• Oshiolema’s Birth Story

    The last time I wrote on my beloved blog, I was 8 months postpartum, knee deep in sleep training and carefully tiptoeing into parenthood. As I write this, my son-now nearly fifteen months old-is running around and I am resting my hand on my four month baby bump. (To those of you confused at the science of the months-along/baby bump size ratio…yea. this bump isn’t messing around.)
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  • Goodbye to Summer

    Today I had to slip on a sweater. Not because the air conditioning was too cold, not because I had a slight chill from overpopulating my water bottle with ice-cubes. No, the air had shifted. In one simple movement, I declared this beautiful summer over.
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  • What’s in a Name?

    My name doesn’t have much meaning. In fact, I was almost a Stacy. My older sister Kristen and I have always said we should have switched names, for she is far more “Jill” than I ever was. I had lavish dreams of having a unique name-Azure, Jade, something that made people say, “one more time?” I decided if I couldn’t change my own name, I’d just have to live vicariously through my babies. At 8 I filled my diary with “V” names for my 5 girls: Violet, Vanessa, Victoria, Valerie and Vivian. When I was 10 years old, one episode of VH1’s Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous left me dead-set on naming my children Bentley and Bacardi, regardless of gender. Praise the Lord that phase was relatively short.Read More

  • Stretched

     (mom days before giving birth to her fourth baby)

    Growing up every single night once the clock struck 8:00pm and my mom had cleared dinner from the table and helped with math problems, she announced it was time for her bath. Some evenings as I walked down the hallway, now smelling of sweet soap and lotion, to say goodnight I would find her changing into her light blue nightgown baring her stomach lined with marks. Silvery purple marks lined the edges of her stomach, crawling a little bit up the sides and dancing around her naval. The older I became, the more I understood those marks meant she had been stretched. Stretched probably in ways she never would have imagined, and each stretching left visible evidence of its difficulty and her strength.
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  • Essentials for Baby’s First 3 Months

    I am a mother of a three month old baby boy. Three months. I can’t say “It seems like I blinked and here he was-three months old,” because I am fully aware of each hour I have spent with him. The days seem to have stretched out so that each hour is double what it once was and yet I wouldn’t slow it down if I had the power. I adore this child of mine. He is hilarious, sweet as can be and such a testament of God’s grace. That being said- man oh man has he rocked our world. Read More

  • One Month In

    Our sweet boy is one month old. I’m not a person who finds every month to be monumental, but arriving at four weeks is truly something to celebrate. Something to marvel at. Something that in those first few hazy days seems to be a lifetime away.
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