I'm a work in progress.

Everyone has issues. Some are big, some are small, but we all have them. I struggle with demons from my past, and when I say struggle I mean I fight them every day.

When I was 15 years old I met a boy who would eventually become the father of my son. He was the guy all the girls wanted. He was good looking and charming, he was fun to be around, and he was the "bad boy". He was the wild one that couldn't be tamed and me being the stubborn girl with "daddy issues", well I was going to tame him. For the better part of 4 years I tried... sometimes I made progress and sometimes I didn't. What I didn't know then was that you can't make someone be what you want them to be.

When I got pregnant I thought that maybe this was exactly what we needed to finally settle down. I was SO wrong. When children try to be adults, ugly things can happen. The stress of going from a carefree teenager to a parent proved to be too much for us. To say that the relationship turned ugly would be an understatement. Things became constantly strained and tense and eventually the screaming matches turned physical.

We were both at fault, we were both to blame. Our lack of maturity prevented us from expressing our frustrations in a positive manner and it wasn't healthy for anyone involved, so we split up. I have a lot of residual hurt from those years. It's easy for me to say that I'm over it, and that I dealt with it, and in a lot of ways I have. However the other night while talking to my husband, a realization hit me.

When I look at my son, I see his father. His facial expressions, his smile, the way he purses his lips when he's trying to pull one over on me, the anger in his eyes when he thinks I'm being unfair, and even some of the things that he says. It's hard, I've known that for years, but what I just realized was WHY. It's hard to raise a child that I love so much, when he reminds me SO MUCH of a time in my life that was so painful. I wouldn't change one second of my life, because if I did, I wouldn't be where I am and I wouldn't have the child that I have. What I need to remember is that it's not Nathans fault that he looks like his dad, and it's not Nathans fault that he wants to be just like his dad. I made choices that laid the foundation of his life and I need to try and remember when he's pushing me to my limits that he's Nathan... not his father.

Somehow through all of my wrong turns, I made a few correct ones. I have not only somehow managed to raise a child that is turning into a man that I am proud of, but I also found a man that loves me despite my "issues", and together we created the most beautiful, happy little girl that I've ever seen. My husband understands my demons, he watches me fight them and he steps in when he knows I'm losing the battle. He understands that sometimes I build walls around myself and that more often than not, I need him to help me tear them down. He takes me for what I am below the surface and understands that what I let most people see isn't always the "real" me. He knows that I'm a work in progress, and he loves me anyway.

Breaking The Cycle

Tomorrow my baby starts High School. He starts High School. Nathan is starting High School. It doesn't matter how I say it, or how many times I say it, I just can't believe it. I can remember holding his hand when we crossed the street. Rocking him to sleep at night. Walking him into pre-school for the first time. The first time he said "ma-ma". Watching him sleep when he was a baby. Kissing the tears away when he fell down and skinned his knee. Putting together his tricycle. How did he grow up so fast?

I'm met with mixed emotions. I'm excited for him, I'm scared for him, I'm scared for me. High School for me was the beginning of a downward slide of bad choices. I'm terrified that my son will make the same mistakes. He will be met with new freedom that he's never experienced before. He will be mixed in with kids that are 2, 3 and 4 years older than he is. Kids that have made certain choices about sex, alcohol, drugs, or cigarettes that I don't want him choosing.

So I'm presented with the question; Have I done enough to prepare him? The answer is no, because no matter what, you can always do more. I could have had more talks with him. I could have stressed the importance of staying in school even more than I already have. I could have told him how proud I am of him even more often than I have. I could have also locked him in the basement and lost the key until he's about 25... wait, I might still have time for that one! I have never been so afraid in my entire life.

Nathans father and I both left high school before we finished. We also both eventually went back and got diplomas after the fact, but that is not something that I deem acceptable for our son. We also got pregnant just out of high school. That is ABSOLUTELY not ok for Nathan to do. Nathan is going to do things differently. The cycle ends here. I screwed a lot of things up for myself and it made my journey a lot harder than it needed to be. I will not let him do the same.

I have heard a lot over the last several years from members of my family that I am "too hard" on Nathan. I don't agree. My family was not hard enough on me. I'm in no way blaming them for the mistakes that I made, however I do believe that I made some of those decisions because I knew I would get away with it. My son should know that he won't. I look at him in the same way that I'm sure my mom looked at me when I was starting high school. He has so much promise. He's smart and funny and sweet and loving. Sometimes I can't believe that even through all of the parental mistakes I've made over the years, he has still turned into such an amazing young man.

So now I wait. I wait and hope that everything that I've taught him up until now will stick with him, and I will continue to stress the importance of making good choices and hope that somehow I get through to him. I have a feeling I will spend a good part of the next four years holding my breath, with my fingers crossed, while praying... feel free to join me.

Finding Security

I've always been fairly independent. More on the "leader" side than the side of "follower". My mother taught me well. She raised my sister and I for the majority of our lives without any help and made it look easy, although I know it wasn't. I always thought that independence was a good thing, and in a lot of ways it is. I've been raised to know how to do things that usually fall into the category of male responsibility. I can replace the inner workings of a toilet, I know how to shut off the water valve in case of a leak, put up weather stripping, change a flat tire, check my oil, and I'm pretty handy with a hammer and nail. I have proudly stated dozens of times over the course of the last 10 or so years that I didn't "need" a man and that I could take care of myself. This is still true to a certain degree, but something has shifted.

I can remember telling my husband in the very early stages of our relationship that even though I loved him, I would never "need" him. The thought of it makes me cringe now. What a horrible thing to say. What I was trying to communicate was that I wasn't needy, that I wasn't looking for a caretaker, I was looking for a partner. I didn't communicate it very well at all. I can't even imagine what it probably felt like for him to hear me say that, and I'm sure that he'll never admit it, but it probably hurt his feelings.

The truth is, I don't NEED him in the literal sense. I would survive if I didn't have him. But all literal definitions aside, I really do need him. I need him for the support he gives me. I need him to help me raise our daughter. I need him to reassure me when I'm feeling unsure. I need him to be by my side and most of all, I need him to love me. He provides me with something that no one else has been able to give me. Security. I know that no matter what happens I will always have someone on my side. No matter how badly I screw something up I know that he will stand by me.

I hope that he knows that I was wrong when I said I'd never need him. I hope he knows that I've never counted on someone as much as I do him, and that I never even trusted anyone enough to be able to count on them. I also hope that I've provided him with some sense of security and that he needs me even half as much as I need him.

My Greatest Loss

One year ago this month I was the saddest I've ever been.

My husband and I found out we were expecting a baby... and 3 days later, I lost that baby.

There really aren't words to properly express how I felt. I was miserable. I felt loss like I had never felt it before. I cried for days. I knew that there was nothing that I could have done to prevent it and that I didn't do anything to cause it and still I blamed myself. I never felt this baby move, heard it's heartbeat, or saw it on an ultrasound and yet I loved it.

My husband was amazing. Through his pain he focused only on me. He held me while I cried, he told me he loved me, he asked what he could do to help. There was nothing he could do. I could see that he was worried about me. He had never seen me in that state before and I'm sure it was probably a shock given that I always pride myself on being so outwardly strong.

Possibly the hardest part of this harsh reality was that in our excitement about the baby we had "announced" my pregnancy on Facebook. Literally one of my first thoughts when I realized I was miscarrying was "this is why you don't tell people this early." I was ashamed, and now I had to publicly announce that I had lost this precious gift that I had been given.

I waited a day or two, and ignored the "congratulations" and well wishes that I received on my facebook page. Every notification was like a knife to my heart. Here were people who were genuinely happy for us, wanting to share in our joy, and it nearly killed me every time I'd read another one. Then after a few days, I posted the news.

I braced myself. I'm not sure what I was expecting... probably a few people offering their condolences, and maybe some more well meaning people trying to comfort me by saying things like "at least it was early enough that you didn't feel it move." (yes, people actually said things like that to me) What I received was more than I could have asked for. I got reassurance. In addition to the dozens of people who expressed their sorrow for us publicly, I also got private messages from several women. I won't name them here because they know who they are, but what they did was tell me that they understood. It had happened to them too. Some of them had been through one miscarriage, some had been through two or three or even more. Some of these women are friends of mine, and some are casual aquaintences. These women took their pain and used it to help me heal. What an incredible thing. I know it wasn't easy for them to relive those feelings, but they did. They reached out because they knew.

I like to find positive things in the midst of negativity. In addition to those amazing women who shared their experiences with me, I got a second chance. Just 5 weeks after I lost our baby, I found out that I was pregnant again and May 14th I gave birth to my second chance. I was terrified thoroughout most of my pregnancy. As any woman who has lost a baby knows, once you experience it, you're afraid that it will happen again. I have to look at my miscarriage as a stepping stone to my daughter, because without it, I wouldn't have her. God knew something about the first baby that I didn't, and I have to trust that He knew what was best for me. He doesn't make mistakes, and I have the proof...

The Ongoing Saga of Raising a Teenager.

I can remember when my son was about 4 or 5 and the dreaded question came out of his mouth: "Mommy, where do babies come from?" My stomach dropped at least 10 feet and I thought I might throw up. I recovered pretty quickly though and I replied "God sent you to me." He nodded his head and went back to playing with his Leggos and I immediately felt like I was the BEST parent in the world. I thought to myself, "this isn't so bad." I spoke too soon. He looked at me with those big blue eyes and innocently said "But I heard on TV that the daddy and mommy make the baby" I panicked for a minute and then said "Mommys and Daddys who love each other have babies, but God creates them" This was not flying, and I could clearly see that. I tried a different approach... "Mommy and Daddy loved each other so much that God gave us a baby, and I carried you in my tummy and when you were big enough, you were born. "Danger... Danger... I had gone too far. His eyes got very big and he said "I was in your tummy?" I nodded and he said "YOU ATE ME???"

When I look back on this conversation, I don't really remember how scary it was, I only feel amused. Remembering now, it's all very innocent and cute, and NOTHING compared to the conversations that I'm required to have with him now. Just last night at dinner we were chatting and I casually brought up smoking. He assures me he's never tried it, and that it smells disgusting and he won't ever do it, but I know better. He will more than likely try smoking, and drinking, and drugs. It's terrifying. He will also probably have sex long before he's emotionally ready for it, and years and years before he finds the woman that he will spend the rest of his life with. He will get pressured to try things that he's afraid of, and I can only hope that he makes the right choices and that I've raised him to know that his opinion of himself is much more important than what anyone else might think if he doesn't follow the crowd.

I have been very honest with him about the mistakes that I made when I was younger. He knows the struggles that I had by having him so young. I love him and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world, but if I could have hit a pause button and just waited a few years, things would have been better for both of us. I can only hope that by being open and honest with him about my experiences, he will make better choices for himself.

Raising a teenager is a lot like white water rafting. It's fun and scary all at the same time, and you just hold on for dear life and hope everyone makes it to the end.

Perfection

I'm not perfect. In fact, I'm so far from perfect that I can't even see what it looks like from here. So why is it that when I have a certain standard that I require myself to adhere to, I get told that I think I'm "so perfect." News flash, there is a big difference between WANTING things to be perfect and actually BEING perfect. I have a ton of flaws. Among the biggest of my flaws are that I am sometimes bossy and impatient. I can also be very stubborn. Another flaw that I have is that I'm overly sensitive sometimes, and that is the one that I struggle with the most.

I recently saw the following sentence on a friends FB status and it really spoke to me: "...if a person feels judged it is often the still voice inside that accuses them, but it is easier to blame another than deal with the depravity within." It's true. When my feelings get hurt because someone has accused me of something, it's usually because I know they're right. (When I know they're wrong I react usually with an eye roll and a laugh or sometimes I get mad depending on the seriousness of the accusation) It goes both ways. I can see that when I get told I think I'm perfect, it's because that person feels inadequate, not because they really think that I'm perfect. I have learned lately that there are some people that you will never be able to count on. There are some people that will always choose the "fun" over a chore, even when the chore helps someone. I can't take it personally. I have to resolve myself to remembering that just like I have flaws that I battle daily, so do others, and I can't let theirs affect me in a negative way.

Brothers and Sisters

My son has a very mixed family. Mixed? No, that's not really the right word. Blended? That doesn't really sound right either. Complicated... perhaps. Let me explain...

I had my son at the very young and naive age of 18 and his father was not far ahead at 19. Although we were "together" when Nathan was born, we parted ways when he was 9 months old. His father went on to have two more children with another woman, and thus, Nathan has two sisters. Even though his father and I didn't separate on good terms (that may be the understatement of the century), as soon as the first of his other two children was born I was sure of one thing: Nathan had a sister. There were certain people who made comments to Nathan that really upset me. He would say something about his sister and these people would "correct" him and say "she's not your sister, she's your half sister." It made my blood boil, and I never skipped an opportunity to correct THEM.

If you want to get technical about it, yes, they share a father but have different mothers, but I have spent the last 9+ years standing firm on the fact that his fathers children are his sisters. There is no "half" about it. Why was it so important for these people to point out that they didn't share the same two parents. He was only 4 when his first sister was born, but it wasn't as if Nathan was confused about who her mother was. He doesn't love her 50% as much as he would if they shared both parents. She isn't 50% less important. He doesn't spend 50% of his time pretending they aren't related.

Fast forward 9+ years. Just under two months ago, I gave birth to Nathans 3rd sister. (Poor thing... he prayed really hard for a brother LOL) They obviously have the same mother, but they have different fathers. One of those same people recently asked Nathan what he thought of his sister. SISTER... not half sister. I couldn't help but say (sarcastically) "don't you mean HALF sister." This person looked at me and said "no... Grace is his sister, I guess you were right about the "half" thing." My response: I know.

So like I was saying before... My son has a very confusing family. But I happen to think he's pretty lucky.