saying goodbye

For as long as I can remember, I've had the uncanny ability to imbue heavy significance to the most mundane things. I distinctly remember a shiny, purple plastic lobster necklace from Red Lobster that looked like it came straight from Mardi Gras hanging on my dresser for years. It had its place of honor because it represented and was received when we all went out to dinner for the first time after my dad was in a rather severe car accident. I commemorated that occasion, that feeling, my dad's continued improvement and health, by hanging onto that absurd plastic lobster.

Twenty years and many interventions later, I think I've gotten a little bit better at learning to let the things go while still keeping the memory and the meaning intact. But I still am as sappy as sap itself, and often find things sticking to my skin as I go through life. Thus, I find it rather painful to remove them and say goodbye.

When we moved to Virginia for law school, both Dusty and I made an early-on decision to treasure our time there. Sure, we knew it was temporary - but we weren't going to live that way. We were going to live with permanence. Plant our feet and produce the golden sap of loving investment and significant time. At one point, I remember a friend saying "you guys make everything fun." At the time it was a half joke, because whatever it was they were talking about was something really silly (akin to a plastic lobster) that we were holding close to our hearts. But I have thought about that comment often. If nothing else, our time in Virginia taught me that I really do want that to be true. I want to enjoy life. All aspects of it.

There was a lot of uncertainty when we moved to Virginia. Our past selves never could've imagined that our time there would be so momentous to us - that someday we'd even be moved to reflect those years in the name of our daughter, Virginia Leigh. We can easily look back now and see all of the goodness. We were so intentional with our time and our friendships. Life is messy and inconsistent, but our future selves have a much keener sense of what ends up being meaningful to us in each season of life. Even the hard parts. With the benefit of perspective and the cleansing of time, we're able to look back and see what was special, what was worth it, what was beautiful.

I endeavor to live my life as if my future self has written me a letter about today. She wrote me a letter 3 years ago when we bought this intimidating fixer upper and said,

"Don't worry. You will fix this place up. You will bring your first child home here, and drink 78 gingerbread lattes in the first few months of his life. Gingerbread will always remind you of William. 

You will love the color of your walls. You will fill those walls with music. You will open the doors countless times to people you love, and celebrate daily, big and small. You will bring your second child home here, the October baby your heart longed for, and she will be beautiful, and you will cry many tears of gratitude. Don't worry, because however fast the years may go by, you will be safe here and this place will be your home."

My sappy self is currently stuck to my favorite spot on this couch, crying over the many sunrises I have spent with my sleepless babies in this living room. Crying over the blanket draped over the piano in the next room, which has been Will's cave for the last few months, and which will be impossible for me to tear down. We'll have to tell the potential buyers that the cave comes with the property.

Thank goodness I've already learned those lessons about treasuring people and not stuff, right? Ha! 

The truth is, we had no idea how significant this house would be to us. We became parents here. We could have never imagined the joy of that transition, the all-encompassing love that our hearts now carry. But we have cherished our time in this house, and we tried to do so from the very beginning. Even the hardest of the hard work, the most tiring of the tired days. Every moment. The best part of all of this is that we get to bring the crazy kids with us. Home is now the 4 of us - wherever we go. And while it is painful to leave, it's also joyous to know that we truly lived here. Lived with permanence, the only way that time-driven beings can, while still being unable to escape the ticking clock. I think I'm kind of in this sweet middle spot of being way more sentimental than your average Josephine, but not sentimental enough to be paralyzed by change. I know that change is inevitable and it also brings the most incredible growth. I've written about moving before, and how wonderful and awful it is. Change is what wild dreams require.

I already have that metaphoric letter from my future self in my pocket, but I won't open it quite yet. I have to say goodbye first. And then, and only then, will I be able to open it - to face the future with confidence and joy. But I have a feeling we'll be back to making everything fun in no time.

when your family grows

This is something I have started to write many times, but it was only in the last few weeks that I finally found the words. I was able to articulate them while speaking to a dear friend who is about to have her second baby. I often have strong feelings about my own motherhood experiences, but I think it is sometimes in moments of empathy that we're able to reach through and grasp the things that we truly want to share with other people. Understanding, support, love, perspective, the bright side of change and the beauty of life.

I have seen so many young moms in the past year anxiously awaiting a new addition to their family. For me, becoming a mom was fairly easy. It felt right. I eased into the role of staying home with William and felt blessed to do so. I realized pretty quickly that my introverted self flourished in the intimacy of the one-on-one baby life. Chill pajama time for days. When we got pregnant with our second baby, I started having a hard time. I confided in a few moms what I was feeling:

Guilt. What if I don't love this baby the way I love William? Why is it so sad and hard to say goodbye to this time of life? Fear. How will I balance the two of them? What if I'm not able to be with William as much? What if he needs me? How will this new baby fit into our family? I like things the way they are. 

These wonderful women all said the same thing: I felt the same way. And trust me. That will all evaporate the second you meet your new baby. Your heart will burst and multiply and you will wonder how you ever thought there wouldn't be room in your heart or home for this new life.

The funny thing is, I'm baby number 3 in my own family! So obviously I should have known that the best is yet to come. But there are a couple of things that work against us here. The hormones, fatigue, and sickness of early pregnancy are rough. They don't help those feelings of inadequacy. We also didn't find out the gender which, though an incredible birth experience, made it a bit more difficult to feel bonded throughout the pregnancy. I had no idea I held my little girl within me. I couldn't know her, dream about her, call her by name, tell Will about her. In the midst of my fear of change, I think those things may have helped some of that anxiety.

I confess that I shed many tears as I held onto Will extra tight, and realized that our era was coming to an end. It was very hard, friends. I say you should embrace those feelings. It is okay to be sad and realize that your time together has been incredibly precious to you. Allow yourself to cherish your time with your firstborn, and feel so lucky to have him/her as your oldest child. None of your other kids will get this time! Your oldest is unique, and is the only child to be spoiled this way. It is a treasured time of learning for you both. They will make a wonderful big brother/sister. They will lead and love on your other babies and it will seriously bless you tenfold for the rest of your life.

I was very surprised by:

1.) How much I immediately and overwhelmingly adored Ginny. Like whoa. After we brought her home, I couldn't believe how nervous I had been. She belonged in our family. From the very beginning. I think our bodies help with this, too. The hormones of birth, nursing, etc. God designed us with such purpose.

2.) How much time I still have with Will! Newborns sleep SO much at first, it's crazy. It's funny how quickly we forget. Even if the nights are rough, their entire cycle revolves around eating and sleeping. That's all they do. And they can't move. Haha. They will stay put. I actually started feeling more guilty about my lack of time with Ginny, rather than with Will. Ginny spends a lot of time elsewhere: her mat, her swing, her bumbo. When Will was a newborn I had all the time in the world to just stare at him and worry over every hiccup. But Ginny gets to chill while Will and I play. I'm much more relaxed with her.

3.) How extraordinary it is to shepherd William's heart into being a caring, protective, loving big brother. Getting him up in the morning and hearing him say, "where's Ginny girl?" is the most amazing thing on earth. Seeing him perk up, constantly attentive to her cries, tenderizes my heart. Their relationship is a lifelong promise. It teaches & sanctifies on the daily.

All of that to say... don't try to force your feelings, or fall into guilt over them. It is truly impossible to imagine what having another baby will be like for your family until it happens. Dusty reminded me of New Year's Eve, 2015, when I was days away from having William. I cried SO MUCH that night. I was so sad it was our last one together, just us. And now I literally cannot imagine our lives (and our New Year's Eves) without our children. When we do a group hug and William whispers, "Mommy, Daddy, William, Ginny. This is our family!" I flutter quietly to the ground like confetti. Every chapter has a bittersweet ending, but I promise the sweetness wins out.

Sending love to you and your (quite literal) growing pains, moms. They are so worthwhile!