There are only a handful of moments in my life where I get an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. You know what I'm talking about. The proud moments in your life. The times you feel like you are on top of the world. You faced something hard head on and SUCCEEDED.
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| Bye-bye pumping station. Until next time... |
For me, these have been...
1. Earning the title of MVP on my high school volleyball team
2. Earning an athletic scholarship
3. Letting parts of my past go as much as I wanted to hang on to them (learning forgiveness)
4. Becoming Chancellor Scholar Athlete of the Year my final year in college
5. Earning a 3.8 GPA a couple semesters in a row during college and graduating in four years (while balancing 18 credits, playing volleyball and holding a part-time job)
6. Moving to Minnesota on a whim knowing only my brother
7. Starting over from heart break, empty and lost and building incredible amazing new relationships with strangers who are now some of my bestest friends
8. Allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of hundreds of people
9. Marrying my husband
10. Traveling and exploring parts of the world
11. Writing an entire 300+ page novel
12. Giving birth to my son Jackson
13. ....and now this...
I talked about this awesome feeling in an earlier post. The day when you wake up and you feel it... MAGIC. You do something for YOU - something HARD and GRUELING and CHALLENGING, but you keep getting up and keep on truckin' because you know when you finish, you'll feel so damn proud of yourself, it's ridiculous.
The moment when you realize how strong you really are.
I don't need anyone else slapping me on the back or handing me an award. It's a feeling that I've only created and I'm treasuring it.
I successfully nursed for an entire year. Why is this such a big deal for me? Maybe because nursing was SO hard for me. SO SO SO hard. Painful. A HUGE time commitment. But I knew if I kept at it, I could and would do it. And I did.
I remember at 6 weeks, I thought a year seemed so incredibly far away. I was cracked and bleeding and so sore. Every latch made me feel like one of Dexter's victims - like he was sticking his razor blade to my skin drawing blood for one of his slides. I wasn't sure I could hang on. But I did. People told me to give up, but I wanted this. I needed this. Maybe a control thing? Maybe because I'm crazy? I don't know.
Three pumps a day at work, 5 days a week, 25 minutes a time...in a smelly, gross bathroom. Yes, I know...law says I shouldn't have to pump in a bathroom. Sadly, it was my only option. At 8 months I dropped a pump. I was pumping twice a day at work. 11 months I went to once a day. This week Jackson turned one, and I'm doing one pump for 5-10 minutes each day. Next week I drop all pumps.
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| At least Jackson likes my pump parts... |
So tell me this. Why am I sad??? I hate lugging that big ol' pump bag around and cleaning my parts and bottles out every night. Drives me crazy. And now I'm sad!?!?!? What gives?
This is when I know the moment is pure. Real. One that means something. And I grow. I'm a force to be reckoned with.
I DID IT.
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