I’ve changed a lot. I’m a different person today than I was in high school. In college. As a newlywed. As a new momma. I am just so very different.

It’s weird to change so drastically. I sometimes wonder if high school friends read this blog and remember the girl who ate lunch alone in her car. Or my college friends read this and think,

“Man, she sobered up”

This socially awkward girl.

Where did she go?

I guess there is a part of that girl, that creeper in the corner, that will always be a part of me. A part of her that is tucked deep inside my heart. Sometimes I see her when I am insecure. Sometimes when I fight with Dave. Sometimes when I try to retreat back to my old boring clothes. Or when I taste tequila. When I try really hard to be someone that I am just not. That girl. She is there.

But man, no joke, I’ve come to realize how stressed out that girl is. She’s worried. She’s calculated. She’s rehearsed. She’s entitled. She’s cold. There is a realness missing. A security gone. A lostness.

I spoke a little about my relationship with God in my post about Roman. I said that I have always had a specific relationship with God of lost and found. Such moments of

“Oh that is what You were teaching me”

So — obviously — there was a big breakdown with Roman coming into my life. This change that shook my core. This lostness that I still struggle to put into words.

But the real story is the found that comes after. The rebuilding that took place after her arrival. The rebuilding in this last year. It is beautiful. And I am thankful for it.

I see the world differently. With more realness. More rawness. I see hearts instead of people. I see reality. I see pain and suffering. And most of all, the biggest difference of all, I see freedom. I taste it.  I live it.

I remember the moment. The moment I took my first step out of the darkness. I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was in the ultrasound room with Dr. Lindsay.

I had a cyst on my placenta while pregnant with Roman. He was the high risk doctor that had monitored me after the discovery of my cyst at 8 weeks (Dave always called it Roman’s cyster — gross, right?). Week after week I met with Dr. Lindsay. Week after week I would watch that cyst grow.

At the 37th week it had doubled in size. Randomly.  And I begged him to induce me.
I’m not sure if I was just over being pregnant. Anxious to get on with my life. If I was scared for this little helpless girl inside of me. Or, if I was having anxiety about a repeat placental abruption. It was weird to be scared to lose something you hadn’t wanted.

But regardless of the reason behind it, I broke down. I cried to him. And I begged him to induce me. For ALL of those reasons.

And he wheeled his chair over to me. And he put his hand on my belly. And he said,

“You know something strange? I am a high risk doctor. I see some crazy shit. I like to pride myself on knowing medicine and obstetrics. But you mommas, your intuition scares me. It keeps me up at night. And if you need this. I take that very seriously. Let’s check her lungs and, if she’s good, we’ll induce tonight.”

And then he sat back on his chair and continued,

“Your body is fighting for her. It’s compensating. For you and for this little girl.”

He said this like it was science. But to me. To me it was my heart. I think he meant it in a way that the placenta is functioning fine right now. There is no need to be scared. But what I heard? I heard that my body was fighting for her. I was fighting for her. Right then. Right there. And my body was trying to tell me something if I’d just listen.

And I stopped thinking so hard. I stopped trying to fake it. To put on a facade of strength and courage. To be something different than I was. It didn’t matter. I was scared and he needed to know that.

I was induced that night. And gave birth to that beautiful girl. I sometimes think, what if I had retreated? Had been calculated. Hadn’t been honest with myself and with Dr. Lindsay? Would I have her here today? It’s just a risk I wasn’t willing to take then and am no longer willing to take today. From big life events to the little decisions I face each day.

The heart, it still beats. No matter what you pretend to be. It just beats the way it always has. The way it always will.  And it knows what it needs. It compensates. It fights. And for the first time, I am letting me be me. I am rested in it. I am living in it. There’s a confidence in this new me. A calmness. I can’t explain it. But I can tell you that I love it.

And that I pray with all of my being to raise my boys, and my sweet little girl, to find and follow it’s steady beat.

Ciao! Girl