It might be
easiest to pick up this blog where I left off (forever and a day ago) with
Derbies!
And Pretty
Ribbons!
 |
| OK that's a poop brown ribbon but it's pretty to me in a national derby out of 40+ horses! |
And a classic
where I was 13th out of a zillion and missed the cut by half a point
because I am an idiot and forgot to ask for a lead change not that I’m still
bitter or anything.
However, I have
been encouraged by a few to write my story of finding me, so I will. Besides, it would be reticent of me to just ignore this part, and pretend like it never happened
DH and I worked
very hard to get pregnant. There were a series of heartbreaks, trials, issues,
surgeries and other fun things. So I will start this blog by stating I
understand how lucky I am. I understand that the LO (Little One) is a blessing
beyond belief, and that I should be grateful for every minute I was pregnant,
and every minute I have with my son.
That said, I can
say with all of my heart I have not struggled as much as I did when I (finally)
got pregnant, and honestly still continue to find hard at times.
I have defined
myself as a “horse girl” for as long as I can remember. You know the kind (if
you’re a reader of this blog and don’t know the kind, clearly you’ve lost your
way). The barn rat who lives and breathes horses. Growing up I spent all free
time, summers, vacations, mornings, afternoons, and nights with horses. Since
then I have found a way to keep horses in my life at all costs. In college I
worked three jobs, Nanny, Shot Girl, and Technology analyst at the same time
(true story). When entering the work world, I would skip out on team lunches to
get to the barn early, used my vacation time to go to shows, and have since
done anything and everything to make it work.
Then I got
pregnant, and felt my world crashing in on me. Even through all of my other
roles in life, I was defined as a horse girl first (just ask my coworkers how
boring I am speaking nothing of horses horses horses all the time, good thing
my friends understand). Now suddenly it became clear to me that I would be mommy
first. Call it a 1/3 life crisis, call it an unexpected side effect, but my
panic about my self-identity was all encompassing. I felt both terrified and
sad, then guilty in a cyclical succession. How could I possibly change me?
My path through
was thankfully filled with support from my unbelievable DH, some amazing
friends, and in the end the world’s cutest baby (if I do say so myself). I
hacked TJ up until 33 weeks, and still got on at week 37 to walk around. I was
so swollen I could barely get my paddock boots on, much less zipped, and my
half chaps were more like sausage casings (I was fun a parties, that much is for sure). But, I was on, and was that all that
mattered.
From the other
side of pregnancy, having a beautiful, healthy baby boy, I’d love to say that
it’s all rainbows and sunshine. But there are days (all of them…) that all I
really want to do is go to the barn and all I really can do is fold more
onsies. I might be mom first but the horse girl isn’t far behind.
Oh, and it doesn’t
hurt that I juuuuust might have bought a little something to keep me
entertained for a few years. Meet Wesson
Maybe, just maybe
I will set aside time to blog more often, and be more connected to this world instead
of baby world. Here’s to hoping.
