Tuesday, September 17, 2013


My baby girl is three.

I don't even know where to begin.

In some ways, I feel as if I've come to the finish line of a race.  Like when our babies turn three, we should be handed a ribbon (or at least a participation certificate) and congratulated on surviving baby and toddlerhood.  Only it's a race that dumps off at the beginning of another race, like, "Surprise!  You finished the marathon!  There's another one here! No time to explain!  Your big girl is climbing on that chair to try to cook her own grilled cheese!  RUN RUN RUN!"

And just like when I run, I feel GOOD about parenting a baby.  I'm GLAD I parented her as a toddler.  I have the fondest memories of the past three years.

And just like when I run, I'm glad it's over.

Am I sad that she's growing up, that the time is going so fast, that it's slipping away?  Yes?  Sometimes I miss the days of holding my biggest girl in my arms and staring her in the eyes and the two of us being each other's entire world.

But the world is bigger than that now, and really she knows it better than I do.  And as much as I love staring into her eyes, staring out at the world with her hand in mine might be even better.

Sometimes I call BG my mini-me because of her big feelings and her tendency to take on some of my mannerisms and to mother everyone.  But she isn't me, really. She is her own little person and at three nothing could be more evident.

My sweet three year old daughter. My baby girl.  The one who taught me how to be a mother, who broke me down and rebuilt me, who looks at the world with wonder and awe, who hugs strangers, who kisses her baby sister's fuzzy head every night, who knows exactly what she wants and doesn't want, who dances and plays and sings, who wants a stage and a microphone.

You, my sweet biggest girl, are three. And I don't want to fast forward or rewind or even pause really.

I'm just so glad to be part of your show.

Friday, September 6, 2013

How have I been?

I've been taking the meds.  I've been processing.  I've been parenting.

I've been slowing down.

I've been snapping at my kids and my husband less.  Less.  I'm still human.

I've been cleaning my house a little more.  A little.

I've been crying kind of a lot.  I've been having a lot of feelings and somehow it seems like as some of the fog is lifting, as some of the "OMG I just can't do this, I give up at life" has been easing, the real and valid feelings of hard have been coming to the surface one at a time.  And instead of running from those feelings and beating myself up and trying to please and perfect and perform, I've been sitting with them.  And it sucks a little.  But the only way out is through.

I've been kind of lonely.  With the cyclical nature of my mom's club activity, I seem to have fallen into a period of a few weeks when there's just nothing to take my kids to.  And honestly lately even when I do, I don't feel safe and warm and comfortable and in anymore.  I feel other and outside.  I'm not sure why.

I've been giving myself a little more credit for all the things I do around here, for all the ways in which I am actually a pretty good parent.  I've been realizing how aware I am, how hard I work, how much I give to my kids even when it feels like all we did is sit around and do nothing.

I've been writing more.  Not here, clearly, but in my journals.  I've been making myself write at least 3 morning pages every day to process all the junk that I've been pushing down and trying to get rid of.

I've been tired.  And since my thyroid and iron labs came back normal, I think we're back to my theory that the root cause of the fatigue is the chronic sleep deprivation.

I've been trying to unplug more.  To just let the Internet go, and stop worrying about missing something or being left behind, or filling all the uncomfortable space and quiet with useless busy-ness.  I have not necessarily been succeeding at this.

I've been trying to remember how to play, what it means to have fun, to do something with my free time other than completely zoning out.  I've been beating myself up about this a little.  I've been trying not to.

I've been a little flat sometimes, and almost numb.  I've been wondering if that's how I'm supposed to feel.  I've been doubting and questioning myself a little.  Not really trusting my feelings as much as I used to.

I've been better.  Well,  not better.   Easier.  Gentler.  Softer.  Healing.

I've been looking for something.  Truth, authenticity, purpose, belonging.  Something to fill some of the holes.

I've been here.