For Future Me, Who Is Down On Herself

I'm gonna give you a fair warning, reader friend. This post is not going to be for everyone. Particularly not for many of the male persuasion. It's a fairly normal type of post for me but I will be including a story or two that might make the men folk a little uneasy.

So just know, this is your time to consider whether you want to continue on. If words like "hot flashes", "bras", "PMS", or "feelings" make you uncomfortable, then you just need to mosey on back to the man cave from whence you crawled out of during commercial breaks for Sportscenter. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Go 'head, sir. Go. 

Now. Now that it's just us girls, and maybe a straggler or two who thinks he can read of my whimsical mishap and stare me straight in the eye, allow me to continue.

I've said it before (in some form of another) on my blog, and I'll say it again.

Motherhood makes you crazy.

Yep. Hair-pullin', crazy-eyed, frantic-laughin' crazy. Most days.

Don't get me wrong. There have been some (rare) nights that I get into bed and pat myself on the back and say, "Hey YOU. You rocked this mom thing like a boss today. You deserve these 9 oreos. You are the mother of all mothers... madre supreme. Go you."

But sometimes, the crazy sneaks up on you and you never even knew it was coming. Just POW. Right in the kisser.

Take for instance my latest mishap...It was a Wednesday. A frigid, bleak, January Wednesday. The morning began just like any other...rushing to get myself dressed while packing diaper bags and making bottles and breakfast. I suppose I thought everything was on the up and up. I should have known when I started washing my hair (in the sink) with Dawn instead of Pantene that maybe I didn't have my wits about me. But hey, simple mistake, right? And on the plus side, I knew grease would be no match for my locks that day. I digress.

I somehow made it out the door and into the classroom without any problems. Patted myself on the back for that one. I even felt super cute because I was wearing a denim jacket I've owned now for well over ten years and somehow made it relevant enough to today's fashion. Vintage. Chic. Look at me go.

Anyway, I made it to school. Went to my classroom. Doodled my name on a piece of paper over and over so passerbys would think I was working some kind of fierce. Then, I stepped out into the hall and said hello to all the children. All those angel babies. Mrs. Adams was feeling fancy and fine and by golly, she was determined to spread some January cheer.

I taught class with a pep in my step. I was pretty proud of how energetic I was. I was freezing my tail off, though. I turned my own classroom thermostat up to 75 (sorry administrators) and still felt chilly. NO BOTHER, I AM SUPER TEACHER. LET US PRESS ON AND EDUCATE ALL THE CHILDREN.

I finished my last class of the morning. Still bouncing with every step. Hoo-ah. The time came for me to pump (there's one of those scary words, boys), because I was a good mother who lovingly nurtured her babe with nature's intended form of feeding... Just kidding. It's cause I can't afford formula.

Anyway, I hooked the awkward machine up. Got all the parts attached and proceeded to ready myself when I finally realized...

I forgot to put a bra on that morning.

Coldest day of the year and I was walking around an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL like...well, THAT. Fear and laughter simultaneously overtook me. What do I do first? Text all my friends and tell them about how I'm officially losing my mind because parenting is winning over me or write genuine apology cards to the 100+ parents of students I saw that morning?

Life.

And sure, that's a comical little story. No big deal, really. Probably happens to others all the time. But for me - a nursing mama - to forget something so pivotal on the coldest morning of the year? Just not the usual mishap for me. And honestly there was a moment or two where (after the initial hilarity of the situation faded) I began to allow that one mishap to remind me of all my other mishaps: the dishes from last night's meal didn't get washed...you forgot to send Jacob's blanket to school...your kid's carseat has french fries from who knows when...you spend hours away from your kids a day...etc. etc...

The self-loathing just continued to get worse.

I wish I could say I ran across some inspirational quote or had a revelation of some sort that drew me out of my pity-party, but I didn't. Only time and today's good mood have really allowed me to see the pettiness of it. But the truth is that, more than likely, in a few days I will be right back at beating myself up.

That's why I jot things like this down. It serves as a reminder to myself that those days that seem the worst end up faint memories with no damage whatsoever to my long-term mama memory. They don't trump the giggling little boy who asks me to climb into his teeny-tiny tent to spend a moment pretending we're fireman. They don't override the feeling of my youngest grinning from ear to ear when he sees me for the first time each morning or the way he burrows his head into my chest as if to say he loves me more than Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

At the end of each day, no matter what role you play in your life, it's such a good one. I promise you that. If we can look past the filters of perfection we find on social media and the nagging need to feel like we have to have it all together, I think you and I just might find that life is a lot simpler and more blissful than we allow ourselves to see it. The mistakes we make, we'll make again. And again. And again. But the giggles will keep coming, the grins will never stop, and life will go on. Simply. Blissfully.

So, Laura Leigh (or reader, if you so feel spoken to): breathe in. Forget about what you didn't do well or what the world said you should've done better. Focus on your blessings. Be gracious to yourself.



...but please...don't forget your bra.

i'm not alright.

I’m raising the white flag here, folks. I’m going to just put all my thoughts out there and I’m not even gonna try to give you a perfectly packaged little lesson out of it. I’m gonna do what I’ve been harping on doing for months now while simultaneously not doing myself.

I’m going to be honest.

It occurred to me as I sat in church Sunday morning, unable to even pay attention from the second row due to the overwhelming flood of emotion that caused me to cry buckets of tears in front of God and everybody, that I’ve entered this incredibly vicious cycle of loneliness. The worst part – the part that hit me like a ton of bricks and hurt worse than a paper cut on your eyeball (you're welcome for that imagery) – is that I realized it’s nobody’s fault but my own.

Being married to a minister is hard.

Ok, let me clarify. Being a minister’s wife is hard. (Being married to Brian isn’t so bad…he’s easy on the eyes.)

I write these obscenely long statuses (statii?) about how irritating it is that moms will play off their parenting skills as if they are the Cinderella of motherhood. And you know what? I’m pretty good about being wittily honest about my own parenting skills or my kids’ behavior. But past parenting – down to the nitty gritty of who I am? A social media façade. All of it.

I’m an actor, ladies and gentlemen. Maybe not the world’s greatest but darn good enough to carry it over into my real life.

Enter LL stage right. Dressed in outfit she doesn’t particularly care for but is popular among locals. Smiles long enough to get to pew as onlookers take note of said smile. Makes witty comment to neighbor laced with just enough sarcasm to emphasize humor without being a jerk. Waves at acquaintances. Sings songs with forged fervor. Rinse and repeat.

Sundays/Wednesdays (I single these two days out because they are when I see the most people) have become a song and dance of me pretending like life is just glorious but inwardly longing for genuine companionship with anyone who is willing to return the favor.

My best friend, Lindsay, is my best friend because she knows me. She knows all the worst parts about me and still loves me and vice versa. So it’s not that I don’t realize that there are people out there who are willing to look past the flaws of another and invite them in to share life together. I totally get that. I have that.

Somewhere along the line, though, I stopped letting it happen. And the fact that she's over 700 miles away doesn't help me on the whole "needing to socialize" thing...

I can’t remember the last time I’ve shown anyone but my parents and my husband the real me. Don’t get me wrong, I like the real me. I’m not saying I’m so terrible that I don’t want anyone to know it. A lot of what I portray is exactly who I am: witty, sarcastic, outgoing, fun loving, etc. But I’ve built a wall just high enough to make sure no one can see the hurts and heartaches and flaws.

I stubbed my toe this morning on our dog’s crate and I said a curse word. Now, hear me out. That doesn’t negate my salvation or tarnish my reputation by any means, I get that. But in my mind, I seem to think that every other female on the potential friends list would absolutely be horrified at my choice of words because of who I am.

THIS is the kind of woman we trust to help lead our students?

Stupid, I know. It’s just a word. You might be laughing at how petty that seems, but these type scenarios have turned from petty, irrational, fleeting worries to gripping, overwhelming fears.

Sunday morning before going to church, I lost my temper and yelled at both my kids. They’re 2 and 8 months old. And yes, I’m crying as I write this because of how much I regret my outburst. That’s postpartum depression for you.

Oh yeah. PPD. There’s that… a monster in and of itself that I have only now just admitted to being held captive by. I’ve been in denial about it for so long that I haven’t even shared any of it with my own husband for months. (Fear not, I'm working through it, but this is the first time I've been vulnerable enough to admit it publicly.)

These are the things that make me feel like I’m too much of a mess for a friend. Or to be a friend.

These are the thoughts that the enemy uses to cripple me and keep me from growing in accountability with others. These are the ways he allows me to suffer by not truly being a part of community.

There’s a very dear student who often texts me with advice because she seems to think I have my life together. I do my best to guide her in the best way possible (scripturally). I sometimes find myself getting so incredibly frustrated with her inability to show the world who she really is and not always try to be so perfect and held together. I tell her all the time to let Jesus handle the mess.

Pot, meet kettle.

I know she reads my blog. So this is my attempt to apologize for my own hypocrisy and promise her to be the best example of my own advice. Love you, kid. “S’much.” :)

So here I am: white flag waving high in the air. I’m a mess. I’m broken.

I’m lonely.

...But 1 Peter 5:7 says to “cast all your cares upon Him for He cares for you”. So, I’m not hiding my struggles any longer because something tells me, He isn’t the only one.

The cycle ends here. Community starts now.

on the brink

Every day. The same things.

Wake up. Get dressed. Wake kids up. Pat myself on the back for being on schedule. Realize I forgot to fix bottles. Fix bottles. Finish getting dressed. Notice I'm no longer on schedule. Speed up the getting ready process. Rogue diaper incident. Clean mess. Look for keys. Refill milk for demanding toddler in high chair. Continue looking for keys. Panic. Blame husband for missing keys. Pick up crying baby. Find keys. Contemplate apologizing to husband. Change outfit because of spit up incident. Rush out of the door. 

Cue eight hours of blurred teaching, directions, hyperactive students, etc.

Go home. Survive until bedtime. Crash.

Rinse and repeat.

Don't read this wrong, people. My life looks a lot like every one else's. I'm no special snowflake. And I don't dislike life right now. But it's such a blur. Most days I have to sit back and contemplate on whether I did anything of significance.

Significance. That's been a recurrent theme for me lately.

What does that look like? Who decides what's important and what isn't? 

I don't know. I mean, I do know the good ol' Christian answers and what not. But even at 27 years old, I still wonder if maybe I'm missing out on something. Back in college I was certain that by now I would know myself completely and be self-assured and confident and successful. To some degree, I am. But there's still that lingering question mark of something more.

The best part in all of this questioning though, is that I've been so convinced that God has been speaking to me in all of this. It's almost like He's telling me, "hey! I've got something bigger...something better. It's yours for the taking." 

Hear me out. I'm not going all TD Jakes on you and expecting material blessings. 

Nope. He's really been speaking to my heart about sanctification for the sake of His glory. Can I be real here? Of course I can. It's my blog. 

For a long time in my walk with Christ, I've been so lazy. I'm married to a student pastor and I often piggyback off of his title. By that I mean, I tend to neglect my responsibilities as a believer because I'm "so involved" with Brian's ministry that I must have everything together well enough as is, right? Wrong. Recently I was really convicted about this. I realized that I DO have a lot of influence on Brian's ministry. My relationship and growth in Christ is pivotal to my marriage and the health of my marriage is absolutely pivotal to Brian's ministry. And Brian's ministry is pivotal to the salvation and growth of a multitude of students. All of this is a circular motion that should point right back to Jesus Christ. So. I've chewed on that for a while and have been really working on being a little less lazy and a lot more hungry for God. I'm not all there yet. But I'm getting better.

In the midst of all this, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Christ has been putting this idea of significance in my heart. I know He wants to work on me and break my unwilling and lazy spirit so that He can use me to bring Him glory. 

He's putting dreams in my heart and it's literally the most beautiful feeling I've ever felt. When He speaks, it's beautiful. It's so refreshing and reassuring and humbling to know that Jesus still speaks. To ME. 

So right now I may feel like I'm in a rut of the same things each day. The same messes, the same chaos, the same routines...for now. 

But I'm holding on to the idea of significance and sanctification. I'm letting Him break and mold and chip and chisel. Because I know He's putting together something wonderful. He's preparing something currently unfathomable. And it's all for Him. And these dreams are the only ones I want to chase. They're the only ones with any significance.

More of You. Less of me.

"Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen."                 Ephesians 4:29

sanity and sanctity

I'm sitting on my bed at 9:30 PM on this Thursday night eating a cold slice of pizza and drinking Mountain Dew straight from the 2-liter bottle because, friends, it's been that kind of day.

Kids, man. Kids.

Yesterday I went to go get my hair did.

....Yes. I color my hair. Because it's entirely traumatizing to be a 27 year-young woman and have mounds of gray hair. I digress.

As I was letting the chemicals soak into my skull with their unknown lasting effects, I was talking to my hair magician, Deidre, about being a mom. It had been a tough morning and I pretty much just started gushing about my frustrations with my children and myself. And I admit it. I said it. I said what very few mothers want to say:

"Being a mother is NOT the most beautiful job in the world and most days, it's not the best. Anyone who says differently is a liar or blinded by whatever drugs they're taking."

Like I said, y'all. It had been a tough morning.

I've been thinking about the statements I've made and at first, I felt a little guilty for feeling the way I do. But as the day has progressed (read: as more caffeine has been consumed), I realize there's absolutely nothing wrong with having those sentiments.

Before I indulge further, let me tell you: My boys are the absolute greatest gift I've ever been given and are my greatest accomplishment to date. If I had to, I would go head-to-head with the vilest offenders on earth if it meant keeping them safe. And I would dominate them. Because a mother's love, y'all, is way beyond comprehension. And I wouldn't trade them for the greatest riches on earth. They're irreplaceable (like Beyonce - to the left, to the left).

BUT MAN CAN THEY DRIVE YOU CRAZY.

Some days I don't even get five minutes to myself to mindlessly watch tv. I haven't gone to the bathroom or taken a shower in our house with the door closed in two years. I can't remember the last time I didn't either have to share a meal or eat it cold.

And sometimes I log onto social media and I see Perfect Prissy Pants Mama waxing poetic about how wonderful her sweet little smocked-outfit-wearing babies are as she uploads pictures of her perfectly kept house on her way to vacation number 4 of the summer and I just wanna punch her.

That lady is not the picture of average motherhood. She isn't. And I hope her kid smears grape jelly on her couch.

Here's the truth, well, what I've learned, about motherhood:

• Some days you cry more than your kids.
• Sometimes you lose your temper and raise your voice louder than you should.
• Finishing a cup of coffee before it gets cold is a luxury and a rare happening.
• The only time you get to yourself is going to the grocery store and even then, you're rushing to get out as fast as you can because you know your husband is going to give your kid an entire giant oatmeal creme pie if you don't get home quick enough to stop him.
• Every night, you'll find some way you messed up and kick yourself in the proverbial butt because of it.
• There's always going to be a mess...somewhere. If you can't see one, you aren't looking in the right places (check behind the couch).
• You'll wonder where you've gone and when parenting became your only source of identity
• You desperately hope that somewhere beyond the spit up stains on your shirt and the fact that you couldn't find time long enough to shower again that your husband still finds you pretty(ish).
• You absolutely cannot do this job alone.

So, yeah. I think Perfect Prissy Pants Mama and her Oh-So-Smart-Above-Average Angel are obnoxious. But there's a heart of the matter that I've got to get to here: the fault lies with me. If I wasn't falling victim to that ever so tempting game of comparisons, I could look at her posts and say "good for her!" and move on with my life. But instead, it leaves me wondering where in the world I went wrong.

I just need to realize I haven't.

I need to remember that for the Christian, parenting is absolutely a sanctifying process. And sanctification means addressing issues that keep me from being pure and holy. And trust me -- I've seen them: my temper, my covetousness, my selfishness...I could go on (and on and on and on and on)...

 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named,  that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being,  so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,  and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3: 14-19

And there you have it. That's the passage that has been washing over me the last few days...mostly when I feel overwhelmed in this day-to-day mama stuff. 

God is so sneaky, you know? I mean, I can be in the middle of a me-tantrum and BAM here comes those words again. 

Sanctification. Thank GOD for it. Maybe I've got a lot to fix in my life but I am so grateful that He loves me enough TO fix me. I don't like the mirror that motherhood holds up to my face but I love that HE loves me enough to not leave me where I am. Because as I learned over a quarter of century ago in my preschool church choir...

He's still working on me to make me what I ought to be...

I may come out of this journey a few pounds heavier if I keep the Mountain Dew thing up, though.

...But I refuse to come out of it with any extra gray hair. ;)

On being OLD.

A few weeks ago, my mom and I were driving back from Wal-Mart (the classiest retail shopping center within a 60 mile radius) when I noticed something in my reflection in the rear-view mirror. It wasn't just something. It was radiating a brilliant, white glow from the top of my head, bouncing the sunshine right back out of the sunroof from whence it came.

It can't be.

I stared closer, nearly forgetting I should be focused on the road instead. But this, my friends was a crisis. Because what I saw was what no woman ever wants to see. It's especially something this 26 (you read me right, only TWENTY SIX) year-old woman wants to see.

Gray. Hair.

Actually, it wasn't gray, it was white. Stark white. And it wasn't just one.

I yanked the car over in the parking lot of the local bank and forced my mom to conduct a closer inspection. I should have known by the cackles of laughter emitting from her deepest parts that the situation was dire. I, ladies and gentlemen, had a gray (white) hair INFESTATION.

Apparently, and without my knowledge, at some point within the last few months, my body decided to start playing tricks on me. You go to bed one night thinking the world is at your finger tips and the next morning, BAM, you're a poster child for Clairol.

I eventually "took care" of the problem. (My apologies to my stylist, Deborah, for not waiting for the professional job.) And, I eventually got over the shock and awe. But it got me thinking a lot about aging.

It also doesn't help that Jacob just turned ONE and I've been spending the past few days watching videos and looking at pictures from his first few months in life. (He was so quiet, WHAT HAPPENED??) It's incredible to see how much babies grow and develop within such a short time. In 12 months, he's grown leaps and bounds. Once, he depended on me for everything: I provided his nourishment, I carried him from place to place, etc. Now, he's totally content to do everything, or TRY to do everything on his own. He feeds himself, walks wherever he desires, grabs whatever toy (or bug) he's looking for... the kid is like a tiny grown up. How did this happen?!

Getting older. We're all doing it. I don't know about you, but that thought scares me at some moments.

Another occasion in Wal-Mart (you guys, that's the only place to go in this town, okay? Don't judge.),  I was with Jacob, walking out the door and saw an elderly man sitting on a bench near the exit. He was reading the local paper. Not unusual. But, I noticed the way he looked at people as they passed. He wanted us to meet his eyes. He wanted some verbal exchange. His hands shook, as well as his head, as he struggled to concentrate his eyes on the tiny print on the pages in front of him. He was old.

After exchanging greetings and smiles with this sweet stranger, I walked to the car. I looked at Jacob. And I cried. I didn't cry because I pitied him. I cried because I realized that could be my son one day. Aging, lonely, and frail. That could be Brian. It will be me one day. I'm getting old. We're all getting old.

Of course, after I snapped out of my hormonal fit, I came to the realization that aging is not entirely a bad thing. I guess it's just...strange. You see, I know a lot of you probably look at me and think my musings are laughable. I realize I'm still young. But, when I look in the mirror, I already have those moments of not recognizing the person I see. I still feel like that youthful, 20 year old who gets 10 or more hours of sleep each night and doesn't have bags under her eyes and isn't missing her ab muscles after they were stretched to their limit for 40 weeks (you're welcome, Jacob).

I know I'm not the only one who experiences this. I know aging isn't some...thing I've discovered. It's happening to every one, every moment. And for me, it's become a daily reminder of the fact that this life is ending. Whether or not you want to accept the words I'm about to write doesn't diminish the truth: we're all dying. Our bodies were meant to age. They do that from day one. We, of course, try to take an optimistic approach and call it "growing". But, it is what it is.

So, upon this revelation, I have to ask myself: What am I doing with my life? (Ah yes. Welcome to your late-20s, LL.)

Yeah, yeah. I know. I've got my roles and responsibilities: Stay-at-home mom by day (for now), binge Netflix watcher by night. But what about the in-betweens? Those coming and going moments?

I'll be honest. Thinking about all of this, I've realized that I've spent a lot of days doing a lot of mundane things that won't make any type of dent in my life or anyone else's. Sure, down time is great. But I bet I'd be pretty embarrassed to know the hours I've wasted mindlessly watching a television show on Netflix when I could've been on the phone having encouraging conversations with a friend or family member. I could've been digging into scripture and challenging myself to know more about why I believe what I believe. I could've been praying for those who I know are hurting or lost. I could've taken a gift to my elderly neighbor just to let her know someone is thinking of her.

I've got the physical evidence that I'm not going to be young forever. And, as a believer, I trust that one day I'll stand before our Creator and give an account of the work I've done here in this life, but... will it be worthwhile?

My biggest fear is wasting my life, but I sure don't seem too motivated to do anything about it most days. A lot of times, I take the platform God has given me for granted. Brian's job gives me access to a group of students who are willing to share their lives with me and allow me to share mine with them. I have the opportunity to influence them in the best way possible and share the love of Jesus with them in a seriously tangible way. Hours I could spend praying for and investing in them are sometimes spent doing way less important things.

So perhaps now when I look in the mirror and see that tired, albeit still young, woman staring back at me, I'll be reminded of the years that have passed and the moments that are passing. Maybe I'll be a little less concerned about what color to cover up my "crowns of glory" (blah, it's gray hair) and more concerned about remembering, in the time that I've been GIFTED, to let somebody know that they're loved more than they'll ever know.

Live purposefully. Because you have a purpose.
"...whatever you do, do all to the glory of God." 1 Corinthians 10:31

_________________________________________

This one's for you, Mama. Thanks for teaching me about the importance of each day being a gift. As you learn now how to live without YOUR mama, thank you for teaching me to reflect upon the good that a person did within their lifetime, and not being overcome with sorrow. I will forever be grateful to Mamaw for the motivation to be better each day and for the courage to live in such a way that when I leave this world, others might see that it's not about me... it's all about Him. 

And Mom? You're just as beautiful now as you were 26 years ago. THAT'S how I'll always see you.

swelling thoughts.

For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. - Romans 1:19-20


There is absolutely nothing more I can add to this post that would cement this truth any more that it already is.

The bottom line?

God is.

He was.

He always will be.

There is no denying it. 

And one day? We will see its truth played out; every knee bowing, every tongue confessing that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.



Until then, it is not for me to sit around as if I have no calling or purpose. My purpose was made known when God reached down and breathed His everlasting, life-giving love into my cold corpse and called me one of His own. 

Now I am saved by the grace of our Savior. And I owe my life to Him - a servant of His matchless grace.

Half a year...

...and we're still here!

Man. It seems like that it was just yesterday that THIS happened:

Poor kid. It was this picture that made me worry that perhaps Jacob was going to be not so photogenic, much like his mama. I mean, in his defense he HAD just made quite a traumatic and yucky journey. But luckily for him, his looks improved.

I've pretty much been head over heels in love with this baby since day one.

This kid has grown and changed at an incredibly fast rate. People always told me that their children seemed to grow up overnight and now, I believe that can be true. 

Take a look: Jacob at 1 week, 1 month, and (skipping ahead a bit) 6 months (will have a monthly comparison photo to post as soon as his daddy, AHEM, puts it together):

Good grief.

At SIX MONTHS OLD, Jacob is quite an entertainer. Here's what we know he loves:

• His daddy: Oh mylanta. Anything that Brian does is ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS, to Jacob that is. If I've got a not-so-fun task to do (like suctioning Jacob's nose), I'll call Brian in because goodness knows that kid isn't going to show out for his Daddy. It's simultaneously cute and sickening
• Elmo: Yeah. That's right. Our kid has learned that Elmo is awesome. I'll admit, I was afraid of the affinity-developing stage because I know whatever Jacob likes to watch means we get stuck with. But I'm cool with Elmo. He's cute. And he makes some pretty witty jokes for a 3 year old.
• EATING: You know, pediatricians will tell you that when your baby is full, he'll stop eating or refuse food. Nuh-uh. Not this kid. At 6 months old, he has a cereal and fruit each morning as well as a vegetable and fruit (or something we're eating) at night along with 6-7 feeds during the day. And he eats every single bit of it. I think I could keep offering and the kid would keep eating. He thinks food is fun and it's been fun watching him try things like avocado, bananas, and even a (very, very small) bite of a pickle. It's anything goes with him. His favorite foods though are squash and bananas.
• "Talking": He gets it honest, folks. Our little man babbles from the moment he's awake until we lay him down for the night. 
• Crawling: It's the funniest thing. The kid has shown zero interest in sitting up on his own. In fact, he's not good at it at all. But he can army-crawl like nobody's business. He's a fast little guy. Turn your back for one second and he's chewing on the dog's toys or underneath the Christmas tree, reaching out for an ornament taste-test.

I knew babies were fun, but I didn't know they were THIS much fun. Seriously. Every single moment - even the challenging ones (GROWTH SPURTS) have been absolutely worth it. This kid has shown a personality from an early age and it just keeps getting better.

Happy 6 months in the world, Jacob. 

You sure did make ours better the day you arrived.