bexhasbabies

Who am I?

I once thought I knew.

That was before.

But at this point there have been so many “befores” i can’t keep track.

I’ve been seeing all the women I used to stand shoulder to shoulder with in the infertility space posting during NIAW, and I don’t see myself as a voice there anymore, my own doing.

I see all the NYC mom bloggers sharing about their new finds and life decisions, and I can’t bring myself to do the same anymore. they’ve impressively invested time and energy in building – and I wish I had the urge, the motivation to do the same.

I see my AIPAC friends (well, past-life friends, because I didn’t invest in keeping those friendships alive either), still fighting the fight – and it’s just not my fight anymore.

I can’t decide if I lost myself, or just haven’t found myself.

I spent years building myself businesses only to see them fall and fail – and I wonder, was it me, was it timing, was it because I just don’t know what I need, who I am or who I should be?

this last year – I was a mom.

and so much of me was grateful to get this incredible time.

but I stopped writing.

and I stopped posting.

and I stopped sharing.

and perhaps I stopped dreaming.

I left behind the world I was building.

I left behind the people I was supporting.

And now I’m “here” and don’t know where to begin, again.

My family and bike have become my primary focuses – it’s felt like there’s no space for anything else.

but for so many others, it seems it was an opportunity to grow.

this is not a woe is me post.

this is a mid-life-realization post that I’m a little bit lost, a tad confused, a little uncertain and very much aware that i’m 41 and my path has twisted and turned in many many directions.

I’m in awe of everyone who seems to have figured it all out. or at least has the present moment figured out – because I’m not even sure of that these days.

As I currently invest all of me into completing something I set out on decades ago – I wonder, what’s next?

I majored in Religion.

I became a Social Worker.

I wanted to be a High School Therapist.

I took the fork in the road.

I became a wife, a mom, a doula.

I jumped into passions and jumped out just as quickly.

I left the only life I knew.

And now?

What now?

What’s next?

“Tell me, what is it you intend to do with your one wild and precious life?”

I wish I had the answer.

I’ve been in my head a lot these past few months. So much to think about.

The past, the present, the future. My story. Everyone’s story. What the history books will say about this shocking moment in time.

For me, it all began in 2019.

Started the year off with hopes and dreams. By the summer the first business I had ever poured my heart and soul into came to a disappointing and shocking demise. My grandmother got sick during that same period, and I lost them both. I rung in my 40th year a little darker than usual.

Then my best friend, my last grandmother got sick, and I lost her too. My heart was broken in 2019, I had to believe 2020 could only be better – it couldn’t be any worse.

I had started a new business, a practice to support women. I had expectations that I could use my skills and innate desire to help people to change lives.

2019 turned into 2020 and my 20 year old cat, on Harper’s birthday woke up the morning of her party – and didn’t return from the vet. I lost yet another piece of my heart. I thought 2019 would contain all the pain. I needed something. I needed a light. A ray of sunshine. So in March Nathan and I took our first vacation – after three kids in two years – since our Honeymoon in 2014. We had happiness in our hearts and were so excited to be able to spend time together just the two of us. And it was wonderful. And beautiful. And perfect. Then we returned home on March 10.

Then March 13 hit. And nothing has looked the same, and nothing ever will.

We left our apartment with the clothes on our back, not knowing we wouldn’t return. We were incredibly lucky to have a home with a yard and pool to escape to, while we waited for life to happen. During this time I had to close the doors to my second business and become a Stay at home mom. Nothing I intended – or expected – to be.

This post is not intended to be a woe-is-me commentary. We all have our stories. We all have our sagas. This post was actually a reminder for myself. That even during our darkest days. Even during the toughest times, life is beautiful.

This morning at 4:30am we were woken up by a parade of children. Harper pooped and needed us to wipe. Even through sniffles and cries when we forced them back in their bed explaining it was actually still bed time – Harper wished me a Happy Birthday.

As exhausted as these children make me. As overwhelmed as I am with life right now. As unsure of what the future looks like. As broken hearted as I still am that I can’t share all of this with my beloved Grandmothers, I still can’t believe how lucky and blessed l am.

I waited until 33 to meet the love of my life. And I did. And he is. And how lucky I am to be stuck at home with him, the perfect partner, a wonderful father, during this time.

Though I wanted no children. Then only one. Then three, how lucky are we that they have each other to learn from, play with, share this experience together.

No life isn’t perfect right now. Quite the contrary. The west coast is burning. Lives are in danger. Animals have no homes. Minorities are living in fear. Our country is in shambles.

It’s all too much to consume. It’s all too much for the world.

But today, on my birthday, even though we’ve been awake since 4:30, even though we’re living in limbo, even though life is not what we planned – I am so grateful for each day. For the family I created, the family I was born into. The friends I’ve collected. The life I’ve built. The business I’ve built. The people I’ve loved and lost. I welcome 41 confused, uncertain, overwhelmed, exhausted but living with deep solid gratitude.

Thank you for all the love today.

There are so many words. 

And moments.

There is so much confusion.

And clarity.

There’s so much I want to express, yet wonder if silence would speak louder.

These months.

These weeks.

These days.

So much has happened, and yet, nothing really has.

I have been overcome with emotion, and the rollercoaster. 

I have been lost, and yet found.

I have been present, and removed.

I have cried, and rejoiced.

I have questioned, learned, connected and disconnected. 

This period – in all its nothingness – has brought with it such deep meaning and opportunity.

I have been a willing participant while also a silent passerby. 

I have seen others rise behind screens, and in the streets. Using their voice for good and evil. Deciding how best to use mine. I’m still unsure. 

I have determined my own worth and lack there of.

I wonder daily, what if and when.

I’m intentionally consuming – while also distancing.

I’ve been shown the light, while waiting in the darkness.

I’m partially lost, while seemingly found.

I’m dreaming, pondering, relearning and growing.

I’m pausing while reimagining.

So much is confining.

But does it have to be?

I wonder.

Can we use this time for greatness?

Purpose?

A rebirth?

Can I?

I need to sit a little longer.

But I feel something exceptional, beyond words, on the horizon. 

It may just be a sunrise or sunset. 

But that in itself is a miracle. 

I will wait. I can sense it will be worth it.

I’m trying to put into words the emotions I’m feeling. I’m trying to process what I’m in my head about. I’m trying to figure it all out – when it’s actually impossible to do just that.

A total stranger was an aggressor, threatened and attacked me all because she didn’t like the result that was handed down in an FB group I run. She broke the rules and suffered the consequences – as every person before her did.

She started messaging me while I was doing my children’s bed time. Incessantly my watch was buzzing with more messages. It was the end of a long day. I wanted to relax. But picked up the phone to try to mitigate the situation – though my gut said leave this till morning. Regrettably it escalated to a level of epic proportions. She sent incomprehensible paragraphs – then gave me an ultimatum, reinstate her or her lawyers will sue me.

Wait. What?

I was so utterly confused. Had no idea what was going on. Tried to keep my cool. But I was repeatedly attacked and harassed. She told me what an awful person I am. And how my time is done. They’ll be after me. I’m only hurting my own cause. 

My entire public platform is being open, honest, sharing, connecting, normalizing and supporting. This woman told me she felt sorry for me. That I’m awful. Crossed the line. And screwed myself. She didn’t stop attacking for close to 40 minutes. And she got in my head. And I couldn’t shake it.

This was shortly after last week when someone a “friend” used my daughters near drowning to condemn me as a mother and the decisions I make.

Now I realize I put myself out there. I’m a virtual public figure in the fertility and mom internet and social media space. Hardly an influencer – but a name people have come to recognize as a connector and supporter. Ultimately this woman clearly has more going on, on her side – and this doesn’t actually have anything to do with me. But it felt very personal. And I take things to heart when there is no ill will intended. 

This was all happening when I found out that my parents no longer have a place to stay when they planned to come visit to help me with my kids. So I’ll be alone each day with the kids for a month. It was a whirlwind of emotions. 

I know people are so on edge. Terrified for their lives. Their children. Uncertain of what’s next, what to do. People have a lot more time to be on social media. Many are using it for good. But behind the safety of a screen – claws come out, no holds barred – and things have begun getting dirty. 

I want to empathize with this poor woman – because it’s clear that she actually needs real help. Her diatribes and rants and threats did not come from a sane clear mind. And though I have thick skin and can take a lot – I’m also very sensitive and get personally affected, truly hurt – when someone hurts me – especially with intention.

I’m trying to wrap my brain around it all right now. I want to let it go. And not stay in this icky place. But the way she spoke to me was actually abusive. And hit deep.

I guess I’m just hear to say – words carry with them a lot of weight. And behind the screen it’s very easy to throw them around in a vicious way. We are all so on edge and so vulnerable right now – attacking people who are good, kind and truly whose life goal is to help people – is just abhorrent.

I do feel bad for this woman. Her anger is clearly displaced – but that doesn’t take away from the affect it’s having on me.

I cried this morning in a low grade panic attack. Half assed by bike ride while on an anti anxiety because I desperately needed to not feel and to calm down. Now I poured myself a cup of Baileys while sitting on my hammock in peace. The children are watching Frozen (obviously). Nathan is working. I am getting 30 minutes to myself to process and To write. I realize this will not be one of my most widely read pieces. But I needed to get it out. 

I just wonder how we can all recover from this. I see friends in moms groups armed to the teeth. I see lots more snipping at home among married couples. I see anxiety with how to manage our kids for another year like this. Arguments about schools, masks, personal rights versus the collective. It’s all so exhausting. And we all think we know what’s best. 

It’s all too much for each of us to handle. I don’t think – for the first time ever – I have a catchy ending.

I think we all just need to be so much more careful in how we treat each other. I’m a little broken now because of a stranger who took her internal struggles out on me. The same thing happened last week with a “friend” who has been projecting and resentful towards me. Perhaps if we can take time to truly look inward to understand what we’re reacting to – how we’re communicating – what our true intention is – maybe we’ll be in a better place.

Also, wear your fucking masks. And above all else. Vote. Vote. Vote. Vote. Get the fuck out and vote.

In the blink of an eye, in the second you sip your coffee, in the moment it takes to turn your head, everything can change.

Most of the time if doesn’t.

But it can.

For the last three months we have taken every single precaution like it was gospel or came directly from the lips of the big guy upstairs. We have done everything – and mostly nothing. We have been so careful. So cautious. I have not left the area we secluded ourselves in – more than 4x in almost 4 months. Yesterday – for the first time – I decided it was time to let our guard down a little. I hadn’t seen – or had any version of interaction with a non-family member – since basically February. Leaving NYC meant we had space for our children – but it meant true isolation. On a whim I invited a friend and her children over. We would continue to follow the rules to a T. Remain vigilant. So nothing would go wrong. But my mental health was craving something more.

The day was lovely.

Friendship feeds the soul.

I felt like I was more than “mom” for a few hours. It was like I found a little piece of myself, my past life, dare I say, normalcy.

We spent time 6ft away on a deck.

6ft away on a hammock.

6ft away in the yard.

And 6ft away at the pool.

We are always overly careful around the pool. You have to be.

You hear too many horror stories.

At our house the rule is no pool area without swimmies.

Nathan has been sitting at his computer since 1pm last Sunday. I have been with my children virtually alone since then. And it has been taking its toll more I was aware.

So when I was able to breathe a little, I did.

We have five children between us.

There was a lot of action.

A lot of doling out snacks.

A lot of jumping in the pool.

A lot of smiles and laughter.

My kids have missed having friends around. It felt beautiful.

We returned to the pool area after a little bouncy house break. Some of them wanted to snack. Some of them wanted to swim. We wanted to be two friends who hadn’t caught up in far too long.

And we did.

And we were in mid conversation. I couldn’t tell you what it was about. What we were doing or saying.

Neither of us quite knows what happened or when.

One second my youngest girl was sitting eating snacks at my feet.

The next my oldest was saying “Marley doesn’t have a swimmy on” and looked in the direction of a penguin float.

And in that moment I couldn’t wrap my mind around what she was saying. Because I was standing and scanning the pool and it didn’t register that what looked very blonde under the water was the top of my daughters head. My friend and I both ran.

It’s all a blur.

But she jumped across into the pool and threw herself in the direction of her lifeless body. She grabbed my daughter under her arms and lifted her up. All I remember were blue lips, scared eyes and little noises gasping for air. In total shock I scooped my baby girl into my arms. She said “I couldn’t see anyone”. She wasn’t choking. She wasn’t coughing. She was scared, but she was breathing. “I couldn’t see mommy” she said again. I still don’t know how long she was under. It could have been 10 seconds or three minutes. And of course my mind runs through it all.

What if my oldest daughter wasn’t facing that way and didn’t see her?

What if that float was a fraction further and we couldn’t find her?

There were five kids.

Seven swimmies.

It was chaos.

And it was almost the tragedy you read about.

But, it wasn’t.

As a mom I rarely worry about my kids safety. I’m very go with the flow when it comes to what they do.

That said – I am not that way around the pool.

And even still, this happened.

This is not one of my typical pieces, because I’m not in the mindset to joke at the moment. It was the most terrifying moment (though it felt like an eternity) I have ever experienced.

I will forever be indebted to my friend who did not hesitate – while I stood there screaming “holy fuck holy fuck.” And to my daughter, who saved her sister on that fateful day.

Friends.

Please remain vigilant.

Please make pool rules so strict that you and every single person who comes by knows don’t bend.

I am a big “what-if” er. And I know it’s not helpful, and not productive. But for 24 hours that is literally all my mind would allow.

I spent 4am staring at my child, holding my hand on her body for fear of secondary drowning. I spent all morning cuddling with her and kissing her. I am one of the lucky ones that had a near miss. I know there are far too many who have lived through the “what-ifs” as real life – and a piece of my heart is broken for them, knowing what that felt like.

Hold your loved ones close. Or call those you can’t touch right now. And for kids who can’t swim, buy a fucking life vest they can’t easily slip out of because it all happens in the blink of an eye, so fast you will miss it.

I’m writing this during a time that almost no one could have predicted. I’m writing this while the citizens of the globe are confined to their homes. I am writing this while each and every one of us is being tested in ways we never imagined. I’m writing this during a truly unprecedented time. I am writing this while scared, confused, overwhelmed, anxious but also surrounded by all my love.

I am writing this from a six person tent. A six person tent that two people are currently inside of. After three weeks of stress and frustration – trying to get my two year old to nap I waived the white flag today. He is somewhere doing something with his older sister. And I am in the tent with my “middle” child.

When you give birth to a set of twins when you have a year and a half old child at home – you’re simply in survival mode for an indefinite period of time. As they grow up, and each of their personalities begin to shine, they are better defined as themselves – as Harper Paige, Marley Reese and Jory Bonham. Harper is clearly the first child (though interesting tidbit, I did one round of IVF and all my embryos were products of that one retrieval. So TECHNICALLY they’re all the same age. But, I digress). Marley exited my body only five minutes before Jory did – so by definition she would be the middle child. And Jory, though he outweighs them all, is the big little brother.

Harper and I have a very special bond. We co-slept for a year. I nursed her for 18 months. I spent every moment I could with her – and in fact did not leave her for a single night until I went into labor with the twins. Jory is a mama’s boy. He adores me. He needs me. He loves me. He’s connected to me. He would have kept nursing until he was 18 years old, but I was ready to stop. I adore him. He cuddles with me. Gives me the deepest hugs. Tells me he “loves me so much” as frequently as he can. He has my heart and though I find myself yelling at him more than I praise him, he knows how special he is to me.

And then there’s Marley. Marley is a unique little girl. From go, she’s marched to the beat of her own drum. She’s hilarious. Adorable. Crazy. And makes me smile, laugh, and start at her adoringly all the time. But I believe, unknowingly she has accepted the role of the middle child. I would never say she’s neglected. She’s as much involved as anyone. But Jory is always getting himself into trouble and in turn vying for negative attention. Harper, eloquent, verbose, gregarious – lights up the room – and though a little bit of a tattle tale, captures the heart of everyone who meets her. Marley just does her thing. She walks around with her “Lolly”. Her “Mommy Nice”. And anything else that feels soft and yummy. She’s been a little slower. Keeps to herself a little more. Where Harper and Jory run around playing with each other – Marley will be found hanging back, sitting with adults, or finding a nice spot on the floor to lay down with all her “softies.”

Marley looks like a delicate little doll with a wild Albert Einstein hair-do. She is the sweetest little thing in the world.

My kids have all been in daycare since they were babies. They have grown up with other caretakers. We have been weekend parents and have let them teach us who they are – and who we are as parents.

During these last three weeks I have been the sole caretaker (for the most part). Attempting to balance all of their needs, personalities, likes and dislikes. It’s impossible to give 100% to each child – that’s just the truth. That said, since we have access to our children now approximately 14 hours a day, seven days a week – we are having very different experiences with them than ever before. And learning about them – and us – in ways we’ve never been able to.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve got it all figured out. In fact I’ve entirely not gotten it figured out. But within the chaos. Within the crazy. Within the uncertainty. We are being given the greatest gift in the world. We are being forced to slow down. To prioritize. To stay close. To stay home. To be with ourselves. Our loved ones. To experience moments we literally never have in our lives. To just be. As we are. With no pretense. No falsehoods. To our authentic core.

When you have twins – you don’t have separate special time with them as individuals until they’re…well, I still don’t know. But today – knowing that my son wasn’t going to sleep – I decided to take my middle child, my beautiful Marley Reese and lay down with her. She said “it’s Marley Mommy time?” I said “it is” – she told me it made her happy. We both laid down on the kids’ “nice” pillows. We closed our eyes. And then every so lightly I felt her touch my cheek, she gently placed her first three fingers down and ran them gently up and down two times. Then she picked up her “mommy nice” which is a pair my soft pajamas that she has taken as her own, and rubbed it on my cheek – the way she does on her very own. She wanted to make me feel loved, and warm and comforted. She then wrapped her little fingers around my hand and quietly fell asleep.

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt a peace like that in my life. I inhaled, exhaled and truly forgot it felt like the world was ending for the moment. A weight that I didn’t know was there – was lifted. Right then the dog scratched on the door to be let in, and Nathan texted he needed help with the other two as he’s working full time and can’t keep the rest of them alive at the same time.

So now I’m writing this – back downstairs listening to Harper sing Frozen at the top of her lungs, while Jory, wearing headphones and a single glove is climbing all over me with dehydrated strawberry crumbs caked on his hand, face and now my pants. I’m back in the chaos. But I’m looking at this chaos differently for the moment. I don’t know if it’s the self care I’ve been implementing. The fact that I’ve been saying “no” a little less to JB today. Perhaps I’m shedding a different light on our current life situation right now. I’m trying to live in gratitude instead of anxiety. I’m working on relishing in the love and not the unknown. Or maybe it was simply the gentle touch of my middle child that put it all into perspective.

Whatever the case may be, for today, for right now, for this moment, sitting by the fire, listening to wind chimes and birds – while the sun is shining down – I could not be more at peace or as in love.

(This is dedicated to each of my children. Each who I adore in more ways than I can describe).

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I happen to be a particularly insightful person. I’m not sharing that to toot my own horn, it just happens to be one of my strengths. I’m in touch with me, my core, my soul, my personality. I’m aware of my actions and the reasons behind why I take them. I try to question my motives. My intention. My purpose. My reasoning. As with us all I’m aware of things I could do differently, better. Behaviors are hard things to change. To shift. They’re so ingrained within us. 40 years of identity is a hard one to crack.

In day to day life I try to be cognizant of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. Sometimes I do or say something – and from the depths of me a little voice says, “just don’t.” And often times I do it anyway. That voice is a difficult one to listen to. Thought it’s right 99% of the time.

There have been moments in my life where something big, or small, has made me take a good hard look at myself. ‘Do I like who I am? Where I am? Are there things I want to change? Things I’ll commit to changing?’ As someone who has committed her life to “helping people” and toting the line “people can change, you can change your behavior if you try hard enough” – sometimes I reflect back and think, “you can…but it’s really fucking hard.”

I’ve never found myself to be an overly bubbly-happy person. But I don’t think I’m a downer either. I’m not silly but not serious. I have strong convictions. I love hard. I’m loyal and committed. And very very stubborn. I know what I like. I know what I want. And since I was a child, it’s been virtually impossible for me to shift my ground once I decide on sometime. Right or wrong. I’m opinionated and persistent, demanding – have high hopes and high expectations of others and of myself. If I feel that someone I love has been wronged – my wrath is harsh and deep. And don’t even thinking about fucking with me. It’s just how I’m built. It wasn’t a choice. This is my chemical make up. Is it how I always want to be? React? respond? Maybe not as brashly – but alas, there are probably worse things in the world. Do I sometimes worry about things that are entirely out of my control? Yup. Do I over post on social media because I love creating community, engaging people and connecting with those within my inner-circle and far beyond my reach? Sure do. Might I say or do things that are controversial and rub some people the wrong way. Absolutely. Do I also forgive when the affront – if it wasn’t life or death? Of course, without question, yes and easily. Because it’s the only way to live. Holding on to grudges. And the past. That’ll just hold you back. The present and future can be so perfect if you let it be. I’m not suggesting we live in the moment every day – that’s impossible. But if we can let the past live in the past and wake up to a fresh start new day every day – imagine how wonderful life could be?

Personalities are funny. You can be so strong in some ways. And so not in others.

Turns out I’m a highly sensitive human. And desperately want people to like me. When I find out someone with whom I thought I had a good relationship has been bashing me, it cuts deep. Now, I understand it’s human nature to talk about people to other people – I’m certainly an offender as well. And I understand we’re all built differently, and see the world, and events differently. But it feels different when you’re blind sided – and learn something that you entirely didn’t expect to learn. Especially when it’s from someone you thought you cared about and cared about you. Life ebbs and flows. People’s relationships come and go. Feelings change and shift, sometimes as quickly as the tides.

But when you learn that someone who you think highly of, who you’ve respected, doesn’t share the same sentiments – simply, it hurts. I’ve often been one to speak directly to someone if they have hurt me or acted in a way that didn’t sit well with me. I’m comfortable with confrontation – as well as constructive criticism. But I also am someone who takes things personally. It’s a balancing act on a very thin wire.

I try to do my best in this one life I have to live. I try to treat people well. I try to create and build community. I try to support people on their life journey. I try to help animals, the planet, my friends and family in their life endeavors. I ask questions. I empathize. I listen. I suggest and guide. I try. I try. While sitting on the beach this week I’ve done some reflecting. I’ve tried to deeply consider my choices, behavior, action, personality. I tried to think If what people say about me, say to me, is right, when it’s not that nice.

And sometimes it is. And sometimes it’s not. And sometimes I can do better. And sometimes I can’t. And sometimes it’s their hang up. And sometimes it’s my mine. And sometimes I’ll win and sometimes I’ll lose.

When I awoke this morning at ten to five I saw a full moon hanging in the sky over the impeccably pristine aqua Caribbean waters. I sat under the moon, on the sand with just the sound of the early morning waves crashing at the break. And I vowed to myself. And I vowed to the universe that I will continue to try my best. Not everyone is going to like me. Not every interaction is going to be beautiful. Not every choice I make is going to be right.

I sent an apology through the breeze out to the universe to anyone I’ve wronged, intentionally or otherwise and also vowed to keep being me – right there under the morning moon. With my faults. And my strengths. I will keep loving and defending deeply. I will keep making people laugh, and holding those up while they cry. Because though maybe I don’t get it right all the time, I think I’m doing something right most of the time.

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