5 Tips From a First Time Mom

While I had my head in a toilet four times a day for nearly five months, and suffered from what was diagnosed as “right flank pain” for two of those awful months (Thanks for that, Kiddo) Little Dude has been seemingly perfect, since the day he was conceived.

I say “seemingly” because for every perfect, beautiful smile, for every milestone reached with perfection and grace, and for every easy nap, theres been absolute terror. That fateful night in November when nobody was getting any sleep for a sore mouth and an angry baby, is still ingrained in my mind. I fear for more such nights in our future. But through all of the kitty bum hairs pulled, the pieces of cat-tower carpet ingested, the horrible four month sleep regression, the deplorable sleep regression of eight months, the time he pooped on me in the tub, the calm pizza night in December turned nightmare when he shoved peanut butter up his nose, the surprisingly convincing tantrums over apple juice, and the complete lack of interest for any vegetable(Especially the orange ones, and carrots in particular) I repeat “he was pink he was pink he was pink he was pink he was pink he was pink he was pink” in my head all day long in remembereance of the first thing my doctor said upon pulling our son into this world: “He’s pink!” 

Birthing a baby was the worst and hardest thing I’ve ever done, but he was pink. it feels like my nipples are being slammed in a car door when he bites them, but he was pink when he was born. I guess you could say that’s my deep breath. 

However perfectly our champion sleeper has been at breastfeeding, self soothing, eating new things, learning new things, even teething—don’t for one moment believe that it all came that easily, or without its own set of struggles. (yes, I did just call my son an It.) we’ve struggled in more ways than one, with more than just parenting since we became parents. Many a stress bath has been taken, and many a tear has been shed by this little mommy. (and even the Daddy) I’ve always tried to be one step ahead of the game--google open, notebook at the ready, instagram post after instagram post carefully tucked away for when I need it, suggested parenting books bokmarked and highlighted, and trying my hardest to rememeber everything I’ve been told about being a parent—but there’s always that one thing that gets you like the monster under the bed, waiting for that unblanketed foot. And my unblanketed foot may be different from yours. That’s where our list of tips begins: 

1. Every Baby is Different

Firstly, I want to start by saying, its not just babies. it’s everyone. Everyone is so completely, vastly different, and we’re beginning to see that more and more in our society today, as people feel more and more empowered to do, say, think, or believe what they will. But even with all this “wokeness”, acceptance, and love… people seem to forget the tiny guys: our babies. (And a WAY overlooked attachement to the tiny guys: their mommies (More on that later))

The reason why this is my number one tip, is because this is the very first thing I said to myself when I was pregnant: “Evaery baby is different.” (Or, AKA, every pregnancy is different) and you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had to explain that to myself, and others. So many people (Even other women!) tried to tell me that there was only one way a pregnancy could play out, one way to deliver, one way to feel pain, one way to be tired, one way. ONE. Which simply is not true. There’s a reason your doctor will repeat it to you like a mantra “Ommmmmmmeverypregnancyisdifferentommmmmmmmm” because it’s the truth, and it is just as true for born babies as it is for the unborn ones. Our tiny guys need different things, have different interests, develope at differring rates, sleep different, eat different, poop different, cry different—they’re all so very different from each other. I just want to get that across: DIFERENT. 

But different isn’t bad, and different isn’t scary; I have personally been called barbaric for the method of sleep training that my husband and I chose to use, because another mother could not fathom letting her own child cry for more than five minutes at a time. Now, if you don’t agree with the way I parent: I don’t care and I wont argue with you, because I know your baby is different(I also think its absolutely barbaric when women put each other down, instead of raising each other up.)

One very VERY important aspect to this school of thought—Every Baby is Different—is that you do what’s good for your baby. So many people will give you tips, tricks, and advice(some unwarranted, some welcome) and you might think “Oh that’s the only way.” but it’s not. If your baby needs to be cuddled to sleep, do it. If Cry It Out is the only thing that works, do it. You may run into judgment or name calling, you may feel like you’re doing things wrong because you’re doing things differently, but in the end, understanding that every baby is different will make you a much better parent with a much happier baby. 

2. Don’t Fall for Scaremongering

This seems to be a fan favorite on social media. We’ve all seen it, and I’m sure a majority of us have fallen victim to it in our own lives. One place it runs rampant the most: mommy communities. 

Theres a fun app I’ve been using for a few months called “Peanut” its basically a tinder, Iinstagram, Facebook for mommies. It can be a really useful app—I’ve received some fantastic and much needed advice on menstrual cups—but it can also make you afraid to let your baby so much as take a breath of air. 

On that app, I’ve seen people say(word for word) “Stay far away from Johnson and Johnson, it causes cancer and kills babies”, “Putting shoes on babies makes them disabled later in life”,“I know vaccinations cause autism, and SIDS, but…”,“Cry It Out is Barbaric and dangerous” and so on. And on. And on and on. 

I don’t know what it is about people wanting to claim that your baby will literally DIE if you do this or that. Being a mom is terrifying. Sharing your parenting style or your baby’s diet is scarrier and more nerve-racking than sharing your religious or political beliefs. Someone, somewhere, no matter how purreed your food, how BPA free your bottles are, how soft souled your baby’s shoes, or how easily your baby puts themselves to sleep is 100% sure that you need to know that your baby is going to DROP DEAD. 

Listen. It’s not true. Take another read through on tip number one. Every baby is different, every cirumstance is different, and different isn’t scary. 

I know that you’ll scroll past a list of "horrible things that will happen to your baby if you do these five things” on Facebook. I know you’ll run into a Debora who’s daughter’s best friend’s neice’s son is autistic because of vaccines(NOT TRUE!!!) Or a Becky who is 100% sure that formula fed babies aren’t smart or strong or healthy(NOT TRUE!!!). I know you’ll be told at least once in your life that your baby is going to choke and die at their highchair because your eyes left them for thirty seconds, MAX. Don’t fall for it! You know your baby, in and out, sideways, and upside down. 

There are so many different things that people will say to shock and scare you, and they know that moms are the most vulnerable to judgement and scaremongering. 

If something scares you, if something makes you nervous, and if you have to think twice about making a decision in your baby’s life—ask a proffessional. A real, college graduate professional. Don’t ask social media for parenting advice, and don’t let Amanda tell you that your baby is going to “catch” cancer from Johnson&Johnson products. Take care of yourself out there. 

3. Take Care of You

While we’re on the subject, let’s talk self care. What does that look like for you?

Steaming hot stress baths, face masks, creamy lotions, essential oils, and a nice little drink of whatever you like are all really great tools for self care! But what I’m talking about here is checking in with yourself. Are you okay? Are you suffering day to day? What aspects of parenthood are making you miserable and how can you make it better? 

Here are some important bullets to note: 

• You are a person
• Your life is not over because you are a parent
• You are not a bad parent for putting your needs first

I’ve seen parents bashed, judged, and called names for taking time for themselves. 

“You’re a parent now, you don’t get to take time for yourself.” WRONG. How in the world can your possibly take care of little human beings if you don’t even take care of yourself? 

When I quit my job in August, last year, I was in a really dark place. I won’t go into detail, because I’m not ready to share, but I want you to know that it’s okay to admit that you can’t do it. I was so terrified of quitting my job and being a “quitter” I had said over and over again that the SAHM life just wasn’t for me, and I would never ever do it. I was a working mom and I was going to die a working mom. I was tough and I was a provider. 

We found out, the hard way, that the working mom life just wasn’t possible for me. 

And that’s okay. Admitting that took bravery. It took a different kind of tough, no matter how quiet the confession. 

There’s a strange stigma on mental health, and I’ve had to deal with that my wohle life. However, I’ve never felt more misunderstood than as a mom with PPD. For some reason or another, people beleive that it’s a mother's job to be unhappy. Some will tell you that only your children’s happiness is important, you’re only a good mom if you cry yourself to sleep every night, you can only raise excellent children if you break your back doing it. 

Over the past months, since I quit my job, I realized that it was the very best thing I’ve ever done for my family. I took care of myself, and it helps me to take care of them. If I hadn’t whispered to my husband that night in August, I don’t know if our family would have survived; I hadn’t realized how hard my husband was suffering too. 

It’s okay to admit that things aren’t okay. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to take care of yourself, however you’ve got to do it. It’s true that your family needs you, but they need a healthy and happy you. 

So go draw yourself a bath and stick that naked little baby bum in your lap while your pour nearly the entire bottle of bubble bath in the water. You deserve it. You don’t need to do anything to earn it—you just deserve it. 

4. Take a Break

You deserve a break too; even if it’s just a pretend poo. 

My husband says, “No need to elaborate with that opening statement.” But I do. I really, really do. 

So many of us are out here thinking that we rest when we’re dead. 

Here are some important bullets to note:

• You are a person
• Your life is not over because you are a parent 
• You are not a bad parent for putting your needs first

And: 

• You are not a bad parent for wanting/needing a break
• You are not a bad parent for taking that break 
• You are not a bad parent if your baby cries for five minutes

I have never ever been very good at handling crying. (and if you didn't know, babies... they cry) I am usually the person to go to in a crisis, but if the baby is crying, it's not me, Fam. 

The best parenting advice my mom ever gave, and I'm going to give it to you too, is: Put them down somewhere safe. Walk into the other room. Set a timer for five minutes. Every single time--every single time--I come back from that five minutes, and I've got the answer to the mystery issue within thirty seconds. It doesn't matter if you can still hear Baby crying in the other room, take that five minutes to gather your wits and breathe deeply.
What does your break look like? Is it a desperate five minutes? Is it a pretend poo while their tiny, hammy hands sneak under the bathroom door? Or is it a power nap while they munch on crunchies in the Johnny Jump Up? You decide, but take it.

You don’t have to wait for Grandma to come pick them up, you don’t have to wait for Dad to get off work, and you don’t have to count on Daycare as your sole form of freedom. Stop pulling your hair out and biting your nails. Take a break, Mamma. 

Don't fall under that pretense that you need to be with your angel baby every second of every day. Don't fall for it when Linda tells you that you're neglecting your child if you don't let them in the bathroom to poop with you. Don't panic when that Facebook post going around says they're going to have separation anxiety if you leave them to cry for a few minutes. (NONE OF THESE ARE TRUE)

YOU ARE A PERSON. Mom is not your life, Mom is a new hat you wear. 

You are doing a good job and I want you to know that. I also want you to know that your little attachment is removable; they're attached with some pretty heavy duty velcro, but they're removable. 

5. Find Your Tribe
This sounds like one of those corny inspirational planner stickers with all the boho painted feathers.
So inspire. Much relatable.
But man, is it ever important.
You can't do everything alone, whether you are single or you've got a spouse/partner--you need a "tribe"
Now, let me first tell all of you that my tribe looks very, extremely different than yours probably will. I'm an introvert. My tribe is mostly me. But I've let my husband in. And also my best friend, she can come too. That's my tribe. But those are the people that I know have my back when I need it. Those are the people I can count on to listen and to say things like "No way!" when I need it. Those are the people who will be there(Okay maybe not the best friend because she lives so far away come home I miss you) with a hug and a shoulder to cry on when I am just so frustrated with being a parent.
This tribe is your support group. They support you, you support them. Now more than ever, as a mom, you need this support group. You'd go crazy without them. You'd feel lonely without them.
Where can you find your tribe? Anywhere. Seriously. I know I've been claimed a few times, even as a caregiver, as a member of someone's tribe. It doesn't have to be someone you grew up with, someone you sleep with, or someone who birthed you--it can be anyone.
You can still be Miss Independent, just don't do it alone.
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Lastly, enjoy being a parent, where you can. They're only little for so long; Louie was just an angry potato two days ago, I swear, but now he calls for Dadda, puts pepperonis on his head, and chases the cats on hands and knees.
Don't worry about being the perfect parent, because you wont be. Don't worry about who's baby is doing what and how she's recovering form giving birth and how did they get so skinny--do your best, and then do better tomorrow. You got this.
Be excellent to each other
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My next post will be going live on Feb.12th, 2020*

As of right now, blog posts will be biweekly, on Wednesdays. If you’ve been reading long enough, you’ll know that’s subject to change. I’ll be announcing the date of new posts at the end of each post, the top of the blog home page, my Instagram bio, and Instagram stories. So you can’t miss it!

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Be sure to subscribe so that you are first to know when a new post has gone live!

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Blog: @smalltown.squirrel

Art Page: @thesquirrelshollow

Personal: @sh3rlc3

*I will be posting TWO POSTS on February 12th, so watch out for BOTH!

Vanished

12/12/2017

I had a dream. It’s all I can think about. It was such a beautiful dream, and I can’t bear to think that I might forget it. Though, I’m not sure that I ever could. 

He was so beautiful. When I dream of someone I’ve never met, I can never picture their face, but I saw his face as clearly as my own hands. He was so happy; the happiest human being I’ve ever met. He was so smart and I was so proud of him. 

He was my son. 

His hands were so soft and so small—I can still feel his tiny fingers when I close my eyes. I can feel his soft little temple under my lips as I’m writing this. His eyes are grey like most babies, and his hair is still deciding what it’s going to be: brown like mine, or strawberry blond like my brother. I can hear his little noises; they’re louder than the music filling my bedroom. Ive never heard his voice, yet I heard it clear as day last night. 

I don’t want to wait for him any longer. 

Seven months later, to the day, Louis was conceived. 

It wasn’t until he was lying before us in our bed, just a month after I gave birth, that I remembered this journal entry. I remember thinking that he looked so familiar, like I had seen him somewhere before. That’s when I frantically flipped through my journal for this entry and read it aloud to Ryan. When I was finished reading, we sat in silence for a time. 

Ryan told me that his mother dreamt about him for years before he was born. 

My aunt dreamt of a son for ten years, and finally he was there, just a year before Louie. 

I KNEW dreams like these happened, but, even after all the evidence, I had never expected them to be a real thing that could happen to me. It happened to other people and they told you about it at Thanksgiving dinner.  

Nevertheless, Louie had called me. Clear as a bell ringing. 

Just Louie. 

A pregnancy test(or two, for good measure) a nervous call to the Women’s Center, and a frustrating conversation about how you don’t get “assigned” to an OBGYN(for hell’s sake woman, just set me up with the next available OBGYN, I was just trying to be clever) and many sleepless nights later, I was only a week away from my first appointment. I sat awake, day and night, scrolling through Pinterest, as all newly found-out mother’s do these days, planning my baby’s nursery and pinning my favorite maternity outfits. 

But I soon found myself searching “twin nursery ideas” and I wasn’t sure why. I kept teasing Ryan that we were having twins. I started searching google for symptoms of a twin pregnancy. As my appointment grew closer, I grew more and more sure. I knew. There were two. 

The day we went in for our very first appointment and ultrasound, I was nervous. Because I KNEW he was going to find two babies. 

As I watched the screen light up with the black and white image of my womb, my heart skipped a beat. This was it. I clenched Ryan’s hand as he documented everything on his phone. 

It only lasted ten seconds, but I felt my doctor hesitate. We watched him skip over what looked like a little black hole. “There’s one baby.” He said, as he settled on Louis. He was kicking and wiggling and we couldn’t get a good read on his heart because he just seemed so excited that we could see him. For a moment, I forgot about that empty space. But it was still in the back of my head. “There’s one baby” I could feel my heart still sinking, despite my excitement. 

The doctor went back to the tiny black hole that was slowly chipping away at my heart. 

“It looks like you had a twin gestation, but the second sac is empty. This means that you must have lost the twin early on in the pregnancy.”

I wanted so badly to break down and cry but I kept telling myself “you’ve got one you’ve got one you’ve got one.”

That’s more than enough, right?

I said “Oh. Okay.” 

“The placenta just absorbs it. You won’t birth it.”

“Okay.” 

But I felt it. I knew. I knew I knew I knew. I wanted to throw a tantrum. I wanted to tell him that he must be wrong. 

But... it had vanished. 

Poof.

Vanishing Twin Syndrome is surprisingly common. It can occur without symptoms(aka: no bleeding), as mine did, but some researchers suspect that it can happen even before an ultrasound can detect it. 

Vanishing Twin Syndrome happens in 36% of multiple gestation pregnancies, and 50% in pregnancies with three or more gestations. 

Researchers don’t fully understand it. There are speculations as to why it may happen, in some instances it’s a matter of chromosomal abnormalities. Otherwise, the cause is unknown. 

The biggest mistake I made, that entire pregnancy, was playing it off like it didn’t matter that I lost one. I still had a baby. 

But I wasn’t okay. I was awake nights staring at pictures of two cribs side by side. I was still googling symptoms of twin pregnancies. I still felt like I had two. My body was confused and my brain didn’t want to admit the truth so that we could heal. 

One day, I decided that I should draw how I felt. So I drew this picture. It’s still unfinished.

When I showed Ryan, I cried. We both cried. We held each other tight and let ourselves finally feel the pain. Heartbreak over a miscarriage is of a different kind. It hurts terribly to miss someone you never met. To have loved them so fiercely and so all-at-once and to know that you’ll never meet them. 

Except, then we started to talk about Heaven. 

Ryan told me that he believes that when you die, someone is there to greet you, to accompany you through the gates of Heaven. He told me how his dad imagines that heaven would be every dog he every loved greeting him with slobbery kisses and wagging tails. 

He said “maybe our baby will be there to greet us” 

As comforting as that was, it still hurt. My baby was all alone, while all three of us were here together. They were waiting and waiting, and they were going to keep waiting for a very long time, all alone. 

However, I tried desperately to tell myself that it made me feel better anyway. And to do that, I had to talk about it. 

So I told my family about that conversation. 

And I don’t know how to tell you about nagging thoughts. How sometimes, in the middle of the night, they make you feel chilly and you have to pull your covers up to your chin to sleep. About how they don’t ever go away. How they appear while you’re brushing your teeth, or when you’re sitting alone on a bench. I don’t know how to tell you about the significance of the empty space beside you. And I don’t know how to tell you what it feels like when something is missing but you don’t know what that means... but you do. 

I don’t know how to tell you how relieved I was, how it felt like a great big sigh, how I felt the weight of that nagging and nagging lift and come to light when my mother told me 

That 

I was a twin. 

And suddenly, there was a bit of calm. The storm in my heart found a bit of relief, and all I could see were two hands, interlocked. Two silhouettes. Waiting. 

Together. 

There’s a certain longing that can’t be cured.

Would we have the same eyes? What would they think about? What do they sound like? What is their name? 

I suppose, after that dream, I should have known that two were not meant to be. After all, it was only Louie who came to me. 

Losing a baby, no matter how early, is hard. Losing a baby, even though you still have one, is still hard. It’s all beyond difficult. Coping with losing one baby and still giving birth to a perfect, healthy baby, is very confusing. You’re over the moon for the beautiful baby that you’ve just brought into this world, but filled with massive sadness at the loss of the other. Even if it did happen at six weeks pregnant, and even if you forget to remember that sadness until the midnight feedings.
My pain is not any less significant than that of a singleton miscarriage, and it’s taken me a long time to realize that. I loved that baby. And I never even got to feel it’s movements.

As I’ve scrolled through articles and studies about the loss of a twin and the affect it has on the mother and the surviving twin, I’ve seen so many of the different ways that people cope with the loss of a baby, or try to anyway. 

But only one thing helps me: 

My baby is home, waiting for me with my own other half, and I will reverently remember them in my heart.

And someday, when Louie is old enough, I’ll tell him about his twin too. 

7/14/19

I don’t know what their names would have been, or what they would have looked like, how they would have sounded, or what their personalities would have been like, but I don’t want to assign any of that to them. That’s their own secret, and someday I’ll be in on it too. I imagine they’ll both be there, waiting for me, when I pass away too. Holding hands. Smiling warmly. Waving me over to join them.

My father in-law says that heaven would be every dog he ever loved running to greet him with wagging tails. 

That’s not my heaven.

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My next post will be going live on Jan 29th, 2020. 

As of right now, blog posts will be biweekly, on Wednesdays. If you’ve been reading long enough, you’ll know that’s subject to change. I’ll be announcing the date of new posts at the end of each post, the top of the blog home page, my Instagram bio, and Instagram stories. So you can’t miss it!

.

. 

Be sure to subscribe so that you are first to know when a new post has gone live!

. 

.

Blog: @smalltown.squirrel

Art Page: @thesquirrelshollow

Personal: @sh3rlc3

From the Top

re·in·ven·tion

/rēinˈven(t)SHən/

Learn to pronounce

noun

1. the action or process through which something is changed so much that it appears to be entirely new.

Here’s the deal: I’m different now than I was a year ago. Let’s all just admit that giving birth is traumatizing(if not, wow, teach me your ways) and nobody comes out the other end of it feeling like themselves.

Yes, “I’ve changed” as cliche as that statement is, it’s true. 

I realized, when I chose this topic to write about, that this isn’t the first time that I’ve reinvented myself.

 I’ve reinvented myself several times since birth—even since starting this blog. And it’s not a bad thing. That’s something I’ve been teaching myself: it’s not a bad thing. 

I think a lot of negativity, surprisingly enough, hangs around the act of reinvention. Several, if not most, people associate reinvention with some terrible life event that sets you back and makes you want to curl up in a ball in the corner and cry until the strong hand of reinvention extends itself and pulls you out of your misery. (i.e. breakups, family deaths, job loss, etc.)

Thats just not what it’s been for me in the past few years.  In fact, it’s been a little less violent and a little less dark. (I mean, my kid was violently pushed into this world and that quite literally left a mark on me, but that’s not what I’m getting at here) 

Each time I’ve felt the need to reinvent myself, as of late, it’s been a slow and silent process. It’s been somewhere along the lines of waking up one morning and realizing: “I haven’t been enjoying these things the way I used to because I have been changing into a different person, and it’s time to accept that person.” 

It feels like identity fraud to continue in the same direction when you aren’t the same person as when you started. 

For example: my art has changed drastically from when I first started painting and drawing, to now. My art used to be centered around nightmares and longing and depression, but over the past five years, it’s evolved into bright illustrations of the mountains, life, and mostly bears, to now friendly black and white illustrations. I can’t continue to create art the way that I used to if my source of creativity isn’t the same. My life went in a different direction and I became a different person for it. I don’t create the same way. 

Since I was a sophomore in High School, my mantra has been “everyday, in every way, I am getting better.” Now, you can’t get better without a little reinvention and redirection. If that’s dyeing your hair blue, or moving across state lines, or learning a new hobby—it is what it is. When you don’t let new little versions of yourself leak through, it makes you feel anxious and full of regret; “man, why didn’t I just buy the jacket?”

That’s why I have decided now to embrace it when I change; when I shed my old skin like the cold-blooded, sun-bathing reptile that I am, and become a newer, better version of myself. And sure, we all go through those phases where we look back and go “why did I cut my hair that short? What am I WEARING?”  But think about it: that haircut made you who you are today. You still have that outfit because you’re deeply connected to it and can’t bring yourself to throw it out, even if it is from the cringey early 2000’s, when everyone was wearing skirts over jeans.

I decided to look up the psychological effects of reinventing yourself. And I did that, but I soon realized that self reinvention isn’t a study, and nearly no one has written any articles on the psychological science of it. Well, not that I could find any; not with the hundreds of articles and blog posts titled “15 ways to reinvent yourself” that stared me down while I tried to do some research for you.

While I wasn’t able to find any scientific articles on reinventing oneself, I was able to find some good, meaty articles about why change is good for your psyche. 

What I found(and I’ll share the links at the bottom) was that resisting change in your life in any way, brings on massive amounts of unhappiness. I mean, obviously, that’s the punchline in most romantic comedies, right? 

The thing is, that change allows us some space for reinvention, and provides opportunity to take chances and better our lives. 

Change can happen instantly or gradually. It can be something we decide on our own or something that’s been decided for us (natural causes) but change is very important for personality developement. 

Personality developement isn’t nearly as complicated as it sounds; you don’t have to monitor this by any means, because our brains are hardwired to present new opportunities for change and personality growth/developement. You simply just accept the change, accept the transition into a newer, better you. That’s what we call “character development.” 

At the beginning of your story, right, you’re just some kid from your small town. Then, you learn about love. You learn about life vs death. You lean about sorrow. You learn about happiness. You experience anger. You learn to trust, or to be wary of those around you. In the beginning, you started out as a blank canvas(another cliche), so awkward and unsure of how to play your given roll. Gradually, as you play your part, you have become this intricate masterpiece full of personality that may have survived several plot twists along the way, gained new friends, and learned new skills. 

You’ve become pretty cool. A fan favorite. Obviously. 

The thing about life is—and I’m only saying this like I’m an expert on it because I’ve experienced a decent amount of it myself—it’s full of change. And change is so good. Change is what survival is about. Those who don’t adhere to change and its many lessons don’t adapt. And those who don’t learn to adapt... can’t survive. 

The really cool thing about change? It’s all up to you. How you let a situation change you, help you to grow—it’s your call.

Don’t be embarrassed by how you change and where you end up when all is said and done; life isn’t about keeping up with the Joneses and all the Jessicas on Instagram. Life, when you get right down to it, is about living. Simple. 

So... lets take it from the top. 

Hi. I’m Sherice. I write this goofy little blog, and I named it after the pet name that Grandma Rallison gave to me the day I was born.

I’m an introvert, but thats not a bad thing, and I have come to love that part of me more and more each day.

I have two cats with Latin names and a baby who’s spirit animal is a brown bear(he growls too, it’s fitting) I didn’t enjoy being pregnant, and I’m not one of those “women are Godesses” types. Giving birth traumatized me for months afterward(because 30+ hours in labor with no epidural will do that to you) but I still want more(someday is not today, Guys.) 

I have always wanted to be an astronaut, but more than likely, I will become an architect. 

I am a minimalist in my own right, and I wear the same five outfits every week. I’m not ashamed! Just simple.

My bucket list consists entirely of US national parks. That’s it. That’s all I want to do before I die, but it’s not a short list. 

Once, I woke up in the middle of the night and decided I was going to start a blog and I got so inspired that I wrote six lists and started three new Pinterest boards, pinning somewhere near 1,00 new things in one hour. 

I start over every few months, but I think that’s just the complicated way of saying “exciting” 

I’ve experienced quite a bit of change, a few “new beginnings”, and some reinvention in my own life. I only continue to get better for it. 

While I’m in the middle of this current new beginning, I’m going to cross off some buck list items, achieve some goals, and write some fire blog posts for all my readers because that makes me happy. I just don’t feel like going full pause on life anymore, all because I wake up feeling new one morning. I realize I do that way too often. 

So yeah. Here I am. One more time, from the top. 

Be excellent. 

And while you’re at it, comment your introduction down at the bottom so we can all say hi! 

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The Nature of Change

The Psychology of Change

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My next post will be going live on January 15th. 

As of right now, blog posts will be biweekly, on Wednesdays. If you’ve been reading long enough, you’ll know that’s subject to change. I’ll be announcing the date of new posts at the end of each post, the top of the blog home page, my Instagram bio, and Instagram stories. So you can’t miss it!

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Be sure to subscribe so that you are first to know when a new post has gone live!

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Blog: @smalltown.squirrel

Art Page: @thesquirrelshollow

Personal: @sh3rlc3