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?