Celebrating the victories.

The day was long.

I mean, it was one of those long days. And we were in the middle of it. There was so much to do, so much I'd already done, and the time was slipping away faster than the early spring daylight.

Over the last few months, we've tasked ourselves with more than a handful of special projects, focusing on their completion, sometimes wearily after the completion of our day jobs. After we put the little one to bed and when most people would be sinking into their sofas with a good book or the most recent binge-worthy show, we were in front of our laptops, desk lamps illuminating whatever it was we were working on at the time. The clock would tick, our eyelids would feel the gravity of the day pulling them closed, and we worked until we weren't doing these projects justice. 

The alarm clock would cheerily sing in the morning, and we'd do it all again the next day. Projects have deadlines, people.

The Climb.

It was feeling like we were climbing a mountain that we couldn't see the top of. We didn't know if there was a top, if the effort would be worth the climb. But we were climbing that mountain, damn it, because opportunities to be your creative selves (with your husband, doing stuff you both love) don't come every day. But that mountain, it was steep. Who am I kidding....it still is. And we had to climb the mountain after Elsie was in bed because if we didn't, if we prioritized time to work over time with her, well...we might miss out on a beautiful moment, or in this case, learn something about ourselves that we really needed to know.

So on this early spring day, between the breakfast battles and the bathtime bubbles, the sun made a rare appearance. "Outside, Mama, outside." For you moms-of-toddlers out there, you will feel me when I say I blame that phrase on the Bubble Guppies and now it will be stuck in your heads, too. Anyway, we put on our boots and jackets and headed outside.

"Line up, line up. Everybody line up. It's time to go outside." See, there it is.

In our particular outside, we are lucky to have a few acres of land, which my husband has manicured into a motocross track, mini bike track, and go-kart track. These activities and experiences are part of why our land is deemed Lancaster Land. Elsie and I walk the ups and downs of the track, splashing in mud puddles and weaving in and out of the tall pine trees. 

We come to one of the jumps. We walk up, slowly, hand-in-hand. She looks at me, throws her hands in the air and exclaims, "Mama, I DID IT! I DID IT, Mama."

She sure did.

I looked down at her blonde curls, her grin stretching across her two-year-old face, and the pride beaming from her body. She did it. She was proud and I was proud of her. What seems like such a usual feat, a small hurdle to me, was worth celebrating to her. She felt a victory, and together we celebrated. 

And then I started thinking as we continued on our trek up and down and around, and back again. I was reflecting on all of my work lately, my accomplishments, and the work that the hubs and I had completed. I thought about the big goals and the small wins and even the losses that stung so hard.

I thought to myself, I want to be more like my two-year-old.

I want to celebrate the small victories. I want to climb a small hill on the path to climb the big mountain and I want to feel that win. Even though the summit might be so far away that I can't even see it, I want to celebrate the victory and take a moment to just feel good about where I'm at, not focusing on where I'm going. Although the next steps and the action plans and the to-do-lists will always be charging fast at you, the immediate feel-good, pat-on-the-back celebrations need to be slowed down for.

Every day, there's a reason to stand up, throw our hands in the air, and say (even if it's just to ourselves), I did it.

XOXO

The Infant Period - What I wish I knew

Our little girl is teetering on 18 months old, and just now do I find myself emerging from the heavy fog of having a newborn, infant and the introduction to toddlerhood.

And friends, the fog was so heavy. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. It was full of joy and exhaustion and sprinkled with fear and embraced by love. It was a literal smorgasbord of emotions and now that I'm here, in today's moment, watching our toddler laugh and play and run and explore and learn both the good and the not-so-good, I have a few things to share with the world. There is so much advice spilling out of just about everywhere when it comes to pregnancy, motherhood and relationships, it's overwhelming. I am not looking to give advice. Honestly, in before my entry into this new world, I didn't want advice either. What I would have liked was a friendly heads-up about a few core things. So, to my friends near and far, here is a list of a few things I wish someone would have told me before becoming a mom.

What I wish I knew:

1. It will be over before you even remember to remember. This one really got me. The hours in the first few days and months seemed to drag on. I was exhausted. Even though I was surrounded by people, I felt like it was just me and my baby, alone in the world, without a clue of what to do. I felt like I was living in those moments forever. But I didn't, and we can't. The beautiful moments go by so fast, and it's not fair because when we're in the heavy fog, it's too hard to remember those precious times alone with our newborn babies. It's not fair, but it will be over before you even remember to remember, so try really really hard to create some concrete memories before they're gone.

2. Breastfeeding is hard. I remember before our little girl arrived, thinking for awhile that it's natural and we'll know what to do and it will be easy. And then I heard some real-life stories and started scouring YouTube for instructional videos to prepare. It didn't help. Nobody told me just how hard it was going to be, how much work it would be to get a correct latch and how much pain I would be in as the baby and I figured out how to do this together. I remember waiting on hold with my advice nurse, thinking something was surely wrong with me, as I was on the verge of tears because I couldn't do it and it just hurt so bad. And then I got answers. I did it. We figured it out. But, breastfeeding is hard. And if you can't do it, or if your baby won't eat, it doesn't mean you're a bad mom, or you're unfit to parent. It just means that it's hard, and finding another way to nourish your baby just might be the perfectly right answer for you.

3. Not sleeping is hard. Before we entered into parenthood, my husband and I had plenty of late nights followed by early mornings. We enjoyed an occasional night out closing down the local dive bar, or staying up late with friends, sometimes on weeknights (gasp!) when we had to wake up early for work the next day. When people told me "you won't sleep", I thought I got it, but I didn't. I had never been so tired, that midway to the grocery store, I had to turn my car around and gohome, because I knew being behind the wheel at such a level of exhaustion was dangerous. There's a very big difference between being up all night because you want to, and being up all night because you have to care for your little baby, who may be crying, or happy, or sick, or just "up" - whatever the reason, the level of tired that follows is unlike anything I've ever known. And it's not just one night, it can be night after night after night sometimes, and you don't get to sleep in or sleep it off. You have to wake up cheery, ready to welcome the day with your baby. So far, this hasn't stopped for me. I wish you better luck.

4. Relationships get challenged. Someone should have warned me and my husband that we'll probably take our exhaustion and our frustration out on each other sometimes. That small things might manifest into bigger things and that the amount of under-my-breath commentary that I would direct/not direct at him would hit a breaking point. But it was because I was hitting a breaking point, and instead of being passive aggressive, the answer is to just ask for more help. We are superwomen, but even Batman has his Robin and we need to find the "sidekick" in all of our relationships. Friends, family, spouses - they know we need support. It's up to us to let those people in.

5. You'll become a different person with different priorities. I know, people do tell you how much things will change once you have kids. For me, things didn't really change as much as I, myself, changed. I don't prioritize the things I used to. It's clear that our family is priority one, and I'd rather stay at home on a Saturday night snuggling my baby and watching a movie with my husband. I don't even know what the cool bars are in town and that's fine with me. It's not that the world changed, but it's that I changed. And it's not a bad thing, it's an amazing and positive growth that I'm proud of.

6. Everyday tasks are hard, and you'll be late most of the time. How do I go grocery shopping with this newborn? I honestly remembering asking a friend about the logistics of grocery shopping. Should I wear her? Where does the car seat fit in the cart? What if she cries? What if she needs a diaper change? How do I do it? It was not only the grocery store, but so many other things. I am no longer punctual (see #5) and everything does take more time to prepare...and even though you spend all that time getting ready, you'll probably forget that one thing you need.

7. You've got to take time for you. Before being a mom, I didn't know that mom-guilt was a thing, but it's a real thing. Hit the gym after work? Mom-guilt will ruin your workout. Feellike grabbing a cocktail with a friend? Mom-guilt will sit at the bar next to you. Have to travel out of town for a few nights for work? Mom-guilt will wake you up in the middle of the night, so don't even think a benefit will be sleeping through the night. Mom guilt is so real. But find a way to kick it the curb. Find an hour to get a manicure or go for a walk alone, or just watch a movie or go on a date with your partner. Take time for you and your relationship. When you're on an airplane, and when the air mask drops from the overhead compartment, you have to take care of yourself first. I wish someone would have reinforced this to me...that I have to be good to myself so I can be good to my baby.

People will tell you the things you need to buy, and the books you need to read, and the classes you need to take. Do those things if they make you happy or help you feel prepared, but don't do them because you feel pressured to do them. I suppose that's my only real advice - just do you.

XO

Meagan

Daughter, you are lucky just like me

I know I'm lucky.

I loved my childhood. Every.Single.Minute. I grew up with parents who loved and nurtured me. I had space, both physical and emotional to grow. I was given responsibilities and boundaries and respect. I had an example of a marriage between my parents that showed me the kind of partner to seek, the kind of relationship to expect and the kind of nest to build in my own adult life.

I grew up on a farm in small-town Oregon. Acres and acres of space surrounded me, along with a whole lot of family. Cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents watched me run and jump and ride my bike without training wheels for the first time and stumble, fall and get back up. I grew up encouraged to do whatever I wanted and honestly believing I could achieve great things. I grew up proud of myself. I knew of no glass ceilings, just open skies.

To my daughter, it's in these respects that our childhoods will be the same, I hope. You have space. You play on those same acres and acres of land as I did when I was your age. We gather with friends and family and I watch them watch you so carefully. You have aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents who hold your hand as you try new things, and give you enough space to stumble. You're not even two, and I can see how proud you are and I love that. Some days you're barefoot and dirt covers your face and hands, and is stuck in between your toes and all I can do is smile and remember the days where I donned the same degree of mess.

Daughter, you too will know no glass ceilings. Those open skies surround and embrace you. You will grow up in a world where a woman can be president. When you grow up, you'll tell me one day, you will want to be a doctor or an astronaut or The President of The United States. And I know you'll believe that you can be any of those things, because you are confident and proud. And because that's the world you're growing up in.

I have never known a world where women don't have the right to vote, or buy land, or work outside the home, or stand up on their own two feet and celebrate their independence. I appreciate those things, of course, but I have never lived without them. I've only heard of the sacrifices it took to get there. I was born into an era where my right to vote, my choice to work and so much more were already fought for me. I know I don't make as much money as a man would in my same job. I know there's still work to do.

But I'm excited for both of us, because now you will never know a world where a woman can't run our country. Regardless of politics, it's pretty darn amazing to be a girl in our brave, new world.

You're lucky too.

Ladies, our flaws are fabulous.

The line to the bathroom at the brewpub was long. It was a Saturday night. I patiently waited my turn, my eyes staring through and past the tile floor. The doors of the two bathroom stalls rotated, opening, closing as women young and old cycled through. It was my turn. I closed and locked the door behind me. I heard two of the younger women talking as they washed their hands.

"I love your jeans."

"Ugh. Seriously? I hate how my ass looks in these. I hate my ass. I can't even look at myself in the mirror."

They left the bathroom, and I took their place at the sink, feeling the hot water wash over my hands. I stared at myself in the mirror. I felt sick and furious and wasn't sure even why. But I was outraged and the intensity was growing.

That girl hates herself because she hates her body, I thought.

I didn't know who she was, and I didn't notice what she looked like when our paths crossed in the bathroom. I only heard her voice and the words she spoke were stuck with me.

I walked out of the ladies room and took my seat at the table. There was this feeling that I couldn't shake. Those girls in the bathroom? They were wrong and I hated how much they thought they were right.

I have a daughter. She's sixteen months old. I watch her toddle around our house, so proud of everything she does, so proud of her body and so proud of the way her toes wiggle and the sound her little hands make when they drum on her bare tummy. She's generous and kind, and even as we stumble into the terrible twos, she loves. It's a real kind of love. She doesn't know the harsh world that surrounds her and the pressures outside of our home. She knows confidence and reassurance and a part of my heart aches for the time when she feels forced to evaluate her worth by the shape of her body.

I know the day will come where she'll change from being a self-confident little girl. One day, she'll ask me about something she overheard the boys say at school, or a commercial she saw while watching her favorite show. She'll wonder why her own shirt was fitting too tight and she'll start spending more time in front of the mirror and comparing herself to other girls, real and fake.

The next day, I was having lunch with some girlfriends. During that lunch, one of my own pointed at her own tummy, and commented on how much she hated her body. I realized that this mentality isn't just reserved for drunk bathroom conversations, but it happens in my own circle on a random afternoon. I'm proud to be part of a strong circle of girlfriends, but even we are not immune to these pressures and these feelings. Curiously and already knowing the answer, I asked her if she would point out my physical flaws to me. I wanted to know if she would be as mean and unapologetic to her best girlfriends as she was to herself. She was appalled, and of course, the answer was no.

As women, why are we so cruel to ourselves? Why does our physical appearance hold so much value? Why can't we be proud of our bodies, not because what they look like, but for what they do for us? How do we raise daughters to respect their bodies? I'm serious, and I think it's overdue for a serious conversation. It's for us, for our daughters, our sisters, our best friends and the young women in bar bathrooms.

Our flaws are fabulous.

Really, they are. Those arms that you wish were smaller? I bet they're really good at comforting your baby in the middle of the night, or carrying in heavy bags of groceries from the car. Your legs that you wish were thinner? They probably do a fine job carrying you from Point A to Point B, and if you've ever ran a race or cycled through a spin class or hiked a trail, I bet they did pretty well at that too. Our tummies and our tushies may not be of supermodel ilk, but they are part of our bodies and they help us live our lives. They allow us to make the best memories and get us through the hardest times in our lives and we do more than take that for granted. We fall into a cycle where we loathe our very own selves.

So you wish you had bigger/smaller (fill in the blank) because that's what we "should" have? Those are the things that attract a sexual partner, so that's what drives our desires to look a certain way? Well, here's something fabulous, too. Our bodies aren't designed solely for sex. So, ladies, let's start congratulating our bodies for all of those great things that we can do with them, regardless of size or shape. And let's not just do it for ourselves. We can and should self-talk ourselves up, but let's also get body-positive with our best friends. Let's not tolerate the kind of conversational assault that has been happening around brunch tables and behind bathroom doors.

Maybe you don't live in this camp - the camp where we focus on what we wish we looked like instead of being thankful for what we have. Most days, I don't live in this camp. But there are days I do. And like me, I bet you have a friend or two who have taken a permanent residency and it's time for us to serve an eviction notice. From now on, this camp is closed.

Let's not allow our daughters hear the way we've been talking about ourselves before today, and let's stop talking that way. Wouldn't we be embarrassed if they did? Let's show them that our bodies were built to run and jump and hike and mountain bike and let's go do those things and brag about how much fun we had after we do them. After all, our hands were made to protectively hold their hands, our legs to go on long walks together, our arms to envelop them in warm hugs. Bodies were made to accomplish, not to be judged, especially by our own selves.

I know this is something that weighed heavily on my own mom's mind when she watched her two daughters grow , and as the world changes and the pressures intensify, it's only getting more important.

I know I'm not perfect. I can recall moments where I turned to my husband and wished my post-baby body bounced back a little sooner. I've gotten frustrated at those jeans that suddenly became overly snug in all the wrong places and watching both my feet and my bra size fluctuate with the seasons of life. But it's in those moments where we need to be reminded just how incredible our bodies are. We have to remind ourselves.

Let's compliment our little girls on their abilities. Let's praise them for working really hard at acquiring a new skill or demonstrating an act of kindness all on their own. Let's start associating self-worth with adding value to our communities. Because that's the kind of world I want to live in, and the kind of world I want my daughter to get to know.

XO

Meagan