wa'mo

This past Christmas we bought William the cutest little wooden espresso maker. Because, of course, I love coffee and was giddy about the idea of a tiny kid coffee maker. It's impossibly adorable that this exists. Sometimes kids aren't as excited as you are about certain things, but thankfully this wasn't one of those times. He loved it.

I think at that point he only knew the color green because it was the color of Starbucks, and he heard me say "we're getting in the car because mama needs coffee!" more often than any other sentence in his life. Whatever the reason, he was actually very happy about his coffee maker. I taught him how to use it - pod in the slot, push the top down, fill the cup, pour some cream & sugar, stir with the spoon, ooh careful! Make sure you blow on it - and thus we ushered in the first piping hot cup of make believe. We both tried it, and agreed it was the best thing we'd ever had.

He actually made me some of this very special coffee this morning. He even let Ginny have some, making the sipping noises for her. After I've theatrically enjoyed my own sips, he always asks: "you wa'mo?" in his hopeful little way. Yes, William. I want more.

I want more of this imagination of yours. I want to drink your coffee every single morning. I want to remember the way your eyes squint and your voice goes progressively higher when you really, really want to postpone bedtime. "I can read more books?" or "I can have my new car in the bed?"
I want more of your surprised laughter, the kind that tumbles out of your little belly and lasts so much longer than either of us expects it to. And I seriously don't want you to ever realize that my kisses don't actually heal your wounds. I want to be more like you, and exclaim "I'm HAPPY!!!" after something doesn't go my way, but I make that choice anyway. I want more of your whispered words and the way your eyes search for me when you've wandered just a little out of reach. The way you run full tilt and hug my legs so tightly. I want more of the way you follow me and ask to do whatever it is I'm doing, too, just because you want to be with me some more.

I want more of your dancing, which consists almost exclusively of your left shoulder bouncing up and down. It's the only part of you that truly can't resist a good beat. I want more of the way you proudly gesture to your stuffed animals each morning and say, "Lookit! Look at all of my friends." I want more of the sneaky way you take care of Ginny, bringing her toys and giving her kisses and rubbing her little fuzzy hair on your face until it tickles your nose. I can never get it on camera, because you really only do it when you think you guys are alone. And it makes me so proud to be your mother.

So be sure, William. Don't ever doubt it. In fact, you never even have to ask.
Because with you, I will always, always wa'mo.

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. 

on your first father's day

I knew you when.

When you were a boy with shaggy hair, singing songs and playing soccer and butting heads with your mom. When you were making jokes in between classes (and in classes) and creating nicknames for everyone you knew. I knew you at the pinnacle of your youth and silliness. When you teased the girls you liked. When pooka shells were still occasionally worn. It's true.

When you sang "Hero" by Enrique Iglesias and when you asked to hold my hand by writing it out in a text message. When you were red-cheeked from our first kiss and promising me forever and writing love notes. Making plans and choosing colleges and deciding, right then and there, that all our dreams would come true. I knew you when you talked animatedly about having kids, and the fact that we were still kids ourselves didn't seem to phase you at all.

You have been a dad-in-the-making for as long as I've known you. Waking up next to you this morning and seeing you as that boy / my husband / a father is such a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious feeling. Growing old with you will be all the sweeter for having known you as that boy, and watching you grow to raise our own. There are moments when none of this seems real, and the love and blessedness of our home together threatens to fill and burst me like a giant heart balloon.

I have seen you grow from the boy I knew and rolled my eyes at to the man who now guides our own boy to know and love what is Good. I have seen your sweet and fun-loving heart tenderized by fatherhood. I look at our son and suddenly I can see, in my mind's eye, the many precious years of your life that I missed. The missing links to who you are. I can see your furrowed brow as you made your first childish discoveries and feel your mother's love for you. I can see the pinpricks of personality blossoming in your eyes. It's all here, in the face of our son.

I marvel and delight in you both. You and I have a brilliant history; a wonderful collection of years together. Travels and weird traditions and Coldplay dance parties. We made everything fun. While they were golden years, they were far from our greatest hits. We are now able to choose our favorite things and do them all over again with our son. Let's travel the world, make up silly songs, read Harry Potter, spend time with kindred spirits, eat our favorite foods and listen to the Beatles (ok, and One Direction too).

Today, I want you to know that you have kept your silliest (and best) promises to me from way back then. This is a dreamy life and I adore you. Happy first Father's Day, my love. Today is special for us both, because darling...

I knew you when.

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

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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.

baby boy style

We all know that having a baby girl is when the truly ridiculous, adorable and fabulous baby clothes come into play. Playing dress up with a little girl is what dreams are made of. The accessories alone are enough to make anyone squeal. I think I've always thought of little boy clothes as being made up of blue and green t-shirts with cartoonish animal figures on them with phrases like "mom rocks!" (which obviously is a true statement). Overall, boy clothes err on the cheesy side, with the accessories starting and ending with bow ties and old man hats.

BUT WAIT.

I have discovered, with the help of besties and blogs and online shopping, to my great excitement and relief, that boy clothes are amazing. They're insanely cute. I may be biased, but Will is seriously going to be the cutest little tyke in the history of miniature plaid button-ups. To share my dreaming and scheming for my bebe's future style, here are some of my favorite online finds this week!

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

I'm a little bit obsessed with jumpers/one-pieces. Especially the black star-spangled one, which says "the moon is made of ice cream". Yes, little darling, it sure is.

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

Will already owns the most incredible pair of mint green pants (and a gaggle of other adorable treasures) thanks to my best friend Becky, who was the only one who knew our baby's gender ahead of time before our gender reveal! I definitely think we need to keep the color wheel going and get him some pants in green, maroon, blue, grey...

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

Not but seriously. This is just a pocket version of my husband. That is adorable.

1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

One of the things I'm most excited about is that we're having our little boy in December (fingers crossed - could be January!). All of the cozy winter clothes and accessories are going to be so much fun! The textured cardigans! The beanies! The elbow patches! The faux-shearling-collar coat!!! Dear goodness.

1st row: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

2nd row: 6 // 7 // 8 // 9

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.

gender reveal!

Last Wednesday we had our long-awaited ultrasound to see our sweet baby for the first time. We've heard baby's heartbeat at almost every appointment, which is such a breathtaking sound, but this was our first experience seeing the silhouette of that little face. Let me tell you, it's weird. Watching a movie of your innards. I can't get over how bizarre pregnancy is. I always struggle to find the right words to explain the strange exhilaration that overtakes you at each step. 

We decided to have a gender reveal party on Friday, so we had to wait two whole days to find out if we were having a Phoebe or a Phoebo. We gave the secret-holding envelope to my bestie Becky, and she reveled in the power she suddenly held over us. She would be the new head of the Department of Mysteries, which mainly consisted of silly-string buying, decor-making and snack-preparing. She's the best.

Instagram post 1 / 2

I thought it would be fun and easy to plan a gender reveal party. I was very wrong about myself. Apparently preparing to find out the gender of your child is a little bit more stressful than I thought. The anticipation was almost crippling, especially as Friday approached and slipped by hour by hour. I would be sitting at my desk and suddenly be seized by a pounding heart, shaking hands, and the overwhelming desire to scream.

I cannot emphasize enough how incredibly wonderful it is to know now. The night was perfect, despite my mini breakdowns and panic attacks. Becky even helped me set up a Periscope broadcast so that our long-distance friends and family could watch on a live feed! I had never even heard of Periscope, but it was such a brilliant solution. We were able to watch it together afterwards, which showed the live comments and hearts of everyone watching along! It was really special. It was especially wonderful to have that live recording on my phone afterwards, because the camera we set up to record the reveal ended up dying after only 4 seconds of video! 

I made little paper pins (bows and ties!) for people to wear to represent Team Boy or Team Girl. We also asked everyone to sign their names on the Team Board. Dusty and I were both Team Boy from the start! I also made a fun little list of Old Wives' Tales to indicate what each superstitious prediction would be for my pregnancy.

Dusty's grandma, Momo, had her own special prediction. When we first told her we were pregnant, her response was, "Oh I already knew that. God revealed that to me weeks ago."
There was a lot of laughter, surprised expressions, and "wait what??" from the rest of the family.
She then proceeded to say, "I also know the gender, but He hasn't told me to tell you that yet."
We begged her to tell us, but she wouldn't budge. Two weeks ago, she gave us a gift bag (stapled shut) with a gender-specific gift in it. The gender reveal suddenly became all about that bag. 

THIS. Hi, William Boyer. I knew it was you all along. 💙 #schantababy #TEAMBOY

A video posted by caitschan (@caitschan) on Aug 7, 2015 at 8:30pm PDT

As it turns out, we were right. Momo was right. Her gift was a pair of boy's socks and a card that said, God announced! Gender revealed! A baby boy born at Christmas. I can't believe all God must have in store for your baby boy! With resounding joy! - Momo. "

Team Momo. Team God. Team BOY!

We're naming him William Boyer. His namesakes are my dad, William, and Dusty's grandpa, Bernard Boyer. William is also the middle name of Dusty's dad, and there are a few other Williams on his side of the family. I have always loved the name William, and it is such a supreme privilege to be able to name our son after my wonderful father. Seeing his face when he read the baby's name aloud was one of the happiest moments of my life! There were many tears involved, and the kind of deeply felt happiness that is the result of a lifetime of love. I am so proud of the family our son belongs to, and the legacy he will carry on. It's a legacy of strength, faith, good humor and goodness. I have always been surrounded by boys, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Will Boy, we cannot wait to meet you!

Photos by Amy O'Neil Photography!