Self Love – Page 5 – Bailey Gaddis Blog

Quieting the Voice of Worry

May 28, 2015May 28, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

It seems our minds have developed an unfortunate dependency on worry. In the blips of time when “everything is under control,” the mind kicks into overdrive, determined to find a problem to latch onto, a problem to worry about.

Then, the pellets of doubt begin to drop and we are eventually drowned in an all-consuming flood of ‘what-ifs?’

It’s frightening how easy it is for me to put a negative spin on the positive. My brain has a lifetime of wiring supporting the perpetuation of worry.

What gives? Why the ceaseless pounding of doubt and fear?

As a Hypnotherapist, and chronic worrier, I’ve discovered a common root to this conundrum- the inner critic, the voice of incessant chatter that feeds off of problems, real or perceived.

I call my voice Sheila, and she is quite unpleasant.

After years of allowing her volume to grow to a nauseating magnitude, and witnessing the same phenomenon in clients, I decided that something had to give. There were voices that needed to be silenced, or at least significantly minimized.

The following release work has supported myself, and many others, in turning the voices of our motley inner crew down from 10 to ‘Shh…’

Mindful Breathing– The rhythmic patter of steady breath offers a productive replacement to the, “No you can’t, not good enough, what if, I think you’re wrong, just give up.”

It’s difficult to live in a state of chaos when our body is checking into its healing room, via breath work.

Try it- take five deep breaths, inhaling to a slow count of 5, holding for 3, and exhaling to a slow count of 5.

Allow the body to sink deeper into the inner healing room with each breath.

Tapping- We have an electrical system running through our body via channels called meridians. When we have a negative thought our electrical system is disrupted.

Each of the meridians has an end point, and we can release the negative energy by tapping on these points. While tapping, we verbally state the negative followed by our positive preference.

For example, “Even though I am sad my boyfriend broke up with me, I know I am wonderful and worthy of love.”

While repeating the statement, tap 5-7 times in the following locations:

In between the eyebrows.
On the temples.
Underneath the eyes.
On the upper lip.
Below the lower lip.
On the collarbone.

Repeat this round three times.

Write out the worry and rip it up- It is profoundly cathartic to physically destroy a piece of negativity.

Write down your worry, regret, fear, anger, or other variety of negativity on a scrap of paper and rip it up into minuscule shreds, or burn it- I prefer the later.

Self Hypnosis– There are vibrant worlds of possibility waiting to be sparked in the mind, and manifested in our reality. When this occurs, there’s no space left for that jerky inner critic.

Honor time by taking a few moments of focused stillness to tap into these flames of positive manifestation and allow them to thrive.

Let’s take the first step into this voyage. After taking your five breathes, allow the vibrations of relaxation to flow through you, flushing out the muck of worry that has latched on to your being.

Begin to envision your thoughts as clouds passing through the sky of your mind. You can view these clouds with a clear perspective, but are not intertwined in them- you’re just observing them with curiosity.

You don’t feel, absorb, or analyze the clouds- you just allow them to float by.

The dark clouds do not stay to rain down worry, they pass just as quickly as the others- they don’t touch you.

When you’ve separated from these clouds, feel yourself drifting deeper within, to your inner sanctuary.

Do a song and dance routine- Sometimes we need to stop taking our problems, other people’s opinions, and ourselves so seriously. The best way to do this is act like a fool in love with life.

After you’ve moved through the fore mentioned release techniques stick that cherry on top by playing your jam and dancing like a fiend.

We’re able to invest as much, or as little, time as we like to this release work, the time does not matter, it’s the intention that holds the power.

When we first begin our practice the voice may follow us for a bit, questioning the state of comfort that we’re floating in. But, the voice will eventually lose its luster, relinquishing its dominance to our true essence, residing in our core- the true essence that is composed of all that is good in the world, and all the wonder that is waiting to bloom into existence.

Self Love

We are Allowed to be Happy.

March 4, 2015March 18, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

When the bud of complete happiness begins to bloom I’ve become conditioned to whither the bloom with thoughts of why I’m not allowed happiness in that moment.

I’ve become an unintentional master at procuring negative thoughts that serve to diminish, or even eliminate, that beautiful flower of joy.

Why? Why must I diminish the bud, the bloom and the flower? What would happen if I passed through the resistance and found myself in the still state of allowance? I choose to allow happiness.

The freedom of this choice came to me one morning when I was sitting under a comforting gray sky, holding the hand of my child in a rare moment of stillness and silence. We were soaking in the fresh grass that had surprised us after the last rain, and I felt complete happiness beginning to unfold within me.

This unfolding progressed, until I remembered that it wasn’t allowed. I had let my child watch a television show hours before, while I made a long phone call, and as a result, had guilt stewing in my gut. So, there was no place for complete happiness if I was still holding onto that guilt, right?

Read the rest on elephant journal!

Self Love

Newfound Eyes

January 26, 2015March 18, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

Sometimes life needs a new look, a pep talk, or maybe a rejuvenating kick in the butt. These life-revitalizing moments might just arrive in the most unusual forms.

Until recently, I’ve been stuck in a rut, a muddy rut that has the consistency of tar-like quick sand. I’m of course able to do laundry, dishes, baby bottom wipes, and other such tasks from this tar-like mud, but I can’t seem to wiggle myself free from the suctioning grasp of ‘stuck.’

No helping hand, stick, rope, or words of encouragement have had much effect, and then, I took a (almost) completely dark shower.

The less than ideal electrical system in our kitchen, which is obviously located right by our one little bathroom (yay for the scent of bathroom mixed with freshly cooked eggs,) can’t handle more than the convection oven and a light. Someone in the kitchen had the audacity to think they could boil water and burn some toast, whilst I was using light to shower, and that was just too much, lights out.

At first I was peeved, and then, when my bristles settled, I realized I could (almost) see and I became one with the newness. From body memory I retrieved the shampoo, the conditioner, the loofah, the soap, the…razor. Dun, dun…. dumb. I tried to shave in the dark; I was (almost) successful. The lights came back on as I nicked myself for the third-ish time. I was half tempted to turn them back off, because I was actually enjoying this new experience, sans nicks.

I could feel my brain being rewired, my synapses firing throughout this simple, yet out of the ordinary, event. I didn’t turn the lights back off because I noticed the water. I actually noticed it, every last exquisite drop, and I was in love (insert cheesy sigh here.) But, really. Had I ever-observed falling water? Like really examined it? No, I hadn’t. It was pretty phenomenal and was preaching mindfulness. My head was usually so full of the cacophony of “you need to do this, but actually you really should be doing that” I rarely had time to give my surroundings even a passing acknowledgement.

After I dressed my wounds from this spiritually fulfilling, yet physically painful, shower, I saw things, like ghosts, kidding. No ghosts, but plenty of details I normally miss when my mind is on the incessant proverbial hamster wheel of ‘what should I be doing after I finish what I’m doing?’

Here’s what I spied, with my two newfound eyes….

Rainbows, everywhere man.

A rainbow pouring through the water jug on the counter and spilling onto the tile below.

A rainbow shooting through the little crystal this hippie has hanging on the living room window, and splashing onto the adjacent wall.

A flash of a rainbow jutting out from our stained glass wind-chime dancing on the porch.

A rainbow materializing on the baby’s arm via the markers he was holding.

Life, like whoa.

I saw, and felt, life everywhere.

Life coursing through me.

Life in the (usually annoying) ants covering my banana from breakfast.

Life in the crows taunting the squirrels with empty nutshells outside (ha!)

Life in the water flowing through our rock fountain that had miraculously ceased making a high-pitched whirring tone.

Life in my baby who had moved from the markers to removing his own poop-filled diaper; not an easy task, that takes life, yo.

Simplicity, in all the hectic places.

Simplicity in the pile of toys that didn’t need to be picked up that instant.

Simplicity in the phone that could be turned off.

Simplicity in the dishes that were cool to hang out on their own a bit longer.

Simplicity in my ability to just be.

Simplicity in the pure love I have for my child, regardless of the trail of poo and marker he was leaving in his wake.

Light, filling every corner, even the dark ones.

Light in the dust dancing around my head.

Light glistening on succulent leaves that were thriving, despite my inability to figure out their proper watering schedule.

Light in the eyes of my child who just discovered how to open the latch of the baby gate, bingo.

Unicorns. Just kidding, maybe.

There was color, life, glorious simplicity, light, magic and love swirling around me, offering me a hand out of the mud, but I had never accepted it, I hadn’t even seen it. As the internal fog lifted, I was elevated up, out and into a clear new state of being. I was no longer stuck and I could see.

A simple event, that at first thought seems supremely inconvenient, has the potential to transform our perceptions, our life, and our light, if we leave ourselves open to the possibilities.

Let’s take a moment to put a new spin on a seemingly rote task, we might just open our life to magic.

Let’s take the constraints away from how we should be living and infuse some unconventionality into our behaviors; we might just open our life to revelation.

Let’s take that seemingly annoying power outage and become open to internally illuminating our life.

Here’s hoping the electricity shuts off while we’re taking our next shower!

Mom Humor, Self Love

Finding Courage In Rejection

January 2, 2015March 18, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

Today I was subtly punched in the gut by rejection. On the off chance that the giver of said metaphorical punch reads this blog, I’ll keep the nature of my rejection description vague; I offered my services in a given area, to someone I know quite well, and received an 100 word, 1 word answer, ‘no.’ I had to read the ‘no’ multiple times before the gut punch fully landed; like I said, it was subtle.

The title of this post, ‘Finding Courage In Rejection,’ is not indicative of how I felt when it first hit me that I was being rejected, I felt the opposite of courageous; I felt deflated. Because I can occasionally be an emotional extremist I also felt foolish, naïve, totally bummed, and dare I say stupid about ever “putting myself out there” in the first place. Mind you, this stupid-bummed-ness only lasted a few moments, because I’m a veteran of rejection.

Back to the rejection at hand, I received my ‘no,’ and commenced my seven stages of rejection grief; shock that my earnest attempt to provide a service had been shut down, denial (‘did they mean to send this rejection to me?’,) bargaining with myself in regards to whether I was going to submit myself to more constructive angst and ask the rejecter why they rejected me, guilt that I was so wrapped up in this rejection when there are much bigger real problems in the world, anger (directed at self,) depression (‘what’s the point, I guess I should just give up,) and acceptance of the fact that I had been rejected, it ‘is what it is,’ and I needed to move on.

But today, something interesting happened, a stage was added to the process that served to inflate my previously mentioned deflated gut, courage. The rejection made me feel courageous! My eventual logic behind this newfound courage was as follows, ‘If I can be brave, reach out, and again, “put myself out there,” with the very real possibility of being rejected, get rejected, and survive (without turning into a pile of binge reality TV watching melted ice cream,) I could likely move through anything, and live to blog about the tale.’

I felt courageous, and still feel courageous. In the past, although I’ve successfully licked my wounds, inflated my gut with some carbs, and climbed back on that bucking proverbial horse, I never felt stronger after rejection, I just felt, ‘eh okay.’ It would take me awhile to risk the chance of rejection again, and although I would stick my heels in the sand to avoid regression, I wasn’t progressing, I was stuck in the sand, and occasionally had my head stuck in it as well.

Because I like lists, and need something somewhat tangible to lean on when I inevitably get socked by rejection again, I’ve made a ‘How to Find Courage in Rejection’ list!

Breathe.

I usually stop breathing for a few minutes after receiving a rejection, and although the dizzy high I experience from lack of oxygen can be fun, I can’t afford to lose those brain cells. Oh, and conscious breathing helps promote relaxation and clarity. Inhale for a count of 10, hold for 5, exhale to a count of 10. Rinse and repeat.

Don’t Take it Personally.

Don't take it personally?! How?! — Don’t take it personally?! How?!

“The wise ones” would tell me “don’t take it personally,” when I experienced rejection in the past. That someone could utter such a preposterous notion that someone wasn’t telling you they thought you were incompetent, stupid, and of course ugly when they rejected you, was beyond me. Of course that’s what they meant, right?

Then one day, a wise woman asked, ‘How do you feel when you reject someone?’ Hmm, how do I feel? I certainly don’t think the person is incompetent, stupid, and ugly, with the exception of that one ex-boyfriend… kidding! She posed a whopper of a question. The times I’ve been on the giving end of the punch of rejection, I’m embarrassed to say I was thinking more of myself than the other person, even when the rejection was personal, versus professional. I wasn’t thinking much of the other person’s worth, capabilities, or appearance, I was thinking about what I needed in the moment, and if what they were offering served those immediate needs. Or maybe there were extenuating circumstances that caused the rejection. Point being, I’ve never rejected someone because of a flaw in who they were, or what they were capable of, I was just thinking of what I needed in my own life, in that instance; not personal.

Keep a ‘Yes’ List. Have you ever had someone spend 30 minutes telling you how amazing you are, and 1 minute telling you what you could do to be even more amazing? Then, you go home and obsess over how they spent 60 seconds giving you constructive criticism that your mind warped into, ‘You totally suck!’?

I have.

Why oh why is it so easy for us to harp on the negative and allow the positive to get sucked out our open window?

To combat this crazy-making phenomenon in my own life, I created a ‘Yes’ list a few years ago. On this list I record every last tiny-itty-bitty-titty ‘yes’ I’ve ever received. The ‘yes’ could have been a verbal yes, a metaphorical yes in the form of an accomplishment, an internal yes, or any other ‘yes-esque’ occurrence that made me feel great. Now, when I receive a ‘no,’ a rejection, a dose of constructive criticism, I look at my ‘Yes’ list after following my two aforementioned steps. You know what? It works every time, it reminds me that for every ‘no,’ I’ve likely had about 346 ‘Oh Yeahs!’ It’s like taking a yummy prescription perspective pill.

Learn from it. Yeah yeah, it’s trite to say ‘learn from it,’ but what’s the point if you don’t learn from the rejection? If everything was always hunky-dory and we were having a constant stream of smoke blown up our bottom, or incessant smooches to the tush, we wouldn’t really be growing would be? We’d be stuck, and would probably have a sore butt. Rejection, ‘no,’ and bummer-ness happens, and if we’re open to it, it can be the greatest source of growth, insight, and my favorite, courage. When we’re able to find the lesson in rejection it’s transformed from a source of forlorn to positive reform. The thrill we receive from acceptance is wonderful, but short-lived. The growth, insight, and courage we can absorb from rejection can imbed itself within us for a lifetime. The cool thing is, the more rejection we receive, the more we grow, and the more we grow, the more acceptance we attract. And with more acceptance comes the opportunity for much more rejection, isn’t that great?!

What did I gain from the rejection that inspired this post? A desire to increase my qualifications in a given area, do more research, get more practice, and get creative in how I elicit more ‘YES!’

Join with me in simultaneously giving rejection a big middle finger and a squishy bear hug, because yeah it sucks, but can also make us strong like bull.

Don't reject my hug baby! — Don’t reject my hug baby!

Guilt & Forgiveness, Mom Humor, Self Love

Growing Through Crisis

December 9, 2014March 18, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

Crisis: a time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger.

Yes, there is a set definition in the dictionary for the term ‘crisis,’ but it has varying meaning for each individual. For me, a crisis is when my honey, my partner, my boo, ruptures his spleen snowboarding, spends his birthday in the hospital, and our toddler spikes a 104.1 temperature. Crisis.

If you were to ask me the day before said crisis, how I thought I would react to said crisis, I would have come up with a PG way of saying, “I would lose my s***.” Hypothetically, I didn’t think I would do well during crisis, especially when the lives of my nearest and dearest were in jeopardy. But, I’m shocked and pleasantly surprised to report that I handled the s*** much better than expected, and most certainly did not lose it; the hypothetical s*** that is, there is some very real s*** awaiting me in toddler’s diaper.

Back to the handled crisis at hand, we had traveled to Mammoth to enjoy the barely skiable layer of snow that had accumulated on the mountain. What happens when non-winter temperatures hit minimal snow in a winter-sports recreational hotspot (pun intended)? Ice is formed, dangerous ice. As we were sliding down the ice, Eric hit an especially icy patch of ice and unintentionally performed numerous somersaults. I witnessed this, and being the sympathetic lady I am, sailed past thinking, “Eh, he’s fine, I’ve seen him do worse.” As I waited, and waited, and waited some more, at the bottom of the run, my growing anxiety consistently heightened, until I saw him gliding down the mountain, unassisted. ‘Oh good, he’s fine.’ If those were indeed my last words, I’d label them my ‘famous last words.’

He pulled up in front of me looking a little pale, but “okay,” then collapsed. Not okay.

This is when “hypothetically” I would have lost the poo, but I didn’t, my mind cleared, my legs moved and I found medical assistance. I then filled out paperwork, traveled in an ambulance, filled out paperwork, waited for the results of a CT scan and blood work, filled out paperwork, and waited. All the while, somehow maintaining a calm, cool, and collected demeanor. I held it together, did what needed to be done, went back to our temporary Mammoth home, put the baby to sleep, and cried. And cried.

My being, my collective mind, body, and spirit had held it together until it was okay to let it go.

Always light at the end of the... — Always light at the end of the…

Throughout the following week of more hospital, healing honey, and fever baby, I got through it by attempting to follow the wisdom below, that people much wiser than myself have passed on to me:

-Honor Basic Needs: Eat. Check. Hydrate. Check. Move Around. Check. Shower. Check. Keep baby alive. Check.

-Take Care of It: Don’t dwell on the fact that there is a ruptured organ in Eric, an Eric in the hospital, and a really warm and perturbed baby attached to my chest. Take care of it. Make sure Eric has what he needs, comfort the baby, feed us, and fill out paperwork. Move through it Bailey, move through it.

-Release It: These circumstances were scary and far from ordinary. I’m not just not a robot, but not someone who easily represses emotions, sometimes to my detriment, but that’s for another blog post. I allotted myself a private hour at the end of each evening to cry, journal, or eat some leftover Thanksgiving pie, something cathartic. The catharsis transformed me from a pressure cooker, to a frazzled-hair, fairly stable, ‘let’s take care of it’ doer.

-Grow From It: I’ll be trite, and remind everyone that there is something to be learned from everything, even crisis. I’ve had a hefty dose of ‘life is fragile’ and have soaked in the importance of slowing down and really savoring all the amazing people in my life, Ruptured Spleen Eric and Fever Baby Hudson in particular. Going through crisis reminded me that nothing matters nearly as much as the health and happiness of my big and little honey, and myself. “We” rarely include the word ‘myself’ when writing the previous sentence, but how can we give anything good when we haven’t replenished our own supply of good.

Take Away: Live, love, laugh, eat, breathe, do, smile, cry, release, shower, and take caution when sliding down ice.

Fresh out of the hospital and on the mend.

Guilt & Forgiveness, Mom Humor, Self Love

Being Present: Learning to Listen, Forgive, and Give Thanks

November 28, 2014March 18, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

Have you ever felt, at the end of a long, exhausting, and non-stop day that you accomplished nothing? Like you never stopped moving but have nothing to show for it? No sense of accomplishment? No warm and fuzzy ‘I’m such a great parent’ aura? No fat paycheck? Nothing but frazzled hair, brain, and body?

I’m embarrassed to admit, that until recently, I didn’t know that there were people who didn’t end every day feeling that way. Say what? I can end the day feeling happy, accomplished, energized, and only somewhat frazzled-haired? Tell me more.

After examining the pattern of my days I noticed that I rarely finished anything in one go, even diaper changes. Yes, unfinished diaper changes get messy. I would start a project, task, workout, meal, or bathroom visit, and would quickly be interrupted by a lovely baby, phone call, remembrance of another “more important” task, or something of that nature, and would shift gears, leaving the last activity half completed, and leaving half my mind with that activity, while moving on to the next. Starting to get a whiff of why I always ended my days be-frazzled?

Even though we think we can effectively multi-task, and do two million and five things at once, our mind can really only focus on one thing at a time. So, if the mind is thinking about the directions to the doctor’s office, and the hands are working to wipe poop off a wiggling child’s everything, something has got to give.

One thing my mind was able to hold on to, regardless of what it might be thinking, was guilt. I felt guilty for the task I had left behind, I felt guilty for not being completely present for the task I was currently doing, and I felt guilt for feeling guilty. A fraction of my guilt stemmed from mistakenly labeling myself as a ‘P’ word (a procrastinator.)

During further examination of my patterns, I realized that I was not actually a ‘P’ word, but a ‘W’ word, (a waffler.) I was easily swayed by what others thought I should be doing, and couldn’t make up my own mind regarding what was actually important for me; and because I’m the mother of a small child, I also had to consider what was important for him.

Solution? Okey dokey; I decided that I needed to start putting my phone on silent, saying ‘no’ when necessary, and forgiving myself for putting off tasks when it was in the name of spending time with my kiddo. In addition to those action steps, I also needed some metaphysical solutions in there, which came in the form of being present. Really really really being present in each activity I was partaking in. If I was writing, I was writing. If I needed to stop writing and shake the sillies out with my son, I was no longer thinking about writing, I was shaking my sillies out. When my son then occupied himself with something else, I could then shift my focus back to writing, because that was the main task of importance I had identified for the day, besides chillin’ with my mini homie of course. Guess what happened at the end of those days? I felt fulfilled! I felt accomplished! I had put aside phone calls, laundry, and other important tasks that I would get to tomorrow (on their set day,) but today I wrote, and played with my run-ddler (a toddler that runs.) Sticking to the tasks that I had identified as important was so empowering, it helped me remember that I am indeed the master of my own universe, regardless of how badly I occasionally want to pass on that responsibility to someone else.

If you, like myself, have grown tired of un-bedazzled frazzled days, try out these action steps, sprinkled with some metaphysical:

–Be Present. In whatever activity you’re engaged in, practice being present, being completely mindful of what you’re doing. I say ‘practice’ because this does not come easily (at least not for me!) it takes conscious intention to make mindfulness and being present a subconscious natural part of your experiences, every last one of them. When you’re in this activity, leave the other one behind; write it down on your special list if you need to, but leave it behind, you’ll come back to it, it will get done, but this is what you’re doing, right now.

–Forgive yourself. If you occasionally find yourself having to start-stop-stop-start something important, that’s okay. You’re not weak, uncommitted, or lazy, you’re human. As long as you can recommit and refocus yourself when the time is right, you’re doing great. It’s never a bad time to tickle your kiddo, kiss your partner, or hug your mom; the laundry can wait.

–Listen. Listen to yourself, your child, the person on the phone, the breeze in the trees, the persistent woodpecker sculpting your yard, listen. I’ve recently learned to listen and it’s been quite wonderful, less pressure on me to come up with something interesting to say, and more connection and respect with the speaker (or sound maker) whom I’m listening to. It’s near impossible to not be present when you’re actively listening, take a load off and listen.

-Give Thanks. Appropriately, I’m writing this on Thanksgiving! What a perfect day to marinate on the value of giving thanks to and for everything and everyone, yes everything and everyone. Even the perceived muck that we inevitably deal with, usually on a regular basis, has a purpose (and not just the purpose of pissing us off.) Time spent honestly reflecting on past “mucky experiences” usually reveals a valuable lesson, or subsequent amazing outcome from the seemingly mucky muck. Add gratitude to your present moments, say thank you for the poop in your baby diapers, if they weren’t pooing, you’d have problems. Give thanks for the missed job opportunity, a better one is coming. Give thanks for the espresso maker that exploded coffee grounds all over your kitchen (ceiling included,) your kitchen will never be cleaner after the one hour clean up. True story. Adding active thankfulness to your tool belt of conscious turned subconscious daily states of being, you will notice a shift from worry, to being, well happy, and isn’t that what it’s all about?

Happy Thanks-for-everything-and-everyone Day!

Guilt & Forgiveness, Mom Humor, Self Love

Smiling at Strangers: Learning to Connect

November 19, 2014March 18, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

My child has ceased being cool with me doing anything without him. I go to the bathroom, he follows, I walk two feet to pick up the phone, he follows, I walk to the changing table…. He runs the other way. I guess there is an exception to every rule.

Because I have a 2.5 foot shadow my ‘solo exercise’ sessions have become a thing of the past. My weights have become dusty and my ‘too shabby for public display’ comfortable workout garb have grown lonely stuck in the back of their drawer. My shadow and I have taken to the streets. The only way for mama to get her sweat on, without risking stepping on sneaky baby, is to strap baby into a moving harness, that is not located in a moving vehicle, he’s not into that.

When we first commenced our tandem jogs, I was fascinated by the colorful cast of characters we would pass on the way; fellow runners, pairs of chatty Cathys, recreational bicyclists, ‘I’m going to work’ bicyclists, ‘move out of my way’ bicyclists, solo-talkers, and other ladies with babies.

When you pass someone on foot you have to do something, even if that something is ‘awkwardly look away,’ you do something. In the beginning, I would base my something on the other person’s something. If it looked like they were going to smile, I would smile, if it looked like they were going to avoid eye contact, I would avoid eye contact, if it looked like they were trying to work out a toot, I would start working on my own toot.

As our daily (or almost daily) jog-walks continued, my courage to be the leader in the something grew. At first, my something was to smile at the passing people, pets, and critters. Some people returned the smile, some people ignored us, and one day someone actually said something! Now they were courageous, they were actually talking to strangers! I needed to get me some of that stranger-talking courage.

The next morning, equipped with my baby, and experimental courage, I headed to the bike path that was sure to be flush with stranger-talking opportunities. As we neared the first pair of ‘ladies who walk’ I mentally conjured up the novel greeting I would use, ‘Good morning.’ As they passed I smiled and said….’Morning.’ Morning? What happened to the ‘good?’ My morning blessing had transformed into a ‘hey look it’s morning’ statement. The women smiled and mumbled back their own ‘morning.’ Where have all the ‘goods’ gone? I needed to stave off the laziness of my greeting and add some serious blessing in there. My chance was approaching, an older gentleman walking some poodle mix; labri-doodle, mini-doodle, oodle-poodle, something like that. As he neared, I prepped the smile, and willed the ‘good’ to precede the ‘morning.’ Here he comes; (smile) ‘goooood morning!’ Yes, my first ‘good morning’ was a bit exaggerated, but I did it! He was so shocked by the full morning blessing he stopped and talked to us! The adorable toddler, who was likely delivering his full-lipped irresistible smile, may have had something to do with it as well. This kind man and his oodle-doodle stopped and asked how our morning was going. We inquired as to how his morning was shaping up and we learned that he was on his way to his toddler-grandson’s house. We happened to have a few extra toys in our overloaded stroller and were able to impart one on him for his grandson. This exchange took less than 60 seconds but when we were once again on our way, our way was much merrier. Wow! It feels grrrreat to make connections with strangers.

After that I was a bike trail smiling-talking-greeting-blessing machine. We’ve also given away a few more toys (much to Hudson’s chagrin.) I would return from our runs feeling full, full of love, joy, and usually pee. I also noticed that Hudson had ceased to get pissed off half way through our jogs, it seems that the excitement of the varying interactions had worked to distract him from the fact that he was not able to sit and dig in the mud bordering the trail.

My resolve to be ‘little miss chipper lady with baby’ was occasionally tested when we would pass an ‘ignorer,’ but hey, maybe they were having a bad day. Although my ego would take a little bruising every time someone looked away as I would let out my over annunciated ‘Hi, good morning,’ I finally realized that it wasn’t personal. Or was it? No, I don’t think it was. Even if that person was, for some reason, peeved at me for smiling and speaking to them, I knew that I was just sending them some love, and I feel good about that.

One of our first runs! Breastfeeding break.

These morning outings became my mediation on the goodness of humankind. I felt so much more connected to myself, my baby, and everyone else after getting over my shy ego, and becoming a connected being. This simple act of acknowledging other people on our runs spilled over into other parts of my life; it now takes me three hours to go grocery shopping because I stop smile, chat, and listen to my fellow shoppers (even if they’re not talking to me, eavesdropping can be highly entertaining.)

My Get Over Myself Checklist (Because every blog post needs a checklist right?)

-Meditate. Set a timer and meditate for 5 minutes every morning, clearing out any gunk of negativity that may prevent me from sending a bit more love out there.

-Smile. Smile at everyone, even that person that gave me the stink eye, smile even bigger at them. Smile at myself in the mirror, smile at my baby, even when he’s griping at me about my inability to properly toast toast (it’s always too crispy!)

-Let it go. If I’m thrown some negative energy, not so nice words, or a non-smile, I need to let it go. I’m still working on this one, but the times I am able to let negativity wick off me, I feel so much lighter. Why take on the weight of the negativity of others? That doesn’t serve them and it most certainly does not serve me. Let it go, because what’s the point of holding on to it?

-Listen. I’ve felt so much more connected to everyone and everything since I’ve begun to practice active listening. I never realized how vocal the crows outside out bedroom window were! I was never really listening. I never realized how interesting my friends and family are. I was always thinking about what I was going to say. I never realized how close my little 17-month-old love bug was to being a full-blown ‘talker.’ I was always talking back to him. Until now, I’m listening! Come and talk to me.

-Love. When it doubt, spread the love. When not in doubt, spread the love.

Here’s to making connections! (Even with grumpy people.)

Mom Humor, Self Love, Uncategorized

Adult Conversation?

November 11, 2014January 9, 2016 baileysandbabiesblog

This is the image that would pop into my head when I would try to think of conversation topics….

I was a bit distressed last weekend when I came to the realization that I had seemingly lost the ability to have non-work related adult conversation. If I was not speaking with a fellow parent who was well versed in the art of standing diaper changes, the importance of poo color and consistency or the latest and “greatest” sleep training technique, I was at a loss for words. I would just stand there with the following possible conversation topics popping up in my mom brain:

‘So last night Hudson did the cutest…’ (Nope, that’s parent related.)

‘Hudson learned how to poo outside.’ (Nope, parent related, and gross to most.)

‘My boobs have been leaking SO much lately.’ (Possibly intriguing to some, but TMI.)

So I was stuck with, ‘Wow, this 75 degree weather is really something.’ The weather, I honestly talked about the weather, to more than one person at this ‘adult conversation’ shindig. Luckily, it began to rain for the first time in nine months at said party, so the topic of the weather was surprisingly somewhat interesting. But still, the weather? Really?

I felt lost. I used to thrive at parties, floating around from person to person, dropping a bit of “wit,” and never weather, wherever I went. What happened? My mind had been overtaken with thoughts of baby sign language, what will happen when baby first eats peanuts, and how to refill the baking soda “de-stink-ifier” in the diaper pail.

As I snuck away to the bathroom to mull over my newfound inability to engage in anything but G-rated talk, the following suggestions dropped in on me.

If in doubt ask them about themselves:

Seems like a no brainer, but I used to be so nervous of the dreaded lull in a conversation that I would consistently try to summon anecdotes from own life, to share with my fellow conversationalist, in the fear that they would stop talking, and I would have to say something interesting.

Now, I ask them about themselves and then fulfill my side of the conversation by saying….

‘Tell me more.’

‘Oh wow that’s really interesting, tell me more.’

‘I didn’t know that, tell me more.’

You get the idea. Keep them talking. People like to share. When I first began my ‘tell me more’ing it felt a bit forced, but after awhile, the information that would flow after that simple request was pretty fascinating. I actually began to learn quite a bit about people I thought I knew pretty well. It’s amazing what I learned when I cured myself of the need to babble on.

Listen (actually listen):

This piggybacks on what I just said, but were you listening? (wink wink) There’s something so powerful in the “simple” act of listening; you’re fostering encouragement, respect, and camaraderie with the person speaking. Back in the days of desperately needing to know what I was going to say after that person ceased talking, I would only listen to enough of what they were saying to devise my response; I wasn’t actively listening. I would leave conversations feeling like I had achieved a surface level connection, but didn’t have a deeper understanding of that person and what they had been trying to share. When I closed my mouth and opened my ears, a beautifully enriching world opened up; I was able to tune in to the nuances of what was being said, the emotions behind the words, and the information that was being conveyed. My ego used to always say. ‘Yeah yeah I already know what you’re saying, how should I respond?’ But now, I was able to learn all the things I used to think I already knew, and was able to use some of these gems of knowledge to spur on future adult conversation.

Avoid talking in high-pitched Goo-Goo-Gah-Gag voice:

I have honestly found myself, numerous times, since giving birth, slipping in a high pitched, ‘Ohhh how exciting,’ ‘Isn’t that just precious,’ or ‘Gooood job’ to a conversation with an adult. Luckily, none of the adult recipients of my high-pitched cooing threw me a ‘lady you’re crazy’ look, but I witnessed myself (via a home video) delivering an ‘Ohhh you look so cute!’ to a woman at my son’s birthday party, it was not cute. I’ve since been working on keeping the high-pitch on the down low, for adults and my baby, because he does give me a ‘lady you’re crazy look’ when I high-pitch talk him.

Come equipped with a few adult convo topics:

It’s hard to talk about “big kid” stuff when all you read is from the ‘Parenting’ section, all you watch is from ‘Netflix Kids,’ and all you hear is Raffi. It’s no wonder I had nothing ‘adultlike’ to discuss. I have since begun reading a book on Biocentrism (that is far above my head but gives me enough ammo to get someone other than me talking,) watched a salacious R-rated movie that most childless adults have seen, and went to a concert (that served alcohol! And didn’t have Baby Beluga on the set list!)

Mixing up my interests to include some topics that aren’t discussed in my ‘Mommy and Me’ class has balanced out my brain (at least a little bit,) and renewed my faith in my ability to read non-board books that are longer than ten pages.

Don’t be Afraid to Throw Some ‘Baby’ in the Mix:

Hi, my name is Bailey and I’m a mom. I’m not only a mom, but mommyhood is a huge part of who I am. Preventing any baby-related sentences from exiting my mouth is denying my authentic self to shine through. I’m a parent and I own that. Are you a parent? Go ahead and own it. It doesn’t have to define you, but there’s no denying that it’s a piece of you and likely a very significant piece. Childless friends aren’t as anti-baby talk as we may think; some of them may be considering signing up for a lifetime membership in the ‘with child’ club, be genuinely interested in the foreign ins and outs of raising a tiny human, or may find the story of baby’s latest blowout disgustingly fascinating, maybe.

I found that there was no need to only let my parenting flag fly while in the presence of real live adults, but I’ll certainly let it fly amongst my variety of other flags.

I’ve been attempting to put the ‘above-mentioned’ to practice, and while I still drop the occasional, ‘Isn’t it nice out,’ or ‘Wow, my baby bit my boob SO hard last night,’ I’ve been feeling more at ease with conversing with people who are able to stay out past midnight, keep breakable items in their home, and don’t have Curious George and Mickey Mouse Playhouse on their Netflix queue (or do they?)

Guilt & Forgiveness, Mom Humor, Self Love, Uncategorized

Authentically Inauthentic: Discovering Your Authentic Self

October 24, 2014January 9, 2016 baileysandbabiesblog

‘Authentic:’ genuine, real, bona fide, true, valid, legitimate.

I used to loathe the sound of my recorded voice, wait, no, I cringed at the sound of my voice on a voicemail, video, recording, or anything else that delivered me a harsh dose of, ‘Is that what I sound like?’ I was so apt to cringe at my voice replayed to me because I felt like it lacked authenticity. Now, when I was leaving said voicemail, or goofy ‘Hudson’s first outside poo poo!’ video commentary, I felt very authentic, I was being true to my eccentric, imperfect, cheesy self, so why was I interpreting myself as so authentically inauthentic?

Me thinks this stemmed from the identify crisis that comes along with becoming a mamasita; or at least the identity crisis I experienced after giving birth to a human. I went from being that lady, to this mama, who now encompasses that lady. Ahh! Who am I? And who is that high-pitched goo goo gag gag lady on that video? Me. It’s me. Hello, my name is Bailey, and I am a high-pitched baby talk addict, please help me.

As irritating as I found that voice on the recording, I’ve come to terms with the fact that that’s me, at least a part of ‘me.’ The clear and concise (low toned) voice recording I left on my client’s voicemail was also me, at least a version of me. The odd voice I’m using as I type this sentence, (which is a muddled mix of a bad Scottish, Southern, and Baby accent,) to entertain my antsy toddler, is also a version of myself, albeit one I attempt to keep hidden behind closed doors. I’m extremely grateful that I have multiple versions to draw from, because if Scottish-Southern-Baby was my only option, I would probably be unemployed with a very odd (yet likely very entertaining,) group of friends.

I’m starting to come to the realization that we all (more than likely) have many versions of ourselves, and are able to tap in to that elusive ‘authenticity’ when all our versions bloom from our core principles. Okay, well that sounds good, but how do we tap into our authentic core? I’m still working that out, and will likely continue to attempt to work that out for many lifetimes; but, for now, here are a few of the first bricks I’ve laid out in my yellow brick road to authentic-core-self-discovery, that likely ends in a place much more bizarre than Emerald City.

Free-Flow Writing

Free-flow writing is the most effective free-therapy I’ve ever stumbled across. There is something profoundly liberating about scribbling out your wild (and sometimes mundane) thoughts as they meander (and sometimes steamroll) through the mind. Another beautifully messy aspect of free-flow writing is that you’re not turning it in for a grade, or perusal from an editor, so you can write as illegibly as you would like. My free-flow handwriting is frightening, and I love it, no one will be able to decipher the peculiar outward expression of my inner mind, even if they wanted to.

When you’re free to let it all flow, without any judgment, you’re unencumbered, independent, on the loose; you’re capable of tapping into your authentic core. I’ve “received” the answers to some real zingers while free-flow writing, it’s as if the fairly wise creature I (for some reason) keep caged up within me, is able to come out and play, while laying some wisdom on me in the process. My logic was, the more I free-flow write, the more comfortable this wise free-flow creature will feel in venturing forth; I named my creature (who has no gender,) ‘Authentic.’

How To: Grab a notebook, some paper, a free spot on the wall, or any other writable surface, a writing utensil, and set a timer for 30 minutes. Now, write. Don’t pause even for a moment to consider what to write, and don’t pause, even for a moment, to look back, analyze, or judge anything that you’ve written. Let it all out; be free. Even if you just write, ‘I don’t know what to write, I don’t know what to write, I don’t know what to write,’ for the first 5 minutes, you’re doing great, you’re tuning in to you.

Self-Description

One lovely afternoon, when my lovely toddler, was taking a lovely abnormally long nap, I had time to spare after my 30 minutes of free-flow writing. I was feeling footloose and fancy-free and decided to do something terrifyingly raw, continue writing, but write a ‘self-description’ of myself. Who does my creature ‘Authentic,’ think I am? I dove in, I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and cried at little. Because I knew no one else was looking, I told myself what I really thought of myself. Some of it was good, some of it was questionable, and a lot of it was quite crude; but I sensed that it was authentic, and it felt AH-mazing.

How To: Grab your writing surface, utensil, and trusty timer (set for 15 minutes,) and GO! Much like the free-flow writing, you’re not analyzing or judging what you’re writing, you’re just writing; the only difference is that you have a set topic, ‘you.’

Being Naked

(In an attempt to keep this post PG, I left out the photo intended for this paragraph.)

Nothing like the naked body to give you a solid dose of authenticity. With the exception of my forgotten naked streak, during my toddler years, I used to have the desire to wear a bathing suit while showering (I didn’t, but I wanted to,) because I was so uncomfortable with my true self; mind, body, and spirit. My naked body didn’t have any protection; it was raw, exposed, and scared. As I slowly peeled back the layers (literally and figuratively,) on my journey to authenticity, I found it to be quite liberating to just be naked every once in awhile. People at the grocery store looked at me differently, but at least I was being authentic, just kidding 😉 When you’re naked, you’re no one but ‘you,’ you’re not wearing the ‘hippie’ skirt, ‘girl next door’ cut offs, ‘professional’ blazer, ‘stoner’ hemp stuff, or ‘sex kitten’ strip of uncomfortable lace, you’re just ‘you.’ When you partake in enough nakedness, besides the benefit of honing in on your authenticity, you also begin to develop a true reverence for your body; cellulite, full thighs, stretch marks and all; which is like a thick layer of cream cheese icing on your authentic cake.

How To: Take off your clothes. And no, you can’t leave your socks and underwear on. Hair ties are okay. Oh, and don’t forgot to put on your invisible cloak of self-love.

Watching and/or Listening to Your Recorded Self

SO HARD FOR ME TO DO. As you may have gathered from my opening paragraphs, I don’t like listening to my own voice. So, I figured the best way for me to get over this was to lock myself in a dark room, and play my most irritating voicemail on loop. Because I’m not always one to choose the “best way,” I instead opted for sitting in my living room, and spending 10 minutes, once a week, listening to these voicemails, watching home videos, or recording myself while I talked to Hudson, and then playing it back. My ego took quite a beating the first few times I subjected myself to this torture, but then, the proverbial light at the end of the voicemail began to shine through, and I actually developed a kind-of-sort-of healthy respect for my voice. My ego also shrunk a considerable amount, which was quite nice, as it had been growing fairly weighty and unmanageable. Be gone heavy ego. This self-torture helped me realize that that voice, along with its’ various versions, was me, authentically. It may still be a bit irritating to me, and maybe a few other people, but hey, that’s okay.

How-To: Gather up some home videos, and/or other items that have the honor of containing your voice, countenance, or both, and then listen and/or watch them, multiple times if possible. Go into the experience with an open mind and heart, and above all, compassion. You may love what you hear/see, or you may get a bit queasy, but move through it, you can do it.

Meditating

I’m still trying to figure how to meditate; our society doesn’t quite foster an environment of stillness. Yet every meditation attempt I’ve made has been deliciously fruitful, even if I’m not always doing it “right.” For me, the main purpose of meditation has been to connect with my consciousness, and the universal now. The Earth does not shift every time I meditate, but my awareness, and appreciation for, well, everything, does shift every time I meditate. Meditation forces me to stop being ‘mom,’ or ‘dishwasher,’ or ‘daughter,’ or ‘short order cook,’ or even ‘female,’ and throws me into being me, just me. It’s scary, and amazing.

How To: Take care of your basic needs (make sure you’re fed, watered, free of a full bladder, and not running from a lion,) and sit in a quiet and comfortable space. I prefer to mediate in a cool environment, with low lighting, and loose comfortable clothing, but a deep state of meditation is possible anywhere, all you need is your mind. Once you’ve made it to your special physical space, close your eyes and allow yourself to travel to your special internal space. In the beginning, to avoid looking at the clock every 27 seconds, I found it helpful to set a timer for 5 to 10 minutes. As you become more comfortable in your practice, try upping your time. May the internal peace be with you!

Staring Contest with Yourself

If I look at myself in the mirror long enough, I start to hallucinate, really. Sometimes my nose grows, my hair gets fuzzy, my eyes bug out, my skin pales, or darkens; weird stuff happens. Who am I? And who is that strange lady staring back at me? It is wonderfully disconcerting to have a staring contest with yourself. Ever heard that ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul?’ You’ll believe it after losing a staring contest with yourself. Looking into your own eyes can be so uncomfortable because you’re exposing your soul; your soul becomes naked when it’s being examined by itself, and it prefers to wear a bathing suit in the shower. Staring at, and into, yourself, is a sure way to feel uncomfortably authentic, until you don’t feel uncomfortable anymore. I usually experience the passing of the ‘uncomfortable’ like a warm wave of acceptance and love washing over me. I’m standing there, feeling odd staring at myself, wondering who is going to blink first, wanting to look away, and then suddenly the wave hits, and it’s all good.

How To: If you have some makeup on, wash your face. If you don’t have any makeup on, wash your face, it’s refreshing. Now, find a clean mirror, turn on the light, find your eyes, and stare into them until you no longer feel uncomfortable.

To have a cosmically cool moment with a loved them, engage them in a staring contest; and you can’t laugh 😉

Free-Flow Writing

Yes, I’ve already mentioned this, but it’s so great it’s worth repeating. Go do some free flow writing.

I’m currently in the process of discovering and rediscovering my authentic self and would love to hear how you learned (or are learning) to love your voice emanating from the speakerphone. At this moment, I have an authentic desire for my son to fall asleep so I can enjoy the pint of vegan mint chip “ice cream” waiting for me in the freezer. Here’s wishing you an abundance of happy authentic-core-self-discovery!

Guilt & Forgiveness, Mom Humor, Self Love

Releasing Mother’s (and Other) Guilt with Forgiveness

October 15, 2014January 9, 2016 baileysandbabiesblog

I feel emotions physically. If I’m verbally insulted, I feel like I’ve been shoved in the chest. When I fail, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the butt. If I make a mistake (and I make many,) I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. But, the worst of them all, is walking away from my screaming child as I go to do any “grown up” activity that is too difficult to accomplish with a toddler in tow; when this occurs I literally feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. As I frantically text the babysitter, moments after I say my farewell, as my guilt laden tears plop on my phone, I quickly receive a photo of my smiling tot, who was shrieking those heart wrenching wails just thirty seconds prior. He’s fine; but me?I’m a teary guilt laden mess, with an aching heart.

The more I subjected myself to the above mentioned scenario, the easier it became to ‘cut the cord’ for a few hours, and the wails were downgraded from ‘Code Red Heart Wrenchers,’ to ‘Code Yellow Heart Tuggers.’ A tug is much less painful than a wrench.

Regardless of the severity of my emotionally charged physical pangs of guilt, I always questioned whether or not I was making a mistake, partaking in whatever “grown up” activity required I leave my offspring behind that day. The addition of the possible ‘mistake’ served to add a gut punch to my heart wrench.

Because I’m a modern day mama who has loaded way too many awesome goodies on my plate, I make mistakes, a lot of mistakes; parenting mistakes, occupational mistakes, relationship mistakes, birth control mistakes (kidding! hopefully.) The mistakes are bountiful, and they too come with wrenching and tugging.

In the past, when these mistakes have occurred, I’ve either a) Frantically acted to do anything possible to rectify the mistake as soon as possible, ASAP, go go go, now now now. Or, b) Stuck my head in the sand and willed myself to forget about the problem until “tomorrow.” This usually consisted of a big brownie and a dose of too much television after I had coaxed my mistake-distracting-small-diaper-wearing-human to sleep; only because we had not yet set up our sand box.

The problem with “solution” a) was that so many stress hormones were released in my body as I panicked through my hurried problem solving, that it took hours after the problem was resolved for me to recover my equilibrium.

The problem with “solution” b) was that my butt would get sunburned, and my guilt and need to rectify my mistake would still be there tomorrow.

These were not solutions. Because I’m as far from perfect as polar bears are from Texas (with the exception of zoos,) all my non-perfect mistakes cast me into an almost constant state of sunburned butt panic. Because the aloe vera and chill pills began to get expensive, I had to find a better answer.

Enter, c) Forgiveness and reconciliation.

When a big ole perfectly un-perfect mistake would make itself known, I began to methodically go through the following steps:

1.) Take a deep breathe. Set an alarm for three minutes and focus on nothing but breathing. This quick yet effective meditation would balance me, and prevent me from getting sucked into a nauseating tailspin. Finding this state of calm would allow me to logically analyze my mistake, and resulting problem, without convincing myself that the world would surely end because I accidentally sent that photo of my naked baby with a diaper on his head to a client.

2.) Ask, ‘Is there a logical action I can take to resolve this problem?’ ‘When is an appropriate time to act to resolve this problem?’ Are there steps that can be done to resolve the problem? If so, is this an appropriate time to act? For example, in the case of my accidental email to a client, I noticed my snafu at 1am, not an appropriate time to call or email a client. Because I wasn’t in a glazed-eye crazy ‘I must act now’ state, I wrote myself a note to call the client in the morning, and went to sleep.

Mistakes and resulting problems have varying degrees of complexity, so my advice to myself (and you, if you’re looking for advice,) is to write out a plan, which covers the steps that need to be taken to resolve your problem, and when these steps should be completed. Make a commitment to yourself to act on these steps when planned. The gut wrench of a mistake is child’s play compared to the severity of a delayed-mistake-resolution gut wrench. Center yourself, create a logical plan for resolving the mistake (if one is possible,) and do it. I’ll be trite and say, ‘Just do it.’

3.) If there are no steps that can be taken to resolve the mistake, what can I do to release the problem, and move on? Sometimes I/we make mistakes that only screw over one person, me/ourselves. Or, sometimes we make mistakes that have no problem-solving steps that can be taken. In these situations, we definitely want to take stock of where we went wrong, determine what we could have done differently, and file it in our mental ‘Next Time, I’ll do a, b, and f Differently’ section. Beyond “learning our lesson,” in the case of the solo-screw-up, or no problem-solving-steps-slip-up, where there is no one to apologize to, or take to the hospital, we just have to make peace with ourselves, which leads me to…..

4.) Forgive. Whether or not I had to take action to resolve a mistake, or just had to learn my lesson from my solo-screw-over, I often had lingering guilt and personal resentment about my (usually not so massive) MASSIVE mistake. Even after filing away my ‘lesson,’ or receiving the ‘It’s no big deal! You’re baby is adorable and REALLY chubby’ email from the client, I would still feel guilt for not being ‘on top of it,’ ‘ahead of the game,’ or dare I say it, “perfect.” Something had to give, so I decided to forgive.

When I first set out on learning how to forgive myself, I was convinced it would be a long tough trail of peaks and valleys, taking months of dedication to learn the ‘art of forgiveness.’ But, what I learned, after a good run, and a ‘jolt-from-the-universe Ah-ha! moment,’ was that the ability to forgive was just a choice, just like the choice to me happy. I can be happy or not be happy; I can forgive myself or not forgive myself. It’s all my choice; no one else will make the decision for me. I choose to forgive. I make this decision on a daily, and sometimes hourly basis; it’s not always easy, but it’s always liberating. Oh, and if you have the inclination to blame someone else for the mistake, forgive them too.

When I first began this practice, I had this list typed up (or down) in my phone, and I would immediately pull it up before acting on an impulse, crying, or allowing my inner-voice to tongue lash me. At this point, after making 134,789 plus mistakes, I pretty much have it memorized, but still keep it handy. If it strikes a chord with you, write it down, try it out, and let me know how it works for you.

If you have your own tips, tricks, and techniques for working through mistakes, and forgiveness, please share them with them, I need all the help I can get.

can be taken to resolve the mistake, what can I do to release the problem, and move on? 4.) Forgive. Forgive. Just do it.

Mom Humor, Self Love, Uncategorized

Taking a Baby to Costa Rica- Part 5: Slap in the Face from the Mother of Nature

September 23, 2014January 3, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

“I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad.” ~ George Bernard Shaw

We were not awakened by the lapping waves from the nearby ocean, no; we were awakened by a vicious parrot brawl at 5:30am. “If you wake up my baby you stupid f***in parrots, I will f*** **** **** *****, shut the heck up!” Yes, they’re beautiful, but beauty does not excuse pure obnoxiousness. When the screeching was reduced to mild chirping, I was able to soak in the ‘oh yeah, this is awesome.’ Most of the walls in the rooms of our new jungle house were composed of wooden lattice and screens, to prevent the local diverse creatures from making themselves our bedfellows. These “walls” allowed us to see the vegetation surrounding us and feel the “cool” breeze.

Because Hudson was able to sleep through the bird riots I decided to sneak out and check out our new digs, without the need to walk hunched over to prevent a curious toddler from eating a crab. The house and surrounding landscape had an intense ‘Jurassic Park-esque’ feel. The huge lizards ran like tiny raptors and the howling monkeys in the distance made me half expect long-neck-riding demons to come tromping through the jungle.

After capturing an over abundance of still-life photos, I wandered back to the house to find Luis and his team laying out a table of lush fresh fruit, homemade toast, eggs, Gallo Pinto, and coffee; coffee, give me coffee, por favor. I sat for a moment enjoying the coffee and “jungle silence,” and pondered the miraculous fact that Hudson was still asleep. Oh wait, is that a shrieking monkey or my ‘not asleep’ baby, right on cue Hudson.

After our eleven person troop of travelers cleared all food from the table, the intrepid surfers rallied for a surf excursion. Apparently, the three-foot shore break in front of our house wasn’t enough for them. We donned our Costa Rican uniforms, composed of brightly hued bathing suits, and loaded in our rental cars. The first half hour on the heavily pot-holed road went “smoothly,” until we came to The Hill. The Hill rose up from a “criver” (a river/ creek,) and was not only incredibly steep but muddy, and strewn with some serious rifts. Could our flimsy non-four-wheel-drive sedan make it? The SUV rental car went first, created some cringe worthy spinning tire clamoring, but made it.

Us next.

Eric: “I got it, no problem, piece of cake.” (Infamous last words.)

Me:” I will not be in this car, with our baby, when this car goes up, then down, the hill of slippery peril.”

Conveniently, there was a footbridge over the criver for nervous mothers. As I walked sideways across the bridge, making sure my back was turned to Eric’s brazen ascent up the hill, in the rental car we weren’t “supposed to” wreck, or leave evidence of off-roading on, I heard clanging, banging, rock crunching, and then a car successfully moving up the hill. It was a miracle, but oh wait, we would have to go down the hill on the trip back.

We pot-holed our way the remaining distance to the surfer’s paradise of Pan Dulce; unfortunately for me, there was no sweet bread hanging from the palms, as the name so inaccurately implies. As our surfers waxed on and waxed, and drank the obligatory pre-surf beer, (at least those over 21,) I perused the beach for a “baby safe” hangout. I use the term ‘beach’ loosely and place quotation marks around ‘baby safe’ because the waves were not lapping/crashing onto a sandy shore, no; it was more like a giant-bruise-producing slab of rock. But, that of course did not stop us, and we picked our way into the ocean, baby and all.

It looks deceivingly sandy. Under that water is pure rock.

Have you ever heard the term ‘renegade wave?’ I have. Therefore, I should have known better than to take my baby into a seemingly calm shore break I was wholly unfamiliar with. As soon as we reached under-boob level in the deceivingly tranquil waters, I spotted it, the renegade wave forming. I quickly calculated my chances of reaching the shore before the looming mass of water crashed atop us, but determined the effort would be futile. I then quickly calculated my chances of being able to dive under the wave while holding my 12 month old. He would hold his breathe, but the strong force of the rushing water could likely prove to be too much for his little body. Last ditch option, rush towards the wave in an attempt to jump over it before it began its foreboding crest. I rushed towards the wave gripping my child with every last iota of strength and lunged up and out of the water. We were too late, the wave had begun its crest and Mother Nature harshly slapped us in the face. But, we made it through, and were met with another renegade wave! Just kidding. After our harrowing adventure, I was water logged, and baby was stunned into silence. We high-tailed it out of the unpredictable surf and found some sandy turf, well out of reach of the grasping waves.

After licking our wounds, my mom decided she would like to go for a dip, and because Hudson had long forgotten about our five-minutes-ago trauma, he of course decided that he must go with her. The surf had mellowed considerably and we were sure there was no further chance of a slap-stunner wave….

As soon as they made it to the exact same spot I had met my aquatic match, another rebel wave popped up. Not kidding. Before I had the chance to warn my never-gets-her-hair-wet mother they were receiving another fully submerged slap in the face. Baby wasn’t stunned into silence this time, he was pissed, and he let it be known. That was the last time mom got her hair wet in Costa Rica.

To make use of these bitchy waves, I decided to grab a boogey board, and the baby, and attempt to make the waves work for me. Just kidding, about the baby part. I dove out into the tepid abyss, and floated, and floated, and floated. The car rental Gods must have been pissed that we took the cars up The Hill because the waves knew what we wanted, and were consistently providing us with the opposite; hopefully the surfers were having better luck around the bend.

I decided to make a coconut cocktail out of the salty lemons being served up, and became one with the tranquil float. Our pre-teen travel companion then joined me in the watery float and we commenced to have a beautifully spiritual discussion about past lives, hypnotherapy, the power of the mind, and iPads; that’s right, we’re deep.

As the menacing thunder-heads rolled towards us, and the howler monkeys (right on cue) began wailing, we spied our luckily-not-too-intrepid group of surfers picking their way along the rocky coast back to the awaiting muddy vehicles. We all had the same unspoken thought in the back of our minds; ‘Get to The Hill, before it becomes a wall of sliding sludge.’

We piled into the mildew mired vehicles and slogged our way back to the The Hill. Our luck had fortuitously shifted and the clouds had not yet unleashed their watery fury on The Hill. We “gracefully” slid down hill, through the criver, and up the much less daunting other side of the hill, and continued our meander down the pot-holed path. Soon after, as we stopped so I could tinkle/urinate on the side of the road, an echoing cacophony of monkey moans reached my ears, as the fat drops of downpour soaked my exposed tushy. Apparently, the car rental Gods don’t appreciate “indecent” exposure.

Coming Soon: ‘The Tale of the I-Thought-You-Were-Right-Behind-Us Waterfall Hike’

Mom Humor, Self Love

Bashfulness Be Gone

June 18, 2014January 24, 2015 baileysandbabiesblog

I used to bathe with a bathing suit on, well, at least in public. You’re welcome public. I would be the bashful bather at the gym, standing to the side, waiting for a private shower stall to open up, while courageous ladies stripped down and had a rinse off. No way, not me; if I was desperate I would just shower with my bathing suit on.

That was me then, pre-baby.

This is me now; stripping off my bathing suit before the locker room door latches, because I only have 30 seconds to shower before my baby starts demanding boob from his milk-less caretaker. Modesty be damned.

I never thought I would ever be in a bathroom with onlookers urging my bowels to make moves. Okay, well maybe I realized this would be a possibility someday, but certainly not before my nineties. These onlookers were a stark reality of my birth experience. They wanted me to have a bowel movement really bad; but unfortunately, the stage fright, and resulting nerves, did not have the usual outcome of gurgling bowels.

After the no-go pooping debacle, all remaining traces of my modesty were wiped away, as my body pushed out a human, as four humans and one camera, looked on. Oh yes, someone also removed my shirt during this deposit of human, to prepare for the first public feeding of said human.

No one told me that my modesty would be drained out as my internal floodgate of baby love opened and poured in. As I began to feed my baby, my newfound boob boldness was put to the test as my brother-in-law entered the room. My initial reaction was to cover up, but this instinct was quickly overthrown by the ‘whatever’ echoing in my mind. It’s easier to have my boobs out while I’m feeding this hungry infant, whatever.

Since birthing a baby, I have undergone the following, quite liberating, metamorphoses.

Bras Shmas

The first few weeks postpartum, I not only vetoed the bra, but the shirt as well. My boobs were sore and the effort of pulling my shirt down or up every few minutes was just too much. Any Peeping Toms gazing through my bedroom window would have been treated to the vision of a drooling topless-women, with a man and a baby standing over her, repeating the mantra, ‘I think the baby is hungry again.’ The no-bra thing caught on, and I only wear one when I have to go to a wedding or a funeral.

Flatulence is a Fact and it’s Fun

People fart, I don’t care how proper you are; you fart. If you hold it in too much, you may be really cranky, because your stomach is likely in a constant state of turmoil; I should know, I used to be a chronic fart-holder-inner. Having a baby loosens everything up, which kind of forces you into adopting the motto, ‘if you gotta go, let it flow’; for pretty much all meanings you can attach to that saying. I now have a new understanding, and respect, for the older folks in my life who will boldly lift the side of their tush up during dinner and let one rip; who wants to eat dinner with a belly full of hot air? I have not yet reached the ‘bold brass balls’ level of toots touting, but I’m getting there.

‘There’s a chunk of food on my shirt?’ Pass it to me, I haven’t eaten in hours.

I’ve had everything from baby poop, boogers, green mush, and unidentified liquid on me since having a baby. Pre-baby Bailey would have changed her entire outfit after a miniscule drop of anything trickled onto the edge of her shirt, not anymore. It would take a waterfall like flow of spit up being issued from baby’s mouth, to my already dirty shirt, for me to hassle with changing.

Modesty can be such a nuisance if allowed to get out of control. It holds you back from just living, from just being, by distracting you with thoughts of, ‘how does this make me look?’ Who cares if some snooty pants scoff at your boldness if you’re happy and feel free to just be.