meditations of a blueberry

I lie in the dark, attempting to will sleep to come to me. All is quiet in the house except for the soft breathing of my sleeping children. I wrap myself up in the fleece sheets and feel the warmth flood my body, and still sleep does not come. The moon shines in my window and I get up to close the curtains. Flashbacks of the week flood my brain as I relive each moment where failure flooded my day. This parenting thing? It's not for the faint of heart. It's without a doubt the hardest, most thankless thing I have ever done in my life. Most days I waver between wondering what the hell I'm doing and hoping against all hope that nobody figures out that I'm just faking my way through it all. Every single day I find myself full of wrong choices and wrong reactions and wrong actions and so many wishes that I could start over and try again. It's bloody hard to be responsible for tiny humans. Beyond the mundane tasks of feeding and clothing them and making sure t...

Recently I got lost in my diary from high school, and the more I read, the more my heart broke for 14 year old me. How worthless and unlovable I used to find myself! And how much I believed those lies. Signs of my depression peeking through amidst the teenage angst. I often wonder how I made it through. I started wondering what I would tell her if I could go back and comfort her. Timers on cameras and just hoping that it turned out okay! What do you tell someone who is hurting and only sees dark? What do you say to encourage a young girl who feels so alone? What words do you use? I would tell her that her worth is not tied to boys. That she is beautiful whether a boy thinks she is or not. That what these teenage boys think won't matter in a few years. That it's okay to be on her own and not be dating someone. That she doesn't need to do something just because a boy wants her to. That she is in charge of her body. That she will make mistakes but that they don...

"Comparison is the thief of joy." That's what they say. I sit in the light of our Christmas tree, amongst the soft pillows on my couch, wrapped in the cozy comforts of an old blanket and I look around. I see photos of my loves, hear the laughter as they play downstairs, taste my hot coffee on my tongue, and smell the scent of Christmas beside me. Home surrounds me, in scent, taste, sounds, and sight. I am so blessed. And yet. And yet. And yet so often I feel like all this is not enough. Like I am not enough. I look past the carefully placed Christmas decorations that I lovingly and carefully put away each year. Many that I have made, some purchased new, some purchased secondhand. I see the scratches and dents on the walls that has come with 4 kids that are less than careful. Scratches that have come because of previous owners not painting over oil paint properly. I see furniture that we have had for years that has faded or has broken...

The last of my babies sleeps on my body. Every night, when I lay my head on my pillow and pull the covers over my body, she usually worms her way to my armpit so that my arm must go either under her or at an awkward angle over and around her head. An awkward angle that any cosleeping parent knows well. Some nights, she is directly on my chest with her head wedged into my neck in such a way I'm surprised I don't wake up with a crick in my neck. And some nights, like tonight, she's tossed and turned and now lays with her head snuggled into my soft belly. I complain every night. I like my space when I sleep. I am a tummy sleeper. But, I deal with it and try to move my body slowly into a comfortable position for me while still not disturbing her. It doesn't usually work. I usually end up back in some contorted position just to keep her happy so she can nurse. I really should start insisting she sleep in her own bed. I really should night wean her. All the bo...

A phone call. An anxious voice reaching out, finally admitting that it's time to ask for help. A racing heartbeat as that voice whispers the words "mental health issues" to the listening ear on the other end. Embarrassed. As if it's something to be shameful about. As if a broken brain is different than a broken arm or broken stomach or broken lungs. Afraid. That my doctor would tell me that what I've been experiencing for most of my life is normal. That I'm silly or "making a big deal" out of things and that this is just how life is. This was me several weeks ago. I finally decided that I needed to talk to my doctor.  Shame flooded my whole body when the nurse asked me the reason for the appointment. Why? Why did I feel the need to whisper, especially since nobody was around me? When I went into my appointment, my doctor validated everything I have been feeling off about. She gave me a game plan to help offset the damage my brain is trying to ...

Eyes closed, I look up to the sky, breathing in the last wisps of summer while I taste the promise of Fall on the tip of my tongue. I feel the last warmth of the sun's rays rest on my face as summer promises to return again. The breeze gently caresses my cheek as it continues on past, swirling the falling golden leaves at my feet. My babies' laughter and screams waft into my ears like a melodious symphony from a master musician and I smile as I feel a tear roll down my cheek. I stand at the precipice of the next phase of my life. Goodbye birth. Goodbye babies. What has so far defined me for the last 7 years is changing. And with that, comes the realization that I too must change. And yet. And yet, I feel stagnant. Unable to push forward. Frozen in fear at taking the next step. The first step. Uncertainty abounds. And thanks to an unwelcome resident in my brain, I am unsure if this fear and uncertainty is due to its grip on me or not. But no. I r...

Years ago when the only little I was chasing around was E, I went on a few babywearing walks. On one such walk, we took a break at a playground for the bigger littles to play and while I was nursing E, I overheard a conversation that has stuck with me since. A wonderful and wise mama was having a conversation about being finished having children. She said she had expressed possibly wanting more children when her partner said to her, "there is more to being a mom than pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding." (it was a long time ago, I may have the exact wording slightly wrong.) For years, those words have rattled around in my head, but I didn't truly understand them until now. Tonight, I took the crib down and changed it into a toddler bed for the last time. And although we didn't use it much with Miss A, it was still a symbol of babyhood that remained in my bedroom. The symbols of babyhood are slowly leaving my house. Baby clothes here, infant bucket seat there,...