Life is full of choices, which seems tenfold as a wife and mother. Choices are made without even realizing I have made one. I am pretty darn certain that I do not always make the right picks, but I make the choice I feel best for my family. I will be honest… at times it simply comes down to what is the very best choice for me.
We get married making the choice to be someone’s life partner. We are choosing one person to be our friend, partner and lover. These gifts are to be held in high esteem tenderly promising loyalty and truth to this single person. We choose to build a life found upon the same dreams with an understanding our paths may find a different curvature, but our direction will remain the same. In times of misdirection we have to make a choice as to the path we come back to.
We choose to have children. And as these children grow inside the mother’s womb many decisions are completed. We decide on finding out the sex. Please note: Adam and I have not decided to do so! We name our child before s/he is born. Please note: We have. We choose a nursery theme. Expectant moms may choose a healthier lifestyle. These examples may be shallow, but each is still a choice we make. The choices are abundant seeming never ending.
A child is born. When Kaden was born we had not decided if I would breastfeed or formula feed. In a split second we chose to formula feed. To choose to do one over the other didn't put me on the 'bad mom' list. We made the best choice for our family. This holds true for our birthing plan. A woman who chooses natural childbirth isn’t more of a woman than those who go completely medicated. The choice to be a stay at home mom vs the working mom is not easily made, by anyone. A couple chooses to have mom stay home or go back to work. It isn’t easy. It may be a financial burden, but it is still a choice to live a certain lifestyle. Both are hard jobs and doing one is not better than the other. It is about being secure in our choices, as women, to do what is best for our families. There comes a time when moms have to make the above decisions. It is sad that in choosing we have trepidation simply due to the judgment of others.
Families grow and life goes on. We are faced with obstacles and challenges. In a short time, as wife and mother, I have looked fear in the face. I have had to make choices that effect our short and long term goals. I have to do what is best for my family. The choices don’t always come easy. In this journey I have learned judgment is hardest on me by me. The opinion of others simply doesn’t matter. Some of us may have similar experiences, but our circumstance is different. This is the key. I am happy I finally realize this.
The key to choice is circumstance. It isn’t the obstacle. What we do for our families differs not because of the occurrence, but our condition. It is that simple. I for one am thankful for the choices we as wives and mothers have to make. It was not that long ago we didn’t have this right. We did what was the social norm and dictated approrpriate by our husbands. I can attest I am my hardest critic. I accept not only being wife and mother, but being my own judge at the end of the day. After all, my husband, children and I are the ones who ultimately have to live with the decisions made.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Never Too Old
This week has been truly trying. It has taken me past what I thought I was not only emotionally able to handle, but physically. It is amazing what four days can bring into your life. It can bring gifts, sadness and surprise. In these kinds of days we learn what we are so called ‘made of’. I begin to ponder, are we really only given what we can handle? Does what not kill us make us stronger? I think these are said to give comfort; I am not sure how much truth is really behind the shared ‘wisdom’.
I have slowly watched our son grow more and more independent. It seems that even at one year of age little-by-little he needs my help less and less. Of course he still needs me, but he is learning to do many things on his own. He gets frustrated with a task and I lend a helping hand; look out for the upset! We go through this each day.
At the end of every day he reverts to a need of comfort and nurturing. He requires holding, cuddling and extra love. He can’t read, so he listens to my voice. We just sit and soak up the moment. I immerse myself in these times of need and to be honest I find it irresistible that he doesn’t only need me, but wants me! When will this end? When will he find his days challenged and take it on alone? When will he be too old for his Mom?
In the times of illness I have to remember he can’t tell me what hurts. He can’t say he is hungry or tired. He screams and we begin the guessing game of what he needs. The screams become more intense. And it is during these moments I have to remember he needs me. He absolutely cannot comfort himself or communicate any other way. He doesn’t want to have this reaction, but has no other tools. And I have to dig deep to find the right Mom tools to continue to be who he needs. When will he no longer have this need? Will he learn to comfort himself?
I go on day in and day out. We find our way to the moon lit sky and rest our weary minds and body gearing up for the next day. We reach a day when the day doesn’t seem to have an end. And I don’t feel I have much left to offer to properly meet what is required of him. I call Mom and she (as always) gives me reassurance that what I am feeling is normal. Again, she reiterates that we can’t always do it on our own. I hear her unsaid words. She is saying that we need other people. We need people to pull together to get us through the times we can’t do it ourselves. The next thing I know is she is here.
I consider myself an independent person. I am a strong being. And during these days I find my message. It isn’t that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. The message I hear is that you are never too old. I am never too old to find the comfort of my Mom’s voice and words. I am never too old to accept my Mom’s help. I am never too old to need Mom. And I know that I want Mom during my difficult times, for she has the much needed tools to help make it better.
Since I am never to old, I will continue to think my child(ren) will not become too old. Moms bring something to their children that others cannot. They bring a sense of magical comfort not given by anyone else. Who said, “You cannot go home again” is clearly mistaken. I get to go home, to her arms, any time I need or want. It is a human need to find comfort in others. We are never too old to find this much needed comfort in our Mom’s.
I have slowly watched our son grow more and more independent. It seems that even at one year of age little-by-little he needs my help less and less. Of course he still needs me, but he is learning to do many things on his own. He gets frustrated with a task and I lend a helping hand; look out for the upset! We go through this each day.
At the end of every day he reverts to a need of comfort and nurturing. He requires holding, cuddling and extra love. He can’t read, so he listens to my voice. We just sit and soak up the moment. I immerse myself in these times of need and to be honest I find it irresistible that he doesn’t only need me, but wants me! When will this end? When will he find his days challenged and take it on alone? When will he be too old for his Mom?
In the times of illness I have to remember he can’t tell me what hurts. He can’t say he is hungry or tired. He screams and we begin the guessing game of what he needs. The screams become more intense. And it is during these moments I have to remember he needs me. He absolutely cannot comfort himself or communicate any other way. He doesn’t want to have this reaction, but has no other tools. And I have to dig deep to find the right Mom tools to continue to be who he needs. When will he no longer have this need? Will he learn to comfort himself?
I go on day in and day out. We find our way to the moon lit sky and rest our weary minds and body gearing up for the next day. We reach a day when the day doesn’t seem to have an end. And I don’t feel I have much left to offer to properly meet what is required of him. I call Mom and she (as always) gives me reassurance that what I am feeling is normal. Again, she reiterates that we can’t always do it on our own. I hear her unsaid words. She is saying that we need other people. We need people to pull together to get us through the times we can’t do it ourselves. The next thing I know is she is here.
I consider myself an independent person. I am a strong being. And during these days I find my message. It isn’t that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. The message I hear is that you are never too old. I am never too old to find the comfort of my Mom’s voice and words. I am never too old to accept my Mom’s help. I am never too old to need Mom. And I know that I want Mom during my difficult times, for she has the much needed tools to help make it better.
Since I am never to old, I will continue to think my child(ren) will not become too old. Moms bring something to their children that others cannot. They bring a sense of magical comfort not given by anyone else. Who said, “You cannot go home again” is clearly mistaken. I get to go home, to her arms, any time I need or want. It is a human need to find comfort in others. We are never too old to find this much needed comfort in our Mom’s.
Friday, September 25, 2009
I Survived
I survived. I survived natural childbirth 13 months ago. So, can someone (anyone) explain to me why I panic for my prenatal blood draw? I had my 17 week appointment yesterday and was a wreck all morning long! I am 31 years old and in tears driving down the freeway to my appointment. I have to call my Mom at work to sooth me. I know it is busy hour for her, but I call anyway. It is a 911 emergency! I ask her to tell me, “You can totally do this. You will be fine.” I don’t think it helped, for I almost started hyperventilating down the freeway and could barely see through my blurry eyes. I soon realize I am white knuckling the steering wheel. I let go and my hands were cramping. A needle has this much control over me?
I survived. I survived the waiting room. I make it to my 2:00 appointment seven minutes early. I give the Maternal Care clinic kudos, for they are always timely, well, except for today. They give me an extra 20 minutes to think about the blood draw. I can barely sit with any ease as one-by-one other pregos are called in before me. And I think to myself that all of these women have their blood drawn and are all fine!
I survived. I survived the weight check. I have gained 3 lbs. I started in on the poor nurse how this was possible with asking her to check my chart. I wanted a comparison of this week to my 18 week appointment when I was pregnant with Kaden. As soon as the midwife came in it was the first topic I wanted to cover. We dissected my diet; I dissected my diet. Fruit juice has to be the culprit! The midwife told me that at almost 18 weeks I was actually under the average gain by about 5lbs. Oh, okay, this is great news! Amazing how all the sudden this silly tidbit gave me comfort.
I survived. I survived my blood draw. I explain to my nurse that less is more a.k.a. don’t tell me anything just get own to business and get what you need. A midwife comes over noticing I am nervously slapping my flip flops against the bottom of my feet as I am sinking lower and grasping my arms. She offers to hold my hand. Screw bravery and embarrassment. I gripped her hand and told her to start talking. We reviewed the diet plan and discussed our upcoming ultrasound. She asked me to follow her breathing pattern.
I start getting hot. I hear the nurse say, “Slow down your breathing.” The midwife soon says, “Nicole in through your nose and out through your mouth. You have to slow down.” I am taking shallow quick breaths. The voices start to become gibberish. Uh-oh, spots are floating in front of me… It is over when I wake up. I am the 3rd fainter in the nurses (what I would guess looooong) career. I call it a success. The leach took all she needed. The mission is accomplished
Now, I just have to survive one more draw in two months (roughly nine weeks and more precisely 60 days). This test didn’t go so well when I was pregnant with Kaden. The sweet drink didn’t settle, so up it went on the walls and down all across the floor. Eck. I can’t wait to survive that one, yet again.
I survived. I survived the waiting room. I make it to my 2:00 appointment seven minutes early. I give the Maternal Care clinic kudos, for they are always timely, well, except for today. They give me an extra 20 minutes to think about the blood draw. I can barely sit with any ease as one-by-one other pregos are called in before me. And I think to myself that all of these women have their blood drawn and are all fine!
I survived. I survived the weight check. I have gained 3 lbs. I started in on the poor nurse how this was possible with asking her to check my chart. I wanted a comparison of this week to my 18 week appointment when I was pregnant with Kaden. As soon as the midwife came in it was the first topic I wanted to cover. We dissected my diet; I dissected my diet. Fruit juice has to be the culprit! The midwife told me that at almost 18 weeks I was actually under the average gain by about 5lbs. Oh, okay, this is great news! Amazing how all the sudden this silly tidbit gave me comfort.
I survived. I survived my blood draw. I explain to my nurse that less is more a.k.a. don’t tell me anything just get own to business and get what you need. A midwife comes over noticing I am nervously slapping my flip flops against the bottom of my feet as I am sinking lower and grasping my arms. She offers to hold my hand. Screw bravery and embarrassment. I gripped her hand and told her to start talking. We reviewed the diet plan and discussed our upcoming ultrasound. She asked me to follow her breathing pattern.
I start getting hot. I hear the nurse say, “Slow down your breathing.” The midwife soon says, “Nicole in through your nose and out through your mouth. You have to slow down.” I am taking shallow quick breaths. The voices start to become gibberish. Uh-oh, spots are floating in front of me… It is over when I wake up. I am the 3rd fainter in the nurses (what I would guess looooong) career. I call it a success. The leach took all she needed. The mission is accomplished
Now, I just have to survive one more draw in two months (roughly nine weeks and more precisely 60 days). This test didn’t go so well when I was pregnant with Kaden. The sweet drink didn’t settle, so up it went on the walls and down all across the floor. Eck. I can’t wait to survive that one, yet again.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
I Love Our Love The Most
We all have those moments that touch us. It seems as though we will never forget ‘that’ moment. It is so special it is as though it will remain in memory forever. How could we forget what we wore the first time we met our spouse? But we do. We think we will always remember our prom dates name. But we don’t. The forgetful list goes on and on. Time moves forward and that special moment have not only disappeared into time, but memory too. It may be lost forever or down the road an experience, smell, story, place or something triggers a spark taking us back to this special memory that has otherwise been forgotten.
Does forgetting these times mean that subconsciously it is not special or important to us?
I have had too many of these times. I wish I could remember every key part to my happiness, but I don’t. We are given the gift to build from these seconds. Sunday I experienced, yet what I am sure will become one of these moments, which will become lost in my memory’s collection.
It was a simple day. Adam and I were completing a long over due list of things around the house. We were making serious head way. There was nothing about it that made it stand out. We were working on the last item on the list. Kaden was under foot and Adam was hanging a heavy mirror. Our partnership came into play and I knew it was time for Kaden and me to leave the room!
Adam went into the garage to grab mollies.
Kaden and I stayed in the living room. We danced. We dance all of the time. I held him close to me and we swayed while hearing Eric Church in the background:
”Yes I Love Good Cold Beer
And Mustard On My Fries
I Love A Good Loud Honky Tonk
That Rocks On Friday Night
And Hell Yes I Love My Truck”
I smile. This song always reminds me of my husband. We continue dancing.
I feel Adam wrap his arms around us beginning to take the lead in rocking back and forth. I feel his breath on my skin as he tenderly whispers along with the song:
“But I Want You To Know
Honey I Love Your Love The Most”
He grabs us a bit closer slowing our sway…
”Man I Love How Redman Taste
And Damn I Love My Nascar Race
Any Song Sung By George Strait
Is Country At It's Best
Yes I Love Good Cold Beer
And Mustard On My Fries
I Love A Good Loud Honky Tonk
That Rocks On Friday Night
And Hell Yes I Love My Truck
But I Want You To Know
Honey I Love Your Love The Most”
Adam’s head is forehead-to-forehead with our son’s and he begins rubbing the small of my back. We continue our dance…
”Yeah I Love Scuffed Up Cowboy Boots
And Broken Tore Up Jeans
A Four Wheel Drive Eight Point Bucks
And Rocky Road Ice Cream
And Hell Yes I Love My Dog
And Jack D In My Coke
But Honey I Love Your Love”
I feel Adam’s head bury against me as we continue with Kaden in our arms. Tears are beginning to roll down both our cheeks…
”Yeah I Love Your Love The Most
I Love Your Love The Most”
Adam looks me in the eyes and with a soft voice says, “Baby, I love our family. I so love our family.” He had more to say, but stopped speaking. I heard everything he had to say through his eyes. They speak volumes to me.
I feel my throat cramp. I kiss him. We hug our baby. I squeeze his hand and lead the way up the stairs back into Kaden’s bedroom.
It is time to finish hanging the mirror. We go about our day. I wonder to myself if at this time next year either of us would recall this dance. Is this spectacular moment in the middle of a very mundane day going to flash by us?
It very well may get misplaced in the memory bank. And this is okay. I believe that to forget these moments is a blessing. Think about this: In forgetting these shared times means we have had so many of these joys in our life that we are unable to store each one to recall it later. It is only humanly possible to turn so many short term memories into long term memories. To have a life so full of happiness not remembering each single one is a blessing that I wish for us all.
I do know Sunday’s dance, touch and look was important to our path. It keeps our love front and center moving us forward.
And, baby, "I love OUR love the most."
Does forgetting these times mean that subconsciously it is not special or important to us?
I have had too many of these times. I wish I could remember every key part to my happiness, but I don’t. We are given the gift to build from these seconds. Sunday I experienced, yet what I am sure will become one of these moments, which will become lost in my memory’s collection.
It was a simple day. Adam and I were completing a long over due list of things around the house. We were making serious head way. There was nothing about it that made it stand out. We were working on the last item on the list. Kaden was under foot and Adam was hanging a heavy mirror. Our partnership came into play and I knew it was time for Kaden and me to leave the room!
Adam went into the garage to grab mollies.
Kaden and I stayed in the living room. We danced. We dance all of the time. I held him close to me and we swayed while hearing Eric Church in the background:
”Yes I Love Good Cold Beer
And Mustard On My Fries
I Love A Good Loud Honky Tonk
That Rocks On Friday Night
And Hell Yes I Love My Truck”
I smile. This song always reminds me of my husband. We continue dancing.
I feel Adam wrap his arms around us beginning to take the lead in rocking back and forth. I feel his breath on my skin as he tenderly whispers along with the song:
“But I Want You To Know
Honey I Love Your Love The Most”
He grabs us a bit closer slowing our sway…
”Man I Love How Redman Taste
And Damn I Love My Nascar Race
Any Song Sung By George Strait
Is Country At It's Best
Yes I Love Good Cold Beer
And Mustard On My Fries
I Love A Good Loud Honky Tonk
That Rocks On Friday Night
And Hell Yes I Love My Truck
But I Want You To Know
Honey I Love Your Love The Most”
Adam’s head is forehead-to-forehead with our son’s and he begins rubbing the small of my back. We continue our dance…
”Yeah I Love Scuffed Up Cowboy Boots
And Broken Tore Up Jeans
A Four Wheel Drive Eight Point Bucks
And Rocky Road Ice Cream
And Hell Yes I Love My Dog
And Jack D In My Coke
But Honey I Love Your Love”
I feel Adam’s head bury against me as we continue with Kaden in our arms. Tears are beginning to roll down both our cheeks…
”Yeah I Love Your Love The Most
I Love Your Love The Most”
Adam looks me in the eyes and with a soft voice says, “Baby, I love our family. I so love our family.” He had more to say, but stopped speaking. I heard everything he had to say through his eyes. They speak volumes to me.
I feel my throat cramp. I kiss him. We hug our baby. I squeeze his hand and lead the way up the stairs back into Kaden’s bedroom.
It is time to finish hanging the mirror. We go about our day. I wonder to myself if at this time next year either of us would recall this dance. Is this spectacular moment in the middle of a very mundane day going to flash by us?
It very well may get misplaced in the memory bank. And this is okay. I believe that to forget these moments is a blessing. Think about this: In forgetting these shared times means we have had so many of these joys in our life that we are unable to store each one to recall it later. It is only humanly possible to turn so many short term memories into long term memories. To have a life so full of happiness not remembering each single one is a blessing that I wish for us all.
I do know Sunday’s dance, touch and look was important to our path. It keeps our love front and center moving us forward.
And, baby, "I love OUR love the most."
Friday, September 18, 2009
Clean vs Tidy
In the past I have used both clean and tidy interchangeably. According to Webster there is a definite difference in the meaning of these two words:
Clean: 1 a : to make clean: as (1) : to rid of dirt, impurities, or extraneous matter (2) : to rid of corruption b : remove, eradicate —usually used with up or off
Tidy: a: neat and orderly in appearance: well ordered and cared for
I have a one year old. The two of us are home most of the day. He has the attention span of a squirrel. A squirrel has an attention span on normal things nearly a second and roughly four minutes on its food. Ironically, so does my son. Needless to say, a tornado of swirling toys surrounds us as he quickly moves on unless there is food feeding his almost 24lbs body. So, surprise: our house is not tidy!
Really? I know. It shocked me too. There is little order in the family room at any given waking hour, so I should have known. The question remains, is my home clean?
I admit after reading tidy and clean it seems the two are not intermixable I had to walk the rooms of my home. I would ask to have someone define clean, but I can scan up and refer to it on my own, thanks. I have to admit this is in the eye of the cleaner! On a regular basis I dust, vacuum, over work the: washing machine, dryer and dishwasher. I Lysol the kitchen counters 4 times a day. The bathroom is cleaned daily… I love my son’s bath time! I feel like I slave away within this house and yet would anyone know? Is how clean my home is my dirty little secret?
So, actually the words are intermixable versus interchangeable. It takes one to have the other. You won’t notice the cleanliness of a home through all of the clutter. Eek. I think I am in trouble.
Well, I guess in this house I see the ‘forest for the trees’. I see the cleanliness through the tornado. While others may see ‘the tree in the forest’ taking notice of only the play land and unfolded laundry. I am okay forgoing tidy… I love a good secret.
Clean: 1 a : to make clean: as (1) : to rid of dirt, impurities, or extraneous matter (2) : to rid of corruption
Tidy: a: neat and orderly in appearance: well ordered and cared for
I have a one year old. The two of us are home most of the day. He has the attention span of a squirrel. A squirrel has an attention span on normal things nearly a second and roughly four minutes on its food. Ironically, so does my son. Needless to say, a tornado of swirling toys surrounds us as he quickly moves on unless there is food feeding his almost 24lbs body. So, surprise: our house is not tidy!
Really? I know. It shocked me too. There is little order in the family room at any given waking hour, so I should have known. The question remains, is my home clean?
I admit after reading tidy and clean it seems the two are not intermixable I had to walk the rooms of my home. I would ask to have someone define clean, but I can scan up and refer to it on my own, thanks. I have to admit this is in the eye of the cleaner! On a regular basis I dust, vacuum, over work the: washing machine, dryer and dishwasher. I Lysol the kitchen counters 4 times a day. The bathroom is cleaned daily… I love my son’s bath time! I feel like I slave away within this house and yet would anyone know? Is how clean my home is my dirty little secret?
So, actually the words are intermixable versus interchangeable. It takes one to have the other. You won’t notice the cleanliness of a home through all of the clutter. Eek. I think I am in trouble.
Well, I guess in this house I see the ‘forest for the trees’. I see the cleanliness through the tornado. While others may see ‘the tree in the forest’ taking notice of only the play land and unfolded laundry. I am okay forgoing tidy… I love a good secret.
Family
It is week 16 and I have to say (knocking on wood) that all has been calm. It has been unfamiliarly trouble-free that I worry if this is the calm before the storm? Looking back on the day I learned of this pregnancy it seemed I was doomed to have a gray cloud follow me for the next nine months. It was the stereotypical crawl in a hole and start drinking at 9:00 in the morning kind of day…
I took two pregnancy tests at Fred Meyers (Recap: I took eight for Kaden). I guess I finally have faith reading the little pink line. Yay; baby on board! We had a plan. We knew we wanted to be done having children before I was 32, but two babies so close together is quite honestly, bloodcurdling. Eh, Semantics. Finally, one of my many plans stayed true to my life’s calendar. Woot. Woot. So, where you may wonder is the gray cloud? Ah, it is developing.
It was July 2nd and 100 plus degrees. It was just plain hot outside. A busy bustling day ahead, so I was taking Kaden to his Great Grandma’s. The cloud begins to stir. CRASH! We are rear ended. Super. So, do I tell Adam we are having a baby before or after this news? I go with the car bulletin. It needed to be timelier.
As the heat continues to make me feel as though my skin is sloughing I meet my husband at our non air-conditioned home. It isn’t just Fourth of July weekend or a Thursday, but Moving Day! Perfect. I probably do not have to share that regardless of how joyous baby news is it is deflated after being rear ended on moving day in 100 degree heat constantly surrounded by others. Simply stated, the baby news is becoming my personal irritation. I want to share it, but when?
My husband is lifting our life into the bed of his truck. I am emotionally exhausted as well as reaching the days physical limitations. He is on a mission of moving and in time grows grumpier and grumpier. Hey, I am not too proud to share these are not our best moments. We are not a good team because we always work well together. Oh, no-no. We are a good team because we know when to call it an individual activity. Trust me; loading of the truck is a solitary job for this family. I don’t have the patience for it and he doesn’t have the patience for me. It is a match made in Heaven.
Anyway, the day moves forward and the news is eating at me. It is eating at me literally. I am starving. I am tired. I want to scream the news into his face. I don’t, but I really really want to. We are rarely alone making it that much harder. I grow edgier. Will he be upset that so much time has passed between me knowing and sharing our news? Is it selfish I share this during life’s third most stressful event? It is a no win. Misery loves company, so I opt to tell him.
We are driving and I finally get the nerve, “Hey think you could pull over some where so we could talk for a minute?” I was totally gesturing in a female sort of way with my index finger slightly pointed up doing circles, which clearly meant the park one street over to the right. In man verbiage this meant pull over NOW as though the truck is on fire! Here we are tired and exhausted curbside on Gloucester. Me being me I tear up and nothing is said from mouth. At this moment we come back together as a team. He says, “Babe, we are having a baby, aren’t we?” He knows me. He takes my hand and congratulates us both. At this moment the cloud lifts and there is light.
We breathe and immediately start talking about baby names. We have a two mile drive to our new home and in this short time discuss if we want to find out the gender and we chose the names. It is official: we are a family of four.
I took two pregnancy tests at Fred Meyers (Recap: I took eight for Kaden). I guess I finally have faith reading the little pink line. Yay; baby on board! We had a plan. We knew we wanted to be done having children before I was 32, but two babies so close together is quite honestly, bloodcurdling. Eh, Semantics. Finally, one of my many plans stayed true to my life’s calendar. Woot. Woot. So, where you may wonder is the gray cloud? Ah, it is developing.
It was July 2nd and 100 plus degrees. It was just plain hot outside. A busy bustling day ahead, so I was taking Kaden to his Great Grandma’s. The cloud begins to stir. CRASH! We are rear ended. Super. So, do I tell Adam we are having a baby before or after this news? I go with the car bulletin. It needed to be timelier.
As the heat continues to make me feel as though my skin is sloughing I meet my husband at our non air-conditioned home. It isn’t just Fourth of July weekend or a Thursday, but Moving Day! Perfect. I probably do not have to share that regardless of how joyous baby news is it is deflated after being rear ended on moving day in 100 degree heat constantly surrounded by others. Simply stated, the baby news is becoming my personal irritation. I want to share it, but when?
My husband is lifting our life into the bed of his truck. I am emotionally exhausted as well as reaching the days physical limitations. He is on a mission of moving and in time grows grumpier and grumpier. Hey, I am not too proud to share these are not our best moments. We are not a good team because we always work well together. Oh, no-no. We are a good team because we know when to call it an individual activity. Trust me; loading of the truck is a solitary job for this family. I don’t have the patience for it and he doesn’t have the patience for me. It is a match made in Heaven.
Anyway, the day moves forward and the news is eating at me. It is eating at me literally. I am starving. I am tired. I want to scream the news into his face. I don’t, but I really really want to. We are rarely alone making it that much harder. I grow edgier. Will he be upset that so much time has passed between me knowing and sharing our news? Is it selfish I share this during life’s third most stressful event? It is a no win. Misery loves company, so I opt to tell him.
We are driving and I finally get the nerve, “Hey think you could pull over some where so we could talk for a minute?” I was totally gesturing in a female sort of way with my index finger slightly pointed up doing circles, which clearly meant the park one street over to the right. In man verbiage this meant pull over NOW as though the truck is on fire! Here we are tired and exhausted curbside on Gloucester. Me being me I tear up and nothing is said from mouth. At this moment we come back together as a team. He says, “Babe, we are having a baby, aren’t we?” He knows me. He takes my hand and congratulates us both. At this moment the cloud lifts and there is light.
We breathe and immediately start talking about baby names. We have a two mile drive to our new home and in this short time discuss if we want to find out the gender and we chose the names. It is official: we are a family of four.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The beginning
I can hardly believe it has been a year. It has been a year since we loaded our son into a carseat not properly installed (thank you, again, Providence nurse!). It has been a year since my husband drove down the 205 at 50 mph in the right hand lane white knuckling all the way home to ensure our safe arrival home. It has been a year since our first sleepless night. It has been a year since my heart was no longer my own. It has been a year of baby steps one-by-one.
I find that time is measured on a totally different scale against the growth of a child. The days seem longer, but at the same time each passes by hurriedly. We live in today constantly planning for tomorrow, his next milestone and even college accounts. This past week I have heard many back to school stories and viewed first day photos. It seems we will NEVER get to the first days of school. And at the same time he wears the clothes I bought for him last January. In purchasing these clothes I remember thinking he would never fit into 12 months of anything. The truth is the fall days of school buses and expensive school supply lists will be here sooner than, well, I care for.
I thank my stars for having a husband who has given me the gift to stay home and raise our son. I am blessed to have Groundhog's Day every day (wake, play, feed, bath, play, nap, diaper, feed, play, feed, diaper, nap, feed, play, diaper, greet Dad, play, feed, pjs/diaper, play, bed). Although we have our 'routine' there is never a dull day. We have tantrums and giggles. We share in learning and disobeying. We explore and cuddle. We share our days. He may not remember these tender moments, so I gift him my memory. I will not forget.
There have been many stages and new steps taken through this last year. Today marks the day of new independence on the horizon. He took his first two steps right into Grandpa's arms! Lost in this moment I realized once again what miracle motherhood is. And right now, I am going to take pleasure in being the person who catches him when he falls. Someday, just maybe, he will understand we are both taking our own steps one-by-one through this unknown journey; I too may fall. We will continue to travel by baby steps seeing where this next year and beautiful life takes us.
Happy 1st Birthday, Kaden Adam.
I love you. I like you.
Mom.
I find that time is measured on a totally different scale against the growth of a child. The days seem longer, but at the same time each passes by hurriedly. We live in today constantly planning for tomorrow, his next milestone and even college accounts. This past week I have heard many back to school stories and viewed first day photos. It seems we will NEVER get to the first days of school. And at the same time he wears the clothes I bought for him last January. In purchasing these clothes I remember thinking he would never fit into 12 months of anything. The truth is the fall days of school buses and expensive school supply lists will be here sooner than, well, I care for.
I thank my stars for having a husband who has given me the gift to stay home and raise our son. I am blessed to have Groundhog's Day every day (wake, play, feed, bath, play, nap, diaper, feed, play, feed, diaper, nap, feed, play, diaper, greet Dad, play, feed, pjs/diaper, play, bed). Although we have our 'routine' there is never a dull day. We have tantrums and giggles. We share in learning and disobeying. We explore and cuddle. We share our days. He may not remember these tender moments, so I gift him my memory. I will not forget.
There have been many stages and new steps taken through this last year. Today marks the day of new independence on the horizon. He took his first two steps right into Grandpa's arms! Lost in this moment I realized once again what miracle motherhood is. And right now, I am going to take pleasure in being the person who catches him when he falls. Someday, just maybe, he will understand we are both taking our own steps one-by-one through this unknown journey; I too may fall. We will continue to travel by baby steps seeing where this next year and beautiful life takes us.
Happy 1st Birthday, Kaden Adam.
I love you. I like you.
Mom.
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