I Lost More Than Just The Baby Weight

Two years ago I was a First Class Petty Officer in the United States Navy, leading a division of 15 Sailors onboard an actual war ship... Today I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time at 5pm, right before taking my 15 month old to Target just to get out of the house. Two years ago I was contributing equally to our household income... Today I Googled "work from home jobs, set your own hours" for the 50th time. Two years ago I had an active social life, and frequently went out with coworkers and friends... This past week, I left my house for a total of 5 hours, and my husband is quite literally the only adult I had any meaningful interaction with.

After I had a baby, I lost more than just the baby weight.

It's important to me that you know that I love my son with my whole being. I waited for him. I prayed for him. I thought about who he would be and what he would look like. I adore him. He is better than I could ever have imagined, and he is more than I could ever deserve. But he changed me, and I sometimes struggle to decide if I'm less than before, or if I'm more.

Yesterday I almost took a picture of the kitchen sink I had just scrubbed and shined. I'm not some weirdo who has a stash of shiny sink pics on her phone, it's just that I wanted to show it to someone. I wanted someone besides me to see the work that I do. When my husband left for work, the sink was full of breakfast dishes, when he got home from work, the sink was full again from lunch and dinner prep. I swept the floor at naptime, so by the time he got home it was already littered with cheerios and dirt and whatever else finds it's way in on my dog's paws. I vacuumed the living room in the morning, but when he walked in the door there was a layer of toys covering any evidence of that.

I barely have time to take a shower or go pee, yet I look around and can't tell what I actually did for the past 8 hours.

All day long I talk to my son, saying aloud nearly every single thing I do. "Mommy has to cut the vegetables for dinner. Do you see the green one? Oh wow! This red pepper is very big!" By the end of the day, I've narrated so much that you'd think I'd be done talking. Instead, I'm left craving more. At the very moment that I'm ready to have an adult conversation, my husband, who's been working all day, is ready to just have some time without having to talk. At the very moment that he's ready to kiss me or hug me or hold my hand, I'm ready to just not be touched.

If I'm not careful, I can take personally his wanting to have some quiet moments. If I'm not careful, my wanting to have some personal space can turn into a rejection of him. What a fine line I dance nightly. 

My husband isn't the problem. He isn't disappointed in me or frustrated with me, and he doesn't complain to me or about me. It isn't him that leaves me feeling inadequate or unfulfilled or sad or alone, it's me. More accurately, it's the lies of the Devil. Every day I'm met with some version of the lie. Either I feel trapped in a Groundhog's Day, or that the work I'm doing in Ryder's life isn't important, or that I'll never be enough for my husband, or that I'm letting my family down by not bringing in a paycheck, or that I'll never be as Instagram worthy as all the other Moms. They are all lies. 

There is no paycheck or promotion, there's no office comradery, I'll never get a good evaluation, and it can be lonely as heck. The truth is, my husband DOES see what I do, my son sees all the work I put into our family, and our Heavenly Father delights in the seeds that I sew into my household.

"She is worth far more than rubies... Her husband has full confidence in her... She brings him good, not harm... She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family...She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks...She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness... Her children rise up and call her blessed, her husband also...Honor her for all her hands have done." Proverbs 31.

Yes, I wash the same exact dishes every single day. What I'm really doing is providing meals for my family. I got up at 0530 even though I didn't have anywhere to be all day. What I really did was show my son that I am here when he needs me. The only time I left the house was to go grocery shopping. In reality, I had five full days to spend with my son and allow him to play freely. It isn't meaningless. The results are more important than any review or promotion. 

Does any of that seem familiar to you? If it does, let me be the one to say that I see you, Momma, and I know your struggles. I want to honor you for all your hands have done. YOU are worth far more than rubies. 

Exactly What I Needed

It was 0730 and cleaning stations was called away. I lazily stood up and made my way forward ten frames to the female head. I swear this was the thousandth time I'd had to clean that thing. The problem with being a girl in the Navy is that you can never get out of cleaning the toilets - there just aren't enough other girls to share that joy with. Biedermann and I were going to break in our new cleaning supplies that day, so she grabbed the toilet wand I grabbed the scissors and started trimming the swab. One of the most disgusting things on a ship is an uncut swab. They never fully dry, which means they're always awkwardly damp and terribly smelly.

This was Groundhogs Day all over again. Same stuff, different day. Every day we did the same thing - we woke up, we stood watch, we cleaned. Every day the Chiefs did the same thing too - they supervised and inspected. So when my Chief and First Class walked in I didn't think anything of it and kept on trimming. When they asked Biedermann to step out, I knew something was up and I sat down my scissors.

I noticed the paper Chief was holding in her hand. My mind rushed to a few worst case scenarios, and to this day I can't figure out how I didn't see it coming. It's not like I didn't know Grandpa was sick. Chief said she was very sorry, but Grandpa "passed away in Hospice" and she handed me the paper which she had read from. It was the AmCross message my mom had sent. AmCross messages are dreaded pieces of paper that Sailors get when something terrible happens at home. I held that paper for a moment and then crumpled to the deck, crying.

That memory came back to me as I reached for the CD my dad had left me. It's February now and Grandpa had died in May. I wanted to wait until I was alone to watch this. I needed to be free to cry and remember and laugh and cry some more. Nine months at sea with 5,000 people had afforded me no time alone, but I was alone now. I pushed the CD into the player and after a few moments of trying to figure out how the darn thing worked, managed to get the video running.

The music began before the pictures and I knew it wouldn't be long before my cheeks would be wet and salty with tears. Pictures began appearing and then floating off the screen, and I wondered if this was what people saw when their life flashed before their eyes. I didn't know the man on the screen. I mean, I knew those ears, they were the same ones I saw every time I looked in the mirror - the ones I inherited from Grandpa - but that man wasn't Grandpa. He was thin and young, and that man had hair. I wondered what Grandpa had been like when he was younger, before his name was Grandpa or even Dad, before his belly got plump and his hair turned gray and ran away. Was I anything like that man in the pictures? 83 years of life had been crammed into 5 minutes, so the man I never knew quickly aged into the man I loved so much. Memories and emotions flooded in, and when my heart couldn't hold it anymore, the levy broke and my tears poured out.

That wasn't the first time I cried for Grandpa. The first time I cried was when I realized I'd never see him again. I called him from a Sailor phone while I was somewhere near Asia. He didn't sound right and neither did anyone else in my family. That was the first, but not the last time I cried for him. I prayed daily that I'd get to see him one more time, but in my heart I knew I wouldn't. I called a few more times after that, and as his voice got weaker my sadness grew stronger. Grandpa was one of my favorite people in the world, and now he was sick and I was stuck. My heart has never ached more. After every phone call I would hurry to my rack, or the head, or an empty space where I could cry for only a short while.

Now my tears were flowing freely and I could cry as long as I needed. It was 9 months later but I was finally mourning the loss of one of my best friends. The pictures kept popping up and floating away and now I was hurting worse because I was on the screen. Me and Grandpa - the way I would always remember him.

As I journeyed to Thailand, my family journeyed to Grandpa's bed side. The last call I made to him was the hardest conversation I've ever had. I knew it was the last time I'd talk to him. Mom was crying, Grandma was crying, Matt was crying, and Dad couldn't even talk. I held back my crying when Grandpa was on. His voice was quiet and shaky. I told him I loved him, he said he loved me, and then I lied and told him I'd talk to him later - I never did.

The slideshow ended with a picture of me and my younger brother Matt in our uniforms. When I saw that, my heart felt glad. I knew - in that moment - that Grandpa was proud of me, that he understood, and that he forgave me for not being there when he needed me the most. The screen turned black and the music stopped, my sobbing filled the air. I grabbed my phone and found the voicemails I had saved 'just in case'. His voice was soothing and sweet and he called me Meagy just like usual. It was the perfect way to end my night. I turned everything off - the phone, the TV, the lights - and I climbed into bed. I cried myself to sleep, and it was exactly what I needed.

Ripped Jeans

Today was a short day at work so after my much needed and much hated workout, I still had time to do some much wanted shopping. I cut my coupons, made my lists, grabbed my reusable bags, and headed to the store. I was about 10 feet from making it inside when I was cut off by an elderly woman walking slower than anyone I have ever seen. I'm talking slower than regular old people slow. At first I was agitated, I mean I couldn't pass her because that's rude, but I wasn't sure we'd even make it through the doors without them closing on us. She was THAT slow. She's not part of the actual story here, but she reminded me, and so I'm reminding you, that there's really no hurry. Slow down and enjoy the walk every now and again!

Back to the original point.

When I finally did make it into the store I was oddly aware of how disposable everything was (everything except my reusable bags, of course!). The carts are now plastic, the displays change almost weekly, even the clothes are made with little quality. I pushed that feeling down, acknowledging the fact that I probably thought a lot like the elderly woman at the entrance, "Everything is so temporary these days. You kids wouldn't have been able to survive back in my day."

I pushed my plastic cart towards the shampoo aisle since I had some coupons for the good stuff! The aisle should have been labeled "Aisle 14: Plastic Products Good For One Use Only".  Again I had that nagging feeling that everything is now so disposable, so temporary. Right there, surrounded by scents of lemon melon burst and berry berry beautiful, I started thinking about how little in our lives is actually reusable, long-lasting, or even permanent. Things aren't made to be fixed anymore, they're made to be replaced. Maybe you know a person who is always getting a new car. How about all of the people who line up for a new phone to replace their fully functional phones. The keyboard on your laptop breaks, you replace the whole darn computer. There is only one woman I know of that actually mends ripped jeans. The point is, the majority of our life is filled with one use, disposable, no-fixing-only-replacing, upgrade-as-soon-as-possible things. In the midst of all of this, is it any surprise that lifelong friendships (I'm talking ACTUAL not just Facebook friendships) and marriages seem to be disappearing faster than your roll of paper towels?

I have a touch of hoarding mixed with a love of recycling, making it a struggle to throw things out or replace them - fixing something is just such a rewarding feeling. I fear that many of us are so surrounded by the disposable that we've lost the desire and the ability to fix things when they're broken and to take care of the things we have in order to keep them from breaking in the first place.

I began to think about how many friendships I've let dissolve just because I didn't put effort into them, or how many marriages I've seen end in divorce because "we were young and we're just different now" or "I just couldn't live with her anymore" or "I think I need to see what else is out there". I see this all the time. The fact is, sometimes relationships end because people don't know how - or don't want - to work on fixing them. Why fix it when I can upgrade? This breaks my heart. Don't we know that old or familiar or broken doesn't mean dead or done? Diapers, trash bags, those are disposable, but people and relationships shouldn't be.

Meeting new people is great, and I enjoy making new friends, but my best friend from middle school knows my history, knows my likes and dislikes, she can cheer me up or talk some sense into me. I value her. If we argue, we forgive and move on. My husband has seen me at my worst and he's seen me at my best. He knows me better than anyone in the world. Isn't that connection and familiarity comforting? Don't old jeans just fit better than new ones? Some things are worth cherishing, taking care of and fixing.

My challenge to you is to find something broken and fix it! Start with a pair of ripped jeans or an old piece of furniture. Put some effort into it. You'll be reminded of how awesome it feels to make something whole again and to give something new life. Maybe you'll be reminded that new isn't a synonym for better and that relationships and marriages aren't meant to be disposable. Some things can last a lifetime - even in the year 2014!

Feeding the Soul (while vegging on the couch)

Lately I have been feeling convicted about guarding not only my heart, but also my eyes, my ears, and my mind. I have been focused on filtering what I allow myself to hear, see, and think. I wonder if any of you feel this same conviction.

For me this all started about a month ago when my husband, Kees, left for deployment. Alone and with lots of time spent in a quiet apartment, I found myself having the TV on just to hear people talk. I'd turn the news on in the morning, tune in to whatever was airing while I was folding laundry, I even became so dependent on the sleep timer that I couldn't fall asleep without the background noise. If the TV wasn't on, the music had to be. I'd plug in my surround sound and crank up whatever station I could find. The silence in my apartment was deafening, I needed something, anything, to keep me from feeling lonely.

Without Kees around I realized I could watch all the shows he hated! I watched Keeping Up With The Kardashians marathons, Sex and the City reruns, I even started watching Botched - a show about people who've had botched plastic surgeries. Yes, these are my guilty pleasures. I'm a sucker for reality shows and I'll watch almost anything that centers around interesting (weird) people. In fact, some of my favorite shows include Hoarders, My 600lb Life, and COPS. Writing this makes me realize how interesting (WEIRD) I actually am. Seriously, what kind of person likes watching Hoard.... Anyways.

Slowly I started getting this feeling that I was being reckless with my mind. I noticed that many of my favorite shows involved infidelity, most of the people I watched made light of divorces, pretty much all of them included foul language (which is more than just cussing, by the way), and sex was a topic of episode after episode. I know what you're thinking. What did I expect from a show literally called SEX and the City? Could I even be surprised by anything the Kardashians did? Duh!

One day I was thinking about what to eat before I went to the gym. I decided on baked chicken and veggies. It would be nutritious, and it wouldn't give me what we in the Navy like to call the bubble guts. Basically, it was good for me. It hit me, what I put in has a direct impact on what I get out. If that's true for my food, how much truer is that for my mind? What I put in impacts what I get out.

Exposing myself to willy nilly divorces, hearing constant foul language (which, again, is more than cussing), seeing infidelity being portrayed as the norm, even indulging in all of those reality shows (reality shows are just an abstract form of gossip, I've come to feel), it all affects the way I think, speak and act. Do any of those shows include people I want to be like? Do they have positive messages? What in the world could I possibly gain from Hoarders? (Side note: That show made me so aware of my hoarding tendencies that it is directly responsible for 3 trips to Goodwill to drop off trunk fulls of donations!)

I didn't really want to, heck I STILL struggle to pass up the new episodes of KUWTK, but I made a little pact with myself and God that I would avoid shows that are just garbage. I know I'm an adult, and many of you think that censorship is silly and I should just learn to watch without being changed, but I don't think it's possible. It all influences the way we behave. It's subtle, it's sub conscious even, but it just changes you. It changes your mood, it changes your opinions, it changes your mind. I want to be clear that I'm not judging any of you who choose to watch Hoarders - or whatever your favorite, and possibly inappropriate, show is - in fact, I'm a little jealous. Personally, I am choosing to keep a watchful eye on all the things I allow in.

The good news is that just because I'm avoiding most shows, doesn't mean there aren't plenty of options still out there for me. I started watching 19 Kids and Counting which is still a reality show about interesting people, but their values are actually close to mine. Little People Big World has been showing a married couple as they work hard to avoid divorce after 20+ years of marriage. HGTV even has a show called Fixer Upper that follows a husband and wife who remodel homes for clients. They go to church, they eat dinner with their four children every night, and they have the cutest relationship. An awesome channel to watch is UP. I got this channel when I lived in Washington and was so sad when I found out I can't get it in Cali. It's a faith based network and you don't have to worry about what they air.

I haven't gouged out my eyes or thrown out my TVs. I haven't cursed the media or vowed to never watch TV again. I love TV! I am simply choosing to look at my entertainment like I would my food. If I take this in am I going to feel/act/think/talk/be better? or am I going to end up feeling worse?

I hope you too begin to think about these things. I also hope you know how powerful you are - you watching or not watching something matters to the producers and directors and TV execs. If we demand better and reject the junk, they will notice.

We choose whole foods over junk foods every day, it's time we apply that to the rest of our lives as well.

Why Am I Doing This

I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I actually am doing this. Do I think that what I want to share is actually something you want to read? Do I think something grand will come from this? Maybe I'm hoping to suddenly become Carrie Bradshaw and have a regular column that thousands of people read. What really IS my goal here?

A few weeks ago I wrote something about the day I watched my Grandfather's memorial on DVD. I was deployed when he died so I missed everything. In fact, to me it didn't even feel real. I hadn't seen him get sick and I wasn't there when they "celebrated his life," so maybe it hadn't happened after all. After I watched the DVD I sat there alone and crying, and my very first reaction was to write. I had so much emotion inside, so many feelings in my head, so much hurt in my heart, and I had to get it out. I picked up a pen and paper and wrote. After I finished the journal entry I felt much better. I had released what was inside and I had come to terms with reality. A few days later I felt inclined to send the entry to my mom and dad. I hadn't intended to share it, but God was hinting to me that I should let them read it. Dad loved it. He printed it out and sent it to my Grandmother. They all loved it. They told me that they "could hear me saying" what I had written. My Grandmother told me, for the hundredth time, that I was meant to be a writer. Dad told me that he still thought I should publish some of my stuff. Mom said I had a way with words.

I'm not sure I believe any of them. I mean, aren't parents and grandparents forced to love everything children do? The thing is, writing is and will always be my outlet, no matter if I'm good or average or bad at it. I need to write. It keeps me sane, it keeps me positive, it keeps me motivated, it helps when I'm hurting, it's great when I'm happy, it records all my joys, and erases all my anger. I NEED to write. If other people can enjoy my writing, then so be it. If I'm the only one, then so be that also. This is MY therapy.

In the end, I'm doing this just because. Because maybe something will resonate with you. Because maybe God is telling me something He wants you to hear. Because I can't be the only one who feels the way I do. Because therapy is too expensive and this is free. Because.  My prayer, though, is that something good will come of this "just because" blog. Maybe it'll be something good for me, but maybe, just maybe, it will be something good for you.