𝗔π—₯𝗧𝗛𝗨π—₯ π—œπ—¦ ➍ π— π—’𝗑𝗧𝗛𝗦!

β«Έ 𝕋𝕠𝕑 π•‹π•–π•Ÿ π•‹π•šπ••π•“π•šπ•₯𝕀 β«·
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”
βž™ 14 pounds
βž™ 24.5 inches long
βž™ officially part of the β€œrolling club”
βž™ superhero Jack-Jack for Halloween
βž™ β€œMr. I Don’t Like Sleep Anymore”
βž™ enjoyed 1st time on the swing at the park
βž™ wakes up every 2-4 hours overnight again
βž™ loves to watch Big Sis dance and play piano
βž™ cracks up at Dad’s pretend β€œtoot noises”
βž™ started swim classes with a friend

β«Έ π•„π•’π•žπ•’β€™π•€ 𝕄𝕠𝕀π•₯ 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕀 π•„π• π•žπ•–π•Ÿπ•₯ β«·
β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”β€”
This month I’ve realized that the β€˜most marvelous moment’ is not always because of it’s perfection, but sometimes because of the exhale that follows the struggle.

β€œBreathe in 1, 2, 3 … and out 3, 2, 1 …”

It’s been my mantra this past month; quite literally my mellow chant that I’ve rehearsed out-loud on repeat. Despite watching your perfect little self discover more details of this big world with each passing day, this month felt hard.  Mixed in with your baby giggles and goofy grins, you had uncontrollable outbursts and clawed at my chest in frustration. Whether it was impatience with my slow milk letdown, crankiness from not enough sleep, or just painful gas that was upsetting you, I’ll never know… You couldn’t use words to tell me, and frankly, I became speechless many times, too. I relied on counting:

β€œBreathe in 1, 2, 3 … and out 3, 2, 1 …”

Daddy was on night shift, and that evening presented all the elements of a perfect storm; spinning out of control like a tornado was tiredness from sleep regression, overwhelming household duties, and β€˜mommy hormones’ accompanied with low milk supply.  After mixing in some heavy grief from terribly missing your big brother, the end result was a hurricane. Our house was flooded with tears as you and I shared a dramatic tantrum together. That was, until…

You laughed at me. And I mean, you. laughed. at. me!  All of a sudden life became really funny to you, Arthur.  Maybe it was the sound of my snot-filled nose snorting between ugly cries, or maybe it was the crazy design the runny mascara made on my cheeks that sent you into a hilarious cackling fit.  Either way, that contagious laugh of yours was the big gust of wind that pushed away all the looming dark clouds; it blew in a fresh breath of air that I swallowed as fast as I could…

β€œBreathe in 1, 2, 3 … and out 3, 2, 1…”

My shoulders relaxed, you latched-on, and I nursed you into a peaceful sleep. As I sat still, I thought about the skill of counting to three; how can something I mastered in preschool be so tough?Β  It’s true; in the moments where anxiety has you in a chokehold, the concentration required to recite three consecutive numbers becomes extreme talent in and of itself.Β  Our demanding society constantly raises the expectations of parenthood, but even if I’m gasping for air trying to keep up, you’ll always be my beautiful β€˜exhale’, Arthur Nelson.

I love you, Artie🧸 

-❀️Alexandria
… join me by #FallingRightSideUp πŸ‘†πŸΌ
when life gets turned upside downπŸ‘‡πŸΌ
Psalm 46:5

2 thoughts on “𝗔π—₯𝗧𝗛𝗨π—₯ π—œπ—¦ ➍ π— π—’𝗑𝗧𝗛𝗦!

  1. Dear Alexandria,

    How precious are His thoughts toward you; how vast is the sum of them…He is gently turning your mourning into dancing. He is near to the broken hearted, and gives you peace that passes all understanding. Arthur is your gift, and you are his. Your testimony is truly a blessing to so many.

    Liked by 1 person

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