A Day in the Life

Blog

  • Beach Days

    Beach days were always the highlight of summer growing up. Hearing the waves crash against the shore as my feet sunk into the sand. The warm breeze drifting along as the sun beat down from above head. To me, the experience was always relaxing, a way to leave stress behind and let go of any problems of the time. But when you have a baby, you begin to realize how overwhelming something like the beach can be.

    Between packing the car, figuring out time frames, parking, getting through the crowds and finding your “perfect spot” it can be a lot. Let alone keeping track of the people and kids with you plus having refreshments for everyone. But with a little one, say a 4-and-a-half-month-old, that tends to add more to list. Make sure to have bottles, and formula, swimmers, diapers, plenty of wipes, and enough sunblock to coat the neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong, it’s all worth it, but it can tend to be a lot that someone may or may not be ready to handle all at once.

    Recently I went to the beach with my daughter and my parents. We thought we had everything packed, everyone ready on time and at a decent hour, and had prepared ourselves for the crowds. We were partially right. Everything had been packed, but a regular stroller is not the best to take on to the beach so we ended up having to haul a lot more than what we thought we would have to, by hand. We did have everyone ready at a decent time of day, but the heat didn’t care what time was, it was hot no matter what time you tried to leave. And the crowds? Though under control, it’s still a lot of people crammed into one place, even though we chose a more secluded area. My daughter didn’t care about any of that though. She cooed and chortled at the people around her, giggled at the waves crashing in the distance, and squirmed this way and that in my arms trying to watch the birds flying around everywhere.

    She didn’t necessarily like the bathing suit we had on her, or the amount of sunscreen I put on her arms and legs, but having a baby protected from as much sun as I could was well worth the mild struggle with flailing baby limbs. Once she was ready to go, and we found our spot to sit for a while, I was ready to venture with the baby down to the water’s edge. This was her first time in anything aside from her bath, so I wanted to make sure I took things a bit slow. She loved her bath time and has started to enjoy splishing and splashing, but I didn’t want her to get taken out by a wave. In the end I didn’t have much that I had to worry about, once we got the water and I had my ankles in, I waited for the next wave to wash across and lowered my daughter’s chubby little feet down.

    As soon as her toes felt the cold water, her little legs shot up against her body like a frog preparing to jump. I thought she was going to stay that way at first, but she tentatively lowered her feet back once she realized I wasn’t moving away from the water. I guess mom standing in the cold made it less scary. The little waves ebbed and flowed and once she lowered her feet back in the water, she let out a little giggle and wiggled her toes in the sand. Slowly but surely, she dug her feet in up to her ankles and baby talked to the water as it splashed across her legs. She looked this way and that, reaching arms down to try and grab at the sea foam or kick her leg occasionally to splash it back down. Thankfully she was having fun, my back supporting her weight while she did it, not so much. The pain was worth it though, as long as she was having a good time.

    Everything was going great, but in the end, we had to cut our trip short, my dad’s back was starting to bother him from the uneven sand surface, and we still had a long drive home ahead of us, so we started to pack up and get ready to head out. My daughter though, didn’t want to have it, she wanted to stay in the water. As soon as I picked her back up from the waves, she pushed out her little boohoo lip and started crying. Crying made her hot, which made her crankier, and then she was reminded that she was hungry. One walk to the car with beach gear and a very cranky baby, I had her changed into something lighter, loaded into the truck, and feverishly sucking on her bottle. She managed to eat about half of it before she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. Which was a benefit for her since the ride home ended up being close to two hours due to traffic.

    When I was younger, I never noticed the amount of effort and time that my parents put into beach days, no matter how long or short they were. But now that I am mom, I understand. It may have its labors but to watch your kids enjoy themselves to the point that they don’t want to leave, is all that is needed to feel like you won the day. Not to mention it is adorable to watch them nap immediately after from having so much fun. Next time there will definitely be a few things that I want to change, a different carrier for the baby and our beach supplies, a different bathing suit for my daughter so she doesn’t get to overheated to quickly, and hopefully finding a parking spot that is a bit closer to the beach entrance. The last one is only if we are lucky though, so I won’t always count on it. But I honestly can’t wait for our next beach day trip, The amount of giggles my daughter had from playing in the water made me an extremely happy mama. And I wouldn’t want to trade those moments for anything.

  • Lights Out

    A few weeks ago, my neighborhood was hit by some terrible storms. Thrashing wind, walls of rain, flooding, and power outages raged the town. We were very fortunate to not experience any lives lost, but the surrounding areas were plunged into darkness for days, some areas being out for the better part of a week. All this in the middle of a heat wave. A not so great combo when you have small children and elderly parents all under one roof.

    When the storm hit, we were trying to batten down the hatches around our property to try and ensure nothing went flying into the neighbors houses. In the middle of doing that, the wind hit. Strong enough to try and topple full-grown adults to the ground. Then in a mad rush to finish our tasks, the rain hit. And it didn’t just sweep in quietly, it rushed in. The rain pelted any surface it hit, slamming down in walls of water that made it hard to see two feet in front of you, let alone the neighboring houses. We rushed inside, drenched to the bone and ready to settle in for the long hall. Then we started hearing loud booms across the neighborhood, after one of the booms the lights flickered. Once, twice, and then they were down for the count.

    We tried calling the electric company, none too successfully. There was an automated message that said “Thank you for reaching out, we are aware of the power outages and are doing our best to send our team to fix them. Expect the lights to return by the end of the week.” We all looked at one another. My parents and I weren’t overly concerned, we had been through similar things when I was younger. My daughter was with her dad for the day, we had coolers and Ice bags on hand so we could have access to food without opening the freezer or fridge. We had board games, books, battery powered lamps and fans, among other things to keep ourselves cool and occupied. My younger sibling however, hadn’t really been through anything like this before. He started freaking out. Asking what we were going to do, saying we should spam call places to get things fixed, and running around the house trying to find something that could fix our situation.

    We explained that we shouldn’t use our phones unless for emergencies to preserve the battery life, and spam calling places would only end up irritating companies and answering services. They had enough on their hands at the moment and didn’t need spam calls from one family. My dad and I set to going and collecting flashlights and lamps, gathering the board games and such as my mom prepared the coolers. Dad ran to a store that still had power due to a back-up generator and grabbed small bites and drinks for the coolers, and like that we had supplies. My younger sibling, sat on the couch and pouted about our situation. He didn’t understand how we could entertain ourselves or “be able to survive without power”. That gave me a good chuckle. I told him we had supplies, still had running water and hot water since the pilot on the water heater was still going strong, and had books or games to keep ourselves busy. Their response was priceless. “We don’t have games; we don’t have power”. . . Acting like video games were the only games that existed. My parents and I had a good laugh, pulled out Yahtzee and told him to sit down and breathe, that we’d get through it as a family. They were skeptical to say the least.

    It was surprising to see just how dependent on electricity my younger sibling was. They kept trying to ask Alexa what time it was, or asking his phone how to play Yahtzee, instead of using the analog clock or the directions pamphlet to aid them. The rain continued to throttle the neighborhood but in time and with the game going, we lost track of the storm and when it actually had stopped. But once the game was done, we realized so was the rain, for now anyway. My mom and I took that time to do what we usually did in these situations, check on the neighbors. We knew some trees had been downed and the wind had done some damage on surrounding houses so we proceeded with caution, but it was still our duty (or so we told ourselves) to check in with the elderly and any friends nearby. On our walk we were meet with different reactions. Some thankful for the check in and the care of thought, others gave a shrug and said it’s nothing they hadn’t been through before. But what I saw on our walk brought a genuine smile to my face.

    Parents using the break in the weather to get their kids out of the house in any way they could. There were families walking, bike riding, doing the same as my mom and I. Some kids were still craving their video games and TV, others happy to not be so cooped up. Same with the parents. Some seemed to be at their wits end, telling their kids to keep walking to burn energy and time, that the power wasn’t coming on anytime soon and to get used to it, other parents just trying to go with the flow and make their lives as easy as possible given the situation. But despite it all, I saw a community coming together to help support one another. Talk across yards, check in with their elderly neighbors, exchange generators back and forth, so fridges didn’t go to long without running, even having meet ups to BBQ together and have the kids interact with one another. Despite the circumstances, and whether the people truly knew each other or not, I watched as strangers became friends, and friends became closer to family. Interaction was key, and it was enough to help people through the darkness.

    The next day, the power was still out, but we were able to kill some time by going to pick up my daughter, and spending some time with family friends that were lucky enough to have their power back already. We did another round of check ins with neighbors, made sure people were still doing okay. By the time we got back home, we walked back in the door and the lights flickered again, once, twice, and they were back on. Over the course of the next few days, we still kept checking in with some people, just because my block got power back, didn’t mean the whole neighborhood did. Transformers would get surges and go back out again. This went on for a week, but once we were all back in the light, something magical had come out of the dark. The families and neighbors that had been checking in on one another through the ordeal, kept up with it after the fact. Days after the power outages, I saw families that never used to talk to each other, conversing across their yards, kids playing with other children they hadn’t before, parents and kids alike having play dates.

    It seems like people remembered what it was like before video games reigned supreme, and the TV took command of the family. In the last few decades we let electric powered things dictate our lives, but when it comes down to it, we as creatures crave interaction. For my neighborhood, it took a power outage to make us realize that and act on it. It took the loss of power to bring a community back together again. Don’t let it be that way for you. It shouldn’t take the Lights going out for you to care about other people. Heat waves can still cause problems, so can a storm in general. There were many states affected by these storms, floods that claimed hundreds of lives, tornadoes that took down entire cities. In these events technology failed, but humanity didn’t. People helped one another, saved one another, had compassion for each other. Listen, check in, Act. Be the change in communities that you want to see.

  • Growing Pains

    Time is such an odd concept. When I was younger I wanted to grow up as soon as possible so I could do the cool things adults got to do. Get to go out and drive when ever they want, spend money on what you want, when you want to. There can be some days I feel like I did when I was a teenager, lost and wondering how I would handle it all. Other days I wake up remembering I am a 33-year-old woman with bills, a 4-month-old daughter, and bad knees. Life is funny like that, though I had to at least do something right to make it this far.

    Not that it has been easy, looking back it hasn’t been easy in the least. Memories of great times alongside the lowest of lows all colliding together to stitch the story that is my life up to this point. There were things I wish that I had the chance to say, ones that I wish I hadn’t said at all, and actions that may have turned out better if I had at least tried. Do I regret it? Some of the times yes, but I wouldn’t change a single one if it meant that it would lead to what I have in my life right now. It may not be much but my daughters bright smile is worth every low point I ever had. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

    Watching her grow is a blessing, but in and of itself is odd. She is growing so quickly it feels like if I blink I might miss something. I look at her and see my little baby girl, and I know I will always see her that way, but in the same token it’s funny how growth changes. As I said, I look at her, and she seems so small, but when family and friends visit they always say “Look how big she is getting”, and I have to do a double take. She is growing, but to me, she is still tiny. Then I go out shopping for clothes or formula and see other mamas and their babies that are 10+ months and realize my daughter is the size of them if not bigger. Not to mention she is in 3-6 month size clothing even some solely 6 month size, and 6-9 month size shoes. At 4 months old. She really is a big baby, not in a bad way, she is healthy and growing. To be fair she was a little over 8lbs when she was born. Also helps that I am a little above average height for a woman, and her dad is 6ft tall. All in all it’s not surprising that she would be on the bigger side.

    But it still is so odd of a concept to me. In most cases she seems small, and then I see other babies her age and I realize, nope, my daughter dwarfs them. She is already trying to push herself up on to her knees while she is on tummy time (her least favorite parts of the day) and is trying to figure out rolling. It’s so exciting to experience, and it makes me so happy at the amount of effort that she puts in. I can’t wait for her to start moving, I know once she starts she will be a roaming menace that I will have to keep chasing after, but I feel like most parents deal with that back and forth. We want what is best for our kids and to watch them hit milestones, but once they hit that marker we get sad because that milestone is done, and we can’t get that time back.

    As a kid I wanted time to speed up to do all these events and tasks, and now that I’m older I want time to slow. I wish I could press a pause button and keep my daughter at 4 months for as long as possible and savor every second while she is small. She is growing at such a rapid rate that I blink, and a week has flashed by like nothing. We spend most of our lives trying to rush through life, and now I just want it to stop. I want to enjoy everything I can, but there doesn’t seem to be enough time in a day to enjoy as much as I would like to, to have my daughter experience as much as possible before she outgrows it. The real tight rope of time and how we want to spend it.

  • Times Change

    I was born in the early 90s. Growing up we drank from hoses, ran around all day in the summer and curfew was when the streetlights came on. You knew where all your friends were by the bikes piled together on front lawns, and the way to call a friend was calling the house phone and praying a parent wasn’t on it already. There are a lot of moments I miss about those times, they seemed simpler. My parents did what they could to raise two children that never liked to stay in one spot for long. We visit museums, parks and playgrounds, and historical sites, that way we were at least learning while we had our fun. They instilled manners, the need for communication, and how to be as civilized as possible.

    When I was a teenager I went from being the youngest child, to being the middle child. When my younger sibling was born, a lot in the house changed. Change wasn’t a bad thing, but it all was new to me. My mom needed extra help with the baby and I happily obliged, knowing that in the long run I would be helping to raise a life, as well as get some practice in for the children I wanted when I grew up. It ended up being beneficial all around, but as my sibling got older, I started running into some complications. “You never let us get away with that when we were there age.” Became a constant statement from me. I understood that they were the baby of the family, but there were situations that my parents let slide that my older sibling and I would have gotten in trouble for. Talking back all the time, major tantrums, among other things. We would have been placed in time out in a hot minute, but my parents seemed to let it go. When I asked I tended to get the answer “Well times are different now, this is parenting. It may not be what you are used to, but they will be okay”.

    They were right in the long run, mostly, but it still was odd to see everything so different. How emotions and communication were handled, or ignored. How outside play time was exchanged for staying inside all day with video games, TV, and whatever other electronics my sibling could get there hands on. Technology isn’t a bad thing, but I wanted the kid to get some sunshine. My parents did try, don’t get me wrong. They tried instilling a love of nature and respect for the world outside the house, it didn’t seem to take, nor did my younger sibling didn’t care about it. I moved in with my partner when my younger sibling was about 7 years old, went a state away and would visit when I could. But between my and my partners jobs, it became difficult to visit as often as I wanted.

    I would still hear about my sibling and how they were doing, how they were growing into a preteen and all the problems that came with that. Every preteen to teenager can be a handful, but my mom would call me for advice on occasion because even she felt like she was out of her element. “You’ve raised two kids already and went through this, why is this any different?” I would ask, thinking it would be cut and dry like when I was younger. “Well times are different.” She’d answer, oh, that line again. But this part stuck with me “I can’t handle these things the way that I did with you guys, I could be labeled a bad parent.” Wait. . . What? What was wrong with telling your kid that what they did was wrong, putting them in time out or grounding them? How is that being a bad parent? Looking back on my childhood, none of the ways my parents raised us ever came across as being bad. They were teaching us how to be better people, how to be ready for the world outside our little home. But apparently in the 2010s all that translated to being too harsh on your child, or being over reactive. It all made me think about what I would do if/when I became a parent.

    This year, I did that, I became a mom. On top of that, due to unforeseen circumstances, I had to move back in with my parents. I needed help with the baby, among other things, and was grateful to their welcoming arms. My younger sibling is now 17, almost an adult, and once again, everything was new to me. I had been away for almost 10 years, and in doing so, had to hear second hand about everything. Now being home and being front and center with it all was a whole different ball game. “I would have gotten grounded for that” is a new repeated saying. I thought I had attitude when I was a teenager, but they blow me out of the water. I expected the usual statement. That times are different now, but I didn’t. My mom and dad would give a small smile and say “I know. We are doing what we can.” And it hit me. Years of trying to be ‘good parents’ by the new standards had made them lax in ways that they didn’t want to be. That being afraid of not keeping up with the times would make them a bad parent. But in turn, it made it harder to be the good parent. Trying to be gentler and and following along with new standards had dulled instincts, and made it more difficult to wrangle in a dramatic and overly stimulated teenager.

    As a group we have been working together. I remind my parents of the values that they raised us on, and help them to try and use that with the teachings of now. I work as a buffer between my sibling and them as well, defusing situations for either side. Sometimes I am on my parents side, reminding my sibling how much is done for them and how much they take for granted. Sometimes I am on their side, helping to explain something calmer, or to break down thought processes to my parents. It’s a constant back and forth, but one that we are starting to find common ground for in the process.

    Being on the outside for so long, had given me a different perspective, but also made me think about what I want to do as a mom. Looking at my baby girl, I think about what kind of parent I want to be. I want to be gentle when I can, but stern when it’s needed, I want to instill that my daughter can express herself and her emotions, but that she also needs to communicate those emotions properly. I understand every kid and teenager can catch attitude, and to an extent it will be allowed, but attitude with cruelty will not be tolerated. Likewise, I want my daughter to be independent and have an understanding of the world around her, but I also want her to know that she can come to me for help whenever she needs it. I want to combine the values of now while incorporating some of the teachings and values that I was raised on. It’s like walking a tight rope. I may stumble a few times, even lose my balance, but in the long run I don’t want to lose sight of my goal. To raise my daughter to be the best she can be, and do the best that I can.

  • One Step Forward

    There are many things in life that seem to want to drag me down and keep me there. Tossing my mind and body back and forth, so I don’t know what is up or down at times. But a constant in my life right now, is my daughters smiling face. Every day I wake up to her little coos, look down and see her smile staring back at me. This is usually followed by a little giggle when she realizes I am awake, and what I call her “scheming hands”. She holds and rubs her hands back and forth while hiding her face behind them. It’s mischievous and oh so adorable. Watching and hearing this little routine every morning, gives me the motivation I need to get up and put my feet on the ground. Even on the gray days that make me want to curl up in a ball and go back to sleep.

    Whenever life gets low my friend tells me that all I need to do is be 1% better than I was yesterday, to take a step at a time and keep pushing forward. She tends to be right, but when it feels like your world is falling apart and the walls are closing in, you don’t always want to listen. When the world seems bleak and the sun doesn’t even want to shine, advice can seem like everything else. Heavy. Hanging over your head as if trying to mock you. But my constant? The natural sunshine that seems to flow from my daughter. No matter how sad I feel, or how lost, seeing her face is enough to brighten my day. Even when she is yelling at me in her own way during tummy time, or when she is wailing because I took one minute to long to make her bottle, she still makes me smile. Talking with her and holding her is like an instant boost of serotonin.

    Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to make it seem like she is my only source of happiness, because she isn’t. I have my friends and family, pets and rekindled hobbies that spark joy. But my daughter brings a happiness that isn’t forced or worked at, it comes naturally without any effort. A sense of comfort and pride that comes with being a mother and knowing that I brought her into this world, but she is the thing that makes life worth living. I love watching her learn and discover. The faces she makes when she realizes that her hands are attached to her and that she can control them. Grabbing onto her blankets, toys and my hair, tending to give a good tug and laugh to the latter. The coos and chortles that she makes to her toys as if talking to them. The oohs and ahhs that she gives as she looks at the plants and trees outside. The strength she shows off as she learns to hold the weight of her own head. Moving it all around as she tries to look at the people around her. It all enthralls me and makes life feel a little bit lighter.

    Spending time with her makes the weight of reality melt away, and the heaviness of the world a distant memory. She makes me want to be 1% better each day, because that 1% is enough to make her happy, and to get me through to tomorrow. Taking a step at a time can seem slow and monotonous when all you want to do is sprint, but slow and steady can help you really understand what is happening around you. To soak in the effort that you put out, not rush through it. Some days may seem heavier than others, and some days I may not want to move from the bed. But hearing her wake up in the morning brings a smile to my face. Because seeing those scheming hands, and her face light up when she realizes I am awake, makes everything worth it. If you try to sprint you may miss what goes on around you, and I don’t want to miss a single moment of watching my daughter grow. I will keep taking my small steps one at a time, and keep pushing for that 1%. Because my friend is right, 1% is better than nothing. And one step forward is better than not moving at all.

  • Like Riding a Bike

    How do you hold onto the passion of your hobbies? I wish I actually had the answer to this. When I was a kid there were many hobbies I used to love doing. Running around in the woods and watching nature. Playing in the garden and getting my hands dirty while watching the fruits of my labor grow. Reading so vigorously that I could devour 400-page books in less than a day. Demolishing book series after series, unable to put them down. Drawing and painting, creating my own pieces of art for friends and family in different mediums. Writing. I used to write poems, craft elaborate stories and epic tales, pour my heart out on to the pages of journals and in Microsoft Word. But somewhere along the line, the passion for it, died.

    One by one the hobbies came and went, in and out of my life. When I was little, I was all about being in nature. Staying out of the house for as long as possible and trying to avoid curfew. Running amongst the trees, dancing through flower and fauna, and watching all the animals that would move about their daily lives. I’d dig my hands through the dirt in our garden, getting more dirt on myself than in the vegetable patch. Uprooting weeds, planting seeds while talking to them, welcoming them to their new home. Dousing them with the hose because more water means bigger plants right? That’s what 6-year-old me thought anyway, much to my grandfathers dismay. As I grew, I learned the ins and outs of the different flowers, vegetables, and herbs we grew. Knew what they needed and when.

    Once I was a teenager, I didn’t want to be outside all that much, I’d rather be hunkered down in my room avoiding the world like a cave troll. Hissing at the sun like it had a personal vendetta against me. There I could be alone, away from the harshness of people. There I could lose myself for hours in music and paints. Get wrapped up in the fantasy worlds my brain spun on pages in pencil and ink. I immersed myself fully in these, working my skill and pencil to be able to improve daily. Constantly working on my craft. Who cared about homework when I could be painting dragons in graphite, chalk pencil and water color. Who cared about essays when I could fabricate characters with their own problems and lives, their fates hanging on the next sentence I created. I found it easy to lose myself in it, to get wrapped up in their lives more than my own. To get covered in swatches of color and charcoal like nothing.

    All throughout these years, whenever I found that I was idle, I had towers of books to read through. Even went back to some of my favorites, so I could relive their plots. Fall into the romances between the characters and dream about it for myself. Lose myself to their fantasy worlds and how they lived their epic lives. Relishing in the sagas of adventure and laughing at their sarcastic remarks. I loved characters, hated others, acting like they were as tangible as my own friends. Imagining myself in their shoes, would I have done the same as them? Or would I have changed it up, you know, for the plot.

    Then I graduated from college and had to be in the real world. Getting lost to the monotony of jobs and bills. I worked my body to the bone, drove myself to the point of near insanity with the hours and pressure that I constantly put myself under. Only to watch it all get wiped away by getting hit by a car. I was out of commission for half a year, and slowly worked myself back up. But it seemed too late by then, my job didn’t want me back, I had taken to long to recover. I moved to a different state. Started over with a clean slate. I tried to keep myself busy, find a new job. Managed to do so, but it didn’t feel like a good enough fit, that I wasn’t doing enough. I tried my hobbies, but they didn’t feel the same to me any longer. They didn’t give me the same passion that I once reveled in.

    I began to stagnate. No matter what I did, nothing felt right. I found hyperfixations, tasks that would fill time, but they never seemed to last. I learned to work with resin, and make beautiful creations with it, experimented with colors and techniques, wanted so badly to do something with it, to sell my products. But with an oversaturated market and not having a full understanding of online stores, the boxes of cool items started to become little Christmas gifts. The rest of the items sitting in boxes on the shelf, collecting dust. The spark for painting never fully came back, but I did love doing these paint by numbers canvases for adults. Their intricate designs bringing color to life. I could lose hours of the day by following along with them, color by color and watching as the designs came to life in front of me. But even they lost their whimsy over time, the strain my body took, hunched over trying to find individual numbers didn’t seem overly worth it. Writing didn’t bring the same immersive effect anymore. Stories going unfinished, poems becoming dark entities that I didn’t want to see the light of day. Reading became mindless and boring, I began to find myself stuck on the same page or paragraph for hours. Rereading the lines over and over but still never having them set in. Gardening became a chore, something else that needed to be taken care of and handled. I didn’t like the dirt building up under my finger nails, or how sweaty the effort would make me.

    I felt like my passion had died. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to work. I felt broken, unhinged. Like nothing could bring me that spark anymore. Doom-scrolling on my phone or watching hours of mindless TV began to fill the space that I used to use for creativity. It all began to blur together. And because of it, I felt the walls building up around me, blocking out the rest that used to bring me happiness. But I was happy, wasn’t I? Spending the days with my loved ones and pets, working and paying bills, living the same lives as everyone else. But it wasn’t really living. This was coasting. And now that the cycle has been broken by outside forces, I see that I was the one that let the passion die. I was the one that gave up on the hobbies I loved, all because some seemed childish, or others took up too much time. I let myself fall into the everyday mundane because I thought that was what was expected of me.

    What I needed was time. Time to let the things set in, time to let myself relax and actually enjoy what I was doing, not just repeating the same thing over and over again. Now that I have my daughter, I see that. No day is the same with her. Every day is experiencing new things, new sounds and movements. Every day that I spend with her reminds me what it feels like to be joyful. To be alive and watch growth happen in front of your eyes. She loves the outdoors, so I find myself outside often. Soaking up the sun and getting burned in the process, but finding that I honestly don’t care. Enjoying the time with animals and weather. She doesn’t care about getting dirty, she cares about feeling new textures and the vibrant colors around her. She cares about living her little life to the fullest. I started to live like her, without much remorse. I dug my hands into the dirt again. The first time it didn’t bring as much joy as it used to, nor did the second. But by the third time of tending to the garden and watching what my effort brought forth, I found a peace I hadn’t known for some time. A relaxation and happiness that I had forgotten about.

    With these blogs I have started to remember why I loved to write. To weave words on a page and pour your heart into something, whether people agree with it or not. It’s empowering and a release. I may not read as much as I used to when I was younger, but books are starting to be a little escape again. Being able to lose myself in the pages, even if just for a little while, is enough for me. For now anyway. I haven’t started up with painting or drawing again, but I know the skill is still there, it never fully leaves you. One day I know I will pick up a pencil or pen and scrawl something onto a page. Sketch out little characters for my daughter to laugh at, maybe even help her color them in. It may not be a thriving passion anymore, but it’s still something that brings me a bit of joy, and one day may bring joy to my baby girl.

    Hobbies may come and go, they even may feel like they flat line. But they aren’t fully gone. You have to learn how they still fit in your life. Some may phase out, but others lay dormant, waiting for your passion to reignite. It may seem like it won’t, but it will. When you least expect it, it will. Sometimes it takes coaxing, sometimes it takes a little practice and a few tries, but it will still be there for you. You just have to give it the chance to be there. To let yourself be immersed in it once again, to remember why you liked it in the first place. Once you do that, it will come back. Just like riding a bike.

  • Losing Sleep

    When I got pregnant with my daughter I was warned that I should get what sleep I can, while I can. Other moms and my doctors kept repeating the same thing. That once the baby came, 8 hours a night would be a fond memory. I knew they were right, but I didn’t realize how right they were. As the months of pregnancy went on, I began to feel really run down. Napped as often as I could, got what sleep I could at night but still felt like it wasn’t enough. I felt sluggish and run down. I thought that would be the worst of it. Once the baby came those naps and full nights of sleep were a distant memory.

    Between feedings, diaper changes, tummy time, more feedings, stretches, and doctor’s appointments, sleep came in scraps. The first few weeks, I was lucky if I got three hours of sleep a night. The baby was cluster feeding and I could only manage to get sleep in 15-20 minute intervals. During the day I felt like I was walking around in a constant haze, my mind constantly working on over drive while my body wanted to crumple into a ball and hibernate for a month straight. My partner helped me where he could, tidying the house, nighttime bottle feedings, watching the baby as I grabbed a shower or tried to catch a nap. But even with that, it didn’t feel like enough. My body was healing, it still is, but without the proper rest, it felt like I just couldn’t keep up with anything.

    Here I am three months later and there are times it still feels that way. She is a full formula baby since I couldn’t produce enough to keep up with her appetite at all. This helps quite a bit because I can make bottles up a head of time and heat them as needed, this is also a setback at times because I can’t pick her up and feed her instantly like she wants. Thankfully the baby’s sleep schedule has increased, so she manages to get 4-5 hour intervals, which should mean that I could do the same right? I wish. Despite having more time that she is sleeping, I find my mind doesn’t like turning off. It constantly runs with the amount of events that happened during the day, what has to happen tomorrow, her appointments and milestones, it all floods at once as soon as my head hits the pillow. If it isn’t those thoughts, it’s if the baby is okay. When she is out cold, she is almost completely silent, her body barely shifting as she snoozes. She gets so quiet that I find myself reaching out to feel if her chest is rising and falling. Once I feel that she is moving, I am able to relax and nod off myself, only to wake up two hours later to repeat the process.

    I know some of this is happening do to the anxiety of her being my first full term, some of it comes from not wanting to be a bad mom, and the last of it comes from fear of the unknown. Life is crazy and constantly shifting, pulling the rug out from under your feet when you already have uneven footing. I cherish my daughter and every amount of time that I share with her. I wouldn’t give it up for the world. But outside pressures also overlay with that time. Finding a new job that can help me balance home life and work life, trying to get set routines for myself and for my daughter, trying to take care of my body and give it time to heal while also being active with the baby to help her grow. A lot of times it seems tasks are constantly trying to combat each other. All this seems to chip away at you, mind, body, and soul. It pops up the most at bedtime.

    This is one of the many things that I have to learn to balance, to adapt and move forward. To grow as my daughter grows, and try to do so in as healthy of a manner as I can. For now, I will do what I can, get what sleep I can and try my best to push the anxiety thoughts to the side. To allow myself to rest, to sleep as my daughter sleeps. I’ll use what tips and tricks I have learned along the way and use my time to the best of my ability, both during the day and night. It may be goodbye to sleep for now, but it won’t always be that way. As she grows I will be able to sleep again. It may not be anytime soon, but that’s okay. I will take the sleep I get and save my energy for what is needed that day, and save the rest for the next. It may be small shifts, but something is better than nothing. And some sleep is better than not at all.

  • Let the Rain Fall

    As a little kid, rainy days meant many things. Light rain meant running around for hours not caring about whether I got wet or not. Digging in the mud and garden, talking with the plants and trees and asking them if they were enjoying their drink. Heavy rain meant sitting inside snuggled up under blankets and watching movies. Lazy days filled with warmth and comfort. Thunderstorms meant hiding under the table. I didn’t like thunder, it hurt my ears, the sound resonating through my whole body. It sounds like gun shots to me, booming and intrusive. Over the years I got used to the sound, but there are times it still takes me by surprise. A fear that never fully goes away.

    As I got older, rain become an annoyance. It brought sluggishness, joint and head pain, and a severe lack of motivation. It hurt to get out of bed, the pressure mocking all the damage my body has gone through over the years. Bringing a fog that never seems to fully leave my thoughts, making me want to stay in the house and call it a day. Despite that, there was a time that rain was a blessing to me. The drops falling and melting away stress and frustration as I stood in it. It’s torrent hiding the tears streaming down my face, erasing the pain that my heart held on to for so long. Rain was a release, a way of expunging my pent-up emotions, and not being questioned about it. When you cry in front of people or in an enclosed space, evidence remains, people ask what the problem is, or why you are reacting the way you are. In rain, no one asks what you are hiding, or why the tears flow. It’s hard to differentiate tear drops from rain drops, the only evidence being wet clothes and red eyes. The former being explained by getting caught in the weather, the latter being explained by wiping water from my eyes.

    I forget when I stopped looking at rain as a release, and started to looking at it with disdain. One day it just happened. I didn’t feel the need to step out in the down pour, I just stared as the water fell. The sound reverberating off everything it hit, washing over the world as it went, while I stood idly by unsure of my next move. It hurt to watch the world be washed clean as I stood there holding the weight of my emotions, the memories that refused to let go or disappear. I felt heavy and overwhelmed, the pressure from the rolling clouds only adding to the pain my poor body felt. Why did it seem so bleak? When the world was being cleansed and refreshed. Why did it feel haunting? To see the world bathed in gray tones and glistening water. I had lost something along the way. A feeling of joy as the world took a breath and let itself cry, an ability to join in with the world as it washed away the remnants of yesterday and started anew.

    One day, when everything seemed especially bleak, and it seemed the rain had no end in sight, its drops pelting the roof and windows without mercy, I realized something. It wasn’t the rain that had changed. It was me. I had let myself lose the joy of rain. Lose the presence and knowledge of what rain brings. It can bring danger and chaos, but it also brings life, and the ability to refresh. To be able to start from scratch without the burdens of yesterday’s faults. I stood in my doorway staring at the world be cleaned, at the trees and plants getting a good drink, at the animals relishing in their natural baths. I watched as a bird landed in a puddle, the rain dancing off its back as it fluffed and washed itself, tweeting merrily all the while. The bird was wet and didn’t care, it was having fun. I wanted that, to have fun. To not hold on to the pain in my chest like a consolation prize.

    For the first time in years, with the intent to simply exist, I stepped outside. The rain was chilled, but it felt good against my heated skin, instantly starting to wash away guilt and frustration. The drops rolling down body and face at a rapid rate, drenching my clothes and hair and taking my restraint with it. My eyes burned, tears bubbling forth from the depths of my soul, slowly releasing emotions I hadn’t realized I had been holding on to for so long. Once they started, it seemed they wouldn’t stop. Tears mixed with the down pour, blurring the line between the two. I didn’t know what was rain and what was coming from me any longer. But I did know that it felt good. Every moment I stood out there like that, I felt a little lighter, like my emotions flowed without remorse. Like my soul was being cleaned of the dark muck I had trapped it in.

    I don’t know when I stopped caring about the rain, and started hating it. But I do know that I need to stop hating it so much. There will be days that it will hurt my body, that I will feel the pressure but have to keep pushing myself forward. There will be days that it will make it feel like I can’t leave my bed even though I know I have to. When I wake up feeling like life is against me as the world is crying, I need to remind myself to step out in the rain, even just for a little while. Because like the world needs the rain to refresh, so do I. I need to let myself be washed clean just like the surrounding trees. I need to let my skin drink in the drops like the plants do, and I need to let my emotions flow just like the water does. Only then will I be lighter and brighter, allowing the sunshine to come through and start again. I have to let the rain fall.

  • Silent Warriors

    After my daughter was born, friends and family that I interacted with have called me a warrior on occasion. Their reasoning being of how I “bounced back” so quickly, or how I have been traversing the different obstacles I’ve been handed. I don’t actually feel like a warrior though. Every day, I have lessons that I am learning, silent battles that I try to overcome. Motherhood isn’t easy, it’s fun in most aspects, but it isn’t easy. When people call me a warrior, I don’t see it at all. To me a warrior is someone fierce that struggles with tasks every single day but pushes through no matter how much life tries to push them back down. Someone who takes the good and the bad in full swing with their head up high, and that doesn’t feel like what I have been doing. I didn’t “bounce back”, I’m just living, taking it one day at a time and hoping for the best.

    You know who I see as a warrior? My mom. When I was a teenager she had an accident that caused her to have nerve damage in her entire left arm. She went through physical therapy, did what she could to get her maneuverability back, but still ran into issues. She has no feeling from the side of her neck all the way to her fingertips, and there was no way to fix it. When the accident happened, my younger sibling was an infant. She couldn’t hold him for long periods of time, and could only do so with one side. She had difficulty doing simple tasks that a mother needs to with a small child. I did what I could to help, babysitting, changing diapers, helping with chores that were two hand jobs. But I could still see the wear and tear weighing on her. It took years to get any sense of control with grip on her left side, and to ensure she keeps it, she works on it daily. Did she complain? Not really, if at all. She rolled with the punches and kept pushing forward.

    Despite some setbacks she has always kept pushing, and there have been a few. Trying to get disability in a time when people were suspicious of fakers was a major battle. She had to go through doctor after doctor, and different tests to prove that she was actually hurt and how. Trying to raise a child as hands on as possible, when she only has one good hand to give. Pulling into handicapped parking spaces to have people ridicule her and call her a fake because no one can physically see her disability. All these events and more she shouldered and persevered, holding her head as high as she could, determined to push right back at life and do whatever she put her mind to.

    She has accomplished a lot of things over the years despite life trying to pummel her. Raising a teenager, maintaining a garden, doing daily tasks of cooking, laundry and dishes. My dad helps her out whenever he can, but he can’t be with her every second of the day, so she figured out little tricks and ways to go about her tasks with or without her left arm. She is a real warrior, one that continues on without much of a whisper, one that fights every day with battles that no one else sees or could understand. You may look at her and see a 59-year-old woman that is fully capable of anything, never even knowing about the silent wars that she is having with the smallest tasks. Some days I think she would prefer having a visible disability, not because of the disability itself, but because people aren’t always kind. They assume and pass judgement without caring about the details, without caring about the person they are throwing their insults at.

    When I see my mom holding my daughter, her first grandchild, I am proud of everything that she has accomplished, everything that she has done to get to this point. She isn’t the only one that struggles. People every day wake up with their own inner battles, their own unseen disabilities. They have to fight every day for the things they need to do, constantly going at war with their own bodies let alone the outside world. These people are true fighters, never giving up despite what society tells them, despite what their own brains may tell them. They push and try every day, not only for themselves but their families. When you see people out shopping, pulling into a handicap spot, or even struggling to get something into their cart. Be patient, be kind, offer help. Not everyone’s battle or disability is visible, The world is harsh enough, if we were all a little nicer, we’d be able to see how many silent warriors there actually are.

  • Memory Struggle

    I have had problems with memory for years. Sometimes I can remember something down to the smallest detail, and it stays with me forever. Then there are the memories that fade as soon as they are created, locked away for what seems like eternity without any dust being disturbed. It got irritating to me, to remember something so vividly from childhood that didn’t actually matter or have any tangible significance. Yet not be able to recall the name that was just told to me 5 times in the same amount of time, or remember the important conversation that I had two days ago that I need to reflect upon.

    As time went on, and I got older, the frustration grew. I did whatever I could to try and make memories stick, to be able to train my brain to log and keep all the information. But what are you to do when you don’t have a camera? It seemed like nothing was working. No matter how hard I tried to memorize faces, names, moments in time that I wanted to cherish. It seemed fruitless, my brain only retaining what it wanted to. Then one day I had been gifted an ornament for Christmas. It was given to me as we put the tree up and started decorating. A crystal humming bird from my grandmother, It was beautiful. Instead of putting it on the tree right away, I carried it around, holding it like I would lose it forever if I placed it down for a second. By the end of the night I finally relinquished it to the tree and marveled at how it sparkled in the lights. The memory never left me, nor that ornament. I can think back on the day with fondness at any time, but when I hold the ornament, I relive the moment vividly, and it makes me smile.

    From that point on I began to use physical objects to help me hold memory. I would pour my thoughts and feeling into those objects, feeling like I would leave little pieces of time locked away inside them. Doing so I could touch objects throughout my home and experience a walk down memory lane for anything I wanted. As happy as it made me to be able to do it, it also had a lot of problems. As time goes on a house can get cluttered, items can break, and moving makes it hard to take everything with you. Items need to be let go. But when I pick them up, I feel the memories and relive them one by one, making it harder to let go of the item. A fear set in, what if I get rid of the item and the memory goes with it. I won’t be able to access it or enjoy it anymore. I didn’t want to become a pack rat, and I wanted to be able to make room for new. Something had to be done.

    There are still some objects that I will never relinquish, ones that I can never bring myself to get rid of. A key, a special stone, a butterfly charm, a ring. These objects bring many memories, not just one. There are other senses that can be associated with them, but the physical object brings back so many thoughts and feelings that I would rather have the object to touch to be able to sort through them all. I want to be able to access these on demand, so I can continue to learn from the memories, not just think on them fondly.

    Despite the anxiety of letting objects go, I manage to do so over and over. You know what I found? I may not have been able to access the memory on demand anymore, but it still existed. I could still recall them with a little conversational coaxing, or by a smell or song. It wasn’t actually storing memories in the objects, I just focused so intently and associated a memory with something, and it would be locked in. Now as I raise my daughter and watch her grow, I know I’m going to want to remember things as much as possible. Anytime I’m in a moment that I know I will want to remember, I use me senses. What do I hear as this moment is happening, what do I smell? The rock song on the radio or the smell of my partners’ cologne anchor in. What do I see in the little eyes staring back at me, how do I feel smiling down at her? My reflection in her green blue eyes smiles back with warmth and a light that radiates through my soul. Its these little associations that will help me remember what I want to. It may not always be when I want to remember it, and may drift in and out, but those associations will help bring it back again. That song, the cologne, feeling that warmth in my chest, seeing that spark of happiness reflecting, all can be a positive trigger to bring back precious moments.

    For now that is enough, to be able to retain what I can without being afraid to let go of objects and keep pushing forward. To work with my brain and do what I can for my memory. Each step I take may be difficult, and it may not always work. But I feel that I will at least be able to hold on to more than I used to. To me that is worth it, for my daughter, so I can recall her younger times when she is older, and for myself, so I can relive my life in the future.