BIG, BIG NEWS ALERT

IT’S HAPPENING!

You know how people tell you that you should shoot for your dreams? This year, after far too long of mulling over it, I went for it. I launched myself towards them and I didn’t look back.

I’m so excited (and quite honestly, in a bit of disbelief) to announce that I’ve signed with an AGENT and MY BOOK is officially underway. It was written about motherhood for YOU. It’ll make you laugh, it’ll make you cry, it’ll look a lot like what you see here – and I hope you’ll love it.

My agent and I had a chit-chat this morning about next steps, and he will be pitching it to publishers come January.

Keep your fingers crossed, send your prayers, and your best vibes.

I’m so excited to share the next stretch of this journey with you and am forever grateful for your support and friendship. ❤️

All my love, always.
A

P. S I see you, Maxwell.

Advertisements

I Won’t Miss the Mess

Fun fact: I cleaned my house yesterday.

Like spent a solid few hours cleaning my house.

I did the tidying thing.

The vacuuming thing.

Heck, I even did the wiping the finger prints off of every surface thing.

Things looked good yesterday night. Someone could “drop-in” and I wouldn’t be ashamed.

My house was cozy and my mind was calm.

Man, does a clean house make my mind calm.

But then this morning the boys woke up in a needy mood.

Which is meant we were going to be late for our morning plans.

Which meant I would be rushing.

Which meant I wouldn’t be putting things away as I went.

Which also meant the boys would be tearing things apart as a way to express their frustration and get my attention.

So, everything I did yesterday? All those hours I put in? You wouldn’t even know.

I mean look at this.

The diapers on the floor. The tree missing ornaments. The random pieces of cardboard and clothing scattered about. Not to mention the banana smooshed into the floor and milk spilled on the couch.

Anxiety.

This is what my anxiety looks like in the physical form.

This is what my mind looks like trying to keep up with everything on my plate.

Look, you can tell me that one day I won’t have little munchkins to clean up after.

I get it.

I cherish my moments.

But this living in a constant state of chaos thing? It’s killing my nerves.

This constantly cleaning and stepping on toys and feeling like I’m always in the middle of the same mess, drains me.

My husband pulls his weight.

I pull my weight.

We have bins and storage compartments and we tidy every. single. day.

But we can’t keep up.

Not in this season of life.

With two youngsters, ages two and ten months, we tend to find ourselves up to our elbows in stuff. Physical stuff, emotional stuff, financial stuff, just stuff.

And we try to purge and we try to maintain and we try to manage.

But there never seems to be enough time. There always seems to be something else.

There’s always stuff.

Quite honestly, this season of parenting looks a lot like my living room. It’s a lot of disorganized chaos.

And every day I give my best and honest effort.

Some days it falls apart.

Some days we keep it together.

Some days it looks like actual humans live here rather than a village of monkeys.

Look, I get it.

I get what you’re thinking and I know it, too.

I’ll miss having my babies tiny.

But man, guys. I don’t think I’m gonna miss the mess.

Actually, I know I won’t miss the mess.

Because the mess sucks me dry.

It takes up my time and then creeps back up on me on the bad days.

It’s reflective of the days I simply can’t handle the chaos.

It’s my Achilles.

I can honestly, without a doubt say – I’ll miss my tiny munchkins rummaging on the floor but I sure as hell won’t miss the mess.

Shame the Shamers

I have something to say this morning outside of my typical mumblings.

Some may not like it, some might, but I feel like it needs to be said.

In recent weeks I’ve seen my words all over the internet which has been a huge blessing.

But with a larger reach comes a larger audience and not everyone is as kind as the people on this page.

I’m all about telling it like it is in my day-to-day.

Some people can relate, some can’t.

Which is normal because motherhood is different for everyone.

Some of us have joyous pregnancies, for others, it can be messy, scary, or even heartwrenching.

Labour and delivery is full of the unexpected with the end result always being some type of recovery for mom.

Then comes motherhood and our beautiful baby.

Some of us have the baby that latches, sleeps, coos, and smiles.

Some of us navigate colic, and nursing struggles, and have appointments lined up every two days.

Some of us have it “easy” and have postpartum depression.

Some of us have it “hard” and have postpartum depression.

My point is it doesn’t matter how it happens or why it happens or how hard it is or how easy it is we still need to feel loved and supported.

Last night I scrolled through the comments on a post and my heart sank.

“This woman clearly needs help.”

“She’s obviously battling PPD. I feel so sorry for her. Someone help her.”

“Ladies, her kids might be really challenging.”

“She’s so selfish to think she should come first.”

And on and on and on…

The thing that riles me up the most – a lot of these women are mothers and sadly, the mom war lives.

I shake these comments off. I know who I am. But I worry about the other mothers reading these comments.

Here’s the thing – not everyone is going to be kind and supportive and understanding in this big old world of ours but never EVER let that shame you.

Never EVER let that stop you from sharing your feelings and finding the friend who gets it.

Never EVER let that stop you from asking for help.

Do you know how many “me toos” I’ve heard since starting this page?

Do you know how many private messages I get a week saying “that’s how I feel but I’m too ashamed to say it.”

Never EVER feel shame.

Motherhood is full of ups and downs, highs and lows and everything in between.

On the good days, we forget the bad.

On the bad days, we forget the good.

Let’s not forget there are people who understand what you’re feeling, whatever your case may be. You just need to find them. And the only way you can find them is by sharing and by speaking up.

And for what it’s worth – that mother who appears to have postpartum isn’t crazy. She’s one of the one million women who walk this path.

She needs the world to see that she’s human. She loves her babies and her life, her family and herself. She loves to laugh, she loves to cook, and she loves a good Hallmark movie, but sometimes the days are dark – and there’s nothing crazy about that. If anything, that deserves a “me too.”

The Upside of Down

Some of you may not know I have a job outside of wiping butts and boogers.

It’s true, there’s a life outside of cutting cheese into hearts and having an audience watch you pee.

During naps and after bedtimes, sometimes at three in the morning, I work on a magazine that I’m the editor of.

I’m also writing a book… And I work as a freelance writer putting together nifty little articles for some of your favourite spaces on the internet.

If you asked me when I became a mom if I could handle doing the working-mom-thing, the answer would’ve been no.

If you asked me when I actually went back to work after my first born, I would’ve broken down and cried in your arms.

At the time, it wasn’t right for me – but neither was the job.

I’ve been spending my entire life trying to find my place.

Navigating this big old world, trying to define myself, and redefine myself, and redefine myself once more as the world tells me I need to be more like “her”, more like “them”, more like that “mom”.

I’ve lost myself so many times trying to find the place I thought I had to be or be the person I thought I should be, that I completely lost sight of who I was and what I wanted.

The truth is, I love being home with my babies – but I also love being Anneliese. An ambitious, creative woman with a passion to better this world.

And what’s even more? I’m a better mom when I get to be that woman.

Working all hours of the night on my passions and all hours of the day on my babies can drain my soul sometimes – but it also lights a fire within me.

It pushes me closer towards the woman I always wanted to be.

When you start shushing the noise and start listening to your soul, your life comes alive.

And who would’ve thought I would’ve learned all that in a pit of darkness?

But sometimes, there’s an upside to down.

Moms Need Attention, Too

After my boys were born, there were appointments.

To check their latch.

To check their weight.

To check their hearing.

To check the colour of their skin for signs of jaundice.

There were appointments.

There were regular pokes and prods.

Their well-being was front and centre.

I’d say, when it comes to our health-care system, they were well taken care of.

Then there was me.

A first-time mom without a clue.

Engorged, bleeding, and stitched up.

Sent home with some painkillers and stool softeners.

Thrown into motherhood with the expectation my instincts would kick in.

That I would know how to handle colic and late night feedings.

That breastfeeding would come as nature intended.

That my husband would sense my spiral into depression.

That I would know how to live in my new and very foreign body.

That this stomach wouldn’t make me feel hideous.

And my mind wouldn’t make me feel less than they deserved.

No one poked me.

No one proded.

No one checked my stitches, my healing, or my sanity until eight weeks postpartum.

And even then, it was a pat on the back and I was sent on my way.

Our world forgets about mothers.

We slip through the cracks.

We become background noise.

And in that, we learn our role… our place in our family unit… to always come last.

Folks, we can’t put mothers last.

Our babies need us.

To be healthy.

To know that we are worthy.

To know that Motherhood, while natural, can sometimes feel like the least natural role in our life.

And that deserves attention.

That mothers deserve attention.

We need our world to fuss over us the way they fuss over ten fresh fingers and ten fresh toes.

We need to be seen.

We need to be heard.

We need someone to not only ask if we’re okay but to check time and time again, just to be sure.

We’re not just a uterus.

We’re not just a lifeline to a new and precious soul.

We’re mothers.

And we need someone to make sure we’re ok, too.

 

This post first appeared on Grown Up Glamour by Anneliese Lawton.

#CraftMom

Does anyone else try to do the “fun mom” thing?

You know what I’m talking about.

Paint. Crayons. Glitter. Water. Sand. Play-doh.

That sort of stuff?

It always seems like a good idea. You think to yourself:

“Today. Yes! Today, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna be that mom. I’m gonna craft this shit out of this day.”

And you confidently strut to the craft closet, or bucket, or nook, and pull out all those cool goodies you picked up at the store after being inspired by a bomb caterpillar made out of nothing more than an egg carton and pipe cleaners.

Easy peasy.

Or, omgosh. You can paint a giant mural. Your little Picaso can put his tiny, sticky, crayon craving hands to good use.

Yes.

This day is gonna be so fun.

#craftmom

So you roll out a big and I mean BIG sheet of paper for your kid to colour all over. He can’t miss it. The floor will be saved.

And some water to paint with because it’s not messy.

Woo! Super fun.

Then your kid pours the entire bucket of water on his head.

Still colours on your floors.

Eats the crayon.

And leaves you with a giant friggen mess to clean up.

You wonder where the heck it all went wrong.

Was it the water? The crayons? The attempt to be #craftmom?

Somewhere it all went astray.

You vow to never to be #craftmom again.

Then lo and behold, one rainy Tuesday….

Just Wait

There were a lot of things I was afraid of when expecting our second baby. A lot of things.

The things I read and people I spoke with with told me to “just wait”. That life would change and never be the same.

That I’d be stretched thin. That my husband and I would pass like ships in the night. That I might lose myself.

Things I read and people I met also told me this when I was expecting my first.

And each time I anticipated the arrival of my baby with anxiety and questions. So many questions.

Then my baby arrived and every fear was put to rest. For a little while at least.

You see, what some people warn you about and say is true.

Some days will be hard, some days will be long, some nights will be longer.

There will be a day where it feels like the honeymoon phase has ended and this baby thing isn’t what you signed up for at all.

There will be a day where you lose your temper with your husband. A day where you feel lost. A day where you feel lonely. A day where you miss your freedom and thin waist. A day where you want to throw your hands up and leave.

And it’ll be hard for that day, or that week and you’ll think “they were right”. And maybe during that day or that week you’ll come across a new parent and tell them to “just wait” for what’s to come.

I was tempted to do that today. To take to my platform and complain about this week. This absolutely trying and horrible week.

But as an “experienced” parent (and I use that loosely), I know if I “just wait” we’ll eventually turn a corner. I know if I “just wait” my sick and clingy toddler will soon start giggling and playing. I know if I “just wait” I’ll grow more patient with my husband. I know if I “just wait” we’ll make it out of this parenting lull and there will be periods of beautiful things.

So, to the parents afraid of what’s to come, and to the parents meeting their match of what-is. Just wait. The clouds will break.