Hi friends of Mama Leisha! My name is Lindsay and I blog over at You Are The Roots. I'm a born-and-raised Floridian married to my high school sweetheart. Together we have four spoiled rotten cats and one sweet-as-can-be 16 month old little boy, Ethan. That's him all decked out in his finest Risky Business Tom Cruise attire on Halloween for our family picture -- I swear, he truly does wear pants sometimes!
Being a mother has taught me a lot. I think I have a new "a-ha!" moment every day. You know, like "if you turn your back for a second to grab a ringing phone, the TV remote will end up in the toilet" or "so that's why you should always pack your baby an extra set of clothing!"
I think my greatest realization upon becoming a mother was that you can't plan anything. This was something huge, gigantic, massive for someone like me who has always been a planner, down to the day. Before I had Ethan, you could have asked me for my five year plan and I probably could have recited it all down to the grocery lists. Certain things would just be because I planned them that way, and that expectation didn't lend itself kindly to my tumultuous (but planned -- of course!) pregnancy. It was a wake-up call that day in my doctor's office that my dear, sweet doctor expressed concern for the first time. Preeclampsia wasn't gradual for me, it was a "oh, hey, guess what? You're on bedrest!" surprise that was accompanied by ankles so swollen I literally couldn't walk, not even to the restroom, and the fact I had to see my doctor every other day with my hospital bags in tow, waiting to hear if that day would be my baby's birthday.
When I was 19, my great-grandfather (who was my hero, mind you) was passing away. At his bedside, I promised him that one day I'd have a child named after him. His heart was broken that he'd never live to see my children. He was in and out of a comatose state but told me before he passed that I would have a boy and to not worry, that it'd be okay, and that he would be with me and I would somehow know it. Well, when I was 36 weeks pregnant, it was time to have my baby. As the doctors introduced me to the NICU staff and tried to teach me about the potential problems with breathing my son could have, I cried that it wasn't fair, I didn't plan for it to be this way. And then my son came screaming into this world, his lungs booming -- on my great-grandfather's birthday. Just like he promised, he let me know he was there -- and it was all okay. That day, I threw my need to plan every last detail out the window.
Motherhood is an adventure. Sometimes I don't wash my hair for a few days, sometimes I'm guilty of slipping on the same pair of dirty leggings I've pulled out of the hamper, and maybe that's not the way I planned it when I was pregnant and insisting I'd be the most glamorous new mom this side of town had ever seen. There wouldn't be a day I wouldn't wake up early to put on some fresh make-up, you see. The reality is, sometimes I have stains on my clothing from applesauce that Ethan has flung at me and sometimes the only make-up I wear is diaper cream smudged on my cheek. And the truth is, I couldn't have imagined how glamorous I still feel when my little boy smiles at me and plants a slobbery, toddler kiss on my cheek.
***Thank you so much to Lindsay for guest posting for me today. She was one of my sponsors last month, and is a really lovely person. Our email correspondence has been like sunshine in my inbox! I'm glad to call her my new friend. Please stop by her fabulous blog and show her some love. And have a happy Monday!***