Settling for blessed

It’s my 23rd birthday today, and I was suicidal on my 22nd birthday.

One year ago, I wanted a baby. Yes, Ty was only 8 months old. He was still a baby. But I wanted another one. Don’t ask me why. I just did. My periods were still irregular from breastfeeding. I thought that I was pregnant, but wasn’t. I was depressed because of hormonal changes, and warped brain chemistry. I was still unemployed after having quit my warehouse job.

In my misery, I took a sleeping pill that knocked me out for hours. When I woke up, I wished that I was dead. The sleeping pill made me feel like a zombie. I wrote it in a diary entry on my laptop. I spent hours crying. Damon got me two chocolate bars from the store in an attempt to make me happy. They barely made a dent in my depressed state. I didn’t want to be alive.

It was snowing outside. The car is one of the few places that I feel safe letting loose all emotion. When things get hard, I call my dad. We talked for a long time. Well, I complained. He listened. I cried and asked why God decided to be this way. I asked why He doesn’t friggin tell us what His big plans are. Why doesn’t He tell us what He wants for us to do? I was willing to do His will. I was willing to get on board with whatever He had in store; I just had no freakin’ clue what that was.

You would think that I would stop getting pissed off at God. You would think that I would quit blaming Him for my problems by now. You would think that I’d have grown up enough to realize that His existence doesn’t mean that life is fair. I hadn’t, and I haven’t.

But I’m getting better. Life has gotten a lot better.

I’m 9 months pregnant with another little girl who is due to show up within a few weeks. I live in a house with wood floors and beautiful walls. My kids finally play (and fight) together happily. I’ve only gained 40 lbs this time due to my keto diet and exercising. I’ve been so much happier this time. School has been a wonderful distraction..Honestly, not having class over the break is going to be a huge challenge as somehow, I NEED to be mildly stressed out to be happy… idk bruh.

Husband has been growing out this beard that makes him look older and hotter ❤ As of late, I’ve been leaning on him in every way possible. He does the dishes, laundry, diaper changes, buckling children into their car seats, etc. because my irritable uterus prevents me from completing the most basic of tasks. He loves me. This amazing dude loves ME!! Despite how incredibly condescending, annoyingly talkative, and picky I am, he still feels like hanging out with me. Crazy…I’m still waiting to find out that he’s a serial killer or harboring some dark secret. Nobody is that good!!!

Our families have helped us to be okay. They’ve watched our kids, bought us food, filled our car with gas, painted our house, and a million other things. We wouldn’t be okay if we didn’t have the families that we do; especially our moms.

Today, I felt hopeful.

I visited my lovely midwife. I took Haven out for ice cream. We sat while I listened to her tinkling voice. I redyed my hair. My sister came over to play with the kids. We attended a church Christmas party. Physically, I’m tired and feel like I’ll go into labor soon. But I’m the most blessed person in all of the world. Perhaps not always the happiest; but definitely the most blessed.

God’s got some good ideas. Maybe someday, I’ll learn listen more often. Maybe next year, I’ll be smarter. But this year, I’ll settle for blessed.

Happy Birthday, Me!!

Love the basketball-under-the-shirt look. Very in Vogue! Also, the only photo that I’ve taken of myself pretty much this entire pregnancy. 



Settling for blessed

23 ways to a clean house!

Kids will f*ck up your house. The women who post the utopian garbage articles about how they got their kids to always pick up after themselves are FULL OF LIES!! They probably hire a maid to clean up the whole house or stay up until 3 AM before taking the fluffy Pinterest-y photos. Children hate cleaning. Oh, yours doesn’t? Congratulations on birthing the second Messiah!!!!

My children follow me around, demand things, invade my personal space, and generally irritate me 65% of the time that I’m around them. The ONLY time when they will ignore me is when I ask them to clean up. Win-Lose?

Since I can’t friggin bend over without feeling like I’m going to give birth or pee myself, I’ve compiled an extremely helpful list of ways to keep the house from getting messy. Out of the benevolence of my heart, I’ve decided to share it with you.

Allude yourself into thinking that you’ve got it all together. GUARANTEED!

  1. Accept that your children hate you.
  2. Accept that your life will be this way until they all move out of the basement at age 34.
  3. Pay someone to rob you. 
  4. Hire a pyromaniac or kleptomaniac to house-sit for you while you go on vacation. 
  5. Host party with 15 small children. Tell them that they can keep any toys that they can fit into a grocery bag (distribute at end of party). Lose all parent friends forever.
  6. Snort cocaine off of the practice potty in your children’s room using their play money. Astonish your children with your newfound ability to play pretend for 17 hours straight instead of telling them to “GO AWAY!” like you usually do.
  7. Become homeless.
  8. Participate in a white elephant gift exchange. Provide entire pile of wrapped presents. Make up excuse to leave before gift exchange begins.
  9. Threaten to sell your children to the zoo if the entire house is not spotless. Actually do it.
  10. Research organizations accepting buttloads of toys. Donate said buttload.
  11. Eat using strictly plastic and paper utensils. Better yet, use your hands. Cook all food over small fire in backyard. 
  12. Send your children to boarding school.
  13. Hire a hooker to dress up as a French maid. Preface visit with “I’m into some reeeally dirty stuff…” 
  14. Drink until furniture and toys all blur together in a haze.
  15. Spray children with garden house as they lean against car. Two birds with one stone!
  16. Instruct children to befriend children without toys. Gradually leave behind toys. Move on to next friend when the previous one can no longer shut their bedroom door.
  17. Frequent community pool or splash pad around bath time each day. 
  18. Move to quaint cabin in woods and enjoy idyllic tranquility. Visit main house once a week with groceries.
  19. Harbor fugitive drug-dealer in exchange for cleaning services.
  20. Invite family over for a Hoarders marathon, Passive aggressively hide everyone’s keys.
  21. Claim to be a destitute widow to stay at other people’s houses for cheap. Depart in dead of night.
  22. Hire professional clown to dish out cleaning instructions to children. Have clown snack on a “petrified deer corpse” for double the speed!
  23. Hold up a bank teller for $1. Can’t clean if you’re in jail!


If none of these work, you are clearly a defective human being who made equally defective children. ❤

23 ways to a clean house!

Shutting up about how “poor” I am

Imma go a little contradictory to some of my past posts: I am a wealthy, wealthy woman.

Everyone has seen the cover of, or at least heard of The National Geographic. Somehow, flipping through it, I’ve always though “Huh. Would you look at that. How terrible would it be to live in a dirt-floored hut?”

I’ve been known to gripe about how “poor” I am as a student. I’ve cried over not “having enough” to my mom. I whine that my grocery money comes from Damon donating plasma. We live off of student loans and a boatload of prayers. Family has to lend their help often. My net worth is well into the negative when you factor in what I’ll be paying back when I finish school.

Here’s the real deal: I’m a spoiled, privileged brat. IMy situation is luxuriant AF. Reflecting on this has caused me loads of intrinsic embarrassment.

Allow me to walk you through my cushy life…

I am seated on my plushy-A mattress and down comforter in a well-lit, air-conditioned room. I’m typing post this from a several hundred dollar laptop, using this miraculous thing called THE INTERNET. I’m blowing my privileged snoot into soft double-ply toilet paper while moistening my face with $9 lotion that I didn’t have to make myself. This song on YouTube is wonderful! It’s a cello/piano cover of “Shape of You”. The cello holds a special place in my heart because I played for seven friggin years.

Best tell the three-year-old to tell husband to check Google Hangouts. Heaven forbid I should I have to walk across my house to ask him what time we’re leaving for places today!

Oh, what’s this? I need to pee! Lemme shuffle on over to my tiled, well-lit bathroom which has a flushable toilet; whisking away my urine and poop so that I never have to see or smell it again. I wash my mits in the sink, which has a magical faucet; it springs forth clean, drinkable water of whatever temperature I want…just to clean my hands! Time to brush my teeth because I had breakfast this morning. Let’s spit into this pristine water using a minty-white substance that magically takes away the germs from my already mostly-white teeth.

Maybe I should wash my hair. After all, it’s been a whole sixteen hours. Can’t have that! Whoa! This shower thing can give me twenty-five minutes worth of HOT water on full-blast! Gotta shave the barely-there stubble from my legs using vegetable oil and a metal-handled razor blade.

All done! Time to dry myself off with a fluffy, clean towel that wraps around my whole body. Let me go put my worn-once clothes in the washing machine that can wash 20 items of clothing at once at high-speed using MORE hot water, cleans everything out, and SINGS ME A FREAKIN’ SONG WHEN IT’S DONE!

Quick! They might start to smell funny if you don’t transfer them to the dryer which can dry 20-30 articles of clothing simultaneously while blowing a heavenly smell out the vent, presenting me with warm, soft, delicious-smelling clean clothes.

What am I going to do with all of these clothes now? It might take me awhile to hang them all up in my closet beside all of my other clothes. Gah! What clothes do I want to wear on my body today? There are so many choices and combinations. It might dip below 50 degrees today, so a plushy sweater might be a good choice. What if it snows?? Good thing I’ve got my Ugg boots and insulated jacket to wear!

My stomach is feeling a little on the needy side. I’ll go open my temperature-controlled, machine that keeps ALL of my food cold for as long as it’s plugged into the wizardry outlet behind it. What to have for breakfast? My kids had their oatmeal with milk already. Or did they have Cheerios? Not sure, let’s check the FRIGGIN SINK SINCE THEY NEVER FINISH THEIR BOWLS!

Where was I? Ah, yes! FOOD! Milk, sour cream, half-n-half, fresh apples, limes, fresh vegetables, frozen berries, frozen peaches, butter, dressings, lettuce, dried beans, canned beans, lentils, CHEESEDANGIT!!

Can we just take a moment to appreciate how ABSOLUTELY RAD it is that I can buy STRAWBERRIES IN NOVEMBER?!

Thanksgiving leftovers! Thank you, Mom! Let’s have some mashed potatoes with fried beans and butter. Maybe Damon will want the sweet potatoes for lunch. I have to salt my food, but where did I put my pink Himalayan sea salt? Oh, whatever will I do without it?!? Is it sitting with the 10+ other varieties of spices above my stove which cooks food to optimal temperatures simply by me turning a knob? Nope, not there! Could it be hiding behind my brown sugar, coconut flour, and ginormous container of coconut oil? No dice! Darnit..Wait, here it is! Silly, salt! What were you doing behind my fish oil capsules, vitamins, and fluoride tablets for my kids?

Dear me, these potatoes are cold. Let’s put them in the microwave which can heat an entire bowl of food in under one minute. I’ll complain if it’s cold in the center! Making me wait two minutes? So much work!

I’ll sit at my table in my also-tiled kitchen and READ A DANG BOOK BECAUSE I CAN READ!! Hoho! I didn’t buy this book. I checked it out for free in the air-conditioned, enormous library right next to the dang coffee cafe that has free Wifi for all of their students! And hundreds of computers. And printers that allow you to print as many friggin pages as your little heart desires for a small fee of 5 cents per page. 5 CENTS A PAGE? THE AUDACITY!

This book is good, but WHAT IS THAT SMELL? The nineteen-month-old has soiled his disposable diaper. Ugh! That’s the second time today! Oh, well. Thankfully, I have a few hundred more in the bedroom that has over 200+ toys for them. I’ll have the three-year-old look for the disposable wipes. Nope! She’s distracted by her 100+ outfits gifted to her by adoring grandmothers who are all still living. Finally found the wipes! Right beside the ten other packages.

Lay baby down on polished, hardwood floor to change him. This one is especially bad, but probably not bad to warrant a hot, soapy bathtub filled with waterproof toys. Best get him dressed, since we plan on going to my parents today. Even more choices for clothes! Do I put him in pants or jeans or sweats? Do I put him in a sweater, T-shirt, or a sleeper? Well, I’m too lazy to find a match for his 5+ pairs of shoes, so I’ll put him in footie pajamas.

Where is the husband? Ah, yes! He’s in his office doing his chemistry homework on a computer that cost several thousand dollars. I complain that the Wifi is “slow”. It’s taking longer than two seconds to load a single page? UGH! The struggle is real! On Monday, we’ll have to attend classes at our enormous air-conditioned university building being taught by people who also attended universities and sit with other people like us in well-lit, carpeted classrooms.

Let’s figure out what time we’re leaving for Mimi and Grandpa’s house. I can’t find my phone! Maybe it’s jammed between the cushions of my white, faux-leather couch? Nope! what about the gigantic brown armchair? Again, no dice! Here it is; on top of the bookshelf filled with colorful Dr. Seuss books gifted by my mom for my children. Now I can call my family.

Family scripture and prayer time. I’ll read from my embossed faux-leather scriptures to my family in our comfortable, well-lit living room. I like this spot on the couch best; it gives me a nicer view of my huge, green backyard. We read for several minutes on the couch and fold our arms for the prayer. We say thank you for our blessings and ask for blessings upon all of our 12 siblings who are still living, as well as ours parents, and friends. We pray that our little girl might arrive when she’s supposed to. And even if she’s earlier than expected, we live within twenty minutes of a high-quality hospital with the latest NICU technology. We’re not worried about me dying in childbirth. Amen!

Time to leave! Where on Earth did we put our electronic key that can unlock the car from sixty feet away? Sitting next to our wallets which holds our plastic money dispensers. Damon helps me load the clean, adorably-dressed children into their car seats which cost $300+ each (thank you, Mom!!!) Darn! I have less legroom in my air-conditioned, leather-seated Mercedes Benz. Only half a tank of premium gas?! We’ll have to fill up soon. It’s a little nippy out. Let me press this button that heats my back and butt with three different degrees of toastiness.

Let’s check the mail before we head out. Bills…oh great! Coupons for even more deals less than a ten-minute drive from our house. What do you mean I owe $1 for my flu shot? Shouldn’t I be able to get life-saving vaccinations for free at my local pharmacy that has every kind of medicine that I can think of living their shelves? What greedy people! At least my kids got their flu shots for free at their last well-child visit with a qualified pediatrician. But ugh! I had to sit for half an hour in the quiet waiting room to be seen! Don’t these people know that I have other things I’d rather be doing?

Oh yes, the car ride.

Thankfully, I brought snacks for my children. Heaven knows they might starve to death on this thirty-five minute long car ride to their grandparents’ 6000 square foot home in a gated community. Stupid people driving stupid! This trip is going to take FORTY-FIVE minutes instead?! BAH!! How could I be subjected to this well-built freeway filled with tens of thousands of other well-maintained vehicles reasonably abiding by traffic laws? Ugh.

I probably left out a ton of things, but do you get my point? I’m living the life that the kings of Persia would envy. I’m living better than 99.9% of people who have ever walked this Earth. And if you’re able to read this blog post, you probably are too.

Happy Thanksgiving!


Shutting up about how “poor” I am

Afraid to blink

Having two kids can be chaos. The kids are fighting over a torn cardboard animal book, despite there being like thirty books scattered around the living room.

I remember before Ty was born. I was terrified. I hated being pregnant, but having two kids? How in the heck would I logistically do the things?! So many diapers. So MANY FRIGGIN DIAPERS!!! Two people needing stuff at the same time!! How would I do it all?

Then I did.

Then I blinked.

And he’s eighteen-months-old now. He and Haven play together and fight now. They’re at the age where I don’t feel bad if they’re screaming outside of my room while I’m trying to do homework. They’ll get bored and go find something else to do…eventually.

Having three kids will be hard too. But I feel like it’ll be easier in some ways. I’ve already done this twice before. With Haven, I could sit and hold her. Nothing else could get done if the baby needed me. I sat in a rocking chair and nursed her for hours. Sometimes, I could type with one hand with her nestled into my other arm.

I can nurse a baby, read, and eat at the same time. I’ve developed selective hearing with cries. I can distinguish a “I’m bored cry” from a “I’m hungry” cry in a baby. I can soothe a pissed off infant and pretend like I’m reasoning with a three-year-old; the one who tells me everything that I’m doing wrong as a parent. She enjoys being Ty’s other mom and even changed two diapers this morning (with supervision, because…duh)

“Mommy. That does not make any sense!”

Ohhhhh boy! I’ve got an eldest child. I know how this goes; I’m one myself. How many times did I make a point to tell my parents everything that they were doing wrong with my younger siblings? SO MANY!!! Forgive me, Mother. I have sinned.

I’m less nervous for three because my brain is wired differently now. I feel comfortable leaving my kids at home with Damon all day while I go to school. I honestly don’t think about them a whole lot while I’m gone either. My whole brain does not revolve around “the baby” now. I’ve somewhat compartmentalized my brain to help myself function better. I can enjoy being a mom without being obsessed with my children.

But I’m still not a pro at this though. Nobody is. Maybe they’re a pro with their kids.

But I enjoy it more because I’m not obsessing. It goes by in five minutes. They’re newborns for like a whole second. They have popcorn poop for a day. They’re fat and crawling around for a day. It really feels like a second; not in the moment, but the moment after.

They’re holding hands and jumping on my bed right now. Ty started to talk in the last few weeks. It makes me a bit sad that I can’t remember when Haven started talking.

Haven: Ty!! Say “poop”!

Ty: Boop


Repeat like 50X

I’m afraid to blink. I’m so afraid to blink.

Third child assaults my abdominal wall like 80X an hour. “Count their kicks!” my foot. Does my belly look like someone vigorously shaking a bowl full of jelly? Yes, she’s awake. Am I grinding my teeth during biology while she grinds her knees and feet against my uterus? Yup. It hurts. But that’s just what she does. It’s her personality. It’s Remi. I’ll be meeting her in two months.

I’ll blink, and I’ll be in labor

I’ll blink, and Remi will blow out the candles on her third birthday.

I’ll blink, and Haven will be boarding the bus for her first day of school.

I’ll blink, and Ty will be fighting with Haven over use of the car.

I’m so afraid to blink.

This is why they say “Enjoy every moment!” It’s such crap to hear, because you either think “How the actual ef am I supposed to enjoy sleep deprivation?! This is considered a form of torture, ya know!!!”

Or you think, “I know. Now I feel guilty for sucking as a mom today. Thank you for reminding me that tomorrow, she’ll be graduating….”

Ty is ripping at the hole in my sheets. Haven is making up a song and pretending to drive. They’re making each other laugh and singing the tune in unison.

Haven: Lemme turn on some mommy music! Mama! I turned on some mama music! Imma turn on some yummy music! I’m a gummy bear gummy bear gummy bear..

It’s been a good morning.  I’ll try to keep my eyes open, and not blink.





Afraid to blink

Love and worm-food

Shootings aren’t a political issue. They’re certainly not a gun-control issue.

The bodies of the victims are torn apart like hyenas. A devastation for some; ammo for others to push their agendas; yet another chance for more finger-pointing and outrage that goshdarndit people won’t get on my side about this!!!

The root of the problem has nothing to do with the guns. It has nothing to do with who the victims identified as. Every tragedy stems from the exact same source: someone felt that what they were doing was more important than another person’s life.

People are going to kill other people. People are going to rape other people. People are going to scam, rob, and screw each other over. Why?

Because there are seven billion people bustling around on this planet who don’t know that they matter. People behave differently when they know that they matter. They give freely to others, instead of shrinking away like terrified rats guarding their nests. They love others, instead of fearing betrayal. They live without feeling the need to attack others. They don’t perceive arbitrary differences as gross attacks on their existence. The choices of others become a sad reality instead of a threat to their own well-being.

Children who know that they matter blossom. Children who don’t know that they matter suffer. Study after study. Lecture after lecture. Attachment. Teach them that they matter. Don’t hurt children, they say. They need to be loved even when they do bad things, they say.

We grow up and think that adults are different.

Somehow driving a car, working a job, using a plastic card to pay for food, and wiping our own butts granted us the delusion that we aren’t children anymore; that we don’t need that same constant adoration that a parent bestows a child.

I don’t love my kids because they earned it. You can never earn what your parents do for you. Love is the one thing that people always deserve that they haven’t earned. Love is not a career to climb. Love is not a reward. Love is not a prize.

Love is a condition required for every human being like food and water. Love is the sleep of mankind. It’s a retreat after the fight against yourself and the world. Sleep deprivation turns you into another person. Love deprivation makes you ugly. It hollows you out.

There is nothing that you can do to earn love from another person.

You’re not God. You’re not an angel. You’re a hairy creature who expels waste every day. You’re a lung-sack with a bad attitude. You’re a fleshy bundle of bacteria. You’re run by a spine, two eyeballs, and a grey lump of fat smaller than a head of cabbage. Yet, somehow you’ve gotten this idea that you’re more than dirt.

One day, you’ll be worm-food. Everyone goes into the ground or into the air. What matters between the moment that you’re lifted from you’re mother and the day your bag of bones shuts down?

If you don’t matter, then what you do doesn’t matter either. This is why people commit crimes. “Greed”, “Lust”, and other sexy, literary buzzwords gloss over motives, allowing us to ignore the true motive behind each and every ill. People who don’t know that they matter, behave like nothing that they do has any consequence. Why should it? They have no consequence. They’ve received no answer to that cry from the ditch. They’ve learned that they are their only means of survival. People starved of love behave like animals.

What is war then? War is nothing more than a group of children using metal to hurt other children. How often do we scoff at the squabbles between two children in line at the grocery store? How often do we berate the screaming toddler for demanding a treat, something “better” than what they’ve been handed for dinner?

How often do we go home and conduct ourselves in the exact same manner? But we’re sitting in front of a glowing box! We’re behind the wheel of a grand hunk of metal! We drink milk from another animal’s nipples! We’re so grown up! We know better!

Better than what? We still exist in a world where people invent philosophies to evade responsibility and need reeeeeeally compelling reasons to give a crap about other people.

People are going to hurt other people for as long as people feel like abandoned children. People are going to hurt other people for as long as people treat love like blood-money; only to be dispensed with cautious scrutiny. People are going to hurt other people for as long as people forget God.

Without the existence of God, you wouldn’t be. Without the existence of God, we’re all breathing bags of worm-food.


Love and worm-food

Cliches during childbirth that are…meh

Grey’s Anatomy is one of my favorite TV shows, but the way that they depict childbirth is abhorrible. Literally, every character on the show who gets pregnant has a horrible pregnancy, birth, or birth. Meredith has an emergency C-section in the dark during a storm. April loses her baby due to a tragic birth defect. April also has an emergency C-section AT HOME. Callie delivers her baby at 24 weeks after a nearly-fatal car accident.

Every American movie featuring labor and delivery is full of screaming women, pleading for an epidural, doctors and nurses scrambling along, a room of chanting people telling the laborer when and when not to push. The woman is all “YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!!!” at the father. The father is either losing his bananas or napping in the corner.

Just….give me a break.

Every woman has a different birth story to tell. I’ve told two of mine and will have another one to tell in December. I’m planning on having #3 at home since we just moved into a house. A lot of people view this as SUPER risky and dangerous. I’m all…I am NOT driving an hour in the snow while in labor. Then, I’d have to haul my shaking, bleeding, post-labor self outside in the freezing cold and pack up the newborn in the car. Just…I’m good. I’ll pass. We’ve got hospitals close by if anything goes wrong. And I’m probably more likely to die in a car accident than I am having a baby at home. It’s not like things actually happen very quickly in hospitals anyway. Like, have you ever been to the hospital? The chain of communication there is so broken and slow. Chances are, things will go just fine. I’ve had one baby whose delivery went smoothly and quickly but had an infection in utero, so he had to go to the NICU after I had him at the birthing center. Things were fine.

As a woman who has ventured past the point of the 1-10 pain scale, can I please shed some light on these friggin cliches that we see in movies and hear from everyone who wants to have an opinion?

  1. Your water breaking means that the baby is going to come shooting out your vag ANY MINUTE!!!

Yeahhhhh….nawwww. First of all, only a small percentage of labors even start with water breaking. Mine did with Haven before labor started, but didn’t with Ty. Although, after your water breaks, it means that things should get going pretty soon (meaning within the next 24 hours…not 24 seconds).


I was in labor with Haven for ten hours and five hours with Ty. While pushing with Ty was wayyy faster (like 9 minutes instead of almost 2 hours), it was NOT easier. Ty’s was so intense. After the midwife broke my water, I was only in labor for like…3 1/2 hours. But it was like pooling together all of the pain from a 10 hour and cramming it into a 3 1/2 hour window. I dozed off between contractions with Haven. I cried between contractions with Ty. Haven’s was much more calm, gradual, and bearable. I didn’t have any expectations. I hadn’t had any babies previously. I just went with the flow. Intense? Ohhh yeah. Exhausting? Of course! Miserable? No.

My mom has had all 6 of her babies in less than 4 hours. My mother-in-law had the same. I’ve had a friend who had her first baby in less than two. They are NOT “easier”.

3. Labor starting means that we need to GET TO THE HOSPITAL LIKE RIGHT NOW!!

Okay…for some women, this is the case. But those cases are rare. “Early labor” is the longest stage of labor. It’s usually what women are referring to when they say “I was in labor for 38 hours!!!!” They were not laying there screaming in agony, pushing for 38 hours. They were probably uncomfortable and having contractions for that long though. By this logic, I was “in labor” for a week before both of my kids came….three weeks. But especially in the United States, nobody is going to have you “be in actual labor” for 38 hours.

4. Your husband will inevitably recede from being an adult into behaving like a toddler who has just lost his mother in the grocery store.

Damon kept his cool. He held my hand while I labored in the tub with Haven. He checked on Haven while I was in labor with Ty. He held me while I labored on the bed with Ty. After I pushed our babies out, he told me what a good job I did and hugged me. Seriously, husbands can keep you grounded.

5. Labor is the WORST PAIN EVER!!!! 

Getting dry socket when I had my wisdom teeth removed was overall more painful than labor. And it lasted for a week. I got food poisoning while I was pregnant with Ty due to not friggin cooking scallops long enough (those still give me the jitters…). The biggest difference with labor is that you’re not puking or crapping your body weight for nothing. It’s one of the few pains in the world that has a happy ending. In the end, you get to hold your baby. You get to meet a new love. Yeah, birth is intense. I can’t convey how intense it was for me because your brain muddles it over time. But, it is just pain. It’s just the intensity. It is doable. And it doesn’t last forever. It doesn’t even last that long.

6. You will be begging for an epidural and screaming for pain relief.

I couldn’t have gotten an epidural even if I had wanted one, which it honestly didn’t even cross my mind with either kid. Will you want the pain to end? Duh. But something happens when you’re in labor that you really only get to feel while in labor; your inner animal comes out. Millions of years of mammalian evolution kick in. I drew into myself and shut the world out. I vocalized a lot, but during transition (USUALLY the most painful part), I was nearly silent. With Haven, I breathed with my mom. With Ty, I laid back in the tub and surrendered. It’s different for everyone, but fighting the pain away doesn’t help. You embrace it and roll with it.

7. Not having an epidural means that you will literally feel your vagina shredding open at the seams!!

I guess maybe if your provider has to dive in and extract a huge baby like the jaws of life from a car accident at the last minute if you get to the hospital right as you’re pushing and the baby gets stuck. Or if your baby comes out in a funky position, like with their elbow up. But that isn’t the case for most women. And I didn’t feel myself tear. And not having an epidural means that you’re not going to keep pushing and pushing past the point of agony. It only hurt for about the last minute when Haven was crowning. Even then, I didn’t feel the tearing. By the time I felt it that strongly, she was out. With Ty, I felt pain for about four seconds while pushing. Pushing feels nice. You’re finally about to meet your baby. You’re almost done. Pushing feels productive. Most moms who I know who had an epidural, especially for their first baby, got at least a third-degree tear. You can’t feel what you’re doing. Try pooping with a numb butt while laying on your back with people screaming for you to push as hard as you can.

8. “Your labor will be horrible! TRUST ME!! I’VE BEEN THERE!!!”

I get that people usually mean well. They want to keep you from suffering as they did. Or something. Again, I’ve only shared my experience. But I’ve done it twice. AND I’ve never met a woman who had a planned birthing center birth or home birth who wanted to have their next baby at the hospital. Think about that. My mom, who had her previous four babies in the hospital without an epidural, was fed up enough with the experience that she had her last two in a birthing center. No regrets.

I’m excited to meet my little girl. I feel at peace with what her story will be, even if I don’t know what it is yet. And being pregnant with my third baby, while similar to the other two, is also a different experience. Primarily because of the two small people who dominate my life -_-

Excited to meet you, Remi ❤


Cliches during childbirth that are…meh

Stuff that I didn’t miss out on by getting married at 18

I remember how people reacted when I told them that I was getting married at 18. We would get a divorce. We’d never be able to travel. We’d be broke for the rest of our lives. We needed to get more experience with dating other people. We’d get curious and perform sexual gymnastics with strangers. I’d heard countless horror stories of divorce and how it would DEFINITELY BE ME!!! Everyone questioned what the actual ef we thought we were doing.

Damon and I have been married for four years as of July 26th. Four years really isn’t a long time. Plenty of people have been married longer than I’ve been alive. But these four years have forced me to become a totally different person than the 18-year-old who married her high-school boyfriend. We didn’t get lucky. It’s been work.

Everyone told me what I’d be missing out on by getting married young. Well….here’s what I don’t regret “missing out” on.

  1. Not taking spontaneous, backpacking vacations to Peru on the fly

First of all, I wanna know who all of these Millennials are who can afford a plane ticket to Australia whenever they want. Secondly, we all know that airports now require you to display your marital status before getting on the plane. Somehow, getting married stands in the way of freely traveling from one place to another. You’ll NEVER be able to travel now!!!!!!! THROW YOUR RING AWAY BEFORE THE TSA SEES IT!!!! Newsflash: that’s garbage. Damon and I took a trip to Vegas, then Portland, a year after we got married. We’ve been through most states on the West side of the U.S. We’ve traveled plenty for the time being. We like staying at home most of the time and, our bank account reeeeeally likes it when we stay at home. We can travel one day when we’re older, empty-nesters, and have money to spend. And I really like traveling with my husband. It’s a free bodyguard, best friend, and sex buddy wherever I travel to.

Like really, most people who I know are not traveling excitedly with reckless abandon all over the globe. What does being married have to do with it?

2. Skipping the generation of “Tinder”

I try not to hate on Millennials, but the concept of “quality over quantity” is seemingly lost on this generation. Over the last five years, STD rates in Utah have skyrocketed. Again, it’s not like everyone who didn’t get married at 18 is out having these amazing, rip-roaring, orgasmatron sex lives. Especially with how many dudes are using porn as their “how-to” guide? Give me a break. Can I just say how lucky I feel to have dodged this age of “Tinder”?!?!! WHAT IS THE OBSESSION WITH BUTTHOLES?! Snapchatting dick pics. Asking for nudes. Scratching the vag wondering if that dude had herpes. Freaking out over missed periods. Sweaty acquaintances. Accidental pregnancy by a dude who I don’t ever want to see again.


Yeesh. It’s hard enough picking out what to watch on Netflix with one person. Watching Netflix with 80 people does not make you any more skilled in that one particular person’s taste in viewing entertainment. Can we please stop repeating this myth that you have to have sex with tons of people to be good at it? Practicing with a single person is how you get good with that person. Also, I cannot think of a single human being ever whom I have envied who has participated in this “carefree”, unattached lifestyle of random f*ckery of strangers and non-spousal partners. Not a single one.


Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh…except, other people are kinda gross. I can assure you that I am 100% happy and content to have only ever slept with one person; my husband who has also never slept with anyone else. If that makes me a loser, uh, okay? Imma go enjoy my significantly lower risk of cervical cancer over there then. Again, if you really want to persuade me to live that way, then pleeeease try to make it look somewhat appealing.

3. Dating the horny puppies that are called “college guys”

Impressing someone, talking to them, taking them out places, arranging stuff to do, rearranging your schedule around them, meeting parents, etc, etc, etc. Oh, never mind. I don’t like them as much as I thought. START OVER!!! REPEAT!!

I’m glad that I got that over with in high school before life got complicated. I can dedicate my college years to school, building my family, and not being harassed with intrusive questions about my relationship at family gatherings.

Having been married for four years, I look at pretty much all single dudes the same way; puppies. Horny puppies that have to be trained not to pee all over everything and lick their balls in front of guests. I’ve spent the last four years either “training” my husband out of his bad habits or learning not to care about them. And same goes for him. I have ZERO desire to repeat this experience with any other dude on Earth ever again.

4. Alllll life experience comes to a bloody halt when you get married

You know what’s cool about getting married before you’ve ever moved out of your parent’s house? You get to learn to be adults together. I didn’t have a buncha habits and attitudes already in place from living on my own for awhile. Damon and I got to learn how to manage a house without the whole “Well, I do it this way” getting in the way. We didn’t friggin know, so we made it up as we went along.

Getting married has made me have to grow up. It was freakin’ weird calling Damon my “husband” for the first few months. People’s reactions were priceless when I dropped the “H” word. Now, it doesn’t even phase me to talk about my “husband”.

When your attitude is “How can we make this work together?”, your marriage thrives. When your attitude is “How can I make this work for me?”, things suck.

I’m totally cool with all of my life experiences being with my husband. And jeeeez….being married doesn’t mean being joined at the hip. It’s not like when we were dating and couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. It’s not like we’re constantly texting. It’s not like I have to see him alllllllllllll the time. That’s called co-dependency. And it causes A LOOOOOOT of problems!

Right now, he goes to class while I try to hold down the fort at home. He does homework, yard work, and laundry. I do dishes, cook, and deal with logistics. We either join forces against the kids or take turns if the other person is going to lose their sh*t.

But hey! I haven’t slept with ten people or given shots to the orphans in India. So, what do I know about the “real world”?


Stuff that I didn’t miss out on by getting married at 18