there was a moment in july when in passing by the mirror in my apartment after undergoing a cesarean, developing an infection, and being grounded from the shower that i was finally brave enough (or perhaps accidental enough) to look into the mirror. what i saw stopped me in my tracks. because what i saw was not me. not the me that i have known for the previous 24 years.

this was a girl whose shoulders were shaped to carry her child. whose skin was the texture to sooth. whose voice was the tone and pitch of comfort. this was a girl who was a mother. this girl was a girl i had never seen before. i had no idea where she came from. but there was no mistaking that this girl was me.


since then, that girl has seen frustrations and guilt beyond what she'd ever imagined.


she is the mother of a gorgeous baby boy. he is a wonderful baby, but still a baby. there are nights, infrequent (thank god) as they are, that he cries and cries and cries and this girl is lost on what to do. there are times when a feeding and a burp and a diaper change and rocking and singing and lights and colors and toys and massages and less clothes and more clothes and lights off and lights on provide no consolation. when this girl has no idea what else to try, but can't bear the sound of her baby's cries. nights when it gets to be too much, but her instincts tell her to absolutely not let him cry it out because she knows she will never abandon her child when he is suffering, but in the same beat of her heart she feels utterly helpless. what might happen is that as she holds her baby and watches him scream, and scream, and scream... she almost instinctually shakes her arms in frustration, not thinking about the fact that she is still holding said son.

yes, she is that girl. the girl who shook her baby.


she is a girl who is not terribly fond doctors or hospitals and the like. she probably wouldn't vaccinate were she not required to work so closely with the medical community. she is that girl who takes her son in for his shots and stands over the nurse as she draws her needle, who cringes in horror when they ever so not-gently stab her son in the leg and he breaks out in the most heartbreaking of screams, and as real tears run down his cheeks, she cannot keep them from also running down hers. she cannot not cry when her baby cries.

yes, she is that girl. the annoyingly empathetic hovering mother.


she is a girl who is not yet adjusted to the extreme life changes that come with an infant. she is that girl who goes to lunch with you and rambles on and on and on until your burrito is gone and she hasn't even started in on hers because it's been she-doesn't-know-how-long since she had anyone to talk to.

yes, she is that girl. the lonely talkaholic.


she is a girl who quit her job, enrolled in school, found out she was pregnant, unenrolled, got very very sick, humbled herself and went back to her parents' house for the sake of her health, got sick of her hometown, came to live where the father of her child lives, and had her child, only to realize that she really now lives where the un-father of her child lives because she was not in fact correct about who that might be. and who trekked from oklahoma city to philadelphia to nevada to nashville in the execution of the aforementioned.

yes, she is that girl. the i-don't-know-who-my-baby-daddy-is (wow-what-a-slut) (no-i-am-not-proud-of-this) girl. and she is all over the place.


perhaps most significantly, she is a girl who has seen more tears in the past two months than her first 24 years of life. because she is a girl with ssa/ssb antibodies. she is a girl whose body attacked her own child in the place that is supposed to be safest. (that would be the womb.) whose son developed heart block as a result of said complication in pregnancy. he will never play contact or professional sports, will eventually need a pacemaker, and will live with this condition for the rest of his life. because of her.

she is a girl who struggles with guilt, who fails, who falls short, but who never stops striving to be better. she is a girl who loves god. who has a minister's license. who is a former church secretary. who is a regular volunteer. who has a passion for outreach ministry. who got pregnant out of wedlock and, as a result, is that girl, with the kid. and so today i sit here, looking at pictures i took of myself in january of 2007 (i mean, what better things did i have to do when i was single apart from take pictures of myself?) and i am seeing this blond hair and clothes much more stylish than this plain black nursing tank i'm sitting in right now, and i don't recognize her. who is that girl? that girl who has time to cut and bleach and style and maintain short blond hair and a colorful wardrobe. that girl who lives for the arts and the scene. who has time and money for herself and goals and ambitions and dreams and actually knows what she wants out of life.

that girl is a girl who was full of doubt and self-dislike (i can't really say hatred, though that's how the phrase goes.) who never had the strength to say no even with such a strong will to fight. that girl is a girl i don't know anymore. because this girl is a girl who has finally found love, and that love has healed her. she might live in the hood of nashville in a crappy rundown studio apartment with $5 to her name and a part-time, poorly-paying job as a barista. she might have no idea what she is doing or where she is going or what tomorrow might bring. she might have a little extra around the waistline, a handful of stretch marks, a huge scar across her abdomen, cellulite, and that joyous underarm flap that likes to jiggle when she waves. she might be flawed and imperfect and have plenty to overcome and a lot of growing up to do. but this girl is a girl who, antibodies or no, is comfortable in her own skin for the first time in her life. this girl is a girl who loves herself not despite the fact that she is human, but because she is human. this girl is a girl who is whole.

amy l. found this on craigslist, used [aka in pristine condition] and my church pitched in and got it for me. i think i about crapped my pants when i saw it. well, i teared a bit anyway. perhaps the most amazing part is that i've only lived in nashville since the first of may, and i barely know these people, and i have done absolutely nothing to deserve such generosity. it leaves me at a complete loss.

and now i am at the library, typing in peace because my baby is sitting perfectly content in his new comfy stroller. i am in heaven.

today i took the most amazing self-portrait ever. amy was trying on clothes at wet seal, and the employee who let her into the fitting room pointed down the hall ahead of her while informing me i could sit down there if i wanted. i felt immense gratitude to be able to sit for a moment, & as soon as i walked past her, all i saw was a picture. with a 10-second self-timer on my fancy LG fusic's camera phone, i took this. and i quite love it.

So I was reading last night. I started thinking. Does anyone ever wonder why the disciples were chosen to be the disciples? I mean Judas betrayed Him, Peter denied Him, and even knowing this was all in their character, Jesus still chose them. Maybe it's to show all the Peters and Judases of the world that we're all welcome in God's kingdom, that we all screw up sometimes, and no matter how "bad" we are, God will always love us. Maybe it was just all part of the divine plan, that Jesus had to be hung on that cross somehow, and Judas was the ticket. But still, I think that draws a beautiful picture. The Bible clearly portrays the falls of the disciples, that they're sinners just like us. It makes me closer to Jesus. To know that even when He was here on this planet, He loved Judas and Peter, He spent so much time with them, even though He knew what was to come. No matter your character, what you've done, or what you will do, there will always be a place in God's heart for you, and for that, a place in mine. Open your arms, open your heart today.

Thank You God for: Your forgiveness. You overlook so many flaws in all our character. You are love.