Three and fabulous

Happy birthday, Darcy

In some ways, I cannot believe that Darcy will be three tomorrow. That she has been earth side for three whole years–the most life-changing three years of my life. Parents, you understand this feeling. These children drop into your life and consume it so completely. Don’t get me wrong, you still have your own things going on, but nearly every single activity is impacted by this new, tiny person. And it stays that way, I think forever. So in that way, I can totally believe it’s been three years because sometimes the days are freaking long, man. This past Sunday lasted approximately 92 years, of this I am certain. I thought about writing Ben a “Goodbye, Good luck, and Godspeed” note because it should have been bedtime, but it was actually 11:00 a.m., and I just could not mom anymore. And in the same moment, I remember this night, the night before you were born, so very clearly.

Darcy. Girl, you are unique. I know everyone says that about their child, but you really are. You make expressions with your face that you just shouldn’t make out loud. If you don’t think something is funny, you aren’t going to laugh or fake laugh. You can glare and mean-mug like a champion, and it can be so embarrassing, but you are you, girl. You also belly laugh and smile so big that your eyes close. You love to run and play with your friends. You are O-B-S-E-S-S-E-D with Shabbat. You love it so much, and Friday is your favorite day of the week, fo sho. You demand the Hamotzi before every meal, and you cover your eyes when we light candles, even if they’re just scented candles because Libby stinks. Also, you love bossing Libby around–to any new readers, Libby is my “single girl” Westie that is now almost 9 years old. You are in love with the color blue, and want blue everything. You were so sweet the other night and asked me to make blue waffles. I felt like a superior, fun mom, and I made my baby girl some blue waffles.  Then you threw up blue waffles all over my couch. Fun times. 😑

You love baby Clark so much.  You call him “baby Cwark” or “my baby.” The other day I heard him crying (rare) and saw that you were dragging him by his legs to your room to “pway wif me.” I mean, obviously I had to rescue him, but the sentiment was truly precious. You love him and defend him so well. You love to read him books and make up new stories and songs for him. Your daddy has always sung a special goodnight song and good morning song, and now you sing them to Clark at ear-splitting decibels. It’s got to be a rough way to wake up, but he is so in love with you and lights up when he sees you.

You. Are. Sassy. The other day I told you that you were not listening to me and you hissed, “I IZ yistening!” You totally weren’t, and you got reprimanded for back-talking, but inwardly I laughed a lot.

This morning after Daddy left for work, you looked at me and said, “Mama, Daddy picked this out” while pointing to your dress.

Me: “Yes, he sure did.”

You: “Daddy. Picked. This. Out.”

Me: “Oh. I see. You want to change?”

You: “Yes. I not yike this.”

You tell me to “hear it up” when you want the volume to the radio louder. You call lemonade “lemma-lade.” You love to bake, and turn into such a little hostess when the cookies are ready. You want to serve and serve (and serve) all of the cookies before you start eating one. “Chicken filly A” (Chik-fil-a), waffles, and anything chocolate are your favorite foods. Sack is still your main man when it comes to lovies, and you love to read books and run.

You have been so excited to turn three, and you’re going to have a big, blue cookie monster party this weekend. We are going to start your birthday tomorrow with “benny-yays” at Coffee Call, and I just cannot wait to celebrate you, my Darcela.

Darcy-girl, I just love your toddler-speak. I love your sass. I love your sweet heart. I love you. I will never recover from falling in love with you, and I cannot wait to see what’s up ahead. Happy birthday, baby.

 

 

Broken for a purpose

Welcome back, Beka

Tomorrow’s the big day—back to work. Surprisingly, I’m not dreading it. The last three months have been so wonderful and also SO hard. I counted up all the appointments as well as I could remember–

OB/GYN: 3

Pediatrician: 8

CT scan: 1

Craniofacial surgeon: 2

Neurosurgeon: 1

Neurologist: 1

Cardiologist: 1

Orthopedic surgeon: 2

ENT: 1

Pre-op anesthesia: 1

Additional labwork: 4

Hearing screen: 1

ABR testing: 1

Helmet fitting: 1

Yeah…that’s roughly 28 appointments that I’ve been to on this maternity leave. And I’m not even including the 3 separate evaluations and 1 physical therapy appointment we’ve had so far because those were done in our home. I am tired, y’all. I am also thankful. I’m thankful that I was able to go to these appointments to rule out and/or monitor this baby. I’m glad we’ve been able to take the best care of him. But I will also throat-punch anyone who suggests that maternity leave has been vacation just because I haven’t been working at my job. Because my job is WAY easier and less stressful than taking my newborn to sit around in shady waiting rooms for 30ish appointments during the worst flu season in years. Appointments with potentially scary diagnoses. Neurosurgery and a PICU stay.  So, it has not been a walk in the park.

Even so, I feel really strong now. I’ve been lifting emotional weights for months, so I’m basically Channing Tatum now. My anxiety is completely under control, I’m back to running again (slowly), have lost all baby weight plus some (here’s looking at you, stress), I’m killing it in grad school, and I’m about to return to a job I love. While I am head over heels in love with little Clark, this maternity leave has been mind-bendingly hard. I have been the empty, crushed paper cup littering ball fields after the big game; discarded and swept aside. But…I have also been superwoman. The one with a clean house, fed kids, going on a run before showering AND shaving 💁🏼‍♀️, with dinner on the table when her husband gets home.

I’m thankful to my Jesus. No, He did not remove my suffering, and He did not remove my anxiety. He did; however, JOIN me in my suffering and anxiety. He healed my son, and surrounded me with people who ferociously love me and come to my aid on a moment’s notice. These people–my parents, sisters and brother, are like a pair of Spanx. They make me feel good, like I have my shit more together than I do and make me feel more confident without actually changing anything—just by staying very close. Also, Spanx aren’t easy to peel yourself out of, and my family is kinda like that, too. You can’t escape the Alfords. Thank God for that, too.

So, as I head back out into this world, I can say that I was broken for the better, and I feel stronger than I ever was.  This life is hard. Sometimes, it’s really hard, but there is always something bright to look toward, even if it’s just clinging to the smallest fleck of hope. Trust in Jesus, fiercely love others, and your rainbow will shine through, if you’ll just take the time to notice it. Love to all ❤