On Ezra and mamahood.

I'm still in denial that Ezra Walter is now a year old.
Over a year old.
Over a year ago I was in a hospital waiting for the longest 16 hours for this little guy to make his debut and now he has been on this earth for a year and six days.

I really love Ezra.
I love that he waves his arms to music he likes. The first music he heard (besides the sweet mama and baby bracelets that sang whenever we close to each other in the hospital) was Buddy Holly on the way home from the hospital on a frigid January evening.
I love that whenever he sees a four legged furry animal he yells, "Gat! Gat!" And that whenever he sees our "gat" he crawls really fast and does his excited panting and reaches out his little hand to pet him, but the "gat" always runs away just in time.
I love when he sucks his bottom lip, and when he runs his tongue over his top teeth while making noises.
I love that whenever something exciting happens he starts clapping, and that when we say "It's good!" he'll stick both arms straight up in the air.
I love eating food on the couch and watching him make his way over and peak his little head up like, "Hey, Ma. Whatcha got there?"
I love when I'm sitting on the floor and he pulls himself up to a standing position and holds onto my shoulder for balance.
I love when I'm holding him and he wraps his arms around my neck and lays his little head on my chest and doesn't move because it reminds me of when he was just a few months old, and that he is still little and still wants me.
I love that he just has "one of those faces" and strangers fall in love with him daily.

Mostly I really love being Ezra's mom.
Ezra was a surprise, but I couldn't be more grateful that he came when he did.
Some days when I am exhausted and bored, I forget that. There are some moments that I wish I was like my college friends; pursuing art careers and going to grad school and whatnot. Before I found out I was pregnant, my plan was to get my masters in art therapy and help people with autism, like my brother. And to help people with manic depression, like my grandma. And to help people with depression and anxiety, like me.
But, you guys, then I remember that I still have that plan. I can still accomplish everything I've ever wanted to do. Just maybe not right now. I have the same goals. But I don't have to accomplish them all right now. My desired destination is the same, but my route to get there has changed. "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." That's kind of my jam right now.

So, yeah. There are times when being a stay-at-home mom is hard and I play the "What if..." game. But I always come back to the same conclusion: I love Ezra and I love what I'm doing with my life right now.
And I want to do my absolute best at this. That's why in my last post on mamahood, I wrote about wanting to be able to cook for my family and keep a nice house. Not because the society or culture or whatever I'm in is telling me that's what I'm supposed to do, but because that's what I want to do. Because right now I am Amy Poole: Wife of Jeff and Mama of Ezra, and I want to do it to the best of my abilities. Later I may be Amy Poole: Wife of Jeff, Mama of Ezra (and others), art therapy grad student, and recognized fine artist. Or whatever my future self wants to do.

It may not be the life you want, or the life you want right now, and that is fine.
But it is the life I want right now.

I really, truly love my life and I am really, truly doing what I want to be doing.
I hope you do and that you are for yours.



Whatever you are, be a good one.
--Abraham Lincoln