In honor of the pending new year, I’ve decided to write myself a few lists. A list has many uses, and I intend to exploit them all. Today’s list is handy for:

Being Reflective
or
“a list of things that surprised me last year”

1. I like being at my house. You might even call me a homebody. Previous to this year, I never would have assigned myself such a, shall we say, introverted nomenclature. And don’t get me wrong, I still love a raucous party, but GOOD GOLLY I love quiet days at my house with my kid and my husband and a couple of sandwiches. Which begs us to examine this observance: Am I getting old?

2. Being pregnant was harder than giving birth. Like, a thousand times harder. I’ve always had it switched around in my head, that pregnancy would be this tender moment in time between me and my unborn child, back-lit by some sort of holy glow, and childbirth a hard fought war of vaginal walls and anguished, sweaty cursing. Nay, I tell you. Nay. Pregnancy is 20 weeks of excitement, centered around one exhilarating gender reveal ultrasound, followed by 18 more weeks of rapid weight gain off set by hormonal imbalance and reclusive tendencies, wrapped up with 2 weeks of ungodly torturous sleepless nights of ‘fake labor.’
BUT THEN.
Then you go through labor. Then you have contractions that are actually DOING something, and then you get to push that baby right on out, that glorious slippery moment when you become a mom, not just a round tub of impatience and stretch marks. There’s a pretty clear moment in our lives when we begin to long for children; for some people that means getting pregnant, for some it means adoption, and for some it might mean waiting and waiting. But from here? From where I’m standing? None of it really matters once you hold that kid in your arms. It is the end all of end all of shout out loud joy.

16 weeks: still fun

20 weeks: yay it’s a girl!

27 weeks: oh, pregnancy is just adorable, huh?

38 weeks: this is for real.

39 weeks: i will be pregnant forever.

oh hey Clara Horney. hey. we love you.

3. Sam is a really good dad. I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming. Sam’s parents raised all of their kids to be kind, loving people, especially towards children. But for some reason I always imagined myself as the “main” parent around here, the one who would sort of take charge in the child-rearing department (especially with a newborn.) But it turns out that Samuel is one hell of a father. A diaper changing, bath giving, song singing, bounce to sleep kind of a guy who makes me proud every day. He doesn’t just love our baby; he loves being a daddy. I mean, YUM, you know what I’m saying?

4. Being a mom is important. Honestly, having a baby seemed like a step down for any ambition I had in my life. I figured it was a necessary demotion in order to build our family, and someday I’d get right back into the thick of making a real difference in the world. But let me tell you- when you are a mom, you are changing the world. I am amazed when I look around at my friends and family as they struggle to raise obedient kids who have compassion and big dreams. We are working to give the world the best gift we have to offer: a generation of people who want to do what is right. Moms and Dads have an important job, and it is not to be taken lightly. Take heart, my friends! These days are short and fast and ours for the taking!

So says the girl in the sailor suit down there.

Tomorrow’s list: Stuff I could’ve done better. 

Well, well. Here we are, four months into your life.
Four months.
122 days.
2, 928 hours.

It’s incredible, really. One year ago I was sitting in this very kitchen, dreaming and dreaming of you. Worrying. Wondering. You were growing a heart, and my heart was growing (along with my belly). I couldn’t imagine a life with you in it, this tiny baby heart full of my own blood and life.

The new year shot off and suddenly I was very, very pregnant. From my round face to my tired feet and all the swollen parts in between, I was with child.
  I was with you, child.
And then, dear daughter, it was time. My breath caught and my muscles did miracles they never knew before, and our whole world burst with joy at your teeny tiny arrival.

So, here we are.
Four months.
122 days.
2, 928 hours later.

You’ve started screeching these past few days. It’s an awful noise that makes us laugh (almost) every time. You love to talk. You love to sit on my lap- you’d sit there forever if I’d let you. You hate being hungry. You hate being patient. You hate your carseat. Your temper, loud and fast and shocking, comes straight from your daddy. Your babble, happy and social and demanding, is just like your mama. Your blue eyes, lovely enough to draw compliments from everyone we meet- those are from both of your grandpas.

We have NEVER been so happy. Never. You are a delight beyond measure, the light of every day, the name we whisper across the dark of our bedroom when we talk as we fall asleep at night. You are beautiful and I fear all of the things that will one day hurt you, especially me. You are selfish because you are human, and we pray that one day you’ll know the King who will redeem your heart.

You are our little girl. We loved you before we ever met you, Clara Noelle, and the pleasure of your acquaintance has simply become greater with every kiss, night without sleep, wiggle of your eyebrows, and every fit you throw. And after four lightening fast months, 122 difficult and wonderful days, and 2, 928 hours of getting to you know you, here’s what we’ve decided:

You’re worth every gosh darn second.

we lovelovelove you.
mama and daddy

I recently deactivated my facebook account. Around here we’re calling it “a facebook fast” (Sam Horney is happy, that guy isn’t a real facebook fan).  I didn’t actually delete my account, because I fully plan on logging back in one of these days, but for now it is a welcome reprieve from a constant stream of opinions and chatter. I love social media, and consider it an important facet in this century of relationships, but sometimes it is just. too. much. And I’ve found, in all honesty, that since I became a mother, my skin is somehow much less thick than it used to be. I’m really bothered by what people think of me, and any negative comments or messages that I receive dig much deeper than they used to. Before Clara arrived. Before my heart lived outside my chest. Before I felt so gosh darn vulnerable all the time.

So, I’m taking a break. And I’ve noticed some changes already.

My home, somehow, seems much quieter. The only voices allowed in here right now belong to my husband, my daughter, and the people who make a phone call or stop by. Archaic? Yes. Good for my scattered head and thoughts? Definitely.

I feel a sense of calm. I know that there are lots of ways to communicate with people, and I enjoy every single one of them. (Says the girl writing a blog about leaving facebook. Somebody slap me.)
But don’t you think that all of these fun new ways to connect with each other can actually dillute the meaningful things we have to share? I get overwhelmed with all of this pressure and commentary and bizarre false intimacy that I allow in my life. And it’s like, I don’t have the SPACE for anyone or anything else to exist.
That’s how I feel, anyways.
But when I step back for a minute; when I refocus on the actual center of the Universe, who also happens to be my Creator, I remember a few truths.
First, God will sustain me. He is the source of my energy.
Second, when I use my energy to make decisions that please Him, I get MORE energy.
It’s in that place where I close in, where I try to protect myself from injury or strife, that I become exhausted. And there’s no space for anyone else in there. But when I step out of my own fears, and act like the true, VALUED version of myself, the one who is loved beyond loved beyond loved? I have exactly what I need to love others. And all the space in the world to do it.
Amazing.

There are small moments to notice.  
It turns out that breastfeeding is this magical moment in time when you are actually expected to slow down. You have to sit. You have to free up your hands. You simply have to stop. And I have learned something in those quiet times with my daughter in my arms.

  We need those moments.  

Not just we, nursing mothers: we, everyone. There is a quiet kind of gratitude that exists in that pause. I can hear the churning of my washing machine, and be thankful for clean clothes. I notice the winter sunlight fading through the bedroom window, and am thankful for a warm house. The weight of my child against my chest is a thankful that exists on a whole other parallel, but it is only in the quiet that I can really feel her heart beating against mine. And like a photographer with one minute of light left in the day, or a traveller about to turn towards home, we must CAPTURE that moment. We must see what we are thankful for, we must say it aloud, we must swirl it on our tongues and run it through our fingers until the memory of this moment – hard or easy or desperate or lovely- is so marinated in our thanks that there is room for nothing else.

No worry.
No anger.
No fear.

Those things right there? They need air to live, and when we take that air and turn into a breath of quiet thanks…they go away. 

Oh my friends, let’s capture those moments. You might not need to turn off facebook. You might not need to nurse a hungry baby every few hours.
 But stop anyways.
Sit down for a second. Listen. And count your blessings, one by one.

I’m right there with you, counting away.

Our daughter talks all. the. time. I love that she loves to communicate- it’s an endearing quality to this English major mother. Sam thinks she’ll be a writer like her mama; I think she’ll be an actress. I mean, have you seen those facial expressions? Her eyebrows alone could bring down the house.

But whatever she decides to do, I bet it will make people happy. ‘Cause it definitely spreads a lot of cheer up in this Horney household 🙂 So here’s some cheer for you;

Happy weekend, and 17 days ’til Christmas! 

Welcome to WordPress.com! This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.

Happy blogging!

Last year during the holidays, we found out that we were expecting a baby. We had lost our very first baby earlier that year, and I was worried. I laid awake every night, heavy hands covering my still flat stomach, imagining a sesame seed heart growing and beating inside my womb. I wasn’t happy. I was terrified. Every week brought us one step closer to the birth of our child, and it couldn’t go fast enough.

I know, know, know that every single baby is a miracle from the Lord. I’ve seen too many disappear right out of the defeated hands of their parents to believe anything else.

So when I hear her happy babbles and laugh at her bright smiles, and even when I comfort the angry tears of my little Clara Noelle, I remember those long nights of pregnancy when I waited and waited to hear her first cries.

As I pulled out our Christmas decorations this week, I found that little note in the picture above, a note that I wrote to myself. It’s a trip back in time. It’s a celebration.
 But mostly it’s a way to remember.

Song by Civil Parish, as found on this fantastic free playlist. 
http://heyitschristmas.com/

We made this little video for a far away Uncle who we miss so much. So if you’d like to hear a bedtime story…well, happy Thursday 🙂

Naps don’t really work when they last for 10 minutes. Get your act together.

Sincerely,
Your single every other week tired and hungry mother

After a week of our house bursting with visiting relatives, 2 days of thanksgiving cooking and preparation, 3 sleepless nights with an out of routine baby, 4 trips to the airport, dedicating our daughter at church and hosting a Sunday lunch for 30 people…

The Horneys are eating dinner in bed and going to sleep early.

I will blog again soon and share about all the aforementioned business-
I just need a nap first 🙂