all the minutes in a day

pumping

washing bottles

sanitizing bottles

nursing

holding the baby upright for fifteen minutes after nursing

wiping up spit-up

changing the baby's clothes

stain-treating baby clothes

putting baby clothes in the washing machine

putting baby clothes in the dryer

folding baby laundry

putting away baby laundry

finding baby food recipes

reading baby food recipes

making grocery lists for baby food

making baby food

storing baby food

cleaning up after making baby food

reheating baby food

serving baby food

cleaning up the baby after a solid meal

cleaning up the high chair, table, and floor after a solid meal

loading the dishwasher

checking the baby's diaper

changing the baby's diaper

applying diaper rash cream

cleaning off the baby's foot when she puts it in the dirty diaper

washing your hands

choreographing the day so that feedings and naps are achievable

putting the baby to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

putting the baby back to sleep

holding the baby so she'll sleep

replacing the baby's paci

sterilizing pacis

finding a pacis

sitting in the car in the driveway because the baby fell asleep

bathing the baby

drying off the baby

diapering the baby

draining the bathtub

putting away the soap and shampoo

cleaning up splashed water

putting the washcloths and towel in the hamper

putting the sleep sack on

changing the baby's diaper

washing your hands

picking up baby toys

trimming the baby's nails

buying diapers and wipes

restocking diapers and wipes from storage

reading books to the baby

doing tummy time with the baby

going for walks with the baby

making the baby laugh

kissing the baby

singing to the baby

letting the baby chew on your finger

wiggling your fingers at the baby to entertain her

changing the baby's diaper

washing your hands

saying, "oh dear" and "poor baby" and "I know" and "oh it's so hard" and "mhmm"

putting the baby in the car seat

taking the baby out of the car seat

restocking the diaper bag

debriefing with your partner

tracking when the baby last ate and slept

whisper-screaming at your partner about nap math or being too loud

doing non-baby tasks extremely slowly and quietly so as not to wake the baby

googling questions about the baby

settling the baby in a new spot so you can get something done

responding to texts that depend on the baby ("what time will you be here" "does that work for you" "are you coming over" "what time can I come over" "how was last night" "how's she doing" "how're you doing" "what is she gonna be for halloween")

sending photos of the baby to friends and relatives who live far away

sorting through photos of the baby

blogging about how being a parent takes all the minutes in a day

changing the baby's diaper

washing your hands

~Stephanie

Why You Shouldn't Do Revenge Donuts in Someone's Yard

A couple of years ago, one of my Facebook friends shared this:

It took me a minute (and maybe even some researching) to figure out what was going on. I had no idea that grass clippings were a problem for motorcycles. Apparently they can be as dangerous as ice to cyclists, reducing the traction of their tires. I'm not the one who mows our lawn, but the meme made me sad, because what if we had left clippings in the road and a cyclist had retaliated by destroying our yard? How sad to be vandalized for a crime we hadn't known we'd committed.

For the last five years, we've lived in Kernersville. There's a road, Teague, that every time I drove past, some jackass would whip out in front of me and make me slam on my brakes. It was one of the more annoying constants in my life. Last year, Gabe and I moved. Now we drive ON Teague rather than past it, and guess what? You can't see cars coming from the right when you're stopped at the stop sign. People weren't cutting me off because they were rude or bad drivers; they were doing their best, just like I now have to do—and about half the time I still wince because I've "cut someone off."

On the rare occasions that I get to shop by myself these days, I no longer park next to the cart return or as close to the store as possible, even if there's a spot open. As a mom, I know how much easier it is to put a car seat from the car directly into a cart rather than have to walk a ways with the car seat bumping into your leg, jostling your baby. I think back to all the times I thought, "Score!" and pulled into a choice spot that—as a young, able-bodied person—I honestly didn't need. I feel retroactively guilty for taking spots like that, but the truth is I just didn't have any idea what makes a parent's life harder or easier. 

My dad once shared a podcast episode by Brené Brown where she talks about choosing to believe that people are doing the best they can. Apparently people who believe that others are doing their best have a better time in general. They're less angry, more compassionate. Since that episode, I've tried to believe the best in others, but humbling, concrete experiences like the three above really hammer the point home.

These days, I'm more likely to imagine why someone might have acted the way they did rather than ascribe malice to them. I'm glad God is doing this work in me before Baby Elle is old enough to understand my words. I want her to be someone who believes the best in others.

Maybe people aren't as rude/stupid/careless/mean as we think. Maybe they just don't know that grass clippings are a hazard, can't see your car coming from that angle, or haven't experienced the problems of parenthood.

~Stephanie

Postpartum in Songs Part III

I started this post on August 21. What is that, like seven weeks ago? I started the draft by first listing all the songs and their trigger phrases, and planned to go back and fill the little paragraph explanations. I did not XD

At this point, I am actually past the phase where most of these songs are being triggered. No, these days we're on to different songs, like Lord's "Royals" ("I cut my teeth on wedding rings, in the movies"), but I don't want Songs Part III to go to waste, so here's a snapshot of what my brain sounded like almost two months ago :)

"Let's Go Fly a Kite" from Mary Poppins
Trigger phrase: "Let's go fly a kite."
The cadence "let's go change your diaper" sounds enough like this that it sends this Disney song through my head.

"When I Grow Up" by the Pussycat Dolls
Trigger phrase: "Fresh and clean, number one chick when I step out on the scene."
As I change Elle's diaper, I'll tell her that we're gonna get her "fresh and clean."

"Why" by Jon Bellion and Luke Combs
Trigger phrase: [the whole song]
I first heard this song around the time Elle was born, and it resonates with me so much. I'm not a fan of Jon Bellion and I don't listen to country music, so it's funny to me that I love this collab. 

"Booty Wurk" by T-Pain
Trigger phrase: "Let me see your booty wurk, booty wurk, booty booty booty wurk."
I mean, what else are you gonna say as a club rat millennial changing your baby's diaper?

"Hello" by Adele
Trigger phrase: "Hello."
Elle makes this adorable little gurgling coo that sounds like "hello," so I sing this song back to her a lot.

"4 Minutes" by Madonna
Trigger phrase: "We only got four minutes to save the world."
Elle has reflux, so we try to keep her upright for at least fifteen minutes after she eats. I often check the clock and see that we've only got four minutes left before she can be freeeeeeee (to still spit up).

"Who's That Lady" by The Isley Brothers
Trigger phrase: "Who's that lady?"
Also during the "keeping her upright for fifteen minute" laps, Elle and I walk by the mirror in the entryway and I always gasp and sing, "Who's that baby? Pretty baby."

"Sorry About Your Parents" by Icon for Hire
Trigger phrase: "I'm sorry about your parents, they sound like bad people."
I realize how this sounds, but it's actually just because of how often I say the phrase, "Sorry about your hiccups" to Elle. This song gets triggered.

The"Entertainment Seven Twenty" Jingle from Parks and Rec
Trigger phrase: "Entertainment seven twenty, where dreams come—they come true."
Somehow I look down at the nursing timer and it's been seven minutes and twenty seconds a lot? Someone should do a study on why you seem to encounter some numbers more often XD

~ Stephanie

What's in a Name?

One year ago today, I found out I was pregnant with Baby Elle. A chemical pregnancy/miscarriage in April 2024 and my allergy to believing good things kept my reaction on a very short, cynical leash.

To be honest, I don't feel a connection between Baby Elle and the baby who lived in my stomach, even though I eventually allowed myself to be joyful about the pregnancy. The person whose booty made my right ribs ache does not seem like the same person who laughs when I shake my head and say "kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss!" She was very considerate in the womb: never woke me up, didn't give me nausea or tummy stretch marks, kicked reassuringly whenever I started to question if she was okay. Still, I was hesitant to ascribe personality to her because I didn't really know her, so it didn't feel respectful.

On the outside, Elle is not exactly "considerate." She fusses if she's left alone for more than 20–90 seconds and wakes us up many times during the wee hours. I will say she still has a habit of sighing or twitching whenever I worry about her while she sleeps, which is nice. When she isn't feeling lonely, she's very sweet and chipper. She is the queen of eye contact. She is generous with her smiles. She actively tries to cope with discomfort (although she does often fail) and is a delight to take places, from the Honeybee Festival to Garrett and Nia's wedding. She does get impatient and vocal when frustrated (e.g., trying to crawl), but same, girl.

When I look at the pregnancy test or pictures of me pregnant, it doesn't feel like "Elle" in there. Maybe that's because we didn't settle on her name until right before she was born? (And we didn't settle on her middle name until they asked us in the hospital and we realized we knew.)

Although, in a way, Gabrielle has been named for a very long time 🙂 She's named after Gabe, yes, but may I present to you an excerpt from a post on another blog, before Gabe and I even became boyfriend and girlfriend.




(The other name was Kendra, but unfortunately that one died due to the classic "no, because I knew someone with that name" protest from Gabe.)

If Baby Elle's first name is for Gabe and all of these folks that I love, her middle name, Ember, is for me. Ember is the name of the main character in the Fire Faery Story, which I've been working on since I was twelve years old. The other characters were originally based off of friends (including the Ellie, Jesse, and my sister referenced in Gabrielle), but Ember was based off of me.

Gabrielle Ember Meter. Your name is full, but I know your God-crafted soul is fuller, more beautiful, and more beloved than our human minds can even imagine.

~Stephanie

The Rise of Brunette Superwoman

There are a lot of things I DON'T want this post to be.

I DON'T want it to be an endorsement for having kids as a way to level up.

I DON'T want it to be a negation of all my past Brunette Superwoman revelations.

I DON'T want it to be a post that ages badly because I'm so new and naive in the world of parenting.

But lately...it kind of feels like Brunette Superwoman has actually shown up.

It took me years (and blog posts like this and this) to come to terms with the fact that my life won't magically be taken over and completed by a super version of myself. My life will only ever be lived by me, as fumbling and inconsistent and non-super as I am.

But a couple of months ago, I took Baby Elle for a walk outside by myself. I assembled the stroller, got her into it, and walked around with the human I had created. My body felt good. The baby wasn't crying. I was doing something I'd seen mothers do for years and thought, "Wow. Look how together she is."

Now, was I together? Not...really. But I HAD done something that really intimidated me, and I had just DONE it. I hadn't dithered about it. I hadn't let myself get overwhelmed or down. I had decided that it would be good for us to go for a walk, and I had made it happen without any help. I was living my tiny dream, and it made me feel so strong. Empowered.

That was mostly an isolated incident. Life has felt very overwhelming on the day-to-day. There is always laundry and dishes and never quick enough lunch food and I've actually had to write "brush my teeth" on my to-do list.

But recently, I had to have a postpartum procedure to deal with some scar tissue. It involved being chemically cauterized down there with silver nitrate. I was very aware that it was going to hurt. A few months ago, a procedure like that would have kept me up at night for—at minimum—a week before the appointment. I would've been panicking to Gabe daily and sweating on the way to the obgyn.

However, none of that was the case. I made the appointment myself, had completely normal days leading up to it, drove myself to the appointment, did not sweat in the waiting room, and endured without making a sound.

Did it hurt a lot? Oh yeah. But since becoming a mother, there's just...there's like, a LOT that sucks. There's a LOT that's hard, a LOT that I don't want to do—and I just have to do it anyway. Giving birth was hard. Healing postpartum was hard. Nursing was hard. Getting no sleep was hard. Giving up virtually all my "me time" is hard. Accepting that I'll often be covered in spit up is hard. Not reacting in anger when my child head butts me is hard. Smiling and saying, "that happens sometimes" when she poops all over the new diaper, changing table, and clothes mid-diaper change is hard.

And I just have to do it anyway.

Until the silver nitrate procedure, I hadn't noticed this; I hadn't been feeling like Brunette Superwoman, but as I sat on the crinkly paper with a blue sheet draped across my lap, I couldn't believe how nonchalant I felt. I wasn't scared of the pain. I certainly wasn't looking forward to it, but something about the last three months had BROKEN me in a way that unleashed a new level of It is What It Is.

And "broken me" is exactly what I mean. New parenthood shares some real similarities with torture, like sleep deprivation, sensory overload, loss of autonomy, and the sheer relentlessness of it all. There's a lot of trying really hard and failing. There's a lot of doing the right thing and haven't it make no difference at all. It kind of destroys you. It is trial by fire. It is leaping off a building and building your parachute on the way down. There is so much that I'm not afraid of anymore, because I've lived a lot more of "but did you die?" than I ever have before.

I will never, ever be the same again after the last three months, but I've had to put myself back together stronger. I don't mean that I'm an amazing parent, but that I'm STILL HERE, and that takes a lot some days.

In a way, Brunette Superwoman DID take over. I don't feel like I chose to become her as much as Old Me straight up died and something else rose from the ashes like a phoenix. Or like a really bedraggled duck trying its best.

If "Brunette Superwoman" is a character with perfect hair and muscles who has it all together, then I'm certainly not her. But if she's tough and brave and confident and willing to face the impossible for someone she loves, then, guys...

She may have arrived.

~ Stephanie