It needs to be said.

This is extremely difficult for me to admit. Difficult, embarrassing, shameful... I could go on. I've been putting it off, but it needed to be said sometime. So here I go.

My marriage is over.

There it is. That's it. I don't know how to successfully expound on that in a manner that is pleasant to read. There are more questions than answers right now. Not just for you, but for me. More than I'm willing to answer, anyway.

I'm sure I'll be judged for ending my marriage. "How could you do that with a newborn baby? How are you going to raise him on your own? Aren't you doing a disservice to him?"

Let me assure you of something really fast: My kid will be without nothing. What was done needed to be done a long time ago, but for some reason, God wanted this kid to be in this world. I am so sure of it. My child has a grand purpose in this life, and I'm so thankful I have him. I always wondered where my strength came from to continue in my marriage, and then he was born, and I wondered no more.

"What about counseling? Have you sought help?" Listen, I'm not just throwing this away on a whim. It's not like I woke up one morning and said, "Hm, I think I want to get divorced today." Wise counsel has been sought on behalf of the parties willing to seek help. I trust the authorities from whom I have accepted advice and counsel. A part of me accepted a very long time ago that the logistics of my marriage were inoperable, and somewhere along the way I subconsciously surrendered to a countdown clock.

It's made me look at the world differently. Appreciate people who have been divorced and successfully moved on. Who have successfully raised their kids on their own or partnering with their ex. But I will tell you one thing, my home will NEVER be labeled as broken. It is far from it. It used to be broken. We will say it is now in the process of being remodeled, and will eventually be prime real estate.

If I let myself stop and think about it, I get terribly upset. This is not how I imagined my life turning out to be. I can't go to the store without seeing families with their children, and I hurriedly try to turn the corner on the next aisle so I can wipe my tears. I look at family pictures on Facebook, and wonder if my friends are truly grateful for what they have.

At the end of the day, I have the most wonderful family to support me and my son. I couldn't make it without them. I hold my son and he smiles back at me, like he knows I would do everything in my power to help him have a great life. Because I will. It might not be the best anyone has ever had, but it will be the best I can provide. Though it's not the American Dream, my son is my dream come true. I will emerge from this stronger and wiser, and as a result, a better mother for my son.

Au Naturale

Lennox and I took my brother Kyle to the doctor one day last week. I was a little worried at first. Worried of being "the lady in the waiting room with a baby who won't shut up". Then I rationalized the action with the notion that I've put up with my fair share of screaming babies in my life, and it was my turn to be on the offense. Don't get me wrong, Lennox is an amazing baby, and does extremely well in public. But say he does start screaming in the waiting room. What are my resources to soothe him?

"Here Lennox, awkwardly stare at the old man in the argyle socks picking his nose with his freakishly long pinky fingernail."
"Let's count the number of AARP and Medicare ads in this germ-infested golf magazine."
"Let me bounce you up and down anxiously as I pace the hallway garnished with photos of doctors treating patients who are curiously excited about whatever disease they've come down with."

Yeah, no, perfect place to bring a (at the time) 7 week-old.

Luckily, Lennox did great. We had to wait a much longer time than anticipated, though, and at about the one-hour wait point, Lennox got a little fussy. I held him close and rocked back and forth and cooed him back to sleep. I lifted my head to find that a older lady was staring at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Is that your son?" she said.

No, I like to spend my free time in doctor's office holding babies I nabbed from the pediatric office on the first floor. 

"Yes, he is," I smiled.

"Oh, he is just heavenly. What is he, your 2nd or 3rd?"

You skipped an important number there, lady. Do I look like I've had two or three kids? I know I kept a little weight on, but geez....

"No, he's my first."

"Oh, really? You just look so... natural."

Natural? Natural as in worn? Natural as in not exuberant? Natural as in Amazon woman?

"Um... thanks."  I think she could read the confusion on my face.

"I didn't meant offend you, dear. I just meant that you seem to know exactly what you're doing."

But I don't know what I'm doing.

That was always my one fear. I was so scared that after the nurse handed my son to me for the first time that I would be at a lost for instructions. Everyone always talks about that "mother instinct". I was sure it was a myth, or at the very least some cruel inside joke I would never be a part of. Sure I had taken care of plenty of babies, but the instructions were always left on the counter next to pizza money. Who was leaving the instructions for me? How do I ask for help if I don't know in what ways I needed to be helped? We aren't talking about making a mistake and moving on with life. Mistakes I make could seriously screw up a life! My son's life! The poor kid already has me to deal with for a mother, does he really need me making extracurricular errors?

I looked down at Lennox, asleep on my shoulder.  

Well, he is alive. And I guess he seems to like me enough.

Okay, so maybe I'm not a natural, but I suppose I'm not terrible. But how did I get to this point? How did I turn into a person I didn't know I needed to be?

I've been reading Ephesians lately. As I pondered this mysterious motherhood mutation, I came upon this verse:  

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. - Ephesians 3:20-21

I just can't imagine what it would be like to be God. I'm so bound by my human limitations, I forget that God has none to restrain Him. I can bow and pray to Him about my situations all day long, thinking I have every piece to the puzzle and that I just need help arranging them.

But He is able to do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine. Forget the puzzle pieces. I'm missing entire puzzles.

I could ask for God's help with Lennox all day long. But the truth is, I really don't know what I'm doing. My son will be a great, Godly man, and if I think for one second that has anything to do with me knowing what to do, I've lost my mind. I'm doing nothing. God is doing everything.

Not me. Through me.

I can't imagine Mary's anxiety. My son won't be perfect, and that takes off a little of the edge. But her son was perfect. Talk about pressure. God used her in ways she could never imagine. I'm sure she couldn't ask for help with the things she needed to do. She didn't know she needed to do them. I don't know that I need to do them. I can only ask that I behave and react to every situation in a way that is pleasing to God, and pray that the result is raising a son who lives a life pleasing to God.

I can't even begin to list the mistakes I've made, or being to imagine the ones I have yet to make. I'm not the perfect mother. And I don't need to be. But God is the perfect Father. Between the two of us, I think Lennox will be okay.

Now if God could just slow the laundry down....

If my thoughts were Shamu....

I'm not one of those people who blog. Well, I'm blogging, so I am, but.... you know what I mean. While I find that releasing my personal thoughts and experiences into a free-fall in cyberspace leaves me vulnerable to criticisms, questions, and what-was-she-thinkings, nonetheless, I find myself baby-talked out and in need of a release somewhere. So beware to those of you reading. If my thoughts were Shamu, you would be in the analogous "Splash Zone".

I love being a mother. No doubt about it. But it has scared the crap out of me. When I first saw my son, I tried to play cool. Do what I was supposed to do. I had watched "A Baby Story" enough, so I was pretty sure I could pull off the "Oh my God, this is the happiest moment of my life!" look. And I did, I think. At first. But it wasn't long till slight hysteria set in.

I am a mom.

I AM SOMEONE'S MOTHER! I AM THE ONE he is going to run to when he gets a scrape on the knee. I AM THE ONE he is going to yell for at 3 am when he wets his bed. I AM THE ONE the teacher is going to call to tell me he kicked another kid in the nuts. I AM THE ONE who signs all the permission slips. I AM THE ONE who will be at EVERY game, rain or shine. I AM THE ONE who will hate the woman he eventually marries because no woman could ever love him the way  I do.

Like I said, terrifying. The first week of my son's life I was physically ill with how much I loved him. Mothers know what I'm talking about. The mere thought of something bad happening to him made me want to throw up. I missed him so much while I was taking a shower I felt like someone punched my lungs. You think you love someone. You think you love your mom, your dad, your significant other, but until you give birth, you have no idea what love is.

Now I understand God's love for us. How no matter how stupid I am, He can't stop loving me. I understand how something that breaks my heart breaks His, too. I understand how He would stop at nothing to provide for me. I understand how He would move mountains and vanquish enemies just to keep me safe. Just like there is nothing Lennox could ever do to make me not love him, there is nothing we can do to make God not love us.

1 John 4: 7-8: Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.

I don't have all the right words to say that would provoke you to want me anymore than you already do. - Like You Promised 

That being said, I really need to share some big lessons I have learned as a mom.

#1: 2-story house + newborn = TERRIBLE IDEA.
I have essentially isolated myself downstairs. The thought of walking downstairs at 3 am with a baby in my arms while I'm half asleep scares me bajezus out of me. Plus the thought of walking upstairs every time I need to change his clothes or diapers makes me yawn. Next house will be flat.

#2: Why doesn't anyone talk openly about breast-feeding? They should! (slightly TMI warning)
I had a rough time getting Lennox to latch. No one ever warned me how difficult it would be with large breasts. I cried and cried. It just wasn't happening. But I was determined that my baby was going to drink breast milk. Thanks to a good family friend, she gave me her pump and I have been able to pump all of his meals, not needing any formula. I'm satisfied with how it turned out. I can't stand, on the other hand, the critics. "Are you sure you tried every thing?" "Are you sure you didn't give up too soon?" "Have you called someone who can help?" YES, NO, and YES! I have done everything I can. Bottom line, my son is getting the best milk available. I'm satisfied.

#3: PUT THE BABY DOWN!
At first it was impossible for me to get anything done. I just could not put Lennox down unless he was sleeping. It took me a while to learn that it's okay to put him down when I need to get something done. And it's okay if he cries (he's fussing now, as a matter of fact). Yet alive.

#4: Family, family, family.
Can't do it without them.

Well that's all for now. I'll update you when I make another mistake (20 seconds from now).