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Many years ago, before kids and everyday obligations, I started a blog. I shared Playlists of songs I loved–recipes, snapshots of my life in a 3rd floor walk-up in a sketchy part of town that made my mother worry on a daily basis. I started it off engaged, ended it married and then soon after, a mama to our first daughter Charlotte. I remember those days of new motherhood very well. I was anchored to my couch with a baby at my breast for all hours of the day and night. I was warned of the sleepless nights–the chapped nipples, the baby blues. I however, was very unaware of the reality of completely losing your sense of self while being responsible for nurturing a small helpless baby who is completely reliant on you. My sense of independence dwindled as time went on and even though it was so very difficult at first, I welcomed it. I embraced it. I was broken apart and made new again. Softer. And from there, those pieces of my former self got scattered and swept under the rug. The blog got covered in dust and I didn’t think twice about it.

As many do, I had completely immersed myself in my new role of “mama” and like every normal person when faced with a new task, I wanted to be really great at and made it my sole focus. And Becka was no longer Becka. She was Charlie’s mom, then Maisy’s and then Lucy’s.

I felt like a supporting character in my own life story and I had so much more to write.

I have changed way too many poopy diapers today and have been used as a human Kleenex. My daughter’s preschool staff has seen me at my absolute worst on more days than I can count. My hair is falling out, my current body type is equal parts neglect and ‘3 babies in 4 years’. I excel at being just okay at a number of things. I am laughably and embarrassingly late to most things I am invited to and trust me when I say I have no idea what day it is today. But under all of that mess is a woman on the brink of 30 who wouldn’t change a thing. Who still laughs louder than anyone in the room; who wants 20 more tattoos. Who is married to the best person she’s ever met. Who looks at her girls on a daily basis and sheds a tear from how immensely proud she feels to be in their orbit. Who is still trudging her way back to herself one step at a time.

The days are long but there is magic to be found here–nothing too spectacular or extraordinary, but just enough. It’s in your morning cup of coffee (however many times you’ve had to reheat it), a bouquet of blooms on your table. It’s in the paint caked to your hands after making something you’re proud of. It’s in the pan of homemade brownies. It’s in the tangle of hot pasta in your bowl. It’s getting to sleep next to your best friend every night. It’s the smell on the top of your baby’s head, it’s carrying your limp toddler inside from her carseat nap and getting to hold her like you did when she was small enough to fit in the crook of your elbow. It’s in a phone call to your mom and dad. It’s in your children blowing out their birthday candles every year. I’m here to share ours with you.

I’m so glad you’re here. Do you want so stay for Dinner?



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