curator of dreams

Remember when I used to write here?

It has been over a year since I clicked these keys with this kind of purpose, and it feels pretty good. William is now two years old, and we have welcomed a beautiful baby girl, Ginny, to our family. I spoke in my last post about the brevity of life, and I feel that now more keenly than ever!

Sigh. So William is two. It's crazy. He is a fabulous, creative, sweet, inquisitive, hilarious two year old. I have started to realize in these past few months that his first memories are lurking around us, bound to be etched somewhere in these colorful days. They are forming as we speak. I am so curious about which experiences his little mind will cling to. Will he remember the days when it felt like he and I were the only ones in the world, dancing in the living room and loving the simplest things? 

I remember odds & ends about my childhood, but many of my early memories have to do with make-believe, magic, and bedtime stories. In the stories my dad used to tell us, we were always the heroes. We met fantastic friends and daring creatures and we always, always won the day. How wonderful it was to have my imagination shaped, tended to, and nourished by my parents. I am beginning to realize what a mighty gift that is.

It is so incredibly exciting to have the honor of introducing the things that will someday produce nostalgia in the hearts of our children. I am a curator of dreams. It's a wondrous thought. At this beautiful age, everything that William sees, reads, tastes, and enjoys is more or less organized by us. We parent the archive of whimsy. We pass along things we loved as children, and find renewed joy in them through the eyes of our little ones. Things like the rooster minstrel from Disney's Robin Hood, and Renaissance Festival pizza. We then discover new loves together, like the Little Blue Truck books and Cadbury milk chocolate mini eggs. It is a fabulous journey. 

It won't always be this way, of course. As he continues to grow, he will find his own way more and more. He will develop preferences apart from ours, and he may even decide he doesn't like certain meals I make (gasp), or songs I listen to. All of these day-to-day toddlerhood things will eventually just be a tiny part of who he is. They will fade away, one by one, just as his habit of saying "I do!" to every question has now matured into a hearty "yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah". He will develop around and past them, and I will count myself blessed a hundred times over to know his future self the way I know him as a little boy. 

But right now? We dance to the Greatest Showman soundtrack, belting a million dreams, and he feeds off of my excitement, finding joy in the things we can share. His mind is a fascinating thing, reaching its many tendrils outward and constantly grasping at the things it loves best. Words, sounds, faces, meaning. I will use this time to imbue as much dreaminess to his memories as I can, so that one day we might be able to look back together and say, remember when all was magical? When you and I danced, and were the only ones in the world. 

When your baby turns 1

When your baby turns 1, it's like it all hits you: you have a kid. You're a parent. You've spent the last year of your life loving and taking care of another human. And not just any human; YOUR human. The one you carried and anticipated for 9 months, the one you dreamed and wondered about. The one you nicknamed and danced with and loved to a newfound degree of wow.

When your baby turns 1, it's hard to express the tumble of emotions that roll around your heart and mind. It's a milestone that feels so significant and inexplicable. A year. Really? Already? You're faced with the fact that somewhere between those soft, blurry newborn days and this 1st birthday you entered true, daily parenthood. You fumble less and find a rhythm of diaper changes, meals, bath times, bedtimes. Certain things used to be monumental and are now second nature. I don't think I felt the shift when it was happening, but I certainly see it now. My baby is no longer a baby. His amazing thick thigh rolls have thinned into healthy mini kid legs, prepped for walking (whenever the motivation kicks in). His quick funny movements have become more focused and experienced as he crawls at full speed, pulls himself up onto the couch, feeds himself crates of blueberries and plays with his favorite toys again and again. His gurgles and spit-bubbles have turned into constant chatter. He is this mobile, talkative, funny little person. And I'm left wondering where in the world my newborn has gone.

When your baby turns 1, you suddenly realize that this insanely fast-paced year is an indication of how quickly life will be going by from here on out. I think I've been in denial for a while that I'm no longer a "new mom"...that I no longer have a newborn. Every month gone by has taken me by surprise. When the waitress asked me how old my son was today, I choked on the word "one". I am so unprepared to have a 1-year-old. Measuring each hour, day, week, month by the growth of a child brings new meaning to the brevity of life. This year has been the best of my life. As each day passed, it became harder (and now, impossible) to imagine and remember life without Will. I carry his heart in my heart, and he absolutely carries mine.

A year ago to this very moment, I was spending my very first hours with my gorgeous baby boy. Those moments are so vivid in my memory, I can hardly believe there's so much distance between those memories and where I currently sit. Time has beautifully shaped us into a family of 3. William is sleeping upstairs, his birthday coming to an end, and he's sweetly unaware that it was different than any other day. When your baby turns 1, you celebrate the amazing life you've gained (and cry a little) and look forward to many more years of unbelievable change, growth, love, delight. Happy 1st birthday, my beautiful darling William Boyer. We are so glad to be yours. 

nothing new under the sun

32 years ago, my mom wandered into a little shop on a family trip and found this beautiful print. She was pregnant with her second child, my brother Michael, and wondering about how life would change with a new baby in the mix. She saw this picture and it spoke to her: when that sweet babe is in your arms, love multiplies.

She recently gave this print to me and I cried a lot (add to the list of things that make me cry: family keepsakes, the song "landslide", Target gift cards, when Rachel finds out she's pregnant on Friends). I look at this picture and I can feel William's warmth on my shoulder, hear his soft breathing, smell his sweet skin, feel the wisps of his blonde hair tickling my nose. I can practically transport myself back 32 years and see my mother experiencing these same wonders with her little boy. She was there, as I am here, and it was in the caramelly center of those early experiences when she decided that she was smitten, twitterpated, dedicated, all in for motherhood. And that, of course, is what brought me here. We are living this together, side by side, in different decades.

There is nothing new under the sun. Isn't that fascinating? The bible says in Ecclesiastes 1:9 that "what has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." On the one hand, that's kind of a bummer. It kind of eliminates the validity of our desire to truly wallow in moments of self-pity. Those times when we're rundown or in pain or exhausted. When I was pregnant and fearful about childbirth I was constantly told, hey. Women have been doing this since the beginning of time. You're not alone. But in the throes of actually experiencing it, it was like, NO. NO ONE HAS EVER DONE THIS. THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE.

What if you actually were the first person in existence to experience something, though? That would be so legit. Talk about being vindicated in your moment of suffering. In biblical times, yeah. There was a first person for everything. There was a first childbirth, a first stoning, a first infidelity, a first death in the family. Those hurts and pains and life struggles were raw and real and they could actually say, God. This isn't fair. NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER HAD TO GO THROUGH THIS. We don't really get that satisfaction today.

But on the other hand, that's kind of okay. It's comforting. No matter what the circumstance is, you're not alone. After countless generations of lives have been lived on this earth, you can rest in our God who sees, and in the God-given camaraderie of mankind. When you post on Facebook that you just stepped on a LEGO, everyone will be like OH DANG GIRL. We've all been there.

That camaraderie and universal understanding is what makes being a mother so rich. I'm not at a table for one. I'm not experiencing these things on an island. I have generations to back me up, including my own mother and grandmother and siblings and friends. It's such a wonderful place to be. When I look at this print, tears fill my eyes because I see William and I in it. But I also see my mom and Michael in it. And so many other mothers I know and love with their baby boys and these glorious moments that are so unique but so beautifully shared throughout history.

There is nothing new under the sun...but it's certainly my first go around under its light, and I'm going to cherish the brilliance. I'm so thankful for the gift of this life (and the gift of this token of motherhood). If you've ever seen the movie About Time, you'll know what I mean when I say I'd like to spend each day as if I've deliberately come back to this one day to enjoy it. Also, if you haven't seen About Time, stop reading this and go buy it and watch it. Or come over to our house and experience it with Dusty sobbing beside you. That's my favorite.

(Thanks for this gift, momma. I will cherish it. Thanks for being my mother for life.)

to be known

As I'm journeying through my first year as a mother, I find that my thoughts as I go through my day, as I lay down to sleep, as I first begin to stir each morning are predominantly for the breath and well-being of my William. I sometimes forget to eat lunch or pay the bills or even shower, but never William. 

I know him. Possibly better than I've ever known anyone (although that doesn't mean he doesn't often surprise and confound me, which is kind of the best part of knowing someone... it's an ongoing education). I know what he smells like and the myriad of sounds he makes when he's happy, sleepy, grumpy and every other dwarf. I know his increasingly competent movements and the way he crawls at full speed after the cats, and how he clutches and grins and focuses on the funniest things. 

It's an odd job, really, being a mom. Knowing your child so intimately. To be known is such a beautiful thing. I've had deep, meaningful friendships and I have enjoyed the depth of a wonderful marriage, but this is something else entirely. It's a new brand of connection. As I watch and enjoy everything about William, I find myself wishing that he could know me, too. It sounds almost like a tragic plot device that these 9 months have been the best of my life, but William won't actually remember any of them. He will never know me in this young, new-mom phase of my life. A few years from now his first memories will begin to take residence in his mind, and he will know and remember me as his momma. His weird old mum. I will take up my sword and shield for him daily, protecting and loving and guiding while sacrificing a certain something; something that isn't truly revealed to him until much later in life. 

I've never appreciated my parents more than right now. I feel like as an adult I have the honor of getting to know them as individuals and friends as well as parents. I can better understand who they were to me then, and who they are to me now. Now that I'm a mom myself, I can better imagine my mom caring for us four crazies at home for all those years. I'm taking a few steps in her shoes, and replaying so many days in my youth and wondering how they must have affected her. I'm imagining William going off to college and wondering how my leaving may have been harder on my parents than I ever knew. It's a funny cycle of life that these realizations are so belated. 

I wonder at my role in William's life and in the lives of my future children. How will I possibly balance the discipline, comfort, love, pride, fear, adoration? I think often mothers feel lonely, misunderstood, underappreciated. I think it's because normally when you invest in an important relationship, and spend 90% of your time with another human, there's a significant exchange there. But as a mom, it's one-sided. Raising a baby means pouring your heart and soul into this wonderful creature who will not know your favorite color or your greatest fears. They will not know they've ruined your favorite shirt or care when they spit up all over your hair. A good friend would never do that. 

Raising kids into childhood means you may stay up all night worrying or spend weeks planning a party or contemplating the details of their hair color, freckles, lopsided grins and personality and they may look at you bewildered one day, like, "hi food lady, what's your name again?" They may give all the credit to daddy for things you did, or completely forget your birthday, or much rather spend time with their friends than with you. As their mother I will daily do the work, make the choices, kiss their sleepy foreheads, (sometimes) hold my tongue, run the errands, say my prayers, and give them my heart to squeeze or crumple or bounce around. It's not an exchange; it's a glorious generous heart-filling character-building life-changing servant leadership. It's hard and it's weird, but it's the best of life. Even now, as I lay him down to sleep each night, I hold him close and pray and cry over him because I've never loved anyone so darn much. I have had moments of uncertainty, overwhelming love, spikes of panic and swarms of gratitude and faith. Such tender moments of self-discovery and bonding that he will never know nor remember.

I have made the comparison before that becoming a mother has been like taking my old self - my thoughts, my humor, my dreams, my heart - and dipping them in chocolate. I'm still me, but my life is sweeter and richer with William in it. Being his mother is and will always be a layered, nuanced thing that I love and am baffled by. It's a little bit scary. It's a lotta bit magnificent. I know that my sweet boy will love me, in different wondrous ways at every stage of his life. Right now he thinks I'm pretty much the greatest thing he's ever laid eyes on, so I'm gonna hold onto that when the going gets rough. When I feel lost or buried, I will lean evermore on those who know me best: my husband, my family, my dearest friends. To be known is crucial to life, my friends. It's the sharing that makes beauty what it is.

I look forward to knowing my perfect, darling son in all of his intricacies forever and ever, even when he claims, as I often did as a teenager, that I have somehow "scarred him for life." I have the great job and joy of knowing him from atom. That's right, William Boyer, I know you. I have the greatest vantage point there is. So here's looking at you, kid - every day for as long as you'll have me. You are the greatest thing I've ever laid eyes on. 

when all is softness

I've been away from this writing space long enough that I have started to narrate blog posts in my mind as I drink my coffee in the morning or when I'm driving to the grocery store. Strings of sentences pull together when I least expect them to; things I want to say and write down, but never do. I think my somewhat subconscious avoidance of this space has to do with the strange limbo I find myself in... the adjustment of being a stay at home mom, which is both brilliant and baffling. Perhaps I'm in a creative rut. Even so, the words have been pounding a strong beat against my mind lately and so here I sit, letting them play their rhythm onto my keyboard for a change.

I've been thinking a lot about what my life looks like now - how it's defined, how I'll look back on it 10 years from now, what it feels like. Perhaps every mini era of our lives could be whittled down to a meaningful word or two that captures its thematic significance, and the one that keeps coming to my mind now is softness. 

All is softness, here. That's the way I feel. Being a mom is the softest thing I've ever been. My baby boy is soft, his cheeks his lips his fingers and toes. He has no hard edges, no broken pieces, no callouses or toughened skin. His heart has not been broken and he has made no mistakes. He holds the softness of innocence in every breath. He is a fresh start, everything ahead.

My body is also soft. Oh, yes. It is the hero of this story, I think. My body is now tender and taking its time, because time is softer now, too. The clock whispers its minutes in a much different tone. We no longer choose time in exact numbers because we're still figuring out the language. There's a learning curve and a cushion for every plan we make. Just when we think we have something figured out and set in stone, we look again, and it's silly putty. Soft, soft silly putty.

My ideas and my choices are all softer, easier, simpler. One thing at a time. No rushing, complicating, over-analyzing. Staying in is the new going out. My memories are filled with baby soft blurs of the last few months, all cotton and bleary-eyed sunrises. And let me tell you, my clothes are softer now, too. Comfort is a craving, really. A necessity.

The daylight is soft now, as it opens its first moments on my baby's cheeks while he wakes. His breath is the softest. His hair is softer still! I'll bet his dreams are soft, too. All milk and cuddles and fluffy blankets. I'm going to stay here for a while. Whether it lasts a month or a year. The mornings, the conversations, the naps, the learning, the newness, the feelings, the hugs and the kisses. It's the time when all is softness, and I'm going to fall back into it with a sigh.

william boyer

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Facebook Friends Day - have I missed anything else?

After months of not blogging, I find myself revisiting this little space to say I have a baby! My little boy is already 1 month old (as of yesterday), and it has been the most wonderful month of my entire life. I imagine it has been pretty grand for him as well - he has so much more room to wiggle and sing and squirm!

William Boyer came into the world at 8:08pm on January 6th, 2016. He was 9 lb, 5 oz and 21 inches long. He is also absolutely perfect, but that's basically the New Mom National Anthem so I'd like to go into a little more detail... partly for you, but mostly for me. This month has gone by in a blur of midnight conversations, earnest baby tears, bleary parent eyes, late morning naps, Friends marathons, couch cuddles, hummed lullabies, fresh baby clothes, and worn-out pajamas. I already feel like so many of the details have slipped out of my tired mind, and it's a true fear of mine that I won't be able to fully document and recall these priceless days of our newly baked parenthood. So here are a few things that I want to remember...

We call him bubba gump, gruntosaurus, sweet boy, will boy, and terry (short for pterodactyl) when he's particularly shrill. I love how strong he is. As soon as they laid him on my chest in the hospital, he lifted his head and looked around. No one has informed him that he's a newborn and is supposed to be fragile.

I adore the way he breathes. It's often stuttered and loud and deep (with his mouth hanging open), and it's always warm and sweet and friendly. I listen for it in the dark of night, and treasure the warmth of it against my neck. Remember when you were young, and you used to wonder what clouds taste like? (Was that just me?) That's what his breath smells like. It's cloud fluff a la mode. One of my more awkward hobbies now is resting my face against his and smelling his breath until he gets mad at me. I now understand why parents are so embarrassing.

I love the way he shakily head butts me when he tries to look me in the eyes. I love how his eyes then go cross as he works so hard to focus on mine, and the endless expressions he manages to create. They never, ever get old. He pushes his tongue against his bottom lip, he purses his lips, he scrunches his face and raises his eyebrows and stretches his arms and poses like superman and tries his best to look like the grumpiest old man in the land.

He is so active, so playful, so alive. He wiggles and kicks and grunts like a pro grunter, which isn't a thing. Until now. He grunts when he's happy, when he's angry, when he's (supposed to be) sleeping. Whenever I wake up in a pure and quite irrational panic, which is more often than I'd like to admit, there's no greater sound than his little drowsy grunts.

I love his lips and how he moves his mouth. I love his little spit bubbles and the way his clean, fluffy blonde hair smells after a bath. I love how he'll go perfectly still and just stare silently in one direction as if he's just discovered something that requires a lot of focused thought. The best thing in the world is the thoughtful way he clutches at my shoulder or my arm or my clothes when he's sleepy or nursing. His little fingers opening and closing in a gentle repetition, just to remind me he's still there. His fingers and toes are constantly in motion. The little dimples on his hands make me want to cry.

His eyes are so deep and beautiful, that stunning blue-grey slate. (Will they darken to brown like mine, or lighten to blue like his dad's?). Sometimes I almost feel like he is listening to me. He seems to think such deep thoughts... and then he'll squirm and fart and squeal and I'll realize he's only 4 weeks old, and his world is such a mystery to me. I constantly wonder what his view must be like. Is everything blurry? Does he see me when I hold him close and kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips? When he smiles those sneaky smirks in the middle of nothing in particular, does he know he's smiling at me?

I find myself being washed from head to toe in those surprising moments of OH HEAVENS I love him so much, I may drown in the great sticky mess of it. I can hardly stand it. I cry when I think too much about his tiny footprints or the smell of his first shampoo. I never want to graduate from this land of new motherhood, with its many graces and firsts and cuddles and homemade lattes. I cry when I think about this time of life going too quickly and ending before I'm ready for it to. He won't remember these days, but I... well, I will long for them and dream of them and never, ever forget them. I will carry them with me for the rest of my days in the happiest pocket of my heart.

41 weeks

I wrote the blog post below on the very day that my water broke and we rushed to the hospital to have our sweet William! I had no idea what was about to happen, and that's kind of the best part of it all, isn't it?

I thought I'd share it now, because I distinctly remember typing these words almost exactly a month ago and the rush of feelings and fears. Little did I know that William actually was interested in coming into our rainy world, and that our induction appointment would not be needed. And we did, indeed, all survive! Praise the Lord.

1.5.16

Without even realizing it, 2 months have gone by and I haven't blogged a bit.

In November we visited our dear friends in North Carolina, and I had two fantastic baby showers (the first was Le Petit Prince themed, the second was Oh, the Places He'll Go! and both were just the best). In December, we hit weeks 36-40 in what felt like record time. I had some time off of work which was so incredibly needed, and we were able to finish up so many things in our house - including painting the nursery! We had a lot of family time and us time. I haven't taken hardly any photos of anything, which feels very unlike me. But I'd like to eventually recap the past two months, especially our trip and my baby showers, but that'll most likely happen while I'm on maternity leave.

Which brings us to right now. William's due date was December 30th, and he's still snuggled up in my tummy. His tiny (but strong) feet are pushing against my ribs. Tomorrow marks 41 weeks with this little nomad. I don't think he's interested in coming into this rainy world just yet. We're scheduled for an induction tomorrow night, January 6th, at 10pm. I am quite terrified.

I have no idea what giving birth is like. There are so many mysteries. Even the things I've been told are hard to actually imagine. I have a lot of fears, and I think every single one is totally rational. Because this stuff can get crazy. He's so snug in here that I'm worried being induced will just end in an emergency c-section - what if he doesn't want to drop? What if his heart rate drops? What if I don't get to see him right away, because I'm incapacitated or because he's in some kind of danger?

I've never experienced something like this. Certain pain is on the horizon. A kind which I have no ability to comprehend. It's already mentally taxing, just knowing it's coming. It's physical, mental, emotional.

Every birth story is different and I'm standing right on the edge of mine. I can neither prepare for nor truly anticipate any of the details, and I have to just trust that the pain will be bearable, my baby will be healthy, and we will all survive.

34 weeks

There are certain moments when the fact that I'm pregnant suddenly sinks in and I'm overcome with an incredibly surreal hold on just one hot second kind of swarm of feelings. That has been this week. The other night I was getting into bed (less and less gracefully these days) and I just turned (rolled) to face Dustin and said, "I'm really pregnant. When the heck did that happen?" He thought I said "how" so he was momentarily concerned and we had a good laugh.

But really, I'm feeling very shocked that Thanksgiving is next week and our baby is coming, ready or not, in 6 weeks. And don't say things like, "Well it could be tomorrow, ya know!" because if I haven't been totally clear yet, I'm in a little bit of a panic and those humorous bits of commentary kinda just make me go sdalkfjaskldjhfalwjer.

I'm trying to just see everything that's stressing me out as a great opportunity to laugh at myself. I'm stressed because our house isn't done, and I have this giant fear that once the baby comes all of these little things will really never get done. We'll have a to-do list miles and miles long, and we'll just be living in this weird limbo for years because we can never get around to crossing things off the list. There's just not enough time. I'm stressed out about the unfinished and the clutter. But then I realize that I've literally been living in clutter my entire life. Basically preparing to be a mom without knowing it. Clutter and I are besties. We understand each other. I have chosen clutter again and again, probably because I knew my future self would need this - to be happy and cozy and patient even in the clutter of new momhood. I knew there had to be a reason my room was never clean!

The truth is, expectations rarely meet up with reality. In my previous abstract thoughts about pregnancy and motherhood, I always imagined having a little girl. Not because I had a particular preference, but that's where my mind always went. But it's so wonderfully fitting that I'm going to be a little boy's mom...me, the girl with three brothers who was always surrounded by boys and legos and action figures and video games and dragons and sword-wielding stories of make believe. I am so much more prepared to be a boy's mom, and that's a fact. I knew there had to be a reason why I'm so weird! My little boy is gonna love me. 

My house will be cluttered, stories will abound, dragons will fly, and I will chill. We've got this.

30 weeks {frocktober, day 21}

The Arizona mornings dip into the 60's and I'm suddenly all about the scarves, sweaters and boots. I'm a little bit anxious for our trip to North Carolina next week, where I'll actually be able to comfortably add tights to this same ensemble! Maybe even a beanie. I can practically feel the chill against my cheeks, and it absolutely cannot come soon enough.

On Wednesday we hit the 30 week mark. This milestone hit me square in the teeth because I am so not ready to be done with pregnancy yet. I know I still have 10 weeks to go, but that suddenly seems like such a short amount of time. I actually get teary-eyed thinking about it. How weird is that? Even with all of the struggles, pains, and nuisances of pregnancy, I ardently adore having my little boy with me. He's a part of me now in a way that he'll never be again. I know the next part is the good stuff... but I find myself feeling so protective of this time that he and I have shared together. I have him all to myself. It's this strange kind of selfishness that makes me want to cry about having to share him with the world soon.

I think before actually experiencing pregnancy for myself, the overall message I received was that it's a fairly negative experience. From Facebook posts, personal conversations, blogs, etc. Horror stories and the oh just you waits were the majority. To an extent, they still are. Not to say that those horror stories aren't real, because they definitely are - there are women out there who could rival Bella Swan for worst pregnancy ever. I think I have been very lucky, and obviously everything I say is coming from my own experience. I still think it's a shame that we often allow the complaints to permeate the conversation. Maybe we really do just struggle with the changes in our bodies (say goodbye to your figure forever, because you are doomed, lady!) and feel the need to share those things in solidarity, but I want to take a moment to truly appreciate what the last 30 weeks have meant to me. Maybe it's just the pregnancy brain talking, but these are the things I'm going to miss.

I'm going to miss feeling his twirling movements every day, wondering what he's up to and what expressions his face might be making. I'm going to miss the time I get to spend with him that no one else can have (including his 2am dance sessions). I'm going to miss going to bed with my arms wrapped around him, knowing he's safe and protected in there. I'll miss this phase of mystery and dreaming - what will he look like? What will he be like? Soon we'll know for certain, but this time of sweet anticipation is precious all on its own. I'll miss maternity clothes and bump pictures. Feeling the least body conscious I've ever felt, because this belly is supposed to hang out, thankyouverymuch. I'll miss the way Dusty and I spend every night holding hands over my belly, feeling our little one move and talking to him about the future. I won't lie, I'll miss being taken care of. The sweet words, the excitement, the tenderness.

I know that pregnancy can be (and is) a very scary thing for many people, but I have loved every bit of it. Even the sickness (he's healthy and growing!), even the fatigue (all day naps? yes please), even the weird and absurd body changes. And I do mean absurd. I have cried, I have been surprised, I have had to adjust. But lemme tell you, my body is a boss. We just took our first class ("The Art of Breastfeeding") on Wednesday and I think I can say that boobs are boss. Put that on a t-shirt and wear it around town. A woman's body is insane, it's all sci-fi up in here. God is a miraculous creator, isn't He? That's what pregnancy really is. He's just showing off. I'm proud to be a warrior of His handiwork. It's truly extraordinary. Especially because this process is the precursor to welcoming our son into the world. A real human. He is and always will be a part of me, a part of my husband and I. I will cherish this time forever. 30 weeks and counting. Tick, tock.

(I will recant all of these things in 10 weeks when I begin bribing doctors to get this child outta me pronto).

hello, october

Free Printable via Hill Collection Blog

Happy October!

This month has a pretty good history of being my favorite. It is my birthday month, which might have something to do with it. It's also Frocktober, which has become such a fun tradition each year. (It's not too late to join me!).

I love October because it's Fall's dream month. I love it because of pumpkins, crisp leaves (in my imagination - Arizona doesn't even know the word leaves), baking, fireplaces, red and gold, Halloween, dressing up. This year it means moving into our house finally!! and going to North Carolina to see our favorite friends for a week.

This year it also means the would-have-been due date of our first sweet baby, Poppy. October 26th is a date I'm hesitant to meet. I know I'll greet it now with a much sweeter embrace than I thought I would. We are blessed. I am so grateful to have our baby boy. Even now as I type I can feel his little tosses and turns. I love this child so much, and that love has only grown and been layered by the loss of our first. But she (or he - we won't truly know until heaven) is not forgotten. Thinking of her is bittersweet. It's a tenderly bruised love. In my heart, she will always be my October girl. I would have loved sharing that with her. I will celebrate her life every year, and be blessed by the joy she gave us.

Because of these things and more, I will always be so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

pregnancy brain

I had always heard people talk about "pregnancy brain", and honestly, I kind of thought it was made up. That maybe women were just acting a little more ditsy to be cute or funny. (Sorry, women). But nay, once again, I have been proven wrong in all things pregnancy related. Pregnancy brain is real. It's why I say things like "the head bone" instead of skull. Or why it takes me about 27 seconds to finish my sentence with a simple thing or place like laundry room. It feels like I'm inventing these words. I swear, they didn't exist 2 minutes ago. I am bringing them into the English language for the first time, which is why it's taking me so long to speak.

Those aren't the only proofs of "pregnancy brain" in my daily life. I think the workings of my brain are forever altered. In a very real way, my heart and mind are changing. Aspects of selfishness and fear are chipping away. When I'm faced with the fear of giving birth for the first time before this year is over, instead of cowering in a corner (which has been my normal response for the past 10 years), I'm filled with an overwhelming determination to meet my baby boy. Because it's no longer all about me. He's here now. I know him, and he knows me. He's not some distant future idea, he's a person. He's my person. It's so weird but it's real and it's powerful. No matter what it takes, I'm going to be there for him. He and I are suddenly a team, and I am no longer alone or afraid.

When I look at myself in the mirror and see the distortions and changes in my body glaring back at me, instead of crying in loss, I find myself crying in joy at the freedom I feel from no longer having to force myself into some non-existent state of perfection. Suck that stomach in, shave everywhere, get a tan, buy a padded bra, get that body bikini-ready.

I think back to the day I found my first stretch marks, sobbing against my husband as he said, "Hey - can I tell you something? When we were just kids in high school, this is the you that I wanted."

These are the important things. I'm more vain than I ever thought I was. How little the body matters. It all fades away. It's the life, the soul, the living. Right now, I'm letting my belly lead the way. I run into things with it sometimes. And drop food and coffee on it alarmingly often. But I'm healthier than I've been in ages. I feel very intentionally and purposefully me. I'm growing a human. I never have to wear a bikini again. I'm going to wear maternity pants for the rest of my life because normal pants are stupid and uncomfortable, and maternity jeans are like wearing butter. I'm able to look at myself and see and feel this resounding truth that life actually isn't all about me. I can let go. Pregnancy is a sanctification process. So is motherhood. Hallelujah.

I don't think anyone would hesitate to have a baby if they could somehow feel what it's like to have their little human dancing around within them. It's impossible to explain. It's a foreign language until it's yours. All I know is that when the jumping drumbeats of his life wake me up at night, I'm never mad. I can never tire of those midnight conversations. These past few months have eaten away at the deepest parts of me and made room for new growth in every direction, full of all of these thoughts and bits of understanding that I couldn't possibly fathom before. That nebulous and universal mystery, the pregnancy brain. It's real.

reasons to panic

My best friend bought me this incredibly appropriate journal, 100 Reasons to Panic About Having a Baby: A Journal for the Knocked Up. Every few days I jot a few thoughts down, sometimes happy and anticipatory, sometimes more of the freak-out variety. At the bottom of each page is a totally valid reason to panic (ie: I'll think my baby is ugly) and an encouraging or humorous response (ie: if you spent 9 months cooped up in a small, dark space you'd be looking pretty rough, too. It'll get cuter).

My entries in this journal have jumped from describing my total breakdown when I discovered my first stretch marks, to documenting the incredible joy of our gender reveal and the overwhelming love I already feel for our little boy. Will. Saying his name is really weird and wonderful. The truth is, there really are 100 reasons to panic about having a baby. Maybe even more. For me, a ton of those reasons have to do with becoming a mom. How can I possibly prepare for such a role?

20 weeks! 

The answer, and I think many other moms will agree, is that I can't. Most of the preparations I allow myself at this point are just to make me feel better, but no matter what we do we'll be flying quite ungracefully by the seat of our pants.

Hallelujah. I find that to be rather freeing. I can take a breath when I go over my 13+ pages of recommended registry items and remind myself that last-minute runs to Target are always an option. I can trust that the stroller I choose will be totally fine. I can expect to encounter those vain moments of panic about my body's changes and the fears and insecurities I'm often confronted with. I can pretty confidently say that I will continue putting diapers on backwards. I can smile and nod at the sometimes unpleasant advice of other parents and remain firmly in the camp of Say No to Mom Wars. 

The realization I came to on Wednesday, when I had the rather sobering thought that at 20 weeks I am halfway to having a baby, is that William won't know the difference between an amateur mom and an expert one. Maybe there really isn't such a thing as an expert mom because children keep things crazy. It's part of their purpose and identity. Children are the delightful labyrinths of life. I am Will's mom, his one and only silly flawed loving mom. We were made for each other. We're literally sharing a body; he's camped out beneath my heart, making his presence known. We're in this together. I don't need to put pressure on myself to jump 100 steps ahead - every single mother on earth starts right here.

Right here, feeling the little belly kisses of their boy or girl, wondering what they'll be like and how life will change. Right here, registering for things they've never even heard of. Right here, experiencing physical and emotional changes that take them completely by surprise. Right here, scared of labor, hoping for the best, anxious to see their baby's face, hoping their baby is cute, knowing they'll love them anyway.

Right here is a pretty great place to start.

the dichotomy of tears

April 29, 2015. The week we found out!

My wee little babe is the size of a peach this week. Since we just announced our pregnancy publicly yesterday, I have a lot of backlogged thoughts, emotions, experiences, vomiting... and I suppose this is the time to share some of those things. (I'll skip the vomiting).

For a while, I had to fight against my initial urge to feel guilty about being pregnant. It felt like I was painfully breaking out of the cocoon of heartbreak, a place that I felt was safe and familiar. I had friends there. Other mothers who had been permanently bruised by the loss of a beloved child. It was a congregation I didn't take lightly. I felt comforted by them, held by them. Sharing about my miscarriage with others who had experienced that same loss opened up my heart in a very raw and very real way. When I found out I was pregnant again, I had a rush of fears. Would I be banished because of this new life? Should I have waited? Would my friendships change? Would they feel a twinge when I told them the news, or be able to share this happiness in all of its complexities? I felt torn between rejoicing and grieving anew for the baby I had lost. I wanted to stay the same, but push forward. I wanted to hold onto the memorial I was holding in my heart, but I also wanted to celebrate new life. I was two different people, two different desires residing on a crossroad of complex emotion.

On June 3rd, at my 10 week mark, my husband and I were able to go to my very first prenatal appointment. We saw the same doctor that I had visited right after my miscarriage, and she was ecstatic to see me again and to congratulate us. It was incredibly nerve-racking. I still felt full of fear. I had this weird, irrational fear that they would tell me I wasn't actually pregnant after all - my body had tricked me. I had tricked myself. But in that bright room, feeling naked and vulnerable in my thin fabric patient's gown, my doctor navigated her handheld monitor across my skin until we all heard the whoosh whoosh whoosh of our miraculously tiny baby's heartbeat. We just cried and cried. We cried tears for Poppy, and we cried tears for our new baby whose heart was beating for us, with us, within me. The tears all looked the same, and they all came from us, but they meant very different things.

I have learned that complex emotion, that layered and turbulent crossroad, is beautiful. And I don't mean that in the fluffy, hippy way that people sometimes use the word "beautiful" (I mean, people love to say that birth is beautiful, but I'm certainly not paying anyone to see that business, not even my own). I wish there was another word, a better word. Complex emotion is...worthwhile. The fight, the questions I ask myself, the answers I discover, it's all worthwhile. I can't quite bring myself to say that birth itself is actually beautiful because it totally freaks me out, but it is worthwhile. It's not pretty, it's worthy. Because it hurts and it's earned and it hurts hurts hurts and it produces stunning, glorious, fresh life. The complexities of life are hard and they're worth feeling. They're the dichotomy of tears.

I own the grief and I own the joy, crying tears for both and feeling for both.
I don't have to choose, because I am all of it all at once.

skirts in the wind

Tank Top (remixed): Ruche, Skirt: LOFT

I've learned that I have a special superpower. It's kind of like a unique sense, a subconscious propulsion, to wear pleated skirts on windy days. It's true. I wanna say this is a gift bestowed upon many unfortunate gals, which makes me feel a little better because it's not really a superpower. It's a curse. It causes a lot of problems and gives strangers an intimate one on one with my biznass. 

It'd be a lot more helpful if I had the innate ability to never forget anything before I leave the house, or to be able to produce strong, hot coffee straight from my mind and into my coffee cup.

Although really, the more I think about it, the more I realize that this skirt sitch may be, could be, a little bit my fault. It's vaguely possible that I bring the skirt disasters upon myself, because I wear dresses and skirts pretty much every day. So of course some of those days are going to be windy, right? In fact, my dad loves gadgets and recently installed a weather instrument device, so there's literally a bright screen right next to the sink that I apparently ignore every day even when it might say "20 mph winds WEAR PANTS".

I think we often find ourselves in these types of debacles. It's really easy to say, why does this keep happening to me even if the answer may be within ourselves instead of resting on the shoulders of the world. Sometimes the responsibility does rest with me. Sometimes my environment isn't to blame, and I find myself without excuse. There are times when I can no longer blame my family, my past, my upbringing, my society, the government....uh oh. This almost got political. Let's move on.

It's a good day to be held accountable, I think. To laugh at the faces of the shocked passersby as they catch sight of my knickers, and to know that my particular choices that morning led to such a humorous encounter. It does no good to shout at the wind, or to cry about how unfair the weather is. It's much more effective to dress appropriately for the day. To learn from the skirts in the wind.

harry potter book club: the sorcerer's stone

First of all - Happy Birthday to Emma Watson!

Last month I officially commenced The Harry Potter Book Club. Over the past 30+ days, a good handful of us began to read (or reread) these delightful books, and I am here to review and discuss The Sorcerer's Stone with you all. I tried my best to read this book with an entirely fresh perspective, going back in time to 1997 when this volume was brand new and the story was a puzzle of exciting mystery and anticipation.

This is just a general collection of my impressions and thoughts, so feel free to use them as a jumping point for our discussion. You can also go way off course and share absolutely anything you want from this reading experience! 

I hate to state the obvious, but SPOILERS ABOUND. If you have never read this book, I feel sad. But this is a spoiler-filled review. 

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are:

Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Thank you!"

1. First Impressions
are sometimes the most important. Were you able to finish the book this month? If so, what did you think? What did you think of J. K. Rowling's writing style? Answers vary depending on whether it's a first-time read or a reread, but I'd love to hear your initial thoughts.

Questions: What was going through your head the moment you finished the last page? Who is your favorite character so far? If it's your first time reading, do you feel compelled to continue? If it's not, did anything specifically jump out at you this time around?

2. Fear and Jealousy
can be so destructive and ugly. They can rot a person to their very core. I remember vehemently hating the Dursleys when I read these books the first time, and it wasn't until I finished the series that I realized how sorry I felt for them. There's a very complex family dynamic that's going on here that isn't completely realized until the last book. I'm paying much closer attention to them this time around.

The biggest thing that jumped out at me this time around is this: you have to wonder why Dumbledore really left Harry there, instead of with a wizarding family that would have loved and cherished him. The Dursleys' relationship with Harry has always been driven mainly by fear and jealousy, and while it's a horrid thing to watch, it also exposes impressive and important qualities in Harry that seem to be inherent from the beginning: bravery, humility, goodness, fairness, hope. Could that have been Dumbledore's purpose all along?

Questions: Did you secretly wish the snake had taken a bite out of Dudley before escaping the zoo? Do you think Dumbledore left Harry with the Dursleys to build character and shield him from a childhood of entitlement and excess? How do you think Harry managed to maintain such noble character traits while living beneath the stairs (and beyond)?

3. A Huge Life Change
very rarely comes in the form of a giant man breaking down your door and declaring, "Yer a wizard, Harry!" but when it does, it makes for great reading. I absolutely adore the shack-on-a-stormy-rock scene, because the Dursleys finally get scared spitless and Harry finally learns about the secret we've been dying to tell him since page 1. The introduction to the wizarding world is pretty overwhelming for the poor boy. It's even worse when he has to leave it again to go back to his dull and miserable life with the Dursleys until the school year starts!

On a side note, Hagrid's life story seems awfully tragic to me. He was expelled from Hogwarts, and apparently in the wizarding world that means you never get another chance to legally practice magic. You are trapped in a magic-less life forever. Granted, he doesn't strictly adhere to that rule...but doesn't it seem a tad extreme that an 11 year old could get into mischief at school and end up exiled forever?

Questions: How easy/difficult is it for you to read the supernatural/magical? How do you feel about the fact that Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts, and is never allowed to use magic again? 

4. Harry's First Choices
about who to spend his time with arrive early on in his introduction to the wizarding world. He spent 11 years in the forced company of the Dursleys, never having the time or the means to build other relationships. Luckily he has great instincts, and thus the trio was born. He was also able to immediately recognize Dursley-esque characteristics in others, and knew he wanted no more of that.

He has a keen eye, perhaps paying more attention to the needs of others to make up for all of the years that he was undervalued and ignored. He is naturally attracted to other possible outcasts, in which he is able to see the strengths that he desires and admires. Hermione, the brilliant muggle-born, and Ron, the loyal boy from a poor family, become his core. Although Hermione doesn't actually join the boys until chapter 10, after earning their immediate dislike for her know-it-all tendencies. But as J. K. Rowling writes in chapter 7, "There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them."

5. The Mirror of Erised
is an incredibly poignant segment of this book. I was reminded that this isn't necessarily a book just for children, as much as it is a story about children. The series grows along with the reader. There are many intricate tragedies in this book (including the worst detention ever concocted, like whoa). The loss of innocence (unicorn blood), the Mirror, facing death. Harry encounters all of these and despite them or because of them he is more emboldened than ever to stand firm against the dark side. The more I think about the Mirror, the sadder I feel. It's the very first time Harry is able to see his parents. Until Hagrid gives him a scrapbook of his parents at the end of the book (sob!), he had never even seen a photograph of them.

This chapter also brings us one of the best Dumbledore quotes: "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." For those of you who have seen the movies, I would like to announce that the real Dumbledore of the books is quirky, strange, mysterious, magical, and wonderful in every way. He is not mean, he is not creepy, he does not scream or throttle people. He is definitely my favorite character to reread. That is all.

6. The Mystery of Snape

is one of the greatly debated Harry Potter universe subjects. Is he good or evil? Either way, I think it's fairly clear that even though he saves Harry's life a time or two in this book, he also goes out of his way to make Harry's life miserable in the meantime. Despite the fact that Harry's father James has been dead for 11 years, Snape takes it upon himself to continue dishing out his pent up wrath on his only child. We get some explanation from Dumbledore at the end, but it doesn't provide a lot of comfort, to me or to Harry.

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"WHAT!?"

"Yes..." said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt.... I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace...."

Harry tried to understand this but it 

made his head pound, so he stopped.

7. The Ending!
J. K. Rowling does a mighty fine job of weaving together a story. She brings a lot of elements full-circle, including the Mirror of Erised and the various personal talents of the trio that allows them to successfully navigate the puzzles and charms that lead to the Sorcerer's Stone.

This book is really about laying the groundwork for the kind of hero Harry is going to be, and how he's going to empower himself by choosing goodness and love instead of power in and of itself. Quirrell says, "There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it." He's immediately proven wrong when Harry demonstrates that the power he has within is greater than anything Quirrell (or Voldemort) could ever know.

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. 
It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet.

Questions: Were you surprised when the stuttering, turban-wearing Quirrell turned out to be the one who was after the Sorcerer’s Stone? Was there anything in the plot that led you to suspect him? Was there a particularly heartfelt moment in the book that got to you?

Thanks for joining our Harry Potter Book Club for Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone!!
Share your thoughts below, but be careful of spoilers if it's your first time through this series because there are a few. If you've read them/seen them before and are commenting, try to only mention plot points from this book and avoid big series-wide spoilers. Thanks!!

The next review will be up on the blog one month from today, on May 15th, in celebration of Professor Sprout's birthday. See you then!

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a very voguish introduction

Sometimes it amazes me that it has already been over 2 years since I began blogging here at Voguish. It's quite fun for me to look back through all of these posts, which I've been doing a lot lately as I've been contemplating how this blog has changed and grown along with my style and my writing.

Now that we've commenced The Right Type Society and I've had a chance to begin connecting to other bloggers that I admire, I've been thinking a lot about my blog content and how it appears to new readers. I know that someday soon I'd like to reformat my blog into a real domain, perhaps restyle it and redesign it to something a bit more official and personal. I'm a very basic blog user at this point. 

It occurred to me that as I write posts, they tend to disappear into the archives without any trace. I don't have many ways for readers to find popular posts or to sort by subject. I intend to work on those problems in the near future, but for now I thought I'd gather a collection of posts that I think represent this blog, and myself, in the best possible way.

Past posts, left to right: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

Outfits | Remixing |

Frocktober | Style Crushes |

Novel Dress

This blog began in January of 2013. I had been blogging for a few years over at Once Upon a Wife Life, which I started when my husband and I moved to Virginia in 2011 for him to attend law school. The posts over there were very long and photo heavy, like diary entries for our close family and friends to follow along with while we were gone. While I enjoyed documenting our years in Virginia, the long posts began to feel very laborious. I wanted a blog space that was light, natural, and could accommodate a larger readership. 

I predominantly began by posting outfits, which eventually led to my development of the Frocktober Sisterhood. (I'd love for you to join me this year!). Every October I wear a dress every single day, to spark inspiration and challenge my creativity. I really enjoy remixing my clothes and finding new innovative ways to wear them.

I very recently began to create Style Crush posts, where I feature someone (typically a celebrity) whose style I admire. Those posts have included Lily James, Emma Watson, and of course the Pixie Cut. I want one, but will probably never get one - I have The Fear.

My most recent style-inspired series has been very bookish. I call it Novel Dress. I take some of my all-time favorite books and pair them with matching dresses from one of my favorite online boutiques, Ruche. They're incredibly fun posts just designed to delight and inspire. I love them. 

Istanbul, Turkey

Travel

A natural progression of this blog was to begin posting about our travels. I started posting weekly Wanderlust Wednesday posts to highlight some of my favorite places.

My husband and I traveled a lot during law school. (We were actually engaged on a family trip in Ireland, which is perhaps where our wanderlust began). We were able to take advantage of his spring breaks and summers by booking great deals and using airbnb.com to find inexpensive places to stay. It was such an incredible part of our early marriage.

Being from Arizona, we also really enjoyed the historic day trips that were suddenly at our disposal. We went to Washington D.C. often, and loved going to North Carolina along with friends whose families lived there. We especially enjoyed the N.C. State Fair. We were even able to make longer trips to New York, Georgia, and Charleston, S.C. to eat incredible Southern food and tour around our (my) favorite film spots in The Notebook.

A very lofty goal of mine would be to travel blog full time, being sent across the world to document and review various locations. Sigh. That's the dream.

Personal Interests

I love cats. I am an introvert. (Perhaps those are one and the same). I am the absolute worst at talking on the telephone. I'm a big fan of watching TV, which occasionally comes in the form of guilty pleasure shows like Reign on The CW. My Reign posts accidentally became my most popular posts on this blog. I also love movies, and my favorite movie of all time is definitely Ever After. Sometimes I watch it multiple times a day.

I am an avid reader. I think that reading is one of the most worthy pursuits a human can have. I often post about book clubs, my favorite books, and Harry Potter. (My favorite Harry Potter character is Sirius Black). I recently commenced The Harry Potter Book Club as well! You should join us!

I also enjoy writing, and most of that works itself into this blog and my more personal posts. I hope to write a book someday, which is a very scary but incredibly exciting endeavor. It's a big part of my 26-before-27 to do list!

Important Posts

I suppose my blog is a little bit of all over the place. I love to laugh and occasionally attempt to encourage laughter in others. My silliest blog entries have been about encountering snobbiness, wearing overalls, going camping, suffering through long distance best friendship, and my ever-burning hatred of love triangles.

I also blog about more serious matters. Some of them are lighthearted but important, like my desire to stop biting my nails and start living healthier. Or the concept of having a "soulhome", the joys of being an aunt, and the wistful experience of growing up without a sister. I've written about my insecurities and the incredible power of female friendships. I've also written about why moving is the worst, how proud I was of my husband through our law school journey, and of life's blessings and scars.

My most vulnerable post was earlier this year, when my husband and I found out we were pregnant. We shared that joy for one glorious week. I lost our baby at just 5 weeks. It is still a very tender heartbreak, and I struggle daily with what should have been. But we move forward, as always, together.

All of these things are such important pieces to who I am as a person and as a writer. It's one of my favorite things about blogging - having these testimonies to life, these short entries of thoughts and experiences to share with others and to remind myself of who I was and who I want to be.

While I am always humbled (and incredibly excited) when people read and interact with my blog, I always remind myself that writing is personal, creative, stimulating, and developmental. It's incredibly worthwhile, even if I am the only one to read it in the end. If you've made it this far, I heartily thank you for being here. Sharing my stories with you is a joy.