Mr. Independent < Why I'll Always Love the 4th of July >

Three years ago today I found out I was a mama. I loved this boy fiercely when he was the size of a poppy seed. I love him fiercely now that he is over 26 wiggly pounds.

This holiday will always mean the world to me because it brings all those memories straight back like a punch. I feel it in my chest, the disbelief and the joy, like my heart would actually burst. The gratitude as I fell to my knees by the sink and cried and whispered fervent thank yous to the Lord before I woke my husband up to tell him he was going to be a father. The words I'd waited and waited and waited to speak. The entire day spent smiling so hard my cheeks were surely sore. Breakfast out, and in a sundress. One newborn outfit purchased from the Carter's store, where I cried immediately upon entering. Not buying clothes because we needed money, and my body was about to be a lot different, and what kind of seafood exactly could I not eat at lunch? And guess what? I can't take - any- of the medicine I have for the migraine that's not going anywhere for months (unbeknownst to me at the time, thankfully). Watching fireworks on the beach. Getting that picture of Matt holding me and thinking it might be the last time he could pick me up like that for a lonnngg while. Haha! And suddenly, instantaneously, not caring about anything but this tiny baby inside of me. It was one of the happiest days of my entire life.

And now? Oh now. Now my days are chock full of this boy's shenanigans, his quotes, his energy, his joy, his messes. We pile our days high with books and museums and zoos and parks and libraries and movies and friends and naps and projects and puzzles and errands. I still fumble and fail often, and those mistakes hurt, but I have so much fun. We have so much fun.
Jesus had to free me up from quite a few
things before He gave me the son whose middle name means Freedom. I'm fighting every day to hold any ground I gain. The battle is fierce, but the victories are sweet.

Whom the Son sets free is free indeed, hallelujah.

Comments

Under My Feet

Last night, Elsie and I met four of my girlfriends for dinner and shopping on Franklin. Somewhere between the server thinking we were at least a decade older than we actually are and our second basket of bread, the topic of the decade picture came up. My mind wandered back to where I was at this time in 2009, and I told them I really wouldn't want to post a picture. In 2009, I was heavy. Physically, mentally...heavy. One month to go but not sure I'd make it out with a degree, panic attacks and sleeping too much and losing my temper and sobbing and zero confidence after being torn down even more...heavy. I was engaged to the love of my life who I'd marry a few months later, but what I tend to remember are the shame and pain and guilt from that time and that situation. I remember the way the symptoms of ADHD and major depression and anxiety all came together in the worst way at a time I needed to be my best. I remember the pain of the criticism. The times spent huddled in t...

Grace, Grief, and a Lost Little LAM

I am overwhelmed, grieving, anxious, forgetful, exhausted, and feeling like I'm coming down with something. I am facing a loss I can't begin to understand. I'm walking through it, but I'm not getting anywhere. It is on my mind every minute of every day, yet it still doesn't seem to ring true. It can't really be true. She can't really be gone, not like that. Not in this tragic, ugly way with no warning. Not when she was vivacious and healthy. Not when she was the glue that held our family together. Not before I had a child for her to hold. Not before she knitted the most exquisite baby blanket ever made. Not before our next Broadway date. Not before our next double date. Not before the next hand of cards. Black words on a white screen usually have a very powerful effect on me. Writing something down makes it real to me. But I have lost one of my best friends, and it still doesn't always feel real. ...

On Waves and Daddies {Father's Day}

There is a reason I love this picture. It was taken in New Smyrna Beach, Florida in 1991. I was all of four years old. My father was teaching me a lesson tht has echoed throughout the rest of my life. I remember vividly the way he coaxed me out into the Atlantic, not content to let my worries keep me by the shore. There were forward steps I took myself; there were steps I was carried. Every time a wave came, my daddy would grab me by the hands and lift me straight up and over it, with my legs kicking the entire time, terrified he wouldn't lift me quite high enough to clear the water. Already plagued by a mind perpetually asking, What if? Every wave, every time...me flailing, my daddy saying, Lauren, I won't let you go under. When I got too scared, he would have to pick me up and just hold me while the waves broke at his knees. I don't think the story of Jesus calling Peter to walk on water was yet etched into my mind, but this memory will stay foreve...

Beauty in the Ashes

Search This Blog