I hugged two mamas at work today. In the winter of 2012, all three of us gave birth to beautiful babies and our lives were forever changed. I'll call them Mark, Ali and Owen. (I have to protect heir names for privacy). Today one of those mamas was preparing to say goodbye to her youngest baby for the last time. The other one was leaving the ICU with a smile on her face, visibly relieved that the cardiac surgery keeping her up with worry was finally behind her. The embraces we shared were very different, one was full of triumph and one full of tears representing the deepest sorrow I can fathom. I have been taking care of Mark for months and it's been a difficult, emotional process. I've come to love him for many reasons and have always felt a special connection to him because he is the same age as Owen. I get him. I know how almost four year olds are. When he nods his little intubated head with fury, I know exactly how it would sound with working vocal cords. And when he's sad the empathy in my mama heart feels it. There is an intimacy that comes with knowing the exact stage of development he's at. It also makes it really hard because I see Owen in his swollen little face and know there is very little that separates them. I admitted Ali from the OR earlier in the week and cared for her the following day. I noted that her birthday was the day before Owen's and felt the same tinge of connection to her. Her mom was one of the kindest, most gracious people I've met in a long time.
I was proud of myself because I told each of these beautiful women that they are good moms. I thanked Ali's mom for sharing her coffee with me and told her that her daughter brought me joy. I told Mark's mom that during this incredibly hard journey, she has done everything she could for her son, that she has been amazingly strong. I think that's what I would want to hear if one of my babies were sick- that I'm a good mom. That I am succeeding at the one job that nobody else can do. Us moms have to stick together. We are all on the same team and I truly believe that there are no such thing as other people's children. I share their worry, their happiness and their sorrow. I ache with them. As a nurse I have the opportunity to help heal and I have the opportunity to help let go. This week I shared in both of these equally important jobs.
As I reflect on these different experiences that made for such a memorable week I can't help but feel a whisper of divine intervention. I needed little Ali's joy so that I would have the strength to continue fighting along with little Mark. When I got home I crawled into bed with my Owen and said a prayer. I thanked God for the opportunity to share in the journeys of these mamas. I thanked Him for all the things that bring us together and the deep emotional connection that forms between moms. I'm Christian, one is Muslim and one is Mormon. Despite religious, cultural or any other divide, we belong together. I thanked Him for my beautiful children and I prayed that this grief would teach each of us a lesson. I prayed that in the midst of darkness I could learn to follow Jesus' example of light. That I would know what to say and when to be silent. That somehow the breaks in my heart would be a comfort, that my shared joy would be remembered and treasured.
This is why I do what I do. This is why I spend 14 hour days away from my boys. It's hard. It's beautiful. It is what it is.
Friday, July 29, 2016
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
18 Month Love Letter
My sweet Weston,
You are eighteen months old. Parents always seem to be lamenting the fact that their children are growing up. It goes so fast! We all say it, all the time. And it is so true. There is something extremely profound about witnessing something that started as dream, morphed from a single cell into a fetus, grow and become a little person full of life and love. I was looking at pictures of the day you were born and felt a strange twinge in my heart as remembered what a magnificent day that was and reflected on how much both you and Owen have changed since. It is incredibly bittersweet. As your loving mama, I vow to resist the strong temptation to wish a never-ending infancy upon you. I'm not sure what makes it innately hard but I vow to focus on fully celebrating each milestone, enjoying each stage and cherishing the everyday moments that define them. I know these baby and toddler years are like nothing else and they will be forever written on my heart. I also know that each year of your life has something unique to teach us and I love watching you grow.
You are such a fun and interactive little guy. You love reading books, singing songs and are talking up a storm. I'm starting to think you may have a bit of a wild side. You love running, rough housing and don't get scared of loud noises. My four favorite things that you do right now are 1) say "one more," while pointing your finger 2) If I bend down and put out my arms- you enthusiastly run into them and give me a bear hug. Actually, anytime time you "run." 3) After I change your diaper I let you stand on your chaining table and say "trust fall" as you jump into my arms. 4) When Owen pretends to give you food and your pretend to eat it with a huge grin and lip smack. You love wearing hats, shoes and sunglasses.
You scream quite a bit these days and are learning to deal with frustration. When I consider your toddler experience I can't help but compare it to Owen's and note that your life isn't quite as easy as his was. You've got a 3 year old brother who both loves and torments you. Nothing you have can quite be considered your own and your time for undivided attention is slimmer than it was for my first born. But here's the thing, having an easy life isn't what makes it beautiful. You have a brother who will always be on your side. When I drop you at the gym childcare, he holds your hand if you cry and stays by your side while I'm gone. When you're in high school, he'll protect you in the same way. And when you're grown, he'll be the only one who understands the quirks of our family. The frustrations over toys and attention you experience now are more than worth it. The lessons you learn working together with your brother will serve you well as you navigate the world.
We've stopped nursing and you handled the transition just fine. At bedtime we sit in the rocking chair while we read books, then we sing songs while we snuggle. You would lay with you head tucked into the crook of my neck all night if I let you. I mourned the loss of our breastfeeding bond but this special time has been a wonderful replacement. I am so glad you are such a cuddler, it is the best time of day. As I sat and rocked with you the other night I felt tears prick my eyes as I thought about what an incredible gift you are. I sat and prayed that you would always know that you are worthy of love and belonging. You will make mistakes but they will never define you and this family will always be here to welcome you home. I pray that your life will be rich with kindness, peace, and generosity, that you will always be grateful for what you have and know that you are enough.
xoxo,
Your loving mama
You are eighteen months old. Parents always seem to be lamenting the fact that their children are growing up. It goes so fast! We all say it, all the time. And it is so true. There is something extremely profound about witnessing something that started as dream, morphed from a single cell into a fetus, grow and become a little person full of life and love. I was looking at pictures of the day you were born and felt a strange twinge in my heart as remembered what a magnificent day that was and reflected on how much both you and Owen have changed since. It is incredibly bittersweet. As your loving mama, I vow to resist the strong temptation to wish a never-ending infancy upon you. I'm not sure what makes it innately hard but I vow to focus on fully celebrating each milestone, enjoying each stage and cherishing the everyday moments that define them. I know these baby and toddler years are like nothing else and they will be forever written on my heart. I also know that each year of your life has something unique to teach us and I love watching you grow.
You are such a fun and interactive little guy. You love reading books, singing songs and are talking up a storm. I'm starting to think you may have a bit of a wild side. You love running, rough housing and don't get scared of loud noises. My four favorite things that you do right now are 1) say "one more," while pointing your finger 2) If I bend down and put out my arms- you enthusiastly run into them and give me a bear hug. Actually, anytime time you "run." 3) After I change your diaper I let you stand on your chaining table and say "trust fall" as you jump into my arms. 4) When Owen pretends to give you food and your pretend to eat it with a huge grin and lip smack. You love wearing hats, shoes and sunglasses.
You scream quite a bit these days and are learning to deal with frustration. When I consider your toddler experience I can't help but compare it to Owen's and note that your life isn't quite as easy as his was. You've got a 3 year old brother who both loves and torments you. Nothing you have can quite be considered your own and your time for undivided attention is slimmer than it was for my first born. But here's the thing, having an easy life isn't what makes it beautiful. You have a brother who will always be on your side. When I drop you at the gym childcare, he holds your hand if you cry and stays by your side while I'm gone. When you're in high school, he'll protect you in the same way. And when you're grown, he'll be the only one who understands the quirks of our family. The frustrations over toys and attention you experience now are more than worth it. The lessons you learn working together with your brother will serve you well as you navigate the world.
We've stopped nursing and you handled the transition just fine. At bedtime we sit in the rocking chair while we read books, then we sing songs while we snuggle. You would lay with you head tucked into the crook of my neck all night if I let you. I mourned the loss of our breastfeeding bond but this special time has been a wonderful replacement. I am so glad you are such a cuddler, it is the best time of day. As I sat and rocked with you the other night I felt tears prick my eyes as I thought about what an incredible gift you are. I sat and prayed that you would always know that you are worthy of love and belonging. You will make mistakes but they will never define you and this family will always be here to welcome you home. I pray that your life will be rich with kindness, peace, and generosity, that you will always be grateful for what you have and know that you are enough.
xoxo,
Your loving mama
Friday, July 8, 2016
4th of July In the Gig
Ty and I have spent quite a few 4th of July's in Gig Harbor and it is one of the reasons I wanted to move here. Down on Horsehead Bay the families that live on the water put on a firework show as good as any professional one you'll find. No crowds. Just a few families sitting in chairs on the beach. It is the perfect way to celebrate 4th of July in my book. This year we let the kids stay up late and they had a blast watching the show. We spent the day at home and let the boys try out a few sparklers and small fireworks, which they loved. I always feel accomplished on holidays when I get good photos and I'm thrilled with the ones I got. A great day all around.
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