Becoming a mom.

Ok, so my daughter is 17 months old. Technically, I am not a "new" mom, but- whoa- do I still feel like every day is new. During Maggie's first year, I could not have written logically from the perspective I have now. I was still hungover from sleepless nights and the drama of a human being delivered out of my abdomen. Daniel and I were as ready for baby as we could have been. We are older parents- we felt financially ready, emotionally ready and we had heard all the funny and horrific stories from our siblings and friends about becoming parents.
Which means we were not ready. No one is ready.

(and btw....I never understood why moms told their child's age in "months" but here I am doing the same thing. I get it now.)

So many things have come as a surprise in motherhood, here are a few of those things.

My back. Oh my back. No one told me that I would spend most of motherhood bent over. It wasn't until after a c-section, nursing and sitting hunched over for a few months that people started saying "Oh yeah, your back will never be the same." Like this was common knowledge. Had I known then what I know now, I would have been deadlifting and squatting in the gym every-single-day during my pregnancy. Oh, If you are expecting a baby- get to the gym and strengthen your back, glutes and core. Don't hesitate, go right now.

Every day is new and filled with trial and error experiments. ALL DAY LONG. My brain has never been so tired. I only read one book about babies- "On Becoming Baby Wise." And, yes, that book taught us how to handle the sleep schedule, but everything else was hit or miss. I try very hard to respect Daniel by not asking ridiculous questions that started with "Hey, do you think we should ....?" because he didn't know the answer either! We have been learning together.
(A recent blog I read on this very topic of mom exhaustion. )

Keeping another human alive while helping her develop into a brilliant multi-lingual neuroscientist comes with a lot of pressure, right!? In all seriousness, can all of us young mothers take a long, deep breath and chill out? Like, chill way out.  If I am not driving myself loco googling things in the middle of the night- no worries- another mom will come along and plant seeds of doubt in my parenting for me. I had no idea this would happen. From breastfeeding and food choices, to development markers and choosing the right sippy cup. Can we just all admit we are doing the best we know how?!
The best information I have received has come from my pediatrician and my sister- not blogs, not online forums, not surveying everyone on Facebook- nope! Too much information will make you doubt everything and further the culture of comparison that can steal every single ounce of joy from motherhood. Choose wisely.

Everyone loves babies. I was not expecting that and I have loved every minute of it. Strangers will help you get a shopping cart, they want to peek in and tell you how beautiful she (he) is. Old, young, they all want to dote on your baby everywhere you go. It was so surprising to me. It's like babies are the connector of all humanity.
(One exception- the airport. No one smiles at you when you are carrying a baby through an airport- the opposite is true. They want nothing to do with you and hope to god that you are not sitting next to them on their flight.)

Passive aggressiveness takes a whole new meaning when a baby is involved.
What do I mean?
Someone talking to your baby in a really sweet baby voice saying things like 
"are your little hands cold? Mama needs to get some gloves on you."
I never knew this was going to happen, but a new mom hears everything as an insult or criticism because she doubts she is doing anything correct. Another thing I have to keep in perspective.
When you see a new mom, compliment her. Tell her she is doing a great job.


We are blessed by so many generous people! I am still so surprised by everyone's generosity to my daughter. The only articles of clothing we have to purchase are pajamas. We are constantly receiving boxes of girl clothes from family, friends, neighbors. (in addition to all the dresses her grandmas buy her) I am so thankful!

My husband is still my #1 priority and I am his. This is a what we will teach our daughter. She does not come between Mom and Dad. If we do not take care of this, our family will surely implode. The first 5 years of our marriage was dreamy with just the two of us. I have changed. Daniel has changed. Change is inevitable when you become parents. We are forced to be home for naps and early bedtimes. No last minute concerts or movie. We do not have the freedom we once had. It took us a little while, but I feel like we have accepted this. So dates look a little different. At least once a week, we meet for a coffee date at 6am- we wake up earlier than usual and sit and drink our coffee on the back porch and talk. Intentional. Not expensive, doesn't require a sitter. It just requires intention.

The best advice I received from others was about establishing a routine. In my previous non-mom life, the word routine felt too rigid for me. I thought of myself as more of a free-spirit who does not like to be backed into a corner with a schedule. Before being parents, we declared that our baby would adapt to our way of life and live by our schedule. (the best parents are the ones who have no kids right?) But my, oh my, how I have changed. I quickly learned that defining a schedule for a baby was important. Maggie came into this world as an easy, laid back child who liked her sleep and adapted to a sleep schedule easily. Now, as she is getting older and more adaptable, I still rely on our routine for my sanity. I had no idea that would happen. Call me rigid.

I miss her. By the end of every day, my energy is zapped and I look forward to her 7:30 bedtime. Two hours later, Daniel and I start talking about the day. I show him some pics I snapped during the day or share a story about something she did- and then we say "Awe, I miss her."
WHAT IN THE WORLD?

Becoming a mother has been has shown me new strengths and revealed the depth of my selfishness. No other season of life has brought so much change. And we are better for it! What a delight she is.

The year without her.

It is hard to believe that a year has passed since the phone call on that Thursday evening. The news sucker-punched me in the lungs standing in front of Proud Larry's on Lamar Boulevard. Daniel and I had a babysitter lined up for the first time since moving to Oxford- we were having a night on the square with dinner and a concert. When I saw that I missed a call from Courtney Yancey, I called her back immediately because when she calls it must be important, or else, it is simply a text. I didn't know what to do. I was helpless and I wanted to hit my knees right on the pavement. I made quick arrangements for my 5 month old and hit the road to Jackson first thing the next morning.

When I saw Roxanne lying in that ICU bed, my first instinct was not what you would expect. I didn't cry quietly. Instead, I paced around her bed and I roared at her. I grit my teeth, clinched my jaws and I told her to fight. "You better fight this Roxanne. You got this. You are the strongest person I know. We need you here. You have too much to do here Roxanne. You have too much on this earth to do. You can't leave us. Fight this. Fight girl. I need you to blink your eyes. I need you to talk to me. I need you here Roxanne. Don't you quit. Don't you stop fighting." 

If you knew Roxanne, you understand why yelling through my clinched jaws was the appropriate tone to use with her.  And if you think that praying requires a fancy show in a church building, then I encourage you to visit an ICU hallway any day of the week. You will see pacing prayer non-stop from desperate hearts in shock. We all were in disbelief. We were clinging to any explanation that any doctor might utter. On that Friday, she was still in a medically induced coma and they would begin warming her body that afternoon to measure brain activity. We knew the medical team had discovered a blood clot in her right leg and she would lose it. Our response was ok, she can live without a leg. And even though that road would be tough, people live successful lives without legs every day. That is all we knew at that time. It was concrete. We even shared a laugh about how mad she was going to be about her leg. 

I visited her bedside often over the next 48 hours just to watch her chest move up and down- but my tone softened with her and I just wanted to hold her hand- and her perfectly manicured purple nails. (She always had her nails painted dark because of the dyes used in hair color would stain her nails- she was the best hairstylist on this planet.) 

On Saturday, her brain scan. A family meeting was planned for 3pm and revealed that she had a massive stroke, from which she did not recover. The unimaginable had happened. Her time with us was over. I remember every single detail of those 3 days and as commonly occurring with grief, I am recalling those details this weekend.


White punk hair that she could turn classy in an instant. She could take a pair of scissors to clothes and redesign to fit her needs. She owned every room she was in. Women would watch her with envy of her confidence and the impeccable style all her own. It was a huge honor to be called "her friend" because the line was long with people who just wanted to be around her. She and I were Lifers. Met in elementary and we were supposed to share a room in the nursing home to wreak havoc together. Roxanne was always teaching folks something- whether about fashion or Jesus- there was always something. (One of my favorite quotes of her's- "Come on down off that cross, we are going to need that wood."- when folks are acting a little too self-righteous.) She was hard as nails but stood up for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. She made people feel important (unless she didn't like you, and...well... you knew it.) Her yes was "yes" and her no was "oh hell naw."


Her absence in my life has taught me more that I ever imagined and I want to share a few things with you....

Take pictures with your children and friends and aunts and uncles and cousins and neighbors and in front of your home and on ordinary Tuesdays and depressing Mondays on and on and on. Be IN the pictures. Moms- get in the video. Be silly on video. Be you on video. (I didn't say you have to post them, save them). Your child will not care about the 5 pounds you want to lose. You know what your child will care about? Was my mom tall or short? What did her laugh sound like? Did she like to dance? Could my mom sing? Get the pictures printed, store them away. Back them up and back them up again. Roxanne did my hair two weeks before she died and I did not take one picture with her in her new salon. I regret it, gosh, do I regret it. It has made me think- if I died today- what memories would I leave for my daughter? Would she have pictures of me holding her? Would she have pictures of me playing with her? Roxanne's daughter will know her mother by the stories we tell her and the pictures and videos we show her- they are incredibly important archives.

Closure is necessary. The words "did not suffer" are incredibly important to hear when the shock is sitting like 4000 tons on you and you cannot really hear anything else. Those words softened the blow. When I said goodbye to her body, the machines were still moving her chest up and down- inhaling and exhaling. For that, I am grateful, as many of her friends did not have the opportunity to see her and say their goodbye.

I wish I could visit her grave. She desired cremation and her wishes were granted. But, oh, I really wish I could go sit with her and leave flowers for her and maybe pour a shot of Jack Daniels on her tombstone. My opinion of cremation has changed since her death. My father died when I was a child and I grew up visiting his grave- it was tangible and helped me understand the finality of a person's body dying. My father's grave is nestled by both of my grandparents graves. It is a family affair and it is symbolic on so many levels for me. Purchasing plots in graveyards is not common in my generation like it was in my mother's. But I am saying it here and now- Put my body in a box, bury me and bring me flowers. It is not for me anyway- it is for my survivors. My soul will be with Jesus, as is Roxanne's.

Grief looks a lot like fear. Maggie was 5 months old when Roxanne died. So when you take postpartum hormones and stir it together with shock and grief what do you have? The perfect fear cocktail- and, boy, does it burn going down. (pardon the analogy, but she taught me everything I know about a sophisticated cocktail.) In September, I fell apart when Daniel left for a hunting trip on a plane alone because 'what if ' he didn't come back. I have imagined irrational scenarios of loved ones dying. I have feared death while driving down the interstate, while swimming, while browsing a shopping mall. This is not typically my personality. Grief has been a part of my life since I was 4 years old, but this time it was different for me. It was the assault of grief- this was definitely the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23). Roxanne will not be the last person that I lose in my lifetime. Death is certain. But fear does not have to be.

Courtney and I often talk about how Roxanne wants us to carry on and live full lives and be the best people we can be. She would be so mad at us for crying everytime we talk about her. She would be mad that I have experienced so much sorrow and fear since her death. In fact, she would be infuriated. I can imagine her pacing around me saying something like this "You better fight this Heather. You got this. We need you here. You have too much to do here Heather. You have too much on this earth to do. Fight this. Fight girl." I know she would say those same words to me that I said to her in that ICU room last year. That is what friends do.