Motherhood Confessions: I am not afraid. I was born to do this.

I read that quote on Momastery this morning and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Supposedly Joan of Arc said it. Who knows if she really did. Who cares. It is, or should be, true for any one of us at some point (and hopefully multiple points) of our lives.

I am not afraid.

I was afraid. I got sick to my stomach and shaky every time I talked about quitting my job. I asked my best friend if perhaps I was making the wrong decision. She told me what I already knew - that only I could decide that. But that if I felt it was the right decision, it would become the right decision. And when I finally did it, I started to realize that I wasn't quitting my job. That's not what this is about. It's about choosing to stay home with my daughter. My precious gift from God who is changing by the minute. It's about accepting the gift my husband is giving me. The opportunity to focus 100% of my time and energy on our child and our home and things that make me happy if I can find the time for them, free of guilt for the fact that I'm no longer contributing financially to our existence. I am not quitting. I am choosing a different path, and I am not afraid of it.

I was born to do this.

I always knew I wanted to be a mother. Always. Even when I saw my own mother screwing up, or when I felt like she wasn't being the kind of mother I saw on television, I loved who she was. I loved what she did for us. I understood, at nine years old, the sacrifices she made to give me and sister a better life. She gave away the life she knew to save us. That is being a mother in the most raw sense. Sacrificing yourself, for your children. And while it's easy to see this decision to stay home as a selfish one, it's a sacrifice for me to care for London. I will be giving up a lifestyle I've gotten very accustomed to - eating out whenever we choose, going out for drinks, shopping, traveling, setting a budget but never adhering to it. I will be losing a part of myself socially and emotionally, through I'll try to find new ways to augment those and other portions of myself in my new life. But I am so happy to do it. Thrilled, in fact. Because I was born to do this. I was born to be a mother. London's mother. And hopefully, someday, someone else's mother, too. But for now, this is what I was born to do.

I am not a talented musician but if I was, I'd find a way to express my thanks for this new chapter in a beautiful song. For my husband, and for God, and for London. Ever since I made the decision to leave my job and stay at home with my girl, it feels like the chains around my body, especially my heart, have been broken and my heart is singing for joy. 

I am not afraid. I was born to do this. I hope you find what you were born to do. And I hope, when you find it, you are not afraid. Because there is no greater blessing than being who you are, and doing what you were born to do.

Motherhood Confessions: I hate Sunday nights

(It's funny, because I started this post several weeks ago and I never finished it. Never finished, because I was too busy trying to juggle. My life was, and still is a circus. I don't have delusions of grandeur that I'm going to wake up on March 1 and my life will magically be in order, but I do know this: On January 29, I felt my entire body sigh with relief. And while I know not all of my problems will be solved on March 1, it's the first day of a new chapter in my life. A chapter I'm pretty darn excited about.)

Sunday nights are pretty much my least favorite part of the week. Most of you would probably argue that Monday mornings are far worse than Sunday nights, but hear me out.

Sunday night means the house is never as clean as I want it be to start the week, I've never done as many chores or run as many errands or thought of anything to have for dinner for the week. I'm always too tired to be starting a new week. And London is too tired from a busy weekend that I have no choice but to put her to bed on time, when all I'd rather be doing is snuggling on the couch as a family of three and letting her fall asleep nuzzled in between us.

On Sunday nights, I have nothing to look forward to besides the start of the work week. The start of the work week means dropping my precious baby off at school and watching my husband walk the three blocks to his office. In a matter of moments, the two people I love most separate, and I feel like my heart is being ripped into a million pieces with each block I drive from them.

Sunday nights seem to be a culmination of how much I don't have it together. How I thought by now, this many months in, that I would have it under control. That things would be manageable. And instead, I feel so overwhelmed that I hide in the solace of a dark beer and catching up on DVRed shows. Because I treat irresponsibility and chaos with more irresponsibility and chaos.

If you're one of those people who sees Sunday night as an exciting time, a fresh start to a new work week, the end of good times over two days off - how do you do it? How do you find the silver lining? Because I'm sort-of at a loss right now, and the pit in my stomach grows, week over week, to the point that people might start thinking I'm pregnant again.

Meet The New Boss

As of March 1, this is my new boss.
She's a tough client, with somewhat unreasonable deadlines.
But I have a feeling the ROI will be worth it.

Finally

I am the worst {blog}mom ever.

But, finally, I am writing an entry. I'm writing it from my phone so I can't guarantee how pretty it will be. And there's a baby sleeping on my chest so I can't guarantee how long it will be. But I'm writing it, so bear with me.

I swore I would update constantly, documenting every aspect of my daughter's life like I did my pregnancy. Then motherhood happened. Being a stay at home mom is hard, y'all. But I'll be damned if I didn't just have the best three months of my life.

Then reality set in. And on Monday, London started daycare and I went back to work. Hardest thing I've EVER done is leaving that precious baby with virtual strangers. I worked my ass off to grow that kid for nine months, and have worked my ass off to keep her growing for three months since she's been born, and now you just want me to ABANDON HER?!

But seriously, it gets easier. The emotional wounds start to scab over and you both start to adjust. And then, if you're a control freak like I am, it gets harder - when you realize you're not succeeding as a mom or a wife and your house is a wreck and you're not contributing at work and OH MY GOSH, MY LIFE IS IN SHAMBLES! The next thing you know, it's 1am and your husband is laying on the floor of the nursery while you feed the baby and google, "how young is too young to cry it out?"

I wrote on a friend's facebook wall, "Being a working mom sucks sometimes."

But then sometimes it doesn't. Like when you get a paycheck and you're able to buy your daughter diapers or occasionally even cute clothes, or when her doctors appointments and medicines are taken care of. Or when you go to pick her up from school and she gets a huge grin on her face. It sucks a little less then.

We are figuring it out, just like we are STILL figuring out how to parent this little nugget. And it'll continue to get easier. It has to, or else no one would do it - right?

The important thing is we survived the first week. Now, here are some gratuitous photos of the week that you've probably all seen on instagram. Sorry I'm not sorry.