This afternoon it was raining. I was grouchy. Really grouchy. Kind of like if you were to roll all the power and fury of PMS, pregnancy and postpartum hormones into one. Yep, that bad. I decided to toss the kids in the car and head for a hazelnut coffee from Panera’s drive-thru. What’s that you say? No, I didn’t stutter. The Panera near my house has a drive-thru. And it’s as awesome as you dreamed it would be.

Anyway, from the backseat BQ says, “Mommy, tomorrow you can sleep as late as you want,” which is odd considering how that is, um, never the case. She continued with, “If Bubby wakes up, Daddy can get him and you can sleep. I want to make you breakfast.” Let’s just say if that conversation had happened about five minutes earlier I could have saved the two bucks I spent on coffee. Who needs a treat when I have that kind of sweetness coming from the backseat! (pun intended). The fact that I had been nothing but unpleasant for the hour prior made it all the more amazing.

What are the amazing things your kids are saying these days? Write them down, drink them in like a steaming hot latte (or your go to beverage of choice). Way, way better than any high caloric treat out there and they won’t make your thighs jiggle. Just sayin’.

I know I’ll hate it in a couple of hours, but right now it’s wonderful. Grateful for a warm house, tea and snuggly kids.

My boy is walking and wearing big boy shoes. Um, what? Not sure when it happened, but it’s pretty awesome. He is so yummy. This momma is in trouble.

Can anyone relate? Back then it was not only hurtful to have others criticize something that I had absolutely no control over, but deep inside my 13 year old heart it also planted seeds of disdain for my body. I began to look at my body differently. Critically. At the end of the day, there wasn’t anything I could do to change the size of my breasts and perhaps that’s what angered me most.

Fast forward to the age of 26. I learned that I was pregnant. My mom breastfed and I had always planned on doing the same. But, once again I doubted it would be possible with my, um, shortfalls. When BQ was born, she was perfect to me. The Doc placed her in my arms and I was in love. She began to fuss and I awkwardly fumbled to lower my gown and nurse. In that moment, something changed. She latched on, ate and fell fast asleep and those years of thinking my breasts were a failure slipped away. Perhaps this body I’d despised was capable of something beautiful.

I nursed all three of our babies for a year, and would have happily nursed longer if they had chosen to do so. BQ may have had five bottles, Molé none, and my Bubby only those required during his ten days in the NICU. I’ve never made a bottle of formula in my life. Am I bragging? No. I’m celebrating. My body nourished, soothed and provided for my babies. This body that I had always found lacking turned out to be more than able. No mastitis, no supply issues, no latch problems, never a clogged duct, no cracking, no bleeding, no pain. Just chunky, delightful babes to pull in close in a way that was sacred between the two of us. What a gift.

Breast feeding also helped me to heal emotionally as I processed having surgical births. When I would hear women share about babies practically flying out of their bodies with one push, but struggling to nurse, I felt normal. We all have our own struggles, stories and journeys. As women and as mothers and it’s not about focusing on our shortfalls and imperfections. It is about celebration all along the way.

So yes, I am choosing to celebrate boobs today. I’m so grateful that despite my mistreatment of them, they stepped up to the plate. I will forever treasure the photos of the beautiful cheeks, thighs, arm rolls and other delicious parts of my baby’s squishy bodies that they enabled.

“BQ, what do you think about Jesus?” my MIL asked.

She thought for a while, looked a bit perplexed and then answered…

“Parmesan?”

So often I feel like I’m trying to find all the right answers to all the wrong questions. I hear “cheeses” instead of “Jesus” on a daily basis. I’m not listening, I’m not pausing to make sure I understand before jumping ahead. Sigh. Life is full of trash rather than treasure. And the treasure is there. Always. I definitely don’t want to settle for cheese, and this girl loves her some cheese, when I could be having a big pile of Jesus. And this month, for Christmas, don’t even think about giving me Santa. He can keep his jolly old self, empty promises to bring joy that he can’t deliver, and the beard as well. I’m going to listen more. I’m going to attempt to be quiet. And I’m going to keep the cheese for eating.

Anyway, he wrote a song that is absolutely a dream for us mommas of young children.  It’s called One Little Heartbeat at a Time and it makes me sob Every.  Single.  Time.  It is what we all want to hear, need to be reminded of, and hope so badly to be as we mother these dear ones.

One Little Heartbeat at a Time, Steven Curtis Chapman

You’re up all night with a screaming baby
You run all day at the speed of life
And every day you feel a little bit less
Like the beautiful woman you are

So you fall into bed when you run out of hours
And you wonder if anything worth doing got done
Oh, maybe you just don’t know
Or maybe you’ve forgotten

You, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time

With every “I know you can do it”
Every tear that you kiss away
So many little things that seem to go unnoticed
They’re just like the drops of rain over time
They become a river

And you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time

You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
How you’re changing the world
You’re changing the world

You, you are changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh, you, you may not see it now
But I believe that time will tell
How you, you are changing the world
Oh, I believe that you
You are changing the world
One little heartbeat
At a time

And you’re changing the world

Um, yah.  How many times have we felt in the midst of the vomit covered, timeout filled, haven’t showered in a week, if I leak milk one more time right after I step out of the shower I may lose my mind days that we are less of who we were before we were moms?  I know that I have.  Less beautiful, less valuable, less cool (though I’m not sure I ever would have fit into that catergory ).  At the end of the day, our work is valuable.  The moments we spend caring for our children not are NOT a waste, they matter!

So remember on the bad days, and believe me I feel like I’ve been having a never-ending one for the past three days, that what you do makes you more beautiful and what you are creating cannot be measured.  There is no way to place a value on the time and love that we pour into our children.  I hope you’re as encouraged as I have been.  Maybe I’ll put this tune on repeat for the rest of the day.  After all, the baby who is getting about six teeth and had shots this morning is already crying after a 20 minute nap.

“Ah, ah, aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  No, no, nooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!” (while banging feet against the wall.”

“Wah, wah, a bah, a bah, wah wah,” with hands frantically slapping together to sign more and signal that things will continue to get ugly if food is not given stat.

Yes ladies, it might not involve margaritas or happy hour, but it is definitely always 5 O’clock somewhere.  :)

“Mommy, why are your lips red,” she asked.

“Oh, mommy just decided to put on her lip gloss today,” I said realizing how sad it was that my usage of makeup is so infrequent it is cause for a question when worn.

“You look like a princess,” she responded, eyelashes fluttering, dimples, button nose, bright eyes and all.

When you haven’t showered for two days, rushed around all morning just to get your family physically out the door, and managed to throw on lip gloss at the last minute in a desperate attempt to salvage your “look” it’s pretty awesome when someone notices. Even more awesome when that someone is 3 1/2, with a cute little voice and calls you a princess.

Anywho, the other night as I was cooking dinner with my pants around my ankles this song came to mind. Was I trying to spice things up for my husband? No. Was it hot? Not so much. It’s called stretched out elastic waistband and grabby 11 month old who will pull up on anything. What was even better (NOT) was that I had decided to make chicken fingers and was in the process of the flour, egg, bread crumb assembly line. Fingers caked in raw chicken, egg, and goop were not exactly fit for pulling up pants. Did I mention that the babe is teething and must put his mouth on everything? So he was licking/biting/feasting on my legs after the depancing. Awesome.

Anyone else cooked with her pants down?