It might be easiest to pick up this blog where I left off (forever and a day ago) with derbies!

And pretty ribbons!

And a classic where I was 13th out of a zillion and missed the cut by half a point because I am an idiot and forgot to ask for a lead change—not that I’m still bitter or anything.

However, I have been encouraged by a few to write my story of finding me, so I will. Besides, it would be remiss of me to just ignore this part and pretend like it never happened.

My husband and I worked very hard to get pregnant. There were a series of heartbreaks, trials, issues, surgeries and other fun things. So I will start this blog by stating I understand how lucky I am. I understand that the little one is a blessing beyond belief, and that I should be grateful for every minute I was pregnant, and every minute I have with my son.

That said, I can say with all of my heart I have not struggled as much as I did when I (finally) got pregnant and honestly still continue to find it hard at times.

I have defined myself as a “horse girl” for as long as I can remember. You know the kind (if you’re a reader of this blog and don’t know the kind, clearly you’ve lost your way). The barn rat who lives and breathes horses. Growing up I spent all free time, summers, vacations, mornings, afternoons, and nights with horses. Since then I have found a way to keep horses in my life at all costs. In college I worked three jobs—nanny, shot girl and technology analyst—at the same time (true story). When entering the work world, I would skip out on team lunches to get to the barn early, used my vacation time to go to shows, and have since done anything and everything to make it work.

Then I got pregnant and felt my world crashing in on me. Even through all of my other roles in life, I was defined as a horse girl first (just ask my coworkers how boring I am speaking nothing of horses, horses, horses all the time—good thing my friends understand). Now suddenly it became clear to me that I would be mommy first. Call it a third life crisis; call it an unexpected side effect, but my panic about my self-identity was all encompassing. I felt both terrified and sad, then guilty in a cyclical succession. How could I possibly change me?

My path through was thankfully filled with support from my unbelievable husband, some amazing friends and in the end the world’s cutest baby (if I do say so myself). I hacked TJ up until 33 weeks, and still got on at week 37 to walk around. I was so swollen I could barely get my paddock boots on, much less zipped, and my half chaps were more like sausage casings (I was fun a parties, that much is for sure). But, I was on, and that was all that mattered.

From the other side of pregnancy, having a beautiful, healthy baby boy, I’d love to say that it’s all rainbows and sunshine. But there are days (all of them…) that all I really want to do is go to the barn and all I really can do is fold more onesies. I might be mom first, but the horse girl isn’t far behind. 

Oh, and it doesn’t hurt that I juuuuust might have bought a little something to keep me entertained for a few years. Meet Wesson.

Maybe, just maybe, I will set aside time to blog more often and be more connected to this world instead of baby world. Here’s to hoping.

 

An amateur hunter rider from Austin, Texas, Corley rides with Matt Cyphert at his Woodhill Farm. Last year she ventured to the Florida winter circuits for the first time and wrote about the experience for the Chronicle’s Jan. 19 Winter Circuit Preview Issue, “A DIY Girl In A WEF World.” You can read all her Chronicle blogs here.