In the trenches of motherhood.

It's been 2 weeks now since my child has been "herself". The thing I've learned about motherhood is that, just when you think you've got it down, something new comes your way. There is no period of calm, there is no middle ground. Motherhood is highs and lows, ups and downs, losses and gains. Everyday is a new adventure, and everyday you learn something new. As my daughter and I work together to fight this storm she's in, I'm reminded just how incredible our bond is. On the days I have nothing left to give, she finds my strength and pulls it out of me. On the days she's fighting to feel normal again, I'm finding her strength and pulling it out of her. We balance each other out. If I'm black, she's white. It's I'm right, she's left. She is the ying to my yang.

But not everyday is easy, in fact, some days are pretty damn hard. There are days when there are so many tears, and I'm so sick of my own voice, that I crawl into bed at the end of the day and wonder if I'm meant for this parenting gig. Do I have what it takes to raise a small human? Can I bring this child up in a cruel world, and teach her respect, loyalty, kindness, and intergrity? Do I even possess those traits myself? I wasn't always a good person, and I'm not sure if I'm even one now. Life is hard. Can I help shape this child into someone who believes in herself, even when life gets hard? How can I know I'm doing the right thing when some days are filled with nothing but tears and time outs? I'm not just responsible for keeping her alive, I'm responsible for what she learns. I'm responsible for giving her a wonderful environment to grow, learn, and succeed. I'm supposed to be a role model to her. and quite frankly, I'm not really a GREAT one, I'm just mediocre.

These are the questions and thoughts that plague my mind when I'm in the trenches of motherhood. When I am overwhelmed with life, with motherhood, with everything; this is what I lose sleep over. I think all mothers fall victim to these endless thoughts sometimes. Are we enough? How badly are we messing up? I'm here to say you are enough. You are doing a fantastic job! You are a good mother.

To all the moms in the trenches with me, you are not alone.

Why I tell my daughter she's pretty.

There's been a lot of talk lately about mothers choosing not to call their daughters pretty. I can sympathize with a lot of it, even respect it, but I cannot get behind it. Many people believe that telling a girl she's pretty discourages her from embracing science and math. I don't believe that at all. My mom has always told me I'm pretty. When I was younger I wanted to be an archeologist/anthropologist, so my mom went out and bought me books and kits so I could learn all about it. To this day I am still extremely fascinated by those things. One Christmas my mother bought me a microscope, slides included, and told me to enjoy. Being pretty never stopped me from wanting to explore different things. And my mom never told me pretty girls don't do those things, instead she took the things I was interested in and built on them. I'd read about dinosaurs and then go to dance class. I'd try on my moms heels, and then go examine slides under my microscope. Some days I'd wear dresses, and some days I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt. I loved makeup at a young age, but I was also an avid swimmer and "renowned" water bug. Whatever I was into that day, week, month, my mom supported me, and still told me I was pretty.

Now I have a daughter, she's 2, and I've told her she's pretty every single day, multiple times a day, for her whole life. If you ask her "who's gorgeous?" she will respond with "me!" If she's trailing behind me in a store you can often here me say, "come on pretty!" Sometimes we're sitting on the couch and out of the blue I'll just say "you're so pretty". Why? Because the world is an ugly place, and I want her to know that even on the darkest of days, she is her own beacon of light. I want to tell her she's pretty every day so that she believes it. I want her to know that she's pretty so that when someone tells her she's not, she doesn't even bat an eye. I want her to love herself, from head to toe, all the days of her life. I want her to radiate self confidence so that when the world tries to tear her down, she's never afraid to stand up tall. I want her to look in the mirror and see nothing but beauty. I tell my daughter she's pretty because she deserves to hear it.

You know what else I tell my daughter? I tell her she's smart, that her imagination is impressive, and that her scribbles are genius. Several times a day I find myself in awe of how smart she is. I cannot believe someone so small can know so much. And if you ask her "who's smart?" she will again respond with "me!" There is no limit to the things she can do. She can be pretty and still like to play with rocks. She can love both princesses and dinosaurs. And even though right now she's not a fan of bugs, if someday that's where her heart lies, I want her to roll with it, simply because she can. If she wants to grow up and wear a lab coat to work, I hope she does, because it doesn't make her any less pretty. Nothing will ever take away the beauty that is her. And someday when her hormones are running crazy, I don't ever want her to doubt her self worth. I want to enhance every single quality she has. I want to focus on everything that is wonderful about her, and for me that includes telling her how pretty she is. When she gets older and someone at school is being a jerk, I don't ever want their words to diminish her self worth. I don't want anyone to ever dull her sparkle. If someone tells her she isn't pretty, I want it to bounce right off of her. If someone tells her "girls shouldn't do that", I want her to prove that they can. BECAUSE SHE CAN. She can be anything and anyone she wants to be, and being pretty won't stop her.

If she comes up to me someday and says, "Mommy, am I pretty?" I'm going to hug her little body and tell her of course you are darling. You are pretty smart, pretty creative, pretty wonderful, and you also have the prettiest face I ever did see. Because all of those things are true, and I refuse to omit any of the qualities that make her who she is.

Someday, my daughter is going to change this world. And you will find me standing on the sidelines, still telling her she's pretty.

Yes, my thighs touch.

It's been so long since I've worn shorts in public, that I literally can't even remember the last time it happened. Even in 90 and 100 degree weather, I'd be wearing pants of some sort. Okay, leggings, I'd be wearing leggings. But still, never shorts, no matter what. I have cellulite, stretch marks, and my thighs touch. I didn't even want to look at myself, so I did the world a favor and spared them the agony by covering up. Sure, I'd be drenched in sweat and miserable, but no one was going blind by looking at my exposed legs. The way I saw it, people should have been thanking me.

Fast forward to now... I'm 5'9", and about 200 pounds. I still have cellulite, stretch marks, and yes my thighs still touch. But today, I wore shorts out in public. Not only did I leave my house, I went to an amusement park, where there was hundreds of people. Ready for the icing on the cake? I also walked around in my bathing suit. *gasp* I realized recently that I was covering myself up for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't because that's truly what made me happy, it was because I didn't want anyone judging me. I was so worried about what everyone else thought, that I never asked myself what I thought. Yeah, sure, sometimes I look in the mirror and hate what I see. But when I dig deeper, I really do love myself. Why should I have to cover up just because I don't look like a model? There's nothing wrong with me. I am unique and beautiful, just like everyone else. And when I leave my house, I'm not leaving my house to get noticed. I don't wake up, get dressed and say "what would the people in my hometown like me to wear?" No, I get up, find something clean (usually), get dressed, and then go about my day.

What makes my train of thought so different now versus a few years ago is my daughter. When she looks at me, all she sees is mommy. She doesn't see that my roots are grown in, I'm not wearing makeup, or that my thighs touch. She doesn't care what my clothes look like, or if I'm even matching that day. All she knows is that mommy gets dressed and takes her to the playground, or the store. When she looks at me, she knows I don't say no to a quick swim, or a walk around the block, or a ride down the slide. When she looks at me she knows that no matter what, I'll be involved for however long she wants me to be. And someday, she'll have hundreds of pictures to look back on, and I'll be in most of them. And hopefully when she's older, and struggling with her own self image, she'll remember that mommy embraced herself, and lived her life without worrying about the judgement of others.

When did it become acceptable to allow people to dictate to us how we should look? No person is the same, which means no body type is the same. You are the first and last version of yourself. Never again will there ever be anyone else like you. You were made to be a masterpiece, a first edition. You are perfectly imperfect. You are flawed, and beautiful. You have a thigh gap, or you don't. You have abs, or you don't. It doesn't matter, because you are YOU, and you is wonderful.

Every person should embrace their body, their personality, their life. You should never be afraid to wear the clothes you like. You should always do the things that make you happy, say the things that make you happy, and wear the things that make you happy. You only get one life, you need to live it. Don't hide behind fear because you read somewhere that how you look is "ugly". You're not ugly, you're you. 

Yes, my thighs touch, and yes, I'm happy.

A letter to my daughter on Mother's Day.

Mother's Day is a day to celebrate all the mom's in the world. Mother's are given a day to be recognized for all they do day in and day out. Although they should be celebrated everyday, there is one specific day every year for just that, so why not bask in the glory of breakfast in bed, pampering, and a nice dinner not cooked by you? This is my 3rd Mother's Day. I haven't actually ever celebrated because my daughter is still young, and frankly I just don't see the point. But this year I decided to sit down and embrace the glory of being a mother. I wanted to celebrate the reason I even have the title of "mom". This Mother's Day, I salute my daughter.

Without you, my darling girl, I wouldn't know what it feels like to miss sleep. Without you, I wouldn't have boo-boo's to kiss, meals to cook, and messes to clean. Without you, there would be no toys to pick up, clothes to wash, or drinks to refill. Without you, I wouldn't know the feeling of complete exhaustion. Because of you, I have a reason to get up out of bed every morning, even when I don't want too. Because of you, I am able to push through every bad day, and bad mood. Because of you, even when the sky is gray, I have a little piece of sunshine with me. My days aren't quiet, my meals aren't warm, and my showers aren't long, but my heart is full, my soul is nourished, and my life is complete. Before you I didn't know what it meant to love someone so much that it actually hurt. Before you, I had no idea what I was missing in my life. You have given me happiness, strength, and patience; all things that I lacked before you. On Mother's Day I am supposed to celebrate myself, but instead all I want to do is celebrate you. Mother's Day would be just another day if I didn't have you. I made you, but you made me a mother. You've given me the greatest title in the world, and I am lucky to have it. Not every day is easy, and sometimes I want to give up, but you are always there to remind me I'm doing okay. You are always there to take my head out of the clouds, and plant my feet back on the ground. You give me the determination I need to never give up. You give me endless reasons to appreciate life, and to love with all that I have. Because of you, my bad days aren't so bad, and my good days are far beyond just good. You have taught me to love myself for exactly who I am, because who I am is just fine. You have shown me that I am capable of giving love. But most importantly, you have shown me that I am able to be loved.

This Mother's Day I am grateful not just to be a mother, but to be your mother. Thank you for trusting me with your precious life. Thank you for teaching me the real meaning of life, love, and happiness. Thank you for allowing me the freedom to be me. Thank you for being you. I promise to always be there when you call, and I promise to always love you through it all. Happy Mother's Day to my reason to celebrate such a special day. My love for you is fierce, baby girl.

Transformation Tuesday.

Tuesday's on social media are all about #transformationtuesday. I've participated a few times showing how different I looked 4 years ago, compared to now. I've done side by sides of how much Lily has grown in such a short time. I've even done one with me and my brother. It's fun to see how much can change in just a few short months, and years. Like 3 years ago, I had black hair, wore too much makeup, and was 20 pounds heavier. I was also incredibly miserable. I was the farthest thing from happy, and I rarely ever left my bed. Now, my hair is my natural blonde, I rarely wear makeup, and I'm happy. Transformation Tuesday doesn't always have to be about image. Sometimes the biggest changes happen within. Sometimes the biggest changes are felt, not seen.

3 years ago I was living in a nightmare. A nightmare that would eventually turn into the best thing to ever happen to me. But at the time, all I could see and feel was pain. I had no idea it was going to get even worse. And when it did, I thought there was no way things could ever get better. I was at rock bottom, and the only way to go from there was up, except "up" didn't even feel like an option. I was literally living in my own personal hell, and all I wanted to do was escape it. No matter the cost.

Now, 3 years later, I am the happiest I've ever been. I wake up everyday with a smile. I appreciate the little things. And even on a not so good day, I am thankful to be alive. My nightmare became my dream come true. It became my strength, my hope, and my happiness. I am no longer stuck in the darkness of despair. My transformation Tuesday is not just my physical appearance. It is also my soul, and the very essence of who I am. I feel like I am finally free of the hurt, and the pain. I am a new person, with a new outlook, and new goals. Everyday has a purpose it never had before. Everyday is a new chance to live, and breathe, and love.

My emotional transformation is the most important of all, because it is me, finally happy, and finally living.

Why I'm allowed to be angry, AND thankful.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. But you, you were a coward. It took next to no time for you decide you wanted nothing to do with me and our child. The chilling words you spoke those first few weeks will always fill me with disgust. And the silence that followed will always remind me of a black hole. I still haven't decided which was worse; the insults to our unborn daughter, or you ignoring every attempt I made to keep you involved. Those 9 months were some of the hardest I've ever had. But the overwhelming love I felt overpowered all my fear, all my bitterness, and all my rage. I was able to prepare for what I had come to think of as MY CHILD, and experience all the bliss that is pregnancy. Even though I felt alone, I knew I wasn't. The day Lily was born, and they wheeled me to recovery, you were the first person I told. I don't know why I felt that need, but I wanted to share the joy I felt with someone, with anyone, and I chose you. It didn't matter that only 2 days earlier you told me you hated me. It didn't matter that earlier that morning you told me you were happier without me. Our daughter was born, and she was a spitting image of you, and I just wanted you to know. When you showed up at the hospital, I wanted to be glad. I wanted to cherish the moment you met her, but instead I found myself boiling with resentment. You didn't deserve to meet her. You didn't deserve to know that kind of love. I regretted ever telling you she was born. Only a few weeks later I asked you when you would have contacted me to see if she was born yet, and you said "I don't know, sometime in May maybe?" She was born April 12. She would have been a month or older by the time we heard from you, by the time you met her, and I hated you for that answer. But I hated myself more because I gave you a gift you weren't worthy of. I've felt those same emotions a lot over the last 2 years.

I often wonder if I never set out for custody, where we would be. How many months would pass before we heard from you again? How much more would you have missed? You were absent for the first 9 months of her life. You missed the colic, the sleepless nights, the first smiles, the first laughs, the doctors appointments, the growing, the changing, the love. And even after our court hearing, you missed her learning to crawl, learning to walk, and her first words. Her whole life has passed by and you've been apart of none of it. There's no happy pictures of the two of you smiling. There's no pictures of the 3 of us, enjoying her presence. For 6 hours a month you are around. No more, sometimes less. Everything she knows, she knows because of me. She craves me when she wakes up, and when she wants a hug. She misses me when I go to the bathroom, or run an errand without her. She asks for me when she has a boo-boo, or when she wants a drink. I'm the only true constant she knows. But she doesn't hate you either. For those 6 hours, even if she's uncomfortable, she still plays and tries to be apart of your world. She wants to know you. She wants your acceptance, and your love. She doesn't know any better. She doesn't know the things you've said and done. She doesn't know the pain or the hurt you've caused. And I won't be the one to tell her. I want her to learn for herself. And when she does, I will still be the one she asks for. Someday she'll be curious, and I'll have all the answers she wants. I'll have the memories, the pictures, the baby books. And all you'll have is your hatred for me.

After all this time, I'm still a little angry. Not because you left me. Not because you hate me. I'm angry because you don't deserve what you have. You don't deserve to know the beauty that is our daughter. You don't deserve to feel her warm hugs, or hear her tiny voice. You don't deserve to look into her baby blue eyes. You don't deserve to tell her you love her. YOU ABANDONED HER not that long ago. You said cruel words, and lived your life like she wasn't about to be born. You denied her when she was finally here, and claimed she wasn't yours. You missed every milestone. You missed every good and bad day. You missed watching her grow. You missed being an influence. I'm angry because you don't take parenting seriously. You don't worry about allergies, teething, or germs. You're not concerned about rashes, or mean kids on the playground. You don't know what it's like to be exhausted, but still care for another person. You don't pay for diapers with pennies, and worry about how much food is left in the house. To you, everything is a trophy. You want everyone to see how great your child is, but you don't even know that yourself. You take credit for new words, new actions, and new days, but you've done nothing to get her here. I'm angry because even after everything, you still don't give me any credit. You still act like I'm a burden, like I'm a bad mother, like you hate me. You still tell everyone I am a greedy bitch, but don't mention that you actually owe money and I say nothing about it. You wouldn't hesitate to talk about how I'm abusing the system, but you fail to say that you don't help provide for anything.

I'm allowed to be angry because I've raised our daughter from a tiny baby, into a beautiful toddler. She is smart, funny, and kind. She has manners, she is caring, and she is so full of life. She wants for nothing, and knows that no matter what mommy will fix it. And you? You're just a face she sees every now and then. She points to random guys at the store and calls them dad, just because they have a beard. I'm angry, because she doesn't know what the word 'dad' really means. And she doesn't know that because you've never given it a meaning, you've just taken the credit. But even though I'm angry, I don't hate you.

You've given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Our child has given me love, happiness, and strength. I wouldn't have any of it without you. But I also know that she will change the world someday, and she'll do it without you. You won't be the one she tells all her secrets too. You won't be the one she calls when she gets her heartbroken. And you won't be the person she thanks when she's valedictorian of her graduating class. So for now, I'll bury my anger deep inside. I'll still feel it, but I won't let it show. I'll enjoy her childhood, and her life. I'll cherish every second of everyday, and make sure she always knows how much I love her. I know these days are fleeting, and the memories precious. I'll be thankful that she's mine. I'll be thankful for all the reasons she's given me to love not only myself, but my life. And I'll be thankful for you, because you paved the road that brought me to her.

It's okay if you don't always like being a mom.

I'm constantly surrounded by people telling me "you'll miss this someday", and "enjoy it while you can". So when I speak up and say, I'm counting down the hours until bedtime, I sound ungrateful that I get to be home with my child. When I say I can't take it anymore, I sound like an awful mother. But I've got a toddler who missed her nap, toys to pick up, milk to refill, crumbs to vacuum, dinner to make, and my sanity to find. It's 3pm and my kid is screaming bloody murder and I've still got at least 5 hours until bedtime. I'm running solely on adrenaline and caffeine, and it's been over 12 hours since my last real meal. So excuse me if right now I'm not "enjoying" motherhood. And I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe I'll ever miss the high pitched scream coming out of my daughters mouth, and her throwing herself on the ground in a fit of rage. I'm not ungrateful, I'm human. And I'm not a bad mother because I don't like my child all the time, all that matters is that I love her all the time. Would you like someone who never let you eat, sit down, finish a sentence, or sleep? No.

Motherhood is anything but glorious. I spent the first year of my daughters life covered in vomit and other bodily fluids. And then I've spent the second year of her life watching her freak out because WHO THE HELL KNOWS?! I can't even tell you any current events going on. If Doc isn't fixing it, Cedric isn't plotting it, and the Bubble Guppies aren't singing about it, I have no idea what you're speaking about. I can recite every line in Frozen, and I know more about Arrendele than I do about the United States. I spend my whole day questioning the validity of Doc McStuffins' degree, and thinking that the little stuffed lamb is a little bit of a hussy. I probably have poop under my fingernail, and I couldn't tell you the last time I washed my hair. My wardrobe consists of leggings and big t-shirts. My child is just going to spill milk on me later anyway, or I'm going to use my shirt to wipe a runny nose, so what's the point of wearing anything else? I never have any "me" time, and a hot meal is a delicacy. I can't enjoy every single second of motherhood because I'm too busy putting ice in a sippy cup for the 85th time today, and I really have to pee.

I'm not a horrible mother, but I've found it's normal to want to punch your kid in the face sometimes. You don't actually do it, but you think to yourself that you'd like too. I've learned it's normal to go hide in the bathroom and pretend to be pooping, just so you can have 10 minutes of silence. I'm also guilty of going into a separate room to eat, just so I don't have to share. I rarely go longer than a day without asking myself why I thought having a kid was a good idea. On the hard days, I have to be honest -- with myself, and with others. And I shouldn't be criticized for being human. I love my child. She is the best thing to ever happen to me. But sometimes she's like a tiny tornado, wreaking havoc on my day, and destroying my sanity one minute at a time. Sometimes, I really just want to hang a sign on my head that says, "stepped out to 'anywhere but here', will return after bedtime".

So, in these moments, instead of telling me that I'll miss this someday, tell me that I'm doing great, because that's what I really need to hear. And I know how quickly kids grow because the last 2 years have flown by, but I don't need to be reminded of that, I need you to tell me it's okay. Motherhood is lonely, and telling me to "enjoy every second" makes me feel like I'm the only mother who's ever wanted their kid to just go away. I am grateful, and I know how lucky I am. But only in books and movies do fairy tales exist. In real life, not everyday is easy. And just like with almost everything else in life, sometimes being a mom is stressful, and sometimes I really don't enjoy it. But a bad day, doesn't make me a bad mom. I don't always have to like being a mom to love my child. I love my daughter indefinitely. I'm no stranger to the overwhelming joy that motherhood can bring, but I'm also aware of the alienating feelings it can cause. It's normal to both love and hate being a mom. So stop telling me to "enjoy every minute", because although I'm not enjoying this very minute, it doesn't mean I'm not enjoying being a mother.