only thing that made me feel better was finally meeting this little guy. I hope the same for you. ***