Mental Health, Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood

How can we ever really know?

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O was born with a couple of things that make him different than the typical baby boy. Some of these things will require surgery in a years time and one is something that cannot be seen by the human eye.

This unseen part about him is chromosomal. To be more specific, he has a large deletion in his 3rd chromosome. This deletion may be the reason for some of the other, differing, things about him — or it may not be. It’s hard to say. All that is known right now is the unknown, as his deletion is considered rare to the geneticists at BC Children’s and it hasn’t been seen enough to know what it could imply health wise, now or later, if anything at all.

In an attempt to understand how this came to be, be it from D and I or how our DNA combined, blood work was done on us. As of a few days ago, I now know that I too have this large deletion in my 3rd chromosome and that I passed it on to O in the womb.

I’m writing this here, in this space, because I need to better understand what this means to me. I need to voice it, to put it in text, to make sense of it. Selfishly, I need to be told it will be okay (even if the irrational side of me disagrees), again and again, on top of how many times I’ve already been told as much. I’m in the midst of scheduling a follow up with the geneticists to be told the same. Everyone is hinging on the fact that I seem to be okay, same with my other family members who may or may not have it, and so O should be okay too.

But how can we ever really know that? Am I okay? What about later on? Have I missed something my entire life? Was there something I should have questioned but never did? Is my son going to suffer because I didn’t? These are huge, unknowable, worrisome questions — I know. But how does one continue on as normal when they find out that something is missing in the base of their DNA? In the base of what makes them human? And that they’ve passed it on to their son, with repercussions entirely unknown?

Nothing I can do can change this, I get that, and I know that I need to be positive. I have to be. Not just for me, but for O and D. But how?

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

Precious, brutal, beautiful and exhausting reality.

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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.

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Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

A Dish of Victory.

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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!

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

Real and at times blisteringly honest.

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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. 💚⁣ ⁣

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Motherhood, Postpartum

The beautiful beginnings of a forever relationship.

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There is a sweetness to watching D and O together that hits me at my very core.

After D went back to work and was gone for his almost 12 hour days, I was worried his son wouldn’t come to know him very well at first. How could he for the hour or two he is only sees his dad for every night before going to sleep for the evening? Sure, we have the weekends, but with naps and everything else it feels like those fly by in the blink of an eye.

I was delightfully wrong, however. Whenever D gets home for the evening and O hears his voice, he stops what he’s doing and his eyes go wide. When D comes to say hello to him, he smiles and during their nightly back play session he coos and grins at his dad like crazy. When held by his dad, he puts his head in his favourite cushy spot, arms down as if to hug him and they both look so dang serene sometimes.

They’re still working on getting used to each other, obviously, and nothing’s perfect (this child is a total boob monster and D is still adjusting to the realities being a dad [especially to a newborn] after not thinking he would be for so very long). But, the beautiful beginnings of a forever relationship have begun and it is the most wonderful thing. 💚⁣ ⁣

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