Discomfort ≠ Suffering

I have never thought of myself as an individual with an entitlement complex, but I do remember certain experiences where I'd like to go back and kick my own butt. One happened just this morning, so I guess that's why I'm writing today.

My first job out of college took me back to a place I swore I'd never live again: Washington, DC. I had interned there one summer and enjoyed it, but certainly didn't catch the "Potomac fever" as many often did. But one year later, the job I wanted to launch my career required I move back to the east coast; I packed a UHaul and my Ford Focus and began my career on 1301 Pennsylvania Ave. 

I remember rinsing out the office coffee pot at the end of a really bad day, thinking to myself, "I did not go to Purdue University for four years and earn a degree to do this."
After a few minutes of scrubbing the pot in my heels and then wiping down the countertops, I remember thinking: "Your father would absolutely kill you if he knew those words were going through your head right now. You were raised better" 
It's funny how sometimes your upbringing can shout at you from the back of your mind when you're 518 miles from anything you've ever known. 

And do you know what? The next day was better. 
And the day after that was better. 

And day, after day, I learned to be grateful for discomfort on the long days because it made the good days that much better. It also proved that I'm capable of anything. Including washing a coffee pot I never poured a cup from. I also learned how to make coffee at my first job. 

We live in a society where discomfort is associated with suffering. People no longer want to experience any discomfort or inconvenience, at all. 
We expect heated steering wheels and seats. 
We no longer drive to a movie store or even a Red Box; we hit "download" and have whatever we want on our living room big screen.
We have thirty pairs of shoes because each feels different on our feet when the temperature swings by ten degrees. 
We don't pay attention to landmarks or even keep a map in the console because we can type an address into our phones and be spoon fed step-by-step directions. 
We expect our professional careers to be constant climbing and measurements of success because we've studied and worked hard and deserve it. 

The truth is that sometimes you have to go into situations understanding that: 

Challenging jobs,
college experiences, 
buying our not-such-a-dream home, but rather the one we can afford
skipping a vacation, 
a lemon of a used car,
or taking the long way
are all things that might not be comfortable, but they will allow us to grow in unforeseeable ways. 

Someone asked me recently how I've come up with content for a blog for eight straight years. 
Well, sometimes I try to be my own life coach and talk myself off a ledge by typing away on this keyboard. 
Because as I type this, our kitchen sink and counter tops are sitting in the yard and will be there over night. A small kitchen project turned a regular Monday into the most Monday-est Monday, ever and this morning I washed breakfast dishes in the 6:00 AM darkness by garden hose while the barn cats watched, smirking. 

So, yeah. 
My discomfort is not suffering. 
It's just a phase of life. 
Let's just hope this phase moves fast. I've got big things to do next week and I don't like making eye contact with animals when I'm still in my nightgown. 

Me Before You

Time flies when you spend your evenings pulling corn cobs from the crisper drawer of the refrigerator.

Caroline turned two years old on Sunday and in 24 months' time I've learned time passes more quickly when you're living for something beyond yourself. I mean, I thought recess went fast decades ago, but motherhood moves at lightning speed. 

Very few songs you'll hear on the mainstream radio keep my attention for two full minutes. But the current song that garners my full attention when broadcast is Brothers Osborne's "I Don't Remember Me (Before You)". It's a song about a guy who - despite seeing pictures or hearing stories - can't remember himself before he met the love of his life. It is spellbinding.

Although there are ways I can relate to that song, I certainly do remember life before I loved Caroline. 

For instance, 

Before Caroline my Amazon searches consisted of must-read books, Liverpool jeans and kitchen gadgets that allow me to open and aerate wine more quickly. 

Two years in, and my Amazon searches consist of toddler water shoes, Pull-Ups and gummy vitamins. 

Before Caroline, Cody and I could talk about anything, anywhere, any time. 

Two years in, and our breakfast conversation goes something like this:

"I have to breed C-O-W-S first thing this morning. Your plans?" Cody asks.

"When we get home from town I'm going to fill the P-O-O-L. Have you charged the J-E-E-P?" I respond. 

"Yes. It's behind the T-R-A-C-T-O-R." 

Our adult dialog is a constant spelling bee to avoid losing track of the tasks at hand. 

Before Caroline I never gave a second thought to the pigment of the outer edge of my drink ware.

Two years in, and I realize you can ruin a person's entire morning by pouring milk into the wrong color cup. 

Before Caroline I enjoyed showers. 

Two years in, and I can shower, shave and moisturize in less time than it used to take me to undress. Motherhood is a prime case study of survival of the fittest efficient. 

Before Caroline I could get into the refrigerator and simply select what I needed then promptly shut the door to keep the cold air in. 

Two years in, and I find myself giving a diaper diva a four-minute synopsis of the practical uses of every condiment on the door shelves, followed by a 30-second lesson on energy and appliance efficiency. She never seems to care about the energy lesson because I repeat it five times a day. 

Before Caroline I could try on clothes in a dressing room without saying a word....other than, "The hell? Did I grab the wrong size?"

Two years in, and I find myself saying these phrases on repeat:

"Do NOT unlock that door."

"Stand up! Do NOT peak under that wall!"

"I appreciate your self-confidence, but please stop licking the mirror."

Before Caroline I would spend my evenings doing chores and focusing on heat cycles, levels inside the creep and mineral feeders and pasture growth. 

Two years in, and I find my feeding time twice as long because I have a chore pal who thinks cows in standing heat is hilarious,  enjoys getting her hands in bags of feed to explore textures and likes picking forage samples and showing me every red clover she can find. 

Before Caroline my time was my own. 

Two years in, everything takes twice as long, but is one hundred times over more gratifying. 

There are days when I'm not sure who is learning more, Caroline or her parents, but let's keep that between us.

And while I'll never be a mother that claims to not remember the me before her, despite the self-doubt and dry shampoo, I like this version of myself a whole lot better.