Robin's Nest
Image and video hosting by TinyPic
wry is loving his uncle’s tiny Lego people. he keeps telling me their helmets are “moon masks” for outerspace. imagination… just the greatest thing 🚀🌙

wry is loving his uncle’s tiny Lego people. he keeps telling me their helmets are “moon masks” for outerspace. imagination… just the greatest thing 🚀🌙

Oh this week.

Two days ago baby girl and I were rear ended on the freeway. Traffic came to a stop ahead of me and I had to break quickly. As the pressure of my foot pressed onto the brake I knew we would be hit from behind. Moments later that terrible, awful, metal crunching boom echoed through the car. Story started screaming instantly and my arms shook with adrenaline. I ran out of the car to her, thanking God she looked okay. The cars around us kept going by, no one stopping. The car behind us was completely smashed. He hit us so hard, and at the time I tried to tell myself it was okay. We were okay. We were both conscious. But my head began pounding immediately. All I could think about was getting off the freeway to safety. The only thing separating full speed southbound traffic and the three of us (other driver included) was a short center divider. 

I hate car accidents. I hate violence. I hate these moments in life that remind us how lucky we are to be here. 

TGI(almost)F. 

today was bizarre. i am so thankful to be home. to be safe. for my friends, for my family. near, far, new, old. sometimes the synchronicities and ironies just roll on in like thunder & i don’t feel ready. always in those moments i feel the amazing shelter from those around me. so for you, the feathers that keep me warm, thank you. 
home. safe & sound.

today was bizarre. i am so thankful to be home. to be safe. for my friends, for my family. near, far, new, old. sometimes the synchronicities and ironies just roll on in like thunder & i don’t feel ready. always in those moments i feel the amazing shelter from those around me. so for you, the feathers that keep me warm, thank you.
home. safe & sound.

thank you

To the mamas who have reached out to me… I have gained so much strength from you. I am bursting with gratitude. Your kind words, hugs & love have lifted me up! Oh how I wish I could have you all over for one big mamazon party.
Sending all my thankfulness into the universe for such wonderful women!

Tags: motherhood PPD

we like sprinkles, yes we do! we like sprinkles, how bout you?! #likemotherlikedaughter #puresugar @sprinklescupcakes

we like sprinkles, yes we do! we like sprinkles, how bout you?! #likemotherlikedaughter #puresugar @sprinklescupcakes

So, so great.

i haven’t been a fan of myself lately. 
motherhood, parenting, humaning… has kicked my butt the last couple of months. 

i feel like i have had a mild bout with postpartum depression. delayed onset or something. just writing that out loud, publicly outting myself, is equal parts liberating and completely batshit scary. 
everyone told me (when i was experiencing some depression about being prego my 1st trimester) that the feelings of sadness would all go away as soon as baby came. i am here to say that although i absolutely adore my baby girl (and i mean LOVE her), it did not go away. the sad has been here but not how i classically understood PPD. 

these feelings of being overwhelmed, irritable and the rage (oh my god, the rage) that i have experienced is really freaking scary sometimes. it’s not what i ever expected to feel. especially because i don’t have any trouble bonding with my baby. i don’t ever feel unhappy or ungrateful for my family. it’s not what i expected but it sits and waits until suddenly leaping out in my voice or when my husband forgets something simple. i get angry and i have to count to ten and come off it. it’s scary you guys. 
my psychology degree does absolutely nothing to help me, other than the occasional mockery and “pffft” that happens when i think about therapy. so ironic. admitting that yes, this has been an issue, and yes, it isn’t necessarily how i thought it would be, took a month. because illness, particularly mental illness, is never black and white but often a million shades of grey (god I hope that’s not the name of that book, too tired to check) with no clear definition, start or finish, size or weight. it just creeps in and settles and sometimes starts to become part of you, familiar and common, without every really announcing, “I’M HERE!” 

so there’s that. and it’s kind of here and i don’t know for how long. i don’t like who it’s making me though, even if it’s only an hour in the morning or at the end of the day. i don’t like how at the end of some days i look at my sleeping children and wonder how they got here or how they’ve grown so fast. because honestly, i feel sometimes like i’m not even in my body. the mornings i’m too tired and discouraged from getting dressed are the worst. i muster just enough energy to make my son breakfast before laying on the couch and try with all my might only to sleep partially unconscious until his little forehead is pressed so hard into my own that i jolt awake to his tiny voice saying, “hi mama.”

it sounds like the classic first year with a new baby though. and i have tried, frequently, to tell myself that. but i can’t deny that i never felt like this with wryter. middle of the night feedings were a celebration, i welcomed them. now… now i don’t know how many times i feed story. all i know is that the sound of crying or the feeling of wry’s leg touching me makes my skin crawl. not always, not every night, but enough to make me look in the mirror and realize there is something off. 

admitting there is a problem is the first step, right? i hope so. i hope that, along with my hair falling out (Story turned 3 months last friday, so it’s right on cue) and my skin acting a mess, this too shall pass. but i foresee some talks with my midwives, bringing out the placenta pills (again), and seriously facing this unwelcomed thing one on one. just pray for me that it’s not permanent. 
that is the scariest part.

i haven’t been a fan of myself lately.
motherhood, parenting, humaning… has kicked my butt the last couple of months.

i feel like i have had a mild bout with postpartum depression. delayed onset or something. just writing that out loud, publicly outting myself, is equal parts liberating and completely batshit scary.
everyone told me (when i was experiencing some depression about being prego my 1st trimester) that the feelings of sadness would all go away as soon as baby came. i am here to say that although i absolutely adore my baby girl (and i mean LOVE her), it did not go away. the sad has been here but not how i classically understood PPD.

these feelings of being overwhelmed, irritable and the rage (oh my god, the rage) that i have experienced is really freaking scary sometimes. it’s not what i ever expected to feel. especially because i don’t have any trouble bonding with my baby. i don’t ever feel unhappy or ungrateful for my family. it’s not what i expected but it sits and waits until suddenly leaping out in my voice or when my husband forgets something simple. i get angry and i have to count to ten and come off it. it’s scary you guys. my psychology degree does absolutely nothing to help me, other than the occasional mockery and “pffft” that happens when i think about therapy. so ironic. admitting that yes, this has been an issue, and yes, it isn’t necessarily how i thought it would be, took a month. because illness, particularly mental illness, is never black and white but often a million shades of grey (god I hope that’s not the name of that book, too tired to check) with no clear definition, start or finish, size or weight. it just creeps in and settles and sometimes starts to become part of you, familiar and common, without every really announcing, “I’M HERE!”

so there’s that. and it’s kind of here and i don’t know for how long. i don’t like who it’s making me though, even if it’s only an hour in the morning or at the end of the day. i don’t like how at the end of some days i look at my sleeping children and wonder how they got here or how they’ve grown so fast. because honestly, i feel sometimes like i’m not even in my body. the mornings i’m too tired and discouraged from getting dressed are the worst. i muster just enough energy to make my son breakfast before laying on the couch and try with all my might only to sleep partially unconscious until his little forehead is pressed so hard into my own that i jolt awake to his tiny voice saying, “hi mama.”

it sounds like the classic first year with a new baby though. and i have tried, frequently, to tell myself that. but i can’t deny that i never felt like this with wryter. middle of the night feedings were a celebration, i welcomed them. now… now i don’t know how many times i feed story. all i know is that the sound of crying or the feeling of wry’s leg touching me makes my skin crawl. not always, not every night, but enough to make me look in the mirror and realize there is something off.

admitting there is a problem is the first step, right? i hope so. i hope that, along with my hair falling out (Story turned 3 months last friday, so it’s right on cue) and my skin acting a mess, this too shall pass. but i foresee some talks with my midwives, bringing out the placenta pills (again), and seriously facing this unwelcomed thing one on one. just pray for me that it’s not permanent. that is the scariest part.

"It can be easy to romanticize a passion or a social cause or a marriage or raising kids with tons of posed pictures and flowery words — but all such things are gritty, raw, rough, and painstakingly sculpted from our fully invested hearts. There is a lot of standing around and sweating through our shirts and seasons of self-doubt and all the frustrated parts that no one else can see. We fall in love with highlights but these were formed in the valley. Please don’t be seduced by soundbites and filtered photos and bowtie daydreams. Real joy actually hurts, but that’s why it’s real. It was carved from the best of us."

J.S. Park (via tanghuijuan)

(via tanghuijuan)

Tags: truth

Wry // 2 years, 8 months & 1 day old

i have this one memory that replays itself over and over again in my mind… my wee wrybug barely crawling but his personality so obvious. there, in a moment, when that undeniable fire in his eye caught my mom’s attention she said, “You better be ready, he’s going to be wild.” 
sometimes i think that children become what they are called, but this one, well i’m pretty sure trying to tame him would be like keeping a cub in a cage. best to let him go free, and try with the fierceness of a mama bear to teach him how to manage all that beautiful energy! i love him exactly as he is and know nothing else.
Wry // 2 years, 8 months & 1 day old

i have this one memory that replays itself over and over again in my mind… my wee wrybug barely crawling but his personality so obvious. there, in a moment, when that undeniable fire in his eye caught my mom’s attention she said, “You better be ready, he’s going to be wild.”
sometimes i think that children become what they are called, but this one, well i’m pretty sure trying to tame him would be like keeping a cub in a cage. best to let him go free, and try with the fierceness of a mama bear to teach him how to manage all that beautiful energy! i love him exactly as he is and know nothing else.

Yesterday we made a beeline for the beach, got there at 10am before the fog burned off, and left just as the sun got hot. It was Story’s 1st trip to the sea & even though she missed most of it covered from the rays and sawin logs, it was a wonderful little venture over the hill. I still can’t believe we are a family of four.

ugle250 No-Toxins The Bruhnette Gazette