Its 2:48 am and I’m lying awake listening to the gas that’s exiting my son’s diaper wrapped hind end. I’m also 11 weeks pregnant and can smell every drop of pee in his diaper…I guess they dont have odor block technology. Maybe that’s just trash bags. I dont know, I’m tired.

I spent 45 minutes in his room hanging half on to his day bed trying to soothe him back to sleep. The shhhhh thing on apple music works wonders..of course, I didnt bring my phone in and there was no getting up… so I pucker up, take a deep breath and begin manual shhhhhs. After what felt like eternity, but was probably only 3 minutes, my mouth was dry and apparently he sensed my struggle because he force fed me his water bottle. Lawd. Child. Go to sleep.

Narrator: her son pretended and pretended but he never, in fact, went to sleep, despite his mother’s grueling efforts.

When my hips (and bladder) could no longer take it, I got up and said night night, fully prepared to let him cry it out. As I head into our room to pee…I see his dad, suckered by that dang monitor, headed to get him and bring him to our bed.

I race to pee so I can hop back in and claim my spot before his tiny body claims both spots…in a K I N G S I Z E bed. I even take up a little extra room to give me wiggle room once he settles into a final awkward sleep pose. Childish but true.

Its 3:19 and his bare toes are in my mouth and his solid baby leg is covering my nose. Is this how it ends? Is this what moms mean when they say “these kids’ll be the death of me.” I feel certain it is.

These are the dog days. We are freaking in the thick of the D O G D A Y S!

Just as I’m confirming to myself this is rock bottom…he wiggles his toes to try to make me laugh, yes they are still basically in my mouth. I suddenly realize… I made those toes. I prayed for those toes to exist right here on my face and in my freaking mouth. I’d heard stories and saw memes forever about wild sleeping chirrens….when my womb couldn’t sustain a pregnancy…and I wished for the day. I prayed I would get to post my own funny someday! Well, HERE I AM, friends….I should’ve been more specific with time…I wasn’t really thinking 3 ambut oh, well!

He then lies horizontally between me and his dad, making a King size bed SUPER uncomfortable. I then remembered what it was like when there was space….like five minutes ago, and like two years ago, three years ago…and I realized these aren’t the dog days. These are the grueling glory days. These are the oxymoron days of kids being exhausting yet exhilarating while forcing you to prayers for help and also praise for the Lord’s faithfulness… all at.the.same.time. It is the best of times….it is the most grueling of times. It is awful and awe filled.

What a time to be alive. Yep, as I sit here at 3:46 on my couch, eating my freshly made mac and cheese while my little miracle sleeps in my spot and his in my bed. I’m growing another glorious human and while tired, I’m so damn grateful.

Whenever my husband SPEAKS, he always has something to say, that I REALLY need to hear. It makes me mad, then it makes me better.

In the short time we’ve been married, I’ve learned that spouses are like mirrors. The magnifying ones, with the bomb lighting – or whatever Lizzo said. Sometimes you’re like “damnnnnn Gina” and other times you’re like….ewww!, when you see your reflection. Tonight, I was torn between the two.

He was struggling with my ability to so easily cut people out of my life. His mirror said that I get diminished quickly and I’m rigid and no nonsense and don’t value people who are less than perfect. His mirror was right in some aspects. I wanted to be defensive but he was kind of right. So I turned inward to figure out what was wrong with me. Here’s what I came out with.

Nothing! At least not in this instance. I’m just really really different from any of his experiences. He thought that my black and white personality caused a shortcoming in my capacity to retain relationships.

Communication…where the magic happens.

I explained to him that it’s just the opposite! It’s that personality muscle – torn and rebuilt by experience that makes me capable of loving and giving fully and freely to my relationships.

My tank (think wine barrel for visual and measurements) is rarely empty. That’s because I steward (rigidly and no nonsensically) who has access and HOW MUCH access. After living a little while, I can tell within minutes how much access someone gets. Nonetheless, I sometimes extend trial periods. Notice: I extend the period not the level of access. It is almost never worth it.

These days I have a million things going on and there’s only one of me, so I have to prioritize very carefully for the things that matter. Above all, I belong to God, then Nelson and then my children. Then I belong to my tribe. All of these people have tanks that I drink from and that I also refill. So to be mindful of my tank is to be mindful of theirs.

So yes, I can easily cut people off. Not because I don’t love them. Not because they’re not perfect (I am farrrrr, so far, from the mark at multiple points, every single day). I cut them off because they abuse my tank which affects everyone who draws from it and gives to it.

Fair weather people, exceptionally negative people (not just through a season – like could ruin Christmas and a kids first Birthday negative), takers, hateful people, etc. I just don’t have the time.

See, if I gave them access to my well, they’d drain it. Then everyone else would have the responsibility to refill it – without me having anything, ever, to give back to them. If I allow them to stay, I now tap those not responsible to replenish my resources, constantly. I then become the tank drainer. This is an unhealthy way to live for me. So when I meet people and I get the sense that they may fall into this category, they only receive very limited access to my well. That way, if they drain their corner- I can still recover quickly, without calling in the National Guard, creating an emotional GoFundMe or burn out.

Those that matter the most and have full access to that tank are as imperfect as me but they are invested…. in our relationship, in my health and wealth, in maintaining the relationship. They are all in. As am I. The scales are rarely ever 50/50 but they teeter in BOTH directions. Sometimes I’m doing ten and they’re doing ninety…because, life. You better believe, though, that when they are doing ten…I’m in (cute) rain boots on the ground, intentionally and cheerfully doing ninety. I’m pouring heavy.

If I let those that drain, have the access to do so, I wouldn’t have anything to pour into my relationship with the Lord, my husband, my children or my tribe. That’s not an option. I want to pour heavy.

They are my priority. My mental health and wellness is too. Stress kills. In the end, it will be these people that I’d go empty for any day because they are my people…but they’d never let me get empty. Vice versa. I protect my access for myself and for them…and of skills gained from lessons learned, this is one I appreciate most.

Here’s to always pouring heavy for the ones that mean the most.💙

XO

The NC heat has a way of making you gather ANYWHERE there’s shade, no matter how small! This evening, we did just that with old friends of my husband and new friends to me. Luckily, it was a spacious and beautifully decorated farmhouse porch where we gathered, with fans to create a faux breeze just cool enough for us to kick back and chat.

We laughed. Big! My little got to play, get talkings to about sharing and lots of aht ahts! (This mama doesn’t have to remember when because she’s smack dab in the middle of it, and totally understood the chaos). He also got to ride out and see the cows, the bull and the goats with his dad and his friend! I got some kid free, uninterrupted, mama talk time with my new friend. Did you read UNINTERRUPTED, as bigly as I meant it? #praisehim

Anyway: there was no agenda and no rush (except for 6pm draft…which could be done iin the car). While the guys took Leo out, we talked about the peaks and pits of motherhood, sharing way more peaks than pits. We had girl talk about bachelorette parties, and agreed that it must be mandatory for husbands to not close doors or cabinets, no matter how little and adventurous their littles are. (If you have any tips…help a sister out, although I believe it’s DNA encoded).

Once we were all on the porch, we continued talking about our family life with our smalls. How much joy they bring to our lives, how they’ve changed us and talked some honest to goodness TRUTH about parenthood! It was glorious. The most special time about our time together…..we were a tribe. Playing for the same team. No explanations. When I was yelling aht aht, and still making eye contact with my new mama friend…she kept talking. We didn’t have to apologize for the glorious (let’s use that word loosely) LOUDNESS of my little. The best thing I heard her say about her beautifully decorated porch… don’t worry, it’s all kid friendly, everything out here is plastic. SHE GOT IT. There were toys in every corner in most rooms. Mama had motherhood figured out and this mama breathed a big sigh of relief. I could now divide my attention 60/40…maybe 70/30 favoring the adult convo and let my kid be a kid….because we were at a kid’s house (let’s be honest…they own the place until they’re like five). Having a mama on the same journey, at the same time, right smack dab in the middle of parenting littles is freaking GLORIOUS! My heart is full. Our talk tank is empty (okay, mine is not EMPTY but definitely more depleted than usual) because we didn’t have to spend every second watching our little and neglect connecting with our friends. Now, I’m sitting in the driveway of our home, finishing this post while my husband has a whole draft set up in the passengers seat…while our adventurous little is snoring. Today was a good day!

We love our friends with older kids and grown up houses and are so appreciative of the time we get to spend with them. Today was just extra special and good for this mama’s soul. It’s rare you get to connect and parent your little and today we did both. Clear eyes, full heart and a 3/4 empty talk tank…I’m thankful.

Here’s to the mama tribe of littles! You NEED mamas with littles on the same “fancy month blanket” square (or pretty close) as your little. It’s life giving and heart filling.

Excuse me while I go add toys to corners in multiple rooms because that’s just motherhood mastered AF.

❤

Dear misogynist: You do not run me.  You do not run us.  You currently may run this world, your home and the Corporate workforce but again, you do not run me.  You do not run me here, you do not run me there, you do not run me off, you do not run me anywhere.  This B talk – think Ted talk but better, is free and one time only, so bring whatever you need to leave different than you came.

1. Misogyny is HATE of women.  Hate can be defined as an intense or passionate dislike against someone, a group of someones or something.  Hate leads to things like violating those said things or people, violence, antagonizing…you know, hateful, nasty things.  It is not good.  Words are meant to be used and this one is not used enough.  Probably because its a mouthful, so lets just simplify it for the misogynist in the back and call it women haters – we can all know EXACTLY what those two words mean, so I voted on behalf of all of us and – women/woman haters it is.

2. You came from a woman – the beautiful thing about this is,  it is irrelevant how you identify or what you feel about women.  You came from one, point blank AND period.  One broke her body, soul and who she was in order to give birth to you….who now hates women.  Find- Jesus, therapy, hypnosis, deliverance ..find one, or all.  We are not the problem.

For those of you who do not have ideal mothers – I empathize with you…you STILL get no pass.  Go to therapy.  Get medicated. Get delivered.  Get Jesus.  Get hypnotized.  I don’t care which you choose – violating women was not an option so govern yourselves accordingly.

If you had a wonderful mother – who you declare to owe all that you are to AND/OR a father who valued your mother…you have no excuse.  None.  I am at a slight loss here – let me move on and meditate on how to help you.  You should also meditate.

—I finished the whole blog and still wasn’t sure how to help.  I will leave you with this.  Misogyny  – Woman hating ——-Marie Kondo that mess, expeditiously.  If you do not know who Marie Kondo is or the definition of expeditiously – use Google – we’re exhausted with breaking common sense things down to men who think that by birthright, privilege and genitalia, they run the world.  One, we are equal, remember that.  Two – if anybody’s genitalia runs the world – I think we could all make a strong claim for the vagina – since it actually runs the world….birth by freaking birth, friend.  Yet – we remain kind and compassionate, empathetic, open to equality etc …so basically just follow us.

3.  Woman hating (misogyny for my patronizing men who think women oversimplify and generalize everything – I can say it and spell it, so you can trust me!) often leads to discrimination – in the work force, at church, in homes —really wherever you all unfortunately spend time.  In my famous words to my 15 month old son (who is not a woman hater) – AHT, AHT – Stop that, you know better.  Since I have a feeling that that wont be enough, lets dig deeper, boys.

It is illegal to discriminate on the basIS of sex – it is also illegal to discriminate against pregnancy and complications arising from pregnancy.  Your homeboys wrote and passed the laws sooo you can trust this.  Since you all have a strange relationship with illegal activity and an aversion to policy let me up the game for you – IT IS ILLEGAL.  With that said – again, can trust this because most of your homeboys write and pass laws, so it is definitely a thing.  There are policies in workplaces against you that CLEARY do not make you uncomfortable enough to put on a mask, that simultaneously makes tens and hundreds of women wear a mask to get along with you.  No.  So women, we must raise the bar and expose them to organizations, SAY IT OUT LOUD to the higher ups and not just amongst ourselves, keep paper trails, call the EEOC – NAACP and any other organization with a C that demands equality.

Heads up gentleman – retaliation is also illegal.

To the Sacrilegious Christian men – this word is about religion, essentially and doesn’t even spell religious right.  You are just as confused as this word.  Your God that you claim – is fiercely passionate and protective over women.  You can find it written in his word – that would mean your Bible – there is an app for that if you don’t have one.  So just a tip for showing up to the pearly gate and blaspheming women – or before you get there (aka down here- on earth)and get rerouted – just don’t, bro. Can I call you bro?  I’m just trying to relate – and help -and save us ALL from you. The basis of Christianity is becoming more like him – so more of that, less of you.

To the man with a wife – If she likes it, I love it – for her.  I am not your wife.  Remember the riddle: You do not run me.  You do not run us.  You currently may technically govern this world, your house and the Corporate workforce but again, you do not run me.  You do not run me here, you do not run me there, you do not run me off, you do not run me anywhere.  Luckily, for me and you, I am not your wife.  Remember that and repeat this riddle to yourself if you ever need a new Mantra or just a simple reminder.

To white men who are mildly hateful to white women but openly spit your poisonous privileged venom at black women.  Very simple here – we are not the ones.  Our blood flows with the DNA of our ancestors who were beaten, raped, enslaved and mishandled by you for far too long….your homeboys made that illegal.  Do not do it physically or emotionally.  This is not taxes – stop with the loopholes.  Also – educate yourself.  We are brilliant and have to work harder than anyone else in the face of your hate, stereotypes and mishandling and like Aunt Maya said – like air we rise.  We are NOT the ones.  We are educated enough to fight our battles with the organizations that protect us.  Also – stop doing it to our white sisters and any other sister of any race….AHT, AHT.

Women:  It is time.  Carpe diem, sister.  Take back your peace.  Whatever that means – pray, meditate, cry – whatever, just fight.  Just remember they DO NOT OWN US UNLESS WE LET THEM.  If you’re good with that, great for you, do not set the rest of us back with you, sister.  We still love you, though.  Closed mouths do not get fed.  Be less afraid of courage – even if it comes with full eyes, anxiety, fear and backlash than you are of opening your mouth.  We can change things independently but even moreso in numbers.  We are raising the next generation.  They are watching.  What do we want to teach them about woman hating?  Show this post, talk about it with your men – let them share it with their men.  Share it with your sisters – so we know how to organize.  This is for everyone but especially them…the women haters.

We’ve got work to do sister, so 1-2-3 BREAK!

One last thing to the woman haters – this is basically a personality flaw and I’d even venture to call it a personality disorder BUT we see you, you are not mentally ill – you are deeply flawed by hate.  Get help.

B.

“The grass is probably greener on the other side because it’s fake.” (Cue 651 Facebook likes – all women)

When did we become so bitter, so apathetic…so hopeless? We live in a time where we need all the hope we can scrape up. We know this, yet, we continue to be the hopeless or surround ourself with the hopeless. If we have no hope, we set the next generation up for failure because we cannot empower or encourage. As women, we are supposed to see each other, love each other, support and encourage each other.

Listen. When I got ready to get married, that’s when I heard the most negative things about relationships and marriage. Things like: Marriage is just a piece of paper, all men cheat, I don’t know why people get married anymore, there’s nothing real left out here…you get the picture. I love my husband. Neither of us are perfect and we’ve had our challenges but marriage is beautiful. Companionship is dope. We committed to each other and we’re in the trenches doing the work and on the mountaintops trying to not get number 2 right away. It’s real. We’re here. We show up every single day. We have friends that tell variations of the same story. [ Surround yourself with sister souls doing the dang thang and doing it well…or at least positively].

Love exists. Chivalry may be a little less practiced but it ain’t dead! Also…there are men that are (as my gma would say) “wuffadamn.”

When I got pregnant, I only heard the WORST stories about pregnancy. Not once did I hear of a joyous experience. It was like the sisterhood of the traveling belly experience group lined up to make sure I was scared out of my mind. I was anxiety ridden. So I prayed for a different experience…one to set me up to be a hope dealer! I had so much fun delivering this handsome boy of mine. We had a “my epidural wore off” hiccup but a quick top off got me together. It was beautiful. It was long and hard but I found strength I didn’t know I had. It was one of the sweetest days of my life.

When I had Leo, I was told how fast he’d grow up and how many sleepless nights I’d suffer through. Guess what, thank God, my kid slept through the night from the time he came home. Even if he hadn’t, there would still be so many beautiful moments I didn’t expect. Nobody told me about how my heart would feel like it was bursting, in the best way, when he learned to say “Mama.” No one mentioned the joy of watching my husband sing him to sleep. The first person who told me to enjoy every single moment, without a preceding horror story, was a man at church.

You get the picture. Let’s not even talk about how married women (ESPECIALLY CHURCH WOMEN) talk about the burden of the chore of sex once you’re married. Sorry deaconess – I’m really enjoying the ride. Pun intended.

I’m raising a black boy…full of black boy joy. If he is to have hope, I must have hope. My soul has to be so full of hope that it spills over and fills his soul. They’re watching us. They’re mimicking us. He will mimic hope, love, peace and black boy joy. May we become hope dealers so that our children have hope instead of fear.

Courage isn’t the opposite of fear…hope is. Hope brings us to action. If we have hope -we can do anything. Let’s raise our families to believe in better, to speak better and to believe better. Let’s be okay believing that the grass may actually be greener on the other side. If it is greener, there are some subject matter experts there and we could use their knowledge and them to walk alongside us.

There’s never a second thought when we yell at the men in our lives to “just ask for directions” or to call professionals to fix things instead of making them worse. Let’s do the same.

If her grass is greener – ask her what she uses. See her. Congratulate and uplift her. Take notes on how she’s overcoming challenges and creating successes. Ask her to walk alongside you.

Hating on her grass isn’t going to change it’s glow and it sure it’s going to change yours.

If you’re the smartest and most successful one in the room…you’re stuck and it’s time to move. Move and simultaneously reach back to help your fellow sister soul. This is how we live out the meme that says : “Straighten another Queens crown without letting the world know it was crooked.” It’s not a competition, there’s room for everyone at the table.

Hope dealing is the new feminist. Get to it.

My kid is doing that crying thing they told me he would. Gotta go!

B

We should really stop asking superficial questions like “How are you?” The answer is always going to be the same, fine, unless your either deeply connected to or the person is ALREADY on the edge of the cliff. Not helpful, friends. What if we started asking: How’s your soul today, Mama?

What would YOU say to this? It’s so raw, it begs authenticity…it’s hard to auto answers this one. This one hits that “sing like a canary” button deep in your belly.

There’s something about being a momma that gives you the the sixth sense to point to your soul and anyone else’s. But let’s define soul for all the daddies out there, just in case they’re peeping in.

Webster…okay a google search for: define soul… says:

The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal.

emotional or intellectual energy or intensity, especially as revealed in a work of art or an artistic perform

Our souls are the very center of who we are. Where we feel the excitement of adventure, the depths of love and the fear for our children in today’s world. It’s where we hide the bodies and from where we find our most authentic selves. Our souls are swirling with energy. All kinds of energy…every single minute of the day. So why the hell aren’t we checking on our souls or our friends’ souls? Like girl, what you got in there? A 2019 twist…does what’s in your soul bring you joy? No? Mmkay let’s trash it and start over. I guarantee you, we’d have less overwhelmed, depressed, anxious, inauthentic, on the brink of a breakdown…or worse., mamas. Mamas are our tribe. We protect our tribe. We protect the life givers.

We don’t want to be surface level good for our families. They depend on us for so much. That doesn’t always have to be an exhausting truth. I’ve learned that our souls are the cups people are talking about when they question how full it is. Our bodies, our minds but most importantly, our souls, have to be healthy. Let’s start living from a place of soul goodness. For us. For our families.

I challenge you today to ask yourself: How’s my soul?, and adjust accordingly. Or if you’re all 2019, if it doesn’t bring you joy. Toss.that.crap.out. I challenge you to begin the journey with me, of being a Soul Good MasterOfMe (MoM).

Until next time.

B