so close to amazing

Spring was in the air. It was warm. I was a new mom.

Don’t all good stories start like this? Oh, they don’t? Yeah, I thought it was a weird combo, too. But stay with me.

New-ish, anyway. You see, with the our first baby I was kind of faking it. Bless our first son and his perfect little baby soul, but he was a total fake pod-people baby. He was the kind that makes you think that you’re a good mom.

A fake pod people baby has to meet the following requirements: 1. you have one baby and 2. they’re good, so you just don’t know any better. Basically, it’s the perfect storm. The kind that makes you look around and sigh at all the other new moms complaining about their babies.

Like, what’s the big deal? This gig is easy, y’all.

Aiden hardly ever cried. He slept mostly, through the night. Only waking up once a night, from the time we brought him home, he was just an easy baby. He had a little jaundice and that was it. We were good. Life was easy. I was clearly, a good mom.

Looking back, I realize this was not normal.

I didn’t realize that some babies are normal, and some babies are fake alien babies. The kind that make you think that it’s all in your talents, handed down from your mother who was also a good mom, so you can obviously handle like, seven more. Parenting is your gift. DUH. And the kind that are a wake up call, a-la a slap in the face to make you realize how stupid you were.

{Our third ate his poo and this is obviously not a reflection of my parenting skills. You can see where my rationale is not so rational.}

But back to the newish mom part: Because one particularly mild, South Alabama January day, right before lunch, I was knocked off my mommy high horse and Emerson was born. She came so fast, we laugh now, because Jamin almost missed it over a hospital sandwich. He thought we’d be a while so I told him to grab a bite. He literally ran into the room when I gave him an urgent call that it was time… and she was born. She arrived in a flash, and she came out screaming. I remember sitting in the recovery room after giving birth, and she just screamed.

We thought that was odd. We thought, maybe she needs her diaper changed. Maybe she needs swaddling. Maybe she needs a nap. We fussed over her like all new parents do, and then we wisened up, and sent her to the nursery for the night, since we were veterans at this point. Still stupid, but at least veterans. Because sleep.

And then we took her home, and she didn’t stop. As it turns out, it was colic. And reflux. Spewing all the milk. Squirming with her little body at all the discomfort. We had to have a CAT scan to make sure that’s all it was, her case was so extreme. I had to remind myself that she felt bad and wasn’t doing this to spite us. {When you’re struggling through lots of sleepless nights, and every part of your body still hurts and feels like it doesn’t belong to you, and your mind isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders, you have to remind yourself these things.}

At the same time, our once-podpeople-perfection-baby, had hit full on toddler-dom, and he started waking up, too. We would just get settled down with Emerson after hours of being up with her, and he would come trotting into our room at two o-clock in the freaking a.m., exclaiming “SUN’s UP! Time to GET UP!” and flip on the light.

What.

Let it be known in this moment that for the record, we’re waiting. For about three more years in our calculated payback on Saturday mornings. Yes, we are those parents. We do hold grudges. We can’t wait to flip the light on in his own room and scream SUNS UP! TIME TO GET UP! Before leaving. ::rubs hands together and cackles maliciously::

So with baby number two, I got a hard kick in the face a-la a live dose of reality, and suddenly, it was nothing attributed to my parenting skills that could help. I was flailing fast.

It was a particularly warm winter’s day when for the first time in a few months, I decided to leave the house. I was feeling brave on the cusp of survival mode and I thought that the outside would help all of us. So I actually got semi-dressed, put some makeup on my face, changed their clothes, freshened up my nursing pads, and went outside the house.

I cradled her in my arms while Aiden rode his big wheel, up and down the sidewalk and I quickly learned that the outside could help those baby cries.

And it was warm. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. I took a deep breath.

All was well.

I was doing this, I thought. I’m back.

I would arise with my battle cry and I would feel normal again. I would be more than normal. It was circa 2008, the days before real selfies and on the brink of smart phones and social media. Or I would have taken a selfie to document my triumph. I would have been all, look at me. I’m doing this. No one is crying. We got dressed. I can make this work. TAFREAKINDA!

I am amazing…

And then I heard a splat.

A wet, grossly subtle, out-of-the-sky, splat.

It was like a slow motion moment in a movie where I hadn’t realized just what the problem was, yet.

And she started screaming.

I looked down in my arms at a freshly bathed and dressed beautiful baby girl, who had a glob of white and slightly brown substance, oozing across her newborn cheek. She was startled by the sensation. It had even splattered on her eyelashes.

And Aiden, who had been near me the entire time, stood up from his big wheel to peer into my arms. “Mommy!” he exclaimed “Tweet tweet went poo poo!”

What are the chances, that just as I was starting to feel normal, on a good day with my sweet children and fresh nursing pads to boot, a bird would do a fly by? He literally splattered us with his bird germ poo.

He shat, with perfect aim, right upon my happy moment.

This was my life, demonstrated in a perfect metaphor.

Almost. So close. Not quite.

Nope.

The humor wasn’t lost on me, later. Keyword later. Because in the moment, I let out a startled squeal as I realized what was happening. Said globule sat on the edge of her perfect mouth. I gathered our oldest with me and sprinted inside as fast as humanly possible with a toddler and newborn, to clean her up. It was more like a slow motion waddle while I moaned and tried to remove what I could with my shirt, before I infected my new born with bird flu.

Later on, I sat back and laughed. And now, I cherish the memory of that day, one that would have faded to the background had it not been highlighted by that hilarious moment of sheer exhausted-mom panic… and the brilliantly aimed gift from above.

Once upon a time, I was so close to amazing. Like this {} close.

In a way, life is like that. It’s not a director’s cut of highlight reels set to perfectly orchestrated music. You have to roll with the punches and learn to find joy, even in the imperfections. Especially in the really hard moments. The exhausting ones. The ones where you just want to feel normal. The ones where you are kind of overdue to feel amazing, but just can’t quite seem to get there.

Some days are perfectly awesome. Others are filled with car wrecks in my driveway – but I’ll tell that story next week.

One of my dear friend’s books was released this past week, and we’re kind of beyond thrilled for her. {She really needs no formal introduction, but you must check out Karianne’s site, Thistlewood Farms, too.}

Her book, aptly named So CloseTo Amazing is something we’re all celebrating, because the official release is this month – September the 5th, to be exact, so you can scoop it up now! It’s brilliantly written. And I couldn’t be prouder for her and this beautiful labor of love.

Her book is beautiful. A relatable, realistic look at life, and how to celebrate it, even the imperfect moments.

Because there are a lot of those.

If you want to know what I really think, you don’t have to take my word for it.

{BA DA BOP! – cue clever reading rainbow story wrap up music at the end}:

Friendship is something that happens when two people say, “Me, too,” and KariAnne has a way of reminding you that you’re not the only one. Her honest, real, relatable approach to life is refreshing for her audience in so many ways. So Close to Amazing had me in fits of laughter, paired with unexpected tears that come only when someone is so honest with their own struggles and unexpected twists in life. It’s here that she reminds us in her own one-of-a-kind way not to miss the little moments. Because it’s in the little moments that the most beautiful ones are unexpectedly found.

Scoop it up, friends!

It’s a true must read, and at the very top of my gifting list this holidaisical season.

A belly laugh guarantee.

You will absolutely love Karianne Wood’s So Close To Amazing. We just couldn’t be more thrilled for her!

Be sure to check it out.

Have an inspired day!

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