Category Archives: Mommyhood


Otis has always had this thing where he wants everything out of the box and on a plate or in a jar or in a bowl. I imagine he’s the kind of person that grows up to do crap like this:

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Well, he decided he wanted some Little Debbie cupcakes and he wanted all of them on a plate which, fine, whatever. I don’t care because it isn’t hurting anyone so sure. So we sit and unpackage all of the cupcakes, place them neatly on a plate, and go about our day at Lola’s.

During this time my mom and I have a conversation about all of the stuff I’ve left at her house that I need to take home because her kitchen is not my second kitchen so GET YOUR CRAP OUT OF HERE, MARIE.

Fine, Mom. Chill.

One of those things is a cupcake baker thingamajig. You know what I’m talking about. The thing you put the cupcakes in when you bake them. Yes. That thing. I need to take it home so my mom puts it next to the diaper bag so that I can forget it again be sure to take it home and get it out of her house.

Fast forward a couple of hours. It’s time to go home. The cupcakes have been untouched, the cupcake baker thingamajig has been mostly forgotten.

Otis: I need to take my cupcakes home.
Pa: Ok, well, let’s put them back in this box so that they don’t fall on the floor.
Otis: No! I have a great idea.

Otis is notorious for saying he has a great idea. Most of the time those ideas are pretty decent because they include things like “Let’s get ice cream!” or “Mommy, please don’t go to work today!” I have no clue what his great idea is, but I roll my eyes because I’m sure it’s going to make my life harder and/or it’s a delay tactic so that we stay at Lola and Pa’s house longer.

Me: Otis, we don’t have time for your great idea. Put the cupcakes in the box like Pa said.
Otis: (walks past me with a cupcake in each hand) Nope. I. have. a. great. idea.

I watch him walk confidently towards the cupcake baker thingamajig and plop his cupcakes inside the little holder thingadoos.

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Yall. It was like the most legitimate great idea I had ever seen with my own two eyes!

Me: Otis! That really IS a great idea! How did you do that? You are a genius! YOU JUST PASSED HOMESCHOOL!

I know it’s a small thing, but it really felt huge to me, and kept a smile on my face for a couple of days. To see him see a problem, not have a meltdown, and then see an elegant solution was just, well, beautiful.

My baby boy is making mama proud!

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Birds Singing in the Sycamore Trees…

Miss Wren,

It’s been a year since we laid eyes on you. You are a dream come true. Which I don’t think I’ve ever told you about the dream.

Months before you were conceived I had a dream that I was holding a baby. I was holding my baby. A little girl. And someone asked, “When was she born?” And I didn’t know. I felt so bad that I didn’t know my baby’s birthday. It was a sticky dream so when I woke up it felt like there was this residue on my brain. Some dreams are sticky, like they’re half real and half dream. When I woke up I immediately thought, “March 7th. That baby was born on March 7th.”

Your dad and I didn’t think we’d have another kid so I wasn’t sure how you’d be born on March 7th. Would we decide to adopt that day? Would this baby be born on March 7th and we’d adopt that baby? Would I get pregnant on March 7th? I didn’t know what March 7th meant, but I knew it was special.

A few months later I found out I was pregnant and that you were due on March 1st. That was close enough to a prophecy to me! Your brother came earlier than his due date which meant that I would likely have you early too so I pushed it out of my mind that you’d actually be born on March 7th. The closer we got to the due date the more I rested in the fact that wow. God told me about you before we even knew you’d exist.

Here’s a little funny thing. I was thinking about what to title this blog post. Your name is Wren (duh) and I just start humming “birds singing all around you, whispering I love you.” That’s a good title, but what song is it from? I start googling the lyrics I can think of and this is the song:

Dream a Little Dream of Me

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You are a dream, little one. You have a sweet and determined spirit. You started as a dream, and I have no doubt that God will continue to help you achieve dreams He puts in your heart. You are a delightful little person and you do not know how incredibly honored I am to be your mom.

Dream big, Little Bird.
Mama Bird

Running and Dancing

We are four terribly short weeks away from your first birthday. We went all the way around the sun, Sweet Girl!

Our favorite thing is watching you steal from your brother. You steal his phone, his drinks, his fire stick. You are like a raccoon. You get your little paws on it and then you take off as fast your little legs will go to find a place to hide your treasures. Even your brother thinks it’s hilarious which is impressive considering he’s the one getting robbed.

Your giggles are gold. Rare and precious and bring so much joy to the world. You play hide and seek like a pro. You regularly climb on to the Big Kahuna’s fire station and dance. The dancing, my Sweet Girl! Oh I love it so much. Your doctor asked if you were dancing at your 9 month appointment and I realized that no, you hadn’t danced yet. A few weeks later you were bopping to most any beat you heard. It was like you took it as a challenge. The seriousness on your face while you baby twerk is just too much for me. Gah. I love you.

It snowed this month. You loved it and being outside in general. The ladies at church say that when Wren cries just take her outside and she’s fine. Your curiosity and fearlessness has been a joy to watch.

Your Lola and I were talking about you already being one and how you’re not really a baby anymore, and then we both paused. Did you ever feel like a baby? Even on the first night in the hospital when Lola saved us me there was this strength about you, almost like you liked having people around but you didn’t need people around. There is just nothing helpless about you.

While I’m pretty sure you came into this world ready to dominate I hope you know that you can always rest in my love and (much more significant) God’s love.

Mama Bird

And Both the Hands Go Up

Dear Miss Wren,
You are 10 months old. Two hands, Little Lady. TWO WHOLE HANDS!

You play with my ears now when you nurse. I guess loving eye contact is for the weak.

You met Santa. You had no time for that.

You and the cat! I cannot with how much you love Nala, and only Nala. Sorry, Omi.

You started walking a couple of days after Christmas. We kind of freaked out. It’s only a couple of weeks later and you’re a pretty solid walker. I have never been so convinced that so much about us is just how we’re wired, and you, my darling, are wired for greatness. And not just because you’re walking ‘early,’ but because I can just sense that you take this world so seriously. And you take your role in it so seriously. Thank you for being you.

I watch you with the Big Kahuna. You love him. He can bring out a joy that none of us can. But you don’t let him cross any lines, and you don’t mess around when it comes to getting what you want. If he is being too rough you yell and look directly at me with eyes that say, ‘You better get this situation under control!’ If he has something you want you have no qualms with taking it. And I just have to say that every time you steal something and hustle off as fast those legs can go I cannot stop smiling.

I watch you with him and I wonder if it isn’t some God ordained training ground. It’s like watching David walk up to Goliath. I marvel at your, well, your balls. They’re huge. I wonder if all of this isn’t preparing you to be ready to fight giants in the future. I’m crying thinking about it because I don’t want you to ever go up against a giant, but I also want to know that you’ve been ready since day one if you do have to.

I am not as a great a writer as I used to be. I don’t have time to let the thoughts and feelings tumble around until they form the words that match. You guys keep me too busy for all of that navel gazing. And as this year with you gets closer and closer I’m terrified that you aren’t going to know how deeply loved you are. How much you inspire me to be a better mom, wife, human. How that guarded smirk of yours gives me so much joy. How you are your father in so many ways and I’m falling more in love with him because of you.

Love you with everything,

Nine In, Nine Out


Dear Miss Wren,
You’re 9 months and one week because your mom got busy old.

One morning you woke up and started nursing, as you do, and you unlatched and just started looking at the milk-producing boob. Then you started flicking me. There was this curiosity in your eyes, like, “How does this thing work?”

And that’s* how I know your dad is Mark Christopher of the House of Oates. I like the House of Last Name joke a leetle too much.

*There’s also the whole monogamous relationship thing, but you get my point. You’re a lot like your dad.

You also started doing this thing where you’d unlatch and almost pounce back onto the boob. Like you were a little kitten playing with a dead mouse.

It’s adorable.

You have no problem letting the world know what’s up, especially when you’re mad. You can’t stomp your feet (yet), but you do this thing that’s totally in the spirit of stomping your feet. You put your head down and slam both hands down on an imaginary table like some kind of Jersey princess.


This is also adorable. Notsomuch in 2 years, but I don’t really care right now.

I am obsessed with your furrowed brow game. You give absolutely no fudgsicles…


And you are still absolutely smitten by the Big Kahuna.


Me, you, and O-man are the 3 Musketeers.  My heart is so full when we’re all together. You hate getting left behind, and you will straight up giggle when we are laughing just to join the party.

Thank you so much for bringing your ferocious-yet-subtle spirit into this crazy world called the Oates Family House of Oates.


Slay-t Months Old

Dear Wren Bird,

Eight months.

You got your flu shot this month. You’ve gotten enough shots now that you know what’s coming. We laid you on the table and you looked at us like the evil people we surely are. You were pricked, you cried, and in the mere seconds it took to sit you back up you were silent and staring. You weren’t wasting the time on self pity. You locked eyes with the nurse and the doctor and I knew. I knew you had just mentally put them on your list, Arya Stark style.

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You understand “no.” It started with a defiant “pfft” anytime your Lola told you no. Now you shake your head and smile as you reach for whatever we’ve told you not to touch. I can already see the twinkle in your eye. You’re definitely going to be an ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’ kind of gal.

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You went Trick or Treating. Like a boss, you had a Halloween wardrobe change.

“Fun” story: On Halloween we attempted to take you and your brother out around the neighborhood, but your brother threw a fit as he does. In the midst of all of Big Brother’s carrying on an old, gay, black man in a long leather coat appeared out of what seemed like no where with treats in hand.

“Here. You need to cut it out,” he said looking directly at Otis as he handed him a Pinterest-esque bag of treats. He handed you your very own bag and said, “And this sister of yours is beautiful.” Before we could ask the Halloween angel neighborhood Super Nanny to raise our children, he disappeared.

Yes. This was the extent of your trick-or-treating. A neighbor coming out to give us candy to stop the yelling.

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You climb up the stairs every chance you get. Standing without assistance is coming sooner rather than later. You look at baby food like I’m trying to feed you dog food. You love California rolls, the cats, and a toy alligator.

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You slay in every possible way. I love you.

Mama Bird

On This Day

Yesterday this picture came up in my FB memories…

Oh, y’all. My little monkey boy!

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I got all weepy because I truly feel like I don’t remember any of this well enough. I don’t remember the giggles well enough. The sweet cheeks well enough (that are totally still around, but aren’t those sweet 18 month old cheeks). The little armed hugs well enough. I feel like I’m waking up from the best dream in the entire world, and I’m desperately sad that I only seem to have a foggy recollection of this time.

And so I’m watching Wren knowing that all of these sweet moments are not going to survive in my brain and I get so weepy WHILE PLAYING WITH HER because I know that one day in the future I will watch a video of her giggling or crawling and I’m going to say something like “I DON’T REMEMBER HER BEING SO LITTLE!”

Mark got one of those virtual reality things the other day for SUPER cheap and it’s insanely cool. While I was exploring snow covered mountains it hit me that our kids will probably have virtual reality videos(?) of their kids. They will probably put on their VR goggles and get to relive their kids learning to crawl or walk or eat rice cereal for the first time. And I’m just like

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But I also know this. When they put their VR goggles on and watch my virtual reality grandbaby crawl around it’s not going to be enough. It still won’t be the same. They’ll be the same level of sad as I am today, and still cry out “I DON’T REMEMBER ANY OF THIS!”

I have mentioned this a billion times, but I read the entire Bible last year, and I think it changed my brain. This is a thought that just seems to sit with me all of the time now: Life is so fragile. It is so fleeting. And the more we try to capture it and panic about missing out the more we actually do miss out.
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Every single day on this beautiful mess of a planet is a gift. This sounds morbid, but lately when I watch my kids sleep I think, “I honestly have absolutely no clue if I’m going to wake up. If y’all are going to wake up. But oh, God, thank You so much for this life, for this home, these babies, this breath…”

So far I’ve woken up. And they’ve woken up. Thank, God.

The truth is I am never going to be satisfied looking back, trying to relive these precious moments. My appetite to feel as loved and needed as I am right now will be insatiable one day when my house is clean and no one is begging to “show you cool*.” Knowing this means I have only one choice: Be here.

Be in the moments because we’re never getting them back again. Sit with the fear and insecurity on the bad days. Celebrate with the laughter and joy on the good days. Take everything very seriously AND not at all seriously. Breathe it all in because all of it, the good, the bad, and the boring, it’s all going to be gone before I know it.

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*”Show you cool” is how Otis introduces something that brings him joy. And the idea that there will be a day when I am not the first person Otis thinks of when he wants to “show you cool” is making me a mess.

Let’s Explore

Dear Wren,

Seven months. Rolling towards the big Uno Yearo.

You’re crawling and pulling yourself up and at this rate you’ll probably win a Nobel Peace Prize before you hit puberty. Even at 7 months old, I would say that you aren’t one for wasting time. You don’t have words, but if you did you wouldn’t mince them. You get straight to the point with your grunts and stares and, well, it’s impressive.

Little Bird, you’re truly Wonder Woman in my book.

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(You also love pigs, hence Miss Piggy)

A while ago there was a viral ‘thing’ about this couple taking pics like this together as they traveled the world:

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That’s how I feel about you. You’re always out in front. Exploring. Looking for the next thing to experience, put in your mouth, learn, squeal over. And I’m standing behind you, watching you take this beautiful mess of a world in.

I want so badly to capture your spirit in a bottle so that I can remind you of your fearlessness, your power, your ability to do hard things (the coordination required for crawling is no small feat, my dear!) when you forget one day in the future. You’re a special little girl, Wren, and I’ve known it since before you were even born.

Love you and thank you so much for taking me on this adventure with you!
Mama Bird

Always There

All of the friends and family had left the hospital room, and it was just me, Mark, and Wren.

My cell phone buzzed. It was Otis and my mom requesting to Facetime with us. We chatted for a little while and hung up.

“Otis looks sad,” I said.

“He does. Do you think I should go home and get him?”

“Yes. Now. Go.”

“Are you sure?”

Yes. I hated the thought of Otis thinking we’d abandoned him for the shiny, new baby. I had done this mom thing before, and there were all kinds of professional people fully prepared to make sure Wren and I survived the first 24 hours. Yes, Otis needed Mark way more than Wren and I did.

Mark left, and within 30 minutes I realized something…

It had been six years since I had done this baby thing. I had no clue what I was doing. Why was she crying? How hard am I supposed to burp her? I have only co-slept with babies, and that’s not legal in the hospital so how the heck am I going to sleep? Just put her down in this bassinet thing and leave her to die let her sleep?

So there I was. Alone in a hospital room with the sweetest, most innocent baby on the planet feeling so sad and scared and all I wanted was-

Knock, knock, knock


After Mark picked up Otis from my mom she knew.

She knew I was going to need her because, well, she’s my mom. She had my dad drive her to Vanderbilt at 10 at night which was a great plan except they had already closed the hospital to visitors and my dad had already driven off by the time she realized this and she didn’t have a cell phone so she was just stranded outside all alone until she saw a new dad trying to sneak in with some fast food so she just kind of followed him around like a puppy until they figured it out and then she busted into my room like the guardian angel she is.

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I don’t think I cried when it happened, but I get weepy every time I think about it. You held Wren so that I could sleep even though neither of us slept because look at her! She’s perfect! You prayed with me. You reminded me to eat and to sleep and to burp the baby. You were my rock that night.

I get weepy because her very first night in this strange, sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly world starts with a testimony to a God that provides when we’re scared and positive we are alone. He sends angels (aka Moms) to comfort and care for us, even if it’s just through the night.

I get weepy because on I was given a real life picture of the kind of mother I always want to be to Otis and Wren. A mother that obeys the nudges of the Lord. A mother who will do scary things to make sure her babies are ok. A mother who will be there, without answers or advice or judgement, just there to sit with you and let you know it’s all going to be ok.

I get weepy because Wren’s entire story, from the very beginning, has pointed me to God and His provision. When my mom knocked on the hospital room door in the middle of the night I imagine I felt the way Abraham did when the ram showed up for sacrifice instead of his son, Isaac. The relief. The joy. The faith.

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A Total Eclipse of My Heart

My Sweetness,

You’re six months old.

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My running joke while pregnant with you was that you were inside making me be the person I wish I could be. I showed up on time. I ate vegetables. I read the Bible every morning.

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Well, your magic hasn’t stopped. I bought your Halloween costume. In August. It’s in my possession. You, Wren, will dress up as a member of the bird family because I can’t let this joke die.


Sidenote: I considered getting you a Dalmatian costume since your brother will probably* be a firefighter, but your dad vetoed that idea because “Wren isn’t a prop.” I guess we know who the real feminist in the family is…

*”Probably” because I still haven’t bought his costume because you two obviously have different mothers.

You continue to dominate in all areas. You sleep beautifully. You do this scrunch nose laugh thing that turns me into a puddle. You’re army crawling with finesse. You get into everything. You chase the cats like a regular Pepe le Pew. In related news, the cats kind of hate you.


You’ve started eating solids. Your Lola is a little terrified of you choking which means she waters the rice cereal down to near breastmilk consistency. Well, Wrenny don’t play that, and you looked at your Lola like…

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She added a bit more powder, and once your order was correct you went to town.


In a nutshell, you’re the very best thing to happen in 2017. I love you more than a total eclipse in the backyard.