So I started a new phase of life this week. A calorie counting, Fitbit wearing, wholesome lunches and what I thought would be stingy-dinners-type of new phase. To my surprise I have already lost 4lbs in one week! Hello progress! This post has nothing to do with my diet, but more so why I’m choosing a new way to take care of myself. 

Blog, meet formally, my reason for breathing: Mr. Maverick John. 

  
And lunging, and laughing, and sleeping, squatting, and waking up. Meet my reason I want to be healthy. For once it’s not because all my friends are in smaller pants than me. It’s because I want to live for my son, and be so vigilant with my choices in health that only fate can decide if all my efforts were in vain. 

About two months ago I tried to return to the gym, Mav absolutely hated the daycare there and it resulted in the sweet girls having to come and get me off a machine and out of my personal training session before I realized I wasn’t going to terrorize my child at the peak of his stranger danger/separation anxiety so I could drop 15lbs. Nope, not that girl. Not ever. So I chose something that fit into my life, my wallet, and my husband’s crazy schedule a little bit better, and opted for clean eating, new sneakers (thanks babe) and a plum colored Fitbit. 

I want Mav to learn how to make healthy choices for his body, and his brain. And most importantly, for his soul. I want him to learn by example. IIII want to do the speed limit, eat healthy, not curse, rarely raise my voice, give him a childhood rich in stimulating the left and right side of the brain. And I want to give him a big fat vat of memories thick in love, laughter, experience, family bonds and values. I want to do things that make his heart dance and his memory burst with flavor. I want his experiences to pack a punch for him later in life. I want him to look up to me and his father and the people who surround us. I hope for him and pray for him every second I can. I spend my time and my money on being Mav’s mom. When I was young, I based my career choice on the fact that I so badly longed to become a mother.

I don’t say it enough, how thankful I am. Thankful that God let me get pregnant with the man I chose, only one short month after we married. I’m thankful God chose this perfectly concocted child to be my son. I know how blessed I am that I was allowed by only the grace of God to carry a baby with my body, while he developed inside my womb, and the love for him gathered inside my heart space. I know how hard it’s been, and how difficult the road can be for a wonderful pregnancy, and so my heart always goes out to the women who struggle to make and carry their own babes. 

So here is what I know. It’s taken me 9 months of pregnancy and almost 19 months of motherhood to formulate the perfect mix of emotions to be able to explain motherhood. 

It’s hard and so rewarding. It’s taxing. It fucks with your relationships, like, all of them. It bonds you to your husband. It makes you cry. It makes you laugh. It makes you cry a lot, and then once your baby is old enough to understand a little better, you absolutely can never cry in front of him. Not even when you need to. It makes you stronger than you ever were. You get the biggest set of brass balls when you become a mother and you know when to use them. You become softer and harder. You’re a cheerleader, a coach, a teacher, but mostly you’re a student. I’ve never learned more than once I became a mother. You’ll lose yourself and find yourself approximately 100 times in the first few months. Balance is a word you will soon not recognize, as there isn’t one. A poopy diaper, at times, is cause for celebration. When your child is at the top of his curve, you can’t help but brag. Every. Picture. Is a frameable. Ugh, it’s just the best. The single hardest thing I’ve ever done. The greatest thing I’ll ever do. It’s all I ever talk about. It feels like sometimes, it’s all I know. 

So. For me. Motherhood has been a roller coaster and I certainly don’t expect it to slow down any time soon. Hanging upside down, wanting to throw up, laughing so hard, wishing it would go in reverse, and sometimes praying out loud to God to stop this roller coaster dead in its tracks if even for a minute to soak it all up. To smile through the tears. To hold tight to a little 30 pound body. To try so hard and remember how he’s saying tractor, or pumpkin, or Stella, or doggie. (Dacduh, poh-keeng, deah-duh, goggie) To try so hard to be my best self, for him. For his memories. For me and mine. So when he looks back on this time we are sharing together, when he’s a little older, I hope he craves these memories. For a moment of comfort, for an idea, for a favorite song of his, a special dinner, a favorite color. And this is the reason I live. This is the reason I love.