No, I’m Not ‘Trying’ for a Girl

If I had one dollar for every time someone saw me with my three boys and said something like, “Oh, bless your heart. You’ve got your hands full,” or “Wow! You’re outnumbered, are you going to try for a girl?” Or my personal favorite, “It took my sister four boys before she got her girl.” Well, I’d be a millionaire.

Let me clarify before I go on – I am not easily offended, and I’m not offended when people ask variations of this question. Generally, I respond pleasantly and laugh it off. 

At the end of the day though, those questions and the question, “When are you going to have a baby?” are simply insensitive. 

Some people can’t have children, by zero fault of their own.

Some people don’t want to have children, by their own choice.

And some people, namely me, don’t want more children, or to try for a different gender.

I implore people to stop asking these things of others. You could never know someone’s personal situation, and at the end of the day it’s not really anyone else’s business or choice.

By asking me if I’m going to “try for a girl” it implies that I am, or should be, displeased with the three amazing boy humans I received. 
I adore my boys. I’m not trying for a girl. Plus, I have Mackenzie out here, who came ready-made.

I’m not starved for estrogen in my house or ‘missing’ some grand mother-daughter element.

I get to enjoy my humans – who are pretty fantastic, might I add.

This idea of Boys vs. Girls suggests that there is some type of specific value assigned to one gender that the other gender lacks, and that gap should be filled to appease parental needs. For what? Because I’m a woman I should have a girl to pass on my adoration for makeup and the color pink? Or because my husband is a man he should have boys to fulfill his desire to pass on a love for fishing and all things blue?

My husband loves to cook and is the primary cook in our house. He also appreciates a good chick flick. 

I love to build things and play with power tools, and have assembled most of our IKEA furniture. I also enjoy politics and can hold my own with discussions.

“Gender-Norms” only exist if you allow them to.

My boys love dolls and makeup and trucks and video games, because they’ve been encouraged to explore their interests, whatever they may be, so long as they don’t harm others. They appreciate watching musical theater and then turning around and getting dirty. 

They have been taught to know the value of a person, that is not specific to being a woman or a man. They enjoy their individual worlds regardless of gender biases and are full of compassion and understanding.

So no, I’m not going to “try for a girl” – because gender on its own doesn’t bring additional love into a persons life or family – humanity and people do, regardless of their sex.

Please be sensitive when you ask these questions, lovelies. We should give back all the love to others.

Good Sunday vibes, y’all. 

The Haunted Mattress

Our mattress is haunted. I’m convinced. 

Y’all.

This will be a short one because I have SO much going on this week. But this is one of those stories that I can’t make up, meaning I’m obligated to share. 

If you don’t believe in ghosts and spirits and things like that, that’s totally cool – but I do. I saw Ghost with Patrick Swayze as a kid and was instantly sold on all things paranormal. 

So! Story time! 

A month or two ago we bought a new mattress. Long story short, ours was old and just too small. So we bought a brand new King bed and mattress set. 

Brand new. Not some sketchy online purchase. A new mattress, in plastic wrap from a mattress store. 

I assumed that all plastic wrapped mattresses were guaranteed ghost free.

Ever since then weird stuff has happened when we sleep. Really weird. 

One of the first days we had it, I came upstairs to nap. I was asleep on my husband’s side of the bed, lying on my stomach. It was in the evening and I felt someone put their hand on my back, press down and say, “Hey.” 

I totally assumed it was Kenz or Sean waking me up for dinner – but no one was there! 

Even after I was up, the sensation of someone pressing on my back was still physically there.

I played it up to sleep paralysis – which is scary, but ultimately not that uncommon.

But wait, there’s more! 

For the last two nights something has happened with both Sean and I when we sleep. I was woken up by weird noises and sounds and couldn’t get back to sleep on Wednesday night. It was a hollow wind sound, almost like someone breathing. It was such a scary feeling that I felt anxious about falling asleep last night.

Turns out, I slept just fine last night. 

Sean on the other hand, said that someone said “Hey Sean” and it woke him up. So he got up, moseyed around the house to check on things and came back to the very haunted bed. Then as he was falling back asleep, the voice said “I told you it’s time to get up.” 

Clearly our mattress is haunted by a very maternal figure who doesn’t want us to skip dinner or be late for work. So I’m appreciative. 

Or we both have sleep paralysis episodes.

Either way…I’m going to buy some sage and cleanse the house this weekend. Just in case. 

I. Can’t. Make. This. Stuff. Up.

Have a great Friday lovelies! 

Where Have You Been?!

So, funny story…

I’ve been hella MIA.

I wish I had a really cool reason, like I’ve been traveling the world or tucked away in some hidden Air BNB finishing my novel…but I don’t.

The truth is – I lost my mojo, baby. I lost my motivation, my inspiration and my control all in one swoop. I hadn’t written in months. My life swam by me in a blur. I was drowning within myself, and I was painfully aware of it. I would wake up in the morning and within two hours, be ready to sleep again. I was emotionally exhausted all the time, anxious, on edge, introverted. All things that were just…unlike me.

It’s never easy to sit down and look at yourself in the mirror and ask the question, “What is going on with me?” But I had to. I realized that life is far too short to get sucked so far into yourself that you can’t see beyond the door. So I did.

Backstory-time.

I have willingly chosen not to pursue medication for the majority of my adult anxiety/OCD journey. Mainly because I’m terrified of medicine, but also because I wanted to learn practical coping methods for myself first. Turns out, for the most part – I could, and had been, managing my anxiety and OCD on my own.

Until recently.

For whatever reason, unbeknownst to me, my normal tools weren’t working. Meditation, nope. Yoga, negative. Breathing exercises, nada. The list goes on and on with the things I’ve tried. I was falling into habits that I hadn’t done in years. I caught myself picking at my cuticles until they bled, chewing my lip until I could run my tongue along a visible swollen spot. The tipping point was when I realized I couldn’t pull myself out of my room.

I woke up on the morning of the Equality March – something I had been looking forward to for months. I knew. I knew instantly that it was an off day. My fan was so loud I swore it was a helicopter taking off when I woke up. The sun seemed unyieldingly bright behind closed blinds, even though it was a cloudy morning. My heart raced and my hands trembled when I thought about leaving the house. Fear consumed me. It consumed me to the point that I felt like walls were falling in and I couldn’t breathe.

That day – for the first day in nearly twelve years – I let fear trap me in my own home and in my own body.

I missed the march. I missed standing up for something that I have always fought for.

And I said, ‘enough’.

I talked to my doctor about everything, what I was experiencing, feeling and doing to combat all of it. There were blood tests and sleep analysis questions. Finally, the step I never thought I’d be willing to entertain came up – medication. My doctor was patient and listened and knew that I was afraid and she talked me through it.

I thought back to the march. To what I had missed, to what I could miss in the future – and I got the hell on board with it pretty quickly, and I feel confident about my decision.

I say all of that to say this – It’s okay to need, and ask for, help. 

It’s okay to not have it together all the time. It’s okay to not be okay. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or unable to manage, I promise. You don’t have to suffer in silence or try to fight a battle on your own. There are people, sometimes even total strangers, who support you – no matter what your journey may look like. Promise.

One thing I swore in the beginning was that this blog would be a safe space for all of my readers, and I felt like it would be unfair for me to not use it as mine as well.

So that’s where I have been. I’ve been healing and learning and fighting myself and repairing.

I’ve been feeling more inspired and there’s new content, series and funny stories on the way!

Thank you, lovelies. For being a community and a support system I never knew I needed until I had you!