All posts by Women on the Rock

It’s time

My last blog post was over three years ago. And, yet, if you asked me my hobbies I would probably still list blogging – though obviously my enjoyment of it has waned. Or has it?

It’s not unexpected to take a three year hiatus from something one enjoys. Life just has a way of, well, getting in the way. In 2015 I had an infant and was still adjusting to life in a new city and state. I was trying to decide whether I should go back to school or get a job or continue staying home with my son. In the meantime, I put in job applications, college applications, and even took the GREs.

Those are the big things; the reasonable things that got in the way. They’re not exactly the honest things. The honest things are mundane, unproductive, and less easily admitted.

Hello, my name is Rachel and I am a time waster.

I am. I spend countless hours perusing social media and no one on Facebook even knows I exist – because I am a stalker, not a poster. And I’m a good stalker, but that’s not the point. I play silly games on my phone that I then have to literally delete them to stop me from playing them. I’ll sit in front of the TV and try to find something to watch for twenty minutes before finally settling on something I’ve already seen.

But, I mean, it’s not about what got in the way. I can focus on that all day and it won’t get me blogging again or reading more. It won’t get me exercising regularly or working side hustles like a lady boss. And chastising myself isn’t a good use of my time either.

I know I’m not a lone time waster. I see it on my social media stalks – we are a generation of time wasters! I spent a few weeks in Nigeria in December and realized how much I take convenience for granted. If my sister-in-law needs to pick up a few things for dinner it is going to be an event – possibly hours long. I casually add things to my grocery list, send the list to the store of my choice when it’s full, and have it loaded into my trunk the next day.

Since that trip I’ve been meditating a lot on the concept of guarding my time. What can I do with this world of convenience? I remember seeing an episode of Ellen and in her opening monologue she talked about how we’ve created all these things to help save us time and women are still putting on mascara at a red light.

So, if I could channel all of that wasted time into productivity, what would the world look like from that vantage? What if we all could? Spend more time volunteering, enterprising, advocating, educating (ourselves & others), creating, cultivating. Or just being – silently, simply, mindfully.

I’m interested in exploring that world.


Breastfeeding at Chipotle

My son is now six months old and in the last six months I have breastfed in a lot of places. Breastfeeding in public is one of those things that most people don’t think about until they have a child or come across a mother breastfeeding at, say Chipotle. And usually that’s when people decide it’s okay or it’s awful. But before you make an assumptions, I want to explain why I choose to breastfeed in public.

You should first of all know that it’s not because I want anyone to see my breasts. They’re large and real and nothing like what you’ll see on-line or in a magazine. And, honestly, after thinking of them as a food source for the last six months, I have trouble remembering that it’s a body part that people like to look at. I don’t much fancy checking out a cow’s udders or a dog’s teats either.

Nursing Mother

I breastfeed in public because I was determined to incorporate my child into my life rather than letting my child own my life. I love my son and I would do pretty much anything for him, but I don’t think it does either of us any good to hide away all the time. So we go out. To restaurants, stores, church services, public meetings, movies, and he’s even been to a stage production. There are obviously times I have chosen not to go somewhere because I didn’t feel like it was a kid-friendly place. But I also sometimes redefine the places that are kid-friendly.

Also, babies get hungry A LOT. And sometimes they want to nurse for reasons outside of hunger. They’re scared or cold or uncomfortable or upset or in pain and nursing makes them feel better. And I’m of the belief that my nursing my son is a lot more enjoyable for fellow patrons than hearing him scream.

One last thing: it’s not really fun for me to breastfeed in public. Because I’m busty it can be really tricky trying to get it ready without showing everything off to everyone in the room. It can be uncomfortable. At home, I have a nursing pillow and a rocker or a couch. At a restaurant I’m usually supporting all of his body weight and I’m hunched over him. And then there’s the dilemma of whether or not I should cover him while he nurses and am I offending anyone and what do I do if he rips the cover off. It can be a stressful event. For me. He’s just blissfully eating away.

So today I met my husband at Chipotle for lunch. I generally don’t love going to places as crowded as Chipotle at lunch time, but they’re running a promotion and we wanted to get free Chipotle. My son was napping when we left and he woke up after we arrived and was, of course, starving. Sadly he hasn’t yet graduated to having burritos for lunch, so I nursed him. Again, the toss up between Nursing Baby versus Screaming Baby.


My husband headed back to work, so it was just the two of us. Him nursing and me people watching. And, I sort of have to give props to the diners. There were all kinds – business men and women, hipsters, tech guys, families, folks of all ages – and I didn’t get one dirty look. And I actually only got a few scared, swiftly moving eyes. In general, people seemed unfazed by this nursing Momma. As I sat there I wondered if Chipotle had any type of policy on breastfeeding, but couldn’t find anything on-line. Most states protect breastfeeding Moms. (Find out about your state here.)

I will say, for the record, that nursing in the booth was fairly uncomfortable. And if you have a child that is easily distracted, it can be a little bit over-stimulating. But for my son, the hum of noise that you find in a busy restaurant was soothing. And he nursed himself right back to sleep. I then quietly slipped him back into his bucket carseat and finished my lunch.

So, if you’re looking for a place to lunch with your breastfed baby, you might want to give Chipotle a shot.

Photo Credits:
Arturo Sotillo

Stay At Home Mom

It is a quintessential day to stay in my pajamas with a piping hot mug of tea. To curl up on the couch with a blanket and a book. To watch the last of the golden yellow leaves on the tree outside my window blowing in the wind. With the addition of a few diaper changes and a newfound love of peek-a-boo, that’s exactly what I’m doing. This is a perk that being a Stay-at-Home Mom affords me.

I never dreamed of having children until I got married and even then the thought gave me nervous butterflies for a while. Our pregnancy was planned and, by God’s grace, well executed. Aside from some early food aversion and fatigue, my pregnancy was easy-going. As it turns out, I’m pretty good at being pregnant. But even for the nine months I was incubating my son, the reality that I was going to be solely responsible for a little tiny human was not present.IMG_1380 (2)

Now I’m not only a Mom, but I’m a Stay-at-Home Mom. And I know how blessed I am to be able to be home with my son. I know there are so many mothers who would love to be home with their children but are unable to financially. So I feel almost callous examining the pros and cons of my current occupation. But for me, a woman who at one point used to very much judge the idea of not going back to work after having children, it seems like a necessity.

As with anything, there’s usually a positive to every negative and vice versa. With that in mind, I present to you the split persona of the Stay-At-Home Mom.

If you so choose, you can stay in your pajamas all day.
If you’re not careful, you could go days without leaving the house.

You are home to make home-cooked hot meals for yourself and your family.
You feel guilty if you don’t feel like cooking.

You can get lunch with friends any day of the week.
Except most of your friends are at work and eating out has to be planned around feedings and naps.

You don’t have to go to a job everyday.
You also don’t really ever go home from your “job”.

You have more time to keep a tidy house.
There are days you won’t have time to tidy. These days might make you feel like a failure as a homemaker.

You will have lots of cute anecdotes to tell your spouse when he comes home.
You will feel the need to list all of the things you did that day just to prove to yourself (and in theory your spouse) that you were productive.

You are the one raising your child.
Your child may have separation anxiety whenever you’re not at home.

A common myth about Stay-At-Home Parents (one that I naively had myself) is that we have lots of time to take up hobbies. This is a lie. Some days you might find time to scrapbook for a bit or knit part of a scarf or bake some bread. But it took me two days just to write this blog post.

blog 2All of those things aside, I do love being able to play with my son all day long. I love being able to nurse him on demand. To get to see his sweet smile every time he wakes up from a nap. In fact, I’m tentatively planning to return to the working world within the next few months and the thought, surprisingly, leaves me with a sense of melancholy.

I’m not sure I’m a lifer in the Stay-At-Home realm, but I am certainly loving it for the moment. Even when I’m washing spit-up out of my hair and sing Jesus Loves You for the fifteenth time that day.

Is 28 Old?

In my head I am still young. Like, a “young person” which is why it’s okay that I’m still figuring out my career path and that I’m just starting a family. Because I’m still so young, right? I am barely out of college. That’s right, right? (If barely means I graduated almost seven years ago.)

The universe seems intent on informing me that twenty-eight is not really as young as I – apparently – like to think. Like when I got the invitation for my ten-year high school reunion. Or got a card from a college roommate and realized I hadn’t seen him in over five years. When Mindy Kaling in The Mindy Project said she cries when she realizes a celebrity is younger than her. And when I was watching Top Chef and one of the contestants was an acclaimed chef at twenty-eight and was not the youngest contestant by far.

So now I am asking myself, am I old? Did I blink and ten years passed?018

I have to sometimes remind myself of the things I have accomplished. I have traveled to five of the seven continents and yet I’m taunted by all the places lurking on my bucket list. I got married to the person I’m planning to be with for the rest of my life. (In fairness, if I thought otherwise I wouldn’t have married him.) I discovered the joys and difficulties of pregnancy and childbirth and now motherhood. I have a lovely diploma informing the world that I attended college for four years. I’ve been heartbroken and hospitalized. I’ve worked for a variety of employers – some of them even had benefits. And I have been in possession of a driver’s license from three different states.

In the grand scheme of things, this may be more than many people accomplish in a lifetime. And it also may be a pitiful comparison to that of a peer’s list of accomplishments. Which basically tells me nothing.

So what is it I thought I’d need to have by twenty-eight that I haven’t obtained?

  • A Master’s degree. Maybe even a PhD. I really expected to continue my education further than a Bachelor’s. And I still intend to do so, but I’m getting kind of old, right? Won’t most of my classmates be young whippersnappers fresh out of undergrad? And I’ll be that student with the husband and kid at home.
  • A career. My current occupation is as stay at home mom and that was nowhere in my dreams. I never anticipated spending whole days in my pajamas making meal plans and changing diapers. And yet, that’s where I am. Not working for a publishing house or running a study abroad program or writing best-sellers. Nope. I’m a professional – okay, let’s be honest still pretty amateur – homemaker.
  • A clear path. When I graduated from high school I had a 5, 10, and 15 year plan. I derailed about a semester into college. Those plans, as it turns out, fell short in real world execution and currently I feel accomplished if I know what we’re eating for dinner tomorrow night. So, a year from now? Ten years from now? No idea.
  • Purchased real furniture. This one is almost embarrassing, but it’s true. The only large purchase my husband and I have made for our household is a mattress and box spring. (And I am seriously in love with our bed.) Everything else in our apartment is a hand-me-down. From the kitchen table and chairs to the couches to the spare bed and dressers.
  • Traveled the world. Or, at least, more of the world. I have yet to visit Australia or Thailand or Peru or Egypt or Honduras or Israel or Vietnam. And that is a very small sampling of my list.
  • Learned a foreign language fluently. For this I have no excuse. I’ve lived abroad and live with a man who is trilingual. What can I say? Other things just got in the way – like Facebook and YouTube and books written in English.
  • Lived in New York City. Truly. I thought it would be my future home. In retrospect I’m not sure it ever would have worked out. It doesn’t really fit me. It’s a remarkable city – just not my city. I don’t like crowds or traffic or cold weather. And yet, I definitely saw living there as some definitive move into adulthood. Or liberation. Or freedom. Or something.

I am twenty-eight. I have no notoriety to my name. I’m not at the top of any career field. I don’t have any letters after my name. I don’t live in an exciting destination city.

But then, I’m only twenty-eight. And I’m going to stick to that old saying that age is just a number. It is, after all. It doesn’t have to be a milestone. It can just be a number like any other.

Or, at the very least, I’m not thirty yet, so there’s that…

Hating on Marriage

Recently I have seen a lot of articles hating on marriage. More specifically, married women. Which could lead me into an entire diatribe of why society feels that when men get married it shows that they’re committed and honorable and when women get married it shows that they’re desperate and need a man to define them. But that’s a topic for another time.

Right now I want to discuss why society is hating on marriage. I mean, there’s a huge global movement fighting for the rights for marriage. Gay marriage has been a hot button issue for my entire adult life and yet, getting married is selling out or losing yourself or giving up your freedom. If that’s what marriage is for heterosexuals, then the homosexual community should turn back now! Do not enter! This marriage place is THE WORST!Tandem Love

Except that it’s actually not. And that’s why they’re fighting for it.

Obviously the real aim of these articles is to celebrate being single which I fully support. I just don’t think you have to hate on marriage to love the single life. In fact, I think if you need to hate on marriage to love the single life then you’re really not loving your single life, but rather rationalizing why it’s better than marriage. I won’t rationalize to you why being married is better than being single because I’m not trying to convince myself that being married is better than being single. My path ultimately led me to marriage. Maybe yours won’t. Both are still good paths.

I know a lot of women. I have known a lot of women. Married, single, divorced, old, young, feminists, pro-life activists, religious, atheist, gay, straight, smart, not so smart, funny, mean. A lot of women. I am a woman. I’ve been on this planet for twenty-seven years. It was bound to happen.

Some of the women I know started looking for marriage at a ripe, young age. My freshman year of college I was introduced to the “Ring Before Spring” concept. That is, the girls that go to college simply to find a husband and fully expect to be engaged before they graduate – and maybe even forego graduation in favor of marriage. Some of those women are happily married. Some are still single. Some are maybe divorced.

I know other women, like myself, who were never going to marry. That’s right, I’m writing a blog post talking about NOT hating on marriage and yet, when I was twenty-one I could have written a post on exactly the opposite. Namely, why marriage is an unfounded institution that is the work of governments to keep better track of their citizens. But you know what? I didn’t hate on married people. In fact, I used to tell my parents – who have been happily married for over 40 years despite that they married at a young, impressionable, hardly knew themselves age of 19 and 23 – that they gave their children unrealistic expectations of marriage because theirs is so wonderful. So, despite not needing marriage to find fulfillment in my own life, I recognized that marriage could be an incredibly beautiful and powerful union.

I knew myself before I met my – now – husband. And I know myself now. And they’re not the same people. Because I have had some significant life changes. I opened myself up and let myself be vulnerable. I moved to Cartagena, Colombia without much of a plan and loved/hated every minute of it. I learned more about the immigration process than anyone should ever have to know. I have had multiple real, life-altering experiences with God. I road-tripped across the United States. I picked up my home base and moved it across state lines permanently for the first time in my entire life. Oh yeah, also, I got married.

Wedding DayAnd you know what? I love being married. Not for the title – in fact, two and half years later and it still freaks me out a little bit that I’m someone’s wife – or the security, though sometimes that is nice, but because I love my husband and we both know that our marriage took work and significant commitment before we ever said any vows or signed any papers. That sounds sappy and a little ridiculous even to my own ears and I don’t know if I would feel exactly the same if I was in a committed relationship with the same man and we never signed papers. If we were just partners instead of husband and wife – because marriage really is just paperwork in many ways. But marriage was the path for us – the best path for us and I don’t regret it for a single second.

Sure, sometimes I long to buy a plane ticket and just take off. And I can’t. And, you know what, that moment sucks. And then I think about why I can’t do that and it doesn’t suck quite as much anymore. I remember how much I really love my life now and maybe taking off to a foreign country isn’t the right path or direction for my life in this moment. And when it is again – and it will be, I assure you – then everything will fall into place and we’ll come to it on our path.

The moral of this story? Being married isn’t a bad thing. A married woman isn’t a sell out and a single woman isn’t going to be a cat lady. Being single is amazing and if you are single, enjoy every second of your single life. But don’t love being single because you think I, the married woman, am miserable. Because I’m not. And you don’t need to convince yourself that I’m miserable in order for you to be happy.