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Posts Tagged ‘love’

The Fever

This meme came at the perfect time!

19 Weeks

Why?

Because I have the fever!

The baby fever!

Oh Lawd.

After I had my daughter I was certain I wasn’t having anymore babies and I couldn’t figure out how the parents of more than one got to the place where they wanted more.

The weight of being a new mother, breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and attempting to wrap my head around the incredible responsibility in front of me had me swearing off all future children.

And then I found out I was drowning from Post Pardum Depression.

So I fought.

Hard.

And I won.

I found out what it’s like to be a mother without PPD dragging me down.

29 Weeks

Light, relaxing, and enjoyable.

There’s a future.

And I want to do it again.

Leighann

Note: I am not pregnant nor am I trying to get pregnant at this time.

I have a wedding to plan people!!

But I will hold your baby, rock your baby, smell your baby, buy your baby

clothes, and look at pictures of your baby.

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Big Steps

Two fingers grasp the leg of the highchair, wound tightly keeping her upright. Her smile is wide and full of 6 teeth.

Stomp stomp stomp

She marches in place and giggles, throwing her head back and then points at us all. Soaking in the attention and the applause she laughs loudly and claps, letting go of her support.

Gasp.

There she stands, all on her own, and claps her hands.

Friends are visiting and they encourage her to come to them, they tell her she can do it.

Tilting her head towards her shoulder she smirks and then bends down to pick up a wayward shoe, she holds her prize high in the air and squeals before stepping forward.

One step

Two steps

Three steps

Four steps

Five steps

Did that just happen? She just walked! My baby just walked! Did everyone see that?

So much screaming. Celebrating. Hugging. Clapping.

So proud.

She was so proud.

Her grin grew 3 times its size.

My heart grew 3 times its size.

I was so proud.

Let's BEE Friends

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Lets Go Outside?

Beautiful heat shines down on the newly planted begonias, pansies, and marigolds. Each beautiful stem standing tall in its new beige pot, freshly packed down in black earth.

Together we picked each flower out, planning where we would put each one, anticipating it’s growth, imagining the picture guests would see when they drove up our driveway, mesmerized by the flowers in full bloom.

So many plans made.

All these things I want to do.

Every summer my list is long, my promises are many, and my intentions are good. But then I remember I hate the outdoors.

Laying on the beach, feeling the sun soak into my skin and closing in on a burn , it sounds heavenly. I can see the waves rolling against the sand, I can feel the cool breeze against my legs, and if I close my eyes I can hear laughter from families enjoying the miles of freedom the banks offer.

Once there I feel the heat hit my hair, the sweat begins to roll down my back, and I get itchy. I start a mental count down of how much longer I have to endure the fiery burns of hell.

I imagine feeling the cool water tickling my legs as I enter, the ebb and flow that carries me further into the deep, eventually ducking under and allowing the waves to take me under.

The water is colder than imagined and my bathing suit is baggy on my behind. I forget every year that I don’t like my legs, my stomach, or my arms and am reminded when the suit is back on. The water suddenly seems to taunt me.

Every summer I make plans.

This summer it was a beautiful garden, complete with flowers, hanging baskets, moving bushes, turning dirt, and lighting.

Gardening is a lot of work. There are bugs, the sun is hot, and the baby eats the flowers. The bending over is not just painful but unflattering, and sweat mixed with dirt is not a combination I enjoy.

But, Brian does.

And our gardens look beautiful!

Leighann

* editors note – yesterday I vlogged about my gardens (or lack there of) I do have gardens as you can read above, however, for the purpose of the vlog (and comedic genius) I thought it best that you see what would happen if I alone did the gardening.

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Home.

The destination I aim for everyday after work.

My family inside awaiting my arrival, planning dinner, their voices echoing off of the kitchen walls, and baby squeals travelling to meet me at the door.

A sweet welcome.

Until I see the mark.

The dental records from another chid left in my baby’s arm.

I hear Brian ask me to be calm so he can relay the information.

The world turns from shades of red to black, I picture myself growing claws out of my finger tips and sharp fang like teeth capable of ripping into any opponent.

A low growl is forming in my throat and threatening to escape as my body fights the urge to crouch into a pouncing position.

“Who.Did.This?”

Is all I can mutter. The room is dark, a spotlight shines on the red teeth marks that appear to be pulsing on my daughters arm.

“They don’t know, she didn’t cry or make a fuss, they noticed it late in the day.”

I feel a sharp pain in my gut, someone is stabbing me, but when I look down there is no blood. My head is pounding.

I pace back and forth like a caged animal attempting to keep my composure but the red marks scream at me.

You weren’t there to protect me!

Rushing to my daughter I ask her what happened, who hurt her?

She touches my face.

My growl turns into tears.

She smiles at me and reaches for my hair.

My sharp teeth meant to cut into my prey retract.

She laughs and says “mama?”

My claws fall away and I touch her angry marks

I wasn’t there to protect her.

But she was ok.

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Zombie Love

I’ve heard the theory that the world will end in the year 2012.

I’ve watched my fair share of zombie movies, with thanks to my brother.

I’m cautious about washing my fruits and vegetables, hand sanitizing, and ensuring I get my family checked out if I suspect one of us is ill.

I’m certain I would survive should a mutant virus sweep our planet turning everyone into zombies because I am prepared. I’ve done my research (watched a lot of zombie movies) and I’m confident I have acquired all of the necessary skills needed to fight the un-dead.
My swift ninja chop will easily slice the heads off of the approaching man-eating killers, my unwillingness to share will surely keep me well fed, and my lack of interest in small talk will allow me to stay well hidden.

But there’s a problem.

Brian will get me killed.

He has been sick for the past two weeks and throughout his illness I have noticed his not so subtle attempts at infecting me.

When he first became sick I brushed it off, he wasn’t really trying to get me ill, he just wanted a kiss. Then, in the throes of his flu he charged me, eyes bloodshot and puffy, nose running, voice hoarse, and asked me for a hug. Alarms went off and I backed up into the other room to breathe clean air.

He was turning.

I begged him to think about our daughter, to not let the zombie take over. To spare me.

He spared me, that time.

The final straw was a few days ago. Another wave of flu had hit our home and because I practice zombie virus avoidance I managed to remain healthy. Brian emerged from the bedroom looking weak, dehydrated, and pale. He smacked his lips together and asked for a drink. After reaching for a glass and turning around again he was right behind me, hands outstretched requesting a hug.

Zombie.

I asked him why he wanted to infect me.

I asked him if the world was ending and he and I were the last ones left would he still want a hug.

Yes he would.

Zombie.

I ran away.

Because I’m always in training.

And Brian, he’s the weak link people.

Leighann

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When I was in 6th grade my mom gave me a card. A simple blue card with a picture of flowers on the front.  The purpose was to comfort me, to encourage me to stay strong, to give me courage.

Because I was being bullied.

Cards and notes like this one would show up on my dresser periodically throughout the rest of my childhood. Folded words purposely placed to tell me she was proud, that I was loved, that she was listening.

Put there to help me cope.

Recently I found my box of cards.

The memories danced off of them as I ran my hands over their surfaces and across the curved lines of my mom’s smooth writing. Her words placed with intention and with love.

At the bottom of the pile was the blue card.

The one my mom had given me in grade 6.

Its edges weak and tattered, corners worn, and ink faded.

Taped to the back was a note.

“Be yourself and your friends will love you. We love you.”

Words to live by.

————————————————————————————————————————————–

Happy Mothers Day Mom I love you more than I have words. Thank you.

And Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad – Today! Thank you for raising me the way you did, for teaching me to have morals, determination, integrity, and to stand up for myself and what I believe (in).

You gave me life, what a gift. Xo

Let's BEE Friends

Leighann

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1. The stomach flu travels fast within a household and just because you’re the mom doesn’t mean you’re immune, it just means you will have to factor frequent bathroom visits into your day.

2. When daddy has the stomach flu the world stops. Clear the house, but not before setting him up with warm blankets, snacks, drinks, a bucket, cell phone, and movies. While out prepare a band, a buffet, some singing children, cards, flowers, and all your love to take back with you. Then, clean up his mess.

3. Severe stomach pains are no reason to go to the hospital. You are the mom. The house depends on you to be its rock, its centre. Any signs of a break and those orbiting around you begin to get twitchy. If you insist on going because those pains are so intense you think your insides might have exploded, beware. Until the results are in you will still be met with hesitant moans.

4. A diagnosis from a doctor does not mean you get to rest. It’s only a piece of paper and a wish.

5. Stay as long as possible in the hospital (and on morphine) as humanly possible. Cry if you have to.

6. A mom’s definition of cleaning up after dinner, and a dad’s, are so completely different that there isn’t even a point in arguing about it. Just walk away and be grateful that someone hasn’t choked on a wayward turkey bone.

7. When a mom believes a baby is sick a daddy should never question her. Why? Because a mom created that little baby inside her. She made that miracle that is their child. She has a divine connection to that little girl that he can try to understand but only would if he swallowed a watermelon whole and then squeezed it out his manhood. Even then the emotional connection would not be there. Who gets emotionally attached to a watermelon?
Point being, the baby is sick and mumma knew.

8. Daddy’s are frustrating. But when baby’s are sick and mumma’s are tired they tend to surprise by scooping up that little girl and dancing slow rhythmic circles around the living room.  His little baby in his arms and pure love in his eyes.

Sigh.

Leighann

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