It all started with a little nagging stomach ache, the flu bug perhaps? Then it lead to complete nausea at the site of any and all food. Throw in some extreme fatigue, stretch marks, outrageous weight gain, cankles, swelling, pain in my back that kept me from sleeping. Then came x-rays, needles, IV's, a freezing cold surgical room, scalpels, staples, one jumbo scar. There were then lots of tears, sleepless nights, fits of panic, confusion, fear, and even counseling. Mix in a new, flabbier body, no clothes to wear, not to mention parts of my body aching in ways I didn't imagine possible. Applying ointment to parts of my body, I never imagined. More sleepless nights. Projectile fluids, of all kinds. Having showdowns with crying verses rocking. Never quite mastering the fine art of laying down in the bed without waking. Then come crashes and spills. Spits and snot. Drool and potty. More potty and now it's on the bathroom floor. Choking and spitting. Swaddling and "bo-bo's." Rockin' and rockin' and rockin'. Toys everywhere. Never ending messes. Now there's talking, and screaming. Running and running away. Grabbing and touching. Learning and then using the wisdom against me. Now, I'm sleeping at night but the days are so tiring, I need daytime naps too. Wishing for just two minutes, just two minutes, of quiet! Washing out underware, picking up the one millionth piece of paper with scribbles on it. Having to cut the apples "just right" every day. Making sure the egg is cooked "just the way he likes it," not too runny, but not too soft. Rarely hearing "thank you." Always hearing, "I want this..." Always needing just a little time to myself. Desiring that just once we could go somewhere without whining, without getting rambunctious, without making a mess, or without throwing a fit when it's time to leave. Needing that bedtime hug not to turn into a choke hold and a head butt.
Then I left my baby boy at school one rainy morning in August and everything from the list
above vanished. All I could see were those warm, sweet, and tender cheeks I first nuzzled in that cold operating room. All I could hear was the soft sound of "mama" as it slipped past his lips for the first time. All I wanted to do was give him anything and everything he ever desired, and never want anything in return. All I wanted was to spend every second with him. I wanted to take back everything I'd ever deemed as a mess or scribbles and cherish it as
something that only he could uniquely design. I wanted to get my hug and cling so tight he'd have to pull me off. I hated my job more on the first day of kindergarten than ever. I wanted to trade back for all the other crappy days, this was was now the worst day yet.
above vanished. All I could see were those warm, sweet, and tender cheeks I first nuzzled in that cold operating room. All I could hear was the soft sound of "mama" as it slipped past his lips for the first time. All I wanted to do was give him anything and everything he ever desired, and never want anything in return. All I wanted was to spend every second with him. I wanted to take back everything I'd ever deemed as a mess or scribbles and cherish it as something that only he could uniquely design. I wanted to get my hug and cling so tight he'd have to pull me off. I hated my job more on the first day of kindergarten than ever. I wanted to trade back for all the other crappy days, this was was now the worst day yet.Kenton and I sat in the car, literally weeping. There were moans and deeps sighs involved with our tears. Our baby bravely sat in his chair and said he was fine. He was ready to move on to the next stage. A stage that didn't involve us as much, a stage we couldn't be right by his side for. My guilt overwhelmed me. I felt like scum for ever getting mad at him. I felt like I had squandered my time with him. I didn't know how I would move on to the next chapter of my life. I thought I was ready for a "break." I thought I was ready to go "find something else." Oh how wrong I was.
Even in the height of my post-partum depression my Dad spoke truth through the darkness to me. Truth that became so clear even years later. Truth that I wasn't sure I was really cut out for. But even three weeks after his first day of school, I'm still a weepy mess, confirming his words to me,
"Lacy, you were born to do this."
With all my interests and passions, new and old, one blaring passion never ceased, I was always driven to be a mommy. And not just any mommy, but Judah's Mommy.
I have hated many parts of my job, but it is without a doubt the best crappy job anyone could ever have.
Thank you Lord for fulfilling my heart's desire.
We were all numbered according to our projected swim times. Surprisingly my Dad and I were right next to each other. He was #160 and I was #161. Kenton was #85. This race is against the clock, so just because someone crosses the line before you, it doesn't mean that they beat you, right Kenton? (As he crossed before me and he was sprinting to the finish next to a 'Salty Pup' competitor that shared the same course...aka a little girl!)
strong to the cheers of my husband, mother, friends, and even my uncle (a hutch resident). I crossed the finish line and stopped both of my watches. One was just a stop watch I had started at the swim and then I stopped the Garmin. I walked over to Kenton and was ready to face the music. Neither of us had official times, but my unofficial time was 1:14. Once I told him that he said, "oh." His watch read 1:14 as well. However, his watch was started once he was on the bike, making it safe to assume that once his estimated 10 minute swim and transition time were added my time was faster. We waited and cheered for my Dad as he finished his first triathlon and headed to the "after party."
