Tag Archives: jammies with feet

Jammies With Feet

4 Jan

So as most of my readers know, I’m currently pregnant with my 3rd child.  I could go on and on about all the great things being a mom entails like unconditional love and good night kisses.  But I’m gonna be honest, my 2 favorite things are pinching dimply baby booties and jammies with feet.  We have a bath time routine of walking around the house and everyone pinches Willow’s sweet 20 month old booty.  The other day my husband was taking a shower and Willow was walking around the house looking for him and got sad when I put her in the bath without a booty pinch from her papa.

Jammies with feet are on a whole ‘nother level.  There is nothing cuter than a little girl walking around in fuzzy jammies with little monkey ears on her toes.  (I made up a song about jammies with feet, this proves my love.) But they have to be the kind with zippers.  The button up ones are the Devil.  Who ever decided it was a good idea to make a sleep deprived parent button up 15 buttons at 3am only to find the last button doesn’t match up will have a lot to answer for on judgement day.  I was changing Willow’s diaper and found a Christmas ornament caught in the foot and my husband found a few pens down there as well.  I never thought about it but I guess jammies with feet make the perfect place to stash things.


That got me thinking, aren’t we just like those darn jammies.  We walk around looking all cute and put together but deep down we’re hiding things.

We want you to think your words don’t phase us, but deep down they’re killing us. We want you to think we are totally secure, qualified enough, put together enough, organized enough and in the perfect marriage.  We want you to think our kids are the best, our house is always this clean and we never burn the meatloaf.

No one is all of these things so why do we try?  Why do we put so much effort into being what we’re not?  Why do we care so much about what others think of us?

I know it’s hard not to let outside voices in but the truth is, there is only one voice that matters.  God’s. God says you are loved. Beautiful. Seen. Known. Matter. Heard. Holy. Righteous. Strong. Brave. The son or daughter of a heavenly king. Forgiven. Redeemed…YOU.ARE.ENOUGH.

So many things are thrown at us daily, fighting for our attention.  We need to learn what to focus on.  We need to learn the voice of truth.  We need to learn how to love ourselves and quit killing ourselves trying to be something we’re not.  Let’s quit being jammies with feet.

Thanks for allowing me to share my world with you…welcome to my brain.



If She Could Talk

13 Aug

Two of my favorite things about babies: jammies with feet and fuzzy heads.  I LOVE jammies with feet so much I have a song about them.  A co-worker once told me they “like” jammies with feet because they are “convenient.”  That hurt my heart.  You shouldn’t use them because they are convenient.  You should put them on your babies because they are the cutest things in the world and make your heart happy!  What is better than little monkeys on their butts and monkey paws on their feet?  Nothing, I tell you, nothing.

I also love fuzzy heads.  I hate getting up at 3:30am to feed a cranky baby but after she’s calmed down, I get to snuggle her head.  I sit there with my eyes closed and a smile on my face. With her head resting against my cheek, I sit there and thank God for my girls.  I thank Him for loving me so much he gave me them.  I also pray that I will be the mom he created me to be and the mom they deserve.  My relationship with my own mother was rocky and I pray with all my heart it won’t be that way with them.  I pray they know I love them and they realize they will never lived an unloved moment in their lives.

The other good thing about babies is they don’t talk back.  I get about 18 months of sassy free love.  Sometimes, however, I wish she could talk.

When she was born, I hoped to stay home but we weren’t sure yet if it was possible.  The first 6 weeks she was an angel.  My husband and I finally decided that I would stay home so I had to tell my boss.  The minute I did that, she turned into a major crank monkey.  It’s like she tricked me, pretending to be all cute and good so I would stay home.  Some say 6 weeks is too early to be conniving, but I’m not sure.

She was constantly crying and the only way I could make her happy was to feed her.  I would give her a bottle and then 20 minutes later give her another one.  Now, most people would catch on real quick, but not me.  This went of for about 2 weeks before I finally realized I was starving her!  I was giving her what I thought she needed, not what she actually needed.  Once I upped her milk intake she was better but I was still constantly feeding her so I jumped the gun and added rice cereal to her bottles.  My girl like to eat.  If she would have just said “mamma, I’m still hungry” both of our lives would have been easier.

I rub A&D ointment on her to prevent diaper rash.  The store was out so I had to buy the white Zinc stuff.  The very next diaper change I noticed her tush was red.  I thought it was diaper rash so I slathered the cream on.  I noticed every time I wiped her, she would start screaming.  Not cute baby cry but blood curdling scream.  I knew her tush must hurt from the rash so I would apply more cream.  It took me almost 24 hours to realize the cream was the problem.  Poor thing.  I was liberally applying the very stuff that was causing the redness.  My poor baby.  If she would have just said “stop mamma, that cream hurts” both our lives would have been easier.

You’d think I’m a first time mom, but I’m not.  Its a miracle my first born is 6 1/2 years old.

Dear mammas out there.  You,re amazing!  What you do matters!  Even if you think you suck, I promise it will get better.  Find comfort in the fact that kids don’t remember anything the first few years anyway.  I think God did that on purpose so they won’t remember all the things we did wrong while we were learning how to be mammas.  Wipe your baby’s tears, your tears and then take a deep breath.

You. Are. Awesome.

Thanks for allowing me to share my world with you…welcome to my brain.

Shut-up and Let Her Paint

9 Jan

Brandn’s birthday is this Thursday and D is making 2 art projects for him.  She is painting 2 different objects and a towel is under all her stuff.  I continually remind her “be careful and don’t make a mess.”  I’m giving her total creative control and this is very hard for me.  I see how she’s painting her things and it’s nothing like how I think they should be painted.  But it’s her project.  She picked the items out from the store and she has a vision for each one and I’m doing my best not to interfere.

I don’t want to crush her ideas and her creativity.  I don’t want her to think that her art work is not good enough and then jump to the conclusion that she’s not good enough.  Will she think because she is having trouble staying in the lines, she must suck as a person?  Is that a reasonable conclusion to jump to? Of course not, so I tell myself to shut up and let her paint.

So, I sit here distracting myself with this blog and reminding her “be careful and don’t make a mess.”

One tubes of paint is clogged and she is trying to unclog it by squeezing the heck out of it.  I take it from her and tell her that’s not how you unclog a paint tube; that’s how you make a mess.  So I get a needle and attempt to unclog it.  It doesn’t work and before I know it, a stream of paint is shooting up in the air and then it’s everywhere.  D doesn’t acknowledge the mess but says “Good thing God was there to help you.”  I have no idea what she means but I say “good thing” anyway.

5 minutes later D does the same thing and paint is all over her cute, polka dot, pig jammies with feet. (I would totally wear these if they came in my size.)  And I say, in my mean mother voice, “Seriously D you just made a mess! Didn’t I tell you to be careful?!?”  And then I remember I did it too and I have to stop myself because I’m a big fat hypocrite. I dry her tears and tell her I’m sorry and it’s ok and she’s not in trouble.  She works for about 10 more minutes and now she’s done.  She is so proud of her 2 presents and you know what?  They are beautiful.  And she can’t wait till Thursday to give them to papa.

Art projects are done and the mess is cleaned up and now we’re chilling on the couch watching and singing The Phantom of the Opera.  Her movie choice not mine, but no complaints here.  😉

Thanks for allowing me to share my world with you…welcome to my brain.