you'll just know.

 

 

After all of the specialists, blood tests, EKG's, pulmonary functions tests, and ultrasounds I was cleared to just enjoy my pregnancy without any added precautions. The need to inject myself with blood thinners was not going to be necessary. Aside from constant "morning sickness" I didn't have any complications. I even got to take some great maternity pictures thanks to my amazing and very creative friend, Tammy Mars Prine. (The second one was done underwater.)

 

 

 

Christmas Day, 2012, I went into labor. We loaded everyone up and drove out to the hospital. Just kidding. I wasn't really in labor. Load everyone up and drive back home.

That was probably the scariest part of the end of my pregnancy. Everything felt like it must be labor. It had to be. Every time I asked anyone what labor felt like the answer was always the same "you'll just know". This answer annoyed me. How do you know something when you don't know what it is supposed to feel like? My body had felt ways it never had before, so how was I to know the real thing?  I just wanted one person to describe it to me in detail.

I went to my next appointment as planned. Asking a man to explain labor was a pointless task. I know he has delivered countless babies, but no. The plan now was to set up an induction date. I would go in on the 2nd of January and be induced. It would take a while for the drugs to work, so I would deliver on the 3rd. I loved the thought of this. I have a thing with the number 3. I even have one tattooed on me. My miracle baby's birthday would be 1-3-13. Perfect.

December 28th at around midnight it started. -I assume there are only a few male readers, (Dustin Ockman) but you may want to skip to the next paragraph. -  I understand the response of "you'll just know" now. It was a completely different pain than any of the others. Maybe comparable to the worst cramps of my life, multiplied by twenty. I went into the bedroom and woke Dustin up. Ummm we may or may not be having a baby soon. I really don't know, but maybe start waking up just in case. I went back in the spare room and sat on the bed. Ouch. This has to be it. I head to the bathroom and my water broke. Ok. It's real life now. I'm having a baby.

DUSTIN!!! My water broke!! Let's go!!

We did call the hospital before we left though. After my false alarm over Christmas I didn't really want to be "that girl" again. I could barely speak the contractions were so painful. The nurse stopped me and said, "I can tell you are in labor sweetie, put down the phone and come on in." I had imagined having my hair fixed and maybe some makeup on for this trip. Nope.  The hospital was five minutes from our apartment. He drove carefully all the way up until the red light where you turn into the hospital. He ran that one. It was two in the morning though, so thankfully no one was around.

Due to all of my medical issues I was prepared for this to be the hard part. I could go into A-Fib again from the labor. My blood clotting issue could be a problem. I might not be able to breathe. Fibromyalgia is a painful disease, and this is one of the most painful things a human body goes through. Awesome. Here we go.

As soon as we came in the door they brought me straight up to labor and delivery. The first face I saw was my MFM specialist. I am so very thankful that she was on duty that night. She saw the fear all over my face. She came and held my hand and calmed me down. She had them put the epidural in before I even got put in a permanent room. This was done right away as to not put any undue stress on my heart. (Probably the first time in my life I was thankful for that stupid heart condition.) The pain stopped.

I was in labor for 13 hours. The nurse came to check me. Ready. Let's start pushing. About 3 pushing sequences later, I heard her. My angel.

They placed her on my chest. She cried. I cried. Dustin cried. My mom cried. It was over. She was here. She was perfect.

 

 

 

Later, as my sister and I walked the hospital hallway, I dropped to my knees and cried. I cried like I don't remember ever crying before. I could breathe again. My sister held me and we wept together in that hallway for what seemed like hours. We had all been holding our breath for nine months. God gave us our miracle. God made the impossible possible.

did a taylor swift song really just make me cry?

According to the ultrasound I was about four weeks along. My mom, how do I put this, she isn't an overly animated person or easily excitable. I am. If you have ever met me, you know this to be true. I guess I expected her response to be similar to mine, but she and I are just not the same. She was in nurse mode, calmly explaining to me all that needed to be done, what I needed to do next. God knew I needed a mother like her. Through all of my scary, life changing events, she would always ground me. (I tend to overreact.)

I went to tell my dad next. It was actually his birthday so Dustin and I bought him a card and put the ultrasound picture in it. I loved my dad's response. I'll keep that to myself, but he was very happy. My sister said "what?" and "no way" about twenty times. We drove home and told Dustin's mom and she was thrilled. -Side note, I was already pregnant when she gave me that Easter plate...

Next came the scary stuff, the doctor appointments. I would see a regular OB and I also would have to see an MFM (maternal fetal medicine) specialist because I was considered a high-risk pregnancy. I had to see a pulmonologist for my lung issues, a cardiologist to monitor my heart, and a hematologist for my blood disease, and they suggested a psychologist because of my history with depression. This was very overwhelming to go through right after hearing the best news of my life.

I was scared now. All of the reasons I was warned against ever having a child were now all I could think about. Miscarriage. That word. It tainted every thought. Would God really give me this gift just to take it away?  I have had a pretty volatile relationship with Him in the past so I really just didn't know the answer to that question.

Every day that passed and I stayed pregnant was a miracle in my eyes, but I was still too scared to truly accept my gift. I didn't want to get too attached, just in case. I was also very sick. I wasn't one of the lucky pregnant women who are sick only in the first trimester, I stayed sick. There are few things I hate more in this world than being sick to my stomach. I will refrain from the details. I did start trying to look at it in a positive light; after all, it meant I was still pregnant.

I was on Facebook one day and came across a video someone posted of a song that was performed at a cancer fundraiser. If you bought the song on iTunes, your money would be donated to cancer research. I have a special place in my heart for this so I purchased the song. I didn't even listen to it. It downloaded and I forgot about it. A few days later I was driving to work and it came on my playlist. About thirty seconds into the song I had to pull over. My eyes filled with tears so quickly I couldn't see the road. I sat there on the side of the road and played the song about five times in a row just holding my stomach. I cried and cried and just when I thought I was done, I cried a little more. Hearing that song completely changed the way I looked at my pregnancy from that day forward.

The song is sad. It is about a woman who lost her four year old son to cancer. I can't even imagine a greater pain. There was a line in the song that put everything into perspective for me.

"But what if the miracle was even getting one moment with you."

What if my miracle was just getting pregnant? What if that was all I was ever supposed to have?

In that moment the fear of miscarriage left me. The mental preparations of how angry I would be at God if He took my baby from me stopped. He already gave me the miracle. I got to have the excitement over the two lines. I got to hear the heartbeat of that perfect little life beating inside of me. I got to see her body developing and growing on the ultrasound. God had already answered my prayer. No matter what happened from this day forward, I would thank Him for every single moment with her. My baby… My miracle…

what do the two lines mean?

My mother-in-law is probably one of my favorite human beings of all time. She made me feel loved from the moment I met her. We have had some of the most amazing talks over the past two and half years. One of those conversations was about my inability to have children. She would just laugh and tell me not to speak that. God would give us a child. She actually said it so much in the first six months of our relationship that it started to hurt my feelings.

I went through a very painful acceptance process that I would never have a child. There are only so many negative pregnancy tests a woman wanting a baby can look at. I was even more convinced that this would never happen when my ex husband fathered a child. It really was me. I'm the broken one. It was shattering to finally give up, but that is just what I had to do to stop hurting.

It was Easter of 2012 when my mother in love bought me a gift that broke my heart. It was an egg platter to put colored Easter eggs on. She said she purchased it for her grand baby. I smiled and took the gift, but I cried after. Why couldn't she just let it go? Why did she keep saying that God was giving us a baby? Doesn't she know how badly that hurts me to know that I will never be able to give her or my parents grandchildren? I left it in the bag she gave it to me in and shoved it under the bed.

About two weeks later I started getting very sick. At first I thought food poisoning, but it wasn't going away so it must be a stomach virus. Dustin bought a pregnancy test after the first week of me being sick. I rolled my eyes and threw it in the cabinet. Yeah right. I'll never take another one of those.

May 3, 2012 - I woke up for work around 6:30. I open my cabinet to get a towel for my shower and I see the test. No. Don't even waste your time. Well, it can't hurt to just take it and then I don't have to see it staring at me every time I open my bathroom cabinet. I take the test and get in the shower.

By the time I got out of the shower I had already forgotten about the test and started rushing to get ready. I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and I look down at it. Wait. What? Is that? No. It can't. Where's the box? WHAT DO THE TWO LINES MEAN?! I am shaking and crying. This can't be real. I grab my phone and call my friend. I am crying so hard by this point that she thinks someone has died. I try to compose myself but still just scream in the phone asking her what two lines meant.

I'm pregnant. Two lines mean that I am pregnant. I don't even know how to put into words what happened next. All of the emotions, all of the hurt, all of the heartbreak over knowing I would never know what that felt like just poured out of my eyes.

I called into work and said –I’m not sick, but I think I'm calling in pregnant. I need to go to the doctor.

Dustin lived about 20 minutes from me and all I could think about was getting out the door to tell him. Surprisingly, trying to decide what to wear to go tell someone that you are pregnant is harder than it sounds. I went for my favorite James Dean shirt. (I'm sure that's important to the story.) The drive to his house felt like forever. How would I tell him? How would he react? I decided on getting him a box of donuts. Nothing says I'm pregnant like a box of donuts.

He was still asleep when I arrived to his house. I walked over to his bed in the dark and handed him the box of donuts. He looked up at me very confused. Why aren't you at work? Is everything ok? Ummm so, yeah. I'm pregnant.

Silence.

He finally sat up and gave me a hug and said that he needed to take a shower. He is not a morning person.

He got out of the shower and the excitement was there now. He didn't want to get too excited yet though, and suggested I take the other test. It was positive too. I was so excited. He was so excited. Let's go to the doctor.

We drove to the VA clinic in Baton Rouge to get a blood test. We waited for what seemed like forever and after the test they said they'd call us with the results. What!? No! I need to know now! I called my mom at this point. After all, she does work at a crisis pregnancy center. I just told her that we were in town and wanted to come by for a visit. When we got to the clinic she could see it on my face. She brought me straight back to the ultrasound room and I saw her for the first time, my little tiny egg yolk. It was real. It was true.

I am having a baby.

3 years later... 

part two.

After those six months were up, I only got deeper into my depression. I wanted to die. I thought I was ready to die. I was living in Fort Myers, Florida during this time period. I was living in a house with a group of guys that were in a band. My cousin and I shared a back porch that one of them turned into a makeshift bedroom. We shared an air mattress and paid 60 dollars a month for rent. We were both in massage therapy school at the time, but I was just passing the days. I remember getting pulled over on my way to school one morning for running a stop sign. I had never stopped drinking from the night before. I somehow convinced the officer that I was just hungover (he smelled the alcohol) and tired. Instead of that being a wakeup call I just decided that it obviously meant I needed to quit school. I started working at a bar selling shots. I learned quickly that you make more money if you let them buy you shots. That was pretty conducive to my desired lifestyle. I was having a lot of panic attacks during this time. My heart condition would make me dizzy, nauseous, and my heart would race. It got to where I couldn't tell the difference between having an actual attack and just panicking. I went to the hospital a lot.

I moved out of the house and got an apartment with my cousin. We had a pretty horrible falling out soon after. I see now that I was a pretty miserable person to be around. Suicidal people often are. She moved out and two of my friends moved in. I still feel bad about how difficult it must have been to be around me. I lived in a constant pity party.  I ended up in the hospital again, but this time I had a blood clot, supposedly a blood clot that was going to be the end of me. (Here we go again) I was so scared and so alone. They took me out of my room to get a CT scan and when I returned there was my roommate, holding a pair of socks. I will love her forever for that.

Whatever medicine they gave me worked. I could go home, but I really needed to stop drinking. Ok. Sure. I just got worse. I remember calling my mom one night and begging her to tell me it was ok to kill myself. To say that I continuously broke her heart is an understatement. The fibromyalgia is the main reason I wanted to die. I was in so much pain, constant, unrelenting, excruciating pain. - If they loved me they would understand. They are the selfish ones expecting me to live like this. I'm just going to die soon anyways. - oh the lies I would tell myself to justify this thought process.

I was at work one night and I met a guy. This guy will have his own post one day, but not today. He was the one with the little girl. After we broke up (that's what I'll call it for now) I never got to see the little girl I had grown to love again. This put an ache in my heart. I wanted a child. I wanted a family. I wanted a future. Somehow, someone trying to kill me actually made me want to live. Crazy.

When I met the next man in my life it was all I could think about. I wanted a baby. We tried for a while, but no baby. We went to fertility doctors and specialists. No baby. I actually had one doctor tell me that with my health problems I was being selfish trying to bring a baby into my world. My heart condition could cause me to have serious problems with pregnancy and delivery. My fibromyalgia would make pregnancy very painful. My lung problems would make delivery dangerous. My blood clotting disease would make it nearly impossible to get pregnant and if I did, I would most likely miscarry. I didn't care, I wanted a baby. Looking back now I see that I was trying to fill a hole. I was trying to replace what was lost. I am very thankful that I never became pregnant during that time.

I had heart surgery in September of 2009. They did an atrial fibrillation ablation and froze the node that was electrocuting my heart. I have not gone into a-fib since the surgery. I started seeing a chiropractor that did wonders for my fibro. My pain levels went from a constant 10 down to a 6 or 7 if I'm not having a flare up. It was life changing. I did still have the antiphospholipid antibody syndrome, so pregnancy still seemed impossible.


When I met Dustin I made it clear to him that I couldn’t give him a child. I wanted him to know that in the beginning so he could decide if he wanted to continue with this relationship. He let me know that I was exactly who he had been praying for his entire life. He wasn't going anywhere.  His God was bigger.

challenge accepted. part one.

I am not one of those girls that grew up dreaming of Prince Charming and babies. I can't even recall having any desire to have a child until I was actually raising one. I dated a man that had a child. She had just turned one when we started dating. I loved this little girl. She is the reason that I felt like I was capable of being someone's mother. Before that, I was such a train wreck that I could barely take care of myself, much less another human being. I had pretty serious health problems, I had severe depression issues, and basically I was just a mess. I feel like this is going to require some backstory.

I was 19 when I joined the Army. I can't even recall now why I thought I needed to do that, but away I went. I loved being in the military. It gave me purpose. I felt like I was starting to thrive for the first time in my life. Then I went to Germany. When I arrived in country I had to go to the field to join my unit. I wasn't there a whole day before they sent me to KP (working in the kitchen). I didn't know anyone. The next morning I woke up to a man trying to rape me. The bay was empty and it was just us. This has happened to me before. I know what comes next. This time I was stronger though. I wasn't a helpless little girl. I fought back. I kicked, I screamed, I punched, and he stopped. He left the bay and I tried to gather my composure. I marched right into that kitchen and made a scene. Please! Someone! Help me! The woman in charge called the military police and I was taken to speak with CID. (Criminal investigative division).

The end result was that it was my word against his because there were no witnesses and there was nothing that they could do. My question, to this day, is why would someone try to rape someone if there were witnesses? Pretty sure they'd look around a bit first. Other people were questioned and stated that he told them to leave the bay but I came in late the night before so I got to sleep in that day. Another NCO told them that he talked about me to him when I first arrived. , he made reference to all that he would like to do to me. None of this mattered. Nothing happened to him. I was sent back to the unit and called for a meeting by the First Sergeant. She didn't call me in to console me, she wanted to reprimand me. She made it clear that they don't tolerate girls like me that dress like me, and carry themselves as I do. Just a reminder, she had never met me. I was in the field so the only dress I had worn were my uniforms, and I hadn't even made any friends so she had never even seen me interact with anyone. This was my fault. Within a few weeks she had me transferred out of my unit and sent me to headquarters to work in operations. This was pretty hard on me. I was very far from home excited about a new life and now I'm cast out with a scarlet letter.

That really was a blessing in disguise though because I eventually started working directly for the CSM (command sergeant major) and he was such a positive influence in my life. We are still great friends to this day. Nothing ever happened to that NCO, but that is just one of those things that God will have to handle for me. Enough of that...

I was later medically retired from the military due to some lung issues and fibromyalgia. A short while after I was discharged I was visiting a friend in North Carolina and had my first attack on my heart. I had a condition called Atrial Fibrillation and the doctors could not get my heart back in to a normal rhythm. It made me very sick. I can't recall ever being that scared. They had never seen something like this in someone so young. It only affected the elderly. I was 21. After a few hours of my heart running a marathon it finally regulated. I was discharged a few days later but instructed to find a cardiologist when I returned home.

The first cardiologist I saw was a jerk. It was a horrible experience. He basically just tried to scare me. He said that due to my lifestyle he gives me maybe six months to live with this kind of condition. The lifestyle he referred to was my drinking. Oh the drinking... I can barely drink one glass of wine without getting tipsy now. I drank a lot. The night I had my first attack I had an entire bottle of orange rum in about two hours. (I still can't even smell that stuff)

I left that office thinking my life was over. I was really going to die. I know now that isn't what he meant, but I was a dumb (dramatic) kid. I took him literally. So instead of changing my life I decided to take it as a challenge. I drank, and drank, and drank a little more. I partied. I made a lot of bad choices. Why not? I was about to die.

This went into a completely different direction. I will have to write the rest later.

nonsense post number one.

I don't really have a timeline in mind for how I want to do this project. I know that I want the stories of my life to be here and not sitting in my head. I struggle with knowing exactly how much I want to share. I have only been doing this for a week and have had such wonderful encouragement so far. I did get a message from one friend making fun of how mushy I have gotten in my old age, but Erica is a punk, so I expect that from her. (Love you E.) 

I have been writing in journals or diaries for a very long time. This is nothing like that. It is public. It is vulnerable. It is scary. I have been through some things during my thirty something years on this earth. One thing that I have learned from those experiences is that sharing them with others is not only therapeutic for me, but it also has the chance of helping someone that has also gone through a similar situation. Keeping it in my own head only makes me crazy. I even went crazy at one point. We refer to that as my "coo coo for cocoa puffs" time.. (That's another story for a different day.) 

I don't think this will be in chronological order. Maybe just whatever is on my heart on that particular day is what I will write about. I really want to get on paper (screen) the story of my sweet baby girl. My miracle. 

She gets her own post though, so I'll just publish this one and start working on her story. 

forever love.

I have a tattoo on my right forearm that says "Forever Love". I got this tattoo a few days after my divorce was finalized. I felt like I needed a reminder, a large and painful reminder that love is supposed to be forever. I don't think I plan on ever really writing any more than that about my divorce. Back to the story...

I met Dustin about 9 years ago. We were both at a party at the Danford house. I was standing in the garage and he came up to me and introduced himself. He was 18 and in the Marines. (Maybe home on leave or about to join?) That is all that was said. A few years later we were both on the same tubing trip. I don't really remember him, but that isn't saying much. I may have had a beer or 10.. I recall him being at the Danford home during Mardi Gras one year. He never spoke to me. The next time was after a wedding in June of 2011, again at the Danford's, but this time it was Angela's house. I must have noticed him for the first time this day, because I totally hit on him. His arm had an amazing tattoo scene on it and he had a beard. Done.  - I found out later that he had a crush on me since that first meeting. Apparently he doesn't talk to people he has crushes on. 

I went to a house warming party for our mutual friend Seth. I was tagging everyone at the party on Facebook, because that is what you do. Duh. I got to Dustin and realized we weren't Facebook friends so I sent him a request.

We messaged each other, and then started texting. We actually had a lot in common. I felt like a teenager, texting all day and into the night. We decided that he would come out to where I was living in Baton Rouge for a 'date'...

He arrived to my apartment and I met him outside in the parking lot. It felt like a scene from a movie. He greeted me with the best hug I have ever been given. We still talk about that hug. It was as if in that moment, in the safety of his arms, I felt home.

 

The week before this my thoughts on relationships was that they were all pointless. They just weren't for me. That 'forever love' didn't exist, and if it did, it wouldn't happen for me.  I made it clear to any one that tried to date me that it wasn't going to happen. I don't 'do' relationships.

One week in, he asked me to be his girlfriend. This was on September 12th, 2011. I told him no, but to ask me again tomorrow. He asked again the next day and I said yes. I just didn't want our anniversary to be on his birthday. (I'm just thoughtful like that.)

I think it took us about two weeks before we both blurted out that we loved each other. After a year of dating I was madly in love. On our one year anniversary he gave me an infinity ring with the words "my forever love" engraved on the inside. I told him the story of my tattoo one time, in the very beginning of the relationship and we never talked about it again. He listened. He wanted me to know that his intentions were for forever.
                                      

 

That ring has now been replaced with an engagement ring. I get to marry this wonderful man exactly three years after we started this wonderful love story.  I know that forever takes work, but he makes it seem possible. Now when I see the tattoo on my arm, I smile. He is my forever love.

 

giving it away.

      Aside from being called mom and "the tattooed girl", I now have a new title. I am a fiancé. I never expected to be as excited about this title as I am. I have not exactly had the best run at the whole relationship thing. I have dated a variety of people over the last almost 20ish years. I have dated people who were physically abusive, mentally abusive, demanding, dishonest, controlling, and unfaithful. That is not to say there weren't a few good ones along the way, but that was very rare.  The catalyst in all of these bad relationships was me. I realize that now. When you feel as though you aren't deserving of anything wonderful, you settle for whoever shows you attention, good or bad.  I can remember when I went from feeling valuable and deserving to worthless and undeserving.  I went from being sweet and loving to hateful, and angry, oh so very angry.

   The one thing that I can say changed that year is that I stopped "saving myself".  I gave it away. There was no ring or ceremony, just a dark room and a boy I didn't know well enough to be sharing anything with. I think about these things now that I have a little girl. I think about what I can say or do to make her realize how important that actually is. Once it is gone you can't get it back. Ever.

     I am in love now. With the most amazing person I have ever loved in my life. He gave me a ring, down on his knee. This is the man that God chose for me. My only regret is that I did not decide at a young age to trust that God had a plan for me, that God had a man just for me. It hurts my heart that I didn't wait for him.

     I still don't know the right way to raise a little girl to know her worth, to know her value, and her plan, but I will continue to pray for guidance so that hopefully she will not have to experience the same kind of pain and suffering that I did.

the little black sun.

     I still remember my mother's reaction when she saw my first tattoo. It was a tiny little sun on my right ankle the size of a quarter. For years I never even knew how she noticed something so small and insignificant, and then I had a child of my own. I get it now. When you bathe, lotion, change, and dress another human being every day of their life you know every single mark on that body. So, back to the story...

     She was mad, or maybe hurt is a better word. I don't even remember exactly how old I was or what stage of my life, I think 18 or 19 but my memory has a ton of holes in it. I will never forget the feeling of disappointing my mom though.  We were discussing the title of my blog last night and she reminded me of why she felt so strongly about the tattoos. She never wanted them to define me. She didn't want people to make automatic judgments about what or who I was just by seeing a tattoo.

     While I think I have never let my tattoos define me, she was right about the initial judgments from others. These judgments have come in two forms. Most of the initial responses that I get now are positive. The "oh I love your ink, your tattoos are awesome, girls with tattoos are so hot, did that hurt, what do they mean" are mostly what I get from people. I have also had negative reactions, but those are pretty random and it is mostly in Walmart. Strangers would pull their children closer to them like maybe tattoos were contagious, or I was going to try and kidnap them. Some occasional bold (rude) people will actually say that I look gross or ugly, and I even got a -you are disgusting, once.

     When I walk past a mirror I sometimes have to take a second glance. I do not see myself as tattooed. In my own view of myself all of my skin is free from ink. I don't know why that is or if any other tattooed people feel that way, but I do. They definitely do not define how I view myself physically.

     The funniest misconception to me is that people somehow think I am tough because I have them.  I am actually a pretty sensitive little cry baby. Most of my tattoos are of flowers, not skulls and crossbones. That is not to say I don't have my tough girl moments, but I was also in the Army so I'm pretty sure the tough came before the tattoos.

the beginning...

    I have had two main fears about writing a blog. The first one is because of clothes. I have a shirt in my closet that I bought a few years ago. I loved this shirt. I wore this shirt and felt so stylish. Looking back on that shirt now I think it is hideous. I see pictures of me wearing this shirt and I am mortified. This leads me to my first fear, hindsight. When you look back on things you can see them more clearly than you did at the time. This is true for relationships, clothing, hair styles, and writing. I look back at old diaries and think that there is no way that I actually wrote that nonsense. Hopefully in the next year I won't look back at this endeavor and be mortified by the nonsense documented on the web forever.

    The second fear I have is about grammar. I am one of those obnoxious people that notice grammatical errors. That has given me quite the reputation... The problem is I am actually not that great at grammar. I know the basics. I don't use to when it should be too, but aside from the main ones, I am still learning. Correct placement of commas will make my hands sweat. I sometimes just wing it and hope that it is right. I also google a lot! I will read an entire online English lesson just to make sure that I used the correct word on a Facebook post. That being said, when something is incorrect please, please, please let me know! I hate when I read over something later and notice an error. I can take correction, I promise.

     So here it is -my very first blog post. I am excited and nervous. I needed an outlet for all that is in my head. I want a place for my daughter to be able to read about the events of her life. I also want to write about my past, my experiences, my pain, my joys, and my heartbreaks.
The title comes from trying to think of a name that describes me. When I have asked for suggestions from friends it would always have something to do with my tattoos or being a mom. I can honestly say that being a mom is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me, but I am more than just a mother. I am more than ink. I am more than diapers. I want to write about more than just those two things. I want to write about all of me.