my village

They say it takes a village to raise a child.

This is my village.

(Or at least, part of it.)

In my village there are friends who take each and every step of the motherhood journey alongside me. There are people who I can call at 3 am if I need to – without questions asked. There are people who offer to watch my kids at the jump of a hat when I am in need. There are people who go out of their way to care for us, to love us, to pray for us. There are people who deliver me iced coffee. Bring us food when we’re sick. Stop and pick up groceries because they know it will take a load off my shoulders. There are people who know my favourite treats, my bad habits, my strengths and my weaknesses – yet still accept me as I am. In my village there are children I have prayed for since before they existed. Children who I eagerly anticipated alongside their mothers. Children I love beyond words, even if they don’t belong (entirely) to me. In my village, there are best friends for my babies.

In my village there are prayer warriors. There are secret keepers. There are babysitters. There are encouragers. Supporters. Mentors. In my village, there are funny people with whom I love to laugh. There are people who have seen my in both my brightest moments and my darkest hours. In my village, there are faith builders and role models. In my village, there is a great deal of wisdom to be imparted.

In my village there are parents, grandparents, sisters, bothers, aunts, uncles and best friends, all who support us every day, in each decision. There are people who care for my babies as though they were their own. People I’m proud to know and love.

They say it takes a village to raise a child.

This is my village.

And I’m pretty darn blessed to be belong to it.

it’s easier. and it’s harder.

Since becoming a mom of two, I have found that one of the most common questions I’m asked is, “Is having two kids easier or harder than having one?” I find this a tricky question to answer. In short, my answer is having two kids is easier than having one kid. And it’s harder than having one kid. How is that even possible? I’m not sure.

You see, it’s like this. Having two kids who are less than two years apart in age is crazy. Of course, I’m sure having two kids who are any space in age is crazy – but this is my experience. The only experience I know. My days are jam packed full of diapers, spit up, sippy cups, breast feeding, temper tantrums, Diego, silly songs and messes. My days are also full of cuddles, dance parties, long afternoon naps and sweet, sleepy bedtime snuggles. It’s exhausting and constant. But, even more than that, it’s rewarding and fulfilling. Some days, at the end of the day, when I find myself laying in bed, I feel like the day that just passed is a haze. Sometimes, I’m not even sure what all happened between my feet hitting the floor in the morning and my head hitting the pillow at night. Sometimes, I feel like I’m struggling to keep my head above the water. And those days, those are the ones where I feel like having two kids is harder than having one.

When I stand in this crazy, chaotic place that I am right now, with a two year old and a three month old and I look back on the days when I had “just” a 3 month old, yes, I admit, I sometimes think and probably say … “Wow. Having just one kid was so easy”. Just this morning I went shopping with Gwen while Eva was in preschool and I thought multiple times how easy it is to shop with just an infant. No goldfish crackers flying at the stranger next to me, no arguments about if we should walk or go in the stroller, none of that. Just a quiet baby in an ergo who was happy to be along for the ride. But the thing is this – I would never in my life want to invalidate the feelings of a first time mom by saying those things. I would never want to be the one to say, just you wait because having just one kid is sooo easy.

Because heaven knows that 2ish years ago, if you had looked at me, you’d have known that it wasn’t easy. It was anything but easy for me in the moment – when I was in the trenches. That’s why they say hindsight is 20/20. (I almost wrote hindsight is 50/50. Ha, Mom brain). But foresight is not.

When Eva was just 5 months old, I wrote this post. (I wrote the current post before I went back and re-read that post. Interestingly, in that post, I wrote the exact same line – hindsight is 20/20. Foresight is not.) In that post, I wrote about how my feelings as a first time mom had been invalidated by people who were quick to tell me just how easy I had it. And now that I sit here, in their position, I know that what they were saying was valid. But that doesn’t mean it was right or okay. Because it wasn’t. It was demeaning, invalidating and insensitive. And that is exactly what I would never want to do to another mom.

Time and experience are funny things. You can always look back on time and look back at past experiences to compare them to now but you can’t do it the opposite way. You cannot look ahead and to compare your current experience to something you have yet to experience. You cannot be a brand new mom of one baby and look ahead and know what it will be like to have two babies. Just like I can’t, as a mom of two, look ahead and know what it will be like to have three babies.

Now, I can sit here and look back at the days when I had one baby and realize aspects of it that were easier. Easier than what though? Easier than what I’m experiencing now, but not easier than anything I had experienced then. So I can also recognize that at the time I was experiencing them, they were not easier … because it was the first time I had done anything like it.

My adjustment to two kids has been alright. Not perfect. Not completely stress free. But alright.

My adjustment to two kids has definitely been way easier than my adjustment to one kid. I’ve had these conversations with a few of my friends/family members who are on kid #1. Some of them have said that they feel like they can hardly get anything done with one kid so how can I manage to get dinner on the table with two kids?

The thing is this – before Eva was born, my life was kid free. Before Gwen was born, my life was already kid filled. I had already adjusted to the life style that is dictated by nap schedules, meal times, children’s activities and so on. I was already used to being home by 7 every single evening of the week to get a kid to bed. I was already used to having very limited one on one time with my husband. I was already used to spending many days of the week in the house, without ever going anywhere. I was already used to having to get some kind of food on the table for the sake of my child, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. I was already used to all of these things.

And that’s why, for me, the adjustment to two kids has been easier than the adjustment to one kid.

When Evalyn was 3 months old and I had “just” one baby to look after, most days I could hardly manage to change my underpants. My teeth went unbrushed, my hair unwashed, the house was usually a mess and getting dinner for my husband was quite often an after thought. Because I was in the throes of sorting out this whole motherhood thing, adjusting to the different dynamics in my marriage, figuring out how to function as a zombie and all in all – attempting to reconcile who this new person looking in the mirror at me was. Figuring out what it meant to be Mom.

By the time Gwen came around, I had assimilated myself into that role already. I am already Mom. I am used to having dirty hair and wearing the same yoga pants for eighteen days straight. My standards for keeping up my house have changed drastically. I’ve learned to embrace and accept the constant chaos and the occasional ahem, never ending dust bunny that collects under the couch.

It wasn’t as earth shattering to add a baby this time because the pace, the flow and the dynamic of this family, of my life, of my identity – all of that already revolves around little people and everything that comes with them.

So yeah, having two kids is harder than having one. And having two kids is easier than having one. I’m not sure if that’s the right answer. But then again, I’m not sure if it’s the right question either.

she sees love

Sometimes at the end of the day, I look back on my task of mothering and think I just didn’t do a very good job. Sometimes, I think I’m agitated more than I’m patient. That I’m distracted more than I’m present. That I’m angry more than I’m happy. That I’m exhausted more than I’m energetic. And the list goes on.

Lately, we’ve been having more of those kind of days than I care to admit.

But, yesterday, my sweet first born, in all of her two years of wisdom, taught me a very important, very humbling lesson. She taught me this lesson while she was playing with her babies. One of her favourite pastimes.

You see, the thing that’s neat and special about watching my baby play with her babies is that I know she’s doing more than just pretending. She’s role playing, she’s mimicking, she’s modeling what she sees when she thinks about mothering. And to me, this is more meaningful to me than any other make believe game – like cooking, or grocery shopping, or fixing things. Because her understanding of the values of motherhood? They come from me. I am her mother. The only mother she has. I am what she duplicates when she mothers her babies. Her little two year old understanding of what it means for a mommy to love her baby … that shows me what she sees in me.

So, yesterday morning, I was humbled and brought to tears when she picked up one of her babies and began rocking, cradling, shushing and nursing it. She got up off the couch, walked around the room bouncing with her baby, tapping her on the back and said, “Oh, my baby. You my lover. You my sweetie. You my lover. You so special. You a good girl. I yuv you, my sweet bear”.

Of course, this isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed her express endearment and nurturance to her dolls, but for some reason, yesterday it knocked me off my feet.

Because it made me realize that even on days that are filled moments lacking patience, grace, fun and energy… even on these days – she looks at me, her mother – and she sees love.

(pre) Nesting Mode

Everyone knows what nesting is all about. You know, the stage in pregnancy where Mama overcomes the tired, the achy, and the blah and decides to get to work and get cracking on things that need to get done to prepare for baby’s arrival. With Evalyn, I nested hard core. I arranged and rearranged her room. And then did it again (times 300). I canned approximately 492898 jars of salsa, peaches, pears, and jam. I cleaned out closets. I froze enough meals to feed my family for the first seven years of my daughter’s life. I nested, like whoa.

But so far in this pregnancy that little ol’ nesting urge has yet to appear. What I have discovered, however, is that there is another instinct that is occurring. Maybe it’s a second pregnancy thing?

This my friends, is the (pre)nesting stage. It is the stage in which you think about nesting. You write lists about the things you are going to do. You tell your husband about the things you are going to do. You plan exactly how you will do these things you are going to do.

And then? You sit on the couch and eat spinach dip.

Up until today, I’ve blamed the lack of nesting urges on the fact that I simply did not have time to nest. I was hoping that I was just pushing them away, knowing that grading and other work related junk had to come first.

And then yesterday? I finished grading my very last papers. (Insert hooray right about here). That meant work was done. It was time to move on. Evalyn was scheduled for daycare this morning since I anticipated that I’d still be working, so I figured I’d get going on all of the things that have been floating around in my head the past few weeks.

You see, although there’s not much to do to get ready for the baby him/herself, since we pretty much have everything waiting in the storage room, there is a lot to do in other areas.

Hello, crazy people who buy a house that needs may-jah renos right at the same time as having a baby.

We get the house May 31. Four weeks before baby is due. We are keeping our apartment until July 31. Four weeks after the baby is due.

Somewhere in there, I have to pack, organize and get things moved. And the husband has to replace the roof, paint the entire main floor and replace all the flooring in the house.

So, yeah. Nesting has got to happen.

My master plan is to have as much as possible packed and moved into the basement of the new house when we get possession on May 31. There is a lot we can survive without for a few weeks before the move is official. That way, I will reduce the amount of work my friends and family who will feel sorry for me I have to do after the baby comes.

But? I feel like it’s still a bit too early to really start.

So this morning? Instead of starting? I thought about starting.

I wrote lists. I made plans. I envisioned garbage bags of clothes to go to Goodwill and boxes of neatly packed and organized possessions to move to the house. I wrote a May list, a June list and a Post-Baby list highlighting all the crap that needs to be done in that time frame. And then I put the lists, all nice and neat with checkboxes beside each ‘to-do’, on the counter.

Where they will stare at me day in and day out. Taunting me to make progress.

But of course, I didn’t actually do any of the things on the list. I just thought about them. And thought about how I could get started when she went down for her nap this afternoon.

Which happened 30 minutes ago. And here I sit. On the couch, with my delicious leftover seafood alfredo, a huge glass of icy cold water, and my laptop open to Pinterest.

Welcome to (pre)nesting mode, my friends.

Mom-munity

Sometimes I find myself feeling down about the judgement that moms pass on other moms. We all know it happens. We all know the issues. Natural birth versus medicated birth. Breastfeeding versus formula feeding. Co-sleeping versus sleep training. Purees versus baby led weaning. Immunizations versus delayed or no immunizations. Working versus staying home. And the list goes on. And on, and on, and on. These are only the issues that I’ve come face to face with in my short 15 and a bit months of parenting. I’m sure these things won’t stop once we enter early childhood years, and middle childhood years, and then (gulp), the teen years.

And, let me be straight up here. I’m not innocent. Admittedly, but unfortunately, I am guilty of passing judgements on other mother’s based on the decisions they are making for their children. It’s not cool, but it’s reality. I’m not trying to play off like I’m blameless.

But, there’s another side to the story as well. I’ve had so many experiences lately where I realize that I am so lucky and so blessed to have found myself a place in this community – or mom-munity, perhaps – where I have support, encouragement and friendship with other mothers.

This mom-munity has been blessing me tremendously lately. From excitement and care regarding our next baby being born, to prayers for health when we’ve been sick, to blog friends sending me maternity clothes to borrow and just all around friendship encouragement. A while back I wrote a post about feelings of guilt I’ve struggled with since becoming pregnant with #2, then just last week, I wrote a post about weaning my baby girl. Both raw, honest, difficult posts to write. And the response and support I got through comments, twitter and e-mails? So encouraging. Knowing that all of you other Mamas care about the struggles I’m facing, and that I’m not alone, that you’ve been where I am right now? These things remind me just how wonderful this mom-munity can be.

It’s happening to me…

I’ve come to the realization that it’s happening. It is really and truly happening.

I am becoming my mother.

You see, my sweet Mama is notorious for .. hm, let’s see, how should I put this? She is notorious for lacking necessary observation skills while shopping for retail purchases including, but not limited to, food and drink, household supplies, and gifts.

She is the one to purchase pumpkin pie filling instead of straight up pumpkin, Windex instead of toilet bowl cleaner, or an extra extra extra large print bible for my sister who has excellent vision.

And I don’t say this to make fun or belittle my Mama. She’s not an unintelligent person. She just, you know, forgets to read the labels. It’s an innocent mistake. She is a busy woman. Often in a hurry and sometimes this means she accidentally grabs the wrong thing.

And, well. Apparently, so do I.

A few weeks ago, my mother and I visited the US to do some shopping. At Target, they had basic long sleeved T’s on for $10 a pop. A girl can never have too many long sleeved Ts so I tried on a few, figured out which size I needed (medium, for the record) and grabbed five. All the basics and a few for fun. Black, white, grey, black/grey stripe and teal. I got home, stuck them in my drawer to wait for cooler days to arrive and thought nothing of it. Until a few weeks later when I started to need long sleeves. I put the teal one on and realized it felt kind of snug. I took it off, looked at the tag. And? Extra Small. Remember, I needed medium? I dug the other four out and guess what? Of the five I purchased? ONLY TWO WERE THE CORRECT SIZE. I came home with an extra small, small, two mediums and a large. I don’t know if the size on the hangers didn’t match the size on the shirt or what. But regardless, I pulled a Mama.

Then last week, I did it again. I was out shopping and I found something that was perfect for my mom (huh, coincidental) for a Christmas gift. Something I knew she’d appreciate. I can’t tell you what it is since my mom reads this blog (Hi, Mom! Don’t hate me for making fun of you in this post. I love you. I really do)  and I don’t want to spoil the surprise. But, I will tell you that it’s something really nice and it was significantly marked down. So much so that I decided I should get two. I grabbed them and off I went. Then, at the last minute, I decided I had changed my mind about the colour. I headed back to the section of the store and made the switch. Paid for them and away I went. That night when I got home I was showing Evan the sweet deal I had scored when I noticed, can you guess? When I switched the colour I got the wrong size. Which was clearly marked in pretty large letters on the item. Thankfully, I was able to do an exchange and ended up gaining $14 in the process (another story for another day…).

So here I am: admitting that it’s happening to me.

I’m becoming my Mama.

Which, really, isn’t such a bad thing at all aside from the occasional retail inconvenience.

The only difference between she and I? I noticed my mistake before I wrapped it up and gave it to her on Christmas morning. So, I guess I still have a little bit of my sanity left.

Realizations

My sweet baby is not doing so great this week. The poor thing has a runny nose, a cough, and is just out of sorts all around.

On Wednesday night, we had a little episode that scared me bad. I won’t go into the details, but she did some weird stuff in a 20ish minute span that made me wonder if we should take her to the hospital.

Evan came home and after some debate we decided against going in because she had returned to normal (well, I’m-sick-with-a-cold-and-not-too-happy normal) and we had her regular 6 month appointment scheduled for Thursday morning anyway. We watched her closely through the evening and night and she seemed to be okay.

At her appointment, after talking to the doctor, he suggested that what happened might possibly have been a mild seizure. Not for sure. It’s just a possibility. He assured me that as a one time, isolated incident, it is not something to be concerned about. It could have happened as a result of having a low grade fever, being congested, fighting an infection, being tired, lacking oxygen for a short time, and so on. He said if episodes like this occur in the future, then we would certainly want to check it out, but for now, everything seems to be fine, aside from her having a common cold.

During this I came to realize how blessed, truly blessed, I am to have a healthy, thriving child.

Over the course of one evening, where my baby seemed to be not doing so well for a few short moments, my mom heart got all torn up. In a bad way. It hurt my heart to see her like that. And, in reality, it was nothing. Nothing in comparison to what some Mamas go through.

We’ve made it to the six month point without having to have any doctor visits aside from her normally scheduled checks. (Mind you, she has been under the weather at two of these appointments – girlfriend just loves to get sick the day before so we can get it all done in one fell swoop). Aside from a few colds, runny noses, coughs and sneezes, she’s been in perfect health. No high fevers. No ear infections. No flu bugs. No major health concerns. This week is the first time that her health has caused any changes to her temperament. Generally speaking, she is a healthy and happy babe. And this is not to toot my own horn – it’s only by the grace of God that she’s remained so healthy. It is not because of anything I’ve done or haven’t done. Babies get sick. It happens. Especially this winter. Oh yes, it happens.

But, somehow we’ve escaped most of that. And realize that we are so blessed.

I have realized that our trials are so miniscule compared to those faced by many families.

And that the gift of a healthy child is one to be cherished.

Reflections on Mother's Day

In the past, I've never really given Mother's Day a lot of thought. Sure, I've always given my mom a card, maybe a little gift, and wished her a Happy Mother's Day, but I never really took any time to think about what this day may signify for certain people. This year, I have found myself somewhat caught up and self-absorbed in the excitement of this being my "first" Mother's Day. Thankfully, earlier this week, through a number of different vessels, God convicted me of this selfish attitude and I found myself reflecting and thinking of people who are in different situations than I this year.

So, while today I will celebrate my mother, my mother in law, my grandmothers, and many other mothers in my life ... I am also taking time to pray for those who come face to face with Mother's Day with feelings of pain, loss, apprehension, and fear.

Today...

I pray for the woman who is wondering when it will be her turn.
I pray for the woman who fears it will never be her turn.

I pray for the woman who wonders if she'll ever see two pink lines.
I pray for the woman who has been told that she may never see two pink lines.
I pray for the woman who is desperately waiting for the person who will someday make her a mother to come into her life.
I pray for the woman who is waiting for her baby to come home to her.
I pray for the woman who feels the pain of disappointment when an unwelcome monthly visitor arrives once again.
I pray for the women who is made to feel a sense of guilt and failure at not being able to give her husband a child.
I pray for the woman who feels the pain at having lost her baby due to miscarriage, disease, or accident.
I pray for the woman who wonders how she will feed and provide for her baby today.
I pray for the child who feels left out at school when the kids make mother's day crafts because he has no one to give his to.
Today I pray for all those who wake up on Mother's Day and feel a sting of pain, loss, and fear.