Month: March 2018

I think the most eye opening thing about having children, is how everything else in your life shifts.

It’s almost like your past life never happened.

I’m only 2 years deep into this whole thing, and as I scroll back through pictures of pre-babies, I’m reminded life wasn’t always spit up and poop – but almost can’t even remember those days.

I caught up with an old friend recently, we hadn’t had quality time together in ages – and we reminisced about the good old days.

College – yikes.

Post College NYC – even yikes-ier.

If I attempted a fraction of what I once did in a week then, now, I would be dead. It’s truly incredible the phases our lives take on, with us in the passenger’s seat.

I imagine I will not be alone in thinking or saying this, but what might get neglected the most, once you have children, is the thing that brought them into this world.

When I met Nathan, that moment – I knew, everything was about to change. There was absolutely, unequivocally, something different about him, about us.

Maybe he didn’t know, but I knew – he was the one I was going to be with and create a life with.

Now, I am not one to believe in ‘meant to be” – in the esoteric sense – but after simply talking to him, I knew I would love him.

Our courtship was a relatively quick one – met online, first date two weeks later, dated a year, engaged/moved in and married within the next year. But I appreciated every day in that brief dating experience. I had waited an insanely long time for the right guy, for me. And he was it. He fit absolutely none of my long list of criteria.

And thank god he didn’t.

Rarely do I have trouble finding words – but around this, I seem to. Nathan is my everything. And I hate to say it, but since this brood expanded, I believe I haven’t said it enough, haven’t appreciated him enough.

Relationships often work best when there are complementary personalities within them. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, that is us.

And it works…

For the most part, of course.

The choice to have children is a big one – your life changes – entirely – and there is no version of going back. The quick trips out of the city. The long walks, holding hands, aimlessly. The vacations. The sleep. Just the two of you. They all become fond, albeit distant, memories while scrolling through pictures.

Do I regret anything in this current life? No. Do I wish there were more hours in a day where just the two of us, could be just the two of us, again? Absolutely. Will it happen at some point in the future? I’ve heard it does – though from this vantage point, I’m not sure I see that light at the end of the tunnel.

Along with my recent near miss, came a new found appreciation and sense of gratitude. I adore my husband like no one I have ever encountered. He is a good, good person. He is kind and thoughtful, he is loving and warm. He is moral and honest. He is creative and smart. Dedicated and loving. Funny and inquisitive. He has amazing ethic and an even more incredible heart. And supports me being me entirely. But most importantly he is a true partner and the most adoring father.

He doesn’t ever meet me half way, he goes way, way, way beyond. He is the strength to all my weaknesses.

I am not here to brag. Hardly. We have a TON of shit we should be working on. But ain’t no one got time for that. We had an incredible year of therapy right at the outset of our marriage because (I believe) everyone should. Two different people with two different communication styles and many different approaches to life and what matters. Get that crap sorted out at the beginning so you can start on solid ground. (And if not at the beginning, find another time. It’s so important. Ok, I’ll get off my therapy soapbox now).

I know there are more things, ahem, we should be doing, as a married couple. And I know we will again. But right now, we are raising the next generation, of good, kind (hopefully!) humans. I can only hope that when their time comes to begin their true adventure of life, we can be role models, in our marriage, so they too, seek out the right person for them – to build something beautiful and spectacular together.

I hope they learn, it is always worth the wait.

My final quote in my wedding vows was by Anne Bancroft, on her marriage to Mel Brooks:

“Whenever I hear his key in the door, I think, o goody, the party is about to begin.”

Nathan, if you’re reading this, I owe you everything, I do not take any of it for granted, I love you, I thank you, there will be vacations one day again, you will sleep through the night at some point. You are what keeps my heart beating…and no, I still haven’t done the dishes.

Last Week I got hit by a car.

Obviously I’m fine if I’m sitting here writing this.

But, yeah a goddamn car backed into me. We were both at fault I suppose, though I did have the light. Truthfully that’s irrelevant. In the grand scheme of things – getting hit by a car ends in one of two ways.

I walked away. And walked towards something, in that moment.

What you hear – or have seen in movies – is all true. Everything comes rushing over you.

Perhaps its the adrenaline, maybe just the overwhelming emotion of what could be – or could have been.

What I know now to be true, is that nothing matters in life besides the moment.

We are always waiting for something. The weekend. The raise. The house. But rarely do we actually take the time, in the moment, to appreciate what is immediately in front of us.

I’m hardly trivializing dreams and wishes and wanting. I went through infertility treatments so I absolutely appreciate desires and disappointments.

But even in the hardest of times. There still are the moments. The hot coffees. The new Love. The first day of summer. The puppy noses. The beach. The mountains.

It’s so easy – I’m the biggest offender – to get swept up in ‘what the future holds.’ But that second a car strikes you, you realize that the future is uncertain. And planning and wishing too much probably won’t allow you to live the absolute best life you can live – right now.

I don’t suggest getting hit by a car. It really sucks. But I do recommend sitting. Breathing. Meditating. Whatever you need to do – to ground you for a moment. To make it all come into focus. To make it all clear.

Also, maybe, and this is me saying it ‘outloud’ so I have to be accountable, but maybe – it’s worth putting down the phone more frequently than we (ok, I) do. And be present among those you love. The dog. The partner. The kid.

Yourself.

Social Media does not help us live our own lives well. It creates jealousy, longings, desires based often on fabrication. Let me tell you. No bank accounts have enough in them. No marriage is perfect. No children are always angels. Sure, the beach from ‘that angle’ is pretty wonderful – but we have no idea what happened right before or right after that image was captured.

It’s time we’re all kinder to ourselves – we need to try desperately to truly appreciate what we have. Sure it could be better. But it also could be so much worse.

Today is truly first day of the rest of your life.

Pause. Love. Breathe. Dance. Sing. Sit.

Appreciate the rainbows.

I know as a mom of 3 and a 38 year old woman, it’s pretty much expected that – no – I do not have my 18 (or 21, or 30…or even 35) year old body.

I also know we are supposed to be comfortable with that. “Your body is incredible” “you carried these babies, it’s really a miracle”.

Blah blah.

I mean. Yeah. I get it. It’s for sure true. But, I looked pretty good at 18 (and 21 and still 30). And this thing that flops over my pants (pants that I basically need a clamp to pull/zip up) is just not my favorite. Nor are the Grandma arms. And what the hell with my feet? I need an entire new shoe wardrobe. Is that even a thing!?

Sure, our society sets unrealistic expectations of what women should look like. Period.

I get that – but also I’m only human and still suck my stomach in any time I walk by a mirror. And pick up my chin so the second (and third chins) flatten, just a tad. And turn at an angle when taking a photo. And…

I wish I could say I’m at peace with my new (“beautiful”) shape. But I won’t.

Ain’t true.

Let me be clear. I am eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. Doritos as a snack. Whatever handful of, whatever’s available for lunch. Hopefully some version of a chocolate bar for a treat. (It is Cadbury Cream Egg season afterall.) And definitely some ice cream throughout the day. So. I certainly cannot cry “poor me”. But, I can still be annoyed that – no, shockingly, breastfeeding DOES NOT melt the pounds away. And this is likely my new normal.

All this is just to say, I obviously don’t care THAT much or I would do something – anything – to change my behavior.

A salad from time to time, or a veggie for a change.

But. Nah. Bagels and Cheese are just too damn good.

I guess it all became more apparent with a recent realization from my ever loving – pretty verbal – 2 year old.

We are not of the mindset of teaching our kids that genitalia have cutesy or hush-hush names.

They are penises and vaginas.

Apparently Nathan had been keeping this one from me for a while. But then it all came out.

Kids say the darnedest things, eh?

(Daddy penis, Harper vagina, Mommy belly.)

Yeah. No. I’m serious. She really is.

For the last two months she’s been telling us, on repeat her “vagina hurts”. And I know this isn’t funny.

And In fact it’s really sad.

When your kid is hurting – and you can’t fix it – or figure out the problem – it hurts you, possibly more than it hurts them. But I think I’ve said and heard the word Vagina more in the last two months than I have in 38 years. And obviously, I have one.

We’ve gone to the doctor five times on this matter. And each time they’ve taken tests. Checked for infections. And they’ve all come back negative.

Put diaper cream on it. If that doesn’t work try cortisone. If not that. Bacitracin.

No? Vagina still hurts?

Nothing’s worked.

Finally we took a trip uptown to a pediatric urologist. I told Harper I was breaking her out of school for some Mommy Harpy time.

This had the luxury of being true. But hanging out at Weil Cornell for a full afternoon was likely not what she had anticipated.

After a few hours. Some ultrasounds, X-rays and a lot of stickers we learned of the culprit.

My kid is full of shit.

Apparently she is so blocked up with stool (for the last two months?? 💔) that it’s affecting her in more indirect ways. Which is obviously heartbreaking.

So for the next two days Harper and I will be home. Having extra special Harper Mommy time. Regrettably – this actually means: Bowel Cleanse.

We will be sitting on the toilet for 48 hours.

It’s really amazing. Before you meet your significant other you think ‘I need to look my best.’ Then you get engaged and start letting things go, just a bit. Then you live together and obviously bodily functions occur – that starts normalizing. But once the kids come EVERYTHING is out the window.

I’d venture to say 9 out of 10 conversations are about poop or vomit.

Needless to say – ultimately all that matters is my kid’s health.

Last week Harper and I Celebrated and Honored International Womens Day by attending the largest gathering of Moms at the UN. While “in session,” she had to poop.

So, what do you do when you’re in one of the most important places in the world?

No brainer.

This may sound dramatic. It does even as I write it.

But, it’s real, from the depths of me.

I am not strong. I am not tough. In fact, today, I am crushed.

They are five months young.

How can I send my two tiny babies away every day?

How can I have someone else raise them morning, noon and evening? Why can’t it be me? They need my warmth. My love. My heart.

People say “you know it’s good for them.”

Do I?

This isn’t about them.

This is about me.

I can admit that.

Until I had my own I didn’t understand the pull another human can have on your entire soul. Being separated from them already seems too heavy a cross to bear.

I’ve been in denial.

Haven’t organized the milk they’ll need, milk my body creates, every day. In bags. With dates. Frozen for months. In preparation for this day. So someone else can give them sustenance.

Haven’t filled out the required forms (a reminder call from daycare prompted me to accept, the time has come). Don’t know where their crib sheets are. Didn’t even bring the forms to the doctor that need to be turned in – in order for them to start. (Which will now be an expedited $50 each).

It’s 9:30 the night before they leave me – and nothing is prepared. I am not prepared.

It’s just not fair.

I pride myself on being the strong one. But right now, I can’t breathe or pick myself up off the floor.

I know it gets easier. I’ve been here before. But that doesn’t make me want to walk them through those doors tomorrow in my arms, and leave empty handed.

My heart is broken. My breath is short. I want to hold them tight now and forever.

I don’t want to go to sleep. Sleep brings the day I’ve been dreading. They leave me tomorrow, and there is no stopping time or turning back the clock.

This is me. Torn apart. Heartbroken. Behind the mask.