Domestic Frenzy

Help me. Somebody stop me. I’m in a domestic frenzy and I don’t know how to get out. My husband had to tell me to stop and rest 3x last night. I couldn’t stop. I’m sending all closets and drawers through a serious purging regimen. I’m cleaning all of those cracks and corners that I don’t even notice the other 364 days of the year. My label maker, Monica, is on overdrive. I’m cooking and baking up a storm, things I’ve never made before like homemade jam, marinara sauce from scratch, and the list goes on. This is not like me, not to this extent anyway. I’m out of control. I can’t stop. People say this is what happens right before you go into labor. Ugh, it’s WAY too early for that, seeing as I’m still 6 weeks out from my due date. When I stop to think about what’s driving this domestic frenzy, there are a number of ‘perhaps’ that cross my mind:

Perhaps it’s because I’m fearing the chaos that’s about to ensue once lil Meuz Deux enters the picture, a season in which grilled cheese sandwiches will be considered gourmet and any energy we do have might be spent wishing like crazy for the cleaning fairies to come.

Perhaps it’s because I fear that with two boys this may be the last time I have a clean house for, uh, the next 2 decades.

Perhaps it’s because we live in a small space, toys encroaching on big people space everywhere. We’re adding another human, so we must get rid of at least that much clutter.

Perhaps it’s my way of dealing with the multitude of things coming my way that I won’t be able to control. There’s a good chance it’s this one.

It’s fascinating, in an out of body experience sort of way, to watch this in myself because I don’t recognize myself. The good news is the house smells like french toast and candles and everything is in its place for the moment. The bad news is that I feel a little bit like a very tired runaway train, albeit a very clean one serving up some tasty food.

Love Multiplied?

As the countdown to Baby Meuz Deux begins, many people have asked me if I’m, ‘so ready to be done being pregnant?’ or if I ‘can’t wait to have this baby?’ And my answer is no, with a little bit of yes mixed in. I am truly eager to meet and get to know this new little being. And the truth is, I don’t love being pregnant, but this pregnancy has been physically easier than the first. I attribute that to a better diet and consistent, frequent exercise throughout the pregnancy. Emotionally, well, that’s a different story as I’ve been a bit of an emotional train wreck this time around. Am I looking forward to saying a big adios to the hormones coursing through my veins? Absolutely. Am I looking forward to bidding adieu to the pillow fortress? You betcha. And so is my husband. Am I looking forward to being able to climb into bed without sounding like I just ran a 100 yard sprint, to wearing pants without a stretchy waistband, to running faster than an 80 yr old, to losing the heater attached to my frontside, to drinking wine and eating sushi again? To all of these things I say a whole-hearted yes, amen, please and thank you.

But all of these discomforts or disadvantages of pregnancy are far outweighed by two aspects of post-pregnancy that concern me, for lack of a better phrase. I have been thoroughly enjoying my days with Ben. He is at such a cute stage, toddling all over the place and babbling away in Benjamin-ese, a language that only he and God seem to understand. He’s so curious and fascinated with books, music, art, and anything that Mommy and Daddy are eating, drinking, or using. I have to confess, yesterday he got his first taste of brownie mix w/ a little water stirred in (mama’s guilty go-to when she needs a chocolate fix). I shudder to think of it, but he saw me eating it and started pointing and whining (the whining is not my favorite part of this stage). I caved. I fed my son a spoonful of brownie mix (don’t worry, no raw eggs in it). What was that I was saying about a better diet this time around? Hey, a pregnant woman needs her occasional chocolate! All that to say, we have so much fun everyday. I love watching him discover and master new skills and his curiosity breathes life into my soul.

This not to mention that I love the daily routines we’ve established, routines that I know will quickly fly out the window in approximately 6 weeks. And as you may know, this right-brained, big ole ‘P’ on the Myers-Briggs, isn’t a routine person. That’s not to say that I don’t like routines because I kind of do, I’m just not very good at implementing them. So, the fact that we’ve got some good routines going on, not only means that my son gets his teeth brushed most days, but I feel a little more calm and my brain, a little less crazy. So, you can see why I might feel a bit apprehensive about letting go of those heartily fought for routines.

But the biggest reason why I feel uncertain, nervous, anxious, or whatever you want to call it that I’m feeling about adding #2 to the mix, is because it means I will have two children…two children to love, that is. I’m not as concerned about the work of two children as much as I am about what it will look like to divide my focus, my energy, and my love between two children. Will each kid only get half? Or will it somehow, in a way unbeknownst to me, multiply? I love Ben more than I knew it was possible to love anyone who wasn’t my husband. And I wonder, quite honestly, will I love this baby as much as I love Ben? I want to. But for the last 2 years since we conceived Ben, it’s been all about him. All my kid-directed energy has gone towards him, towards learning about him, getting to know him, and learning the ropes of motherhood with him in mind. And suddenly, there will be this new little person, also of my flesh and blood, but currently a complete unknown, who will clamor for my love and attention. I can’t fathom loving a child as much as l love Ben. Yet I hope and pray that love truly does multiply, that it’s just as natural of a process to love this baby as it was when the love just seemed to well up inside of me and overflow onto Ben. Ben has been, for the most part, such an easy and laid back baby. What if this one is a little terror? I know that sounds awful to say, but I really fear feeling an internal preference towards one child over the other. I pray for eyes to see this new baby for who HE is, all the tiny nuances that make him different from Ben, and that love multiplies in such a way that I am able to love him as much as I love Ben.

All my second and third-time mom friends assure me that this will happen. And I know full-well that just because I can’t imagine how something will work doesn’t mean that it won’t. But this is my process, albeit a bit wandery. And this is my honest answer to the questions I am asked nearly every day, ‘are you so ready for baby #2 to be here?’ No, in the sense that I’m trying to cherish every last moment I have with just Ben, our family of 3, and our sweet little routines that I’ve come to enjoy. But yes, in the sense that deep down, I know that this new little Meuzie is a unique, God-made little boy, who will fill me with wonder and evoke more crazy love in me than I knew was possible. And when I think of it that way, I can’t wait to meet him.

Boyville Times 2

I find it hard to believe that I'm already approaching the 30 week mark. The return of the exhaustion and heartburn has been both sudden and intense. Tom asked me this morning if I was entering the 'I'm so ready to be done being pregnant' phase. And honestly, while it would be nice to sleep again (though I'm not banking on that for at least another 4-5 years) and to get my body back, I'm not in that phase and I actually never hit with the last pregnancy either. While I am excited to meet the newest member of our family, I am also trying very much to enjoy this time with just Ben, the sweet moments, the routines we have in place (as those are all about to go out the window come November), and just life as I know it right now.

It's been fun for me to look back at my journal from my last pregnancy, all of the feelings I was experiencing, the many unknowns I was about to step into. And it's especially fun to reflect on how I feel about those same things now. One of the things that felt so very scary to me last time was that of having a baby boy, as opposed to a girl. I felt like I didn't have a clue about boys then. And I don't know that I am all that much wiser now, but I can tell you that I wouldn't trade Ben in for anything in the world. I do wonder what it will be like to be a mom to two boys, so different than how I had once envisioned my life, to be honest. But I know that time will tell and thus far I have absolutely LOVED being a mom to one adventurous, tender, and adorable little boy.

As I read through my old journal, I stumbled across a little piece I wrote, but for some reason never posted in the blog. It's entitled, Approaching Boyville. I found it quite humorous to read now, now that I've been living in Boyville for over a year. And so I thought I would post it now:

Approaching Boyville

With a mere 4 weeks left until D Day, the announcement playing in my head goes something like this, “You are now approaching Boyville. We’re expecting a bit of turbulance and what might be a rough landing, so please fasten your seatbelts and attempt to enjoy the ride.” Yup, we’re almost there and I am feeling a myriad of emotions as I peer out the window and spot the first signs of Boyville. For starters, there’s a heck of a lot of blue out there and more animals and trucks and furry little red guys than I’m used to. I’m filled with anticipation, nervousness, excitement, and sheer wonder as to what it will be like once we enter Boyville. While I feel like I’m not a total stranger to Boyville, having made several visits in the distant past, they were rather short and not entireably pleasurable. Most of what I know about Boyville, I learned when I visited Manland about 4 years ago, where I met a smart, sexy resident named Tom. I fell so hard for him that I decided to move with him to Marriagetown, which in fact draws a lot its cultural influences from both Manland and Womanland. The language, the foods, the leisure activities, the interior style all reflect characteristics of both places. Though it does seem that the general style of interior décor is growing to be more heavily influenced by Womanland. I digress.

Anyway, both my experiences in Manland and Marriagetown have shed some light on what Boyville is really like, because Tom grew up in Boyville. Yet, as we approach this land, I still feel like a total foreigner and that feels scary, really scary. How will I know how to act in Boyville? After all, I grew up in Girlville and with 2 sisters, I spent ALL my time growing up in Girlville. It’s what’s familiar to me. Boyville might as well be Mars to me. But I’ve been reading in my Lonely Planet Guide to Boyville and it’s provided me with some tips that seem like they’ll prove useful for my survival, err time, in Boyville. For example, under extra things to pack, it instructed me to bring some extra burp clothes and diapers to use when changing a diaper in Boyville, so as to avoid being doused by a 'spontaneous yellow fountain.' I also read that it would be helpful to pack along some extra bandaids and neosporin. Oh and they said to drink a lot of coffee and caffeine, as the littlest residents of Boyville tend to have an abundance of energy and may be challenging to keep up with.

In reading about the language of Boyville, I discovered that it’s the same as in Girlville, but there’s a different dialect and particular words which are used more often than in the region of Girlville where I grew up. I’ve been trying to memorize some of those words and their meanings including, “Thomas the Train, trucks, build, destroy, dirt, fart, burp, wrestle, etc…” While I recognize that there are plenty of residents of Girlville who are familiar with and use those words as well, I am noting that I don’t happen to be one of them. I also read that residents of Boyville (and Manland) tend to be more direct in their language.  I even heard there is an oral exam upon entry to the country, apparently it's to ensure your ability to communicate in Boyville. You have to relay an entire story in 20 words or less, which will be quite the challenge for this verbose female! I was however, delighted to read about some of the popular activities in Boyville, ones that I too, happen to be familiar with and love, including playing outside, hiking, camping, exploring, and playing sports. These are not activities that are exclusive to Boyville, but not enjoyed by all girls in Girlville either. Yet, they are acitivities that I love and while I don’t yet know if my boy will love them too, if he does, I can assure you that they are things that will allow me to feel a little more at home in this otherwise foreign land.

All this to say, it’s one thing to read a book about a place or to hear about other peoples’ experiences, but it’s an entirely different thing to actually visit and experience a place for oneself. And every experience is unique, this I know. So, as I make my way ever closer to Boyville, I am putting on my brave face (and arms and legs and…) and I am trying to approach it with an open mind and heart, with humility, a sense of humor, as a learner of the culture and the people, especially the one little guy with whom I’ll be spending the majority of my time while I’m there. Whatever vocabulary he uses and whichever leisure activities he decides he likes, I’m looking forward to engaging in those with him and I have a feeling that he will have a great deal to teach me as well.

Simple Moments, Sweet Joys

While I can’t remember much these days, I do remember when I was pregnant with my first child, Ben, and people would ask me all sorts of questions, mostly of the well-meaning but occasionally dumbfounding variety (like, did you really just comment, ‘you look huge, are you so ready to have that baby?’). And then they would often proceed in their attempts to ‘prepare me for motherhood’ by saying things like, “sleep now because you won’t sleep for the next 18 years” or “ get ready because your life is about to totally change, it’s gonna be all about diapers and feeding and the latest Pixar movie from here on out.” Or there’s my favorite, “brace yourself for this baby to rock your marriage. It’s extremely difficult to find time for you and hubby to connect once baby arrives and to talk about things other than poopy diapers and a sleep schedule. But you need to find that time, so be intentional.” The picture of the child-rearing phase being painted in my head could have easily been entitled, “Misery.” Hearing all of these stories and pieces of advice started to send me into a bit of a panic as I found myself begging my husband, “Tell me again, why we chose to do this.” But I reasoned that those same people choose to have more than one child, so there has to be an/some upside(s), right?

And in all honesty, now that I have my own child, I can say that much of what people ‘warned’ me about is true in some way. It IS challenging. Having a child does change your life, it does change your marriage, but not all for worse, and in fact, not even mostly. What I wasn’t hearing much of when I was pregnant, what I wished I had heard, were the sweet moments, the ones that I think people are thinking of (but often don’t bother to tell you or perhaps they can’t articulate) when they pat me on the shoulder and assured me, “but it’s all worth it.” In my opinion, those are the stories that expectant mamas and papas need to hear. Of course it’s healthy to have our expectations set as realistic as possible, but there are plenty of books out there to inform us of our impending lack of sleep. And the reality, at least my reality, is that there are countless tender moments that really don’t carry the weight they deserve until you experience them for yourself. So, now that I’ve ventured a mere 14 months into the motherhood and am preparing to welcome another little monkey to our family, I thought I would share just 10 (of many) sweet moments I’ve experienced with Ben that consistently melt my heart, increase the ‘love-flow’ as I call it, and truly (I swear to you) make being a mom, the incredible, wonderful, life-changing journey that it is.

1. The wide-eyed gaze of wonderment that my son gets when he rides in the stroller, in awe of the trees rustling in the wind, the puffy white clouds dancing in the sky, and the birds serenading us as we stroll on by (one big reason why a ‘peek-window’ in the shade canopy is so worth it!)

2. The hearty laughter that erupts from the pit of his belly in uncontrollable waves simply because that one little piggy dared to go ‘wee wee wee, all the way home.’

3. The look of joy that emanates from his face as he hears the altogether new sound that he created by banging 2 plastic balls together in his tiny hands.

4. When we arrive home in the car and he is cashed out in his carseat, appearing so peaceful and serene, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, which appear chubbier and even more kissable than usual. And I take a moment to watch and listen to his soft rhythmic breathing, a sort of breathing that speaks the language of rest.

5. The glowing pride he radiates as he dares to take an unassisted step and then proceeds to crash into the safety of my embrace, laughing with delight.

6. The initial moments following a nap, when I walk into his room, assuring him and his tears that “mommy is here.” He peers up at me from his crib, still half asleep, arms stretched in the air, with that one giant, salty tear drop still resting on his cheek. I pick him up and he clings with both hands to my neck and rests his warm, sleepy head on my shoulder, cuddling for a moment or two before he spots his toy on the floor and starts squirming to get down, ready to begin exploring his world all over again.

7. Bathtime – His excitement and laughter as he splashes at the water and squirts a stream into my face with his little dolphin-shaped bath toy. And as I bundle him up in his towel and nuzzle my face into his tufts of soft, fine hair, I breathe in the sweet smells of chamomile and lavender, sweetness to my senses.

8. The persistence he demonstrates as he pushes his fire truck through the living room, up and over that pillow that threatened to stop him, ‘vroom-vrooming his way on through!’

9. I can’t help but laugh and appreciate (for now anyway) the moments when he dares to drop a piece of food over the edge of his high chair to our dog, who now consistently parks her ever-widening behind under the high chair at meal time. As I point to my mouth and firmly say, ‘Ben, you eat your food, in your mouth please. Do not give it to Sami,’ he flashes me a rebellious grin, drops it right into Sami’s mouth, and laughs like he’s just pulled off the biggest scam in the world. Like I said, it’s funny now but ask me again in two years!

10. When we arrive somewhere new and to him, quite foreign, I can see the adventurous look in his eyes. He wants so desperately to explore his new surroundings. He wanders out from my embrace, crawling (soon to be walking) over to some shiny object or person, to check it out. And a moment or two later, he quickly comes crawling back to my arms, a place where he has learned will greet him with safety and love. And he repeats this ‘out and back’ behavior over and over again, each time discovering a little more how he is separate from me, his own little person, but also how he can still come back to me, and I will be there. I recognize that these ‘out and back’ adventures are going to become farther and last longer with each passing year, which is why I want to cherish each and every sweet, tender, joy-evoking moment with him that I can!

(Right click and press 'stop download' if you can't play the video; and you might want to turn your volume down to avoid hearing my high-pitched, squeaky mom voice!)

Love The One You're With!

Standing in the grocery store line last week, I couldn’t help but be assaulted by, err, notice the magazine headlines clamoring for my attention: “10 Tips to Get a Hot Body Now;” “Swimsuits That Slim You Instantly;” “Four kids, no time, this body…find out how she does it.;” “How to Get the Body of Your Favorite Celeb;” “5 cellulite fixes that actually work;” “The trick to getting rid of your double chin;” “Down 35 lbs and already rockin’ a bikini bod just 5 weeks after giving birth.” I wanted to burn them all, the magazines that is, not because I wouldn’t love to have the body of a celebrity or lose my double chin, but because I tire of the messages our culture sends to women about their bodies. Messages like, you have to be skinny to be sexy, you’ll only be desired for your outward beauty, you’re identity is in how you look, and on and on they go. They’re sometimes subtle, sometimes blatant, but either way they tend to leave women feeling dissatisfied with their bodies and under constant pressure to look a certain way.

I’m very much for healthy eating, being fit and in shape, and taking care of your body. But I’m also for balance, accepting the body you’ve been given, and rockin’ what you got! The journey to have a healthy body image has been life-long for me. And not long after I hit my stride as I rolled into my 30’s, feeling really comfortable in my own skin, did I get pregnant. At first, there wasn’t much of a physical change, at least outwardly. Yet the hormones kicked in immediately, ‘the girls’ began to ache, and my tummy began to rebel. And shortly thereafter, the visible signs appeared as my belly began to burgeon, along with other parts of me that unexpectedly burgeoned too! For me, it was my backside, my bum, my derriere, whatever you want to call it. When I'm preggo, it grows at approximately the same pace as my belly. Perhaps it's attempting to even things out, so as to keep me balanced, or at least that's what I tell myself anyway!

Every woman is different and thus, the shape that a pregnancy takes varies from body to body. The one certainty is that your body will change when you're pregnant. How do you handle this change? Some women welcome it completely, taking great comfort and joy in the fact that this ever expanding body is growing another human being. But many women I've talked to experience mixed feelings, the comfort and joy mentioned above, meshed with a struggle to love their widening, softening, and ever growing body.

An even greater challenge for many women, me included, is that of embracing our bodies which are forever changed once we've pushed out that bowling ball-sized bundle of love. No one warned me that I would still look pregnant AFTER I gave birth! I remember having a friend come to visit me in the hospital the day that my son was born. I was in the bathroom when she arrived and as I came out, I felt the need to warn her, "I swear I gave birth today, but I still look pregnant!" This not to mention that I was incredibly swollen EVERYWHERE due to the IV that had to be pumped through me for 45 hours. I look back at pictures of me with my family, shortly after Ben's birth, and let's just say, it's hard for me to see myself in that state.

I immediately loved my sweet baby boy more than I ever thought I could love someone who wasn't my husband, but I struggled to accept all the jiggle in places I never knew could jiggle and that I weighed more than I ever had in my life even though I was sans baby in the belly. But through the years, I've come to realize that body image or how I feel about my body is really a matter of perception and attitude. I know women who at 39 weeks pregnant, if you looked at them from the backside, you wouldn't be able to tell they were pregnant. And those same women slid back into their size 2 skinny jeans just days after giving birth. Yet, in talking with some of those women, they too, identified parts of their bodies with which they were dissatisfied. As someone who will NEVER don a pair of skinny jeans (due to calves that are about the same size as my thighs, ok not quite, but you get the picture), I initially thought to myself, 'but how in the world could you be dissatisfied with your body when you look like THAT?' But I was quickly reminded that no matter our shape or size, we as women can always find parts of our bodies that we don't like, often times much more easily than we can identify the parts we're happy with. All too often, I think we waste a lot of energy being mad at our bodies, rather than making friends with them.

Long before my baby-making days, in effort to 'make friends with my body,' I began asking myself this question from time to time, "Right now, is your body a stranger, enemy, or friend?" I began to explore my views and beliefs towards my body and where those were coming from. I found that many of my beliefs came from what culture was telling me I was supposed to look like rather than what my preferences were or what made me feel good.

After giving birth, I desperately needed to revisit the stranger, enemy, or friend question. I also realized that I needed to spend some time reflecting on the awesome feats my body had just pulled off. As I did, I began to thank my body. It may sound corny, but sometimes a little heart to heart, or rather heart to thighs dialogue is necessary for me. And as I listen to my body, and sit in awe of everything my body does for me on a daily basis, I am filled with gratitude, able to more easily accept my not-so-favorite-parts.

These are a few questions/exercises that seem to help me and thought I’d pass them along!

1. Right now, do you see your body as a stranger, enemy, or friend?
2. What attitude do you have towards your body today? Positive or negative? Grateful or disparaging?
3. Make a list of the amazing things your body has done for you today. Perhaps you could start with the fact that your body woke up this morning breathing!
4. What have you done to love your body today? Maybe start with thinking about what things you could actually do to love your body. Here are a few that I like: feeding it healthy foods, exercise, warm bath
5. Think of something that makes you feel beautiful, not beautiful in the "so and so told me I totally rock those jeans" kind of beautiful, but something that makes you feel beautiful inside and out. For me, it's going for a hike or a run, somewhere in nature. Something about the sun shining on my face, the wind blowing in my hair, and my body carrying me up a hill leaves me feeling strong and beautiful. Whatever it is for you, DO IT!
6. What does it look like for you to accept what you're not and embrace all that you are, when it comes to your body?

As my second pregnancy ensues, it once again is debatable as to whether the baby is growing in my belly or my bum, but I'm in a much better place this time around to be friends with my burgeoning backside. I'm choosing to treat my body right, eating healthy and exercising, and I feel great. Everyday, I make it a practice to thank my body for its willingness to undergo such duress, so as to grant me with another beautiful family member to love. After all, we only have one body, so I say, love the one you're with!

Hard Wall, Hard Head

I suppose it's been a while, as in decades, since I've stopped to actually think about the fact that if I move head first towards a wall, my head and the wall will at some point collide, movement will be halted and it may very well hurt. At my wise old age of 37 (it's true, it's true) that reality is pretty ingrained and thus I make it a habit not to walk or crawl head first into walls. That's not to say that I don't bang my head frequently on other things like cabinet doors, because I do, but not purposefully! However, my cute little 1 yr old has no such wisdom yet and is, in fact, discovering the many things his body can do. He's developing his spacial awareness, aka crawling head first into walls and closing doors on his fingers. He will literally crawl right into the wall, almost as if to say, "I've learned the wall is coming, but where is it? How far until I get to it? Oh, there it is, ouch!" (As evidenced in video below!)


He's discovering the sounds he can make when he bangs his hands (and his head) on different things, like the wall, the window, a bowl, his high chair, my leg, etc... And then he's also learning how to open and close doors, fascinated by his ability to do so, but altogether surprised when he pushes the door so as to wedge his head in between the door and the door frame and then can't figure out how to pull his head out. Both the look of "Mommy, I did it, I opened the door, I'm so proud!" and the look of "oh no, oh no, I got my head stuck. This was fun but now it's nooooooot" are priceless, each in their own ways.

I love love love watching him discover what he can do as I imagine the surprise, the joy, the pride, the frustration, and sometimes even the fear he seems to feel with each new discovery. This last week, he took his first step by himself and then immediately proceeded to crash into my arms, face marked with a giant smile and a belly filled with laughter. Oh and my heart is stretched a little bigger by the soft fists of joy with each of these tender moments. Yes, I may have gained some wisdom over the years, even though I am pretty sure I've lost a good deal of it during these two pregnancies. But I've started to wonder, in gaining wisdom, knowledge, and familiarity, perhaps a little of the joy of discovery is lost. How many 'firsts' do I have now, at my age? Yet, Ben is full of firsts, his life full of newness and discovery. And in watching him, I am reminded to continue discovering and finding new ways to stretch and grow myself. I don't think I'll start crawling into walls, but I am encouraged to try some new things, being ever the learner. Thanks, once again Ben, for a sweet reminder. You truly are my pride and joy...and though you have one hard head, you also have one tender heart!

Distractible Me

Ah, I fondly remember the days when I would linger over a glass of wine or a foamy latte with a friend, conversations about world issues, social justice, faith, and outdoor adventures, filling the space between us. Present, focused, relaxed, engaged are just a few of the words that I might have used to describe myself during those conversations. And after those hours of wonderful conversation, I’d meander out the door, contemplating what shops I might quickly pop into on my way home.

Gone are those days, or so it might seem, replaced by quick lunches and conversations peppered with references to teething, pooping, and nap schedules, worked around frequent floor searches for a dropped toy. Any decent and interesting conversation is quickly interrupted by a cute little 1 year old who steals the show (and mommy’s attention) everywhere he goes with his 4 tooth smile and animated babbling. To be honest, I remember thinking in my life BK (Before Kids), how annoying it was to try to talk with a friend who had her kids with her, with the constant interruptions and change of topics because we couldn’t remember what we had been talking about before those interruptions. But now I get it, I get it because I am that mom, and Distractible Me is my name.

And to be honest, it’s a struggle for me. It’s not any easier than it was when I was on the kidless end of things. It’s a daily challenge I face as a mom, feeling pulled in a multitude of directions. I never want to think of my son as an interruption. He is my focus, my first human priority next to my husband. So, as I continue to learn how to navigate my way through the land of Mommyhood, the challenge becomes, how do I still make time, quality, focused time, in which I can be present with my girlfriends and other people in my life? Relationships are super important to me, they always have been. And now I have these two, soon to be three, main relationships in my life that I desire to pour into with all my heart. But sometimes I feel like I just want to throw my hands up and say, ‘what gives? Because something has got to give.’ While I know relationships with people outside of my family have and will change and morph with the times, I want to be careful to still nurture my closest ones because I personally need that connection.

Last week, a very good friend of mine treated me to dinner in celebration of my birthday. This is a friend with whom our regular connection happens over a walk to the park with our kids, where conversation is choppy at best, squeezed into the moments between runs down the slide and swing-pushing. This birthday dinner was to be sans kids and it was WONDERFUL! 3.5 hours of uninterrupted, meaningful conversation, covering just about every relevant (to us) topic imaginable, including professional ideas and goals, child-rearing philosophies, body image, challenges of marriage, our most recent triumphs and struggles. Did I mention how wonderful it was? Even though it was well past my pathetic bedtime of 9:30 pm when we finally said our goodbyes, I felt more energized and refreshed than I had in a long time. A few days later, our husbands were talking and commented on how happy my friend and I both were when we arrived home that night. The hubbys agreed that we should make this a habit and that they were willing to watch the kids on a regular basis to make it happen for us. No arguments from us, twist of the arms unnecessary, we are so up for that!

One of the topics my friend and I discussed at dinner that night was our frustration with feeling so distracted. Though we both cherish our friendship, we both confessed often feeling like a ‘bad friend’ due to our inability to be truly present with each other. But we both recognize that when one of our kids falls down and hits her head or starts eating the sand rather than playing with it, that conversation is trumped by the need to attend to our little ones. It just is. But this is no easy thing to accept at times. Both of us therapists, we once prided ourselves in being good listeners and in our ability to be truly present and engaged with people. We asked ourselves, is that ability gone? Are we forever destined to be distractible, plate spinning, stressed out moms? NO. No, it doesn’t have to be that way, was our conclusion. We just need to set aside time to cultivate those things, quality time where our attentions aren’t being pulled in all different directions. We absolutely love our kids with all our hearts, but we recognize that we are better wives and moms when we are intentional about having good ole’ girlfriend time!

In the last year, I’ve tried to squeeze girlfriend time into times when I have Ben with me because I’ve wanted to guard my evenings and weekends for time with Tom. And while it’s easy for me to ask Tom to watch Ben while I go for a run, somehow I feel guilty asking for time to get out with a girlfriend. I guess because I’ve had this thinking (until now) that being a Stay-at-home-mom affords me the opportunity to get together with girlfriends all the time, but it’s always with our kids (or at least with my kid if they don’t have kids). So, really it’s not time that allows for deep conversation or connection, it’s more like I have company while I’m taking care of Ben in some way. Making the distinction between the need for company and the need for connection has been huge for me. And knowing that one-on-one time with a friend energizes and refreshes me as much as doing anything active, has been helpful for me in deciding to set aside time for that at least once a month.

I’m finding that my attempt to balance all of the demands of motherhood is no easy task, especially when those demands are constantly changing. I love my husband, I love my baby boy, I love my friends, and I even love the work that I do. Yet I struggle to feel like I’m doing all of these things well, rather I often feel like I’m doing a so-so job at all of them. I know it’s a process, one that requires constant prioritizing and taking the time to remember what’s important to me in the moments when I start to forget, or rather, get distracted!

Adventures of Summer

July, already? Fourth of July weekend felt like it should have been Memorial Day Weekend! Where is the summer going? My little baby boy is now officially a toddler (sniff sniff), turning 1 last week. And much to my disbelief, I am already 20 weeks along in this pregnancy. Half way, woot woot! I summarize this part of the pregnancy with the phrase, "gaining pounds, losing speed." What phrase would characterize your life right now? Between the heat and the belly, I'm losing steam when it comes to my workouts, growing more tired by the day. But it feels good to continue to at least show up, just not pushing myself as much. I continue to learn what it means to have both awareness of my body and listen to what it's telling me. Yesterday it told me that it needed ice cream!

As I mentioned, I'm 20 weeks along, which means we had 'the big ultrasound.' Thankfully, baby looked healthy and we saw lots of appropriately formed parts, fingers, toes, spine, legs, arms, nose, and one definite penis! Yes, we are having another boy! For those of you that remember, I cried when they told me Ben was a boy. It was mostly because I come from a family of 3 girls and I had absolutely no idea about boys. Yes, I married a man, but boys? I didn't have a clue and I always pictured myself being the mom of a little girl. Apparently, God had another idea in mind for our family, as I'm about to become the mom of not one, but 2 boys! Now that I know Ben and the delight that he is each and every day, I can't imagine it any other way. But I'm still spending a good deal of time these days contemplating what it means to be the mom of two boys. Only time will tell!

One thing I know to be certain is that if the second is anything like Ben, it will mean lots of activity and even more loads of dirt! Ben proves over and over again his love for the elements, particularly earth and water.
He makes a beeline towards anything with water, the dog dish, the toilet, a water bottle, he can't get enough! And the dirt, well, he loves to play in the dirt. We went camping up at Lake Dillon for 3 nights over the Fourth of July weekend and we had a blast. But I have to laugh at myself in hindsight. I went armed with wash cloths and multiple packages of wet wipes, with intentions of keeping Ben clean throughout the weekend. HAH!!! Clean would not re-enter any of our self-descriptions until we exited the shower back at home. To say that we got down and dirty would be an understatement. For proof see the pics! Fortunately, having been a backpacking guide, I don't mind the dirt and thus, we kind of adopted the attitude, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!'

The camping weekend was an adventure in and of itself, attempting to get a 1 yr old to go to sleep in a tent when it's still light out, dogs are barking, older kids are laughing and playing, and people are talking right outside of that tent.

It strikes me as funny to see how my definition of an adventure has morphed throughout the years. For now, three nights camping while 5 months preggo and with a 1 yr. old, qualifies as an adventure. For me, so long as there is an element of the outdoors and an element of challenge, I am happy. I am a better wife, mom, and friend, when adventure is somehow infused into my life. That is one thing I have learned this year.

That being said, we will embark on another big adventure in a few weeks, a 9 hour road trip and 3 day trip on a house boat on Lake Powell. Things on the list to buy: lots of snacks and a life vest that fits a 17 pounder! And for now, we live into the little adventures of everyday life, like getting creative with our veggies from our CSA and that of that of transitioning from bottle to sippy cup and infant car seat to big boy convertible seat. Summer is flying, life is full of adventure, just the way I like it!

A Dive Into the Deep

Wow! It’s been a while since I’ve last posted. I think I missed the entire month of May! I've been busy doing some other writing, spending time with my two favorite males, and well let's be honest, napping a little more often now that I'm once again brewing another human in my belly! Summer is in full swing, the birds are chirping, the grill is gettin’ regular action, and the mountains beckon on a daily basis as the temps soar into the 90s here in Denver. Ben is crawling his way towards the 1 year mark, which he will hit in only 3 weeks. And we will find out the sex of our second baby in a mere 2 weeks. Yes, there’s a lot goin’ on around here. June is the month when the trees and flowers are in full bloom here in Denver, and it also happens to be, like Ben, the month of my birth. I think that between all of the new life and growth surrounding me and the realization that I am another year older (and wiser, right?), it’s urged me to do some reflecting, dreaming, hoping, and planning. It has also caused me to ponder what it means to “live into who I am.” I’ve always said that the twenties are great because it’s a time of discovery, discovering who you are, what you love, and what you want your life to be about. And then the thirties are this marvelous time when you sort of settle in to who you are, hopefully having accepted (for the most part) who you are and who you’re not, being comfortable with what you’re good at and easily acknowledging those areas in which you are, shall we say, less than gifted!

I was really enjoying this stage of life, feeling like I’d developed a pretty strong sense of who I am, learning to care a lot less what other people think of me, when I got pregnant. After Ben was born, I quit my full-time job as a therapist to be a stay-at-home mom. And let me say, I love being at home with Ben and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. At the same time, it’s a new season and I have a new role, a big one. And I’ve spent the last year attempting to figure out or perhaps understand who I am as a mom, as well as remember the things I’m passionate about and how they fit with my new role. I’m reminded that I love writing, I love exercising and being outdoors, and I love connecting with others. So, I am trying to do those things on a consistent basis. Of course they look different now, as I fit my writing into the chunks of time when Ben is sleeping, I work out by pushing Ben in the stroller or carrying him on my back, and I usually connect with others at places like the playground or the pool. Yes, my life does revolve around my family, but I like it that way and it doesn’t mean that I still can’t pursue those things which are at the core of who I am. It all just takes on a new shape and I realize that it takes some time to figure out what that shape is.

As I’ve spent time reflecting and dreaming, I’ve had moments where the temptation to compare has gotten the best of me. I’ve always said that comparison is the thief of all joy. I will never live into who I am supposed to be if in my head, I am too busy comparing myself with (read: not measuring up to) other moms around me. Will I ever be the mom who keeps the perfect house that’s always clean? Nope. Will I ever be the mom who remembers to give my son his vitamin D drop or brush his 2 teeth twice a day? Probably not. Will I ever be the mom who works full-time, starts her own non-profit, and still manages to shuttle her kids to their sporting events AND cook gourmet meals (like a friend of mine)? Again, the chances are slim to none. Will I ever be a person who functions fabulously on 6 hours of sleep? Definitely not.

But for all the characteristics that I don’t possess, there are just as many that I do. And for me, it’s all about learning to accept who I’m not, embrace who I am, and still leave room for the possibility that I could become something I’m not yet aware of. It’s taken me a year, and that’s not to say that I’ve got it all figured out because that would be a big fat lie, but I’m once again starting to feel more comfortable with who I am. I am a wife, I am a mom, I am a friend, I am a runner, and I am a writer, among other things. So, here’s to dreams taking shape, goals being set, and living into who I was created to be. What does that look like for you to live into who you really are today?

A Word From The Hubs

So, my husband is in the final year of his PhD program at Colorado School of Mines and he recently wrote an essay for a scholarship application. In the essay, he answers what the term, "open communication" means to him. I am so proud of all he has accomplished and how hard he's worked, all the while working at his full-time job and becoming the daddy to our son (and all that comes with having a newborn!). But I was so impressed with this essay, probably because I feel like he embodies everything that he wrote so well. So, I just had to share it. I love his heart and this essay reflects just one of countless other things I love about him:

Open Communication
To know and to be known are two core values that all human beings share. We gain a sense of intrinsic value when we realize that we have something significant to offer others and when those around us deem us competent and valuable within our personal realms of expertise. The vehicle for sharing knowledge is open communication and transparency, which can thrive in an environment where people feel free to be who they are. For communication to be effective, mutual respect and acceptance are imperative. All parties must believe both that they have something to contribute to the conversation, and that they have something to learn from others, unencumbered by the artificial stereotypes that are so easily imposed on them. Active listening, which involves repeating back what is heard and further engaging by asking follow-up questions, is a great way to show respect for an individual’s viewpoint. Another way is to represent personal viewpoints as flexible, rather than rigid, thereby giving others permission to offer alternate or challenging viewpoints. Finally, communication is sustainable when carried out with consistent integrity, honesty and authenticity. If communication is conducted in the above manner it can be both freeing and life-giving. In a corporate setting, effective open communication fosters trust, deepens respect, stirs creativity, unifies coworkers and promotes greater productivity.
In both my personal and student life, I value authenticity deeply. I strive each day to represent myself in an honest light, displaying my strengths and being vulnerable with my shortcomings. I have found that in group settings, leading with weakness can be very freeing for others; when they see that I am someone who excels at some things yet struggles with others, the burden of having to represent themselves in an artificial light is lifted, and they are able to communicate openly without fear of condemnation or judgment. I’ve also learned that it is far easier and more effective to learn from another than it is to learn from a book. I value mentors, friends and mentees, as it is important to learn from those who walk ahead, to share with those who walk beside, and to pass on to those who follow. Practicing authenticity and engaging in successful mentoring relationships both hold effective and open communication at their core.

After the Storm

The rain was pouring down when I left my house this morning. The clouds were dark and thick, with no sun to be found as I made my way into downtown to take my friend out for her birthday breakfast. Other than the fact that I don’t like driving in the rain, I didn’t mind the rain because we don’t get a whole lot of rainy days here in sunny Colorado, and everyone knows that this dry fire-magnet state desperately needs the moisture.

At one point, as my friend and I were gnoshing on some out of this world upside down pineapple pancakes, I looked out the window beside me only to be surprised by the sun shining in on me, surrounded by clear blue skies. By the look of this sky, one would never have known the storms were raging just an hour earlier.

As I was driving home underneath the newly blue sky, the pavement was still wet from the rain and looking particularly dark, a rich contrast to the deep green grass beside it. The blossoming flowers, still showcasing tiny drops of rain on their petals, seemed to be a deeper shade of magenta. The budding trees appeared to be more alive. It was a stunningly beautiful sight to be seen and I felt so lucky to be there to appreciate it. (the picture to the right is from a different day last spring, when the sun emerged even as the rain was ending.)

And that’s when it hit me. I don’t particularly like to be caught in the middle of life’s storms. When I find myself in the midst of a raging storm, I often wonder if and when it will ever end. In my anxst, I find myself wishing for my circumstances to change. I long for the rain to stop and the sun to re-emerge. And when it does, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Like the trees that look a little brighter and the grass a deeper shade of green, life takes on new meaning, deeper meaning after a storm.

Not that I want to invite storms into my life, but I’m pretty sure that if my life were always sunny, I’d have far less appreciation for the sun when it does shine. If the skies were always blue, I’d never know the beautiful contrast of the wet green grass against that deep blue sky or the pavement donning a darker shade of black, or the contrast of the beautiful deep magenta flowers set against the shiny green budding leaves. So, I guess that’s all to say that in some strange way, I’m thankful for the storms just as I’m thankful for when they come to end, because life somehow seems a little richer after they’ve passed.

And the Diagnosis is...Momnesia!

I’ve managed to set off my smoke alarm not once, but twice in 2 days. And one of those times I nearly burned down the house…again! As one who has prided herself in NOT living up to the blonde stereotype and who has always had a stellar memory and ability to multi-task, I am freaking out just a little bit. Why? Because I’ve developed a serious case of Momnesia, which according to my definition, involves utter loss of the ability to remember anything that’s not written down and right in front of oneself and severe impairment to ones multi-tasking abilities. Symptoms include but are not limited to, missing scheduled meetings, starting tasks and then forgetting you started them (hence the smoke alarm situation), performing tasks with severe absent-mindedness, leaving your house without a jacket when it’s snowing out, and thinking you sent an email when really you just thought about sending said email. If you exhibit 3 or more of these symptoms, it is fair to say that you meet the criteria for the diagnosis of Momnesia. Seeing that I now exhibit all 5 symptoms on a regular basis, I’m offering myself up as the poster child for Momnesia.

Some call it pregnancy brain and I’ve even read articles that show evidence that an actual change in the brain does occur during pregnancy. How could it not with all of those crazy hormones laying siege on a woman’s body? But what does science have to say about the pregnancy brain that just keeps on giving even after that little bundle of joy is born? I like to chalk it up to the fact that I have so much more to remember now that I am responsible for a little being who is entirely dependent on me to keep him alive. It’s as though I’m suddenly trying to cram 3x the amount of information in my brain than I was in the time of B.B. (Before Ben). I like to think that I am more spacey and forgetful of tasks because I care so much about my little guy and my attention is fixed on him and his needs. At least that would explain why I got so pre-occupied with the mini photo-shoot of my cute little man that I forget about the sugar water I had boiling on the stove in preparation to candy some almonds. That is until my smoke alarm started calling out, “fire, fire, fire” and I saw smoke billowing from the kitchen. Ooops. And that wasn’t even the one that almost burned the house down!

It could be pretty depressing to think about spending the rest of my life with Momnesia. But I’ve decided that instead of fighting it, I’m gonna try rolling with it. This may mean letting go of some of my pride, admitting that my husband might actually remember a conversation better than me now, and reducing some of the expectations that I have for myself. And while safety is obviously of utmost importance and I really need to work on turning on the right burner and remembering when I’ve started something on the stove, I also need to show myself a little grace. After all, I have taken on an enormously important new role, one that comes with oodles to learn and remember, but one I cherish, that of being a mom. So, there Momnesia, you’re not going to get the best of me because I’m armed with grace for myself, a sense of humor, and a mighty good smoke alarm!

Milemarkers and Memories

Whoa, it's been a while. And that's definitely not for lack of happenings or things to write about, but rather I simply have been enjoying the moments too much to stop and write about them. Three weeks ago, I reached by biggest post-partum goal, to run a half-marathon (13.1 miles) by 9 months post-partum. And I did it, albeit very slowly, I did it. What's even more exciting is how much I enjoyed it, every step of it. In my ripe ole age of 36, I have come to realize that sometimes it's ok to let go of "time goals," to trade in "pushing myself to the absolute limit" for "a highly enjoyable jaunt." It's fun for me to observe my intensity level shift a bit (or a lot of bits) when it comes to races, especially this one. This was probably the first race I've ever run that I wasn't honed in on a time goal and I really wasn't even aware of the thousands of other people running beside me. I was in my zone and it felt as though there was nothing but me, my music, the beautiful canyon walls rising up on either side of me, and my thoughts.

Around mile 3, I found my thoughts drifting back to the last time I ran through this canyon, four years ago. Tom and I were dating at the time and we ran this race together with some friends. As I meandered through the canyon this time, passing milemarker after milemarker, I found myself with a smile on my face as I remembered various "milemarkers" that our relationship has hit along the way. It was as though I could actually feel the sun on my face as Tom and I sat in Telluride sipping coffee on our Engagement Trip. And I so clearly remember joking with each other about moving to the hip and hoppin' (read sarcasm) town of Naturita as we drove through it on our way to Moab. And it seems like just yesterday that I felt the nervous anticipation bubbling up in me as we hiked up to Delicate Arch by moonlight, suspecting a proposal might be just moments away. This quickly replaced by the ecstatic joy I felt as Tom got down on one knee beneath the arch, the moonlight our only witness, and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him as his wife. Of course, I said yes. I could not wait to marry him and see where this journey would go. And so the miles continued to fly by as I reminisced about our wedding day and honeymoon...mile 6, mile 7, mile 8. This was the happiest running I'd ever experienced!

Some people say that life is like a run, with uphills and downhills, moments where you feel light and free and overall incredible, and other moments when your legs feel like lead and you have to struggle to keep your pace. I'd dare say that marriage can be a little like that too. There are those seasons when the course is flat and easy, when communication feels natural and you're on the same page. And there are those seasons when the road takes a turn uphill, like mile 11 of this course and you have to remember your goal, dig deep, lean into that hill and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I liken that to when the furnace breaks, the car breaks, and you have to go to the ER, oh and you are evacuated from your home for carbon monoxide...all in one week! Or when we're both stressed and feeling overwhelmed by the to-do list, on the verge of getting sick, and don't feel like we have a whole lot to give to each other. Or when we're reacting to each other rather than responding, or blaming rather than listening. We've had those moments in our marriage too, when we've really had to work to connect and choose to love each other even when it's felt hard. But thankfully, similar to this race, those moments have been far outnumbered by the ones that feel deeply satisfying and rewarding.

As I reached the top of the hill and turned the corner past mile marker 12, all I could think about was how far we've come, having added a little mini-meuz to the mix and hoping for more. My thoughts drifted back to yesterday when the three of us hiked up to Delicate Arch for the first time since we got engaged up there. We talked about the overwhelming joy we felt being back up there, this time with our son. We were mesmerized by Ben's fascination with playing in the red dirt and thrilled to watch his curiosity let loose.

By this point in the race, I found myself in the home stretch, less than a half mile to go. I could taste the finish and all I could think about was getting to hug my two favorite guys, waiting at the end. And that's when I spotted them, Tom waving Ben's hand and yelling, "Go Mommy!" That's when it happened, the flood gates could hold them back no more, tears started streaming down my face uncontrollably as I crossed that finish line. And the tears weren't about the fact that I ran some 13.1 miles, or completed another race, no they were about so much more than that. The tears were for what the race symbolized, the milestones and memories of an incredible journey thus far. I hope for many many more miles on the journey and I am confident that the work will be so worth the reward.

Reminiscence

At Stroller Strides on Wednesday, our instructor announced that a local photographer, Sara Lazio of Lazio Images, is holding a contest, in which she's asking people to tell their love story. The winner gets a free couples photo shoot, a way to help rekindle the romance! If you look at her page, you'll see she is super talented, and well, I can count on one hand the number of pictures we have of Tom and I since Ben was born. So, I decided to write up our little love story and enter the contest. It was fun to put the laundry and baby-food making on hold to reminisce a bit about how we fell in love and I thought I'd share it here. Here's how it went:

I met my husband, Tom, online. I NEVER EVER thought that would be my story, but it is and I thank God everyday that it is. I will never forget when I read Tom’s online profile and thought to myself, ‘we have so much in common, a love for the outdoors, soccer, running, red wine, music, and more. If this guy is as amazing in person as he is on paper (or cyber-paper!) then I have something to be excited about.’ Turned out he was everything that he claimed in his profile and so much more. He says he had the same thoughts when he looked at my profile and then met me. We talked for hours on our first date, as we sat out on the roof-top deck of the Funky Buddha that sunny, warm September evening. The connection, chemistry, and love was there from the beginning and has just deepened ever since. For our second date, we drove outside of Nederland to go hiking. When we pulled up to the parking lot, it was snowing like crazy. We took one look at each other and said, “What do we want to do?” And then we simultaneously shrugged our shoulders and said, “Let’s go!” And as a result, we had an incredible adventure that day! A little over a year later we were standing in front of each other, promising to love each other through all circumstances, from the peaks to the valleys, when life is sunny like our first date and stormy like our second. And we committed that no matter the weather life brings, we will continue to say, “Let’s go and let’s go together.” So, here we are nearly 4 years later with a little 8 month old bundle of boy! While our son is the most amazing gift, it’s been a journey to navigate this new dynamic in our family and figure out how to keep each other as a priority amidst the sleepless nights and constant talk of poop! There have of course, been bumps along the way, but there is no one else I’d rather be on this journey with! So, as we head into this next season, Tom & Melissa + kids, no matter the weather, we continue to say, “Let’s go!”

And the timing is fun too, as next weekend we head to Moab for my half marathon. We can't wait to take Ben on the hike up to Delicate Arch, where Tom proposed to me by moonlight! Remembering is a good, good thing!

Hope

One month ago today, my dear friend (see previous post entitled, It Takes A Village) gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. I had the privilege of not only being present for the entire labor and delivery, but also that of coaching her through it alongside her doula. Her husband, exhausted and recovering from his chemo treatment, slept through most of the labor, but was thankfully able to be in the room and awake for the most important moments.

Being present in that delivery room with my friend through the darkness of the night, looking her in the eyes (which as it turns out are hazel, though I always thought they were brown!), helping her to breathe, and to navigate each contraction one at a time, I was reminded that often times the invitations that require the most risk and responsibility are indeed the ones that offer the most reward. Being there alongside my friend in labor, was one of the hardest things I've ever done, right up there with my own 45 hour labor and delivery. It gave me a new and profound admiration for my husband, who so wonderfully supported me through the birth of my son. I found it excruciatingly difficult to watch someone I care about experience such intense pain. I wanted to take the pain for my friend, I wanted to make it better, I wanted to make it go faster. But I knew that I couldn't do any of those things for her, which is a rather helpless feeling. I knew that all I could really do was simply be there with her in it. And I think that often times, that's the best gift we can offer people, to just to be there, to sit in it with them, to be a witness to both their pain and their triumph.

For some reason, the truth mentioned above didn't feel so clear to me on my way to the hospital that night at 12:45 am. I'm not going to lie, somewhere in the course of my drive, I had a moment of panic. My mind was flooded with doubt and questions, What if I don't say the right things? What if I do something that makes her mad? What if I just don't know what to do at all? What if something happens that ruins our friendship? This, not to mention the daunting responsibility I felt just playing this role, the role meant to be played by her husband. If it were me in the situation, I'm pretty sure I'd feel some sense of anger and sadness that I had to stare into the eyes of my friend when really, nothing could replace the support of my husband.

That's when I remembered, in the midst of my panic, that I had to let all of these fears go, that this wasn't at all about me, but about my dear friend. It was about my friend, who was about to go through one of the most challenging things a woman can experience, all the while with the icky reality tucked into the back of her mind that her husband is sick. I didn't need to worry about saying or doing the right things, I just needed to show up. I needed to be there. I needed to look her in the eye during the climax of her pain and breathe with her, and remind her that she can do this, that she is doing this, that her body is working beautifully, ushering her little girl into this world. And I did. And she did. She did it. She, ever so gracefully, found ways to focus on the good, relax her body, and breathe her way through the labor.

After a long, dark night, during the dawn of a new day, I got to witness what I consider to be a most miraculous event, a beautiful new life entering this world. And at the sound of that very first tiny cry, that hospital room was filled with life...and the fragrance of hope, hope for her baby girl's future, hope for the health of her husband, hope for their family. And this beautiful little girl, who is a month old today, will forever embody the reminder for us to 'Hope,' as that is her middle name.

It Takes a Village

While I’ve never actually read Hillary Clinton’s book by this same title, I have quickly come to learn that it does indeed take a village to raise a child. In our Western culture, the term ‘village’ may be defined quite differently than in other cultures, but in my opinion, it takes a village nonetheless! In the time known as B.M.K. (Before Marriage and Kid), I had a tendency to try to do most things on my own, somehow equating ‘needing someone’s help’ with weakness. I’m ashamed to admit it, because I love to help others, but I have a very hard time asking for help myself. Perhaps it was the first child in me or the fact that I am a byproduct of this isolationist, pull yourself up by your bootstraps culture, or maybe I just felt like I had something to prove as a woman. Or quite possibly, it was just a mask for that weakness no one likes to admit, pride.

The reality is we do need each other. We need other people. And that’s a good thing. Needing each other doesn't weaken us, it strengthens us. The opportunity to give and receive in relationship is such a gift. It builds trust and it strengthens connection. Why would I want to rob myself of that? Oh right, the pride thing. Well, fortunately for me, being married and having a child have quickly stripped me of much of my pride, and in more ways than one. I’ve had to ask for help on plenty of occasions. And lately, sometimes that request just comes in the form of a desperate look on my face, like when I’m trying to lug my increasingly heavy son in his car seat into the dry cleaners, while carrying about 10 items of clothing in the other hand, with my purse thrown over my shoulder. You know that look? The “please, please, be so kind and open the door for me so I don’t have to put something down and then have to figure out how swing open the door and quickly scoop everything up in my arms again in such a way that I can still get through the door before it hits me in the behind” look.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Tom was out of town and I had hoped to attend a Mom’s Night Out event with some of the other Stroller Strides mamas. The event was a cooking class where the moms attend the class while the dads hang with the kiddos in the play area. This event, by the way, just so happened to take place at a local venue named, The Village. Coincidence, I think not. Anyway, obviously I couldn’t go to the event sans a caretaker for my child. So, that morning, a couple of the other mamas said to me, “you should go, Melissa, our husbands will watch Ben. It would be no problem at all.” My first reaction, “oh but I hate to pawn B off on some other dad. I feel bad doing that.” My second reaction, I got over it. I accepted the offer with gratitude and had a blast at the cooking class while one of the dad’s watched my lil man (thanks again, Stephanie!). And I think B had a fun time too. I know it seems like a little thing, but I think that in day to day life, the little things often feel like big things!

Yes, we need each other, especially when life throws us curve balls. One of my dear friends has been thrown a whole lot of curve balls, the latest being her husband's diagnosis of a rare form of lymphoma, and the starting of his treatment, all while she has a 2 year old and is nearly 9 months pregnant with her second. I'm so thankful that I have time to meet with her for coffee, to watch her 2 year old, to support her in any way I can. She has asked me to be in the labor & delivery room with her for the birth of her daughter. This, to me, feels both like an incredible privilege and honor, as well as a daunting responsibility. What if I don’t say or do the right things? I don’t know how to coach someone through labor. But I have to stop and tell myself, sometimes being a friend is just showing up. Hopefully, my presence will be support enough. I know that this is a season that she and her family are in, albeit a very dark and stormy season. I believe the storm will end for her, but I want to stay in it with her until it does. I know that I have and will have stormy seasons in my life when I will need, like it or not, the support of the people in my life.

Relationships are so important in times of celebration too. Afterall, we want people to witness the milestones we hit and the commitments we make in life. Last Sunday, we had Ben baptized. We invited many of our family and friends to attend, with the understanding that we cannot raise Ben in the way we desire, by ourselves. We greatly value our friends who feel like family and our family who feel like friends, and we hope that they will continue to walk with us on this journey called life, and us with them. They are part of our village. And I do not want to try to live this life apart from my village…ever again!

Blowing It Out of the Water

This past Tuesday, Ben and I ventured out into sub-zero temps (-9) for our first parent/child swim class at the rec center. Don’t worry people, he was bundled to the hilt and I warmed up the car first (NOT backed up to the garage, of course – see post entitled, Out with a Bang, In with a Beep) for 20 min to get it nice and toasty inside. So yes, out we went to our first swim class. Basically it was just an introduction to swimming, to help kids begin to feel comfortable in the water. My parents started me in swim lessons at a very early age and I have always been grateful because I've had an affinity for the water and swimming for as long as I can remember. And since birth, Ben has loved his baths, so I had high hopes for him and the whole swimming thing. And as it turned out, he loved it. You might even say, he blew it out of the water. He was smiling, kicking, and splashing away, with little visible fear and not a single tear. I was a proud and happy mama.

Fast forward to today, swim class numero dos. Today the instructor announced that we were going to work on blowing bubbles. She said that we, the parents, should blow bubbles, in effort to model to the kiddos how to do it. She said that as they watched us, they would begin to get the idea and start to do it themselves. So, there I was blowing bubbles in the water and making motor boat sounds. Ben, just stared at me, looking somewhat bewildered. But at some point he caught on, because he began to blow his own bubbles. The only problem being, he was blowing bubbles of a different kind, if you know what I mean. In other words, while on Tuesday, I would say he blew it out of the water, today, he apparently decided to blow it INTO the water!!!

Picture it, I'm in the water and B is sitting on the side of the pool, ready to practice jumping into the water, when suddenly I spy a brownish colored substance making it’s way into the little filter thingy on the side of the pool. For a split second, I think ‘oh sick, I wonder what that is. No, I take that back, I don’t even want to know. Pools that have lots of kiddy users are so gross.’ And just as that train of thought rolled into the station, it hit me, with hurricane-like force, ‘oh my gosh, that is BEN’s poop!! HE BLEW OUT HIS SWIM DIAPER!!!’ I look into the pool, scanning the water, and can do nothing but gasp as I see them, the brown floaties swirling about in the pool, having escaped from MY son's swim dipe! Quite honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I mean the classes at the hospital certainly don’t prepare you for what to do when your son blows out his diaper in the middle of swim class. So, mustering up all my humility, I quickly let the instructor, who is all of about 21 years of age, into my dirty little secret. To her credit, she managed to move the rest of the class out of the pool and into another kiddy pool, all the while assuring me that it happens to every mom at some point. Really? To all you moms and dads out there, has this happened to you? Or anyone you know? Or was she just trying to make me feel better? I’m betting on the latter.

In unforeseeable circumstances such as these, I find that I have to try to keep my wits about me and just do my best, as far as a plan of action goes. I mean, when you’ve got the brown stuff oozing out all over the place, you have to act and you have to act fast. So, I briskly wisk B and his poopy little self out of the pool and wrap him in my towel, making a bee line for the showers. I quickly rinse him off, watching all of the evidence make it’s way down the drain. And through all of this, B is just looking at me with his usual sweet face, wondering what’s going on. After all, for him it was just business as usual. Only today, he decided to do his business in the pool! Tom said I should tell him that just because the first 3 letters in pool are poo, doesn’t mean he has to do it in the pool!

As for me, it was yet another opportunity for learning and growth. Sure, I thought of things I could have done better. Yet, if this had happened when I was in my 20’s, I probably would have been absolutely mortified and may have had a very difficult time going back to the class next week, that is if I even would have gone back at all. But, here I find myself in my 30’s and this little defining moment shows me that I’ve grown. Instead of being mortified, I just found myself momentarily panicked as to what to do, but was able to laugh about it pretty quickly afterwards. And really, all I could do was shrug my shoulders and look at the other parents like, ‘well, sorry everybody to put a damper on all the swim fun, but I don’t really have a whole lot of control over the kid’s poop schedule! See ya next time!’ And we will go back next Tuesday, and we will resume our work on blowing bubbles, but hopefully next time they will be the kind that come out of his mouth!

On the drive home, I decided that this eventful morning called for a drink. I’m not gonna lie, a margarita sounded pretty darn good! But seeing as it was 9:30 in the morning and I had to drive my little man home, I opted for a Starbucks. I call it my, ‘Pool Blowout Recovery Latte!’ And of course, I drove 10 minutes out of my way to a Starbucks with a Drive-thru , because guess who was asleep? You guessed it, the Lil Pooper. And why wouldn’t he be, he too was recovering from quite the active morning, with all that kicking and splashing, and workin’ out of his business. As I rocked him back to sleep once we were home, I looked down at him and thought, ‘I love his naiveté and absolute oblivion to what other people think of him.’ And I felt a twinge of sadness, knowing that at some point, he will begin to concern himself with what other people think. At least for a few decades anyway, until he realizes once again, like his mama is beginning to, that you can’t control what other people think of you. You just have to be yourself! And well, this morning I expanded the definition of who I am a bit, becoming a member of that special club, the ‘My Kid Blew Out His Diaper In The Pool During Swim Class’ club! Any other members out there?

Mom-radery

Following the birth of my sweet little cub, many people called, texted, and of course, posted on my facebook wall, words of congratulations and celebration. Yet, at the time, it was the words from other moms that struck me the most. They said things like, 'Welcome to the club' and 'Welcome to the mommyhood, you did it!' It was as though I'd just been granted acceptance into some type of exclusive group, this following a long and grueling initiation process. And now that I've been an active member in said group for almost 7 months, I have to admit that I really value the sometimes vocal but sometimes silent support that comes from other members of the club, moms who have walked a mile or two in my shoes.

Sometimes I feel that support in one simple glance, like the one I received from a woman who held the door open for me at the post office, as I attempted to push the stroller through the door, juggle the handful of packages that I needed to mail, and all the while lugging my 10lb purse overflowing with toys, hats, and a variety of other baby sundries. It was that look in her eyes that seemed to convey an assurance, like her eyes were saying, "it's ok, I know. I've been there, it can be tough. But I survived and they really do grow so fast. You're doing a good job, keep it up." And in that moment, with that one glance, I breathed a sigh of relief, my shoulders relaxed, and I was reminded that I'm not alone in this journey.

A couple of months ago, I walked into an early morning meeting looking rather bleary-eyed and one woman who happens also to be a mom took one look at me and asked, "rough night? How many times was he up?" That's all it took from one mom to another, just one glance at my weary face and she could immediately empathize with my sleepless plight. It's what I like to call 'mom-radery,' a form of comradery that assures me we're in this together and that we can learn from one another as well as support each other. I actually just got off the phone with my friend who recently had her second baby and well, let's just say that thus far, this one is a little tougher than the first one was. We commiserated for a while on how difficult and tiring it can be to have a baby who screams constantly, not to mention the sadness it brings us to watch such a little one struggle in angst to work out his or her business.


There is strength to be had and wisdom to be gained from each other, especially from those veteran members of the club. And this is not such an easy club to get into (well, the 'rushing' phase where you express your desire to get into the club is pretty fun and exciting, if you know what I mean!). Yet, after 9.5 months of hazing and 45 hours of initiation at the hospital, I can honestly say, "it was totally worth it." Not only is my little boy one of the greatest joys I've ever known, but I am also extremely grateful for the mom-radery that I've discovered amongst the members of this club, both friends and strangers! Yes, I very much like being part of this club, which is good because I hear that de-activation is not an option! Once a mom, always a mom!

Out With a Bang, In With A Beep

That's right, 2010 went out with a bang. The 'bang' being the noise our furnace made when it decided not to work anymore! I mean, who can blame him, he was 30 years old and putterin' along on his last leg and all. I woke up that morning to find the house oddly chilly. As it turns out, the furnace had stopped dishing out heat and it was a nippy 56 degrees in our house. No wonder Ben hadn't slept well that night. The poor lil guy was cold. I'm sorry Ben. Did I mention that this all went down 3 days after Christmas? Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to us!

Oh and that's not all, because that alone wouldn't be blog-worthy! That same night I had to go in for an emergency CT scan due to some abdominal pain and the doctor's concern that I might have appendecitis. Yum, barium, 2 bottles of it. You'd think with all the technology they have these days, they could make that stuff taste at the very least, palatable. Perhaps that should be my new innovative mission, or not. As it turns out, I don't have appendecitis or so they think, they couldn't confirm really. But it's been a week and the pain hasn't worsened, though it's still there. So, once again, I'm somewhat of a medical mystery to the doctor. Because that's what everyone wants to hear. But who has time to think about abdominal pain when you have a 6 month old and are in need of a new furnace. Needless to say, that night when we got home from the CT scan at 10pm (which mind you is already past my bedtime), Tom and I hadn't eaten dinner yet, so we devoured a large pizza. That's right, just the 2 of us and I don't feel one iota of guilt about it!! It was that kind of day.

We did get the furnace peeps to loan us some space heaters and they were able to come the very next day to install our new, pretty, oh so shiny, high-efficiency furnace. Upsides, it was installed before the arctic blast blew in the next day, we'll save up to 50% on our heating bill each month, and it happened just in time to utilize that $1500 federal rebate on high-efficiency furnaces. I'd say those are some pretty good upsides. And while we were at it, we decided to have them put in a whole-house humidifier, so no more having to fill 2 silly little humidifiers every night before bed. And did I mention that the furnace is shiny and new? I like shiny.

So that all happened smack dab in between Christmas and New Years, which by the way, were both lovely. So we said goodbye to 2010 with a bang, only to be welcomed to 2012 with a beep. And there may or may not have been a bleep accompanying that beep, if you know what I mean. The evening of New Years day (Sat), Ben was in bed for the evening and Tom had left to go pick my mom up at the airport. I was all nestled on the couch with my tea, rather excited for 2 hours of pure vegging (is that even a word?) in front of the t.v.

Ha, that apparently wasn't in the cards for the evening. No sooner had I settled in and found myself hooked on some TLC show, did I hear the beep, and another beep and another beep, and in between those beeps I could hear the dreaded automated female voice informing me of "carbon monoxide, carbon monixide, carbon monoxide." It was one of those moments or string of moments where the mom card gets tested a bit. I thought to myself, 'ok, we've got to get out of the house a.s.a.p.!' So I went in and woke up my sweet, sleeping little cherub, put him in his carseat, covered him with a blanket, grabbed my purse, keys to Tom's car, phone, and some shoes and headed for the door. Oh and I remembered Sami the dog too, thankfully. That all happened in about 3 minutes tops. The 3 of us trotted out into the 10 degree temps and c-r-a-z-y winds to the car and got snuggled in. Thankfully, I always keep one of B's hats in my purse, so I could keep his lil head warm. I called 911 and the fire truck was there in under 5 minutes. I was impressed and Ben was pretty fascinated. While some of the fire people (they weren't all men) went inside to investigate, a paramedic took my reading for the CO and it was pretty low, only 4. They tried to do it on little B, but his fingers were to tiny to get a reading. The paramedic checked his circulation, heart rate, and overall appearance and thought he was looking and acting pretty normal. Yup, he was looking and acting like a 6 month old who just got woken up from his sleep and found himself awake 3 hours past his bedroom...and that's fun to hold in the car for 2 hours!!

So, as it turns out, before Tom had left for the airport, he had loaded some things into the back of the running SUV which was backed up to the garage. It was running for all of about 5 minutes, but because it was SO stinkin cold and windy out, it blew that CO straight into the garage and when Tom closed the garage door behind him, well it trapped that CO right in there. After 2 hours of 'investigating' and determining that that was the cause, the fire people advised us to stay elsewhere for the night even though they had blown all the CO out of the house and the level now read '0' again. So, we drove on over to my parents' house and called it a night. yawn, sigh.

Thus far, this week has been far less eventful than last week, hence me having time to write this post. We hope it stays this way. Why did I write this? Well, looking back, it's all a little crazy in the "really, I can't believe all those things happened in one week" kind of way. But more importantly, we are VERY grateful for working Carbon Monoxide detectors and thankful that we had one on each floor. Actually we have 4, because I'm a little paranoid that way. But it was the one that was adjacent to the door to the garage that went off. Because it went off first, and we got the hey hey outta there, the CO never had time to get on up to visit Ben in his room, thankfully. So, for those of you who are reading this, do you have CO detectors in your home? One on each level? Have you checked the batteries lately to see if they're working? I hope so. And I hope you never have to hear the automated lady's voice saying either "carbon monoxide" or "fire, fire, fire." Ever.

But like I said, it was all a good test on what I'm made of as a mom. I think I did ok, but one can always learn from situations like those. More on that later.