Thursday, December 7, 2017

Tales from Timehop


Every morning my phone whisks me through space and time, drumming up memories I cherish {and others that elicit eye rolls}.

The Timehop app shows me two things: 1) my kids are growing fast and 2) I'm ancient by social media standards. I'll see a post from an entire decade ago of a friend chatting me up on my Facebook wall. This is likely a foreign concept to most these days. I'll see photos of myself that remind me how old I am and how far I've come. Just last week I saw a status along the lines of: "Does anybody else have a Twitter yet??" I was too cool. In reading through my past online habits, one thing sticks out: vague posting.

Forgive me, y'all. I didn't really know how to act on social media, as it had literally just been invented. However, one secretive post I made 11 years ago recently caught my eye and jogged my memory.


Anytime someone is "VERY happy" but they don't share why, my first thought is pregnancy. It has to be pregnancy or an engagement or some other milestone that has them on a detail-less Cloud Nine. Walk with me through time, won't you? Because that one sentence brought me back:



Jonathan and I had been married a solid five months when we decided we could be parents. We were of legal drinking age and we knew the physical mechanics, so what more did we need? I bought a how-to manual {seriously} and we jumped in. While that part was easy, I wasn't ready for the scene that quickly followed.

Starting on this journey created some of the longest days of my life. I had to wait two weeks before I could know if anything happened. Ludicrous. I remember asking my husband to buy a pregnancy test, then carefully reading the instructions because "pee on it" couldn't have been all there was to it. Spoiler Alert: It was.

At this point we lived in a cozy rental outside of Conway. It was nestled against the pines and had a white picket fence that made it easy for us newlyweds to play house. I stood in our small bathroom and waited. The wallpaper was a stark contrast of black and white stripes, and I counted them as the fancy digital test patiently blinked.

Then the room started to spin.

The black lines and white lines engaged in an awkward dance as they bent and swirled around me. The room was tilting, but my feet were glued to the floor. My cheeks began to overheat and my stomach dropped. The word pregnant stared at me. The word seemed to appear so casually, as if it didn't comprehend how its readout just changed my life. I sat down to focus, but my thoughts ran wild.

Can we afford it? Is it going to hurt? What will the nursery look like? Is it a boy or a girl? Am I allowed to be someone's mom? Do I need to go to the doctor right now? What's going to happen to my body? How can I be responsible for another human being? How can I grow a human being inside of me? Why does it feel so different now that it's real?

Even though I prayed for this to happen, I was grossly unprepared. I know some women have elaborate plans of revealing this news to their husbands, but I hadn't gotten there yet. The words spilled out with hot tears and together we sank onto the floor in bliss. I had no idea what I was doing, but he was going to do it with me.

I had never been more in love with him, and I had never felt such a strong connection to someone I didn't know.

And apparently my next move was to post on Facebook?

Seeing what I had for lunch in 2012 or that I was "bored at work" in 2009 makes me cringe, but I love that the highlights of my life, no matter how vague, are recorded.

Y'all already know the rest of the story. Nathan was born the following July to two clueless parents who have been navigating parenthood ever since. Add three more positive tests, one miscarriage, two births, and a million lessons and I still feel just as clueless. While I now know the answers to some of the questions that flooded my brain in the bathroom that morning, they've been replaced with more.

Still, Jonathan and I are in this together. And we can do anything.

So tell me, do you remember? Can you picture the scene from when you found out you were someone's parent?
Does Timehop remind you of your annoying Facebook nuances?
Let me know in the comments and have a great Thursday!

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