To the new year.

People see the new year differently.  A new start, a continuation, perhaps the end (especially in 2012).

So they count it different ways.  Numbers on the scale, resolutions written in ink, goals scratched in journals, or one word.

I have been silent this week because I do not know how to begin 2012.  How do I begin with one word when I want to strive for so many words?  How do I narrow that down?  How do I resolve to get healthy before growing our family again without sounding cliche, all while waiting with anxious breath for one person to fall in love with our home?

The past year I fell in love with motherhood & battled demons & changed jobs & took on my first hard-core paid writing gig.  We balanced on a fence throughout most of the year, waiting for chips to fall & our lives to finally settle.  Some of them have, some of them haven’t, & I’ve found my voice oddly silent during these times.  Maybe that’s maturity & wisdom that being 28 in 2011 brought me & will continue teaching as I turn 29 in 2012.  Maybe it’s that little piece of me that keeps changing & growing & spinning bigger to where it’s not such a little piece anymore…it’s me.

All of me.

 

newyear To the new year.

 The silly. The mother & wife. The spiritual. The career woman & homemaker. The blasphemous. The girl that struggles with life & contentedness & body image, who loves pretty pictures & yellow roses & yes, a good set of shapewear.

p.s. i have scribbled down words & resolutions & goals.  i’ll be sharing soon.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 To the new year.

Random complaints about body after baby.

I have a problem.

Actually, I have two of them.

It all started after I gave birth to Harrison.  I expected the weight gain, was horrified at the water retention, & I took a little while to adjust to my bigger ribcage that just never went back down to the 32 measurement.  The lingering carpel tunnel has sucked, but a cortisone shot every few months helps.

First problem:  Hip pain.

My hips hurt.  They ache, all the way down into the bone & they feel overstretched & sore & nothing seems to help.  I’ve tried stretching & yoga & having Doug rub them, but all I do is yelp in pain the moment his hands hit that weird spot between butt & back.  I’ve tried to not carry Harrison as often.  I started wearing flats more than heels.  I gave up running.  Mostly, they hurt after I clean the house, which seemed weird at first, but cleaning the house requires a lot of lifting & squatting & reaching, not to mention occasionaly holding a baby while I vacuum.  Pretty please, oh wise internets that hold internet M.D.’s given by the School of Web MD, diagnose me.  Should I see a chiropractor?  Should I invest in bionic hips?

Problem Dos:  I gots me some stanky feet.

No, really.  Last night, Doug told me that my feet smelled like Satan’s breath.  (okay, he just said they smelled bad & I elaborated.)  Sure enough, I’m sitting here & I can SMELL MY FEET even though they are in shoes under the desk.  I bathed this morning, people, & sprayed my shoes with the smell-good stuff I picked up at Target last night.  God forbid I’m wearing my Born Mary Janes in the car with you, because we’ll just have to roll down the windows even though it’s 15 degrees outside.  I should get Botox injections into my feet, right?  I hear that helps for smelly pits, which thankfully, I do not have.

I cannot be alone in this.  Tell me you have stinky feet & aching hips, too.

I have some exciting news!

No, I’m not pregnant.

No, the house did not sell.

No, we did not win the lottery.  (you have to be in it to win it & we?  are not in it.)

But.

1376e3fedddc4208b4923e58b8038e3c 7 300x300 I have some exciting news!I am the newest Toddler Times contributor for Babble!

.

::throws confetti::  I am so thrilled for this opportunity to stretch my wings & try something new.  When I got the offer, I was all, “I’m sorry, a sphincter says what?!  You think I’m good enough?!”  Because I have friends (like this one & this one & this one) that write for Babble & I could never put myself in the same category.

Things here will stay the same, but I would LOVE for you to join me every so often on Babble as I talk about the perils & awesomeness that is raising a two-year-old boy.  Also?  I’m going to need tips on hiding the new grey hairs Harrison has been giving me recently.

Today, I’m talking about how I thought scheduling would be easier with a toddler than an infant.

Ha.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  ::deadpan face::

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 I have some exciting news!

When silence breaks.

There are moments in my life when I doubt.  Not fleeting moments, but long moments.  Months, years, entire seasons of my life that pass with a bruised heart.  Nights of tears falling & I feel my heart pleading with each beat to where I physically ache in my throat & I wonder, “Where are you, God?”  Hopes & dreams go unanswered & I hear silence.  I lie awake & shake an angry fist to Heaven, knowing that I am unworthy of answered prayers, but oh God, how she deserves it.  Above anyone else, please answer her prayers.

The silence is deafening & I begin to resent the silence, to grow weary of it & imagine that He must grow weary of my pleas.  My heart puts conditional love on an unconditional promise & I wonder, have I been wrong all along?

oh, ye of little faith.

& then news comes, the kind of wonderful news that moves mountains & shakes the soul & I hear God whisper, “See?”  & after all these years, I know.  I know that my prayers did not fall upon deaf ears, that I did not plead in vain, & that miracles do happen.  I let the tears & thankfulness fall free.

When it’s hard but oh-so-worth-it.

Five years into our vows & eight years into our romance, marriage is still work, this giving & receiving of grace from one flawed heart to another.  This blending of lives & sacrifices of hope, it creates a melt that is stirred by love & hurt; the stretching & growing & becoming one that is so challenging.

In these moments when fingers tangled in a college dorm feel so far & I wonder how my heart knows the stress of my head crunching numbers & my hands folding laundry.

This coming together, meeting with tentative words & butting heads, but please Lord, keep us focused on the rings we wear & the devotion we feel as it lays bare open on the table.  The vulnerability that is essential to our marriage, to understanding the other.  Two different hearts that find comfort & love & heartache & laughter in each other.

Stealing is for losers. Copyright 2008-2012 Beth Anne Ballance