The magic (in the mess). ♡

Journaling, Mental Health, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Foresight.

05/07/2024 No Comments

There’s been a shift as of late, a space being made for someone new. I’ve met someone. And as I dip my toes into the feelings of “new relationship” – rushes of dopamine, hints of love drunkenness, and joys over the tiniest anything and everything – I watch myself. Curiously, critically (I am me, after all), and reflectively. I watch what I do and how I act. I wonder.

Am I love bombing?

Am I trauma bonding?

Am I doing that codependency-affection-flooding thing?

Am I going to mess this up, too? (she says, always laying blame inevitably at her feet)

Am I going to turn into my mom – again? (… see above)

I worry, as worrying is me, and poking with ALL the questions at ALL the things with ALL the thoughts is what I do.

I wish to not elaborate here on the answers to the questions above, however, as the answers to all of them are no (when I’m in my right mind, that is, however rarely that may be).

There is something that I keep coming back to though. It’s an excerpt from “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin” by Louis de Bernières, which reads:

“Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.”

During the last five or so years of my marriage, I thought of this quote often. Every time it came up on Facebook memories, I re-posted it. Be it to justify and make pretty the reality of my dying marriage, or to cling to it out of hope that where we were at was normal, this quote saw me through. All of our love had burned away, but we had roots. I couldn’t see at the time that those were roots of habit, stubbornness, predictability, and convenience, however. Roots that when finally given a proper looking at practically crumbled, but that’s a story for another time.

These days, I look to this quote in light anew. It is not the roots of it upon which I reflect this time around (there hasn’t been time yet for those roots to grow), it’s the temporary madness. It’s the breathlessness. It’s the passion. It’s awareness that these are times of pretty blooms. It’s the curious inquiry as to how one helps those pretty blooms last longer. It’s the realization that I am (happily) one of those fools, but at the same time, possessing of agency and mindfulness this time around to better support and guide the narrative, choice, and decision.

It’s hope. It’s open eyes. It’s excitement. It’s tempering. It’s adoration. It’s balance. It’s foresight.

Foresight.

Something I would have given anything to have those sixteen years ago.

Journaling, Mental Health, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Life and it’s meaning.

07/11/2022 No Comments

What Are You Willing to Struggle for? Fulfillment involves effort, trial-and-error, failure and learning.

On a surface level, and because I cannot think of a better answer, my children. I will struggle through and for my children. Learning that selfless type of sacrificing was the gift of motherhood, however. I was a person before motherhood, and I continue to be one beyond it.

Attempting to answer this right now in a way that is beyond my children, however, is… beyond me. I am deeply in the throes of toddlerhood these days. Much of the time I am mentally worn, exhausted, tired, and overwhelmed. Struggling (beyond the struggle right now that is making it through the weekend sane and in-tact) is a worrying thing for me to consider.

So, to answer the question, I am willing to hold on and struggle to make it to my kids’ bedtime. I am willing to struggle until I get that chance to breath, to sit down, and be me – not mom, not nurse, not chef, not maid – or the million other identities of motherhood. After my kid’s bedtime is the one period during my day in which I can be selfish, listen to my own needs, and do *exactly* it is that I want to do. For that, and for who I can be who I need to be for my children, I will struggle through.

Do I somewhat cringe at the selfish type of person this makes me feel like? Yes. Will that change my answer? Not likely, if I am being honest. Right now, the capacity I have for struggling is limited to that which fosters my own survival. That is not something I can’t be sorry for. In time, I hope, want, and need this answer to evolve. To think beyond me and to the world at large.

In time.

What Did Your 8-Year-Old Self Love Doing? Remember the joy of doing things for the fun of it? No rewards, no impressing anyone, just for yourself.

I collected rocks around this time. I loved rocks. I had a rock tumbler, and dutifully I collected prized stones that I hoped would tumble into treasures. I used all of my (paltry) allowance on buying those shiny, colourful rocks at those wooden cart kiosks you’d randomly find in stores in the 90s. I’d hold my rocks, sort them, and keep them in special boxes. Rocks were my *thing* and to this day they are a small pleasure of mine. I sadly let my greater love of rocks die at this age, however, when a friend of my father’s tried to quiz me about what were the types of rocks he had found, stating that I should know it, and I shamefully couldn’t answer. I didn’t feel worthy of loving rocks anymore at that point.

Playing secretary was my second love. My mom, who was my dad’s secretary for his door company, had this giant wooden desk at home full of ledgers and papers and pens and highlighters and those old school printing calculators. I would sit there and pretend the afternoon away. Organizing the bits, pretending to take phone calls, writing down pertinent information, ensuring everything was organized. I loved that sense of order.

Lastly, there was an off and on stint around this age with interior decorating. I got obsessed with organizing my room in certain ways and ensuring everything had a proper place. I decided I wanted to do interior decorating for a hot minute as a result. I didn’t realize at this time that it wasn’t the decoration I was there for (I’ve always been terrible at having a cohesive aesthetic). I was there for creating order, sense, and peace in my environments.

What Makes You Forget to Eat? When are you are so immersed in an activity that time passes without you realizing? Psychologist call this flow.

Housing systems in video games (must have a social element/*fuck* The Sims). I find it in the placing of items, the tweaking for perfect alignment, the striving towards some type of cohesion (even if my sense of aesthetic may suck) – it is gloriously soul nourishing and fun.

Spreadsheets. Sorting data. Learning from this data. Fixing and organizing meta-tags, adding in missing information to systems, and creating a clearly aligned cohesive system. For my brain and it’s OCD’ish needs, but also, for a world of more beautifully aligned spreadsheets and data. :>

Writing. While it’ll never be book quality, making meaning onto pages like these. The purposeful stringing together of (carefully chosen) words to create the metaphor/soliloquy/meaning I was going for, and my personal realizations and becomings in its wake.

Lastly, reading. Fictional fantasy/sci-fi nerdery. Following the lives of strong female leads into other worlds and existences that I could only dream of.

How Are You Going to Save the World? You may not end world hunger, but you can make a difference. Instead of focusing too much on finding yourself, lose yourself in something larger.

This question. I have sat with it, wrestled with it, fought myself against it, left it, returned to it, and struggled with it. I’ve never been able to answer it and for too long I’ve let that *be* my answer. But… the following quote has left me in pause.

“It’s fine to struggle against the constraints of human nature, hoping to mitigate the worst of what’s to come, but it’s just as important to fight smaller, more local battles that you have some realistic hope of winning. Keep doing the right thing for the planet, yes, but also keep trying to save what you love specifically—a community, an institution, a wild place, a species that’s in trouble—and take heart in your small successes. Any good thing you do now is arguably a hedge against the hotter future, but the really meaningful thing is that it’s good today. As long as you have something to love, you have something to hope for.”

Jonathan Franzen

I’ve got something to love.

So, think globally, yet act locally. And if I follow my heart, it leads to helping fight the fight of protecting BC’s endangered old-growth forests.

Learning how I can *utilize* my skillsets (particularly those in my second and third answers) in this regard to best help, however? That learning journey awaits me.

If You Knew You Were Going to Die One Year from Today, What Would You Do and How Would You Want to be Remembered? How do you really want to spend your time? What do you want your legacy to be?

One year, hey?

I’d want to spend it loving. Loving my children, loving those in my life that matter to me, and loving myself (and possibly as loving trees, too, ‘cause I am me and I am a *little* extra).

I’ve never thought or believed I needed a legacy. It feels presumptuous. Beyond those in my life that are important to me, I do not need to be remembered. I am no trail blazer. There are far greater acts and efforts that came before me and will follow me. Let them have the stage.

But, in those minds of those I care for, I hope to be remembered as a light. As a hope. As a supporter, defender, and lover. As someone who was good at her job, loved what she did, always wanted to learn, and tried to help others. If they also happen to remember me as a (loving) troll, doomsponge, and being far too eager at times than I ought to be, that’s okay, too. :>

Perhaps these are not the highest of ideals to achieve for in what I leave behind for the world… but, they are me. <3

Journaling, Mental Health, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Oh.

06/13/2022 No Comments

Finally, the separation was a reality. Happiness became you. You were free. You could live again. Oh, the sweet relief.

And lived you did. Not long after you jumped onto Tinder (it was what people did, you thought). You were there for things you had longed for and missed. To genuinely talk to a guy, to connect, to shamelessly flirt, and to feel attractive. You soon discovered the (deceptively shallow) thrill of a match. Oh, the validation.

Matches turned to conversations; your phone glued to hand. You were giddy on difference and change. And thrived in the attention. You came to life. Years of a dead marriage and dead bedroom left you determined. You would harness this energy. You would become again. Oh, the renewal.

Alas, that wave soon broke.

For you awoke.

Eyes opened to the inner voices that lead you to stay unhappily in a marriage for years too long.

Not a single one of these people would like you in the flesh and blood, Sarah. Your tinder profile, despite how overly honest it is, was nothing but a ruse. You, in all your eagerness and wonder, were but a ruse. Oh, to be a ruse.

And the conversations turned to ash.

Rife with uncertainty (where do you go next?), you turned to what you knew. The comfort of World of Warcraft. You hadn’t used your computer much these past few years and it took some adjusting, but your heart sang. You found (some) of your people again. You were having fun again. You were living again.

But again, you awoke.

Was this living? Or were you just there to chase the next validation? Dare not find it in yourself, but in those that once showered you with it. They found what you couldn’t. Oh, what you couldn’t.

(And among these messes that you are and where they have led you, there came to be someone else. The one with the voice that you’ve low key had a crush on *for years*. You start talking daily. You somehow end up playing WoW together, and you soon found yourself in Valheim. As your friendship has grown, so does your crush. It’s profoundly silly of you, he’s a thousand miles away. Yet, you know better than to have a single expectation. You’re just enjoying each other’s company, you reason. He’s a delightful escape from your mess, you justify. Oh, to rationalize.)

This past weekend, you deleted Tinder. It was a relief to be on the other side. But… on the other side of what?

The other side of knowing what you want? You feel no closer to that now than you did at the precipice.

Or on the other side of knowing what you need? For this is a need that does not have the time, Tinder. The bravery. The capacity. The energy. The readiness. And it would be a lie to say I ever did.

And that next validation hit — it needs to come from myself. Myself alone.

Oh, to know.

Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Still learning.

03/11/2021 No Comments

“Mama, why wasn’t [insert so and so] listening at child care today?”
“Mama, why did that person stop their car in the middle of the road?”
“Mama, why didn’t you remember to [such and such that my fried brain continually forgets to do]?”

“Because people are still learning, my sweet boy. Still learning how to control their bodies, how to obey the rules of the road, and/or how to remember to do things when functioning on not enough sleep. Life is always teaching us, and we’re always learning.”

A semblance of the above conversation (though for varying reasons) takes place between my son and I a few times a week. So much so that he now chimes in with me in answer, “yeah! They’re still learning!”

It’s a bit of an overly positive take on shitty drivers, I’ll give it that. But, there are nuggets of truth to be found in these conversations nonetheless.

With that said, we’ve recently had a helluva reminder that D and I are still learning.

But first, some backstory.

Six months ago, after having given birth to M, it became rapidly apparent that my mental health needed my son in full time child care while I stayed at home to look after my newborn. I simply wasn’t able to sanely meet both his and M’s needs on the days D was working. It was beyond me, and I feel no shame in admitting that.

Thankfully, we were quickly able to secure full time placement, and it has been the absolute best decision for us all. O adores his “school”, loves the time he can spend there with friends (as he can hardly do that anywhere else these days), and it gives him a place during the day to get out all of his energy and exploratory needs. Furthermore, when he’s at “school”, it leaves me with the sanity I need to care for his sister (now an infant), care for our home, and find some pockets of time during the day to care for myself.

This is not a decision I regret. That being said, I fully get that such an option simply would not be possible or available for some families for a multitude of reasons. Furthermore, some may have chosen differently. I respect that. My anxiety, however, had other plans in store.

Fast forward to now.

After having O at home recently (for reasons that can be found here), I realized something, and it was a something that I had started to clue in on during his week at home this past winter break.

We don’t yet truly, truly know what it means to have two kids.

(It is here I struggle in putting what I mean by that into words. A part of me feels that what I have to say next is not a valid “problem” as it is one born of first world privileges. The other part of me dismisses that notion, and says a struggle is a struggle, and giving words to problems has always helped me better make sense of it all. So, fuck it. I forge ahead.)

We don’t yet know how to fully balance the juggling act of forever meeting the needs of two children while trying to meet our own.

We don’t yet know how to deny the sigh of exhaustion that comes with forever needing to be the type of “on task” that two children require of you.

We don’t yet know how to best give each other breaks (even if that just means one of us being with the “easier” kid in that moment) so that the other can feel the briefest moment of reprieve before having to dive right back in (and how to be accepting of that fact).

We don’t yet know how to quiet the loud sighs of relief come after Sunday evening bedtimes and Monday morning child care drop offs.

How to be at peace in the mess of preschooler + infant “all-day-no time to clean” living… How to give up the illusion that our sore bodies won’t forever be laying or sitting on the floor for YEARS to come… How to not blessedly (and guilty) SAVOUR the daily TV time aka “mom and dad break” that we’ve been having from 4:30-6PM…. These and so much more are things we are very much still learning.

(Truth be told, these are things that we may never learn, or may not HAVE to learn. But, I digress.)

When O is at childcare during the week, I can re-replicate the ease of what it once was to just have one kid. I can breathe. It is a blessing, but, it is also a curse. It’s inadvertently made us be able to deny and delay the demanding, draining reality that comes with having more than one child.

There’s no choice.

Much like winter break, we’ve recently been given no choice but to face this reality head on.

There is much I could say about how it went, but I’ll simply say this: it’s been exhausting, bonding, raw-rubbing, relationship building, HARD-yet-meaningful work.

And while before all of this I may have quite rudely guffawed at the following positivity that I am going to type, I’ll do it anyway. We have been made all the better as a family for it. Yawning, laughing, grumbling, smiling, still learning and all.

Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

The “if only”s.

02/21/2021 No Comments

My sweet boy.

As I’ve built this website, I’ve unintentionally had to remember and relive the “trenches” that were the first six months of your life.

I had realizations that came five years late.

Fraught discoveries at all that I didn’t know.

Wishes and hopes for the should-have could-have would-have but never-had.

I got stuck in the if onlys.

If only I could have better known your sleepy cues.

If only I could have better known your hunger cues.

If only I could have better known your signs of teething.

If only I could have better known the million things you were undoubtedly trying to tell me.

If only, if only, if only.

Instead, you were my bundle of hot, angry, and frustrated tears. Exhaustion, worn edges, and frayed emotions became you (and me, if we’re being honest). We lived, cried and grieved as one in the cavernous hallways of colic.

I tried.

To hear you, to see you, and to truss out from the misery of everything the need you were trying to communicate.

But that everything became one, and more often than not, I failed.

Yet here in the now, this is where I stop myself.

For in those failures – failures of first time mothering, failures of laughable pre-birth expectations, and failures of selflessness I wasn’t yet ready to let go of – I grew.

Those were the days that defined me.

If I had those if onlys, would I have learned to say fuck it and let go? To laugh at my utter lack of intuition, and just go for it on a wing and a prayer? To wade deeply into the murky Nile of motherhood, and still be able to find it’s soggy, muddy, messy beauty?

I don’t think so.

I intend not to write these soliloquies through rose coloured glasses, my mental health would have frankly moved mountains for those if onlys. My marriage with your father would have breathed sighs of reliefs in their reprieves.

But in those days, weeks and months — I became. In that battleground of exasperation, love, annoyance, and adoration (and the bravery to admit I felt all those ways), you taught me. You pushed me beyond myself. You gave me the greatest lesson I ever learned.

You made me a momma. ❤️

Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

This time around.

01/27/2021 No Comments

I recently sat down and did a bit of reflection on this piece I wrote a few years ago, but from my now second time mother perspective. Here’s what came of it..

Girl, I love you, but oh my goodness such DRAMATICS. Then again, I remember. Those days would be impossible to ever forget. First time motherhood was quite the significant headfuck for you. ⁣
⁣After your second birth, for the sake of sanity you realize you are historically close to loosing at that point, you choose a different dish. It is one that asks of you way less cooking and close to no prep — a delightfully easy meal of perogies, sausages and corn. Not the healthiest, but it was needed. ⁣
⁣I won’t fool you, things weren’t perfect while you made those perogies, and nor will they likely ever be, frankly. You were anxious and scrambling, but the results were about twenty million times less of a hectic gong show. And not only do you amazingly get to eat that meal together as a family (newborn sleeping in your lap and all), you manage it at two weeks postpartum, too. Perfection be damned. ⁣
⁣You could thank the gods that decided to listen that time around, but truth be told, just thank yourself. Second-time motherhood will instill in you the ability to handle (like a hot, graceful mess) 458634884 *more* things all at once. It is also quite the headfuck, just a slightly more manageable one. We even come to love it. ⁣
💚⁣ ⁣⁣
⁣P.S. I’d be remiss to finish this with out letting you know that here in the future you haven’t cooked this chicken dish in years. O, now a preschooler, has long since refused to eat it. Something about all the items touching (how dare us) and him being seemingly allergic to any and all cooked vegetables. We’re having LOTS of fun with that one.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

My brain is broken.

01/24/2021 No Comments

Any bookish types out there? If so, help!⁣

Off and on, and throughout the course of much of my life, I have gone through periods of heavy reading and then NOTHING.⁣

During the year and half prior to giving birth to my daughter I was averaging about two books a week. How many have I fished since she was born? Not a ONE.⁣

It’s not because of lack of sleep (she lets me sleep quite well — for now, at least). It’s not because I don’t have time (if I committed the same amount of effort to it as I do looking at irrelevant meaninglessness on my phone, I’d be golden).⁣

And it’s not because I don’t have anything I want to read, either. There are books by the hundreds on my “to-read” list. Gorgeous, fantasy books with intricate storytelling, fascinating world building, and strong, female protagonists.⁣

But, my brain keeps insisting on being this fried, dumb thing that refuses to cooperate. I’ll load GOOD books on my Kobo, attempt to dive in and am only able to read about a page before my attention wanders. Snap back, I try again. Over and over. Eventually, out of annoyance and frustration, I give up. My ability to focus is G.O.N.E. This is all similar to how it’s been in the past when I’ve gone through others of these “no-read” periods.⁣

I gave birth five months ago and I should give myself more time maybe, I hear you. But, I’d really like it to change sooner rather than later. ⁣Reading became this huge part of me, more so than ever before, and now it kind of feels as if I’ve lost a limb. It’s also the one, guaranteed thing I can get lost in during COVID when I need to pretend everything is normal… :(⁣

So, how do I fix this? Do I need a different approach? Should I work to better understand (somehow?) why I go through these no-reading phases? Should I consider a different mindset? Different books? A different life? lol.⁣

Help!

Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

She’s got this.

01/21/2021 No Comments

A milestone happened in our house on Tuesday night. M rolled over for the first time! ⁣
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All babies eventually turn over, and milestones are meaningful for every single one of them. I get that. This moment holds something more to me, though.⁣
⁣
O has had gross and fine motor delays for much of his life, starting from when he was very young. PT and OT have been a part of his journey (and mine — there have been many, many, many appointments). On paper, he’s still quite a bit “behind” for his age based on what other kids of a similar age can “typically” do. In time, he’ll get there.⁣
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I have long felt mom guilt over his delays, however. Many a time I have wondered if my well intentioned parenting choices caused them. We didn’t really do tummy time as I didn’t believe in pushing him to be in positions he couldn’t get into himself. I let him be the lead, and I continue to do so to this day. Eventually, we found out he had low muscle tone, and that it was likely the culprit.⁣
⁣
But, despite knowing that, my anxiety doesn’t let me hear it.⁣
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I don’t want that same journey for M. I don’t want those same struggles. So, I keep doing with her all that I hardly did with O… as if in some kind of hail mary attempt to avoid it. But, as hard as I try (and try do I ever), her tolerance for it is achingly minimal. Many a day she makes it happily on her tummy for less minutes that I can count on one hand.⁣
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This, of course, has lead my worries to be convinced we are again on the same trajectory.⁣
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And then on Tuesday she just rolled over out of the blue, as if it was the world telling me to calm the hell down.⁣
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I hear you, world. I hear you.⁣
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She’s got this.⁣
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Happy five months, sweet girl. 💚⁣ ⁣

[Featured], Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Thank you, easier.

01/17/2021 No Comments

It’s easier this time, this maternity leave. It’s easier because, well, she’s easier. And yet, it’s so much more than that.⁣
⁣
It’s easier because “I know” now the knowledge that first time motherhood denies of you. It’s easier because second children are blessedly unfair in the understandings they afford; understandings that your first (be it you or them) would have never dared relent.⁣
⁣
It’s easier because I’m here, but FULLY here. I’ve stopped listening to the bullshit of everything outside of this, of us, and am embracing a motherly instinct and intuition. Pieces of me that I feel I only just met, but have known all along.⁣
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(And for reasons I won’t elaborate on, out of not wanting this to be about it, and my hurts, it is remarkably easier because my mother is purposefully no longer in our lives.)⁣
⁣
In strange, unexplainable, and starkly tangible ways, it’s easier because of what our world has come to in the grips of this pandemic. The pressure to take the “new baby” out to socialize and to be there for happenings (despite my every inner voice of anxiety screaming in consternation and uncertainty) — it is blissfully absent. Weeks on end we stay at home, only ever leaving for long walks or to pick up O in the afternoons, and it is a peaceful balm to the introversion rooted deeply in my soul. These things didn’t require a pandemic to occur, but they are things I only (and finally) allowed of myself *because* of the pandemic.⁣
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It’s easier because of time. Mothering through anxiety for five years has left me with a hardened knowing. This knowing is not here anymore to impress, or to give a damn about what’s being thought of who she is as a mother. This knowing savours honesty, embraces the mess of it all, and respects and believes in the journey EXACTLY as it is.⁣
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And, let’s be real, it’s easier because of the meds.⁣
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Thank you, easier.⁣
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💚⁣ ⁣

[Featured], Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

I promise.

01/12/2021 No Comments

Dear me,⁣
⁣
I’m sitting here on our phone looking back at pictures you took. It’s January, 2016. You have just recently become a mom for the first time, and are six weeks postpartum.⁣
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The majority of the pictures are of the babe your body created. You aren’t in many, and in those that you are, there is a purposeful effort on your behalf for the photo’s focus to be on anything else but you.⁣
⁣
But, I look to you anyways. Your face. Your hair. Your eyes. The layers that tell a story. Faint smiles, tangled curls in sloppy buns, dark circles and sleepy squints, a breast milk stained cardigan on it’s sixth day of wear. The story of a woman trying. Trying and tired, trying and unsure, trying and afraid.⁣
⁣
Ah, all that what would come in those months ahead. The countless hours of colic, the incredibly little, little sleep, the exasperation at the useless futility of everything you tried, the heart pounding anxiety at anything “gone wrong” that would envelope you in a bundle of trauma. The culmination of it all breaking you. Chasms laid wide, intrusive thoughts hungrily consuming the darkness now bare. An unspoken guilt that consumed you, perpetuating and furthering the cycle. Rinse, repeat, remorse and regret.⁣
⁣
It will be okay, I whisper to you. Gently placing my finger on your shoulder on the screen, as if it could be a hug that transcends time and instils in you the hope you didn’t have. You WILL overcome. The colic goes away, eventually. He sleeps, eventually. You get help from doctors, finally. It starts to work. The pieces come together. You find what he needs. You find what you need. Together, you thrive.⁣
⁣
You’re even crazy enough in five years to do it all over again, mental health reckonings and all. But, we figure it out that time sooner. ⁣She actually sleeps. She’s happier. She’s easier.⁣
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Right now, though.⁣
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It feels like you can’t breath.⁣
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I know. I hear you.⁣
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But, you will.⁣
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We will.⁣
⁣
I promise.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Asking the REAL questions.

12/30/2020 No Comments

Here are the questions I asked myself as I attempted to make sense of this gong show of a board book collection:

Why do we own this many board books? W H Y?⁣
You know you can’t even fit all the ones we own on this shelf and you should probably stop buying them, yeah?⁣
Where the hell is our Gruffalo book?! I guess I’ll have to get another. ⁣
You know what makes for great photos, Sarah? A black bookshelf in a hallway that has dungeness lighting AND it’s a dark + dreary night. Bravo. ⁣
E-readers are so much easier to sort. How old can O be before he starts using one?⁣
Wait. No. Never. I have to have a reason to keep buying him and M pretty books for all of eternity. RIGHT?!⁣
None of how you’re organizing this makes sense, I hope you know. Do you?⁣
Why do we still own Rainbow Fish? Donate that nonsense.⁣
You didn’t buy “such and such” when you were out thrifting last. Why? Next time, next time. ⁣
WHYYYY DOES NOTHING FIT LIKE I WANT IT TOOOOOO?⁣
Have you ever heard of a damn library, woman?!⁣

I am a mess. No lie.

Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

How far we’ve come.

09/18/2020 No Comments

I breast fed O until he was 17 months. Assumption dictated I would do the same with my daughter. When M was born, she latched perfectly. Hurray! Then she had to undergo blue light therapy in the hospital for jaundice and somehow, among it, she forgot how to latch. ⁣
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It has been a HARD journey since. I’ve been trying many many many MANY times a day to help M relearn what she had lost, and then following it by hours of pumping so that I could feed her (while D gave her expressed bottles). She was often frustrated, I was often at tears. It felt like all hours of the day were spent on this effort. I was pretty much stuck at home, with my breast-pump as my ankle monitor. I read what felt like every single article in existence about breastfeeding, and my anxiety was a MESS. ⁣
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(Exclusive pumpers and formula users, I have full respect for you. Please know that.)⁣
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But, good news! After about three thousand attempts (no lie — I’m serious) and four weeks, M is finally latching and doing so consistently. It’s not perfect, and we both have some growing to get there, but, we made it. ⁣
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Achieving this with M has been monumental to my mental health. Now, I figure out how to transition her fully to breastfeeding, while ensuring she gets enough and keeps gaining weight. This will be another journey of learning, but it is one I am prepared to embrace. Slowly and carefully for my anxiety’s sake, but in proud abundance of how far we’ve already come. 💚⁣ ⁣

Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Lost without you.

08/25/2020 No Comments

I am guilty of not publicly saying this or feeling this enough. But, I am incredibly thankful for my husband.

The past seven days have been some of the most trying in our lives (there are a *lot* more details, some unfortunate and messy, to M’s birth story/first few days of her life — ones I didn’t elaborate on in the positive bits I wrote for the announcement/Instagram).

Saying that it’s just been hard would be grossly inadequate at doing justice to the difficulties of those seven days, and what’s to come of them.

Through all of it, however, D has been a bastion of rock solid support, continually going above and beyond, and working tirelessly to hold all of us together. I would have been absolutely lost without him.

Thank you, hunny. 💚⁣ ⁣

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

I wish that for you always.

05/10/2020 No Comments

Sending a special shout out today to the moms out there who feel DONE.

Done ‘cause of #stayhome, done ‘cause they just can’t anymore, done ‘cause they can’t live up to societal expectations of motherhood, or done ‘cause all they want right now is a good hour of not being mom and a stiff drink.

I hear you.

I feel you.

I am you.

You are worthy.

You are human.

Your honesty keeps it real, and to others out there struggling, it is achingly necessary.

There is beauty in that rawness, and it is you.

May today give you a chance to breathe.

I wish that for you always.

Happy you day. 💚⁣ ⁣

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Where I have arrived to while #stayinghome.

04/22/2020 No Comments

Wearing a purse feels like a strange phenomenon of our society that has absolutely no bearing on reality.
Watching people gather in groups on *insert whatever TV series I’m bingeing* make me feel MOST worried for them.
I measure my gas mileage in terms of how many weeks per tank. I’m almost at four!
The once a week grocery run is actually kind of *exciting*.
My slacky home clothes are legitimately in shock with how much I’m using them, and are kindly responding by falling apart. I look *hot*.
The concept of doing my hair can fuck right off for the rest of eternity.
I nap everyday while my kid naps and I legitimately have no idea how I will function without said nap once the world goes back to normal. I’m gonna be SO screwed.
The lack of friends I have that I actually hang out with has yet to make this feel all that different, lol.
These words: “we can’t, it’s closed” have magically transformed my kid into: 1) being able to calmly stay at home ALL day while not really “going” anywhere and 2) into being a CHAMPION of long walks (as opposed to playgrounds)… When before he would have lost his *shit* on me about both.

These are *fascinating* times.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

It could always be worse.

03/20/2020 No Comments

I am now working from home. My work is navigating us doing our jobs remotely for the first time ever, as I don’t think they ever thought it would get to this stage. It’s a bit of a mess, but I’m home.

D is also working from home. It’s an easier feat for him, thankfully.

We are additionally keeping O home with us until the shit storm that is covid19 blows over.

But, if you don’t do screen time with your kid, how the eff do you work from home with said kid and survive? Make a schedule, have activities set up that you don’t have to man — those parts I get. But he’s a preschooler who doesn’t always appeal to logic, and wants us to play with him and be present and we cant ’cause WORK EMAILS ^ 3894792374.

Additionally, if you have no office space whatsoever to accommodate working from home, and one of you is stuck on the couch (me /weep), how do the ergonomics of your body possibly survive?

It could always be worse (I could still be on the floor in ECE right now), but I did not fully think of these things. My back hurts. I’m worried about my kid.

Working from home lunches are superbly more tasty, however.

There is that.

Perhaps that alone will get me though…

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

True north.

12/01/2019 No Comments

There are about a million and a half things I didn’t realize before becoming a mom. Each of which I feel I could write books about if I ever found the will, want and time. Side note: the arrow points to unlikely.

One of these things has me deep in reflection on the day after having now been a mother for four years. (Happy birthday, my bug!). I get odd urges in these moments of reflection to have to write, to make sense of and to hash out. If I don’t, my head won’t shut up.

Here’s the thing.

Before being a mom, or for those who choose not to be a mom, there are things which guide your choices and that move you through the day. Desire, motivation, ambition, necessity — these are but a few of the many.

But a part of you in this regard fundamentally changes in motherhood. You still have those same drivers, but they are now grounded to your child. It’s as if they are now your compass, your dowsing rod, and your true north.

Everything, and I mean everything I do, considers my child. The benefits to, the repercussions of, the impact to, the growth from. It’s instinctual, automatic and dug in deep into these bones.

I don’t think this is the whole “becoming more selfless” of motherhood thing that people sometimes rag childless people on. I’ve never agreed with that, anyways. I know plenty of selfless, childless, wonderful people.

It’s more than that. It’s like the part of your body that formed your kid hasn’t ever fully separated from you. It’s grown into who your child is today, and it becomes such an inseparable, huge piece of you that you feel it in your utter core. It’s still you, but it’s also not, it’s more than you – and that more than you?

It bewitches you. It envelopes, it consumes, it sets your heart afloat, and it begs you not to fuck this up. It reckons, it’s a merciless relenting of love and letting go, and it refuses to go unanswered in anything and everything you do. It’s in your every thought and your every choice.

It is your new bearing, and from it, you start anew from the very foundation of doing you.

I was not ready for this. I did not expect this. But, I am here for this. 💚⁣ ⁣

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Is this how mom’s workout?

09/07/2019 No Comments

Introducing my, “If you want to watch TV, you’ve gotta walk while you do it” corner. This has also been paired with making better choices with what I eat. I’m trying to move more and eat smarter. I’m 8 weeks in.⠀
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I’m not doing this to purposely diet or loose a ton of weight (though it wouldn’t hurt), but to find a balance. To feel better internally. To live longer for my kid. To not want to die when I have to walk up the steps at work. (Note: it’s helping!). ⠀
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Pairing an iPad to the treadmill has helped make it a pretty flawless experience for me, and that’s why I’m posting this. A lot of the time I forget that I’m exercising, even while trying to keep a brisk pace. As a result I exercise more, I watch less TV (‘cause let’s be real), and I read more outside of it. ⠀
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But, I now need from you guys suggestions of *REALLY AMAZINGLY GOOD* shows to treadmill-binge on Netflix as I’m about to run out of series I can count on. So, lay ‘em on me! Though nothing too scary (I’m a wuss) or funny, cause I about killed myself laughing by almost falling off the treadmill when watching the last season of Orange is the New Black. Whoops.

[Featured], Mental Health, Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Fumbling towards.

08/21/2019 No Comments

I’m trying to make sense of who I am as a mom. Still.

I don’t really know what this making sense looks like, tastes like, or feels like to wear against the skin of my arms, but I keep trying to reach forward into the realm of mom identities and find something to latch onto.

I’m not the crunchy mom. Not the boss mom. Not the Pinterest/crafty mom. Not the helicopter mom. Not the wine mom. Not the perfect mom. Definitely not the cool mom.

There is nothing wrong with any of these moms, I’m just not them.

In this attempting to make sense of my mom identity, I’m doing something I try hard to not do to anyone else. I’m labeling myself, and admittedly masking it as attempt to try to figure out where I fit. I’m taking a square and pushing it into the round hole of mom identities, and expecting to meet my deliverance.

These walls are too thick.

I guess I could be a wannabe minimalist mom. An RIE mom (on my good days). An obviously plus sized mom. A boring/little too honest mom. Kinda the hot mess mom. A “reads too much and really loves sleep and chocolate” mom.

Or, in any case, the sum of those moms.

But what lies in the lingering and claiming/writing/marinating of such mom identity(s)? Is there sense to uncover? Ease to be found? Will I be less of a foggy mess and more (wiggles fingers *magically*) “with purpose”?

Side note: will blogging in this bloody thing become not be such a forgetful, directionless conquest?

Or in claiming something, anything, on this mothering journey, and trying to fit into it — will it only further lead to my own bewildered, dazzling confusion?

Perhaps this making sense… it is more than a label. More than a type. More than a niche.

Perhaps it is simply settling on where I find myself smiling in this mothering journey, and letting that be the sense and the identity that I need.

I don’t know. But I’m fumbling. It is a peaceful, awkward tumble. I’m reaching towards and casting away. Eventually, I’ll land.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

You always will be.

07/01/2019 No Comments

7 years married, 11.5 years together. ⁣

D, I have no idea how you continue to love me, support me and put up with me. Truly. It baffles me.⁣
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We’ve changed a lot these past years — and not always in the same direction. We’ve given each other the space and the love we needed to find ourselves among such change, however. We’ve experienced the reckoning that is having a kid, and how to put the pieces back together of our marriage and our identities in its wake. We’ve loved, we’ve struggled, we’ve worked hard, and we’ve refused to give up. ⁣
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We are entwined. Deeply. These roots are infallible. We might not always see eye to eye, and sure, we make each other a little crazy, but you are my home. I know not myself or my life without you. ⁣
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And you’re still the one.

You always will be. 💚⁣ ⁣

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Things I’m “really” good at.

03/14/2019 No Comments

Asking for advice on a mom’s group about how to make something better, get lots of good advice, but fail to follow ANY of said advice ’cause who the hell has time for that. WHO.
Loving my friends terribly from afar but never ever reaching out to tell them ’cause dear god that’s way too much effort but I really do love them REALLY.
Hating making lunches for the next day. I am good at hating. Like SUPER good.
Appearing as a calm, collected and rational human being to the parents/child care providers I interact with at work while my inside HAS ABSOLUTELY NO FREAKIN’ IDEA WHERE HER BRAIN EVEN IS AND WHEN IT EXACTLY LEFT.
Accepting the fact that my kid’s favourite pair of socks are grey ones that 1) say Thursday one them, 2) have snowmen on them, and 3) are referred to by him as his Baby Beluga socks AND DON’T YOU DARE QUESTION IT, MOMMA.
Postponing trying to find new/easy/no cook/no bake lunch ideas (YES, THIS IS SOMETHING I’M *STILL* WORKING ON [/SOB]) and instead posting shit like this on FB. I hate you, Pinterest. For life.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

’cause HUGS.

01/18/2019 No Comments

(Quick note: O has never really been one for hugs or cuddles. He very infrequently gives hugs on his own volition and you often have to ask. They’ll last like a second and then he’s off to see the world again. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember.

1. When my kid sick, as he has been quite sick this week with the flu, a part of me is sad while another part is content. He cuddles when he’s sick! I get alllll the HUGS!

2. When he’s hugely mad and pissed off during hair wash time in the bath (his biggest enemy of the day), he demands hugs to make it end sooner. I don’t even care if it soaks me, he gets them, ‘cause HUGS.

3. When he’s stalling in not doing something D needs him to do, and uses hugging me to stall it even more, I’ll admittedly lean a bit more into those hugs than I should… ‘cause HUGS.

4. When I’m the one thing he can’t have (cause I’ve gotta be elsewhere or cause it’s D’s turn to do something) and he uses hugs to make it not so, I also lean into those and probably feed more into the situation than I should, but HUGS.

5. When I drop him off at childcare and I know I should be quick about it so separation is easier on him/me, but he’s giving me hugs, I’ll totally delay (sorry teachers) ‘cause HUGS.

Long story short, the potential of hugs make me a slightly terrible but awesome (?!) mom.

And, if I’m ignoring you or the whole ‘cause a hug is happening with my kid, it’s not you, it’s me.

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

He CAN.

12/28/2018 No Comments

We just got back from a trip to Las Vegas.

We’re home, unpacked, resting and watching O engage with his play space like it’s the most magical ever (and thank goodness for that, ‘cause we are tapped and have nothing at this moment to give him).

We may be tired, but the trip worked out well.

It was sad to say goodbye, as it always is, but I’m happy to have learned more about the resilient parts of my child.

He CAN stay the night somewhere else and actually sleep.

He CAN stay up late, or skip a nap, and not be a total mess as a result.

He CAN withstand a plane ride and all it’s weird/loud sounds and “not being able to move around lots” bits.

He CAN warm up to animals and in time, pet them and grow to be okay around them.

He CAN be at large gatherings for long periods of time and not completely shutdown because of all the loud sounds.

He CAN make his own way in places he’s never been and with people he’s never met or remembers ever meeting.

He CAN find camaraderie with his counsins and love his Vegas family from the get go, even if he hasn’t seen them face to face much in his life.

He CAN bust a sweet dance move to any length of music (expected or not), dislike other people’s “ceilings” and be terrified of his baby cousin no matter how freakin’ hard you assure him that he’s safe.

Some of these things may be obvious, and they should be even more obvious to me as an early childhood educator.

That’s the thing with post-partum anxiety + first time motherhood, though.

You convince yourself of everything but the obvious.

It was so good to be proved wrong. 💚⁣ ⁣

Thank you to those who told me it was time. You were right.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

For a few hours, that is.

11/25/2018 No Comments

Parenting is so weird.

Some days I’m pretty sure I’m the worst and that my kid is gonna grow up and think I’m the worst. Or that I look at my phone too much and am missing his whole life. Or that I should be better at socializing him on the weekends. Or that. Or that. Or that.

But then there are days we wake up, and happily engage him in putting away dishes and loading the dishwasher, putting away laundry and loading the washer, sweeping the kitchen, and helping pour and stir ingredients into the crock pot for dinner — all before 9:30AM like a Montessori/Waldorf (?) dream team, as he’s positively BEAMING the whole time.

And then I think again that this whole parenting thing is gonna be okay.

For a few hours, that is.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

I don’t know how to stop.

10/15/2018 No Comments

I have an obsession with buying/giving my kid books to read.

I don’t know how to stop.

I adore reading to him and do it lots, I keep finding amazing steals at Value Village (98% of these are second hand and were $1.25 each!) and I figure if you’re gonna spoil your kid, ya might as well do it with books in hopes of helping build a love of literacy.

Right?

Right?!?

Riiiiiiiiight?!?!?

Mental Health, Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

This is what I know.

07/22/2018 No Comments

For the past five or so days I’ve been on a massive cleaning, purging, MAKE IT LOOK GOOD frenzy. It was brought on by some other changes going on in my life, changes that are going to give me more time to invest love into our home, and this endeavour of organizational overhaul was seemingly the best place to start.

(Can I just say that organizing does my brain better than ANY therapy, religion or mindfulness could ever dare hope to? It’s good. So freakin’ good. Like thrillingly good. ANYWAYS.)

As I’ve been tossing, donating, giving away, straightening, fixing, redecorating, focusing on what matters, etc., I’ve had time to think. Time to dwell. Time to ponder and ruminate.

And I’ve come to this conclusion, a conclusion in answer to my last post… if I wish to write (which I do), and have it be from a lived experience, then isn’t the answer simply to write what I *do* know?

And what is it that I know, anyways?

So, to begin (and perhaps one day end…):

I know what it is to be a mom and feel like I have absolutely no freakin’ idea what I’m doing, but, amazingly, things seemingly work out okay and my kid loves my anyways (*pats self on back*) – even if I genuinely have NO idea how.

I know what it is to be on the receiving side of the toxic realm of mommy shaming in this world we live in, and how inexcusable, hurtful and NOT necessary it is, and that I so very much want to spread LOVE to make all the moms I know feel worthy and good enough – ‘cause I don’t always feel that way myself.

I know what it is to be a mom of a child with special needs/special rights, who asks of the world differently than what it’s able to typically give, and the tears and the struggles and the JOYS that come with such an identity of nurturing.

I know what it is to mentally struggle as a mom, and to struggle deeply, bearing fourth my vulnerabilities to the therapists and close friends in my world, always hoping my story gets better… or helps another know that the light isn’t always so dark.

I know what it is as a mom and wife to be blindsided by the addition of a baby and now toddler, and how it forever changes one’s marriage, and how HARD that can often be to help kindle, heal and give it the attention that it needs.

I know what it is to be a mom without a village, or without a real and *present* network of support (except Tina, god bless that woman), and how “without” that can make one feel, and sometimes less than – and the startling realization of being able to physically count on so few.

I know what it is to become a mom at an older age than some, and the shock of a system it can still be at times to put on mommy shoes when for so, so long that was never, ever the case – and the at times *incredibly* trying adjustment it can be to shift into a mothering state of mind.

I know what it is to be a somewhat “new to being a mom” in this very digital world of Facebook mom groups, mom blogs, “overly eager advice sharing people with a keyboard”, and the trials, triumphs and tribulations that have so far come with parenting in a (perhaps too) technological rich realm of information/misinformation.

I know what it is as a mom to want to embrace said technology, but only giving teeny tiny little bits of it at a time to my child, deeply afraid of it being harmful to his growing brain or becoming unstoppable – as technology in my life past was want to do.

I know what it is to be a mom that is guided deeply by the tenements of trust and respect for my child, even when he’s doing what a two year old often does, and how I refuse to shush or distract him from what he’s feeling/going through for the sake of an easier road – even if an easier road sometimes would be much, much easy to bare.

I know what it is to be a mom who is bigger than most, who looks different than others, and who doesn’t always love her body – even if my kid ADORES it, tummy and all (which boggles my dang mind).

And as all moms do, I know what it is to sacrifice. To give up sleep, food, my own needs and my own wants, all for a child who is rested, full, healthy and happy. How he gets there, I’m not so sure, but I’m seemingly doing *something* right.

This is what I know.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

A story of a teeny tiny bruise.

06/30/2018 No Comments

Want to know how exciting my life is as a mom? Read on.

I’m in a dressing room at Change (a bra store here in Canada).

I’ve just tried on a new and different bra after bringing back two I bought last week that 1) one had already broken and 2) kept stabbing me in my side-boob (looks like I wasn’t sized correctly the first time around). So, I’m rocking nothing but a bra and a pair of SWEET tights, and the fitting attendant asks me to do some exercises for “four minutes” (who comes up with these times?) to make sure this bra doesn’t also try to murder me. Sure thing, I say.

She leaves, and I start with some stretches. Stretches soon turn into a full out dance party, and THEN out comes the Sprinkler, ‘cause there aint no dance party until that move hits the floor. However, I underestimate the amount of space in the dress room and proceed to wack my ‘sprinkler’ hand HARD against the mirror. It hurts like shit, I’m screaming inside as there are people on either side of me in their own dressing rooms wondering what the fresh hell it is that I’m doing, and I proceed to spend the next three minutes quietly sitting down and assuring myself that this bra will do just fine.

Thankfully, it’s had no issues yet.

AND THAT IS MY STORY OF A TEENY TINY BRUISE.

Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

THIS.

03/28/2018 No Comments

Trust him.

Respect him. ⁣
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Observe him. ⁣
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Listen to him. ⁣
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Ceremoniously slow. ⁣
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Wait. ⁣
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Breathe. ⁣
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Soften. ⁣
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He’s not giving you a hard time, he’s having a hard time. ⁣
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We are on the same team. ⁣
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Don’t react, respond. ⁣
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He’s only little once. ⁣
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Remember how old he is. ⁣
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Do with, as opposed to do to. ⁣
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You are here to help, not make it worse. ⁣
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You do have time for this. ⁣
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This is what matters. ⁣
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Set limits early. ⁣
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When you know better, you can do better. ⁣
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This is an opportunity to connect. ⁣
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What need is he communicating?⁣
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Where is he coming from?⁣
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Talk aloud what’s happened.⁣
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This is not an emergency. ⁣
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I am where I need to be. ⁣
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This is age appropriate. ⁣
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Treat him how you’d like to be treated. ⁣
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Share your calm, don’t join the chaos. ⁣
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Acknowledge the inner delight. ⁣
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See the effort, voice the effort. ⁣
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Be consistent. ⁣
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It’s not personal. ⁣
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I am here. ⁣
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I hear you. ⁣
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Your words today will become his inner voice tomorrow. ⁣
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He’s doing his best. ⁣
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Hours are long, but the years are short. ⁣
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It’s harder for him than it is for me. ⁣
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Let feelings be, they don’t belong to me. ⁣
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Be who you want him to be.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

She works.

11/17/2017 No Comments

A year ago today I went back to work after my mat leave.

Biggest things I’ve learned so far?

Being a mom and working full-time is no freakin’ joke.
I’m tired. Not newborn tired, but it rivals what came after that. Weekends have never, ever been sweeter, though they are now much harder than they ever were before.
I feel like I have no brain cells. I’ve come to realize my brain pre and post mat leave are two dramatically different things. Post mat leave brain is still struggling to understand what that means, on top of fitting everything else into it that I’m now asked of.
I have very little time for mostly anything. Between work demands, parenting demands, and personal demands, the time I have in my life is stretched so thin that a flick of the wrist could break it’s mere illusion.
And I miss my kid. A whole freakin’ lot. Picking him up from childcare everyday fills me with such a sweet, blissful, contentment. It makes me whole. My heart feels radiant and complete. And saying goodbye to him the next morning is a bittersweet event that always, always comes too soon.

But there is something undeniably needed in this crazy, exhausted, sometimes dead brain of mine: a purpose beyond myself and my world. One that gives. That cares. That spreads joy. That empowers. That helps.

And so work I will.

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Returning to where I need to be.

11/06/2017 No Comments

Okay. I am about to feel incredibly silly for writing this all out, as I have not completely become confident in sharing and living it yet, BUT… this is an act of holding myself accountable. Continue on I can and will.

In my ongoing journeys of post-partum anxiety, post-partum depression and post-partum “what the fresh hell has happened to my life” I have been seeing a counselor and attempting to heal. Born anew I do not expect to be, but eventually finding again the harmony, security and joy to what I once lived is a hope of mine.

So, how I am being instructed to go about doing that is through the act of mindfulness.

There are many interpretations of mindfulness out there, but I personally like this one best: an embracing of awareness in the presence, and cultivating that awareness with kindness and curiosity.

I’m not always the greatest at practicing mindfulness (even though I talk about its teachings often in my career), but I am thankful for what changes it has made thus far in my struggles and the potentials it has in helping me. It helps my brain stop when nothing else can, it grounds me and it allows me to embrace the here and now.

And there is one particular mindfulness strategy I have found to be invaluable to me thus far, and it is known as 5 4 3 2 1.

After taking some purposeful, deep breaths, here is what it asks of those who practice it to do:

Acknowledge FIVE things you see around you.
Acknowledge FOUR things you can touch around you.
Acknowledge THREE things you hear.
Acknowledge TWO things you can smell.
Acknowledge ONE thing you can taste.

(The above can be rearranged if a particular sense is much more abundant than the rest).

I have come to embrace this strategy as it takes me out of my head. It stops the thoughts. It returns me to the physical and lets me simply be. In a world of anxiety and depression that is nothing but a warzone of emotions and panic, it is a lifesaver.

The super nerdy, I’m embarrassed to admit part: recently, in a hope that it better helps and reminds me to practice 5 4 3 2 1, I put together a mindfulness kit for myself to let me have one of every sense readily available to me. The items I choose were ones that particularly spoke to me and bring within me a great sense of peace. My kit now goes everywhere I go, and it looks a little like this:

See: pictures of heavily forested landscapes
Touch: aventurine worry stone
Hear: “zen” chime
Smell: essential oils (lavender and orange in particular)
Taste: yes, that is a mint tin, but there are totally green jolly ranchers inside of it. :>

And it all else fails, a deck of mindfulness cards with other exercises to try if needed.

So, long story short, if you see or hear of me peddling around a chime, staring at trees and smelling heavily of lavender/hippie fabulousness, I haven’t quite lost it. Yet! Rather, I am taking a moment to return to where I need to be. Please be patient with me, as I might not always get there, but I’m trying.

Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Maybe I’ve got it.

04/22/2017 No Comments

I can’t pretend for a single second to know what the fresh hell I’m doing as a mom…

…but when a kid lets both parents laze around on the living room floor for three hours (with their heads buried in books) as he very contently plays and explores on his own all around them, happy as a clam?

I want to then believe I’m at least doing something right.

(Now, have a photo of him intensely playing with my hair-tie like it was the absolute greatest thing since sliced bread, lol.)

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

A tender spot.

02/28/2017 No Comments

The interesting thing about those who suffer from post-partum anxiety (which I can probably just call anxiety at this point considering that I’m now 15 months PP) is this: one’s absolute lack of staying in the present. And by interesting, I mean freakin’ terrible.

My kid was super sick over the weekend. Like, all I want to do all day long is lay on your body please don’t move, OH GOD HOW DARE YOU MOVE, sick. He held our weekend hostage, but whateve, that’s parenting.

In the midst of it all I made an attempt to cheer him up a little bit. Everyone loves a little tickles, right?! So, he squirmed rapidly in my arms, leaned to the right and promptly bit the ever living crap out of me. It HURT. I’ve got a sweet bruise from it now that is painful to touch. It was a legit bite.

Of course, the second it happened, I was in immediate panic mode. For example, the thoughts that were racing through my head: omg, he’s gonna be one of those kids. He’s gonna be a biter. He’s not gonna have any friends. All the other kids around him are gonna be afraid of him. So, *calculates exact wording and plan of action in her head*, this is how we’re gonna approach it. When it happens at childcare, this is how we’re gonna manage it. When it comes up in parent teacher meetings, this is how we’re gonna address it. We’re gonna see him through this, we’re gonna help his manage his frustration in ways different but not harmful, and it’ll all be okay. We’ve got this, we’ve got this, we’ve got this…

Aaaaaand, in the span of 8 seconds, I was five years ahead of myself disaster planning and readying for the worst while somewhat maybe actually DESPERATELY hoping for the best.

With some gentle reminders from D, such as the fact that our child is really freakin’ sick (with a cold that I too now ferociously have), tired and not wanting any of our shit, I was able to snap back to the*now* and take a deep breath.

But I fail to comprehend how, as a parent, to live in that now. To stop and take note of exactly where I am. I wasn’t like this before I became a mom, and, now that I am, it’s hard. Really freakin’ hard. Even more so when you’ve got a FIERCE bruise on the precious flesh of your inner arm staring you right in the face.

So, I love you terribly, sweet boy, but next time? Try not to hit a spot that is so tender. Both physically and emotionally. 💚⁣ ⁣

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

A year ago today.

11/30/2016 No Comments

A year ago today and ever since then…

You made me a mom. After years of uncertainty, you arrived. Squishy, small, loud and proud, you arrived and opened a door that I will never, ever close.

You taught me a meaning of love that was entirely and utterly selfless, eternal and profound to the absolute depths of my core.

You reopened within me a humour and laughter that was warm, joyous, tirelessly in love and kind. Forever my tickle and cuddle monster you will be.

You brought to my marriage a new lens to which I could view my husband/your dad. His hardened exterior crumbled just a bit more as he gave to you everything he could possibly give; compassion, tears, snuggles, worries and mirth.

You prompted a yearning for me to want to live in a better world and for me to be better myself, as I emulated my very best attempts at grace, dignity, respect and trust.

And finally, you gave to my career a new understanding, an unseen beauty, a purposeful slowing down and an opening of eyes. Not only to the image of the child, but to the image of the parent amongst a world that refuses to stand still.

So, no matter how tired, overwhelmed, anxious and unsure I have been throughout our journey thus far, I am forever and without question grateful for you.

Happy first birthday, my sweet boy. 💚⁣ ⁣

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Tomorrow will always, always come.

11/07/2016 No Comments

Tomorrow is my first day of being back to work post mat-leave.

There are so very very very very many thoughts coursing throughout my brain on this eve of stepping again into the working life I once had while saying goodbye (for now, at least) to the everyday, day-long rituals of my son and I as we lived as one, breathed as one, cried as one, laughed as one and found a sweet, peaceful solace as one. I will miss those days always, and ache for them I know that I will.

But it is time for me to use my brain again. It is time for it to hurt again as I wrestle in ways theoretical, philosophical and pedagogical. It is time for me to bring that which I have struggled with, questioned with and embraced with of motherhood and to see what of it gives rise to my being as an educator, collaborator and enricher.

Don’t let this fool you into thinking I am ready.

I’m not.

But tomorrow will always, always come.

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

My weekend has been won.

07/09/2016 No Comments

It’s been a rough three weeks.

O’s had teething issues, tummy problems, sleeping woes and a clinginess that has been nearly suffocating. I’ve had some difficult mental struggles that I’m still trying to understand and make sense of… and D, the super hero that he is, has been working extra extra extra extra hard to make sure that we’re both okay and happy, but he too is getting rather worn around the edges as a result.

This morning, however, O let me sleep in until 6:30 and I was able to make, eat and *enjoy* my breakfast all while he contently played on his own in his space. I can’t remember the last time this happened. By 7:25AM, my entire weekend had been won.

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Work WAS the vacation.

06/23/2016 No Comments

When I was pregnant and mat leave was on the horizon, I was so excited about how much time I’d have off from work. It was like I’d be having a year long paid vacation and it sounded amazing! Come sooner, mat leave, I’d say. Mommas ready for some time off!

Ah, hindsight. Work WAS the vacation. THIS stuff of parenting feels like *THE* work.

This is work that has no sick days, no room for late shows, lunch breaks, early clock outs, hell — start and end times in general, no time to slack when a supervisor isn’t watching, coworkers to joke with in the middle of the day, retirement dates, vacation days, understanding if you’re not at your best ’cause of life circumstances… It has none of that, and some days it lets you know like a punch in the face.

I adore, cherish and love my son with my whole heart. But today, especially today, and everyday before it has been a reminder that the real work of my life has just begun.

Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Frankly, I don’t have my shit together.

06/13/2016 No Comments

I keep expecting to one day wake up and know what the hell I’m doing in this life of motherhood.

I’ve got the bases of loving, trusting and respecting my child down pat, and I fiercely strive to protect those bases.

Yet the other, more tangible, situational, organizational, numerical and implementation-al aspects of feeding, bathing, clothing, “resting”, socializing, outings and childcare (yes, even that) are a total shit show.

I feel like the antithesis of not having my shit together in those realms.

But hey, my kid is happy!? I think…

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

“Bad Moms”, you say?

05/24/2016 No Comments

There’s a movie coming out soon called Bad Moms. The trailer for it is pretty wonderful (if you haven’t yet seen it: https://youtu.be/P0FNjPsANGk) and the concept of the flick is essentially a group of overworked, overtired and generally DONE WITH EVERYTHING moms that finally give themselves a break from their demanding lives and it’s endlessly selfless responsibilities. Upon doing so, they are then confronted and called out by their local group of perfect, sanctimommies for not living up to their standards. From what I assume, as I do not know how the ending goes, lessons and truths are eventually learned by all.

This hot mess mom movement (which is legitimately a thing and has been for years, though called different names) is fascinating to me. In truth, I see a lot of myself in its workings, but at just six months in, many may just equate that to me being a first time mom and the confusion of trying to figure everything out in the only way I know how. However, in a year or so’s time, when I ideally will have a bit more of a grasp on what I’m doing, I still see myself identifying with the moms in that movie who felt like they needed to *temporarily* give zero fucks. Not because I can see the future, but because I believe in what it represents.

While still pretty new to this game of motherhood, already I feel the pressures from just about EVERYWHERE to do better and be better. Without abandon, the growing standard of what a mom should be, could be and needs to be is sky rocketing to the height of impossible ideals. Ideals which so often fail to take into account context, culture and environment, mind you, but are batshit rampant nonetheless. These ideals are SUPER pervasive and, intricately laced within them, are attempts to subjugate what our children should be, could be and needs to be into the expectations of overachieving, over-succeeding, perfect spawns of creation (but more on that point at a later time).

Inadvertently, I’ve gotten these pressures from some of the closest people in my life. Suffocatingly real and somehow always there, they are with the best intentions or not. They have come from well meaning people, and people who have simply had an opinion or were probably just trying to help, but it is a game I’ve already realized I do not wish to play. I do not feel I need to justify my parenting to anyone but my son or my husband, and nor will I ever again. I will not give anyone that power, for in doing so lies a dangerously, slippery slope. One thing prompts another, another and another, and before long I’m madly juggling to hold on not to what I deem important, but what society and its sticky fingers believe should be the standard of how I do motherhood. Yeah, I’ll pass.

At the heart of all this hot mess/bad mom reality, I don’t see laziness. I don’t see neglect. I don’t see a mom who shouldn’t have had kids. Some may say this is too optimistic and too kind of me, but I see a woman who isn’t willing to forget her needs on the journey that is motherhood. This is not me saying that all the ‘perfect’ mommas out there have forever put themselves last, rather, for any mom who has chosen at a time to put herself first? You have committed no crime.

There is no me if I don’t have the time *for* me. If that means during naps the kitchen doesn’t get cleaned or the laundry doesn’t get done for awhile, so be it. If that means we don’t leave the house for a few days ’cause the dumbness of people hurts my brain, so be it. If that means I have to put O down for nap earlier than normal for a few times ’cause I just can’t deal right now, so be it. None of these things are choices made without thought. Behind them lies purpose and intentionality. Behind them lies a recognition that I need time to focus on me right now so that I can be the mom I want to be, and sometimes I might need that for days at a time. Shit might not get done as a result. And you know what? THAT’S OKAY. I’ll still love and care for my child so much that it hurts (as I do right now and always), just not within the confines of how society or anyone else thinks I should. To hell with that.

A raw beauty is in a hot mess mom, and that beauty doesn’t make you or me a “bad” mom. It doesn’t mean we aren’t cut out for this. It makes us real, it makes us honest, and it makes us alive. So, carry on, brave soldier. I’ve got your back.

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Observations of first time motherhood, (part 12^234234).

05/13/2016 No Comments

The closer the bond you form with your baby, the more watching ANYTHING showing a child lost, hurt or killed makes you loose your shit. NOPE, NETFLIX, NOT GOING THERE ANYMORE.
6AM is now sleeping in, and it is a marvelously blissful thankyoubabyjesus BEAUTIFUL thing when it happens.
Days when you are able to accomplish eating all three meals, making the bed, brushing your teeth and putting clothes on ALL parts of your body are days that you’re pretty sure you are a rock-star. Bonus: If you get a shower in, you’re probably ready to go on tour to cement your status as rock elite.
You look at moms/dads juggling with more than one baby/child and you are pretty sure they are god damn wizards. HOW?! WHEN?! AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, WHY?!
Every time you run errands, you now question if it’s worth it to drive to more than one place. Do you really want to pack your child in the car TWICE for what you need? Do you really need that other thing? Is it worth the potential crank? Or the potential super freakin’ short nap they’ll take on the way to the other place while later on rejecting the much better nap they could have had? THESE ARE THE ETERNAL QUESTIONS. Being “out” is now a game of how many things you can magically get accomplished in one, close to home, walkable shopping center that doesn’t really have everything you need but you’re DETERMINED to make it work anyhow and all within the time frame of your child’s happy wake period, if you’re lucky. (You’re usually not.) (I *WILL* get better at this.)
Worrying that you’ve actually created a drug like dependence on Enya in your child is now a thing.
You are 100% positive you have the cutest baby in ALL of the land to EVER exist. Sure, those other babies are pretty adorable, but YOUR’S is the cutest there ever was (said every parent in man-kind).
The things you and your SO celebrate will be forever changed. “Guess who went poo today!” “Whoa, did you hear that burp? That was a burp!” “He slept an ten extra minutes for that nap!” And somehow, no matter how mundane to the average outsider, these moments to celebrate feel just as epic to you as anything ever worth celebrating before.
Pretending to look/talk/play with your child in their stroller is an amazing way to avoid having to interact with people in public that you don’t want to. Weird guy gonna walk by you on the street? HI BABY, I LOVE YOU BABY, PAY ATTENTION TO ME BABY.
After a brutally long day of mothering, you will sometimes find yourself, after having FINALLY gotten your child to freakin’ sleep and while getting some YOU time, now staring lovingly at pictures of them on your phone. You are absolutely addicted to this thing your body made and no matter how tired or over it you get (you are human), you can never seem to get enough. A crazy, profound love has been born into your world that is infinite in its ability to fill your soul to the brim while leaving you wanting, needing and forever reaching out for more.

Obviously, these are all from the context of my own life, and, like all things, they do no blanket apply to every first time mom or mom in general… but, with hope, some of you were able to relate!

Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

My first birth story, parts 6-10.

05/10/2016 No Comments

Before I continue on, here is the link to part 1-5 in case you missed it.

6. Prior to getting my epidural, I wavered quite heavily throughout my pregnancy if I wanted one or not. Would it make me weak? Could I be brave enough to endure the pain of a natural delivery? I admittedly (and quite stupidly, in retrospect) felt some guilt about it all, though I didn’t really have my mind made up about any of it as I went in for my induction. Once I discovered that ALL of my labour would be felt in my back, and that ALL of my delivery would essentially have to happen while laying on said back, however, it was a choice I could have not made. My doula helped cement the decision for me. But guess what? I’m pretty sure it ended up being the best decision of my LIFE. After I got my epidural, I got to SLEEP. It was GLORIOUS. Thankfully, it didn’t slow things down labour wise, and considering the time I have birth at (11:58PM — after a looooong day), it gave me one last chance to sleep before becoming a mother. It was absolutely, 100% what I needed to do, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The humor in this one is that I almost gave up liquid GOLD for the sake of silly ideals. I am so very thankful I didn’t.

Lesson learned: you’re about to have a friggin’ baby, that is anything BUT weak. Do what you have to do.

7. I awoke from the epidural around 11PM. Tests and what not were done to establish if it was time to push, and around 11:45 I was given the go to. I couldn’t really feel when to push with my contractions, however, so I kinda had to wing it and try whenever my nurse said to. My first three tries at pushing were a bit of a learning curve mess mess, and on the fourth try I heard someone mention they were starting to see O’s head. Woo! At this point, I was told to push again as my main nurse and her mentee turned towards the baby monitor devices to see how it was effecting O. With D and my Douala next to me, I gave it a really big go… aaaaand out popped 75% of my son with NO ONE ready or expecting to see him quite yet. Both my nurses then turned quickly towards O and yelped at me to stop (uh, I can’t feel a damn thing! How the heck do I stop?!) but thankfully the charge nurse who was making her rounds dashed across the room to catch him as he was born. It happened so fast that my dreamy OBGYN didn’t even have time to show up for the delivery! In the end, all was well, and after twenty years on the job, my son was the first baby that nurse got to catch. I supposedly made her whole career.

Lesson learned: these hips were made for birthing babies?! Or, rather, like all things so far in motherhood, expect the unexpected.

8. Once out of the delivery room and into our recovery/over night room, things were a blur. We ended up staying in the hospital for five days as O needed a lot of testing done. I would amusingly go on to realize that so much of the shit I packed for my stay was, uh, COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY. It’s my fault for reading about 9759756 different hospital bag articles before hand that listed all the stuff I should bring. I kid you not, some of the shit our suitcase had in it: battery operated candles (to help dim the room, lolz), a rolling pin (for D to ghetto massage away my pain during labour), fancy magazines from Chapters that we spent far too much money on (to read during ALL the time we had… hah), Gatorade (to refresh my electrolytes during delivery or some shit), a hairdryer (to do my hair afterwards amidst my pure and utter delusion), a bag of 93485934597 quarters (for a vending machine I’m pretty sure they didn’t even have), my birth plan (which was too overwhelming for me to even think about and consider when shit got real)… it goes on and on, and every time I needed something out of that damn suitcase over those five days I had to move all that other not needed crap and I pretty much wanted to cut a bitch.

Lesson learned: the internet is *still* full of LIES.

9. Once home (btw, I drove us to AND from the hospital, /flex), I decided to weigh myself. Why not? Before continuing, know that I had gestational diabetes during my pregnancy. It’s why I had to be induced in the first place, and it limited a lot of what I could and could not eat during my pregnancy. Quite frankly, it was a giant pain in the ass for the second half of O’s gestation. Upon weighing myself once I got home from the hospital, however, I weighed less than I did before I ever got pregnant. Maybe having GD wasn’t so bad! With the occasional walks we’ve been taking and breastfeeding, I have continued to loose since and I kind of don’t ever want to stop BF as a result, lol. I weigh less now than I have in years (I didn’t expect this to happen with motherhood) and I will GLADLY take it. Thanks, O!

Lesson learned: women’s bodies are an amazing thing, and the narrative of extra baby weight hanging around after one gives birth does not apply to all. Other weight, however, is a different story!

10. After unpacking and settling back into our home life, it was scary. We had just spent five days in a controlled environment (our hospital room) with continual and professional help on hand in case anything went wrong. That space in BC Women’s/Children’s became our little cocoon, and to leave it to the real world with a REAL LIFE CHILD was… overwhelming, exciting and terrifying. We came home and basically tried to recreate in our bedroom what we had made work for us in that hospital room, and we proceeded to stay in our bedroom and ONLY there, just leaving to get food, for about the next week and a half. We had to, and you could say that we were a bit shell-shocked and a WHOLE lot unsure. To this day I still find remnants of those memories in that room… Splashes of dried, pumped breast-milk I missed cleaning up by our bed, papers and notes when D thought it was crucial we track every ounce O ate [this was back when he would only take a bottle] and a burping cloth that got lost in the madness and shoved underneath the bed, only to be found months later. A part of me laughingly shudders at it all like that of a war wounded PTSD. Eventually, we learned to reuse our whole space as the family we became, and, in it we have thrived. For the most part.

Lesson learned: while life changingly beautiful, having a baby is scary, and it’s okay to be scared. In times of such darkness, light will be born.

I enjoyed writing these, and I hope you enjoyed reading them! Hopefully it gave you a chance to reflect on the humourous moments of your birth story, or perhaps think about the one you may one day have.

Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

My first birth story, parts 1-5.

05/08/2016 No Comments

It is my first Mother’s Day. I’ve had a lot of time to ‘do me’ today, thanks to my wonderful husband and son, and with it has come some much needed opportunities to think. In that thinking, I’ve been reflecting on O’s birth story and how he came to be. While full of gushy, wonderful moments, the experience of my pregnancy, birth and becoming a mom had so many humorous aspects to it. These aspects keep me smiling and laughing months later, and from them I have learned so much. Lessons that I feel are prudent to think about and mention these many moons later.

Here are the first five of ten. Enjoy!

1. During O’s gestation, it was noticed in an ultrasound that he had short femurs. As a result, I had to have monthly scans to ensure things were normal (I seriously have 25+ ultrasound photos of him, it got a little intense). Additionally, his short femur issue required our family be seen by the Maternal Fetal Medicine specialists at BC Children’s to be briefed and guided throughout his development. However, the specialists at MFM are super nerdy and can’t really take a joke, ever, both D and I tried. But guess who was laughing when O came out of my womb with perfectly, if not LONG, sized femurs?

Lesson learned: sometimes, doctors and medical professionals know NOTHING. That nothingness can be infuriatingly hilarious at times.

2. My OBGYN was quite possibly one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever met. His hair was flowing and looked out of a modeling shoot, when not on call he walked around with a bomber jacket on top of his scrubs (seriously) and carried all his papers in an *on point* leather messenger bag, and he was extremely attentive and caring. Anyone we mentioned him to at the hospital seemed to be madly in love with him and whenever he was there, he’d create a tizzy. Much to their loss, however, as our Douala later told us he was very happily gay and had humorously broken many, if not dozens, of the newer nurses hearts thus far.

Lesson learned: gay guys are *still* pretty much the best ever.

3. O was breech a week and a half prior to my induction date. That caused quite the concern for me, ’cause it meant a c-section if he didn’t shift. In a desperate attempt to get him to move, D and I resorted to trying some pretty silly shit. One of them was me laying diagonally on an ironing board, head on the ground and with my feet up in the air… as my boobs smooshed my face and desperately tried to kill me. Another involved acupuncture and these things called moxie sticks, which were essentially rounded, long pieces of charcoal that we lit. After being lit, I was then prescribed to hoover them around my baby toes (yes, you read that right) for ten minutes to release their energy or some crap. I have never felt so friggin’ silly in my life, and poor D was in charge of helping me through this task — one which we didn’t know whether to cry or laugh through. O ended up flipping, however, and no c-section had to happen.

Lesson learned: sense and logic tell you otherwise, but sometimes that naturopathy crap actually works! Or it serves as a good placebo for helping you think you made a difference. One of the two. :>

4. The day prior to my induction date I experienced a sudden increase of fluid draining (sorry for the TMI, that’s about as un-gross as I could put it). We were asked to come to the hospital to see if my water had broken and after a few hours, learned that it hadn’t. All throughout the nurses trying to figure that out, however, they kept asking me if I was having contractions. Nope, I told them, just the occasional back cramps (which no one, including myself, seemed to question). Eventually we were sent back home, but all that night as I slept I kept regularly having those back cramps. I’d literally wake up and have to do controlled breaths to get through them. But I still didn’t put two and two together. The next day and many hours later, when I was measured prior to the induction starting to see what method they were take, I was already 3cms dilated… ‘CAUSE THOSE WERE FRIGGIN’ CONTRACTIONS HAPPENING, YOU GOOF. Turns out, just like how it is with my period, I would go on to feel everything that happened in my labour in my back.

Lesson learned: the idiocy of mommy brain sets in well BEFORE you ever give birth.. and likely never, ever goes away.

5. Once I got into the pains of active labour, all of which was back labour that I had to unfortunately and mostly lay on my back to endure (long story as to why), I reached a point of pain with no return. An epidural absolutely had to happen. When getting it, however, I was already using laughing gas (something they give you in delivery rooms in Canadian hospitals). I don’t exactly recall all the specifics that went into the epidural coming to be, as a result, and when they started asking me questions to gauge if they had given me a proper dosage, I couldn’t even think straight. Busily sucking down the laughing gas as if it was my last breath, they rubed pieces of ice down my preggo belly while asking me questions to gauge the effectiveness. Could I feel the ice? High as shit, I thought by feel they meant just the wetness, not the coldness. Incorrect! So, these poor dr’s kept confusingly trying to figure out why I was still using the gas to get through my contractions like my life depended it, even though I had the epidural. They kept asking me things my dumb brain couldn’t process, but eventually two and two came together and I was finally/happily delivered to planet numb, not able to feel both the wetness AND coldness.

Lesson learned: it is probably best in life to generally stop one drug before starting the next. :>

If you’d like to read the second part of this series, here is the link.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

You bought WHAT now?

05/02/2016 No Comments

I don’t know why I do it, ’cause it’s sure to drive me insane, but I’ve been keeping a running list of all the shit we’ve bought so far to help this child sleep. Sleep better than what little (LIIIIITTLE) efforts he makes on his own, that is. At just five months old, this list is inevitably going to get longer, but this is where it stands right now. Also, to the person who told me having a baby doesn’t cost a lot of money, I VETO YOU.

Without further adieu and so that you may weep with me, I give you our list of OH GOD PLEASE HELP HIM SLEEP SO WE CAN SLEEP purchases thus far…

Sleep Suits:
– Swaddleme swaddlers, small and large: These worked for us for a bit, thankfully, but why the hell would you not make a size medium? We went from them being snug and then to him swimming in them, effectively negating any use they had whatsoever. Awesome!
– Sleep sacks: Access to his hands was a shit show. He thought it was party time. Adorable, CHILD IT IS TIME TO SLEEP, party time.
– Love to Dream suit: Hilarious looking in it (he looked like a dog bone!), horrible in concept. He kept hitting himself in the face, lololol.
– Zipadeezip: I think we’ve FINALLY transitioned from the Swaddleme to this. Almost. Most definitely almost. Like, 95%. Also, the one he has is made with fabric that has a forest on it, ’cause of course.

(Note: There are literally 46864 different sleep suits on the market. I very easily could have bought more and almost did, but I had to stop myself. The zippadeezip alone cost me $70 CND (!!!!) to make happen and shit was getting out of control at that point, no matter how desperate I felt.)

Swings:
– Fisher-Price 4-in-1 Rock ‘n Glide Soother (note: this is much different than the Rock n’ Play, which is evidently amazing but sadly isn’t available in Canada): I don’t care what the reviews say, this thing was HORRIBLE. O was mortified at it’s lack of effectiveness and so were we. Back to Walmart it went! We couldn’t even disassemble it. Stuck it in a shopping cart and returned it amidst a torrential rain storm. Haaa.
– Fisher-Price Rainforest Friends Cradle Swing: Loud, colors wise, motor wise and sound wise. Back to Walmart we once again! Possibly for reasons more my own than O’s. Jungles totally aren’t my thing. :>
– Fisher-Price Snugabunny Cradle’ N Swing: Yay! Quiet and nice, colours wise and features wise. O has slept in the cradle position of this every night for the past six weeks. We now need to start transitioning him out of it, however, which fills me anew with anxiety. Ack!

Other:
– Live Clean Baby Calming Bedtime Lotion + Bubble Bath and Wash: I like the smell, but I have no idea if it does shit all in terms of helping his sleep after his nightly bath time. I want to believe. I want to beliiiiiiieve.
– Super Soother Calming Sounds, Happiest Baby CD: Didn’t end up using as we downloaded a “pink noise” (I have no idea how that differs from white) song off YouTube that was better and went on for 8 hours. p.s. This album legit has tracks on it that sound straight out of slasher film. Calming my ass!
– Borrowed iPhone 3G: To play said pink noise “song” on repeat 478644 times in a row as O sleeps. We didn’t really buy it, but it needs to be said. We’d be lost without it. O immediately calms once it comes on and it’s pretty much become our baby voodoo box at this point.
– Logitech Multimedia Speaker: To ensure said pink noise song is loud enough. Block out the sound from the giant construction site next to us, please! Pretty pretty pretty please!
– Two boxes of tinfoil, 3 rolls of tape: To madly cover all the light coming into our 9823474 bedroom windows so there was legit darkness. Had it up for five weeks before management asked that it be taken down. Damn! It is now bright as hell in our bedroom. Double damn!

Stuff that was given to us:
– Co-sleeper bedside bassinet. Slept in it for two weeks and, uhm, never again. Desperately wanting this or his crib to be where we transition him into after the swing, but not filled with hope. I think our kid kinda hates sleeping flat on his back?

Or sleeping in general?

Or pretty much everything?

Yeah, that.

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Precious, brutal, beautiful and exhausting reality.

04/10/2016 No Comments

Before I ever became a parent and, at times, before I had an inkling that I might like to be a mom, I worked (and still technically do while on mat leave) in the field of early childhood education. To it I brought a bachelors of ECE and, prior to giving birth, racked up about four and half years of experience in the field — both with ITs (infant/toddlers) and TFs (three to fives). During the entirety of my pregnancy I was employed knee deep in the trenches of toddlerhood, and I believed that I’d be bringing to motherhood a cornucopia of knowledge and experience. Others in my life continually reinforced this thought of mine. With all of this on my resume, how could I not?!

Ha.

Haaaa.

Hahahahahahaha.

Too bad I had absolutely NO FREAKIN’ IDEA what to do with said knowledge and experience. Upon O’s birth, I was blindsided. My education, something my sweet husband anxiously worried would set me far ahead of him parenting wise, it felt like it meant nothing. My employment, and the fact that I had previously been working all day long with ITs, it was laughable and hardly the real thing — I got to send them home at the end of the day! My passions that I brought to the field of ECE, and the beliefs I garnered throughout it of children and childhood, it fell to shambles in the midst of a postpartum depression that could no longer even tell who I was when I looked in the mirror.

This should hopefully be news to no one, but nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can prepare you for being a first time mom. Anybody or anything that tries to tell you differently is lying. All that I brought to it (which I felt was a lot!) and the preconceived notions I had of it being otherwise, they were broken. Broken as in picked up, shattered to the ground, stomped all over, set on fire and then blown into the abyss. It was a delusional, humbling and hot mess of confusion for a good while there.

Now that I’ve survived the first four months of O’s life and know what it is to sleep again, I am thankfully beginning to see where my education, employment and passions can start being applied (more on that later). I am able to finally dig into those reservoirs and have them be useful, when before it felt as if they would drown me. I am excited for what awaits in that regard (also more on that later!). Most importantly and with relief, I have now added to that repertoire what I didn’t realize I lacked before. The grounded experience of REALITY.

Precious, brutal, beautiful and exhausting reality.

Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

A Dish of Victory.

04/05/2016 No Comments

This is a normal, probably too bland, basic as hell, dish of food.

It is also a dish of victory. Delicious (my husband better not argue that ;)) victory.

Many of you know that prior to giving birth to O, I prepped 10+ freezer meals to have food on hand that I could easily defrost and let our slow cooker prepare for us. Additionally, my lovely Douglas ladies came over two months ago and restocked my freezer full of even more food that I could quickly reheat and eat in a pinch. I was positively spoiled in that regard.

All of which meant that up until tonight, I didn’t have to legitimately cook a meal that followed a recipe for the past 4+ months.

Four months of not cooking (and I mean cooking where you chop veggies, prepare meat, add seasonings, ect.) it messes with your head. Yes, it allows you to be luxuriously lazy (#firstworldproblem), but it also leads you to wonder if it’s possible to forget how to cook. Will it even taste good? Will I enjoy cooking again? Will it be worth it? I’m not even gonna get into the anxiety I felt in trying to choose which recipe to use, making the grocery list and hoping D picked all the right things at the store while I looked after O. It was embarrassingly intense.

All of this also meant that up until tonight, I didn’t know what it was to cook a meal while also being a mom. Ha. Haaa. Hahhahaahaha. Holy effin’ GONG SHOW.

Those veggies? They were cut *days ago*, intended to be originally served several nights earlier but got thrown for a loop by a hostile infant that would not, could not (and what felt like SHALL NEVER NOT) allow me a few moments to be in the kitchen.

That chicken? It was defrosted, carefully cut up, tossed in a bowl and then promptly frozen AGAIN due to wrath of previously mentioned child. I’m sure any sense of tenderness or moisture it once had was sacrificed to the freezer gods long ago. Thank god for salt and pepper, and a doting husband who is too kind to call me out on it.

Speaking of said salt? While working on the rice, the realities that I am very much NOT a ninja became apparent as the container that once housed it went crashing down on our cement floors and shot shards of glass ALL FREAKIN’ OVER. Exactly what I needed, world! Thanks! Or thank freakin’ god O isn’t crawling yet.

And that rice? It was hurriedly and frantically made this morning between nap times (nap times which are even more achingly short as we work on transitioning out of the swaddle — a story for another time). The joys of listening to your baby monitor on high alert while cursing/staring down your oven to BOIL WATER FASTER, FAAASTER! Those joys are insurmountable.

Lastly, that bacon? It’s probably sacrilegious of me to admit this, but it’s totally the fully cooked stuff which comes in a chilled box from the store that you reheat in the microwave. Ain’t nobody got time to cook the real stuff with an infant. That is the one thing I did get right.

In the end, it happened. I made it, we ate it and while I’m 100% sure this is my denial talking, it tasted pretty dang good.

Victory!

Mental Health, Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Real and at times blisteringly honest.

04/05/2016 No Comments

I’ve got too much stuff in my head and a wanting to put it somewhere. The notes app on my phone is overflowing with half written posts, thoughts, questions, ideas, lists combining all four of those things and life. A whole lot of messy, confusing, wonderful life. This is not something new since becoming a mother, but it has definitely become amplified as a result.

Writing has always been a part of me, but in strange ways. Ways which start as thoughts that desire (quite obnoxiously) at 3AM to flesh out and make sense of the raw truthiness of everything and how to find it’s humour, compassion and warmth. While I’d MUCH rather sleep, in it I find comfort. Speckle it’s written component with shitty grammar (my specialty!) and badly lighted Instagram shots, and you’ve got me.

So, with all this new and unexpected time I’ve suddenly found in my life (yay for a sleeping baby!) I made a thing. A blog? A diary? A public thoughts dump? One of those or all of those, it is to be my place to share what I’ve already been writing/will write on this absolutely exhausting yet achingly beautiful journey of first time motherhood that I find myself on, and a place where in posting said things I might further connect, push myself, be challenged and grow.

Like it and follow it if you want. If you enjoy it, feel free to share it. I can’t promise how much I’ll post to it (though I will be doing a bit of “backdate” posting for stuff I’ve already written), and I cant promise it won’t be something I’ll forget about from time to time when life gets in the way (another of my specialties!). But, I can promise that it will be real and at times blisteringly honest, however, as I simply don’t have the time or patience for anything less.

p.s. And yes. I totally named it Soundly Sarah. 💚⁣ ⁣

Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Baby whisperer. Magic worker. Helper extraordinaire.

02/22/2016 No Comments

Tina.

Baby whisperer. Magic worker. Helper extraordinaire.

You’re amazing.

I can’t count how many times you’ve already helped save my sanity and allowed me to feel normal again in this life of motherhood. You’ve helped without asking, and before I even realized how desperately I needed it, and you continue to do so. You’ve been there without judgement and just listened, knowing I didn’t need to be told by yet another person what I should or shouldn’t be doing on this crazy journey of raising a human being.

You’ve taken O in his moods that others have run from (no lie) and you have soothed him in ways I didn’t think possible (seriously, I’m pretty sure you’re better with him than D and I are sometimes). I cannot begin to explain what a relief that has been to us. Going ANYWHERE is about ten million times easier when we know you’re going to be there and having you over in the evenings has made our lives less overwhelming at a time it has felt impossible to feel that way.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. If you ever have a child of your own I can only dare dream to provide the kind of assistance to you that you have been to us these past three months. You are an absolute gem. <3

Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

You have absoluely no regrets.

01/07/2016 No Comments

O is now a little over a month old, and the realizations keep on comin’!

You spend an obscenely large amount of time watching Netflix and browsing your phone as your child goes to town at your all you can eat boob cafe. (Almost done with Making a Murderer, however!)
Breastfeeding, however, kinda makes your boobs feel like superheroes.
Bringing a newborn into a public space is quite possibly the quickest way to bring upon yourself a million+ awkward and way too personal conversations with complete strangers.
There comes a point your child will demand to be stuck to you like glue, and babywearing is your only option at a semblance of life… A life that guiltily looks around to see if anyone is watching before you wipe crumbs off the top of your child’s head from the meal you just ate. >.>
You have never known how it feels to be needed and depended upon this much in your entire life. It is both beautiful and terrifying… as you are pretty sure you can’t even remember when you showered last, let alone raised a tiny human!
There are few things funnier than when your hungry newborn smells breastmilk on your chin (don’t ask me how the ‘eff it got there) and tries desperately to feed from it. How have we as a species survived again?
It takes a huge friggin’ amount of will to not appease your OCD and go clean the mess that is your house during the rare moments your newborn lets you put him down while he sleeps. Must resist. MUST RESIST.

But, despite your desperate and unending need to sleep (so much so that you legit dream about sleeping WHILE sleeping), you have absolutely no regrets.

Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Hurt in the most beautiful way.

12/06/2015 No Comments

O is now a week old, and with it, here is what I’ve so far realized:

You now find yourself Googling the most random questions about baby care at 3:30AM and it has somehow become a perfectly acceptable time to do so.
Watching your child randomly burst out into a smile while deep in sleep is the cutest freaking thing ever.
Watching your child get woken with a start because his dad snorted like a freakin’ chainsaw in his sleep (which also woke dad up) is the greatest thing ever.
Post birth hormones and emotions, and their ability to make you weep about anything and everything, could very well make you the greatest star of any Hallmark movie made.
Breastfeeding is the thirstiest friggin’ work EVER, no pun intended! I think I drank a gallon of water yesterday and still needed more.
Sleep is now for the weak. ‘nough said.

Above all else, the amount of love and adoration and happiness and joy you feel for your little one literally makes your heart hurt. Hurt in the most beautiful way.

💚⁣ ⁣