Dirt.

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After you have a baby (or two) everyone is eager to know how you’re doing in this new phase of life.

“How are you?”

“How’s the baby?”

“Are you getting any sleep?”

Before kids, I would ask these same questions of friends or co-workers. As I morphed into a Mother and ended up on the receiving end of these questions, I realized that I was just giving people the answer they wanted to hear.

“We’re good. She’s such a great baby. It’s an adjustment but we are so in love with our family.”

Then, as the weeks tick by, people stop caring, stop inquiring and go back to their lives and leave you to yours.

I recently was asked one of those inquisitive questions, and it caught me off guard.

“So, how is life with two kids?”

I gave my patented, knee-jerk response of, “It’s been a transition, but we’re good. We’re lucky to have such great kids.”

As I digested this exchange later on that evening, it became apparent what a load of bullshit that was. Continue reading

When you hand someone a tissue…

  
When you hand someone a tissue you’re saying “I’m sorry. You’re struggling with something right now, and I get that.”

When you hand someone a tissue, you’re telling them that it’s OK to cry. It’s OK to feel. It’s OK to come unglued.

When you hand someone a tissue you’re saying “I’m here for you, however you may need me. Whether in the form of a hug, a pat on the back or through the simplicity of silent understanding.”

When you hand someone a tissue you’re asking “how can I help?” And maybe you can’t, but sometimes the knowledge that someone, anyone, is there and has your back can make a world of difference. 

When you hand someone a tissue you’re telling them that they’re not alone. Their grief can be shared, their burden can be distributed onto your shoulders if they so desire. You’re telling them that this may be a low point, this may tear your heart into shreds, but I will help you rise again. I have the glue to help you put the pieces back together.

When you hand someone a tissue it’s because you can see their turmoil. Youre saying “you don’t need to conceal your pain any longer, because I am here to share the weight.”

When you hand someone a tissue you’re saying “I love you. I care. You will get through this. Certainly not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but you will find your feet again and learn how to stand on your own again.”

When someone hands you a tissue, that tissue speaks the words that don’t necessarily need to be said. A tissue doesn’t require a response; not even a thank you. It’s understood. A tissue is like a contract.

I love you. Here’s a tissue. 

Until next time…

Flexibility.

I always find it mildly depressing to take down the tree and put away all of our decorations after another fun filled Christmas. No, wait a minute. That’s a lie. I adore cleaning up decorations. I despise clutter and adding decorations to our home makes me slightly anxious. So sue me.

I do love the Holidays and the time spent with family or whatever it is you chose to do with your time off, but I also relish the first Monday back to work, back to reality and back to our routine.  

Continue reading

 It takes a village

Well, another Holiday season has come and gone, leaving me with a horrible hangover; the kind you get from sleeping in late, being cooked breakfast, eating way too much rich food and enjoying a lot of help. 

The reality check after a week visiting family is a harsh one. The kind that makes you want to cry as you try to adjust to juggling a screaming toddler in one arm while you try to rock the overtired baby to sleep in the other. All while your husband is taking a very inconvenient “bathroom break” and has locked the door because he’s legitimately worried that you will follow through with your threats to bust in on his gassy ass one of these days.

After the arrival of Mackenzie, Chris and I truly started to understand why people say ‘it takes a village’ to raise your kids. It does; there’s no denying that. Problem being, our village lives a veryyyyy far ways away. Very far. Very, very far. Like in Narnia.

When we go down South to visit our families, we get to experience a taste of this ‘village’ people speak of. Someone to cook dinner because you’re nursing the newborn for the 50th time that day (can someone say growth spurt?), or to bathe the toddler (yup, cause you’re still nursing), or to take the baby who just launched into a full blown verbal assault for no clear reason.

I packed a book in my bag…. A fucking book! Didn’t read a single page, but the option was there, and that’s a beautiful thing.

  
So what’s the issue? I’ll tell you; we got comfortable. Too comfortable. We settled into the routine of Nana working through the challenges of breakfast (yup, even we have resorted to the ‘airplane’ spoon technique), and Auntie coaching her through teeth brushing and reading bedtime stories. We settled into comfy spots on the couch and enjoyed luxury time just doing nothing. It was 6 days of pure bliss.

  
Then our vacation ended. We had to fly home with two tired, spoiled little girls and very quickly realized that it was just us again. Bath time is a bit of a tango. Dinner time is anything but seamless. Bedtime can be a small shit show, and is most of the time. And we are effing tired at the end of it all.

Turns out that raising a family miles away from any family is fucking hard; some may even say stupid. Parents get sick too, and it’s quite challenging to take care of two tiny kids when you are afraid to go farther than five feet from the bathroom (personal experience here….). 

There are some days when you just need to take a serious 5 and pretend like you don’t have responsibilities for a bit. But your husband’s at work and it’s seriously frowned upon to let the toddler ‘babysit’ her 2 month old sister while you have a cocktail. Sometimes we’d really like to drop the kids off at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a couple of hours so that we can ‘fool around’ without the baby waking up or just take a fucking nap. But that isn’t an option.

We miss our village. A lot. Sometimes it seems really unfair that we don’t have our village to lean on… But then again, we chose this life and chose to live up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles and miles of dirt and other shit.

Tomorrow is Monday, which marks the start of a fun game we play, called “when will Mommy snap this week?” Odds are I won’t make it until Friday… I’ll probably be surviving on triple shot Espressos and late night wine binges by Wednesday. 

I miss my Mommy.

Until next time…..

  

Fake it ’till you make it.

2015-11-28 17.29.33Well, believe it or not, it’s been a month and a half since Mackenzie’s dramatic entrance into the world (how yah holding up vajay?) The first 2 weeks was a lot of recovering from the physical turmoil that labour left behind, and adjusting to life with a newborn, for all three of us. Luckily my amazing mother-in-law was here for us for a week and a half after Mac was born to help us ease into life as a family of 4.

But then she left.

Reality hit like a fucking semi-truck; and the reality is, life with two kids, is a nightmare.

I know, it sounds harsh; and maybe it is a touch on the dramatic side. But give me a chance to plead my case.

Since Mackenzie’s arrival, I’ve been dancing the fine line of barely holding it together, and crumbling into a pile of utter failure. Continue reading

Moooo-isery.

cow

I am sure the avid readers of this blog remember one of my first posts, back in the day with newborn Brooklyn, when I talked about nursing and all the glory that accompanies that part of motherhood. Feel free to refresh your memory and have a chuckle at my expense (and that of my poor, lowly breasts.)

Well, entering into postpartum round two, as stoked as I was (sarcasm) for all the fun times that lay ahead, I felt like I was ready to tackle the first few days of nursing and all the high and lows that were sure to come my way.  Continue reading