As I drive to our apartment each day up the main boulevard it is encompassed by a canopy of green. It is peace-inducing and reminds me why I love a climate with four seasons.

Just a month ago, these same trees were brown and gnarly, beaten by winter’s cold ice they looked aged and done.

But then the grass turned from puddles of mud to lush green and the neighborhood brought out their lawn mowers and cut the grass bringing the potential of a summer of legs sticky with sweat and foreheads creased to see beyond the sun’s glare.

Kyle, my husband, is in school to become a physical therapist which fortunately is a very high demand job at the moment. There are job opportunities everywhere and so we like to discuss where we will go once school is done.

My desires revolve largely around land features and climate.

I long for mountains, sunshine, oceans, lakes, a short winter, warm rain showers, wide open spaces, a town with a Target and a Gap but not so spread apart that I can’t go to both in the same day, free parking downtown (i.e. not a city), oh and if family could be there that would be great too!

It is fun to lay in bed each night and bring up potential places where we will sink our family roots and make a home. But turns out I am incredibly picky. I want to will the weather to bend to my needs. Seattle was too gray, Arizona would be too hot, and the coast has the potential to drown me when the tides overcome the earth (this is a legitimate fear of mine).

I want sunshine but I also want the changing seasons, the physical earth sending us signs that change is always occuring causing us to learn flexibility. But oh how I dread the winter months.

Give me a week of snow and then I am done. Send it away to the mountains, but not too far away.

Don’t even get me started on my need for falling golden leaves carried by the wind and the crunch of them beneath my feet.

I have this desire to try so many different states and towns and places to find where my heart will make its home. It feels like an adventure waiting to happen.

A couple of months ago I was struggling with the balance of everything. Living with my mom for the first 2 months of Max’s life was wonderfully relaxing and made the transition to motherhood a bit more smooth. But then we moved to a new area and I had to face the reality that I was mostly on my own. I say mostly because for awhile I felt like I was totally on my own for the majority of the day. I had to keep up with keeping our home clean, making sure Max is changed/fed/napped, making meals, grocery shopping, budgeting in all of the other tiny things that add up eventually. It was exhausting.

Kyle would come home, I would hand over Max and focus on making dinner without disruption. It was good for awhile but every now and then I would have a bad day. A day where a was just a major grump and Kyle would come home and my mood would offset his and we would be a couple of grumps sitting on the couch wallowing in our individual grumpiness which usually left Max wondering why he got such crazy parents.

I would ponder a lot about what I needed to do and occasionally I remembered to pray about it a bit more earnestly (especially after a grump-day).

I love breastfeeding. I have loved it since the moment Max first latched on. It was an incredibly bonding experience and I instantly felt that oxtocin (a happy hormone which coincidentally triggers milk let-down) wash over me. It calmed my new mom nerves and acted as a telescope. Focusing in on this other-word child in my arms.

I feel blessed to have had very little issues surrounding breastfeeding. My milk came in all normal making my breasts rock hard a few days after having Max. Literally they felt like rocks. It hurt but I didn’t mind because I knew it was a sign that my breasts were doing their job making milk for a new life on this earth. Go Breasts!

It is tricky getting used to breast feeding. You arms have to build up a certain muscle to hold the ever-weight-increasing baby in your arms and I found that sitting criss-cross applesauce was most comfortable to me. That way Max would prop up on my knee and my arms could relax a little. Because really it is so important to relax when you nurse, it makes the milk let-down quicker.

Then one day I went to bed noticing a pain my my right breast. I felt around and didn’t feel anything crazy (I am one of those 0-60 jump to cancer thinkers). Nope. So I went to bed but then I woke up feeling feverish and yucky. I consulted my husband, my mother, and the internet and concluded that I had a plugged duct which could lead to full on mastitis which in the breastfeeding world is considered an awful experience. So I made sure to drain that breast completely and rest and drink fluids. It was a chilly day in November and Max was pre-rolling so he certainly didn’t mind hanging out in bed all day.

By the second day I was feeling much better and went on my merry way.

But I guess after that experience both Max and I favored nursing on my left breast (it probably was a favoritism before the plugged duct that caused the pluggage). Slowly I have come to realize that my breasts are now two different sizes. Like a stark two different sizes. First off, I had to get brand new nursing bras for my breastfeeding breasts. If you can imagine, I measured at a 32G. Yes, a G. So I was sporting some rather large milk bottles. But now one breast is like an F and the other is like a C.
It’s kinda depressing to look in the mirror and its even more depressing to look down and see a wonky chest. When you can see a difference, so can everyone else.

So I miss the old breasts.The ones without stretch marks and who haven’t felt the pain of baby teeth.

*sigh*

When do you know when to stop breastfeeding?

I can’t imagine stopping but obviously I don’t want Max to be five pulling at my shirt. Speaking of shirts. It is really hard to dress to nurse. I miss tucking in shirts and putting belts on things. I really hope that one day my breasts will be the same size again. I don’t care what size, just the same size.

I feel pretty lucky to have Kyle in my life and I reflect upon how we ended up together almost daily.

You see there were so many perfect coincidences that brought us together, both before and after his mission. A web of moments that perfectly intertwined our hearts to the point where we sealed our hearts together for time and all eternity.

You see I didn’t have much of a role model for healthy marriage relationships. I managed to pick up a few bits and pieces of knowledge from my friend’s parents but in large part I went into love pretty blind…and deaf.

But Heavenly Father sent a smiley, goofy, perfectly charming boy to me when I was 16 to teach me all about love.

He caught me early and gave me a good one so that I wouldn’t be scarred by too many failed relationships. Because Kyle was my first love, it allowed for me to go into our relationship with few inhibitions.

I had only been a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for about 2.5 years before I married Kyle. I have since learned that the youth are taught pretty young to aim high for their marriage. To find a worthy priesthood holder who loves you and helps you to grow to become a better person. Now men in the church are not perfect and there are some who are pretty good about pretending to be worthy or pretending to love you fully, I didn’t fully comprehend this until after I was married and I realized I REALLY got lucky that I aimed high without really searching.

Without having to search and weed out the unwanted and go through heartbreak, I was blessed to have Kyle magically show up in my life. A worthy, wonderful, loving, helpful priesthood holder.

I know that Heavenly Father led us together. I don’t know why…perhaps just to produce wonderfully handsome children?

Everyday I thank Heavenly Father for sending Kyle into my life. He is my comedian, my encyclopedia, my calculator, my journal, my cheerleader, my warm fuzzy blanket, and he has my whole heart. Always and forever.

Happy Birthday Suckafish.

Every spring with the early rising sun and the smell of defrosting soil, I am reminded of Italy. Spending two months in Italy for school was an incredible blessing.

The other day I was walking to the store with Max in the stroller and I was able to close my eyes and for a moment I was back there, in Rome. It was the distant sound of cars on the and the feel of stone beneath my feet.

I visualized the reflection of light of the unevenly placed cobblestones and the smell of bread wafting from seemingly every crevice. Rome is an earthy city. Ancient ruins are interjected between medieval and modern structures breaking up the threat of the future with constant reminders of the past. A past built entirely by earth.

I miss the food, the fact that you could get to die for pesto and salami and make the most delicious sandwhich and then eat it on the balcony, overlooking passerbys below.

I am not a city girl, but the city of Rome captured my soul.

Every spring with the reminder of my days spent abroad I get the travel bug. My body, mind and soul yearn for new culture, new experiences, new sights.

Besides not having means to travel it would be very difficult with a baby.

So I sit here at home and watch my son as he pull himself up into standing position and then claps in accomplishment of this great feat. It always brings a smile on my face and I am reminded…

I don’t have to travel the world to see the world with new eyes.

Watching a child grow and seeing how they experience the world for the first time is a beautiful sight and teaches you just as a trip to China could.

To me, it’s more beautiful than the fountains of Tivoli or the ceiling in St. Peter’s Basilica.

Although watching him look at the ceiling in St. Peter’s Basilica would be pretty cool too.

One of the missionaries, who happens to be a little blunt and outspoken said, “Actually I think it’s important to wait to have kids until you are mature enough. I don’t think people should have them young…” He continued on and I was in awe at his inability to recognize social ettiquette.

His comment rubbed me the wrong way mainly because we are obviously “young parents” and here he was saying without apology that it would have been better for us to wait until we were more mature.

My mind festered on this idea of waiting for maturity all evening and finally I vented to Kyle my conclusion.

I dislike that people think it’s necessary to wait until you are mature enough to have kids. Because really, what is the cutoff. How do you know? Yes, I think a certain level of maturity is necessary, but in large part I think children bring with them a quick guide on how to be mature as an adult.