Diaper Doody

A man at work today asked me if it was easy having a baby. I stared at him.

Honestly, my experience was actually quite an easy one - 40 weeks pregnant, water breaks, rush to the hospital, baby by noon the next day. It could not have gone any better. Carrying a baby was worse than the actual childbirth, but even that went smoothly for the most part.

After baby arrives, however, is a whole new level of learning. My husband and I learned a lot; about ourselves, about each other, and of course about our baby. We also learned a lot about our families..
I always heard it would "change your life forever" but there's no way to prepare for it. You paint a spare bedroom and call it a nursery, you buy every cute outfit you see (and so does everyone else), you go to the doctor for what seems like 79 appointments in a 40 week period, you find a pediatrician, you get the 411 on breastfeeding from all your mama friends, you have deep conversations with your own mom who reassures you that your body will go back to normal, you tell your husband that if you die during birth it's 'okay to move on' and then listen to him tell you how ridiculous you sound, and the list goes on. But nothing can prepare you for what it's really like.. what it really means to be a parent. It's truly incredible. There's something so empowering about carrying and delivering a baby, and then being able to feed her with my own body is just awesome! I'm so blessed.

There's also nothing that can prepare you for those "only-a-parent has" moments. Like when you find baby vomit inside the waistband of your underwear. Or you catch projectile poop in your hand because you couldn't get the diaper on quiiiite fast enough. Or - my favorite - the first blowout.

Let me break it down: My husband and I had just left an appointment, grabbed lunch and were about to run in Walmart for a few things. I decided I'd better check my girl's diaper and change her really quick the car, so she wouldn't get fussy in the store. As Rob lifts her from her car seat, he said, "Oh no! She must be so hot. Look at her sweating!" No. No no no. As I unbuttoned her cute little outfit, I knew immediately. This child had pooped everywhere - and smiled the entire time I cleaned her up. As I stripped her down and began the wiping mayhem, Rob grabbed a disposable bag and held it open. As I dropped a used wipe in it, part of it brushed his hand. Bless him. "Rachel, you got it on my finger!" I stared at him, much like I did to the man who asked if childbirth was easy. Here I am, elbow-deep in doo-doo - it's under my fingernails, in my car, probably behind my ears  - I all but swallowed it.

Lesson learned: if your baby is too quiet for any length of time, she's up to something. Something gooood.

I have a picture of said event, but I'll spare you the visual.

Until next time!

Pistol-Packing Mama

Perhaps the most difficult thing to decide on when setting up a baby registry is a diaper bag. That sounds ridiculous, but for me it's so true.

It's probably because my search for the perfect tote isn't your traditional one. I'm a gun-toting woman. And I will be a gun-toting mama. Let's get real: if I carry a gun every single day when I'm by myself, why would I not have one with me with my precious little girl in tow? I know there's controversy surrounding this, and to some it may seem absolutely absurd. But to me and my family, it's a safety precaution. And it always will be. After all, how many times do we leave the house and run into someone my LEO has encountered at work? And how many times do those encounters have a pleasant ending? Exactly. People are crazy.

I began carrying once I married my LEO hubby. Before him, I was afraid of guns, terrified, even. But that's because I wasn't familiar with them. I didn't know how they really work and I certainly couldn't take one apart and put it back together. Sure, my dad has several, but they stayed in his closet when I was growing up, and we never had a reason to use them (thankfully). But in today's world, the crazies multiply faster than spaghetti on your dinner plate. They are just necessary.

So, I began my Google search by typing "Concealed Carry Diaper Bags" which led me to a forum. A forum where a mama-to-be was asking where she could find such bags. The first response to her question read something like this, "Is this for real? Where do you live that you need to carry a gun with you at all? If it's that dangerous, maybe you shouldn't raise kids there."

EARTH. We live on Earth. Read the newspaper, turn on a television set, open your eyes. It's 2014. 

I wouldn't carry one if I didn't know how to use it. I've been trained properly, I practice at the shooting range, I can tell you what each piece does and where it goes if you break it down. Most importantly, I feel comfortable with carrying one.

Let me justify my need for a concealed carry bag by saying this: If an armed gunman walks into the store you're in, would you want me standing next to you in the checkout line or someone who doesn't own a gun and thinks they're stupid? Good luck to you and your kid. Me and mine will walk out of that store just fine.

Thin Blue Line

People often ask what it's like being married to a cop. The answer I give them is one thing. The real answer is another.

I have a huge appreciation for LEOs everywhere - and I mean HUGE. But I can't stand the job. I basically hate it with every ounce of hatred in me. But my husband loves it and I admire him for doing it. And, he's pretty stinking good at it.

No doubt it's a huge part of our life together. There's not a single date-night dinner I can remember where he hasn't mentioned a dope case he made or a crazy DUI on night shift. All of it makes him so happy, and I'm extremely proud of him for caring about his job so much.

But no matter how many times I hear someone say it or I read it, it always crawls all under my skin and bubbles up until there is steam almost shooting out of my ears and any patience I had left completely escapes me. "There's no such thing as a 'good cop'." or "All cops are bad cops." They're one in the same. But they're both wrong.

Pigs, coppers, bacon, bastards in blue, brass, doughnut squad, muskars, the heat, narcs - whatever you call them, they're people. With families. And children that they deserve to watch grow up.

I was on the phone with my husband last weekend while he was on-duty and he was on his way to a gas station to get cash back. He was answering a call and passed a 5th grade boy selling lemonade for 25 cents a cup at the end of his driveway. My husband wanted to get cash so he could stop and visit with this kid and enjoy some lemonade. He, with the heart of gold that he has, said to me, "It's just so cool to see a kid doing good. I just want to tell him!" Especially when you just left a call at the local Dollar General because two preteen hooligans tried to rob it. And I guarantee that's the best $5.00 cup of lemonade my sweet cop ever drank.

No, not all law enforcement officers are like that. There are bad ones, but believe me, the good ones far outnumber the "dirty cops." And it burns me to my very core when people who know NOTHING about police or what it's like to care about one so deeply say such awfully untrue things.

So what's it like to be married to one? It is constant worry. (For me) It's constantly having your faith tested when you haven't heard from him in several hours, and he still doesn't answer when you call. It's waking up and realizing it's 7:30 a.m. and panicking because he should have been home and hour and a half ago. It's planning everything - holidays, birthdays, trips, your off days, doctors appointments, parties, everything - around his splotchy schedule. It's checking his work calendar on the cork board in the laundry room and fighting back the tears when you see that he works Fourth of July weekend, your birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day all in the same year. It's sleeping alone. It's walking down the grocery store aisle and hearing "I'll be back" and not questioning it - you already understand that there's someone inside the store that recognizes him as their arresting officer, and he doesn't want that person to know who his family is. It's a steamy bullet proof vest draped across the back of the couch, and collar brass and the contents of all his 367 pockets on the granite counter tops you just polished. And if you're lucky, it's his dirty, yes dirty, socks wadded up UNDER YOUR PILLOW when you crawl into bed alone one night. (Yes that really happened. No, neither of us know how. Night shift makes my husband do crazy things that he doesn't claim responsibility for.)

But it's so much more than that. It's standing beside him at an awards ceremony because you're so incredibly proud of his accomplishments. It's the squad-family cookouts on weekends off. And it's sitting in bed together in the mornings eating your Hardee's biscuits during that half hour between him coming home from work and you leaving.. just so you can see each other that day.

Until you've wrapped your arms around a man who has come home late because he was sitting with children while DHR was on the way to take them into foster care because of a drunken mother, I don't want to hear your negative opinion of law enforcement.

You just don't get it. And you won't, and I understand that. To those who respect law enforcement, thank you.

I'll trip over that man's smelly boots everyday for the rest of my life if it means he came home.

Lessons from Louise

I've been told for a while now - the 7 years that I've known my husband - that no one makes fried okra like his grandmother. No one. "So don't even try it unless you do it her way." Those are his words, verbatim.

So finally, after 7 years of constant chatter about Mamaw's fried okra, I decided to find out her secret. The secret? There is no secret. "There's no special secret to it, I think he just likes it because I make it." Her words, verbatim.

But I'm not a fryer. One, I don't like the way it stinks up my house, and two, I don't like anything that splatters when I cook it. I'm not a clean-freak at all. Maybe a little.

I called Louise (Mamaw) last week and told her Rob had gotten some okra from a lady at work and I needed her to teach me how it's done so he would get off my case about it! =) She so sweetly agreed, and I spent several hours last Saturday learning her country kitchen ways. Let's get real - I can always use tips in the kitchen. Unless it's a cheesecake, a casserole, a grilled cheese or tacos, I'm probably not the one to call. But if you want any of those things, I'm your girl.

After my phone call I was quickly overwhelmed with emotion. Not because I was excited about okra. Because I was so looking forward to time with a grandmother figure. I've always felt close to Rob's entire family since I first met him. I immediately hit it off with them. But there's just something about his Mamaw that reminds me of my late grandmother. We even talked about how she really loved getting to know my grandmother during the short time they spent together. She was looking forward to becoming "such great friends." She even said, "I could just see us sharing Miss Harper." She's such a doll. For that, I am grateful.

Alas, the cutting began. She wanted to show me from start to finish how she does it so that Rob would be pleased. =) Once it was ready, she showed me how to do it any way imaginable - fried, boiled, steamed - you name it. She even tried a recipe she had just seen in an issue of Southern Living. But it didn't make the cut, per Rob's Paw Paw. 

And once the fried okra was scooped from the cast-iron skillet, it's like my hubby could smell it from miles away. He showed up while on-duty (luckily he has an awesome Sergeant) to have a quick lunch with us. 

I learned a lot Saturday. The most important thing - make the time. Stop saying, "I really should do that" and do it. 

Make the time. It's always worth it.

Pregnant vs Fat?

First things first - I'm pregnant. I have life growing inside me. Keyword: GROWING. I'm aware of this. Therefore, I don't need random people pointing it out or telling me how big I look.

I always dreamed of the day when I would be all cute and pregnant and everyone would tell me how good I look and how I'm just "glowing!" And I would wear the cutest little maternity clothes and be an in-style mama-to-be. Let's get real, girls. Don't get me wrong.. I couldn't wait to see what it was like - the morning sickness (which I so quickly understood), the growing belly, the maternity clothes, the kicking and feeling your sweet child move! I was ecstatic about all of it! Yes, even the sickness. (It was by no means enjoyable, but if throwing up 6+ times a day meant a healthy baby, then bring it on!) And about the glowing? Everyone said my husband glowed. Not me.

I don't mean to be negative, but there's only so much a pregnant woman can take. When you walk into work at 8:00 a.m. on a Monday, and the first person you help says, "are you pregnant or are you just fat?" I. Beg. Your. Pardon.

But it never stops there. Or never stops, period. For example:

"That thing gets bigger every time I come in here!" Yes. Yes it does. Welcome to my every night as I stand in the shower.

"Are you really going to make it until November?"
    "Am I THAT big?"
    "Well, not really. But you have gained some weight."
Yes, I have. I've gained a whole ten pounds because my stomach pokes out so far I can't even tell if I have on underwear.. And when I sit down at my desk at work, my stomach touches the tops of my thighs. And my breasts are so swollen I have to wear a sports bra everywhere I go, including to bed. It's attractive, ask my husband.

"I saw your picture in the paper... all slim & trim." I can't even.

This is possibly my favorite, from my sweet groom..
"What did you eat for lunch?"
"Mac and cheese."
"That's all? That's not very nutritious for Harper. I'm afraid you're not eating enough."
I'm sorry, what?

The one thing that makes me smile and shrug it off is knowing that by Thanksgiving, I'll be holding the sweet child that my husband and I made. That's a gift only God can give, and we serve one awesome God!

I'll end with this.. My husband and I were laying in bed a few nights ago, and I turned to him, concerned about possible stretch marks showing up, and I said, "Will you still love me after my body changes so much?" He looked at me and said, "I'll love you even more. Those stretch marks mean you brought our baby into this world. Without the marks, we wouldn't have a baby." Sweetheart.

Now, excuse me while I go Google 'clever responses to rude pregnancy comments." Watch out, world.

One Blessed Baby

On Mothers' Day, I was a wreck. A hot mess. Rob and I spent that weekend at the beach for a mini-getaway we had won as a 5K door prize. It was a rainy weekend, which was lovely because all we did was lay around and watch movies - the perfect beach activity for a woman as fair-skinned as myself!

I woke up that Sunday morning basically already in tears. I knew I would be emotional, because weeks earlier I was at work choosing books to read for our special Mothers' Day story time, and I couldn't keep it together. I even had to ask my co-worker to take over that week and read for me. Something about being a mom is just so sweet and so overwhelming at the same time! Rob and I were thrilled when we learned we were expecting.. certainly a blessing we had prayed about for months. But it's still so unreal and emotional when you think about what you're really doing. We're bringing life into this world,  that we made together, and it's our responsibility to set good examples and lead our children in the right direction. Horrifying and amazing at the same time.

I got out of bed because I was afraid my sobbing would wake Rob. I walked out on the balcony with my James Patterson book hoping it would distract me from my crazy. It didn't. I sat there staring out at the ocean, completely in awe of everything God is capable of. He put all this together. He designed everything I was looking at, and everything I was going through. He gave us the ultimate gift - the responsibility of being parents. I cried for probably a solid hour. Rob finally woke up on one of my several trips inside for more snot rags.

He, of course made me feel at ease and completely safe. He just knows how to do that.

That's why I cannot even wrap my mind around how blessed I (and our baby) am. He's going to make such a fantastic daddy. The first man to teach Baby L what love is. I seriously could not have a better partner in life. Thanks again, God. He sure knows what He is doing. Happy Fathers' Day!

"Watch to see how I transform trials into blessings"

It's always hard waiting for the anniversary of something sad. Knowing all the emotions will come rushing back - good and bad - is not something I really look forward to. Sometimes it feels like you lost the person yesterday, while other times it feels like it's been forever since you've seen them or just heard them speak.

That's how it feels for me today; like my grandmother went to Heaven years ago. It seems like a lifetime since she passed, maybe because it's something I think about everyday. But thinking about her makes me happy. I wouldn't think about her as often if she didn't leave such an impact on my life.

My devotion this morning was spot-on. God never disappoints and His timing continually amazes me. 

The first sentence began, 'Let Me help you get through this day..." HELLO! It's like He was speaking directly to me. He may as well have said, "Rachel, listen up. Let Me help you get through this day..." I was speechless when I read it. It goes on to say that there will be ups and downs throughout the day and that I need to remember to lean on Him when I'm weak. (Which has been all day, so saddle up, God! Silly me, he already has.) I can't help but feel relief through the sadness, because I serve a God who lifts me up even when I think I can do it myself. He's always there just holding His arms out waiting for me to collapse. For that, I am especially grateful. Then, He wraps it up with, "Watch to see how I transform trials into blessings." That's one serious promise. 

It brings sadness to my heart that she won't be here for the arrival of her first great-grand baby later this year, and I would give just about anything to hear her say "Rachel Suzanne" just one more time. However, it brings joy to hear others in the community say such sweet things about her. She is missed, no doubt. I cannot even count the times I've heard,  "that drive-up window at Buy-Rite Drugs isn't the same." It never will be. 

I've gone throughout the day with one thought keeping me focused. My Mimi is celebrating her new birthday; her entrance into Heaven to spend eternity with the Lord. THAT is something to be celebrated here, too! How comforting it is to know where she is and that she is so loved in the presence of our Creator. I know he is taking such good care of her. 

When every day is "Just a God Thing"

Do you ever have those moments where something crazy or unexpected happens, and you are suddenly and completely overwhelmed by God's presence? When you just sit back and say, "that was a God thing." That's our life.

My husband, Rob, and I met during our very first college class - English 1101 - in 2007. We'd just graduated high school and were both in a relationship with other people. When we locked eyes that day, everything changed. Instantly. It sounds totally cliché and slightly absurd. But I swear it's true.

I was desperately looking for a way out of the toxic relationship I was in, and Rob's life at home was about to change drastically. We were meant to cross paths, and I know God put us in the same room that nerve-racking day to show us we were made for one another. We needed each other, and that would become more and more evident as our relationship progressed. 

Within a week, our previous relationships ended and we began officially "dating." Everything escalated so quickly that before I knew it, this man I met two years earlier was following me to college - even though he had his heart set on a different school and a different plan. He still swears to this day that he didn't "follow me" there. He just changed his mind completely about what he wanted to do. Sure, Robert. 

So we begin our journey at a new school together. The sorority formals, fundraisers, those midnight trips to Taco Bell because you're roommates are hungry - I sure am thankful he was there for all of that. It would not have been the same if he hadn't followed me and my dreams. That's exactly what he did - he went where I wanted to go because I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I wanted to work in the media (I know, right? What was I thinking?) This man who loves me whole-heartedly put aside what he wanted, so that he could stand beside me and support me while I pursued my dream. Shortly after school started, I got a job working for the college TV station as Student News Director. It was seriously the best college gig ever. You got to meet cool people for cool stories, and of course - be on TV. Everything was going according to plan. I would graduate with a degree in Broadcast Journalism in December of 2011, and work in the news business.

Rob on the other hand had a change of heart during his college education. He decided his major of geomatics wasn't what he really wanted to do for the rest of his life. His dream now - law enforcement. His future - my nightmare. My husband has always had a heart that serves others. He worked as a firefighter when we met at junior college, and earned his EMT license while we were in college so that he could pay his way through school. He's extremely motivated and so driven to reach his goals - literally the ideal person you want standing beside you for the rest of your life. 

So he earned his degree in Criminal Justice and graduated one semester before me - Summer 2011. During that summer, he interned with the Sheriff's office back home and finished his classes online. That was the beginning of his career in law enforcement. It all began when he worked with Investigators that long summer. I was always nervous - it's a dangerous job, right? But honestly, how often do bad things happen around where we live? I shouldn't worry too much; nothing like that could ever happen to us. Right? Wrong.

After graduating in December, I took a job as an Associate Producer with an ABC affiliate near home. I enjoyed it - writing stories for newscasts, editing video. It was great. While I was starting my big-girl world, my husband-to-be was off at the Police Academy. He would start patrol the day after he graduated from APOST. I was a WRECK. Those that know me know that when I'm stressed or anxious - I'm a baking fool. I baked everything - cookies, cakes, pies, even new crazy recipes for stuff no one has even heard of. I was out of control, so much so that my coworkers (reporters) told me to stop because they were scared of looking fat on-air. Their solution? “Bring a veggie tray next time.” Because those are fun? Talk about a hot mess.

But he did it! Graduated from the Academy and hit the streets with a veteran deputy to learn the ropes. On May 25, 2012, he went on patrol on his own. Completely solo. A rookie blue on the streets in the busiest area in the county. Here goes nothing. 

Neither of us had any idea how much his profession would affect our everyday lives. It takes a special person to work in law enforcement, and my husband is definitely that person, but it's still a HUGE adjustment. Huge. Not to mention that we were basically career enemies - law enforcement and the media don't mix. In a few short months we would realize just how bad it could be. 

Rob and I tied the knot in July 2012 - the best and happiest day of our lives. We spent the following week in Jamaica with not a care in the world. 

Four months later, I found myself on the phone with my frantic new husband who was trying his hardest to explain what had just happened at work. When I wasn't working at the TV station, I helped out a friend's mom part-time at a local boutique. It was black Friday. I had gotten off work that afternoon - exhausted - and headed home. While driving, the strangest feeling washed over me. It was a nauseous/anxious/scared/butterflies in your stomach kind of moment. I had no idea why, and assumed I was just tired from being at work since 5 a.m., plus all the coffee sliding through my veins.

Less than an hour later, my husband (who had been at work all day, too, and should be home soon) sent me a text. "I'm ok. Love you. Don't talk to anyone. Go to your mom and dad's. Shooting."

What? I immediately thought there must have been a shooting somewhere and the shooter was on the loose - that's why he wants me to be careful and not talk to strangers, and go to my parents' house. 

My mind and heart started racing. I didn't go to my parents' house since it was about 45 minutes away. For some reason my gut – and my mom - told me to stay put. (She always knows what to do. But HOW?!) Thank goodness. My husband called me shortly there after, which felt like an eternity. On the other end of the phone was my almost-worst nightmare. He was involved in a shooting. Two deputies there with him had been shot - one critically - and my husband had to return fire on the man who shot his co-workers. It was by far the scariest moment of my life. Was it really happening? Couldn't be - no way. Not here. Not us. 

I arrived on the scene and was immediately whisked into a Mobile Command Unit to find my husband in shock, terrified, and shaking from head to toe. I'd never seen anything like it, and I pray each and every day that I never have to again. 

One of the deputies passed away from his injuries, the other returned to work in June 2013 after multiple surgeries. It's a tragedy you cannot go one day without thinking about. It changed our lives forever, and changed our relationship temporarily. Everything was a struggle. Going to church, making a grocery list, falling asleep at night - we couldn't do anything without our communication suffering. It was something I, as his wife, would have to be extra patient about.

During all of the debriefings, counseling sessions, and funeral ceremonies, I realized this - I was not cut out for my dream of working in the news business. There's something about seeing yourself and your husband on local television, mourning the loss of a great friend. When tragedy strikes, all you want to do sometimes is lay low. Disappear for a minute, just be alone. But the media won't let that happen. Don't get me wrong - I'm not a media basher like some folks. I know they're just doing their jobs. But I couldn't see myself doing that job. Intruding on the intimate moment when you're forced to say goodbye to someone who left this earth far too soon. It's just not me. That's why I changed career paths completely. I now work for a city Library, where I get to help people and work with children. That's what I was called to do, and after months and months of prayers, God showed me where I needed to be. Right where I am now. And I’m doing what God wants me to do while I support Rob and his dream. It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it. God definitely has a sense of humor.

I've never in my life prayed as hard as I have within the past year. Somehow my husband, who came within inches of losing his life, walked away from a welfare check gone wrong completely unhurt. How? Prayer. "It was just a God thing." 

When he started his extra-dangerous career, we grew greatly in our relationship with the Lord. It was already a great one, but now, it's even better - and for that, I am eternally grateful. I thank God every day for bringing him home that day. And Rob and I pray together each day that he will come home again. 

One of the lessons I learned from this whole situation - also one of the things I wish I could shout at other LEO wives – love him anyway. Just love him. So he left his boots in the living room and you tripped. He forgot to take the trash out because night shift got the best of him and he fell asleep. Or he hasn’t done anything you’ve asked him to do all week. Love him anyway. Do you think he would strap a bullet proof vest on, put the gun on his belt and kiss you goodbye every single day if he didn’t have to? I love a man who does what’s best for his family. I also love a man who does what he loves.. and a law enforcement officer must love what he does to do it each and every day.

Love him anyway. That’s all he needs.