Confession: I Like to Pick Boogers...

... No, no, not my own (although this dry Fresno weather does do a number on my nose). You know the aspirators that you have to use on babies because the poor things don't know how to blow their own nose? Well, I really, really like aspirating my baby's nose. I know, gross. But I can't help it. I like the noise that it makes when shhhhhlooooooppp, success, you got one! I like when Eden says "ahhhh" afterward, as if she's saying "thanks mommy! I feel so much better now that I can breathe!" It's weird, I know, but I like the small, gross things that you do when you're a mommy. Only a mommy would, after their husband volunteers to change a poopy diaper, run upstairs anyway to check out said diaper and make sure everything looks as it should. (Maybe that's not a mommy thing, it might just be me.... in any case, it's what I do.)
Andy always gets on to me because I happen to pick the worst times to want to aspirate our darling daughter's nose. Like when we're in the airport, and she's squirmy anyway from unfamiliarity. Or when she's already overly tired and frustrated. But there is just something in me, that uncontrollable desire, when I see a mean 'ol boogie (how I refer to them to Eden) in that cute little nose of hers, I just have to get it out! Also, if she's got some gunk in her eyes, everything else must stop until I successfully remove it, even if we're in the middle of a photoshoot (as Lynn Smith can attest to)... I mean, she's got to look her best! And ohh, that really drives Andy up a wall. But he's sweet, and patient, and allows me to continue on with my motherly ways.
I think it's because I'm a bit obsessive compulsive. My mom would tell you how when I was a child (okay, okay, a teenager) I had to ask her at least 3 times "are all of the doors locked?" before I went to bed. My sister would tell you how I just threw a fit at her if she ever left water on our bathroom sink. My husband would tell you how I can't go to sleep at night if any of our dresser drawers are slightly open, or our closet door is even the tiniest bit cracked. Okay, maybe I'm more than a bit obsessive compulsive. Before you refer me to any types of medication, I have to admit that for some reason I'm just not that way about everything. About the things that really matter. Like the clean laundry that has piled up for days without being hung in it's proper place. Or the dishes in the dishwasher that are patiently waiting to return to their cabinet. For some reason, I just have to push all of those drawers in, and close that closet door at night... but don't you dare look in those drawers or closet. Who knows what you might find. See, I warned you that my life was messy.
Isn't that the way we are sometimes? We have to be pushed in, shut, looking all neat and orderly on the outside, when inside we're just full of junk. I think I've felt that way more than ever once I became a mom. I don't know why I think that I have to look so put together, like I've got it all under control. Because really, who can honestly say that they're put together when they've got a baby? You can't be that put together when you've got spit up in your hair.
I want my daughter to grow up knowing that it's okay to feel broken sometimes. That it's okay to not be perfect. That it's okay to ask others for help. And I want her to know that that is why I have Christ, to mend a broken, messed up me.
We live in a world where, especially as women, you have to look, act, and think in just the right way. But life's not really like that, and I pray that Eden never falls into that trap. It's a scary thing, being a mother. I know that she will grow, and live by the example I set for her. So I continue to pray that I can be the type of person that I would want my daughter to be. That I can be for her what my own mother was to me.

By the way, we visited our pediatrian today.... and that daughter of ours is a whopping 16.4 lbs! It's okay, go ahead and call her chunky. She knows that what matters is on the inside :)