With a Little Help from my Friends

I know that I usually save the Beatles lyrics and titles for Jude's letters, but really, who are we kidding? The Beatles wrote the soundtrack to my life, so I'd be an idiot not to use it whenever I can. And because I've been blessed with a few precious gems from a few precious friends lately, I had to share. Although this is for you, it's also for me. I need this. I need these reminders. 

A while back, I wrote a desperate self-immolating post and got so many caring responses. One of them was from my dear friend, Ruth, whom I've loved since elementary school. She is one of the wisest, kindest, brightest souls I've had the pleasure to know. She is also a mother to two seriously beautiful children. She gave me the gift of this comment about that post:

...I also know very few moms of babies who don't consume in some way to make themselves feel better. The thing with those little people is that they just take so much. If you're like me (and every other mom I know), you feel like you've lost yourself somewhere in it all, and you need to find some way to give back to yourself, a little portion of the day that is your own. A little treat that gives the day some forward momentum when the lows come...as they do often, at least in my experience. And I sympathise that it is hard to find healthy ways of replenishing yourself, but you can do it. I do believe that it will require addressing the need to replenish yourself. You cannot just take away your self-comfort, you will have to find other, frequent, healthy, soul-addressing replacements for it.

This is the truth. I so often feel that Jude is taking something from me and I must give back to myself in some way so that I don't feel like I've completely lost myself in this child. I'm still working on giving up watching a TV show all the way through or finishing books in any semblance of a timely manner, or ever feeling well-rested when I wake up. But I'm working on it. Because I find the less I covet those things, the less angry or upset or annoyed I become when I don't get them. So I'm working on it. But really, I'm still making excuses for my daily 200-300 calorie, $5 coffee habit. I've been making excuses and I think I'm ready to stop wishing for a different me. I have to find the "other, frequent, healthy, soul-addressing replacement" for shoving food in my face every time things don't go my way. And hiding in the bathroom with my phone for some uninterrupted Internet time doesn't count, either. 

Lately I've been feeling really positive about the possibilities in my life. I'm in a strange waiting room and there are so many doors I could walk through. I just have to make the decision and do it. And that's what this week is going to be for me. I'm going to sit down and decide which goals to pursue and I'm going to plan small steps I can take to get there. I'm excited and I'm ignoring that fear of failure that keeps me from so many good things in my life. One of those things I'm excited about is feeling like I'm taking control of the small things. So often I just allow things to roll over me and then complain that I couldn't help it. This is rarely the case. Small decisions can make such a difference and I must finally be willing to accord small things their due significance. I've been denying it and this small denial has become a major factor of unhappiness and a false sense of helplessness in my life. 

So. Small Things Matter. Done.

I also find myself complaining because I'm so alone. Especially when it comes to my faith. I do feel isolated here because the way Kenny's family practices their faith is a bit different from mine. I attend church weekly, but I don't understand much of what goes on, even though I'm taking Jude to children's church. There's so much "holy vocabulary" I just don't get yet, so it's really hard to derive any kind of spiritual meaning (or any meaning at all) from my attendance. I often don't feel God is there. I know there are many ways to approach Him and I am the one doing the limiting here. Anyway, I mentioned this feeling of isolation and desire for fellowship and discipleship to a friend in an email. And she was so wise to reply in this manner:

The good news is that the only one we truly need is Christ. His fellowship can and will be enough to fill you up. Strive to spend time seeking Him, thanking Him, rejoicing in Him. Fellowship with others is important too, but maybe you're in a weird, isolated phase because He wants your undivided attention.

And I realized that this is also true. Perhaps I have been called here into this confusion of another language because when I'm alone, in this spiritual dry place, I see what my faith is made of. And it seems it's not made of much these days. So I'm refocusing on the simple truths that I know. I'm asking help and giving thanks. I'm daily aware of the examples I have before me in the selflessness and joy of my mother-in-law and the quiet, dutiful life of my father-in-law. I'm hoping to close my mouth a little more often, and to listen with my heart rather than my super-critical mind. I'm reminded of a time early in my relationship with Kenny where he wouldn't tell me he loved me. He said that he was uncomfortable with the way people so blithely said it, just spouted it out at any time. It seemed to him that the words had lost a bit of their meaning. He would rather never be told he was loved. Instead, he would rather be shown without a doubt that he was loved. And he did this for me. I never had to wonder if he cared for me. And the same is true for the Lord at this point. He has decided for some reason beyond my understanding and infinitely beyond my just desserts, to simply show me I'm loved. And that's the reason I'm out here in the wilderness alone. So I can hear that tiny voice and feel the smallest gestures of kindness and forgiveness from Him. 

And in turn, I will show up every Sunday morning, with my baby in tow, to sing songs I don't understand and spend a few hours with people I can't entirely relate to. I will happily tithe and give my offerings to a church who has accepted me and my son without reservation, despite our inability to communicate fully. I will gladly wake early on Sunday, thankful that I have an entire congregation of people who will support me and my family (who do, in fact, support us in many ways since my father-in-law is the pastor of that church). And in these small acts of devotion and my efforts at discipline, I will show Him that I love him. So that he doesn't doubt it when I say it. This is love. 

I'm thankful to my friend, Lyn, for reminding me of this. In a few sentences, she turned my head and heart upside down and refreshed my spirit. And I'm thankful to Ruth for reminding me of how important it is to love myself in a healthy way. To also show that I respect myself enough to be careful with what I give myself, what I allow myself, and what I take from myself. 

So, dear reading friends, I share my friends with you and hope this post does a bit of the same in turn. 

Sometimes It Goes Like This

I was walking from the coffee shop, crossing the road to the academy where I teach part-time, when I noticed it. I was in the middle of the crosswalk, and I felt good. I smiled.

I was lighter. I had just sat in a coffee shop and written steadily for an hour. I had worked on an article. I had tried to write this particular article last Friday night after Jude went to bed. But when I got to the last paragraph, it seemed I had two different pieces fighting each other and neither of them was quite on topic. All the editing in the world wasn't going to write a brand new piece. So I put it away. I reviewed my initial pitch for the article and re-centered my intention and most importantly, left it alone. I know many writers don't have the luxury of time, but in this case, I am glad I did.

As I was running down the stairs to the car this afternoon a sentence jumped into my head. I hadn't been thinking about the article at that moment, but had set today as the due date for finishing and emailing it. And as I started the car, this one sentence sprouted into a rough structure. And that's the moment I knew I could write it.

And I did. After I had written it and rewritten it and reread and reorganized and rewritten and reread once more, it was done. Writing is always hard work. Every time.

Today I put something on the page and it left me. The physical sensation of the loss was strong. But it was a positive feeling. My body experienced less resistance as I moved. My feet were tempted to skip down the sidewalk and it was hard to keep from singing.

Maybe when I write, I am somehow tapping into the very essence of what I am meant to do and who I am meant to be. So after I spend time with words, I have dug out a comfortable little hollow in the world, a snug place that is exactly me-shaped. It feels right.

Not everything I write is like that. Often it takes more time. Sometimes I give up. Most of the time the struggle to figure out what I'm writing isn't so easily resolved. Usually it doesn't all come together so neatly. But today it did.

And when it does, it's beautiful.

Falling for Fall

Sometimes I see another blog post that is a list of "things I love about (fill in the blank)" and I think, "Well, that's what happens when you post anyway, without anything to say." But for 3 days now I've been hit in the head with several things I am loving about the sudden fall weather in Seoul. And I thought a bit more about my knee-jerk reaction to lists of lovable things and I have changed my mind! Why not make a list of things I love about fall? Because everyone has an inexhaustible list of things that annoy the crap out of them and it's easy to harp about that shit. But sometimes i am trudging through a rough day, and a list of things to throw my heart's lasso around serves as a great pick-me-up. Also, when reading a list of things other people like, sometimes I am able to expand my own list by realizing Why, yes! That IS a great whatever and I've now added yet another dimension of appreciation to whatever.

So, ladies and gentlemen of the Internet, I present a list. Feel free to adopt my items and add more of your own in the comments!

1. I love the crisp bite of autumn air. It means that instead of sweating and sticking to my son, I finally get to bundle him up in the Moby wrap and tote him around like my own personal heat source. (have you used a Moby wrap in summer humidity? Don't bring that crazy near me.)

2. Big, loose sweaters over leggings. Like, please, Fashion, decide that it's awesome to cover my bumpy bits and show off my legs WITHOUT having to shave. Don't mind if I do.

3. I don't sweat all day every day! I find that living without central air conditioning makes me angry. I get angry so easily when I'm hot. I'll find myself storming around the house in a rage and stop to wonder what got me so worked up and I'll realize, heck! I'm just hot! Well, no more! The end of the mad melts! (And exclamation points. Sorry.)

4. TEEEEVEEEE. Parenthood is back, yo. That is all.

5. Jude in this hat. Do you need any more reason than this?

Gratitude covers a Multitude

First. Thank you. Yes, YOU. Thank you for all your kind comments, amazing encouragement, thoughtful and supportive emails, and phone calls. I read them all, multiple times. I'm probably not finished rereading them, either, to tell you the truth.

Second. The previous post was a bit dark; it was admittedly rushed and feverish and severely unedited in every sense of the word. This post is also being hurried and largely remains true to its first draft aside from spelling errors, which drive me berserk.

I just want to say that for all the self-loathing I gave voice to, in equal measure there exists some sense of appreciation and gratitude for what I DO have. And I'd like to talk about those things for a moment, for the sake of balance.

There are several things I currently appreciate about my body. I have made peace with my face, except for the current double-side face that occurs, but that can easily be taken care of with a little exercise and a few less donuts. I like that one of my eyebrows makes its own decisions and follows its own will, especially when being photographed. I like the shape of my lips and the color of my eyes. Currently, I am admiring the way small tufts of new hair are growing back in after all my after-Jude hair loss. They are spiky, all right around my hairline, and many of them are glowing. Yep, that's right, my new hair is coming in grey and I. don't. mind. In fact, I kind of like it. I found my first grey hairs a few months after Jude was born and they don't bother me. I'm aging! I'm living life! I'm moving forward no matter how much I feel things are all backwards for me. So grey hair is a positive sign at the moment.

I like my wrists and ankles because they do not get fat. I like that my boobs have swollen beyond all reason to a size they will probably never recover from in order to nourish my child. I am proud of my strong legs that carried me and Jude around for 9 months and that still support us, just in a slightly different configuration. I like my rib cage, its size, the fact that it remains the same size no matter how much I try to hide it with layers of donuts and coffee. It gives me hope. I have a beautiful underneath. I just have to uncover it.

I enjoy my job these days. I have liked getting to know my students, seeing their progress, and having fun with them. I am completely in love with coming home from work these days, to a Jude who couldn't be more thrilled to see me. I love figuring out how to fit in a bit of reading every day, during naptimes (which are growing shorter and shorter. What is that about? Does anyone else have a 7 month old child who naps for like 20 minutes and then is back up and at 'em for the next 5 hours?), and after Jude goes to bed. I am no longer severely sleep-deprived as Jude sleeps through the night, with usually only one sleep-feeding. I am BEYOND DELIGHTED to still be mainly breast feeding my child. I'm so happy every time he refuses a bottle of supplementary formula while I'm at work and waits to nurse until I get home. I'm also so happy to feed him fresh, homemade baby food. He is so adorable opening his little birdy mouth and slurping up whatever veggie mush we've come up with that week.

In short, I could go on. Because there are so many good things in my life currently. But I'm so BIG, it's easy to lose sight of the little things, you know? Sometimes my body outweighs my brain. Ha. Okay, my body always "outweighs" my brain, among other things. I'm making small efforts to get back in shape. And hopefully those small efforts will turn into giant leaping strides towards feeling lighter and more free. That's the thing I dislike most- the feeling that I'm trapped inside this huge sandbag of a body. There is a woman inside me who might even give a second thought to the clothes she put on if she could just get to where buying clothes wasn't a reminder of everything she's doing wrong.

Anyway, thank you all for being here. For waiting out my long silences, pauses. For telling the truth. And for loving me anyway. My life would be worth so much less if you were subtracted from it. Honestly, sincerely, my gratitude is covering a multitude of insecurities and discontent. It also covers you. Can you feel it?

Figuring Things Out

I need to know why I can't stop eating. I mean, it's obviously some kind of emotional crutch in some way, but I'm just not sure how to explore this in a way that will help me be able to exercise a little self control. I'm really eager to be thin again. And not just that. I was watching these kids run the opposite way over the crosswalk the other day and I thought about moving my body like that, so carefree, with no thought given to it. It's like I conserve energy as a habit. I got angry playing badminton with Kenny the other day because I kept missing and having to bend over and pick up the shuttlecock. I mean, this was a serious rage I found myself in, with the fast breathing and inability to form complete coherent sentences because my brain was red.

Something I've never expressed to anyone except for Kenny: I want to be a yoga instructor. Like, that's what I want to do with my life. I want to figure out how to listen to my body, to stretch myself, and then to help others center themselves, too. I mean, obviously I want to be a writer, but I don't do much of that these days. I compose blog posts and letters and postcards to friends in my head, but rarely do they make it out of the "brain crack" stage, as Ze Frank so famously refers to it.

This post is insane because I am writing it as quickly as possible. I'm not editing, which is death to a writer like me because it's way too vulnerable. Not because I'll reveal something personal, but because you will see me without any filters- the filter of "that sounds stupid" or "too many adjectives" or "Oh God you're not David Foster Wallace, are you? Write a paragraph using more than one sentence, geez" kind of filter. The one that makes it comfortable for me to hit publish, even if I'm revealing something less than flattering about myself, because at least I have written in a somewhat coherent fashion and my style shows I'm worth something, gosh darn it, even if I am a neurotic mess and a repetition of all my past mistakes piling up over and over again without any progress. My lack of progress might be redeemed by grammar and clean Hemingway sentences. Or not. Maybe you all see through this anyway. Good for you. Welcome to my darkest corner, the "What if they think I'm ignorant" fear.

So I'm bypassing all that here. I'm just letting it all hang out. Which is impossible not to do when my back fat is constantly pressed into sections by my bra. I am thankful that my breasts have swollen to a size F because I am still breast feeding and that is one of the only things I'm happy doing these days. It's like a saving grace in my day. But I'm not happy about the swelling of everything else and I know I "just" had a baby, but Jude is like almost 7 months old and so I think we can retire the "just" and just call me fat now. Let's speak the truth. The truth about how I feel: I feel like an offense. When I walk down the street with my tiny head like a pimple on the top of this enormous bloated mid-section, I actually feel offensive, like people will cringe to look at me. When I buy shirts out of necessity (all the others had holes or are stained), I feel ashamed that I have to buy the biggest size. I feel ashamed of myself, just walking around with Jude. Because people can't see the excuse that I make for myself when I'm with him. I carry Jude most of the time in a carrier on the front of me. He protects me from judgement somehow. And whenever I am without him, I feel uncalled for, inexcusable, un- whatever. Just un, nil, naught. I feel like I don't count for anything.

Now, for the other half of this truth: I know all of that is bullshit. I know it deep down to my core, that these negative thoughts are not honest, that most of it stems from living in this tiny-worshipping country. But another truth is that I'm not fat by accident, you guys. I'm fat on purpose. Every time I refuse to exercise self-control, to use discipline and keep my spoon out of the Nutella jar, or pretend like "one more coffee can't hurt," I'm making a choice. I'm killing myself through a thousand tiny indulgences every day. I'm sitting in a bakery typing this now. And do you think I didn't have a 255 calorie chocolate dipped, baked thing? No, of course I ate it. And I drank a bottle of water to cancel it out. Ha.

In conclusion: I am a crazy person. I want to change everything. And yet I'm willing to give up nothing to get it. However, I am tired of having all of this stuff on the inside of my head and I'm tired of rehashing it with myself, and I'm tired of feeling like an utterly worthless piece of crap because I can't tell myself no.

Today I am saying no. No to keeping all this pent up. No to not writing. No to not moving. No to not pursuing my dreams. I'm clearly unhinged, mentally and physically. But I can make a choice today to work on it. To do better tomorrow. To prove that it's the one thousandth three hundred and thirtieth time that you start over that counts.

I'm pushing publish. And I'm starting over. And I will never not edit myself again. Because it's way too ugly. But I have proved that I can do it. I can strip everything bare, lay everything out. I have no choice. Not doing that has gotten me nowhere. We'll see where I end up.

Anyone out there? This place has been a tomb. But I am a phoenix today. Rising from the ashes. Damn, I'm lucky. Because the God of my father is one who deals in turning ashes into beauty. Beauty from ashes. It's my story. I've made ashes of this body, this life. I'm ready for the beauty. And it doesn't come free.

DO WORK, Danielle. Do the work. And drop the self-loathing. It's so counterproductive. And end this freaking post.

(End). 

Oh Me Oh My

I don't even know what to say to you. I am supposed to be up here working on recording the readings my kids need to work on this month to improve their pronunciation, and instead I'm writing this. In my defense, I did try to make the recordings. Only it kept cutting out parts of it for some reason and I couldn't handle the frustration of figuring out why it's doing that or even if it can be fixed. So, blerg.

I wanted to say I fixed the link to my other blog, Hey Jude, in the sidebar. Because I'm an idiot it was linked to the image in my flickr account. I'm so dumb sometimes. So check that out if you haven't already. Because that seems to be where I'm doing my real writing, although I only wrote one post in the month of June. I'm hoping to fix that soon. But who knows. I still feel like my life is completely spinning out of control, but I'm trying to become more flexible because apparently it's not going to slow down and I'm not going to get any less dizzy.

Really I'd like to take the time to write out everything that's wrong, but what good would that do besides get me a few pity comments? So instead, I will be thankful that Jude is nursing again (mostly) after another enormous battle. Miso, if you didn't know, fell off the roof and broke her ankle into tiny pieces and had major surgery and is currently in a cast and in a cage. She hates it, but I'm so glad she is recovering well and should regain some use of that back leg and the joint. So that's a bright little spot meowing in the corner of the living room. My few classes are going well and I'm excited about the projects we're embarking on this month. I took a walk yesterday evening with Kenny and Jude down by the river and again this morning. After I spend an hour talking and walking with my husband, I feel like I can conquer the world. It's amazing, really. I began our walk last night dejected, stressed out, and feeling completely overwhelmed. When we came back home, I felt like a new person.

In other news, I'm cooking breakfast every morning, usually during Jude's first nap of the day around 8:30 or 9:00 and we're getting to eat most of it together before he wakes up. This has revolutionized the way we start our days and it's wonderful for now. I have to thank our good friends Sandra and Philip for welcoming me into the last day of their vacation last Tuesday and encouraging me to start cooking breakfast and getting just a few chores done everyday. They are such a joy to spend time with and our favorite family to visit in Wonju. I'm totally bummed they're moving to Dubai at the end of August. I will miss the encouraging words and prayers, but know that we've made friends that will last the test of distance and time zones.

I know this is rambling and I know this is unstructured and I know I should care. But this is writing and writing is always better than not writing. And I'm a writer, despite my current all-consuming role as a mother, and writers write. They do not always write well. So here it is, folks. A small, inconsequential update which keeps my fingers moving and my mind on something besides breasts, diapers, and laundry.

Thanks for reading. :)

What Is Wrong With Me.

There are a number of things wrong with me, mostly stemming from the fact that a large part of who I am is dedicated to drinking coffee, eating donuts (yesterday's count: 3), and for some weird reason breast feeding. I don't know why I wanted to breast feed Jude so badly, but it's something I  had my heart set on from the start. Kenny is alternately fully supportive with comments such as, "I am so proud of you. This is the only thing I've ever suggested a compromise on and you've rejected it every single time" and begging me to give up, saying, "Your life will be so much easier! You can get stuff done! Why do you think you'll be a failure? Do you think other mothers who can't or don't want to breastfeed are failures?"

No. I don't think that at all. There is some kind of super-powerful double standard at work here. I don't compare myself to other moms when it comes to breastfeeding. I don't care that, for example, my sister had to stop breast feeding Epperley because of the antibiotics she had to take for simultaneous bladder and urinary tract infections. I don't think she is any less of a mother for giving Epperley formula. I don't really think anything about it except that it is a lot of bottle washing. And I'm not going to compete with the mothers who nurse their kids until they're two years old. I think it's fabulous if that's your thing.

What I do think: I want to breastfeed Jude because I enjoy it and it's special to me and for some reason it's extremely important to me that I succeed at this and don't give up.

If you've been a long-time reader of this blog (and let's face it, being a reader of this blog these days is like the easiest job in the world, am I right? Once a month, read a few paragraphs. Ha.), you know that ever since I've been out of school, I've struggled with consistency and discipline in my personal life. It's like all my self-motivated behavior and over-achiever attitude were compartmentalized. They pertained to school work and that's about it. It's like the goals that I make for myself and my life don't count or something. I'm constantly making lists of things to work on or achieve and then throwing the list out because, who cares if I achieve it or not? But I've realized that making your own goals, even insignificant goals or silly goals, and reaching them is really the only way to be happy with where your life is headed. This has a lot to do with discipline. And everything that I want and am lacking in my life now stems from a serious lack of self-control and discipline.

So when I decided to breastfeed exclusively, it was like the only thing on my list. And I could totally justify my list now because ANOTHER LIFE DEPENDED ON IT. All the sleep I lost being the only one who could feed Jude, all the pumping I did and am continuing to do, all the crying and worrying if he's getting enough, all that stuff, is worth it to me. And last week when all of that was threatened, I sort of turned into a huge mess that was scary to look at.

The saddest thing was that my coming apart affected Jude. It made him stressed, too! I didn't realize that I was just compounding his "nursing strike" by worrying constantly about him and worrying that giving him bottles while I was at work was ruining him and making him lazy and going to be THE END OF THE WORLD FOREVER.

I finally worked myself up into such a frenzy that he wouldn't eat at all. Didn't even want a bottle. And that's when I was required to chill out. I finally said to myself, this is NOT worth it. If this is the end of breast feeding for us, then this is the end of breast feeding for us. And guess what? It wasn't. After I relaxed, Jude relaxed. It was miraculous. And also incredibly embarrassing. And also a huge moment of clarity and lesson-learned. I have the ability to be ridiculously dedicated to something that seems good for my baby. But if my dedication and fanatacism are actually making things worse for him, all that discipline isn't worth anything.

My goal of breast feeding Jude until he's at least one is still there. It's just not so paramount anymore. I have to disconnect this idea of breastfeeding and mothering. My success as a mother is so intertwined with the idea of nursing him.

And now he is screaming his heart out. So I have to go nurse him.

Not Dead

I just finished my first run since Jude was born. Ok, who am I kidding? It was my first run since I got pregnant. And I am not dead.

It wasn't long. All I did was complete day 1 of the ease into 5k program. But it felt amazing. Kenny went with me and I listened to music! I know. That sounds so dumb. I do this thing where I'll go for a while without listening to music. I hear it, I still play it, I just don't listen. And then I go and do something like tonight– I run–and I feel it all the way through me.

Then I berate myself for ever letting it get to this point. I can't believe I've had this experience waiting right underneath my skin for so long. All it took was a run in the park to awaken my entire body. I felt alive. I had chills. I was so much more than all my parts. I was my full self, my entirety. Music does that. At least, good music does that. It makes my soul stand up. It puts a smile on my face. It moves me.

So all that to say, I pushed play. And I did not die. What a lovely Sunday.

Hey Jude

Hi guys! This very short blog post is just to let you know that I'm not going to quit writing here, but I have started writing over at Hey Jude. So stop by and tell me what you think and leave lots of comments for Jude to read when he gets older! Thanks, lovelies! Jude is starting to nap better, so I'm getting more blogging (and laundry) time. Hope to have a few more posts up soon. 

The Thoughts In My Head

It makes me think that the thoughts in my head that make me feel the most lonely because I don't think anyone else thinks them are also the thoughts that have the most potential to make me feel connected. —ze frank, A Show, episode 9


I write occasional letters to my son at Hey Jude, a blog that I hope will capture most of the precious moments I get to share with him. But those moments are not the full picture of motherhood. I don't walk around inside my days rejoicing every minute. Actually, a lot of my time is spent wishing for 7 pm to arrive. 7 pm is the magical hour that I am able to lay Jude in his bed after his bath and watch him put himself to sleep. Mostly this involves finding his fingers, inserting them as far as they will go into his mouth, and sucking like he's getting paid for it. It's pretty much the highlight of my day, the time I find him most charming, feel the most at peace with my role as a mother.

And how pathetic is that? I love my son the most when he is asleep and I get to do other stuff than hold him. I do enjoy waking up early with him and pulling him into bed for morning cuddles and smiles after he eats. That's probably my favorite time of the day. But between the morning bliss and 7pm? I wish for naps. I wish for content time spent in the swing while I write. I wish for long, slow lunches where I can breathe between bites instead of holding my high maintenance child in one arm and shoveling food in with the other. I wonder how I am going to do this another day. I wish it was easier.

And while I'm wishing away, time is passing and I'm missing it. I'm missing that this stage is so momentary and short-lived. So the guilt begins! I should be doing more with him, but I feel like I exhaust him if I take him out too many places with me. I should be more patient with him when he fusses because it's honestly not that often. I should be cherishing this time where he wants me to hold him and love on him. I should be more productive during nap time! I should already be using my cloth diapers since we are back home now! I should be doing ALL THE THINGS!

These are some of the thoughts in my head. So when I watched episode 9 of A Show, I knew I had to share my thoughts. Because these are the ones that make me feel less than a mother, isolated, and alone. And that makes me think that these are the thoughts that other mothers are feeling that are making them feel less than exactly what their child needs.

So there it is. I look forward to 7 pm all day. And I also know that I am exactly what Jude needs, thoughts and all.

*This post was sponsored by an unexpected 10:30am nap! Praise God.