Antepartum

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful wedding. Before and even after said wedding, the bride and groom were set on waiting to grow their family until after their first anniversary. After all, they were already a family of three (prince Rafe Henry!), and there was enough to navigate as it was, without the adage of nappies, Puffs, vomit, and diarrhea.

But, God had a different idea.

After a few weeks of blissful marriage (with the occasional meltdown from the 4 year old), a thought began to form in the bride's head. Small at first, she looked for the source of where this thought could be coming from, and a quiet whisper confirmed that heaven was in the details. This thought grew with each passing week, until it became a full grown idea - one that the bride could no longer keep to herself, and finally had to confide in her groom (#instadad, #recentbachelor). Hesitations about sharing this idea were quickly thrown out the window when it became clear that the groom had been growing the very same idea in his head - and the rest, is history.

But not quite.

Lee and I quickly became aware that our family needed to grow, and being the planners that we are, it was decided that being on maternity leave the following summer would be so lovely. Although my past experience pointed to my body being particularly fertile, I don't take that gift for granted one bit. The fact that we were able to get pregnant, when we planned to get pregnant, was a blessing. I know there are so many who ache for this gift, and my heart is with them.

It took about two weeks for me to realize we were pregnant, and another week or two for my body to begin reflecting the process - a.k.a, morning sickness (or just sickness- we know it doesn't just happen in the morning!). The worst I'd ever had, and more consistent than I thought possible. The morning sickness would persist up until the very week I delivered Gray, and I've never been more grateful in my life to crack my body open in order to get rid of the constant nausea and vomiting.

In addition to the sickness, I felt immense sadness. Not because I was gaining weight, or we were entering the winter. Not because I was anxious about caring for two children instead of one, or balancing work and motherhood. I was just, depressed. It took a while for me to identify exactly what was happening to me - on the outside, everything in my life was going so well. I did feel quite a bit of guilt about this- why did I feel this way, when I had a loving son and husband, family, a great job, and great friends. I began to withdraw from friends and activities that used to bring a lot of joy. I knew that I wasn't fully engaged and participating in my life, and because of that I felt worthless. I had no appetite, no cravings, no desire for anything. There were mornings, too many mornings, where I'd wake up, throw up, go through the motions of showering and dressing, try to have a little breakfast, and then... I couldn't do it any more. I'd lay back in my bed and just sob, unable to even comprehend getting through the rest of the day. There were many nights like this as well, where I would crawl into bed still fully dressed from the day, and just hope to disappear underneath the covers.

I didn't really know how to handle my feelings, and I definitely know I didn't handle it well. From what I've researched and discussed with my doctor, I experienced antepartum depression. I'm grateful for all the wonderful women who speak out on postpartum, and do great work by shining a light on the emotionally taxing experience of becoming a mother. And I suppose this is my way of doing the same for antepartum depression. It's a scary thing to share, because in no way do I want to come off as ungrateful for the gift of pregnancy and the birth of my beautiful Gray. Getting him here, however, consisted of 9 very suffocating and dark months.

The time after having Gray has consisted of a lot of healing, introspection, and patience. I did not rush getting back to 'normal', because after the experiences of the pregnancy, I didn't want to be the old Paige- I wanted to be a new one, someone with a lot more empathy and love for those around me, silently struggling in their own way. I listened to an amazing episode on Oprah Winfrey's 'Super Soul Conversations' podcast where the interviewee talked about how a 'comeback' is not a go-back - because once we've been through an experience that has stretched us, tried us, and humbled us - we can't be the same person we were before. Our hope is, that we are better.

In return for the experience of bringing Gray into this world, he has rewarded us all with his sweet, tender, and loving personality. For me, motherhood is my greatest joy, my children are my constant teachers. Though not how we thought our first year of marriage would go, we find a new reason each day for why Gray needed to come to our family when he did.

"Those who leave everything in God's hands will eventually see God's hands in everything."

paige

A Season of Joy

As a little girl who poured over Shakespeare, Anne of Green Gables, Pride and Prejudice and other Jane Austen treasures; finding 'the one' was a frequent day dream.

How would I meet my knight in shining armor, when would I know he was my one and only- my Danny Zuko, my Mr. Darcy, my King Arthur.

It was the hardest paradigm to alter as I fell in and out of love more than once in my life. What was I doing wrong? The infatuation was there, the romantic music was in the background, my head felt fuzzy and my heart skipped so many beats. But with each broken relationship, I moved farther and farther away from that young girl dream of falling in love, forever & happily ever after, just once.

About two years ago, I hit a low. Love was not working in my favor, and prospects were seeming quite bleak. This is not to say that every date I had was a hit & miss... but the good catches were few and far between, and a technical difficulty always seemed to pop up. I became happy & content with the single life, purchasing really expensive Taylor Swift floor tickets, filling my weekends on adventures with Rafe, and with books & friends & temple trips on weekends he wasn't with me, and just putting the dating life on the back-burner.

In January of 2015, I wrote in my journal what turned out to be a pretty prophetic statement:
"Maybe after a year of being kicked in the butt each day, it's our time for a season of joy."

 That season of joy came when Lee Essig walked into our lives. This random stranger on Instagram who stalked my account & blog, and then asked me out in front of the entire audience of MormonChannel followers. He was either crazy or committed to pursuing a relationship- thankfully it was the latter.

Lee was (and still is!) the exact kind of patient, loving man that Rafe & I needed. The exact season of joy that we were looking for. Though we have our ups & downs, meeting & marrying this wonderful man has ended up being worth every trial, heartache, and all the tears and scoops of ice cream.

Maybe you'll fall in love once, maybe you'll fall in love a thousand times. But when you fall in love for the last time, it will be the most amazing time.
-paige

Another Year Older

This is what I wrote on January 1st about turning 25 this year:

"I'm going to be a quarter of a century old in just a few short months. I really do love getting older. I don't like saying numbers out loud, but I do love myself a lot more the older I get. A favorite line from a song is, "I'm not afraid of anything, be it growing old or going out of style." I really look forward to the day my hair is grey and I'm wearing stretchy pants right under my chest with a plaid shirt tucked in and a vest over the whole ensemble with slip-on shoes that could pass as slippers and gold chunky jewelry that looks like it came out of a dress-up box."

Because that's what grandma's look like to me, anyway.

I turned 25. 

I think it was one of the better birthdays in my life, Rafe and I spent the day in Disneyland, I got a pin and random lovely strangers told me Happy Birthday. And I just, didn't have any drama going on. Which was really nice. Maybe after a year of being kicked in the butt each day, it's our time for a season of joy. 

Running Out of Breath

(written about 7  months ago)
I may have mentioned this before on the blog, but if not then there is certainly an Instagram post about it.

I started to run back in January.

I know, New Years Goals are the greatest.

But I think what helped me keep with this goal, now six months later, is that it really wasn't a numbers goal. It was a mental health goal. Having been exposed to some extremely unhealthy situations in life, and not really having the tools to deal with them, I was feeling ill. My emotions impacted my physical and mental health- one thing could send me into deep depression, and another could unsettle me so much that I didn't eat for weeks. #nothealthy

Now, after having a few rather healthy months- no depression that sets in for weeks at a time - I'm finally able to look at what I'm doing while I run. Before, I just ran and ran till it hurt and placed all my built up anger and frustration and feelings of injustice on the pavement or treadmill. Don't get me wrong- I still do that - but I'm able to appreciate more the growth I have seen since I started running. Before, a mile was just a super-star level achievement. Now, it's half a warm up. Stretch goals may be intimidating, but I've begun to really understand what they mean by, "It's not your body giving up, it's your mind giving in."

And I've been able to apply it to my life. (#ofcourse)

You start a day with God. Eyes open, realization hits that your alarm is going off far too early than you want yet again, and a new day is beginning. Reaching for the phone to check the time... and Facebook...and Instagram... and that Pinterest notification.... oh and work emails, random texts from loving friends who are watching out for you, and before you know it you need to start your day- and it's time for a prayer. Sometimes I get going on a run and I'm so concerned about making it out of my neighborhood streets so that no one sees me, or getting my pace started right away, that I forget to take it slow and easy- to stretch, make sure shoelaces are tied and the hair that you thought was really cute with the short hair cut but now is driving you nuts in the grow out stage is out of your face. You breath, you take a few steps... a few more... and then you're off. Finding new roads to go down to help gain those extra miles, listening to song after song and thinking all the thoughts.

Sometimes it has literally taken everything in me to go the extra mile. There are times I want to give up, I want to stop, I want to turn around and go back to the days where I just sat on my couch and watched Pride & Prejudice over and over and over again.... okay, I still do that, but it's fine. I'm healthy now, guys. 

Sometimes God asks us to go the extra mile. He asks us to do things we just don't feel we can do (like raise a son who is just the most stubborn and independent person ever... oh wait I just described myself #karma) And it is easy to give up. The world makes it easy to give up, to be mediocre.

It's harder to be stronger, and it is worth it to go farther.

Today (I'm sorry, yesterday) I woke up and felt the Spirit so present and so strongly. The day went well, no major setbacks, but by bed time I realized that I am waging an uphill battle. It's exhausting. I want to give up, I want to go back to the days where I just ate three-leaf clovers at the bus stop and danced the Macarena at all-girl birthday parties, where I felt really smart in school because I was at a higher reading level than my peers, acing quizzes and tests, and watching Wishbone in my spare time. That was where I was comfortable.

We aren't growing unless we are uncomfortable, our time won't improve unless we breath a little heavier and pick up our feet a little quicker. Once you've practiced enough, the hardest of battles are now just warm-ups, a little 10 question review to make sure you remember the lessons from the last trial, and can step into the next exam with the proper preparation. I keep looking for a season of peace in my life, but every time some new road bump appears, it's just a reminder that without the trials, without the struggle, I wouldn't lean on God as much as I need to. He places me in uncomfortable situations so that I can be comfortable in trusting Him. 

God lives, our Savior loves us, and this life is worth it.

Single Mamma Dating

I really do love the idea of blogging, and I can sit and think on a whole topic to blog about, and then by the end of the thought I've decided it's either too personal, too boring, or just too dull to publish on such a public platform.

But hey, you really don't have to be reading this if you don't want to. So here goes.

Single mamma dating.

I wish there was a college course that you could take on this subject. Because I really could have used the help when I jumped back into the dating world 3 and a half years ago, with a 7 month old little prince. It's definitely been one of the rougher rides in life, and I'm still working through all the curveballs that get thrown. However I thought for this evening that I would share one of the funnier dates I've had as a single mother.

So, once upon a time...

A date night was feeling much needed between my significant other and I. Our schedules being as they were, there was little time afforded for those precious alone moments most married couples never obtain. As it was a school night, we determined a babysitter would not be the best choice, so instead a date suited to a toddler was planned. My sweetheart, always eager to create a fun evening for my son, asked if he could be the one to choose which park we would go to - he put thought into which playground would be best, the plan was set, and we looked forward to the time we would have together that evening.

Turns out, it would have been better to leave the toddler at home with a babysitter.

Little man was tired when I picked him up after a day of work, and quickly fell asleep on the ride down south. This was the first sign of trouble, as a cardinal rule of child rearing is - let sleeping toddlers lie. But, being foolish and in love, I moved blindly on with the plans for the evening, optimistic that all would work out.

We sat in the parking lot of the park area for about an hour, letting little man continue his twilight nap and hoping if he woke up of his own accord, the wake-up tantrum would be avoided. 

Twas' not to be.

He did wake up of his own accord, but from the moment his eyes opened the crank-fest began. Feet thrashing, whining, tears - you know what I'm speaking of, mamma's. I used a quiet voice, I rubbed his little legs, tried to talk about the fun things we would be able to do at the park - all to no avail. My next brilliant idea was to pick him up and hold him on my lap. Well, at the time we were potty training, and it was especially difficult for little man to maintain control of his bladder whenever he became emotional (why I didn't think of this before I let him sit on my lap, I'll never know). But since we know this story is supposed to be humorous, you can guess what happened next. I sat next to my handsome date, a crying toddler on my lap, and before I knew what was happening that crying toddler also began peeing on me. 

What was a mamma to do?

No change of clothes, a few pathetic wipes, and a nice dark wet spot on faded jeans. To say I was flustered would be an understatement. So many thoughts going on in my head... do I brush it off with a laugh? Be the cool mom who isn't even phased by a little pee? Do a lay down the law for a toddler who is just really unsettled by waking up in a different place than where he fell asleep, and head home? Cancel the whole evening because of a little bodily fluid?

Well, I decided to soldier on. Calmed the little man down, helped him become interested in the playground; my sweetheart and I started putting a little more space between ourselves and my son so that he could learn to be more independent and have more room for his imagination to grow and all that other child rearing advice the French give. After a few minutes he had made friends with the other children, and the date seemed to be saved. I remained an arm's length away from my significant other to give him the opportunity to deny knowing the frazzled mother with pee all down her pants, and the evening seemed to be heading in a peaceful and lovely direction.

That is until it took another completely unexpected and very expensive twist.

From out of the corner of our eyes, little man seemed to lose his balance on the playground and fall face down into the wood-chipped ground of the park. He began to cry (yes, more crying) and when we came to his side I could see that he had landed on top of his arm. After picking him up and brushing him off, he was favoring his arm but I was still able to stretch it out and move it around without him making much of a fuss. His tears didn't stop, and we decided to move on with the remainder of the evening and head to the snow cone shack - because when has sugar not worked on a cranky child?

As we sat at the snow cone shack, little man would let out a few cries about his arm, but as soon as the spoon full of sugar ice was brought up to his mouth his complaints stopped and all was well with the world.

And so it was that the night wrapped up with us thinking there was no extended harm from the fall, and my pants had dried slightly and the wet mark at least was no longer there. It wouldn't be until we drove home and little man couldn't lift up his arm to get into pajamas that I realized a trip to the emergency room may be necessary. At around 10 PM that evening I checked little man into the ER, waited an eternity to be seen by the doctor, had x-rays taken, and received the diagnosis that he had fractured his arm. 

Child pees all over you, has a tantrum, and breaks his arm. Best date night ever.

 .

Thank goodness the man I am dating has a strong constitution. And thank goodness for insurance.

Struggling

I'm a sinner working on her sainthood

I hope that is clear.

Having a testimony of Jesus Christ, His Gospel, and the Plan of Salvation is a beautiful thing. It brings comfort in times of sorrow, companionship during the lonely hours, and hope in the darkest of nights. 

However.

That darn natural man.

Sometimes he creeps up and before I can even realize or recognize the natural man, I am in this swamp of icky green goo, wadding through emotions and feelings that are anything but hopeful or comforting. I start to question - a lot. I begin to doubt, despair, and demand answers to questions I frankly do not deserve in that moment, because I am seeking them in a completely un-Christ like way. 

Why am I failing as a mother.

Why am I failing as a daughter.

Why am I failing as a sister.

Why am I failing as a leader.

Why am I failing as a friend.

Why am I failing as a person.

What the what.

If you find yourself in this icky swamp, get down on your knees for a nice long conversation with Heavenly Father, grab a sleeve of Oreo's and crack open those scriptures. 

"For the natural man is an enemy to God; and has been FROM THE FALL OF ADAM, and WILL BE, for ever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the ATONEMENT OF CHRIST the LORD, and becometh as a child, submissive; meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father."

There is a lot in this verse. This is what I took from it, piece by piece.

1) this natural man is an enemy to the person I have CHOSEN to follow. If I was not a follow of God, then this natural man and I could be great friends (let's be honest, this natural man was a very good friend for a few years there)

2) this natural man has been around a long time

a. he's had a lot of practice 

b. I'm not the first person to deal with this natural man

3) this natural man is going to be around. for a while. like the cow lick you were born with.

4) this natural man needs to yield. he needs to give way, he needs to slow down and look for the Holy Spirit to take control

4) any time it says becometh- we are not told to be. we are told to become. we are a work in progress.

5) the Atonement. There never will be enough said on that topic as a whole, but in this context, just as a shout out- nuff' said.

6) If we are submissive to the Lord (the Lord, the Lord, the Lord), if we are meek, if we are humble, if we are patient- if we are all those things, our hearts cannot help but be full of love. We cannot help but to submit to our loving Heavenly Father. 

The things our God sees fit to inflict upon us may seem really, really, really tough. Like, cannot get a head above water, gasping for air tough. Did He really think I was strong enough to endure the nature of inflictions I have seen in my life? For real? Is this really the mortal experience that I yearned for - the plan that made me clap for joy all those eons ago?

It is.

I've let the natural man wage some pretty intense battles recently. I've let him tell me I don't deserve blessings, I don't deserve truths, I don't deserve peace. And if I yield to the natural man - I really don't. But I've chosen God. I've chosen His side. I've knelt in prayer, turned my thoughts, my heart, my tears and grief and pain over to Him. And He has made it worth it. He is helping me to become.

We have hard decisions to make, and the natural man would love nothing more than to make us believe and then deliver less than what we deserve. But as I made my pro/con list regarding certain personal topics, I could trace the cons back to exactly what the natural man would tell me, and the pros to exactly what Heavenly Father would tell me. I realized I had heard and recognized the Spirit in my search for answers, and the natural man poked around my spiritual bubble enough until he found a soft point, raised his dagger high and struck real hard. 

Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith. And kick that natural man to the curb. Cause ain't no sinner working to be a saint got time for that.

*I would just like to call out that while writing this post, my child wet the bed for the second time this weekend, and the second time today. No one ever said the blessings of doing good things would be immediate. Maybe I'll be blessed with a urine-free sleep tomorrow night. But if not, no worries. 

God's in charge.*

Nanny

Nanny,

My earliest memories of you, I am unable to distinguish between the years, or what age I may have been. The memories are warm, beginning with Christmas seasons flying and driving through snow covered ferns and enjoying festive dinners in the home with a winding stair case- the cousins and I sliding down on our bellies, not worrying about the rug burn we would feel later. There were the warm summer days in PEI, running back and forth from the water to where you sat on the beach, always a sun hat placed delicately on your soft red curls.

Visiting Halifax was always my favorite. Whether getting picked up at the airport by Grandpa, or finally driving up to your street after hours of a drive, we would walk in, take off our shoes, and head up the stairs where you were waiting on your bed, greeting us with a kiss and a "hello". 

Your home was always magical. I could walk through the living room for days, or sit and gaze at the pictures on the kitchen walls for hours. The thick wooden china cabinet, filled with sweet treasures, wooden ducks placed along the stairs, the little downtown Halifax homes laid out perfectly along the mantle, all created a beautiful world that I felt so tickled to be a part of. During our visits, It was the stories I loved most- whether it was you tucking Maddie, Jed and I into bed and sharing stories of Nettie May and the world way back when, or through story telling, teaching Maddie and I how to draw, using your own outlines of fairies and nymphs, mushroom stools and magical forests to help. On one particular visit, you helped us fashion clothing for our barbies using simple colored paper and tape. I dont know that I've ever enjoyed playing barbies with my sister more than I did on that visit.

For my siblings and I, though miles apart we always felt you near. You were the first one to call each birthday, a card always in the mail. Where I preferred day dreaming and reading to boys and shopping, what I knew of you and what my mom told me about your interests, I always felt like we were kindred spirits. My love of the arts and Shakespeare was something we could always share, and every play or book I read, I looked forward to the talks we could have on each. Though we did not see each other often, I could always picture you sitting in your kitchen, sketching your beaches, mushrooms, flowers, fairies and more- listening to The Phantom of the Opera or recordings of our own voices that we had sent to you.

Our last visit together, you seemed to wonder if I was bored, but my only hope was for the opportunity to sit at the foot of your bed, listen to your voice, and hear your stories. To me, grandma, you are the loveliest and classiest of women. With your sharp mind and opinions, your beautiful library of books, you were an example of what a woman should be- independent in her thinking, constantly learning, and devoted to her family. I love you with all my heart. 

The loss felt now is great, But I am filled with so much joy when I think of the family you are now with in Heaven, the people whose lives you told stories of, and a Savior who has borne every pain you have suffered- and is now able to show you just how marvelous you are. 

You have meant more to me than I ever could express, and your work here on earth, If nothing else, has been to be my beautiful Nanny MacIntyre. I will ever hold your memory close in my heart, and because of our Savior Jesus Christ, I look forward with hope of being reunited once more, forever to live together in love and eternal joy. I love you forever.

And with your final heartbeat

Kiss the world goodbye

Then go in peace and laugh on glory's side

And fly to Jesus

Fly to Jesus

Fly to Jesus and live