Opinions vs. Stories

It’s easy to tell someone your opinion. The hard work is in telling your story.

I can’t remember where I found this quote, but I love it. It sums up what I enjoy most about writing: the ability to share my truth, even if it scares me or makes me vulnerable.

There is beauty in this terrifying practice of truth telling. lately, the more I share around my own struggles and lessons in humility as a mom, the more I’ve been able to connect with others. And that connection–that feeling of knowing you’ve made someone else feel normal or ok–is so wonderfully inspiring.

Thank you to everyone who’s sent texts or comments or messages supporting my recent posts. Your feedback is the best possible reward.

Ode to Tired Moms

About a year ago, in the middle of a conversation at work, my friend Courtney sighed and quietly remarked, “I’m so tired I could just die.” Courtney’s a wife, mom to toddler twins, dynamo career woman and an overall lovely human. Plus, she showers regularly. She’s basically a unicorn.

At the time of this conversation, I was a few months pregnant and working full time, and thought that I, too, was that tired.

It’s cute how naive I was.

Flash forward into motherhood and I definitely have moments where my fatigue feels like a lead blanket is trying to smother me. Keeping a tiny person happy and healthy can be EXHAUSTING. But it’s so completely amazing that we somehow push through, day after day, relying on caffeinated beverages and expensive under-eye concealers. We embrace the wonderful struggle because we wouldn’t have it any other way.

To all the tired mommas out there, hang in there. This is my ode to you:

Le Tired

There are lots of fun ways to describe how I feel,
But no matter the phrasing, the struggle is real.

I’m drained, tuckered out, exhausted and tired,
My energy stores have long since expired.

Being a mom gives life amazing new purpose,
But turns getting sleep into a three-ring circus.

Daydreams of naps spin through my head,
Of a magical place known simply as bed.

Who knew that sleep would become such a prize,
That all I’d want for Christmas is to just close my eyes.

Daycare drop off, commute, work and repeat,
The fact that I showered is an amazing feat.

By evening I’m a zombie and just want to crash,
But instead I fold laundry and take out the trash.

Change one more diaper, wash one more bottle,
I’m running on empty and still have to swaddle.

It’s tough, you know, just being a mom,
The days are intense and there isn’t much calm.

It’s a job often thankless, full of poop, spit-up and tears,
But we take it in stride, balancing marriage and careers.

Every time I hit a wall and think I can’t go on any longer,
I wake up the next day, feeling a tiny bit stronger.

Ever so slowly, by day and by night,
I’m starting to feel like I’m doing some things right.

Despite all the ways I might feel like a mess,
My life would be empty if it was anything less.

No matter the trials, the fatigue or mayhem,
I’d never give it up, I can’t live without them.

When you cancel cable:

1. You gleefully exclaim, “Well, guess we’ll HAVE to re-watch every episode of Parks and Recreation on Netflix!”

2. There’s a lot more video game playing by one third of this household. Hint: it’s not me or Lila.

3. I’m much closer to finishing a book than I was a week ago.

4. I wonder, daily, what the ratio is of homeowners on HGTV who are deciding to Love It or List It.

5. My love/hate relationship with the Duggars is cooling off. (I know. I KNOW.)

6. We’ve received many clingy-ex emails and postcards from DirectTV. They want us back so bad.

7. We’ve discovered fun new Pandora stations. One hip hop selection so inappropriate we couldn’t make eye contact.

8. The dogs are oblivious.

9. The baby is oblivious.

10. I know with complete certainty that none of my actions are directly or indirectly supporting the Kardashians.


6 things

1. Last week I started drinking unfiltered apple cider vinegar in a glass of water every day. Because it’s supposed to boost your immune system and help your body eliminate illnesses. Also, it’s disgusting.

2. My dining habits leave little to the imagination. Last night I made chicken stroganoff for dinner. Tonight I had olives, chips and salsa and M&Ms.

3. When I was super sick last month, one doctor suspected I had mono, you know, because I’m 15. So he did a blood test and the results showed that I didn’t have it, but had it at some point in the past. Yep. I had mono and missed it.

4. I just scrolled through my google search history and the following items appeared, none of which I remember looking up: Randy Johnson, ketchup humor, infant chin rash, Ross Dress for Less, definition of malleable, antipodean and Mark Cuban.

5. Revelation: baby toys are the exact same thing as dog toys, but three times the cost. That being said, the baby is as amused with a plastic bottle as she is with any expensive toy.

6. A very sweet friend sent me a car seat adapter for our BOB. I can now safely race* through the streets of Phoenix with my infant! This is most exciting because the weather is perfect right now and will be hot again by the time Lila’s big enough for it (sans adapter)…and it’s been giving me judgmental looks for weeks while sitting stagnant.

*jog slowly


5:23 a.m.

No matter how often it happens, the baby’s cries on the monitor always awaken me with a jolt. Over several months, my sleeping patterns have gradually adjusted to consistent waking at night, but this shrill sound is always off putting. Something has changed, though, and my reaction has softened.

Once resistant to these nocturnal interruptions, I’ve become more malleable. They are no longer a personal affront, but rather, a sacred duty.

I’m tired, so very tired, but it’s alright.

I cross the house in my nightly pilgrimage to the nursery, and search for the fallen paci in the dark. My hands locate it with ease and as I return it to a whimpering mouth, silence ensues. I rest my hand on her chest for a few moments so she knows she’s not alone.

I pick up the pillow and blanket I keep near the crib and lie down on the floor. Instead of angrily calculating how little time until my alarm will sound, as I did for weeks, I lay on my back and listen to her soft snores. I enjoy the quiet darkness.

Motherhood remains the Hardest Thing Ever. Lord, is it hard.

But it fits me now–like a second, invisible skin. I finally get it. I recognize that this work–this endless and exhausting and thankless work–is my greatest purpose and privilege.

This love is a forceful energy and I am grateful.


What makes us strong and unique is what makes us beautiful.

My best friend Amy visited yesterday on her drive back to LA. While we played with the baby, she couldn’t help but smile and comment on Lila’s chubby cheeks (can’t blame her, they’re pretty terrific). We started talking about how there’s something so perfect about babies, possibly the fact that they are completely unconsumed with vanity–have you ever seen an adult vomit on herself or poop her pants with such abandon–and how sad it is that this immunity to self doubt won’t last forever.

The first time I can recall wanting to be thinner was in the first grade. I know. It wasn’t so much a desire to be svelte at age six, but rather a simple yearning to be like Carrie, a popular girl in my class. She was tiny with long, golden straight hair. Pretty much my opposite. I have this funny memory of sitting on the floor next to her for some class activity, and noticing that my legs were much bigger than hers. What a strange observation to make at that age, years before I was exposed to anything beyond G-rated movies and Raffi.

It’s not like I was an overweight kid. I really wasn’t. But I also wasn’t a string bean the way many little girls are. I was then, as I am now, what’s politely coined athletic or curvy. Largely due to genetics, but also because I am athletic.

Through adolescence, all I wanted was to lose weight; to fit into a smaller jean size and achieve some warped, pop-culture-infused sense of beauty. I just knew the mythical size 5 would bring me a boyfriend, perfect grades and blissful popularity…Until it didn’t.

Junior high, high school, college…there was always someone to compare myself to with disdain. Cheerleaders, sorority girls in tiny matching shirts, girls who actually bought pants at Charlotte Russe. Even today, I look at old pictures and lament that I wish I was as skinny now as I was then. I curse myself for having a negative body image at the time the photo was taken and not knowing how great I looked.

The trouble with being a young woman in America is that our culture has given us falsified and unrealistic perceptions of beauty–to a damning extent. So that no matter how many times we’re told we’re beautiful by our parents, friends or significant others, and how many miles we run or calories we forgo, we’re always left feeling like less than enough.

Despite all this, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. Because while I waste/d plenty of days wishing I was somehow “better,” these thoughts didn’t turn into unhealthy behaviors (to this day I have never consumed water mixed with maple syrup, lemon juice and cayenne pepper). I kid. But lots of people aren’t so fortunate:

  • 91% of women surveyed on a college campus had attempted to control their weight through dieting; 22% dieted “often” or “always.”
  • 86% report onset of eating disorder by age 20; 43% report onset between ages of 16 and 20.
  • 95% of those who have eating disorders are between the ages of 12 and 25.
  • 25% of college-aged women engage in bingeing and purging as a weight-management technique.
  • The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate associated with all causes of death for females 15-24 years old.
  • Over one-half of teenage girls and nearly one-third of teenage boys use unhealthy weight control behaviors such as skipping meals, fasting, smoking cigarettes, vomiting, and taking laxatives.

I am so, so sad when I read these statistics, and when I think about people I love who have lost parts of their lives to eating disorders. I feel sad for every girl who feels she isn’t worthy because of her weight or appearance. Some of it can’t be helped, but some of it can.

It all matters a LOT more now that I have a daughter. Right now, she’s happily oblivious. She eats whenever she wants (cued through ear-piercing screams), and as she grows, we delight in her rolls. She has a baby muffin top and it’s seriously the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. The doctor meticulously ensures she’s gaining weight at each visit as a sign that she’s thriving. I dread the day she realizes weight has a different meaning.

I’ll do my best to shield her from excesses of pop culture and negative influences, as much as is realistically possible. I’ll teach her what health and beauty mean, across the world. I will model positive behaviors around food and exercise. I’ll encourage her to respect her body, and to demand that respect from others. I’ll share that not everyone is given the blessing of good health, and the importance of taking care of ourselves. I’ll explain that what makes us strong and unique is what makes us beautiful, and that her opinions of herself are the most important. And she’ll likely sigh and roll her eyes, wondering how I could possibly understand.

A few disclaimers:

1. Remember Carrie (name changed) who I referenced in the intro…wouldn’t it be ironic if she ended up overweight and unsuccessful? Whelp. I just looked her up on Facebook. She works for Google and went to Harvard. Ok then.

2. While I (gently) knock sorority girls, I was in one myself…(I KNOW)…but not a typical one which is why I loved it.