An apology to my son

Dear Morrison,

I owe you an apology. And it’s for something of which I’m sure you have no notion nor will you ever have any recollection whatsoever. But I still feel I need to tell you, from my heart to yours.

I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good mama to you for much of your infancy. And yes, you’re only 9 months old so still in your infancy, but it’s mainly the earlier and mid-infancy months of which I speak.

I don’t think I’ve been the mama you deserve. Because you deserve the absolute very best, my sweet boy, and that has not always been me.

Don’t worry, I have loved you from the very second I knew I was pregnant with you, as you are my child and part of me. But there were times when I honestly did not like you very much. And trust me, it makes me feel terrible to even say that.

And the reason why makes me feel even worse, because it’s not just an “oh he’s crying, I don’t really like him right now” or “oh he’s not sleeping again, which I don’t really like” kind of not liking you. Although I’m sure the sleep deprivation didn’t really help matters. I really, truly didn’t like you, my very own son.

Because you were a boy.

And because I had wanted another girl and therefore thought I wasn’t capable of loving a little boy.

And that I couldn’t love a little boy as much as I love your sisters.

And that I wasn’t a “boy mom” and never could be.

I know, it’s absurd. I fully, 100% recognize and admit that fact. And that’s why feeling this way about you has eaten me up and made me feel like an absolute miserable parent. Who in their right mind would feel unable to love one of their own children as much as any others for any reason?

Me. And I’m more sorry than you will ever know.

But for some reason, over the past month or so, this feeling has lifted. All of a sudden one weekend I had so much fun with you and realized how utterly idiotic I had been feeling and probably acting. For although I never treated you poorly or worse than your sisters or badly or anything like that, I felt like I was subconsciously doing so due to my irrational mind-set.

It’s totally stupid, I know, believe me. Because I love you with my whole heart and soul, just as I do your sisters. And I never ever want anything less than the best possible things in life for each and every one of you. That I’ve always known.

And now I also know that there’s no such thing as a “boy mom” or a “girl mom.” There is simply mom. And I am one.

I’m yours. And I’m your sisters’.

And I am positively the best mama there ever could be for you. I promise to keep acting like it, now that I’ve finally started.

So please forgive me, my dear baby boy. You are my little lovebug. You always have been and you always will be.

 

Love,

Mama

 

IMG_6986

20160313_154618

 

Reprieve

It’s been a long time since I posted about me. I still want to get a “life with 3” post up here soon, but that’s not this one.

I just want to write about how incredibly thrilled I am that this December is, so far, turning out to feel nothing like December. I do love a white Christmas and all, but that’s about all the winter I want anymore. And the bitter, below-zero cold I can do without all together.

The worst part for me, though, is the darkness. I hate, nay, despise, loathe the dark winter days that creep in. This started the year Lana was born. Having a hard, fussy newborn in those shortening, cold dark days was miserable. I think it gave me late-onset seasonal affective disorder. For real. It’s dark when we wake, it’s dark well before dinner, and if it’s cloudy, forget it – it’s dark all damn day.

But this season has felt so great! I know for sure it has to do with our weather being so mild this late on the calendar. I’m still walking Della to school, which I know stopped long before this point last year. Granted I was pregnant and feeling awful in the first trimester, so that had much to do with it, but still. I’m not even minding the darkness at all this year. Or the fact that Morrison is the world’s worst night sleeper and I’m turning into a total zombie. But that’s a whole other story…

And the best part? There are only 10 more days until they start getting longer again! MORE LIGHT!!! I love it. I think my SAD has been skipped for this year. Thank god.

Almost 4 no more

Seeing as #3 could easily arrive any day now, I wanted to get at least 1 non-pregnancy-update post down before that happens.

Knowing our third child might be here momentarily, I’ve been trying to savor these last few days with just the 2 girls as much as possible. Watching each of them as they play and do whatever it is they’re doing alone. Usually that’s Lana setting up tiny tea parties and Della coloring. I’m just soaking up their respective essences even more so than usual as much as I can.

Today we spent the afternoon and evening across the street at our neighbors’ house for a little Memorial Day BBQ, so the girls didn’t have naps. Of course this is no big deal for D, but poor L was exhausted by about 6. She had a little meltdown at the end of our stay, which prompted our departure. I knew she was just beyond tired and there was nothing we could do about it, so as soon as we got home I got her in pj’s, brushed teeth, got her diaper on, and got her ready for bed. All the while with her screaming hysterically at me for no reason whatsoever other than that’s all she knew how to do at that point.

I darkened their room, turned the music and nightlights on, and sat down with her to rock. Within minutes her frantic thumb sucking slowed, her mile-long eyelashes were down permanently, her breathing slowed, and she even let out a couple little sleep squeaks that assured me she was out cold. I knew that was all it would take, but I kept rocking anyway.

I smelled her hair, watched her beautiful little face, cradled her tiny body, and loved every second. I don’t rock the girls often anymore, but I knew this one was special. It’s beyond rare that she’s tired enough to ever fall asleep in my lap, let alone while she’s still the baby. Della even came in at one point and asked why we were rocking so long. Finally, after about 10 minutes, I stood up and laid her gently in bed, tucking her in and giving those sweet baby cheeks a kiss.

Then I came out and colored with Della in her Hello Kitty coloring book. It’s been her favorite lately, and every night she’s a coloring machine. It’s one of those color wonder books where the markers are essentially clear and only show up on that particular paper, which I absolutely love. I don’t have to worry about it getting all over her or her clothes or the couch or the floor. So we took turns coloring a couple pictures, and I just loved watching her enchanted by the pages. She’s such a smart and wonderful kid, it warms my heart to be with her. I sometimes feel like I don’t spend enough one-on-one time with her, so I adore that she wants me to color with her these nights. I watched her concentrate and played with her pigtails, curly from all her playing today.

After coloring, she read a couple books with Ryan, another one of her favorite activities. She is getting so good at reading, it amazes me. When I put her to bed I didn’t mind at all giving her the extra back rubs and resting leg pats I do that she requested. Her yawns and sleepy eyes told me that she is probably well on her way to the land of nod already. I’ll go in and give them both one more tuck in and kiss before I go to bed. I still find nothing better than watching my beautiful children sleep. Ever since day 1.

With the impending arrival of #3, I am much less worried about “sharing” my love than I was when Lana was about to be born. I now know that the love in my heart for my children automatically increases exponentially as soon as they are born, so any fear that I couldn’t possibly love another as much as who we already have is completely unfounded. That hasn’t even been a thought in my mind this time around. In fact, I’m actually excited to see just how much I can love all 3 at once. And I know watching the girls with their little brother or sister is going to be magical. So in that respect, there’s a level of calm surrounding this coming birth that is nice.

I have made no bones about the fact that I would love to have another girl this time around, which is one thing I never said with the first 2. When we started having kids I always wanted a little girl, but as long as they were healthy, that’s all that mattered to me. But now that we have 2 incredible little girls, a third would just be so easy – we have all the girl clothes and the girl stuff and I know little girls. I know nothing about raising little boys. And I’m fearful that I’d be a terrible little boy mom, because I hear they’re constant balls of energy and movement and we all know I tend to be lazy. I mean less energetic than is probably necessary for a little boy at this point. Right.

So since that is out there in the universe, I’m sure #3 will be a boy. Who I will of course love from the start and make everything I just said sound utterly ridiculous. But that’s what babies do – turn your world upside down and prove just how much you can love. And quite often prove you entirely wrong when you’re just starting to think you know what you’re talking about and doing.

I think that’s about it. All the thoughts I’ve had running around in my head that I wanted to get down before #3 is here. Because once he/she is, my time on these pages I’m sure will be even more limited than it is now. But things here are in pretty good shape for baby’s arrival, too. The girls’ swing set is sanded, stained, and in place; this week I cleaned the entire house in preparation; this morning I cleaned up part of the garage, got the infant car seat adapter hooked onto the stroller, and steamed the floors; so now we’re just waiting. We do still need to pick names, but I’m sure we’ll get that done.

We’re almost 4 no more. And I pray that we thrive as a family of 5.

IMG_6360

 

The races are over!

Last Saturday was my final race of this running season, the Brewers Mini-Marathon and 10k. Thank heavens I chose correctly for once and did the 10k, because there’s no way I could have done another half marathon.

It started and ended at Miller Park, and the course was surprisingly much harder than I anticipated. Since when does Milwaukee, and specifically the Miller Valley, have hills? There were spots where I honestly thought I was going to have to walk or just give up the race all together.

But I pushed on, just slowing down when I felt the urge to stop. I refused to look at either the mile marker signs or my watch, because I didn’t want to know how much misery I had left. Somewhere in the last mile I actually grabbed a cup at the water station to rinse out my mouth, and of course it was Gatorade, not water. Talk about a terrible surprise! I about choked on it, which only added to the full-body pain I was feeling by that time.

I have no idea why that run was so hard, either. 6.2 miles is not a long distance for me anymore, especially after the 12-mile training runs I had to do earlier this spring. I don’t know if it’s the additional 4 miles I walk daily taking Della to and from school now or what. But from somewhere in the very first mile until the end, every single step was a nightmare.

The only time my spirits lifted was when we ran around the warning track inside the stadium. There were 2 reasons for this – I saw friends cheering for me who I had no idea were going to be in there (in all fairness they were there cheering for someone else, but they rooted me on as i ran by. still felt good to hear my name, though), and I knew those ending flags were almost in sight.

After practically limping across the finish line, I finally checked my watch. And I about fainted.

From shock, not pain.

49:33! (my official time ended up being 49:32)

I absolutely could not believe it. I had kind of a tiered goal time going into this race – I definitely wanted to break 54:00, which would be roughly 9:00/mile pace; I really, really wanted to break 52:00; and in my deepest heart of hearts I would be ecstatic to break 50:00.

So to see 49-anything as my finishing time just blew me away. I killed it.

I was so happy! And I was done! And I needed to get some water immediately before I died! And I needed to keep walking so my distressed legs didn’t completely cramp up on me and render me a giant heap in the finishers’ chute! And I needed to get to the beer tent!

I ran this race with a group of friends, and that part was so much fun. Actually having others to watch for, cheer on, and meet up with was a blast. All the racers got a couple free Miller Lites afterwards, and I said that beer has never tasted so good.

Thankfully I was smart enough to bring a full change of clothes this time, so I was able to enjoy my beverages relatively sweat free. The forecast that morning had called for rain and thunderstorms, so I was anticipating being totally drenched with water, not just sweat. Either way, the spare clothes I had in my gear bag added to my post-race glee.

So, my friends, my D&L stroller training team paid off in spades this summer. I was beyond thrilled with all 3 of my race times, and all for varying distances, too, which was a first for me – a 23:00 5k, a 1:57 half marathon, and a 49:00 10k. Success!

Now I can just kick back and run for pure enjoyment and exercise. I took this whole week off from running, and it felt wonderful. Like I said, I walk so much now to school and back twice, I almost feel like that’s enough. But I should definitely get a little more pavement pounding in before the frigid air traps me inside this winter. At least I can just stick to my preferred 5k route now, not worrying about getting any specific distances in.

And here is what it looks like to happily close out a very productive running season:

Jrace

 

 

 

An answer, but still questions

I’ve finally figured out what’s been making me so ill at ease about this whole school thing with Della. It’s not the school or the teachers or the kids or their parents or the logistics or any of that.

It’s 100% me.

For pretty much as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt different than everyone else. And I’ve never known why. Still to this day, I have no idea what causes these feelings.

I don’t know if it was growing up with such a weird name (if anyone can tell me how to pronounce Picl, i’ll give you a hug), always being so much younger than the rest of my classmates (i would have been young for my grade with a may birthday anyway, but then i skipped a grade on top of that), always being a “smart kid” (though my friends were always smart and got good grades, too, so that was definitely not unique to me), or what, but I always felt like there was just something weird about me. I was different somehow.

In my mind, anyway.

No one ever bullied me or told me they didn’t like me or I couldn’t join them or they wanted me to go away, but I always felt like I didn’t quite fit in. Like I was always kind of the odd girl out. Like just a little bit I didn’t belong. Like people were always talking about me or somehow making fun of me.

I was never really the one everyone asked to do stuff with or be in their group or come to their party or go with them wherever, but I certainly wasn’t shunned either. I was much more of a homebody anyway, preferring to stay home with my family on the weekends instead of being at every party thrown around school, so that actually suited me just fine.

I always had good groups of friends growing up, too, so that even confounds me more as to from where these feelings stem. I don’t think I ever didn’t fit in, that’s the strange part. At least no one blatantly told me I didn’t, anyway.

I still kind of get a surge of this same feeling today, especially in new group situations. I’m a pretty shy person until I know you, then you usually can’t get me to shut up, so if I’m in a group setting where I know no one, I tend to be by myself, a little removed, waiting for an invitation in. It’s much less so than when I was a kid, but I can still feel it a little sometimes.

And it is exactly this that I never want our daughters to experience. I’m sure every kid is shy sometimes and may take a little while to warm up to new faces and places, but I never want them feeling left out or weird or different in a bad way. Because they aren’t.

They are the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing people I know, and it makes my heart ache just thinking that they might feel these same emotions of mine someday. So I really hope they never do. I want them to love being in school with new friends and doing new things and learning new lessons and ideas.

Unfortunately, being clueless as to what causes this in me, I’m not sure how to prevent it from churning in them as well. But I’m hell-bent on doing my best.

Oh, my legs

This past Saturday I ran my first half marathon. And my last.

I’d been toying with the idea of trying one for a couple years, but I’ve never had the time to dedicate to training for one until now. So a few months ago I signed up and started running.

And running and running and running.

I did almost all of my runs with the girls in the stroller, which I think really helped. It toned my arms, anyway. I didn’t follow any set training program, I just kind of made up my own – 1 long, 1 medium, and 1 short run per week.

People kept asking what my goal time was, and I was like, dudes, I never run this far. I just want to finish the thing. Double digit running isn’t quite my specialty. Or that enjoyable.

I finally got a secret goal time in my head of 1:57, because that was right about 9-minute-mile pace, something I never thought would be possible for me for 13.1 miles. I did my long runs with the full stroller at around a 10-minute-mile pace, so 9 minute miles sounded way faster than what I could do. But that was the number that kept popping into my head anyway.

So Saturday morning I got up with the birds, filled up my Camelbak, put my headphones on, lined up in Corral J, and took off with the herd. The first 8ish miles felt pretty good, and I could honestly tell that I was pushing myself harder than normal.

Then we went down a huge hill and started heading toward the finish area, which I thought would be a good thing, but miles 9 and 10 were miserable. I truly felt that I wasn’t going to make it to the end, then that made me mad because I thought oh great, I wasted all that time training for this and now I’m not even going to finish without walking.

But I never walked, and miles 11 to the end actually felt much better. I just started making myself go as fast as I could, because I knew I’d never be doing this again. I literally had the phrase “I never have to do this again!” running through my head, forcing me to sprint to the end.

So, how did my final time compare to that goal time that I thought was completely unattainable?

1:57:12

Boom.

Nailed it.

And now I never have to run that far ever again. Whew.

IMG_0690

my training partners extraordinaire. we’ll keep running together for sure, just not for hours at a time, thankfully.

 

 

Thirty-five

I turn 35 years old today, and here is how I feel about that:

IMG_3549

(my hair is wet, fresh from a shower, not greasy, i swear)

I am definitely not excited about being halfway through my 30s, and I certainly don’t enjoy saying I’m in my mid-30s. This whole aging thing can suck it. Blech.

However, I do love my life right now, and I’m still carrying that good feeling I had about 2014 this far into the year, so maybe 35 isn’t going to be so bad after all? Or maybe I’m just telling myself that to stave off the depression of getting older?

But either way, Happy Birthday to me!

IMG_3555

For a fun little comparison, here is me at 25. Not the best picture, but the only decent one from my birthday that year. Think I’ve aged well? If not, well then just keep that little gem to yourself…

IMG_5458