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

Hard Days

It's Monday. You wake up refreshed and feel encouraged about the day. You get a short workout in and start the work day before the baby is up. When the baby wakes up, she's happy you play on the floor mat (although you don't do tummy time, which makes you feel guilty), then feed her.

She spits up what looks like the whole feed, but you're refreshed and the day is new so it's okay. You sing to her and clean it up and it's okay.

You get her dressed. The outfit doesn't quite fit, but it's okay. There's a tag on the inside that you think might itch her side, but we'll see.

She starts crying on your stroller walk. She never cries on walks, so that's weird. Hopefully not a bad omen about the day. You have to stop moving to soothe her several times, hoping the neighbors aren't hearing her and judging you for being a bad mother. You wish you'd brought a paci, but it never occurred to you. She never cries on walks so you've never needed one.

She falls asleep in the stroller, which is good. Jerks with loud trucks start their engines and leave for work. Lawn care workers mow grass right next to your baby's ear. Kids on summer break scream and laugh in their yards. Every noise puts you on edge. Don't people know there's a baby in a fragile slumber nearby?

Back inside, it takes forever for the baby to fall back asleep in the swing for her first real nap, and she wakes up after an hour when she usually naps 1.5–2.5 hours.

Bummed, you go get her and discover she's had a blowout through her pants and onesie. Poor baby. Is that why she woke up? Would she go back to sleep if she was comfortable again?

You change her. Lots of poop lots of places. You'll have to deal with the poopy outfit later because she's screaming. Now that she's awake, she wants to eat. It's just as well. If she'd kept to her usual schedule, you'd be trying to feed her during the meeting your supervisor rescheduled for noon.

You nurse her, then have to walk around with her for fifteen minutes while keeping her upright so she won't spit up. She hates being upright, so she cries and squirms. She spits up three times anyway. Each time, it makes a splashing sound as it hits the floor.

While doing laps around the house, you notice all the things you can't do or haven't done. The recycling is full. The calendar hasn't been turned to the new month. The Windex is still sitting by the back door because you were using it to shoot houseflies that couldn't be reached with the flyswatter last week. Your laptop battery is dying. You'll need it for the meeting with your supervisor. Must remember to untangle the cord from the pile in the corner before then. The poopy clothes and poopy changing table are on your route too. So is the bedroom mirror, where you see your bare stomach, which is bigger and squishier than it's ever been. It looks worse than it did six weeks ago. There's dust and dirt and a carpet fuzz on the living room wood floor, even though your husband vacuumed fourteen hours ago. There's the book club book you haven't started, but it doesn't matter because you realized after the fact that it was the wrong one.

All throughout these laps, the baby spits up. It's on your arm, her "clean" clothes, and the floor in many places, which you mop up with your foot and a burp cloth as you go.

Your wrists hurt from trying to hold a baby who does not want to be held upright. You reposition to try to get some relief, but she hates the new position even more so you have to go back. You sing to her, hearing your voice get a little less joyful with each round of spit up, baby scream, baby head butt.

It's been fifteen minutes. She's been upright for long enough that she shouldn't spit up, but you know this isn't true. You used to even wait thirty minutes before letting her lie down, and that didn't make a difference either.

You lay her down on the mat (on her back, so you feel guilty about tummy time again, but you have to get on this meeting and she'll cry if you put her on her stomach) with her toys and get ready to hop on the meeting. But first you remember the poopy scene and go back through, wiping and sanitizing and throwing clothes into the washing machine. While you're out of the room, the baby starts crying.

After settling her, you click "join meeting" a couple of minutes late. The video preview shows you wearing the same shirt you wore yesterday, a decidedly unstylish messy bun, and giant red zit on your chin. You consider going camera off, but you're camera off so often these days, it seems wise to show your face when you can. Something about being camera off makes you worry that people think you aren't doing your job.

The meeting is fine, but halfway through the baby starts crying so you have to turn your camera off and finish it on the floor while giving theatrical slo-mo kisses to her tummy. She beams and squeals and you feel happy again. Then she spits up, partially digested milk soaking her collar and the nape of her neck on the way to the blanket underneath her.

The meeting finishes with your supervisor trying to give you heartfelt advice about how parenting and working at the same time requires sacrifice, and that you have to come to terms with the fact that you won't be snuggling your baby at all times.

After the meeting, the baby is falling asleep on the play mat and she's been awake for about 75 minutes, so you put her in the sleep sack, turn on the sound machine, and begin rocking her. Her paci falls out and she's immediately fully awake. You try to replace the paci but she spits it out and laughs. You know she has to be tired, so you sway with her in your arms, but she just stares at you with bright eyes, which kind of melts your heart but also fills you with despair because 1) if she doesn't go to sleep she's definitely going to get overtired and that's a nightmare, 2) if you try to force her to go to sleep she'll scream and that's also a nightmare, 3) you really need to get more work done.

She suddenly gets the hiccups.

You lay her down in the bassinet, awake, and lie on the bed beside her, reaching over the side to rub her belly. Your wrist hurts and your arm starts to fall asleep. She's still wide awake. You realize that all the restoration and hope you had this morning has been completely used up. You feel tired and bruised, the human embodiment of dark under-eye circles. You feel guilty because your baby deserves a joyful mother.

You decide to try the paci one more time, even though you're wary of her forming a habit of needing it to fall asleep. She gives three suckles and is out—only to be jolted away by a hiccup. This happens over and over for ten minutes. You're honestly shocked and thankful that she hasn't lost her mind because it looks super annoying to deal with. You pray the Holy Spirit down from Heaven and into her diaphragm, and by the mercy of the Lord, it works. The hiccups leave. She falls asleep.

It takes you a full two minutes to get off the bed, because it creaks and that might wake her up. When the last centimeter of your buttcheek leaves the mattress, the bed groans and the baby's eyes pop open. You begin to curse internally, despite being only two minutes removed from one of the most fervent prayer sessions of your life. The baby goes back to sleep.

It's lunchtime. You make yourself a protein shake because your nutrition goal this week is to prioritize protein at every meal. You eat a slice of pizza cold because the beep of the microwave buttons might wake up the baby and reheating on the stove takes too long and she might wake up any second.

You watch her on the baby monitor and try to see if she's breathing.

You eat your cold pizza, watch her on the baby monitor, and try to get some work done.

The baby is up forty minutes later. You move her to the changing table, which makes her cry. She settles during the diaper change, thankfully. You move her to her play mat, which makes her cry again. Does she hate being moved? Does it make her reflux flare up? Are you not supporting her correctly? Is something wrong with her body? She's been going to the chiropractor, and they haven't said anything felt wrong.

On the mat, she alternates between fussing and cooing and crying and smiling with seemingly no rhyme or reason. If you leave the mat to try to get work done, she fusses. It is difficult to think.

You pick her up and carry her to the couch. Maybe you can do some of your reading for work if you read it aloud to her in a sing-songy voice. It is unexpectedly challenging to comprehend Crime and Punishment when read like a nursery rhyme. It does settle the baby for a few minutes, but then she starts crying again and you realize it's time for her to eat.

You feed her. You walk around with her while she fusses. She spits up.

After fifteen minutes, you put her on the mat. You aren't supposed to have babies in "containers" for too long. When you told ChatGPT that she fussed a lot, it suggested a schedule where you rotate activities for her every 3–10 minutes. ChatGPT must have forgotten that you work.

Soon, it is time for her to nap again. You decide you will try to incorporate a slightly longer wind-down time. Maybe that will help her relax and prepare for sleep. You change her diaper, lay her on your bed, and read a book to her. She looks at the pictures calmly and suckles her paci. It seems to be going well.

When you put her in the sleep sack, she wiggles her arms and legs and smiles at you. It's nice that she's happy, but she's lost her sleepiness again. You talk quietly to her and do the rocking and shushing and put her in the bassinet. It's extra hard for her to keep the paci in her mouth this time and it takes extra long for her to fall asleep. You make shushing noises until your lips and tongue are dry.

With six minutes until your next meeting starts, she falls asleep. You manage to escape without the creaky bed waking her up this time.

While you're on the meeting, she wakes up to cry three different times. You can't decide if you should ignore her or tend to her, so you do some of both. The times you ignore her, she does eventually calm down, which reassures you that she's learning to soothe herself to some degree.

The meeting ends with you having several to-dos, some of which you wrote down, some of which you really hope the project manager will remind you about.

She's awake and crying when the meeting ends. It's 2pm, and the baby's mood usually goes steadily downhill from mid-afternoon until she goes to bed, so this has likely been the "best" part of your day.

You eat what the bag says is four servings of Trader Joe's strawberry and chocolate drizzle popcorn. A piece of chocolate falls on your current favorite shirt and leaves a brown smear. You just leave it.

You think about how quickly your energy dried up. You might wake up in the morning to find it restored again, but you know it will just evaporate and turn sour before the day is done, like it always does. Somehow that feels even worse, to know that it will come back only to die again.

It's just a season, you know. One day you'll miss when she was this little, and you genuinely try to enjoy it. You watch her little face as you nurse. You willingly show her and talk to her about everything in the house over and over on your fifteen-minute-upright walks. You try to smile with your eyes when you play with her.

But some days are just hard.

~ Stephanie

Postpartum in Songs Part II

Last month, I posted the songs that had been going through my head postpartum, and it was a surprisingly accurate snapshot of life at the time. What didn't occur to me was that the phenomenon would continue, but with different songs. I now present to you Postpartum in Songs Part II, an update.

"Edelweiss" from The Sound of Music
Trigger Phrase: "You look happy to meet me."
A couple of weeks ago, Elle started smiling SO big whenever we get her out of her bassinet. She beams the biggest gummy smile and her eyes practically become stars. To be honest, it made me feel guilty at first, because there was NO way I could possibly deserve what I was seeing in her face. Like, she had to be mistaken or I'd somehow manipulated her into thinking I was amazing, because—excuse me?—I am actually the one who interrupts her post-milk naps to change her diaper and makes her burp when she hates it?

"The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World
Trigger Phrase: "It just takes some time, / Little girl, you're in the middle of the ride / Everything, everything'll be just fine, / Everything, everything'll be all right, all right."
What a testament to how much better things have felt lately! Now, my inner dialogue reassures me that "it just takes some time" rather than excoriating me for always making the wrong decision.

"Mother Knows Best" from Tangled
Trigger Phrase: "Mother's right here, Mother will protect you."
It is unfortunate the this song is sung ironically and by the movie's villain, but it still plays in my head when I say, "Momma's right here" to Elle, which is pretty often.

"Come Get Her" by Rae Sremmurd
Trigger Phrase: "Somebody come get her, she's dancing like a stripper."
Look, I don't choose the songs that get triggered. Many times a day, Gabe or I will say, "I'm gonna get her," either from her nap, for her next feeding, because she's crying, and when we do...I hear this song. I actually hear a joke version from a TikTok that says "somebody come GEET 'errrr," if that's any better.

"When the Rain Comes" by Third Day
Trigger Phrase: "I can't stop the rain / From falling down on you again / I can't stop the rain / But I will hold you 'til it goes away."
No matter how hard I try, there are a lot of things I can't stop for Elle: gas, spit up, the hiccups. However, I tell her that what I can do is hold her until whatever it is passes.

"My World" by Sick Puppies
Trigger Phrase: "Welcome to my world."
We recently bought a black and white contrast book for Elle, and it's called Hello, My World. Every time I see the book, it triggers this song.

"Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" from Disney's (problematic) Song of the South
Trigger Phrase: "Zip-a-dee-doo-dah"
I've never seen Song of the South, but as I zipped up Elle's sleeper one day, I sang the line "ZIP-a-dee-doo-dah" to her and she loved it, so I sang that song about fifty times one morning and my brain is never gonna let it go.

"I Feel the Earth Move" by Carole King
Trigger Phase: "I feel the earth move under my feet."
Often, especially in the middle of the night, Elle falls asleep on my chest during her upright time. When it's time for me to move the nursing pillow and take her to change her diaper, I think about how it must feel to her, like the ground beneath her feet is shifting.

I'll be very interested to see if this continues.

~ Stephanie

Fragments of Parenthood Part II

Once again, recording some thoughts while Elle is napping. Any moment might be my last XD

Dysmorphia by Proxy
Sometimes when Elle is swaddled and in the crook of my arm, I genuinely feel like I see her as a toddler when I look down, and it's disturbing. It's like that part of Friends where Joey has a dream that he's holding a baby and sudden it's Ross's face staring up at him. Elle looks so different and so much older than she did at first.

The Irony
Gabe and I tried so hard to have a baby (like, I ate tinned oysters for months a few years ago) to now try so hard NOT to have a baby 😂 Like, I relish the times Gabe offers to give her a bottle so I can leave the house and pretend to be childless. We put her down at night and sneak upstairs and watch her on the monitor and BEG for her not to wake back up. I know this is totally normal, but it's still funny.

The Scrutinizing
And yet, we do watch her on the monitor. I have become more eagle-eyed than I thought possible as I zoom in and try to find a spot on the swaddle that moves so that I can be reassured that she's breathing.

The Cords
This is so random and unexpected, but the number of CORDS cluttering up our home has somehow quadrupled since having a baby. Chargers for our Kindles, our phones, her nightlight, her stroller fan, the baby monitor, Gabe's Nintendo Switch, my laptop as I work from the living room. I hate visual clutter and I hate tripping over things, so this has been...unfortunate.

Sticking to a Schedule
I used to think that parents who stuck rigidly to their child's routine might be coddling their child, who would need to know how to roll with life eventually. However, I have come to realize that ELL-OH-ELL, sticking to a schedule isn't even FOR the baby—it's for YOU, because if the baby's schedule is thrown off, it's not the baby who suffers, it is everyone within earshot, potentially for the whole rest of the day. It's like when I used to think that teachers who dismissed class early were doing it as a treat for the students, when, more often than not, the teacher wants class to be over at least as much.

Mantra
I didn't mean to create a mantra, but when Elle was a few weeks old, I would tell her how sweet she was and how beautiful she was, and it quickly occurred to me that I didn't want those to become the only (or even the default) adjectives we use for her. If our voices are going to become her first inner voice, I want her to have a more empowering impression of herself. I added some adjectives, and it became an actual habit of mine to chant to her that she is "so sweet and smart and strong and brave and beautiful."

The First Six-Hour Stretch
In comparing notes with other moms, I've learned that it is normal to fly awake in the middle of the night, realize your baby hasn't roused you in SIX HOURS?! and panic a little bit. Is this a good thing? Or is she DEAD? The good news is that Elle is fine, and will now sleep six hours at a time a couple of times a week. The bad news is that we have absolutely no clue what magic recipe is that yields these random restful blocks.

It turns out the people didn't lie: parenthood DOES get better, and a single one of Elle's smiles is payback enough.

Well, maybe two or three smiles.

~ Stephanie

Fragments of Parenthood

I might be able to unpack any one of these and make separate posts, but I can't count on myself to find the time, so I'm just going to document some thoughts from the last few weeks in fragments :) 

Losing Game
For a long stretch, motherhood just felt like a constant losing game. I could never make the right choice. If I let Elle keep sleeping, she woke up too hungry and I felt mean. If I woke her up to feed her, I felt mean for disturbing her sleep. If I changed her diaper before she ate, I was mean for delaying the milk she so desperately wanted. If I fed her first, I was mean for letting her eat in a soiled diaper. If she fell asleep while I kept her upright after nursing, I felt mean for waking her up to change her diaper. If I changed her diaper quicker, before she fell asleep, and she spit up on the changing table, I felt mean for rushing the process and "making" her spit up.

A Race
Everything also feels like a race. Can I finish my food before she wakes up? Will the chiropractor come in before she starts crying? Can I change her diaper before she spits up? Can we get home before it's time to nurse? How fast can I shower? How fast can I change her diaper? How fast can Gabe heat up the bottle?

Antithesis
Motherhood is forcing me to act contrary to myself in three particular ways: I must be slow, and gentle, and quiet. I have always been fairly fast and rough and loud. Every moment of every day, I must exercise myself in a way I never have before. It's exhausting, but the growth is unbelievable. I would not have thought I had it in me to control myself to this degree for this long.

Scary Sounds
Sounds that now send a pang of dismay through my body:
- Thud of a paci hitting the mattress: Elle will either keep sleeping or wake screaming
- Creak of our bedroom door opening: Gabe coming to wake me to nurse Elle
- Silence: Has Elle entered quiet sleep or is she dead?

It's Constant
I find myself forgetting that this is forever. There's no "until" with motherhood, unless it's "until I die," or—God actually forbid—she does. There are no days off; there is no "mute" button on her crying or "pause" button on her hungry tummy. Giving up isn't an option.

Every once in a while I'll notice a thought in the back of my mind that's something like "Okay, I'm done now, let's go back to regular life" and then I realize that that can't happen. This thought pattern makes me realize how few things I've forbid myself to quit lately. The fact that my brain automatically generates the thought, "This is difficult; I'm going to quit" feels like a lesson in character. Have I really become so quick to give up? So unaccustomed to exerting myself? Whether or not that's the case, I won't be quitting motherhood, and I know that will be good practice for other areas of my life too.

To Sum Up
It's been a lot. But it is getting better. Glancing over this post, I realize that it sounds negative, but that's not an accurate reflection of how life feels—anymore. I'm just catching up on the note in my phone that says "Blog," and most of the bullet points were added during weeks that felt more hard than good. However, Gabe and I have moved from staring at each other and talking about how we can never do this again to thinking that maybe we could. And that's progress.

Now that my phone's Blog note has been cleared out a bit, I think the next post will read less "suffering for the cause" and more "such a magical time," because it genuinely is :)

~Stephanie

Parenting Pillars: Listen to Your Body

Children are the ultimate masters of listening to their bodies. They arrive pre-wired to know when they feel full, hungry, sleepy, safe, dry, in pain. Most adults have lost this skill, for a host of reasons. I (as a completely inexperienced parent) think one of the best things we can do is simply not get in the way of a child's bodily intuition. With that in mind, here are the points/tenants/ideas that Gabe and I came up with and sorted into the Bodily Autonomy category.

1) Listen to your body.
This is a whole separate post, but I believe the body doesn't have an agenda, aside from keeping you safe. It's not trying to trick you or manipulate you. Interpreting the body's signals can be tricky, but it is not going to lie to you. Your body will tell you when you're safe or when something needs to change. You can trust it. I know my kids will probably get sick of hearing me say, "Listen to your body" when it comes to everything from eating to exercising to hugging.

2) Food/eating is neutral.
It seems like people have a lot of food-related issues these days: overeating, under-eating, eating for the wrong reasons, demonizing food groups. I'd like to keep food neutral in our home. Food is fuel. Different foods do different things for (and to) your body. I don't want to cajole the Tot into eating veggies and make dessert a special prize at the end. I don't want to cheer when she tries a new food. I want her to eat when she's hungry, stop when she's full, and try foods if she's interested in them. If we don't make food a big deal, maybe she can grow up without arbitrary or harmful associations.

I've noticed how well Gideon (age two and a half) listens to his body when it comes to hunger. If he isn't hungry, he doesn't want to eat. When his body tells him that he is hungry, he will literally stop mid-play and ask for a snack. He will also stop in the middle of eating his favorite dessert if his body tells him that he's finished, something I don't even think I'm capable of. What a gift to be able to listen to your body without your brain getting in the way and saying, "But it TASTES good and we don't get to have this every day." 

3) Allow risks, remove hazards.
I don't know who first coined this distinction, but I really like it. A "risk" is a challenge or uncertainty that a child has the ability to observe and assess for herself. A "hazard" is a danger that is hidden or beyond her skill level to handle. Climbing a tree is risky, but an unexpectedly rotten branch is hazardous. Building a treehouse is risky, but encountering a rusty nail is hazardous. Kids need to be free to explore, even if that means bopping their heads on a table or twisting an ankle when they leap off a platform. Experiencing the cause and effect of age-appropriate risks will help them become better risk-assessors, which ultimately leads to confidence, freedom, and better safety.

4) We don't talk about other people's bodies.
This one has a lot of nuance, a lot of asterisks. I do want Tot to be able to ask questions if someone looks different, whether because of race or physical handicaps or all kinds of things. I almost want to change this point to "We don't talk about other people's weight" or "shape," but I'd like it to extend to things like commenting negatively on acne or body hair, and people's private parts. Your body belongs to you (and God), and it's safe—and important—to become familiar with its parts and names and functions. But just like your body belongs to you, other people's bodies belong to them. That means we don't touch or talk about them unless it's appropriate.

I don't want is to normalize comments about bodies like "he doesn't need that cheeseburger, does he" or "she needs to hit the gym" or "even "she's lost so much weight, she looks great." Instead, I want to teach Tot that what bodies can DO and who people ARE are more important than what they look like. "Look how strong you are" or "See how kind she is" are the things I want Tot to grow up hearing.

5) Independent Play
I talked about this in this in the Mental Freedom post, and I don't have anything to add, except that it belongs in the Body category too. Let kids do their thing.

6) Baby-led Weaning
This concept isn't quite parallel to the others, but we want to do baby-led weaning. When Tot starts to show an interest in solid food (assuming she has teeth at that point), we plan to give her age-appropriate pieces of "real" food instead of going the baby food route.

7) Your body belongs to you (and God).
Unless it is for hygiene or safety reasons, no one has the RIGHT to touch you. No. One. You do not owe physical contact to your parents, your grandparents, your friends, or—one day—your significant other, and you don't have the right to touch other people without their permission either. In our house, there will be a rule during play that if anyone ever says "stop" or "no," we stop and our hands go up, immediately.

(I can see a world where a kid gets drunk on power with this rule, and rapidly goes back and forth with "stop," "go," "stop," "go" just to watch the control they have over a friend or parent. The natural consequence of that will probably be that the friend or parent tires of the game and doesn't want to play any more, and Miss Power Drunk is left bored for a bit.)

Tangent: I kind of have a problem with tickling for this reason. Sometimes bodies reflexively giggle even if we aren't having a good time or don't like something.* I have memories of being maybe two years old and someone at church picking me up and blowing raspberries on my bare tummy all the time. I remember my body laughing, but I HATED it. I tried to avoid this person as much as possible, but I was two, so I didn't have a lot of control over where I went. Because my body would laugh, everyone thought it was fine, and I didn't have language to express how uncomfortable it made me. I'm not saying I think tickling is wrong; I'm just saying that if a kid is squirming away or shying away from you, maybe listen to THAT message instead of their potentially involuntary laughter.

As we get familiar with Tot and she gets familiar with people close to her, we'll all learn each other and we will probably not have to ask permission for every little physical contact. However, people's physical boundaries can change depending on their mood or maturity level, and that is always okay. Your body belongs to you; their bodies belong to them. Just because Tot hugged you seven visits in a row does not mean she OWES you a hug on the eighth. If you assume hugs are always okay and go in for one and she says, "No thank you, not today," then two things are true: 1) you did nothing wrong, since there was strong precedent for that being okay, and 2) she did nothing wrong by asserting her physical preference today.

Now, if you get butt-hurt about it or make her feel guilty/ashamed for taking charge of her own body, THAT'S when you're wrong XD

How amazing would it be if we could raise kids who are baffled if someone acts like they're owed access to other people's bodies? How amazing would it be if we raised kids who were comfortable stating and enforcing their boundaries?

I hope we get to see how amazing it is :)

~Stephanie

*Mm, maybe this is a time when bodies can "lie"? I gotta think more about that.

Parenting Pillars: Mental Freedom

Today I attempt to process my thoughts on the "Mental Freedom" category of Gabe's and my fledgling parenting philosophy. When we went away for our planning weekend, we brainstormed a bunch of ideas that were important to us and then sorted them into four different categories: healthy religion, listening to your body, mental freedom, and emotional intelligence. These are the ideas that got sorted into the Mental Freedom list, but I think there's going to be some overlap. For example, I know "Independent play" will also show up in the Listen to Your Body category.

1) Your boundaries matter.
A lot of the Mental Freedom bullet points below have roots in the idea of boundaries. You might remember my whole boundaries journey and how groundbreaking that was for me. It's something I want to pass on to our kids.

I don't know what that will look like. Especially at first, I imagine kids will need adults to draw all the boundaries for them, to teach them what healthy boundaries look like as opposed to ones born out of paranoia or spite. But as soon as it makes sense, I want to start respecting my kids' boundaries. I want them to know that their voice matters. With practice, I hope their boundaries will grow to be wise and reasonable and held with neither bitterness nor guilt.

2) Imagination
I'm not sure if imagination is something that can be taught, but I definitely think it's something that can be squashed or stunted. Our goal is not to squash or stunt, and to encourage our children in exploring worlds, asking questions, and not being afraid to play pretend.

3) Reading
Gabe and I love to read, and believe so strongly in the power of stories. (You can actually hear me ranting about this subject on an Everyday Educator podcast episode here.) Even if our kids don't grow up to be avid readers, we want to foster a family culture of stories and talking about stories.

4) Independent play
Ah, independent play. My personal Achilles heel XD I don't know if it's because I'm cripplingly extroverted or what, but I would not consider myself good at independent play, and it's a skill we want to develop in our children. Not only should it help them grow in confidence, but it should also make life a little easier for us as parents if we don't have to entertain our kids all day.

When kids are older, "independent play" will probably look like letting them get bored enough to devise games on their own, but when they're infants and toddlers, independent play looks like butting out. Don't narrate what they're doing 24/7. Don't obsessively point out cause and effect as if they don't have eyes and a brain of their own. Don't tell or show them how to use a new toy—let them figure it out. When adults play with kids in a prescriptive way, it can stunt the child's creativity and confidence. Just let them figure it out. Let them use the toy "wrong." If they're playing with it, how is that "wrong"?

5) There are different types of intelligence.
This is one principle that Gabe has had to help me with, because if there's one thing I've always been sure of, it's that some people are stupid. However, Gabe flat out disagrees, and I think he's right. Gabe believes that everyone has some type of intelligence, and that every type is valuable and worthy of respect. He's done a little bit of research, and science backs this up. Howard Gardner identified seven types of intelligence: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal. I think society tends to glorify linguistic and logical, labeling everyone else as—at worst—stupid, or—at best—maybe "street smart."

We want to raise kids who know they are intelligent in some way, but—even more importantly—kids who know that everyone they interact with is also intelligent in some way. We want to raise kids who see the value of other people, encourage them in their strengths, and support them in their weaknesses. If we have a child who's gifted in a socially glorified type of intelligence, we don't want that to be a license to look down on anyone else. Likewise, if linguistic or logical intelligence isn't the way God has gifted our child, we don't want her to ever feel "less than" because of that—because she isn't. 

6) Sharing is a choice.
Think about sharing with peers as an adult. If you're at a conference taking notes and someone takes your pen from you or says, "I want a turn," what would your reaction be?

Maybe, "I'm sorry, I'm using it right now" or "I'm sorry, but this is my pen. Do you have one of your own?" Imagine the conference leader coming over and saying, "No, you have to share. Give that person your pen."

Absurd. Adults aren't forced to share things that belong to them against their will. In fact, that can be kind of a dangerous precedent. You probably know someone (or ARE someone) who gives away too much of themselves or lets others use their things when it makes them sad or uncomfortable—maybe even their own bodies.

Sharing is important. It teaches patience, self-sacrifice, and how to engage in the give-and-take that makes the world go 'round. But if we force children to share in the wrong way, I think it sends a bad message.

If a child is actively playing with something that belongs to her, it's her turn—until she decides to stop. She is not morally obligated to interrupt what she's doing to make someone else happy. If it's a toy that belongs to a friend or the whole family, then the child doesn't "own" it, and when she's finished it's appropriate to let others use it too. But if it's a toy that's special to her, she may choose not to share it even when she isn't using it. We do this as adults all the time. Just because I'm not wearing my favorite ring that Nana gave me doesn't mean I have to let a friend borrow it.

And it goes both ways. If someone else is playing with a toy, your child might have to wait a long time for her turn, and if it's someone's special toy, she may never get to use it. Sharing is caring, sure. But having and respecting boundaries is caring too.

7) You can do hard things.
All of this is hard. But one mantra that we want to teach our kids from Day 1 is that they can do hard things.

When Gideon, my nephew, was about fourteen months old, I got to hang out with him one-on-one and I said something about him being strong. He looked at me and said, "What is that?" and I paused because it felt like an important moment of definition. I wanted him to know that there are different kinds of strong, that the word doesn't just mean physical prowess, but I knew I had to tell him something simple enough to be useful for his little toddler brain. After a second I said, "If you are 'strong,' that means you can do hard things," and that's a definition I've continued to feel good about.

~Stephanie

I'm Glad God Made Us Wait

In January 2024, I wrote a post called The Fourth Heartbreak Continues. In it, I reference the post I made in January of 2020 where I processed how heartbroken I was to be called to move away from Raleigh, but I knew that I could trust God's plan. In Heartbreak Continues, I admitted that I still didn't know why God had upended our Raleigh life, and that I was actually pretty bitter about it.

I definitely didn't know why we weren't getting pregnant. I looked around and people were getting pregnant by accident, or getting pregnant despite eating like garbage, or getting pregnant despite never moving their bodies. It honestly didn't make me angry or sad, it just confused me. Gabe and I were physically healthy (doctor-confirmed) and financially stable, had a healthy marriage, and I was dedicated to eating well and exercising, while being careful to eat enough calories and not put too much stress on my body. I didn't drink alcohol or caffeine, and I ate weird stuff like oysters and roasted tomatoes that were supposed to help with fertility.

It didn't feel RATIONAL, like writing 2 + 2 = 4 on a math test and having it marked "wrong." I was more indignant than sad, more confused than angry.

Even more confusingly, I was quite happy the way things were. I have a draft of a post called "Pregnancy Ambivalence" that will probably never see the light of day now, but in it I talked about how I was 100% certain that I wanted kids—however, if it weren't for a biological clock, I wouldn't necessarily want them NOW. I loved having a clean house and going on random roadtrips and getting sleep and working on the Fire Faery Story and not being interrupted when I talked to Gabe and eating out on a whim and never having to get a sitter. I was really happy, but due to the aforementioned biological clock, I was also under a lot of pressure to have kids ASAP, because I really, REALLY did want kids.

It was all very confusing—lots of moving pieces, lots of mixed feelings. We prayed to get pregnant for years, and I know other people were praying with us. But nothing happened, and I couldn't understand why.

I did trust God, and not because I was a good Christian girl who had a lot of faith, but because God had been extremely kind in letting me see a lot of past answers to "why not right now?" Maybe he knows how much I need proof, but he eventually allowed me to see why I didn't get into Wake Forest, why my high school boyfriend and I didn't work out, why Gabe and I didn't start dating sooner, etc. I really did trust that if Gabe and I weren't having kids, God had a good reason.

But what the hell was it?!

Well, we are finally pregnant, and God has been kind enough to open my mind to some small reasons and one BIG reason why now is a better time.

Small Reason 1: We have a house.
Yes, we were financially stable before, but where were we gonna put a baby in the apartment? I have no doubt we would've figured it out, but our apartment was FULL. We did not have an extra bedroom. What we did have? A third-story climb to reach our front door and neighbors from Hell on four sides.

Small Reason 2: I got to do my big 30th birthday beach trip.
That was probably the most magical trip of my entire life, and it would have been an ordeal with a baby or toddler. We would have had to either find childcare for an entire week or bring the kid with us, which would have altered the vibe in all kinds of ways I wouldn't have wanted.

Small Reason 3: I'm medicated.
Depression is still a struggle, but before medication, I was...becoming next to useless. There's no way I could have taken good care of a baby or toddler when there were weeks where I couldn't get out of bed, brush my own teeth, or eat my own meals. I have hard days now, but I don't have a lot of impossible days.

Small Reason 4: I've paused work on the Fire Faery Story.
To be honest, this might be more accurately added to a list of "HOW we finally got pregnant" instead of "why." The Fire Faery Story takes  e v e r y t h i n g  I have. All of me. Actually, it clearly takes MORE than what I have, because it's still not done yet. It's basically my first child, and I think I can only gestate one baby at a time. For years I chose the FFS, but when I took a YEAR off...my mind and body finally had room for a human baby.

Small Reason 5: I didn't need or enjoy my home office.
For the first time ever, in the new house I had a whole room dedicated to my work. It was fun to decorate it and hang up art that was all about me...but I didn't actually like being in there. It was the longest possible walk from the living room and kitchen. I felt kinda marooned and would actually avoid working in there, instead opting for the kitchen table or couch.

Small Reason 6: We didn't know what to do with "the big room."
Most of our second floor is a loft/bonus room. We kicked around a lot of ideas about what to do with it, but none of them inspired us. The space was a purposeless void—until we needed a nursery and everything clicked: we could integrate my office and all the bookshelves into the big room. We did it over Martin Luther King Jr. Day and oh. my. GOSH. This is EXACTLY what the big room was meant to be! It looks like a real room now, and I actually love working in the space. It's big enough that when Tot gets older, she can easily play in the room while I work.

Small Reason 7: I got a raise.
Boy, is that divine timing, especially since I'll be taking some time off when the Tot is born.

Small Reason 8: I can suddenly swallow pills?
I dunno. I've always choked on anything bigger than, like, a single sprinkle, but for some reason about six months ago my body was like, "Oh, you mean swallow the pill. Like food," and now everything is better.

The Big Reason: Gabe and I are completely different people than we were five years ago.
When we first started trying to get pregnant, my goal would've been to raise smart, tough kids. I didn't know there was a difference between transparency and vulnerability. I didn't know anything about boundaries or attachment theory. I probably would've believed in spanking my kids. My plan for tantrums would've been simply to cut them off, forbid them. I knew nothing about child psychology or development.

Now I'm obviously no child psychologist or parenting expert, but holy cow am I glad Past Me didn't have kids.

My goal is no longer to raise smart, tough kids. My goal is raise to raise kind, well-regulated kids. My goal is to be a parent who apologizes, and takes responsibility for her own emotions, and makes her kids feel seen.

I know Gabe and I aren't finished growing, and 2035 Stephanie will look back on Now Me and have a lot of notes. But I cannot believe I'm fortunate enough to be able to say,

"God, I think I'm finally starting to get it. Thank you for making us wait."

~Stephanie

The Riskiest Post to Date

I am cripplingly aware that the "best parents" are people who don't have kids yet, which makes me self-conscious/embarrassed/hesitant to post anything parenting- or baby-related that Gabe and I have been talking about. We don't actually know what we're doing, and the likelihood is so high that I'm setting myself to fail or to write things that will discourage me when I look back on them years later.

Since I was twelve, I've kept a Valentine's Day Journal where I chronicle each Valentine's Day, and in 2020, I started saying, "Maybe this is the last Valentine's Day just the two of us!" and every year, I'd look back on that, still childless, and feel bitter and discouraged. If I now put into writing our goals and plans and hopes and parenting theories, then I have a checklist with which to give myself a failing grade in as little as 12–24 months (not to mention people often feel they have the right to critique, and that's exhausting).

However. This blog is called "Becoming Me," and since its inception in 2019, it has been the place where I record the thoughts I'm having and changes I'm making with regard to evolving as a person. Upgrading to "Mom" is probably THE BIGGEST change I'm ever likely to make. It would be insane not to process my thoughts and struggles here.

So, here I go, opening myself up to critique from all of y'all and, even worse, Future Me.

Gabe and I went away last weekend to plan: books to read, birth plan, courses to take, boundaries that are important to us, parenting ideas, etc. Most of that doesn't warrant a lot of unpacking. The books we ordered were Good Inside; Boundaries in Marriage; Hunt, Gather, Parent; and Simplicity Parenting. The birth plan basically boils down "I want to be left alone and given the freedom to listen to my body." The courses we signed up for are "Built to Birth," a Red Cross infant CPR class, and a giant on-demand course called Parent Prerequisite that has videos on everything you could possibly want the first year.

The more interesting, fun, and risky conversations surrounded boundaries that are important to us, and our general stab at parenting philosophy. I think this post will be about the second one.

The Airbnb where we stayed had a fire pit and s'mores supplies, so we sat by the fire, ate, and brainstormed on paper. No goal, limits, or sorting at first, just things that were important to us or phrases that felt foundational. The page became littered with things like "you are loved," "independent play," "psychologically, meltdowns cannot be teachable moments," and "listen to your body." It was fun letting our minds unfurl and seeing where we agreed or brought something brand-new to the conversation.

After brainstorming and talking, we took some time by ourselves to take a break, read, whatever. I ended up sorting the brainstorm session into four categories, which are like a draft of our parenting pillars/philosophy. It is those that I'm going to record here, knowing that we know nothing 🤣

Healthy Religion
- You are loved.
- God is powerful and mysterious.
- God works through people.
- Know thyself.
- "God made you special, and he loves you very much."

Listen to Your Body
- Independent play
- Baby-led weaning
- Food/eating is neutral.
- Allow risks, remove hazards.
- We don't talk about other people's bodies.
- Your body belongs to you (and God).

Mental Freedom
- Your boundaries matter.
- Imagination
- Reading
- Independent play
- There are different types of intelligence.
- Sharing is a choice.
- You can do hard things.

Emotional Intelligence
- Regulation tools
- Meltdowns are not teachable moments.
- You can be mad, but you can't be mean.
- All feelings are welcome; all behaviors are not.
- Everyone is responsible for their own feelings.

I'm literally sweating putting all this out there XD Which, I know, is a choice. Like, I could just not say any of this out loud.

*stares at the wall and nods*

But here we are.

My plan is to write a post about each of the four categories to help myself think through what I mean. There's also the added benefit that, if you're reading this, we want you in our baby's life, and being on the same page can only make that richer and smoother for everyone ☺️

Here's to publicly diving into a sea of ignorance and naïveté. *raises bottle of coconut Bai water*

~Stephanie