Sam and I got into a nasty fight last weekend. Which was too bad, because things had been going swimmingly in our marriage for a long time. You know how some years are great and some years are just poke out your eyeballs bad? This had been a great year. And then our daughter was born, and the year got even better. We existed in some sort of love limbo, free of squalor and full of dreamy sighs of gratitude towards the other half of Clara’s existence. I don’t know if this happens to everyone, but we found ourselves living out some sort of second honeymoon, spurred on by our thankfulness for the life we created together.

Anyways, that’s definitely over, and we’re working hard to figure out being married and being parents and being gracious to each other…except all at the same time. That’s the real trick, right? The real balancing act is found in that spot where you have conquered parental competency, marital peace, and a good attitude for whatever comes your way. I’ll go ahead and let you know when I get there. According to my calendar, it’s looking to be just a tad shy of NEVER.

So we’ll keep trying, I guess. And praying. Lots of praying. The stakes are so much higher these days, what with a tiny person looking to us for basic survival, oodles of love, and maybe even a solid upbringing along the way. She is a complicated bundle of highs and lows, a magnifying glass for every flaw we try so hard to hide.
That became clear last weekend, when the fight felt bigger and meaner than any fight had before. Even though we resolved the issues at hand, we both walked away with wounds that went unexpectedly deep. Our hearts have all these new vulnerable spots that we’re struggling to understand, and hurting each other is suddenly (and frighteningly) easier than ever.

But hey guys- the good news is right here. Wearing leg warmers and pretending to be big.

It is impossible to stay mad at each other when this smoochie face smiles and crinkles with delight at the sound of our voices. She is a constant reminder of what our marriage is worth, and she makes it difficult to be angry. I mean, honestly, how could I not shout for Sam to “come watch her being crazy in the bathtub!” or comment to him, “Did you see that face she just made?”
You’re right. I couldn’t do it. I had to tell him- I had to share her with him. She is a gift to us because she will always be an example of how much we love each other. Even when we’re contemplating poking out our eyeballs.

Clara is not the center of our marriage. She is not even a part of it. She WILL cause us to test it, and sometimes she will make it seem sweeter. But ultimately, it’s me and Sam. We have to do this together, and we have to walk carefully as we go. Clara will leave. All of our kids will go one day (hopefully) and we will be left with each other. We have to lay a foundation RIGHT NOW, right this second, today, tonight, for a relationship that we promised forever.
I’m crazy in love with my daughter.
But my husband has to be first. That’s hard to understand. Harder than I thought it would be, I guess.

Like I said…lots of prayer.

Oh, and mommydaddyspecialtime. I heard that helps too.
Don’t have to tell this Horney mom twice.

No, no, of course I didn’t read all of the Twilight books. Or see all of the movies. Please, I belong to a much higher class of literary appreciation than those hopeless so-called Twihards.
But if I had read all of the books and couldn’t wait to see the final coming installment of the movie franchise, I might be inclined to make this little comparison.

Becoming a parent is like becoming a vampire.
(Yep, we’re doing this.)

In those famed preteen books, when one changes from human to vampire, the transformation is external and internal. nerd alert Ok, so in the last book, Bella finally gets what she wants and joins Edward’s forever family of vampires (subtle mormanism plug, ha! very sneaky, stephanie meyers.)
But get this- Bella only gets ‘changed over’ because she almost dies in childbirth, and getting ‘bit’ is her only hope for survival. So she gives birth to this half vampire/half human baby girl AND becomes a vampire, all in one fell swoop. She wakes up after this traumatic birth experience, now both a mother and a member of the undead society. Her skin glistens like diamonds and she is one of the most powerful beings on the planet. But here’s the key: She didn’t become a different person, but rather a completely different version of her old self. In some ways she is better; in some ways she is worse. But in all ways, she is completely and utterly irreversibly changed. Motherhood acts as the catalyst for the change she always wanted.

Still with me? The nerdiness is subsiding, I promise.

I used to worry that when I became a mother, I would stop being pretty. My hypothesis on motherhood was that in order to have children, you had to trade your beauty for theirs. With each child you had to give away part of your shine until you had a bright and beautiful family with a dull and worn out mommy.

But the truth is that children add a shine to your life that cannot be reproduced. No product or surgery or career move or successful venture can ever replicate the full-on blast of lovely that children toss over a family like a warm and happy blanket.

The addition of kids to your life is, indeed, like becoming a vampire. They bite deep and hard as soon as you look into their vulnerable little eyeballs, and you become a version of yourself that you never could have imagined. You are beautiful because they are beautiful. You are happy because they are happy. They are an extension of everything good and wonderful that you loved about yourself before they burst on the scene, and they are also tiny, selfish reminders of everything you have ever struggled with in your whole existence. Children are the catalyst for a change that cannot be undone.
It is lovely, and it is powerful.
It is permanent,
it is frightening,
and it is absolutely skin-sparkling-like-diamonds magic.

Now excuse me while I go make another order at the school book fair.

When I changed Clara’s diaper this morning I found a tiny band aid on her tiny thigh with a tiny speck of dried red blood, left over from a tiny needle prick at the doctor’s office. And I thought to myself, hey sam.
There is something so tender about your blood. About your breath. About the lashes that guard your eyes.
We came together on purpose and we decided to participate in the greatest ‘together’ of them all, the most creative outlet we could find for the way we feel about each other’s eye lashes.
And now our blood, swirled and travelled and released, lives forever dancing in her veins. Drying to her bandaids. Pulsing that delightful heartbeat, the one I recorded on my phone so many months ago, the one we feel against our lips when we kiss that sweet soft neck.

It’s not always easy sharing a life.
Sharing a house.
Sharing a bed.
But when I feel our daughter curve around me while she dreams, the warmth of your blood and my blood under her skin…
I think, hey sam.

I really really love you.

You gotta do what you gotta do when people don’t want to take naps. And if that means racking up our gas bill with unnecessary middle of a fall afternoon fires? Then so be it.
Forgive me, Sam. I needed both hands to make a salad. And since the flames both warm and hypnotize…well.
You gotta do what you gotta do.

Sometimes I avoid saying how I feel about my daughter because it is so over-the-top crazy full of love. I don’t want to be a weirdo.

Also, in the interest of being honest and never EVER wanting to discourage other new moms, I tend to highlight the hard parts of my days and nights so everyone knows what really goes on with a newborn. But you know what?

It’s actually the best thing in the whole wide world. The galaxy. The Universe.

ALL OF THE UNIVERSES.

It’s just that, some days, the cons seem like the pros’ nastier, chubbier, older cousin whose shadow could block the sun. But when I step out of that sad slice of shade, I remember why I’m here. And I wrap my arms around that sweet ballerina of mine and rejoice with the Maker of all the universes for the pros, cons, and everything in between. 

Pro: Clara has slept 8 hours a night since she was five weeks old. 

Con: Clara does not like to nap more than 20 minutes at a time during the day unless I’m holding her. And since I refuse to let her cry, this gets exhausting. 

Pro: Clara nurses like a champ.

Con: Clara usually nurses every 2 hours. Which makes it pr-e-tt-y hard to get anything done. 

Pro: Sam has a great job.

Con: I never really know when Sam will be home. The nights get lonely.

Pro: I have a lot of great family and friends around me.

Con: That doesn’t make it any easier to click “submit” on my class registration for spring semester. Thinking of leaving my baby makes me want to lock us both in the house until she forces her way out for kindergarten. 

So, yeah. 

I’m a total weirdo. 

*positions self on rooftop

I LOVE MY BABY SO MUCH IT MAKES ME CRY AND I KISS HER A GAJILLION TIMES A DAY AND I DON’T EVER EVER EVER WANT TO GO TO WORK OR SCHOOL AGAIN AND I THINK THE SUN SHINES SIMPLY TO ACCENTUATE HER BIG BLUE EYES AND MAGICAL SOFT DARK HAIR AND WHEN I’M NOT STARING AT HER I’M STARING AT PICTURES OF HER.

There you go. 

   

Happy Friday 🙂 

   

We’re going to the doctor this week and I can’t wait to find out how our baby has grown. She eats as though the second coming is around the corner, so I assume she’s bumped up on those growth charts quite a bit. We took her home from the hospital at 5lbs 3oz, and it makes me weepy to look through our gazillion pictures of the last 2 months and see how she’s changed. It also makes me weepy when I see how very itty bitty she was at birth, and how blessed we are to have her.

I didn’t always love my doctor during my pregnancy. She has a lot of energy and can be a little cut and dry for my taste. I thought about finding a different doctor more than once, but in the end, I believe she saved my baby’s life.
Clara wasn’t growing like she needed to inside my womb, but we didn’t know that until I was past my due date and got a precautionary ultrasound. The black and white image on the screen revealed a baby measuring at 36 weeks instead of 40. The ultrasound tech smiled and patted my knee when I asked if that was normal.

“Will she be ok?” I heard my shaky voice echo in the small room.
“I’m going to have the doctor talk to you about it, dear. She looks healthy right now. Just smaller than we would like for a full term baby.”

I took a deep breath and laid back on the crunchy white paper pillow. This wasn’t what I’d pictured for this appointment. I hadn’t even brought my husband; just a list of questions about getting induced in case my doctor suggested it. I did not want to be induced and had been very clear about that since day one of my pregnancy. But I also knew they wouldn’t let me go past 41 weeks, which was edging up quickly. I stared at the printed out pictures of my baby girl, amazed at her profile and how much she’d grown since I last ‘saw’ her 20 weeks before. I sat up quickly when Dr. Rice came in the room a few minutes later, more serious than I’d ever seen her.

“Well, I’m afraid waiting for natural labor to begin is no longer an option,” she said.
“Oh. But I don’t…But…are you sure?” I folded my hands protectively across my belly.
“The baby hasn’t been growing for a few weeks. I think your placenta is done working, unfortunately. We need to induce, and we need to do it quickly.”

I had a decision to make. Trust my doctor, or be prideful about my birth plan and refuse her advice.
So, in the spirit of all hard decision making, I started crying.
Crying for the picture in my head of my labor, wisping away without saying goodbye.
Crying for the drugs that would decide my labor time instead of my own body.
Crying for not bringing Sam with me to this stupid, scary appointment.

Then I blew out a tense breath. I wiped my tears, and for the very first time, I became a mother. I became a mother on the hard plastic cover of that exam table, and I will never forget that moment.

I wanted my baby out, no matter how it happened and no matter what happened to me. I wanted her out of my womb where she wasn’t getting nutrients, and into my arms where I could feed her. They could cut me open in the waiting room then and there with the receptionist using her cold diet coke as the numbing agent; I didn’t care. My baby needed me. My baby. Needed me.

And I became a mother.

We set an appointment for an induction at 5:00 a.m. the next day, and I called Sam to tell him that we’d be meeting our daughter sooner rather than later.

So now, wondering at the growth of my two month old baby, I thank God for modern medicine. I thank Him for a doctor who knew what was best for my family, and for a healthy delivery of a healthy little girl. I look back on our pictures and wonder at the miracle of Clara, and the miracle of all healthy babies.
It’s a world full of miracles out there, people. And you’re one of ’em. Run with that.

 add some milk and…

shazam!

Gosh I love you, smoochie girl! 

 

Is there anything more likely to force humility upon you than parenthood? Let me tell you- you can walk around this earth for decades, holding your head high, feeling good. You work out. You’re cracking jokes around the office. Maybe you’re even rich or famous. You get invited to cool parties and gosh darnit, people really seem to respect you.

Then you have a baby. A baby who couldn’t care less about your ‘jokes’ or your ‘expensive jeans’ or your ‘sex life.’ That baby wants what she wants when she wants it, and guess what? You’re gonna give it to her. Her little noggin doesn’t comprehend reasoning yet, and let’s be honest, it’s not like you can discipline an infant anyways. I mean, beyond crying your own desperate tears as your kiss their screaming bright red face, you’re sort of out of luck.

And that screaming bright red face is exactly where Sam and I found ourselves when we arrived in the state of Washington this week. We came to visit Sam’s parents and to introduce our girl to some extended family. Clara hates her car seat, of course, which meant I rode the entire way scrunched in the back seat of our jetta on poorly designed German leather seats (das auto? more like das learn about ergonomics) in order to keep her happy and full of cheer. This may or may not have involved small skits involving her baby owl and baby duck.
So after six hours of driving, five of which (by the mercy of God) Clara slept through, we pulled up to the Horney house and settled in for a long weekend of snuggling and good, good Mama Horney food. Then our baby started crying.
And crying.
And crying.

I’d like to interject here with an apology to anyone I have ever not believed when they said things about their babies like, “I swear she/he isn’t usually like this.” For the eyerolls, disbelief and secret mocking, I sincerely apologize. I am sorry.

Because honestly, my baby is not normally like this. Go ahead and roll your eyes, I deserve it, but she isn’t. At least, I thought she wasn’t. You start to doubt your own memory and cognitive abilities around hour 3 of the crying, and I began to wonder whether or not our baby had ever NOT cried. Had I just imagined all those happy times together? Did she, in fact…despise me?

We didn’t know why she was crying. We tried all of our little tricks and nothing worked for more than a few minutes at a time. And is there ANYTHING as COMPLETELY stressful as your baby crying in front of other people? You feel like an idiot. Like, it’s your baby. Get it together. You must have no idea what you’re doing, huh? Then you add a more experienced mom in the mix- say, your mother in law who raised five of her own kids – and suddenly you want to crawl into your suitcase and come out when your daughter is 18 years old, because she’d be better off with someone else raising her anyways.

The heart-melting sadness of our 9.5 lbs of adorable torture continued for almost 24 hours. Then, suddenly, it stopped.
It stopped.
She smiled again. She cooed and talked to us. She ate without crying. The clouds opened up and the sun shone into our weary wesuckatparentingpleasegetusoutofhere souls.

Turns out, we’re gonna have some bad days with this kid. Days when we feel incompetent. Tired. Useless. But great news! You ready?

 It won’t go on forever.

She will have a better day. We will all wake up and love each other again. And whether she’s “not usually like this” really doesn’t matter. Today matters, and doing the best we know how right this minute matters. Does she know she’s loved? Do we know we love each other?

Ok then. Success.

The many faces of Clara Bear: life with our firecracker

and she’s never ever sorry…

The thing about change is that it complicates things. You can’t just have one change; everything must change to accomodate that new thing that just changed (sentence structure, schmentence structure). Your new job. Your new house. Your lost job. Your lost house. Your new marriage or your old marriage.The loss of someone you love and the beginning of someone new to love. Your baby.

There are lots of changes happening at the Horney house. If this place were a lab and we were the experiment, here’s a visual of the results.

You guys.
It’s not easy to get a baby.
The cells and the bones and the tiny arch of the fingerprints- they are not easy.
Sometimes it all can happen quickly. We multiply.
Sometimes it does not. We crumble.
Or sometimes it does, and then without the slightest shred of decency or warning, this broken world hands over a quiet tragedy.

And I think, being this age in this place with my people,
I will need to suffer. Mourn with those who mourn.
And I will need to be thankful. Rejoice with those who rejoice.

So I’m going to pray with my loves who wait and worry,
and dig for my loves who are buried in grief,
and shout with my loves who are ready to celebrate.

But mostly I’m going to hold my girl tight.

Because it’s not easy to get a baby. Let’s not forget that.