To Lucy Miller on her 2nd Birthday

Oh my beautiful, darling girl, it is your second birthday today.  I am so grateful that my heart can celebrate instead of mourn because I have enjoyed every freaking second so far.  I constantly chose you over all the little things that don't actually matter and because of that, my heart is bursting with memories and thousands of hours of just staring at you and kissing you.  

Very few things are as good as I hope they would be...but you, my sunshine girl, you are beyond what I ever dreamed of.  Truly.  Your life has been a pure and simple gift.   

You are funny!  I noticed even before you could talk that you were playing little jokes on me.  You love a good laugh.

You are tiny!  Still wearing a lot of 12 month clothes but you are mighty and brave!  You also didn't walk till 16 months and don't talk nearly as much as the boys did.  I'm kind of happy about that.  You're still so babyish.  

You love your pack pack (back pack) and want to wear one around the house at all times.

I love how you enthusiastically say yyyyyyaaaasssshhhhhhh for yes after everything I ask you.  

You are not hesitant to get out there and do!  You will jump in a puddle or swim in a river.  You're my fearless girl.

You are the gentlest nurturer.  You spend hours putting beebees night night.  Rocking and singing to them, kissing them, nursing them.  I'm in HEAVEN watching you.

You still nurse several times a day.  Can't vouch you're getting much but I adore it, and I'm just so grateful you're still wanting that sweet time with me.

You trot around town like you own the world and are constantly wanting to know where your men folk are.  You adore you boys and your daddy.  A regular occurrence is you, running ahead and then stopping to cup your hands over your mouth only to yell out "boooooooooooysh!"  

You are a little performer and just adore people delighting in you.  You rarely get mad but when someone isn't noticing how adorable you're being, you like to let them know.  Ha!

When you run, you lift your little arms high up so your shoulders are shrugged and wiggle back and forth like a waddling duck.  You always look like a busy body trying to do something important.

You always run to me and when I catch you up in my arms you loop your arms around my neck and sqeeze with all your might with your cheek pressing into mine.  

You love the water just like the others and can go under and paddle already.  A little fish. 

You love noodles and TV.  You call them both noooonules

You love ssssssooooooooozzzz (shoes)

Your eyes sparkle like water on a sunny day and your smile makes everyone feel like they are special.

Being your mama is just the greatest.  Thank you for the beautiful lessons you've already taught me.  

With all my love, 

Your mama

jessica's story | the home birth of forest

A little over two years ago, I attended the birth of the 3rd baby girl in the sweetest family.  While mama brought their sister into the world, the older two watched with wide eyed wonder.  They were the sweetest little doulas, always rubbing mama's back and giving her water.  I was just over the moon excited when I found out that baby number four was expected and that this birth would be taking place at home.  And it would be at home on the birthing day that they would find out if they would have 4 girls or their first boy.

Something had changed in Jessica since her last birth.  There was a deep belief in her body that wasn't there last time.  And even though I could see her doubting at times if her decision to birth at home was the right one, an overwhelming peace would soon overtake her.  I rarely have seen a woman so surrendered before labor even started.  

Everything was ready, everything was nearly perfect for baby's arrival.  All we had to do was wait and that is sometimes the hardest part. During the waiting and the wonderful anticipation of new life, Jessica got the heartbreaking news that her brother had died unexpectedly.  I received a devastated text from her letting me know and she expressed such grief and so much anxiety about having that baby in her arms safe and sound. Broken hearts have such an ability to weaken even the strongest of people.  Jessica was broken hearted and weak and suddenly a home birth seemed nearly impossible to even think about.  Two days later, in the middle of the pouring rain of Hurricane Joaquin, I got the call that her water had broken.

I arrived to little girls excitedly running around, finishing their breakfasts and a mama in active labor.  Joy and sorrow filled the air.  Tender little hands rubbed and helped, loving women surrounded and gently encouraged, and mama clung to her love like he was her rock in a stormy sea.  It wasn't long before a baby was born and big sister announced that it was a little boy. After the tears and the shocked squeals died down there was this collective exhale in the room. He was here. He was safe.  Joy had come during mourning and I couldn't help but think about the significance of bringing a son into the world the same week a son had left it.  

This baby is adored.  I was in heaven just clicking away as sisters held and cradled and giggled and oooohed and aaaaaahed at their baby.  Grilled cheese sandwiches were made and mama settled into her own bed, her hard work was done and her patience and belief in her body had paid off.  Daddy was still just grinning ear to ear in disbelief that he had a son at last.  

These images tell a beautiful story, Forest's story.  It is fringed in sorrows and will always be a reminder of a time of intense grief.  I am so grateful to this family for letting me be there to tell it. New life is always a time to be in awe of the wonder of it all, and it gives us hope, beautiful, beautiful hope.  

the year of "be" | coming up from nearly drowning

I'm sitting here with the doors open and the beautiful rain falling outside.  It's the first chance I've had to sit down and process our Christmas season and my heart is just filled with gratitude.  It was not perfect.  In fact, it was far from it.  There was arguing, a LOT of sickness, plans that didn't work out, feelings of being overwhelmed and sadness as we mourned many losses this season.  But If I were to sum up our Christmas I would say it was full.  

The good kind of full.  

Every Christmas when I pack up my decorations I ponder how things went and compare that to my expectations.  

I am always disappointed.  

So I've taken to writing myself a little note to tape to the top of my Christmas decoration box.  Last year I taped this to the top:

I remember last year so vividly.  We had just moved and chaos surrounded us with boxes and things in the wrong place.  I was extremely depressed.  I hadn't slept in 7 years.  I remember forcing my family to go get a tree in the day between moving and me going to the Wildflower's Workshop in Florida.  I had strep throat and a high fever and I remember bawling and yelling as we decorated our tree because things weren't going like I pictured they should.  My children's scared, wide eyes broke my heart, but I couldn't stop myself.  My husband ended up leaving the room.  The season was filled with lots of tears as time after time I was disappointed; in my children, in my expectations but mostly in myself.  

This month feels like the first gasp of fresh air after nearly drowning.  It's been 10 years of feeling like if I don't stop trying or doing I will surely drown.  I'm suddenly aware that maybe this drowning, this doesn't have to be my life. 

I'm sleeping through the night now.  I'm seeing a wonderful natural doctor who is helping me regain my health and learn to trust my body again.  A beautiful soul of a woman has been meeting with me weekly and helping me figure out the logistics of how to live MY life (not the best way to live someone else's perfect life).  6 months of intensive marriage counseling has broken down walls and given me a deep love and a bright hope for the future.  I have rebranded my business and I have said "no" often.  All of these things are wonderful.  A lot of hard work has taken place in this year.  This has been the year of stretching.  This has been the year of hard work.  

That little note on my Christmas box and the energy that is finally returning to my weary body provided the ability to "just be" this Christmas.  There were many times I had to throw up my hands and say, "This. Does. Not. Matter", many moments I had to step outside and breathe in the air and clear my head of expectation.  There were many times I messed up and apologies were necessary.  But I have a heart full of beautiful moments: unforced, real, special moments with my family.  The tears were far less and the joy was much more.  

I've never been one to take hold of new years resolutions, because I'm more of a goal girl all year round. After this year of work I am ready for a beautiful year of growth.  January 1st can come and I will welcome it with open arms instead of groans. 

As I've been processing things, I thought about calling this the year of "me".  I have neglected my body and soul much over the years and I don't want to drown anymore.  I want to breathe!  But the year of "me" makes me think of the desperate grasping at straws of worth.  Of hobbies that don't fill hearts and time away from family trying to quiet the chaos.  

In the end, a year of me is not what I need.  I need a year, no a lifetime, of "be".  Of just being; of allowing expectations to fall by the wayside and just being present, the year of taking the time to sit on a mountain top with no agenda but just being there and being still, of evenings sitting hand in hand with Noah in conversation instead of filling my mind with distractions and mind numbing tv.  I am confident that this slight change in my heart will lead to much joy and the drawing together of our family. 

Here's to a year of digging down deep and growing up tall.