Here’s the story. The first blog I ever wrote:
I read this article one day. It asked what my 6th grade self would think of me. That girl was going to be a famous writer who would write books in her beach house while wearing comfortable slippers. She still had one eyebrow but man, she loved to write.
Words are powerful. Sharing is powerful.
So I decided it would be a fun adventure to start a blog. But a blog? I thought, what if people think I’m weird?
Well I am weird. So that solves that problem.
What if no one reads it? Who cares. I’ll have a running documentation of the humans I love best. Even better, I’ll have an outlet while going through the identity crisis that is motherhood…….
So here goes nothing…
One day you wake up and you aren’t dancing with drag queens on Bourbon St. in New Orleans. You aren’t sticking the $100 cash you made from waitressing on the beach that night into your bra, heading down to the next bar to sing karaoke “salt and pepper push it”, and drinking with friends until 3 am. Only to decide to “take the beach home.”
You would run bare foot home. Doing at least two cart wheels and more than likely ending with you stripping down to your underwear and jumping in the ocean at 4 am. Have you ever jumped in the ocean in your underwear at 4 am?
You should. I highly recommend it. “Swimming at night? Good way to get eaten by a shark” some Debbie Downers have said. I know. I know. But life is for living.
You aren’t spending the month before Halloween discussing with your girlfriends what you are going to be for Halloween. Even though we all know what we were going to be… skanks. Ummm… I mean… scantily clad __insert any occupation or animal_. Mean girls still kills me every time. “I’m a mouse, duh!” No truer movie has ever been made.
You aren’t reading novels every day after work out on the beach. Only bringing a chair, book, and sun glasses. Or possibly alcohol and your sister.
Without even knowing its happening, one day you meet a handsome man with blue eyes and a roller coaster begins.
You got engaged. People celebrated you. You got married. People toasted you. You wore a smoking hot dress and people applauded when you walked around.
You let that handsome man impregnate you. Twice, actually.
People pulled out chairs for you. Everyone was so generous. Everyone at you job was overly nice to you.
A world wind of happiness.
Then you wake up one day and..
You’re somebody’s mother.
There are no more showers to be thrown for you. There is no one pulling out chairs for you.
People pull your hair regularly. Throw up, poop, and boogs really don’t faze you one bit. Not making it out of your house that day is a real thing that happens.
When you say to people that you have a 18 month old and a 6 month old, sometimes they just laugh. right at you. It’s like, do they know that I caught a poop bare handed the other day? They are laughing at the unsaid of knowing how crazy babies make life…
Crazy yet AMAZING.
Which is basically the recipe for emotional lightning. Both scary and beautiful at the same time.
Scary because this little human depends on you. Can’t survive without you. Every decision you make from here on out has a direct effect on this little person.
Scary because sometimes you look in the mirror and you don’t even recognize yourself. You aren’t staring in the mirror trying on Victoria Secret bathing suits. You are staring in the mirror as you shove your new body into control top underwear. SEXY.
But it’s beautiful. More beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
Not the cultural view of what beauty is. It has nothing to do with physical beauty. It’s a warmth that a you feel when you look at them.
Beautiful because when my first son was born I cried for the very first time in my life because I was happy. I never truly understood tears of joy until I reached down and pulled that massive beast baby out of my own body.
Beautiful because I lifted him onto my chest and he took a giant dump on me and I continued to cry for joy.
I didn’t care. I felt like the Grinch. My heart truly grew three sizes that day. This giant ball of baby who was covered in blood and body fluid was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Who would have known? I could feel my heart lifting. When they put him on the scale and he was over 10 lbs, I ask the nurse if I won a free t-shirt for delivering a 10 lb baby. I could feel myself changing.
He made me grow up. He changed my view on life. I’m quite scared of how much I love them.
You’re somebody’s mother…
In the beginning it’s fine that your new role in life is surreal. I mean if I ever met Tom Cruise, I would probably slap him in the face for ever having the balls to say postpartum depression is not real. He should have come talked to me the first week we brought Ben home. I wore the same shirt everyday and cried all day long every day.
The best part? I wasn’t even sad. I was happy. He was healthy. But I cried like my body was draining.
My husband would say “What can I do to help you?!” and I would be blubbering like… “I don’t know. I’m not even upset!”
He was definitely super afraid of me. Who am I kidding!? I was afraid of me!
I can honestly say I don’t even know if I ever got over postpartum stuff. Because I got pregnant when Ben was 4 months old. I’m impulsive. This is not a secret.
Postpartum became pregnancy stuff again. It was madness. Worth it, but madness.
You’re somebody’s mother…
Well today I am somebody’s mother. I am the proud mom of two awesome large baby boys and one stinky black lab. I didn’t turn into Mother Teresa because I had children. I still swear. I still jump on almost every trampoline I see. Now I’ve just have a sweet entourage who happen to make my heart leap out of my chest when I look at them.
Also, I now pull my hair up basically everyday.
Some day’s are so easy and I pat myself on the back. Thinking to myself.. “Damn I’m so good at this. Probably the best Mom ever.”
Some day’s I lay face down on my living room floor under a blanket while drinking coffee and put Nemo on cause I can’t handle things that have just taken place under my roof.
These days the only thing I know for sure is that I can’t go back to being the girl I was before. She’s gone. But that’s okay.
My life may have changed in every way possible, but now I just can’t wait to see what happens next.
Need more pictures, laughing, and inspiration?
Follow me on instagram @somebodys_mother