Hold on. Don't let go.

Hold on. Don't let go.

The way the anchor tries to grab the sand, it sinks in deep but with no rocks it glides along the brown sun-kissed earth underneath the deep turquoise water. It continues to slide, like our love. It tries to hold on to whatever it can,yet with no foundation or solid ground it grazes on by, wanting to create stability but not knowing how.

Hold on. Don't let go.

Like the warmth from the fire. You stand close and can feel your soul fill with heat. The back of your legs feel like they were slapped by the sun. The way children did Indian burns on your skin, the fire burns deep, stinging and letting you know your alive. You turn over when you can't take it anymore, warming the front, your shins feeling the warmth build. When you're satisfied you run to the cold bed not wanting to lose the heat. You begin to feel the goosebumps creep onto your skin,  the sheets capturing the heat as it escapes into nothingness. You want the warmth to stay, but it only stays while you are near the flame. You want love to stay warm, the good warmth that soothes your gut like coffee on a cold day. The way the mug brings life to your cold fingertips, little fireflies dance within your veins, bringing life back into the numbness.

Hold on. Don't let go.

Like the leaves that hold onto the tree limbs. They know the end is near as fall sneaks in. It begins slowly, the yellow green that slowly turns into yellow. The sunflower colored leaves then turn the burnt orange that mimics the Arizona sunsets.  It clings on, showing their dances with the cool northern wind sashaying and two stepping with their neighbors. They are hoping that one more day will grace their surface and that they can bathe in the golden hues. Then they turn brown, their partners have fallen to the ground, and the brown leaf is left alone, cold and weak as the first snow starts to fall. It lets go, hanging on is too hard, it drifts off its branch giving its last solo. Twirling, floating, like a ballerina on the stage, showing that even though it's time has come to an end, that the finale was quite simply put, beautiful.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Your hair smells of sweet lavender that was just picked from the field with a dash of vanilla bean that wraps around the stem. Your hair stands on edge like the way cotton candy clings to the cone. It's light and airy like the white clouds before a storm, puffy like cotton balls. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Your lungs rise and fall like the fan you air a fire. Steady as it fuels the flame. The way it fuels your deep belly laugh and the dreams you dream about. Your eyelids flutter like hummingbird wings, the way they gracefully land but never stay long. As they hover so does your hand, making sure it embraces mine. Your tiny fingertips dance along my skin, doing twirls like figure skaters that waltz along the ice. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

A yawn, a deep yawn that brings a little sigh at the end. The sweetest of all sounds. The sound that fills the soul with happiness. The kind of happiness after a long day where you take your shoes off and feel the cool air whisk away the heat, the warm bleached smell of laundry that wraps around your clean body before going to bed and the way the sun heats your body when you come from within a cold building. The yawn captures the depths of my heart. It burrows deep like the mouse that digs in the cold earth creating space that I never knew existed.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Be still my heat. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

And then our breaths match. Like a pendulum that is continuous and steady. His nose which is nuzzled to my neck breathes puffs of milk scented air that is warm like the breaths that warm your hands on a n icy night. His dimpled fingers graze my cheek to make sure I am as close as can be, and when he is assured that I won't move an inch, we fade off into never land.

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

No one tells you!

(FAMILY and anyone that gets grossed out- stop here)

I gave you a warning. I am going to give you one more warning. Don't read on if you get grossed out or think you will get a different view of who Natalie is. Yes I tell it how it is, and well, sometimes, its not the prettiest... so stop here and go get yourself a cup of coffee and read the newspaper.

Okay, here we go, no turning back now.

I got shot today. Not by a bullet. Not by a needle. No, I got shot by mother nature in the vagina. No one warned me about this day. They said it would be gross and that recovery would be hard after a baby, but no one said it would be this hard or that it would happen 4.5 months later.

After having my baby, recovery was a lot easier than I thought. Yes I have a permanent muffin top that I can't feel (if you can't feel it its not really there right? My jeans say differently) and even though I am back down to my pre-baby weight nothing fits anymore...recovery was a breeze. I solely pump and have been able to give my little guy the best of the best. They say you don't get your period while you breastfeed. I almost had a scare around 3 months with spotting so I googled on how to stop that beast in its track. It said start pumping more. So I became a pumper on a marathon, or on speed, or both. I felt I looked like Madonna with the cone boobs. Aint no one telling me what I can and can't do, and mother nature was sure as hell not coming right now.

Karma is a bitch. She is probably one of those sixth sense Gods and read my mind back then. So she came with vengeance, and her goal was to make my life miserable. So she wins and I am yelling "uncle" to her every 30 minutes. She wanted to make it a little better and let my kid have constipation at the same time. I couldn't stop flowing and he couldn't get flowing. It was a loss loss and we were both miserable. I tried everything for both of us. I would lay very still (as still as you can with a 4 month old) and I tried to do everything for that shit to come shooting out his ass (prune juice, bicycle kicks, rubbing his stomach). Nothing was working for either of us.

I almost threw the towel in, and not in my vagina as I seriously thought of (because who the crap can make a bigger tampon that super ultra plus which is just a nicer way to say you got a serious flow issue) and I sat there thinking it couldn't get worse. So here I went, back to the doctor of Google. They said to stick a thermometer up his butt. WALA- at least one of us will be okay. So we did that- I took that kids' temperature 4 times. Each time you could see his butt clench and I got a few good farts that smelled awful (starting solid foods does have its negatives). And then it came, a hard turd followed by mush (kinda reminded me of that one firework thing that starts as a black worm and gets bigger and moves around before dying and turning to a lump of black crap?), and I had what I like to call a poop party where we celebrate the end of crying constipation. I laughed, which then made me have to run to the restroom, then run another load of laundry and then cry uncle once more.

He finally is down, I guess pooping really wears a kid out. And I am sitting on two towels writing this, because aint nobody has time for a fourth load of laundry. No one tells you how hard motherhood is, especially when it comes to this.

Positives of Deployment

7,722 miles

7,722 miles that separate you from me. Not long ago you were just 67 miles away for training. Those 67 miles felt the way Pluto probably feels about being separated from the rest of the planets, too far away. I am not sure how you comprehend distance. When I walk a mile I want to get on a strict no carb-diet, lets try and run every day, and get back in shape because I feel like death walking to my mailbox. But then when walking through the baking isle of the grocery store, the brownies tell me that I am beautiful just the way I am and I don't need to walk any miles... you sneaky bastard. But seriously, I have traveled 8,747 miles to Cape Town, Africa and the only way that I survived was because of Ambien. If I had not had that sweet small white pill that made sleeping in a small seat tolerable, my ass would be begging to walk a mile, heck, maybe even two. *Lets be realistic, probably only a half mile.* Either way, miles seem incredibly long, especially when you are away from the hunk of your dreams for the next 9 months.

They say its going to be hard going through deployment. Some say there are going to be miserable days, and heck, maybe I am in denial right now. My emotions will hit me like all the ladies off of Maury who start bawling because the ghetto man with 24 children is cheating on her. *didn't know that one was coming* I know its there, but it just hasn't hit me yet. So I am trying to look at all the positives right now. 

ONE: I just ate breakfast for dinner. It was marvelous. And I ate it off a paper plate. Dishes done- check :). 

TWO: I have the entire bed to myself. Well, kinda, IF you don't take into account this ropy-poly of a child I have that moves more than a bug that gets stuck on its back that frantically moves its legs around trying to flip itself over. I honestly don't know what 8 hours of sleep is like anymore, so I guess having the whole bed to myself doesn't really mean much if you don't actually get sleep.

THREE: I don't have to shower if I don't want to. My child can't say I smell like throw up because he thinks the sun shines out of my ass, I am his main food source, and oh yes, he's only 4 months old. Yes it bothers me when I keep saying to myself, "dam something smells bad!" It wasn't body odor from my pits or the morning breath... this was different.You should see me looking everywhere in the house for the spoiled milk smell that engulfed me. I am so exhausted from my sleepless nights, that I don't think to look at my shoulder where milk curds are plastered in the shape of a grandma's shoulder pad- its attractive let me tell you. I then look at my kiddo, wishing he could have told me how much of an idiot I am before pulling dishes out of the cupboards, washing my sheets (this needed to be done anyway) and pulling the cushions from the couch in hopes to find the source. He smiles, and attempts to giggle which makes the whole situation humorous. 

FOUR: I don't have to shave. It IS time to shave when your child can pull your leg hairs... just kidding, or am I?

FIVE: Laundry. He hated when I didn't fold the laundry and he would run out of underwear. Yes, sometimes it got that bad. At the time I was VERY pregnant and my ankles, um cankles, were so swollen that I didn't want to do anything except for sleeping, and eating. But now I can hit the refresh button every morning until I get around to it. Whoever invented the refresh cycle on the dryer was a genus. 

SIX: Feeling like a teenager. When you live with someone and see them every evening, you get to the point where seeing them isn't exciting anymore. The gym shorts that you constantly pick up every morning that get covered in dog hair, the chin hairs that grace the sink after just cleaning the bathroom, the pee splatters that never get in the bowl, and the glass of milk left in the sink from the night before that have been paired with the half empty pan of brownies gets tiring. These become habits wives get annoyed with. These "habits" are something I crave to have again. I used to get upset when I wouldn't hear from him while he worked, but now I bounce up and down from getting ONE text message while he is gone. I don't literally bounce up and down, but I get those butterflies that come when you found out in 8th grade a boy thought you had pretty hair and wanted to "go out with you" (aka sit next to you at lunch- oh sweet young love). 

I miss the crap out of him, and I would walk 7,722 miles if it meant I could be with him. It would probably take me 9 months to do, or more since I am not good at math, but he's worth it. I'd bitch probably the whole way because Natalie doesn't exercise, and brownies and I would get into a tiff, but the man is sure worth the walk and my oh my I'd look good after it!