Parenting, Personal

Preschool: This is How It Starts

Today, I took you to school for the first time. I was nervous about how you would do. Would you protest when I tried to leave without you? Would you cry when I was no longer in your eyesight? Will you make friends, be kind, and always try your best? (Spoiler alert: you did great!)

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The thought of sending you off into the world is crushing. But each moment since we brought you home has inched us closer and closer to this. From here on out you will need me less than you did the day before. But I know you’re ready, even if I’m not. After spending every day together for the last three years, what parent could ever truly be ready for this?

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I’ve learned that while you may feel like you’re mine, the truth is that you never really were. You are meant to be shared with the world, to be your own unique person with dreams that far exceed any dreams I could ever possibly have for you.

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So on this day as I leave you in a classroom for the very first time, I promise you I will always be your home base. I will always be in your corner. And I will always believe in you.

Loving you is the easiest thing in the world.

"Someday, I'll miss this."
Parenting

“Someday, I’ll miss this.”

I recently stumbled upon a journal entry I wrote when Calvin was about two months old. He’s now nearly two and a half, and as his giggles ring through the hallways, and I hear him repeat the same question over and over, all I can say is: I was right. I do miss it, and someday I’ll miss this, too.

Someday, I’ll miss this.

That is my mantra as I learn to weather the storm of motherhood. It started when I was pregnant, when I’d be woken in the middle of the night by heartburn that felt like battery acid, and sciatic pain that jolted down my legs. The feeling of his kicks against my spleen and his head resting on my bladder. And the weight that piled on despite the promises I made to myself. I’d whisper to myself, “Someday, I’ll miss this”.

When I took a tumble at 36 weeks and ended up with a sprained ankle and a fractured elbow, and I was a waddling belly with a limp and a sling. But I knew even then, despite how miserable I felt, that one day I would wish it all back.

Now, as we’ve passed through the first weeks and months of his life, and I sit packing up newborn clothes that once hung off his limbs and are now to snug to pull over his head, I’m reminded again that my mantra holds true. I was right. I miss it. I miss it all. The frustration I felt while trying to breastfeed, the overwhelming fear I felt when he’d spit up and I was certain he would choke, and the first time when I fearfully strapped him into his car seat for an adventure that was just for the two of us.

And as we’ve entered the next phase of babyhood, I remind myself that someday I’ll miss this batch of trials and triumphs, too. I’ll miss his late night cries, that only I can sooth. The midnight car rides to ease him into a deep sleep. The worry that consumes my every decision and how it may impact his future.

Someday, I’ll miss this. Yes, even this. Because time moves at a different pace once you become a parent. That even the most challenging and frustrating aspects of raising a child are things that you will yearn for down the road. You’ll wish you could hit the rewind button and do it all again, even the not-so-fun stuff. Because the not-so-fun stuff makes the smiles, coos, and cuddles all worth it. And for me, thinking of missing those things is too much to bear.

Someday, I’ll miss this. But someday is not today. Today, I will revel in motherhood and all it has to offer and savor each moment that I’ll never get back.

Parenting

My rainbow.

A year ago today, I saw those two pink lines that I desperately wanted, but also feared. The positive test that would mean I could finally be happy again, but in the back of my mind was the constant reminder that you could so easily be taken from me. It had been nearly three months since our loss, and I had been hoping with everything in me that this was it; and as luck would have it, it was.

Each day was a battle in my mind. Every twinge in my abdomen made my heart race, every trip to the bathroom was filled with anxiety, and every doctors visit was a hurdle.

I held my breath until I could hold you in my arms.

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I will always wonder about the baby we lost, and knowing that there is no way I could possibly have you both is both comforting and heartbreaking.

But I do know this: you are supposed to be here, my sweet boy.