Author: BexHasBabies

So much of life is waiting. Waiting for the first day of summer. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting to meet your soul mate. Waiting for baby. The job. The house. Waiting for the right year, right month, right day, right moment – to do that thing you’ve been “meaning” to do. It’s human nature.

But while we wait, life passes us by. It’s not intentional. But during the waiting game other people are living their lives as well. Their moments, days, months and years are passing by too. Passing them. And you.

I’ve had an incredibly blessed life. Born into a family with three great grandparents. Four grandparents. And two loving parents. For much of my life – into my 20s, I had everyone: two grandfathers and two grandmothers. I saw them often. During childhood I’d spend weekends at my Grandparents’ Manhattan and Hamptons homes. During the week the other set would come in for dinner. I was surrounded by family and by love all the time.

I was lucky enough to fly to Florida – where they all ended up moving – up to six times in a year. We had quality time. Just us. As I said, I’ve been unquestionably lucky.

I was the first grandchild on both sides. So by default I had a very special relationship with my grandmothers. I had an extra five years with them before anyone else was born. Through college, through grad school, through my twenties and well into my thirties I would speak to my grandmothers multiples times a week. They’d call me. I’d call them. We would connect. Catch up. We’d talk about nothing. And everything. They were always there to answer. And listen to my sorrows. Or achievements. Exciting dates. Broken hearts. And they’d always be there to pick up the pieces. Or worry. Or share with me the joys.

Then life happened. And I got busy. And I got engaged. And planned a wedding. Then was on a fertility journey. And got pregnant. And worried about the pregnancy. And couldn’t visit because of Zika. Then I had a newborn. And still couldn’t visit. Then pregnant again. And couldn’t visit still. Then had three babies under two, and life was too busy. Too complicated. And the time between calls was less frequent. And the missed calls weren’t always returned. I meant to. But something inevitably came up. And I’d wait to call. So the years went by. And though the love was always there. The time and effort weren’t as completely as they could be.

This year I turn 40. And today, I’m still able to count 3 Grandparents. Beyond beyond beyond lucky.

Earlier this year my Grandmother moved back from Florida. She moved home to Westchester. So she was close. And I’ve been meaning to visit. But there was always a reason I couldn’t. Didn’t. Haven’t. And she was a phone call away. And yet I just didn’t pick up the phone that often. Though I thought about it.

Last week she had some version of a heart attack. She was in the hospital for her 91st birthday. I called her the day after her birthday, because I just got “too busy” to call on the right day. My uncle answered. But as he did, he was getting another call. As he hung up I quickly said “happy birthday grandma”. But he didn’t hear. No one heard. I made a mental note to call back later that day to speak to her. Directly to her. And then I waited. And never made the call.

This past weekend I realized there may not be a lot of time left and vowed to visit her more frequently. At least call more frequently. Like I used to. Like she was used to.

Then I got the call yesterday. She’s had another heart attack. A stroke. Lost consciousness and partial movement in her body. And then hours later the words I was not at all prepared to hear. She has hours or days.

Hours or days. To live. For me to see her. Or not see her. She’s unconscious and on morphine. I’ve waited too long. There are no more moments. Or days. Or months. Or years. I cannot call. I cannot visit. I cannot share my joys. Or sorrows. Life passed us both by. And now it’s too late.

I’m sitting in a car. In traffic. Trying to beat the clock. Desperate to hold her hand. To see my Grandma. Tell her how much I love her. How thankful I am for her. I know it’s for me now. Not for her. For us it’s too late. I waited. And now my heart is irrevocably broken.

If you have anyone in your life you’ve been waiting to call, to visit. To tell you love them. To remind them you have not forgotten what they’ve done for you. Who they’ve been to you. What they mean to you. Please. Please. Please. Don’t wait.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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It’s incredible what 6 years can do to love. The shape it can take. What you feel love is in the early moments, early days – and then the transcendent truth love becomes.

6 years ago today I was going on a first date. A first date that I truly felt was going to be different than all the first dates before.

Not unsurprisingly I was sick. I had strep. An ear infection. And was on antibiotics.

Clearly the makings of a true love story.

But I had been talking to a guy. A special guy. It felt right. It felt natural. Dare I say, it felt ‘meant to be’.

Numbers don’t matter, but let’s just say the amount of firsts I had been on prior to this one – a movie could have been created from.

All that said. This was not going to be that. I could feel it deep, deep inside.

I loved the idea of love. But truth be told, my history wouldn’t show it. Flings too numerous to count, but nothing meaningful. Nothing that proved to me that love exists. I had been craving it for so long but was becoming certain it might not be mine to have.

Often discouraged, frequently disappointed – I questioned whether it was worth the effort, worth the struggle, to keep searching.

And then I met him. And the flutter came back. And the hope came back. And the dream came back. It wasn’t just the idea of him. It was him.

So strep and an ear infection, ailments that debilitate me far too frequently, were not keeping me from this date. This date, that the mystery man didn’t realize, was Valentine’s Day.

I often think about the movie sliding doors, I’m not sure I’ve actually ever seen it. But the concept at least. The concept that any step or any misstep or any different step – can and will alter the course of your future, rings all too true to me. I was not going to risk what could happen if I didn’t take that step, that day, that moment, with this guy.

So just like Gwyneth Paltrow – as she stepped off the subway platform, and onto the train, the doors shut behind her; on February 14th, 2013 I stepped onto the M14, heading south, unable to swallow, deaf in one ear and the doors closed behind me.

Closing the doors on my history, and my worries, and my loneliness. And opening doors to a world that never in my dreams, never in my wildest fantasies – would I believe would be mine.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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For the first time in a long time I had a full day where I felt wildly productive.

Felt good about the work I put in and proud of myself for what I accomplished.

And then, it all turned. As it can so quickly.

I had a moment tonight.

A moment where in the course of 60 seconds it was glaringly apparent that I am a failure.

I had three concurrent interactions that made me feel like I am not good enough.

My ideas are not good enough.

My actions are not good enough.

This all happened leading up to dinner time for my family. I was warming up a pre-cooked meat meal for my children that passed its expiration date. I tried not to respond to the messages while getting teary eyed looking for frozen vegetables (the only kind I ever have/feed my kids) that I knew weren’t there, because we ran out two days ago.

I was also fighting back tears while responding to suggestions on my Facebook post – where I asked the community how to do a basic, simple project for my kids, a project that literally anyone could do.

But I can’t.

I just can’t get my shit together.

And I don’t know how to do better.

I also didn’t remember that parent teacher conference is tomorrow.

I know I’ve written about it before – but sometimes I look at the life I’m providing my children and feeling devastated that I’m not able to do more for them. Is everyone around me really able to afford/cook/give their kids the luxurious perfect life it seems? I can’t even make a fucking Valentine’s Day card in time for the holiday.

Nathan came home with the kids, and his work challenges. I tried to offer empathy, sympathy, whatever I could. I was trying to put on a brave face at dinner, but when I reminded Harper that I’d be leaving for work shortly, she started crying.

“Mommy, don’t go.” Bottom lip trembling.

I lost it.

And cried in front of everyone.

I couldn’t stop.

I was sad.

She asked me if I was happy.

I told her I wasn’t right now.

She asked.

“Why are you sad?”

I said: “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy.”

And she said. “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy”.

It really is guys.

It’s really fucking hard being an adult.

A wife.

A mom.

A colleague.

A friend.

A business owner.

An entrepreneur.

A daughter.

A sister.

A cook.

A cleaner.

A human.

I know I’m not a failure. I do.

But sometimes, it’s just really hard being a mommy.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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Five years ago today began like any other day.

Well that’s not entirely true. I was about to take my first real vacation with my boyfriend. A vacation, I believed, that was going to be the beginning of our history. This man – the only true real love, the only one I knew I could spend my life with – was going to ask the question we wait our lives to hear. I didn’t know for certain – but why else would you go away on a vacation together almost a year to the day from when you started dating?

Not a morning person, I giddily popped out of bed. Headed to the shower. Pondered the last day of work before this super special vacation with this super special guy. I got out of the shower, opened the bathroom door as steam billowed it’s way out, carrying me on a cloud with it. I was about to walk into my room and noticed the door was shut. Confident I had not closed the door behind me, my mind began to swirl. I just knew something big was about to happen. I opened the door and there in front of me was a glass table, a circle of candles dancing before my eyes, and Nathan, the love of my life, down on one knee.

He asked the question.

The question I had an answer for since the day we met.

Five years ago today changed everything.

I adored him then. I adore him now. But in so many more ways. So many deeper ways.

I knew he was one of the good ones. I knew he was kind, thoughtful, generous, caring, quietly emotional, unconditionally supportive. I knew our complements then.

Today, five years later, I fondly recall what days, nights and mornings once were. But I wouldn’t trade them for what they are now.

(Mostly).

Happy engage-eversary Nathan. You are the light in my life. You hold my heart. I still have to catch my breath around you. You move me deeply. I love our life with a passion I can barely comprehend. I’m thankful every single day for the person you are, and for the moment our lives touched.

I am not one for fate. But I truly believe we were destined for each other.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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It’s inevitable. If you’re a mom. You have it. It can be about the smallest things. Or the largest. The food you feed them. Or don’t. The amount of TV you let them watch. Your job keeping you from them. Or your job raising them. Playing with them enough – or looking down at your phone too much. Giving them individual attention. Letting them have an imagination or giving them too many toys.

No matter what it is. It’s not good enough.

It can be so overwhelming that it takes a significant portion of your brain space. And as soon as you give yourself a pass – something else comes up. And you go down the rabbit hole. Accepting blame. Transferring blame. Where did it stem from? Your childhood? Your mom? Her mom? And down you go. Spiraling out of control.

Most recently mine has been about illness. I truly cannot fathom how it’s possible. But my children have been sick since the last week of June. With a slight reprieve in August for a summer break. My first was sick frequently, her first year of daycare. But, daycare frequently – like – snotty noses. A little Hand Foot Mouth here and there. But this year. With the twins. It’s been nothing short of unbelievable. I feel defeated – and it takes a lot for me to get there. We have been at the doctor – at least once – every single week since September 18, sans a single week in October. Today is December 29th.

That is not normal.

We used our entire FSA within four months.

Is it my fault? Is it because I’m not a germaphobe. I half ass the whole “washing hands” thing? Is it because I don’t feed them well enough? Didn’t give enough Breast Milk? Ate dairy while breastfeeding? Don’t bathe them often? Use bubbles when I do? Is it because I’m too relaxed about everything? Should I not be? Is it because when they were born I got an infection during labor and I “let” the doctors” give them both antibiotics on day one “in case” they maybe got the infection. It is because they couldn’t delay cord clamping because there were two of them? Is it because I didn’t do enough research to know my rights and demand what I should have – mere moments after pushing two humans out of my vagina?

It’s obviously all my fault. So what is there to do?

I don’t actually have an answer. And I don’t really think it’s my fault. I more am desperately sad for my kids who weekly hit a temperature of 103.

I’ve been looking forward to this winter break for months. And of course, instead, there has been sickness, medication, temperatures, pain, sadness every single day. We’ve barely left the house – outside of doctor visits. I just wanted everyone to enjoy. And of course. I have guilt and disappointment that we didn’t.

And now to top it off the fucking dog is sick.

I know Mom Guilt is real.

And unavoidable.

And also an unnecessary stressor.

We deal with enough, hopeful in 2019 – energies can be better spent. I have a business to build.

A business focused on helping moms avoid mom guilt.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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Interestingly, in the last few weeks I’ve been contacted by many different women for one reason or another. They all want to talk to me.

One is a twin mom, whom I have never met. She’s overwhelmed. Her friends’ picture perfect lives are making her feel inadequate. An old friend, with whom I hadn’t spoken in years – has been struggling with her fertility journey and has now chosen a new avenue to grow a family and wanted to pick my brain. A student of mine from years ago reached out after reading my blog about following your heart and dreams. And another, a model from one of the Facebook groups I run – has a unique opportunity to share with the world about infertility – and the long road, isolation, emotional and mental stress, and so much more that comes with it – and wanted to run some thoughts by me.

I just wanted to firstly thank you for all approaching and trusting in me. I don’t know for sure why I was who you chose. But I am honored and humbled. I only hope I can help you on your path.

But more importantly I wanted set the record straight.

So many of us are looking at our lives, and wondering what’s missing – based on other people’s specifically chosen social media persona.

Those personas are not reality.

Peoples’ lives are not perfect.

Admittedly I’ve been counting other people’s money recently. Which is such an unattractive thing to do.

I’ve been questioning how the hell they can afford it all. Been watching the meals they prepare for their children and wonder what piece of my brain is missing – that I can only figure out how to use a microwave. And often get that wrong. I see the vacations they’re on. The clothes their children are in. The fancy restaurant in which they enjoy a leisurely Tuesday evening meal.

And wonder how I’m paying rent next month and, still, September’s daycare bill. And if I’ll ever be able to live that lovely, and easy, of a life.

I just wanted to put a reminder out right now. Especially during this holiday season. When people are struggling. With life. With funds. With emotional states. With carrying more than they can. With job stressors. With fertility struggles. With loss. With the every day.

What you see is not perfection. It’s not even reality. We don’t know what people’s struggles are. We know social media is fabricated and only captures and shows the exact second and shot we want the world to see.

It’s hard to not look. Not judge. Not question. Not wonder. Not dream. That’s all just human nature. I only hope we – very much me included – can focus on what we have. And not what we don’t. Not worry about what others do or don’t, either.

During this holiday season in particular I’m working on being more mindful of what I put out there.

So ladies, I remain here for you. During my rough days. And yours. Through my messes and your uncertainties.

Just know.

Here’s a picture of my life.

Right now.

Because it sure as shit ain’t perfect.

We all have our cross to bear. But more importantly – our lives to live. Let’s do our best to give ourselves a break.

Sure you may see my cute kids. Me carrying one, pushing two and walking a dog. You see me and Nathan smiley on a day off my parents gave us.

Here’s a picture of what you – generally – do not see.

Gentle reminder. Nothing is perfect.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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I am far from perfect.

There is a lot I do, that I wish I didn’t.

A lot I don’t do, that I wish I did.

But today, even with all my shortcomings I received a gift of kindness from someone I’ve never met.

It started with one person and has quickly snowballed into something much bigger. And so incredibly meaningful. My heart is simply bursting with gratitude.

In the day to day grind it’s quite simple to overlook the impact we can have on others. The smallest gesture. Intention. Can end up meaning the world to someone.

I am not suggesting we should do things with the hope or expectation that it will come back around. I’m also not suggesting that all efforts or actions will be appreciated or valued.

I am however saying, sometimes, when you least expect it, good things happen.

These days we see so much evil. So much hate – that its often difficult to see beyond. It’s easy to think the world is bad.

People are bad.

Today I was reminded that this is not true. I was reminded that at our core, so many of us are good. And kind. And thoughtful. And generous. And well intentioned. Sometimes we just need to be reminded. Or asked. And without fail we will rise to the occasion.

This holiday season I am now, because of this reminder from a stranger, committing to acts of kindness, big or small, every day through the end of this year. A conscious, active gesture that will hopefully impact someone, who will in turn pay it forward. This is something I, we, should commit to daily, year round. It can only make this world better. But for now. With one month left in 2018, I commit to daily acts of kindness.

Start small. You just never know what your effort will turn into.

To this kind, wonderful woman who has impressed upon me the importance of giving back and accepting kindness from strangers, thank you.

To everyone else, wont you join me?

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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Once a parent becomes a parent, vacations are no longer vacations. So you have to decide. Is this really something you want to take on.

You go back and forth with your partner on the merits of this idea being a good or terrible one. 

Then you decide. 

The choice has been made. 

You hold your breath. 

Press the “purchase tickets” button. 

And immediately question the decision. 

But the deed is done. You now have a few months to manage the anxiety of how the fuck to travel with a set of one-year-old twins and a toddler. 

Then the week before, it sets in. The logistics are overwhelming. How many babies? Strollers? Car seats? Who is watching the dog? The cat? High chairs? What do we do with our car? How many bags? Toys? What do you need for the plane? How do you get to the plane? What do you do once you’re on the plane? Off the plane? Cribs for everyone? What books do you pack? 

Ha! 

Books?

None for me. As we said, a vacation is no longer a vacation. 

But we made the commitment to visit family in the south. The deal was sealed. So off we go. 

What we know now is the right number of adults (for traveling with three under three) is four.

Four high-functioning adults makes it just manageable. 

For anyone who has done it with fewer, you are my heroes. 

The thing you forget, or are less aware of, in the day-to-day grind is that (for many of us) other people are entertaining our children all day. Sure, we see them in the morning. Get them dressed and ready for the day. Pick them up at the end. And manage the nighttime routine. But in between, someone else is reading, feeding, playing with them. 

And to those people… I salute you. 

We had one full week in Florida in a two-room Airbnb with virtually no plans. This could have gone one of two ways. 

The twins are down to one nap daily. And the almost three-year-old is fully refusing any nap while in vacation mode. 

This makes for a very, very long seven days. 

All that said, the trip could not have been more perfect. Everyone was (basically) on their best behavior. Everyone (basically) slept at night. And, in fact an extra hour plus in the morning. The Rosler kids apparently love vacation. There was pool. There was beach. There was family. And friends. But Nathan and I were ON every. single. second. of. every. single. day. 

Well, almost. 

There were two opportunities for “me” time. There were two days of glorious moments that were all mine. And I’ll be hard-pressed to forget them anytime soon. 

One day we went to the beach. A trip to the beach is not what it once was, certainly. After lugging the baby chairs. And the umbrella. And the towels. And the toys. And the shovels. And the buckets. And the beach chairs. And slathering up babies with SPF. And hats. And anti-UV bathing suits. And water bottles. Snacks. And diapers. And swim diapers and….yeah. And so-much-crap. Now what? Ok. We’re settled. Towels laid out. Babies on them. Shoes kicked off. What now? Go for a walk?Build a sand castle? Oh, it’s high tide? Right now? Cool. Move everything back five feet. Good? Set? Now? Nope. Not far enough. Pick it all up and do it again. Ok. Time to relax? One sippy cup ends up on the sand. One baby just took a fistful to the mouth. Excellent start. 

Finally everyone is good. I check my surroundings. All babies accounted for. I do not make a peep, take a breath. I slowly walk towards the water. My childhood. My respite. My calm. The beach should be my home. It’s where I am in my element. I was pulled towards my beacon and did not look back. My toes touched the perfectly crystal blue, aqua waves and then I dove in fully. I flipped over and floated. I was buoyant. And free. Body light as a feather. Floating in a little slice of heaven on earth. My ears right beneath the idyllic ocean water’s surface. Every time a wave swept through, the sound of sand and shells rolling with them sung in my ears. If shimmering made a sound, this would have been it. This moment was perfection. I have not had a moment like this, likely since our honeymoon four years ago. And yes, it was a moment. I was beckoned back not long after I took in the sky, and the clouds, and the salt water. I followed the waves back to shore. They carried me, effortlessly. I took a deep breath and returned to my other element: my beautiful family, awaiting me on the other side. But that in-between moment brought me life. Sometimes it really is just the little things. 

The next day (in between visitors, and feedings, and cleaning, and bathing, and shopping, and playing) I was granted close to an hour of alone time, which may as well have been an eternity. The babies napped. H took a car ride with N and I had the pool to myself. I floated. I took in the fresh air. The sun. The Florida heat. And for that hour nothing mattered. There were no worries. No anxiety. No tantrums. No bills. No questions. I took a break from it all and let the water carry me. 

This came to an end. 

As all things must. 

But those moments will stay with me for a long time. They rejuvenated me. Restored me. I love my family. And my new career. And the hustle and bustle of it all. But the calm. And the quiet. And the weather. And the “vacation.” And the family time. And the down time. And the break from reality. It was reinvigorating.

Restorative. 

Taking the time is so important. Most of us likely don’t do it enough. But this little vacation home in Florida, off the beaten path, was so perfect. We are so busy running, usually, from this place and that. We don’t take the time to appreciate the in-between. I’m so grateful I was given this opportunity. It made me realize I need to focus more on what happens in-between: the things that happen in the midst of us handling life. 

It also made me realize how insanely amazing it is to have a washer and dryer in your home. 

I single-handedly destroyed the environment last week. 

Sorry, Earth. 

Please, this one time. 

Forgive me. 

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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I felt like I was drowning.

At one point last night—possibly for the first time ever—I took a deep breath and thought:

I am drowning.

I just took something *else* on, without thinking it through, because I thought it could help my family. As soon as I did, I felt a weight on my chest. A heavy, heavy weight.

My to-do list already spans 7 1/2 columns, and every day, I just move the long list from one day to the next in my calendar, though it feels like hundreds of items get crossed off daily. There are just are not enough moments in a day to do it all (though somehow, someway we are expected to.)

There are second notice bills that I haven’t paid, last month’s daycare tuition I’ve not fully been able to take care of, and piles and piles of laundry stacked up from two weeks ago.

The intention is there.

The time and money are not.

I woke up today feeling less overwhelmed but acutely aware of all the things that still needed to happen. And I don’t know about your brain, but when mine is left to its own devices… For. Get. It.

After wrangling three fussy kids to drop-off, my appointment with my doula client would start the day before the day even began. I still had posts to edit and monitor in ten different Facebook groups, and many messages to return. I needed to print something timely, but inevitably I was out of ink. And when I did print it, it came out crooked. I had boxes to slap shipping labels on. Groceries to order. An Air BnB to finalize.  At some point I’d need to do research on new ADHD meds to see which ones my new shitty insurance will cover. I need to go back on meds so I can focus and stay organized… shit, I almost forgot… my appointment with the therapist is tomorrow (ironic but true.)

But first I have to stop breastfeeding, so I can go on said meds. But how do you finally, truly, forever, actually stop? At least there’s reliable ole cow’s milk, right?  

Nope. Not anymore. Apparently our next generation of girls will have their periods at age 7, because hormones, or homogenized, or pasteurized or ultra-pasteurized—or this article, or that study says—or who the fuck knows.

GAHHHHHH

And I have books to read, and meetings to be on, trainings to finish, and schedule, and calls to make, and calls to return, and things to pick up, and documents to send, and things to drop off. Clothes to buy, and to sell, and to donate, and appointments to make, and cancel, and to remember—and oh shit I forgot the kids’ cheese.

Again.

And none of this even touches on my new business that I’m trying to build from the ground up, with (currently) no investors, and no income. A partnership meeting for this business will be my actual first meeting of the work day, after all of the above.

But oh my god.

Just breathe.

I’m sure we’ve all felt like this (so fucking scattered) at one point or another.

And damn, it’s scary. When you’re a family of five, living in New York City, sending three kids to daycare, living on one salary—a not-for-profit salary, at that— and feeding not only said family of five humans, but also a cat with stage three kidney disease who definitely eats better than the rest of us, and a dog.

A crazy, crazy dog.

These last few days happened to be very productive and fruitful, which felt good, but again, the list is just so, so long. I decided a top priority for today would be preparing dinner for my kids before they returned home, since this literally never ever happens. I had grand plans; until I opened the refrigerator. Clearly the grocery shopping hadn’t happened. They ended up with chicken nuggets, sweet potato fries, and spinach bites—all from the freezer.

But alas, I’m calling it a win.

Now it’s go time: end of day round-up/pick-up.

I get downstairs with the dog, and it’s raining. And this dog. does. not. like. rain. But obviously I was already late. So off we go.

I didn’t have an umbrella.

Or a stroller, for that matter.  

Due to an earlier “incident” at daycare—involving our doublewide stroller, leading to some f-bombs, and two back-to-back blow-up fights with the admin staff—I had determined: Today there would be no stroller.

Bad choice.

Only I would lose in this scenario.

I get to school, and I am very, very wet. I presume the rain will stop, or at least let up, before I leave with everyone, so at least the kids won’t get soaked.

Yeah, right.

By now, of course, it’s pouring.  I have one baby strapped on my back, the other baby on the front, and the toddler was thrown in a rickety, 3X-hand-me-down, broken tricycle with a push handle that doesn’t turn. I grab my soaking wet and VERY unhappy dog, and we head home.

No stroller.  

No snacks.

No umbrella.  

Both babies are crying, and hungry, and so tired because said admin staff stopped me to talk about “the stroller incident.”

And it was late.

As I crossed the street, I passed a security guard.

Our eyes met.

He was smiling at me with kind eyes. And I smiled back. As I was about to walk by, he said:

“Is there anyone luckier than you?”

And I stopped.

In the rain, with three wailing children, and my crazed mind, and a laundry list of things to do, and my goddamn dog who was obviously trying to eat a street-chicken bone.

“Three beautiful children. Is there anyone luckier?” he said again.

I replied, after a deep, deep breath.

“No, no there isn’t. Thank you for the reminder.”

I could go on to talk about the fight my husband and I got into immediately following this moment, or the fact that, instead of writing this right now, I should be working on the project I took on late last night. Or tackling any number of the 47,283 tasks remaining on the to-do list. Or hey, maybe go to sleep?

But that isn’t the moral here.

The moral of the story is: Appreciate what you have. Live your life. Chase your dream. Stay as focused as you can. But be kind to yourself. Give yourself a break. Realize it truly will always work out… somehow.

There will be ups.

There will be downs.

You will get soaked.

And see the light.

There will be moments of clarity.

And of drowning.

But somewhere along the way, you will be reminded – there is no one luckier than you.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

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