It may be that my oldest daughter turned eight today. It may be spending the weekend with family we don't see often enough. It may be that we had a house fire (minor in scale, major in emotion) as the weekend hit. It may be the huge outpouring of love from friends far and near; it may be all of the above and then some. But I just feel fragile today.
Nothing shakes me more than the safety net I think I've built showing wear and tear, or unexpected holes. Friday night, I faced my biggest Mama fear in having to evacuate my sleeping children from our home in subzero temperatures. It wasn't until we arrived at our neighbors home that I realized I had done so barefoot. I have the frostbite to prove that a Mama in a state of emergency feels nothing but adrenaline and the need to save her babies. I'm proud of that, and scared of that, and sad that I had to find out. Rest soundly little ones knowing that your Mama really will do anything to make sure you are safe, even if she doesn't know she is doing it.
In the hours that followed, and throughout the weekend, friends reached out to offer their help, their time and their belongings. I still cannot find the words to describe how much this means. While we were fortunate to need only temporary shelter and we lost very little, I am awed knowing that for the second time, our neighbors opened their home with no notice, took on the role of protecting and reassuring my babies, and did so with grace and love.
You know who you are and you mean the world to me.
To all who took moments out of their day to check on us, ask how we were doing, what we needed...please know that there is nothing bigger than just letting us know you are there. While asking for help and accepting help, are not our strengths, surrounding ourselves with amazing people apparently is. Sometimes parenting feels like a remote island, and you all made it clear that we are more a chain of interconnected isles.
Eight years ago today I was closing out my second day of labor and we were certain in the belief of soon-to-be new parents that our birth plan, (aka "Let's give this type A Mama something to plan and *think* she has control over"), was about to begin, after an admittedly prolonged start.
Not to be.
In the last minutes of the 22nd, Miss Eight arrived following an emergency c-section. Exhausted, in pain, and stunned by the rapid switch from water tub labor and Enya to operating room and epidural, my baby was here. Looking at her today, I still see that wee purplish-red face super-imposed over the braces-shiny smile of her rapidly changing profile. She's a great kid. A tough kid. A smart kid. An emotional kid. A challenge and a privilege every day.
And in jest, I commented today that in ten more years I was going to boot her out of the nest.
Then promptly had a panic attack. Ten years. Ten wondrous, tricky, painful, awe-inspiring, proud and fear-filled years. Will it be enough to teach her how to surround herself with the people who will make her life better, easier, and more joyful? Will we teach her to make good decisions, based on fact and with caution? Will she find someone to love that loves her back in the way she deserves, and sees her with the same awe that her father and I did for the first time eight years ago?
(And if they don't, do they know that I have friends who will post my bail money?) I'm joking. Really. (Sort of.)
All of this has left me a little emotional. A little fragile. A little sad. Both of the weekend "big events" made me realize how life changes so quickly. It takes a second to change a life in either direction. It has made everything feel fraught with importance. Every decision has felt big. And so, to the lady at the drive-through, I really couldn't decide if I wanted my coffee hot or cold this morning because"What if I made the wrong choice and it altered the flow of history?"
So bear with me my friends...I'm indecisive in a big way right now.
I just want to sit here and hug my babies and everything that is not that, feels impossible.
Nothing shakes me more than the safety net I think I've built showing wear and tear, or unexpected holes. Friday night, I faced my biggest Mama fear in having to evacuate my sleeping children from our home in subzero temperatures. It wasn't until we arrived at our neighbors home that I realized I had done so barefoot. I have the frostbite to prove that a Mama in a state of emergency feels nothing but adrenaline and the need to save her babies. I'm proud of that, and scared of that, and sad that I had to find out. Rest soundly little ones knowing that your Mama really will do anything to make sure you are safe, even if she doesn't know she is doing it.
In the hours that followed, and throughout the weekend, friends reached out to offer their help, their time and their belongings. I still cannot find the words to describe how much this means. While we were fortunate to need only temporary shelter and we lost very little, I am awed knowing that for the second time, our neighbors opened their home with no notice, took on the role of protecting and reassuring my babies, and did so with grace and love.
You know who you are and you mean the world to me.
To all who took moments out of their day to check on us, ask how we were doing, what we needed...please know that there is nothing bigger than just letting us know you are there. While asking for help and accepting help, are not our strengths, surrounding ourselves with amazing people apparently is. Sometimes parenting feels like a remote island, and you all made it clear that we are more a chain of interconnected isles.
Eight years ago today I was closing out my second day of labor and we were certain in the belief of soon-to-be new parents that our birth plan, (aka "Let's give this type A Mama something to plan and *think* she has control over"), was about to begin, after an admittedly prolonged start.
Not to be.
In the last minutes of the 22nd, Miss Eight arrived following an emergency c-section. Exhausted, in pain, and stunned by the rapid switch from water tub labor and Enya to operating room and epidural, my baby was here. Looking at her today, I still see that wee purplish-red face super-imposed over the braces-shiny smile of her rapidly changing profile. She's a great kid. A tough kid. A smart kid. An emotional kid. A challenge and a privilege every day.
And in jest, I commented today that in ten more years I was going to boot her out of the nest.
Then promptly had a panic attack. Ten years. Ten wondrous, tricky, painful, awe-inspiring, proud and fear-filled years. Will it be enough to teach her how to surround herself with the people who will make her life better, easier, and more joyful? Will we teach her to make good decisions, based on fact and with caution? Will she find someone to love that loves her back in the way she deserves, and sees her with the same awe that her father and I did for the first time eight years ago?
(And if they don't, do they know that I have friends who will post my bail money?) I'm joking. Really. (Sort of.)
All of this has left me a little emotional. A little fragile. A little sad. Both of the weekend "big events" made me realize how life changes so quickly. It takes a second to change a life in either direction. It has made everything feel fraught with importance. Every decision has felt big. And so, to the lady at the drive-through, I really couldn't decide if I wanted my coffee hot or cold this morning because"What if I made the wrong choice and it altered the flow of history?"
So bear with me my friends...I'm indecisive in a big way right now.
I just want to sit here and hug my babies and everything that is not that, feels impossible.
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