A Nursery, Redeemed

I knew I would write this all down one day. And I kept telling myself, do it. Just start. I gave myself monthly deadlines...three months, four months and here we are at six months + and I'm finally beginning to write.

I very vividly remember sitting in the floor of what is now Krosby's room before she was born. Like before I was pregnant before. When we moved into this house I knew that if we did ever have another baby, that room would be the nursery. So all of the baby items went in that closet - and it was full. Not a lot else went into the actual room; for a few months we called it Karlyn's playroom which was a nice way of saying her own bedroom had too many toys so the overflow had to go.

Every now and then I would look inside the "baby closet" and wonder what to do with all of it. Should we keep it? Sell it? Keep holding on to hope that one day we'd have a use for it? There were gobs of clothes in all sizes and containers and one day I got really upset and just started stuffing all the clothes into trash bags. Stuff, Stuff, Stuff. I don't know - I guess it made me feel better to get it out of sight. Then we replaced Karlyn's toddler bed (which was the converted crib) with a twin bed so the crib parts had to go somewhere. I stuffed those into the closet too which was awkward amidst all the trash bags about to split because they were so full. I didn't care. I jammed it all in there and closed the door. And we kept the bedroom door closed.

Then one day I decided to go through the clothes. I would get rid of some of them and keep the sentimental ones. So I pulled them out and started placing them into piles by size. I talked to some moms about coming to look through clothes they might want, but they didn't end up coming; I told them I'd changed my mind. I literally was torn as to what to do.

It was not a good day. I was home from work and maybe I'd gone to the gym afterward. I can't remember. But I know I had just heard some disappointing news about a job opportunity that had fallen through. They didn't want me to come in for an interview, it wasn't going to workout, etc. I thought, why can nothing ever work for me? I was so mad. So upset. So teary. I sat on the floor in the would-be nursery room and just cried and got mad. I felt so low and like everything was constantly being ripped away from me. I was so stuck in the middle of our circumstances, so unsure if there would ever be a rainbow from the storms we'd weathered. So angry that I sat in the middle of stacks and stacks of Karlyn's baby clothes, each one sending a fresh wave of grief over my heart and I said to God,

"I will never forgive you for messing up my life."

I don't even know how to continue writing after that. But that is what I said, I'm pretty sure out loud. And it's embarrassing. There are so many theologically incorrect things about that statement that I can't even begin to unravel them. 

Who was I to forgive God of anything? 

Had He caused all this?

Was my life permanently and forever messed up? 

Did I have no other tangible blessings in my life beyond what I wanted at the moment - another child?

**********

I honestly can't remember where we were in our journey when that took place. We had two baby losses in our first house and two here so I imagine that we hadn't begun working with our RE at that time. I can't remember because it's all gotten fuzzy and the timeline overlaps.

Regardless, time went on. The clothes went back into the closet. Everything went back into the closet. And we waited. Tried again, and again and again, and then waited some more.

And then one day I saw those two pink lines. I was simultaneously ecstatic and terrified for basically the next three months. Was I finally going to get my nursery?

As I said at the beginning, I've known I would write this for quite some time. And I knew what I would title it too. Of course. What else would I call the story of how the room where I once voiced so much hurt became something to step inside and marvel at.

My heart began to hope and to heal little by little throughout the pregnancy. And as paint was picked out, bedding chosen, themes discussed - our baby's room took shape. I had an amazingly talented friend help me with much of it. She found things I instantly fell in love with, I added in some of my own design and what came together is a place I have fallen in love with. A door I love to open. 

There were numerous texts back and forth, shopping trips, rearranging of furniture, and two stripe-painting parties. "All the things" drug out of the closet, washed, sorted and put back in. Clothes folded. Crib assembled. Curtains hung.

For the first six months Krosby stayed in our room and honestly her room didn't see much use. Since she was sleeping and napping on our bed and I was feeding her there, I really only went in the nursery to change her diaper sometimes or pick out clothes. We didn't rock in the chair; she didn't sleep in her bed. And then I started to get kind of sad. I was like, why am I not using this nursery?! She's going to be a year old if I don't get in there, move her in there and start really enjoying the space we'd created. Plus, it was beginning to be time (for me) to have her in a different room. So we started the process and she's napping in there now, as a matter of fact. :-) It's only been a few nights but I love sitting in there at night with the lamp on after her bath. Seeing the beautiful wall with her name, noticing the details and thought that went into the room I had hoped for, for so long. 

A room where I once sat and in my despair, blamed God. So ashamed. So raw. And yet, He knew. In His grace He was preparing it all along. With every loss - one, two, three, four...He knew that she was coming. And He knew she'd need a room. He was preparing it with every step and preparing my heart to fall in humble gratitude at His feet, to ask forgiveness for not believing. Forgiveness for thinking that He couldn't be trusted to bring about the best. For thinking that somehow things were becoming messed up. For not understanding that often God brings us to the end of ourselves before he will use us for His glory.

My sweet girl is everything I hoped for. And so is her room~

A Nursery, Redeemed.

You are loved sweet girl.

Dresser and Crib ~ Target
Navy/White Chevron Basket ~ ROSS
Gold Dot Changing Pad Cover ~ Land of Nod
Gold Flower Wall Hanging ~ Kirkland's
Bronze Bow Hooks ~ Land of Nod
Diaper Pail ~ Target
Wooded Name ~ Etsy (CucumberAppleStudio)
Crib Sheet and Rail Cover ~ Caden Lane
Crib Skirt ~ Hobby Lobby
White Faux Fur Rug ~ HomeGoods
Gold Spike Decor ~ Target
Metal Toy Basket ~ Target
Curtains ~ HomeGoods
Curtain Rod ~ Target
Lamp ~ Target
Geo Pattern Side Table ~ Lowe's
Beautiful Girl Print ~ Hobby Lobby
Floral Throw ~ Caden Lane
Floating Shelves ~ Kohl's
Gold Letter "K" ~ Kirkland's

At Least Like Once a Week

Remember that time I said I was going to write 30 minutes per day and/or start working on "my book?"

ah Ha Ha Ha ha ha ha.

ha.

Why do I torture myself like this and set unrealistic goals after just having a baby? Maybe one day I'll learn. But I have been itching to write, especially about postpartum and life with two. The problem is that I've been living postpartum life with two. Which makes it hard. There's always something else I could be doing like tidying up, cooking, showering, exercising, eating, or sleeping so those things usually win. I guess if any writing is going to happen it will be at the expense of clean hair or children and I'll just put on my productivity blinders and do the thing.

Writing for me is like praying. Or yoga. I know that I should pray, and that I should probably practice yoga so that I'm stretched out, less stressed and less likely to bite my husband's head off but I don't make time for it. When I actually DO sit down to pray, I feel better. Life is better and I think, "Why, Why, Why don't I do this like EVERY DAY??" Sometimes the hardest part is getting started and then things start to flow. The magic.

Because I really do want to write. I have things to tell you, and myself. Viewpoints to share and <hopefully> things you find helpful. And I just want to get in the habit. My fingers like to type! And I'm fast. #ThankYouHomeSchoolOldSchoolComputerTypingProgram

Yesterday I was scrolling through Instagram and Facebook and it dawned on me, ya know, I could have been writing instead of reading other people's stuff. Granted, the four month old was sound asleep laying on me so I excused it. Mama needs her downtime too.

My sister Karoline texted me yesterday asking if she could take Karlyn to a movie soon. I mentioned it to Karlyn who then got super excited and kept asking questions about it. Krosby was in the swing right next to her and Karlyn goes,

"Krosby, I don't want to say I don't love you... but at least like once a week, I need a break from you."

Ya think, KID? Break. Yes, please! Sign me up for that. It was funny though and of course I had to write it down before I forgot. My girls are growing so quickly and each day I try to soak it in. Some days I don't soak and I just yell too much.

I love reading honest. I think it's my favorite (next to anything health/fitness) because it's real. When you get to the end and think, oh man, me too. I feel/act the same way. We can relate. I'm not the only one. So I want to write honest too, because that's what I prefer. If you're a mom to littles and not following Bunmi Laditan on Facebook, you should. Scroll down to April 2 and watch her video on: Leaving your Baby With The Grandparents- First Child vs. Third Child

Classic.

She's also the author of the blog "Honest Toddler" and book "The Honest Toddler." I plan to re-read it when Krosby is older. Serious laugh till you cry stuff, perfectly suited for that end of day bath.

Alright. Enough for today. Kiddo #1 is at school, Baby #2 is half-way through her twenty minute nap. The house is quiet. Happy Tuesday.

Book Thoughts

That moment you realize you're probably not going back to sleep. Baby is fed and back to sleep, you've eaten a snack, gotten comfy and the light starts slowly pouring in from the living room windows where you're camped out in the chair. Just doze off, just doze off. It usually works! But not this morning, because chapter titles keep jumping into my head.

Oh, you know, for the book I'm going to write.

It's not a completely new thought to me but it's one that has resurfaced. A possible title popped into my head the other day and since then little ideas or snippets and chapters have made their way in. Maybe it was because I went to Half Price Books. There's something about that store, or any bookstore really. If you're a true reader/writer, you don't even have to buy anything. Just being inside, standing in the aisles inspires. I think to be a writer is to be a reader. You simply have to read if you're going to write. It's just part of it. Luckily, I love both. I couldn't find what I went in for but I wasn't going to leave empty handed; (I had already gotten myself and the infant out of the house!) a book was coming home with me. So I left with something by Beth Harbison and The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.

I really, truly enjoy writing but as with many things, it requires that I make time for it and actually DO it. Isn't that where the magic is? In the doing? Plus, with a five year and two month old, I really need to get out of my head. Talking to little people all day does something to a person and all those grown up thoughts and ideas get smashed into the back of my brain - and then dumped onto my husband the minute he sits down to eat dinner. So. I should probably start writing. Thirty minutes a day is the goal, whether that's here and blog published or in "book planning form." ha. Am I nuts?

Even if no one reads it, a book is a book right? I'm one of eight children (a fact that continues to baffle me the deeper I <sink> into parenting. How is that even possible? Life with two is a whole other world. But, my point. Surely that gives me nine people guaranteed to read. And publishing. Well I'll get to that.

There is something incredible about words. They hold so much power and when crafted together into sentences and paragraphs, thoughts and chapters they become this force to be reckoned with. Whether that force produces laughter, tears, introspection, or daring drive is up to the author - and reader. And I want to write the kind of book that can be re-read. None of this one and done stuff, but the kind you highlight in and flip open as a reference, and say to your friend, "You have got to read this book."

"It's changed me!"

Of course I'll need a cover design. Thankfully I have a sister-in-law who excels in design. She does really great work and you should definitely check her out.

Alright. Well, my thirty minutes is up. This has been good. And it's time for breakfast. Happy Monday friends~