On Our Way To Crazy

Hey, did you know we’re taking monthly pictures of Campbell? I mean, real talk, we’re taking daily pictures of Campbell. But we are also taking OFFICIAL monthly pictures, and today, four months in, I am finally getting around to sharing them.

First, let me tell you how this all came to be. It all started with Pinterest, as most things do. There are about 10,000 ideas on there about how to monthly document the growth of your precious baby thing. Personalized onesies, chalkboard designs, building blocks, homemade signs. But the one I loved the most was the giant calendar.

Problem #1. Where do I get the giant calendar? I went to the office supply store, but the biggest thing they had was desktop sized. I googled and googled until I came up with it’s official title – the Stendig Calendar. Apparently it’s a whole thing in the modern design community. I could order one from Crate and Barrel! Great!

Problem #2. Campbell was born in November. Ordering a 2012 calendar was no problem. But I needed December 2011! Who is still selling 2011 calendars in December? No one, that’s who. Even Google failed me. I got seriously depressed about this turn of events (for real, I had a three week old, my emotions were a roller coaster) and started looking for a monthly picture plan B. But! Then! A website told me that the Stendig Calendar is printed in Nashville. NASHVILLE. Guess who lives in Nashville? ME.

I called the office and explained my situation to the nicest guy ever, who, after giving me a history of the Stendig Calendar, told me that he had one copy of the 2011 calendar that he’d give me for free if I bought my 2012 calendar from him. AND he would deliver it to my house. FREE. WITH DELIVERY. Yes, please.

And you guys, it is beautiful. It’s enormous, first of all, three feet by four feet, which precluded us from hanging it anywhere in the house since I’m pretty sure it’s actually bigger than our house.

So each month, as close to the 6th as I can remember, we bust it out and spread it on the floor. I put Campbell in my favorite outfit that’s currently in rotation, and we go to town. It’s pretty much the most fun thing ever.

And here they are! Starting next month I’ll post them in a better format. This month we’re just catching up.

MARCH 2012 – Four months.

FEBRUARY 2012 – Three months.

JANUARY 2012 – Two months.

DECEMBER 2012 – One month.

I think about quitting. A lot.

I want to say I love my job. I have loved it. For the bulk of the last five years, I have loved and been grateful for the opportunity to be a youth pastor and build a program that fits the style of our church. We’ve had big wins, we have fantastic kids, and I love that I get to try and figure out how to help them have an honest spirituality.

But man, I have hated it some days, too. There have been some ugly stretches. I am not always on the same page as the leadership, kids and families slip through the cracks, something that seemed minor blows up into something major major and I feel like I’ll never be able to get out of bed again.

Some days I think I can’t do it. Some days I think they need someone smarter, someone tougher, someone flashier. Someone more proactive and motivated and energetic. Someone who isn’t wracked with doubt when they put the small group curriculum together, afraid they aren’t hitting the right points or the kids won’t respond and the whole thing will just be a waste of time. Weeks of good things are canceled out by one flippant tweet from a kid. A great event is tarnished by an unhappy parent. I am overwhelmed by politics and expectations and theological uncertainty.

Then Campbell came along, and brought with her a whole new world of guilt and emotion and drama. When I’m with her I’m worried about the work I’m not getting done. When I’m not with her I miss her. The lack of sleep is compounded by the fact that some days the only way I get any work done is to stay up after she and Aaron go to sleep so I can write lessons uninterrupted.

So I think about quitting. A lot. It sure would make my life easier.

But then I remember. I remember that when I was growing up, the best I could imagine was being a youth pastor’s wife. I remember the lack of female role models in the church. I remember how it felt to be told how I felt was wrong, that I was thinking incorrectly, that what I saw as injustices were just how God works and I needed to get on board. I remember believing that there was one way to be a Christian kid, and even though everyone else seemed to have it figured out, I didn’t fit the mold and was doing it wrong. And that God was mad at me for it.

I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in conversation, and small groups, and hard questions. I believe in “I don’t know”. I believe in erring on the side of not teaching them enough over the side of telling them exactly what to think. I believe in “I believe”, “I think” and “I hope” over “I know”.

And I believe that the work of creating that environment for these kids is valuable and worthy of my time. I believe it is good for Campbell to grow up in that world. I want her to know anything is possible, and I can’t teach her that if I’m in the business of running away when it gets too hard.

Even still. I think about quitting. A lot.

Dear Campbell,

I want to start this month by telling you that you are awesome. You are hysterically funny, you are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen ever, you make crazy faces and squeal with the best of them and give heart-melting smiles.

I am putting that out there first because this is my fifth attempt to sit down and write this post today. I love you, and I would carry you to the moon and back, but maybe you let me sit you down for more than five seconds at a time every now and then. Or nap for more than 20 minutes. Just a thought.

Your dad and I have become expert baby-calmers. Or we would have, anyway, if any one thing worked more than twice in a row. The current list of tricks we try to use to help you settle down is as follows:

• turn on the faucet
• look in the mirror
• look outside
• go outside
• soothing sounds giraffe
• laying flat and looking at the ceiling fan
• diaper change
• clothing change
• remove all clothing
• sing
• sing “I’m Sexy and I Know It” (‘girl look at that baby’)
• make faces
• let you suck on our fingers
• put you in the carseat and swing you around
• put you in the carseat on the dryer
• put you in the carseat and go for a drive

Any one of those things, or combination of those things, could help you settle down at any given time. The problem is there’s no way to know which one will work when, so it’s a constant guessing game. You keep us on our toes, kid.

This month has been really fun because it feels like you know us now. There’s a difference in your response to just anyone verses one of us. You follow us around the room with your eyes. You brighten up when we come into your line of vision.

You love to grab my hair and your dad’s beard. You have a ninja death grip, girl, and have pulled more than a few hairs out of our heads. I like to think you just want our faces as close to yours as possible and that you’re not actually trying to cause physical pain.

Month four is also the Month of the Feet. You didn’t know you had them before, and now you can’t get enough. You love to lay on your back and pull your feet up to your mouth, one in each hand. You regularly have all five toes on one foot in your mouth, and you like to lick the bottoms of your feet. It would be weird if it wasn’t so freaking cute.

One of my favorite things about you is how you fully feel whatever you feel. If you’re happy, it’s smiles and laughs and squeals and arms waving. When you’re hungry, it’s both hands in the mouth. When you’re gassy, it’s both legs in the air, aiming that thing at whoever is closest to you. (Sorry.) When you’re relaxed, it’s all four limbs stretched straight out and wide eyes taking everything in. When you’re mad, it’s full-scale gut-busting screams that stretch until there is literally no air left in your lungs. You are not a mellow baby. You are loud and proud, my girl.

And even though I am exhausted, I could not be happier. Life is harder, more complicated, more work than it has ever been before. It’s hard to get all of my work done in the time you are with the sitter. It’s hard to function on such fragmented sleep. It’s hard to take time every day at work and at night when all I want to do is sleep to pump milk for you.

But it is so, so worth it. You rule, baby girl.

Love,
Mama