The Burden of Motherhood

Everyone is sleeping, and except for the roar of the dishwasher, the house is silent. Although I should crawl into bed myself, I can't escape my mind tonight. Today at work I learned that one of our interns, a recent college graduate, lost his life this weekend. It was a tragic accident, completely unpredictable and there is no one to blame. There's no answer as to why it happened, but even if there was, I don't think it would matter.

Even with the few interactions I had with him over the course of the last year, I knew that he was a wonderful person, respectful, hard working, full of integrity. I wonder about his life outside of work...did he get to experience happiness? Was he excited about life when he woke up each morning? Would he have chosen a different path if he knew that his life would be cut short?

My body aches for his parents. How will they ever come to terms with the fact that they won't be able to hold their son again? Hear his laugh? Look into his eyes?

I can't help but examine my own life and compare how I'm living to how I want to be living. How can I make the changes I desire but remain patient in the process?

As a mother, I can't push past thoughts of losing my own children. Imagining such a thing brings a paralyzing sadness over me. How do I ensure that Mae and Otto stay safe always? What can I do to guarantee that they are never taken from me? And, at the same time, how do I teach them to experience happiness? Feel excited about life each morning that they wake? Choose their paths knowing life is short?

These thoughts and worries are one of the great burdens of being a momma, a burden that I willingly carry knowing that the joy that comes with it, the deep love that comes with it, far outweighs the burden itself.

'i ask not for a lighter burden but for broader shoulders.' - jewish proverb

It's happening...

Slowly but surely, it's happening. Some days it's easy. But others, it's much more difficult that I thought it would be. Sometimes it happens with someone that I know. Other times it happens with strangers. That was the case today.

I took the day off from work to hang out with Otto today. He started coughing this weekend and wasn't napping or sleeping well, so I thought some quiet, one-on-one time might help him kick his cough to the curb. He slept in and took a longer-than-usual morning nap. When he woke up, I needed to run a quick errand to make a deposit at the bank. I had a bunch of coins, so we went inside, rather than just pulling up. Of course the tellers (all women), swooned over Otto. He's (in my completely biased opinion) adorable and has the biggest grin and bluest eyes you could ever ask for. I knew the question was coming. It always does, and it did with Mae, too. It's the natural thing to ask when you're talking to strangers about their baby..."How old is he?"

It is in that moment where I have to make a decision. How will I react when they react? Will I be an advocate? Will I use this moment as an opportunity to teach?

Today, Otto is nine months and two days old. He weighs 14 pounds, is 24 inches tall and wears 3-6 month clothing.

When I answer the question (with just a simple "nine months"), I see the wheels spinning in the teller's head. I'm sure in her line of work she sees a lot of babies. I'd venture to guess she asks many parents the ages of their children. She might even have a child of her own. Maybe she has a son that's also nine months old. Whatever the case, once I speak, she searches her mind for an answer, but doesn't say a word. In fact, that's the end of the conversation. It usually is, unless I choose to offer an explanation about why his age and size don't quite add up.

And so, it's happening. The world is starting to notice Otto's differences, starting to compare him to other children. Today, it happened with a stranger and it was hard. Not because the bank teller was rude or wrong to strike up a conversation with me. But because...because. My hope is that, in those instances, especially when it feels difficult for me, that I'll choose to continue the conversation, to be an advocate, to educate the world about how wonderful our babies are no matter how "average" or "different" they are.

best buds.

This post was written on April 13, 2015 and edited and published today. :) 

Choosing My Path

At the end of 2014, I realized that I'm not happy with where I am professionally. I've been mulling through feelings of discontent for three months, and for some reason, I still feel like I'm floating mid-air and can't figure out where I want to land, which path to choose.

I see myself as an influential leader in business: taking charge in meetings, juggling projects, and making change happen. I want to be that go-to person that co-workers come to when they need help problem-solving and making decisions. I want to manage my day and help others manage theirs. I know I can do this because I've done it before.

I also see myself as a stay-at-home mom: waking up while everyone else in the house is asleep and starting my day with a hard run; making breakfast for my family and kissing my husband good-bye as he heads off to work; drinking coffee all morning with my kids while we read books, craft, and play; meeting up with other stay-at-home mommas for walks and talks. The list could go on and on.

The truth is, I'm unsure of how plausible either of these dreams are for the near future, and I'm scared that the longer I wait to turn one of them into reality, the more willing I'll be to let go of both and settle into life as-is. So...let the encouraging self-talk begin, let the worry fade, and let me choose my path, fearlessly.

image via Instagram from @sewcrazylo

Three Things I Didn't Expect to Learn in 2014 (Part III)

Achondro...what?

I've had this post sitting in my draft folder for over a week, and honestly, I don't even know how to start. For some reason I've felt like I need to convey EVERYTHING I've learned about achondroplasia this year. Or that I need to tell a detailed story about how we ultimately found out that Otto had dwarfism. But, today I realized that I don't. I'm sure over time I'll come to share those things, but not now.

Today, I simply want to say that six months ago I learned that hearing my son cry in the delivery room was one of the greatest sounds in the world. I never expected to feel so completely happy and at peace when I heard his first screams.

I learned a lot [A LOT!] about achondroplasia and its medical "complications" and special considerations in 2014, but I think what I really learned is that some of life's best lessons are those least expected.

and then there were four...