We all feel like we’re not enough. I mean really. Have you EVER met a woman who stood up tall, her boosies thrust out proudly, a finger pointed directly between them while she proudly declares, “I am 100% and thoroughly satisfied with me!”
If you have, please. Point in her direction because I think I might be able to help her write a best seller. She could talk and I would write.

But yesterday I went to bed feeling… I don’t know, dull? I just felt like I had wasted the day. I hadn’t, really. I made food. I ate food. OH! I watched an old western. Wait, that doesn’t count… well anyway. Just before hitting my pillow, I said my prayers and just apologized profusely. I was given a beautiful day and I didn’t make the most of it. Truth be told: I got SICK of eating constantly, and so I slowed down and ended up on my living room floor willing death to come. This nausea is no joke. If I would have just EATEN, I would have been fine.
But that’s all I do.
Eat.
Wash dishes.
Get more food ready.
Eat.
Rinse.
Repeat.

I never thought I’d say it, but I am sick of eating. Some poor, starving child in a third-world country wants to punch me in the face right now for saying that. I can feeeeeel the hatred searing through the miles and miles between us.

Thank goodness for today. Thank goodness I got a fresh start. I exercised this morning, had my morning devotional, came home, cried, slept, ate, and I quickly saw Thursday becoming a subtle rerun of Wednesday.
So I logged online to look through inspiring art work.

This photograph is the epitome of motherhood. Have you ever seen a mother look more beautiful? Maybe you have, but it almost takes my breath away -the moment captured on film. I mean… she’s in her PANTS, people. She’s in her pants and she went in the water anyway. And does she look like she cares that her pants are wet? I don’t see a hint of distress. I only see a lucky kid. A lucky mom. Happiness. And love.

Oh the magical wonder of a new life… I love the look on all of the boys’ faces. They’re curious and in awe -even the father. But the mother? She looks as if she’s had that baby in her arms all her life.

What about that picture is posed? Nothing. Do you like it better than a posed picture? I know I do. Life unposed is always better than life posed. Do I want to remember my life by looking at a series of posed pictures? I don’t. And I don’t want my posterity growing up thinking that their foremother was posed. She wasn’t, kids. She was real from her neglected hair to her belly rolls (I’m talking about myself, just to clarify. I don’t want my mother or grandmothers thinking I believe they neglect their hair).

I can’t for the life of me find who painted this picture, but I absolutely love it. I think it’s probably one of the most beautiful paintings I’ve ever seen. It practically emits love.

And so these pictures will get me through today. They’ve refocused me, and reminded me that motherhood isn’t glamorous -and that’s what I love MOST about it.

Want to know what I’m going to do with this Thursday?
I’m going to do my hair and make up.
I’m going to mail some packages.
I’m going to do dishes.
I’m going to make brownies.
I’m going to serve leftovers for dinner.
I’m going to eat. A lot.
I’m going to watch another old Western.
And through it all, I’m going to be an a mother… no glamour, no polish, no front.

And thanks to a combination of my son and a cell phone camera, I discovered last night that my son has the ability to make me laugh so hard that my eyes almost disappear entirely.

So I guess I DID do something yesterday besides eat.
I laughed a lot.
Maybe yesterday wasn’t as much of a failure as I thought… death willing aside, naturally.

My extremely brilliant children have discovered the cure for insomnia. It isn’t a long, hot bath as Paul Harvery once advised has the same effect as a sleeping pill. No! Not at all! It is simply this: crawl into bed with your mother and lodge your feet in the small of her back.
Works. Like. A. Charm.
You’ll drift right off.
A few nights ago, my daughter used this technique with great success. Last night, my son mastered it.
This morning, I want a long, hot bath.

Of course, my son was the first up because he got the most sleep.
“Mom!” he called out from my side of the gigantic bed, “It’s your boy!”
And I cracked my eyes open and looked at him… he was beaming, waiting for me to be thrilled to see him. He is, after all (in his own words), amazing.
Well, I am actually training him for amazingness. Take this, for instance: I’ve been teaching him how to take out the trash so I won’t have to anymore (and since *cough* his dad *cough* doesn’t do it *cough* as often as his wife would like).
Train a child up in the way that he should go, and he will not depart from it, right?

Speaking of training for amazingness, here’s a quick picture of my cousin, Karly. Her Dad is our Dentist, and I was teasing her on Sunday… telling her that the tiger needed his teeth pulled so he wouldn’t be scary anymore. She believed me and took the tweezers I offered her. She was determined to pull those teeth, and I’ll be DANGED if she wasn’t smiling in determination while she tugged on the teeth.

I don’t exactly think playing video games at a very young age qualifies for amazingness training, but some people might. Some people like my little brother Jim.

THIS is what definitely qualifies for amazingness training:

I call it Farm Boy Wielding Shovel. True cell phone camera art, courtesy of my husband.
And lastly… what sort of amazing would he be without movie-watching training?  It’s definitely a MUST in our family tree.

I have high hopes for my trainee. I think he’ll turn out a million times more amazing than pretty much everyone else… especially with that shovel.

There’s a few days left to win a free item out of Darah’s shop! CLICK HERE to enter! Speaking of amazingness, you definitely don’t want to miss out on her CUTE stuff!

This kid growing inside of me is going to be a super child… I swear it.  It doesn’t even have EARS  yet and it has completely taken over my body.  I eat when it tells me to, I sit when it tells me to, I eat WHAT it tells me to eat and I only get to sleep when the baby feels like maybe I deserve some sleep.

Last night I didn’t deserve sleep, apparently.

My cravings… which I still can’t believe I have at just a mere 6 weeks … are very strong and very specific. Drifting off to sleep a few nights ago, I muttered, “What I wouldn’t GIVE for a fat bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats.”
And even though I passed yesterday between the couch and getting small house chores done, my craving for chicken fried steak got the most of me and I got up and made it.

Monday morning, I knew I had to clean the house. My husband had cleaned our bathrooms (man-style cleaning, you know), so I focused on the kitchen and living room. There weren’t any clean dishes for me to make breakfast, and if I don’t eat I get REALLY sick. So I got sick. But I hunched over the sink and I washed, washed, washed… I could smell something. I could smell something really strong, and finally was blessed to find the source of the smell -the trash can. It wasn’t very full but WHATEVER was in it had to go. I took a few steps over to the sink… INHALED deeply, went back to the trash can, made quick work of tying the trash bag off and hauled it outside. I let out my air when I made it outside and when I breathed in: I got a HUGE whiff of campfire smoke.
My husband had burned leaves early that morning.
I heaved.
In my hunched position (and holding my breath) I dumped the trash in the barrel and I got myself back inside. Once there, I sprayed my cleaning spray on my counter and I breathed in the fresh lemon scent.
It really is fresh lemon and not chemical lemon, so I feel really not guilty about that. This cleaning spray saved my life yesterday morning. Once I got some food in me, I even used it to mop my floor.

The all-purpose cleaner was my best friend yesterday.
And really: my morning sickness so far (last night excluding) has been manageable! I’m so excited because NEVER before has my morning sickness been manageable. Usually it just flattens me out until it decides to be done and over with. But this go around, I just have to eat constantly.
Or at least every two hours.
If I don’t, I get struck with overwhelming nausea without warning. It doesn’t come on slowly by any means… it comes with a vengeance.

“You didn’t FEED me,” it cries, punching me in the gut, “What have I taught you about FEEDING me?” And of course the hardest thing to do when your stomach hurts is eat.
So I just try to eat frequently… all day long.

This baby will be super baby. I wonder if I’m brewing up a little Clark Kent. He’ll look so cute in little Clark Kent glasses.

(don’t mind the heart in my armpit… covering up my undies that peeked out just for a photo opp)