When I was a kid, I remember my mom being patient, loving, and fun. She would make Chef Boyardee pizzas in the shape of a whale or a big foot. She would always sing in the car even if she did not know the words. My siblings and I were not angels, so she could show us her no nonsense side, too. There is one thing that sticks out in my memory. Something that would change her into a cranky, annoyed woman I barely recognized: chain letters. She would open an envelope, start reading, and then her face would scrunch up. I'd ask what her letter said. With her mouth still all puckered up and pissed off, she would tell me how she hated chain letters. Why would someone take the time to write this and mail it out, and then say bad things would happened if the chain was broken? The letter would go in the trash, and I think she secretly wished she could analyze the handwriting to figure out who sent it. Then, chain letters turned into chain emails. Now, Facebook has chain posts. There are chain text messages. Let me tell you right now, do not send those to her (or me, must be genetic), because that chain will end.
The reason I thought of this was because the other night, my daughters went to bed. I told them they could play on their iPads for a little while before lights out. My nine year old walks into my bedroom about ten minutes later. She has tears in her eyes. My husband and I both asked what was wrong. She says, "I got a text that said if I sent it to 10 people I would have good luck. If I didn't, bad things would start happening. I just now saw the message, but it was sent to me three hours ago..." We pulled her up in between us. Ok, it was hard not to laugh, but she really thought the fate of the world was in her hands. I hugged her and explained that those are just words and a total waste of time. The friend who sent it meant no harm and was just playing along, so I am not upset it happened. I explained to her that these kind of things have been around forever, and I told her how her Nana could not stand it when she would get one. Pretty sure I even scrunched up my face and did my best annoyed-Nana imitation. It did not take long to convince her that she was not responsible for any bad things happening if she broke the chain. A big hug and a kiss later, she was smiling and heading back to bed.
I think the reason this is still on my mind several days later is because of the concern she had on her face. She genuinely felt it was her job to save those doomed to suffer from a broken chain message. With everything flying at our kids today, we forget we are not the only influence they take to heart. Make sure your children, and even yourself, know that they are not the keeper of other people's fate. I want my girls to know they are in charge of their direction in life, and others have to make their own decision on how to make good luck or bad things happen. Don't blame that flat tire or bad haircut on the fact you did not forward that email to 10 people. That's karma, and that I do believe in.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Sunday, May 10, 2015
To my mommy, mom/mommy, mom, mom/friend
Everyone has a mother. Don't get all technical or start talking about weird sea creatures that change gender to fertilize themselves. We all have a woman that carried us in her body until the time of our birth. I often say I forget that not all moms are like mine. Not only has she nurtured me and my three siblings and watched us grow, we have done the same with her. As an adult, you can turn around and look at your mom and see how she has changed throughout your life. She starts out as your mommy. She feeds you, dresses you, bathes you, changes your diaper, comforts you when you cry, and corrects you when you make mistakes. Before you know it, she's a mom/mommy whom has taught you to feed and dress yourself, tells you to go take a shower, hopes some of those corrections are leading you in the right way, and she still comforts you when you cry but is teaching you how to deal with life. Then, she is a mom. She hopes of you are eating healthy. She hopes your clothes are appropriate, tasteful, and that you look great in them. She no longer has to tell you to shower because you are a responsible adult that learned body odor gets you nowhere. Corrections give way to her being supportive of your decisions even when you can see on her face what she really thinks. She is still there to comfort you when you cry, but you don't always come to her first anymore. Then, you come to a point where she is still your mom, but now she is more a mom/friend. You take her to lunch. You compliment her outfits when she looks great. You never tell her to go wash up because she looks so put together. You give each other advice and value what the other thinks. Sometimes, you get to be the one that comforts her when she cries. Getting to that point in your life solidifies that she did her job, and she did it better than anyone could have done.
Happy Mother's Day to my mom, my sisters (who are also amazing moms), my friends (cool moms), and all the other positive, strong women in my life who treated me like they were my mom at some point in my life. I love you all so much.
Happy Mother's Day to my mom, my sisters (who are also amazing moms), my friends (cool moms), and all the other positive, strong women in my life who treated me like they were my mom at some point in my life. I love you all so much.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Time flies when you're having cancer
A friend reminded me tonight that I had/have a blog. I actually started it January 2, 2013. My last post was in October 2013. I am not sure why I quit blogging. Maybe because everyone started blogging. Maybe because I could not make money from the comforts of my couch blogging. But, my friend posted one of my old blogs to her Facebook wall tonight. I read it, and I will humbly say I enjoyed it. If there has ever been a year to chronicle my life, 2014 should have been it. I thought 2012 sucked! We had no idea where things were headed...
If you look at my Facebook page for 2014, it looks a bit schizophrenic. From January to mid-May, it looks like one person's life, then it looks like another personality took over. The posts are different. Some of the people in the pictures are transformed into unfamiliar faces (that would be me). And, there are more pictures with a hospital for a backdrop than an episode of, "ER." So, let me begin.
May 9th, 2014, a lovely Friday evening, and I was meeting up with a group of people from high school. We were having a pre-class reunion, "meeting," since our 25th reunion was that summer. We had drinks, got reacquainted with those we had not seen for years, and had a nice time. We said our good-byes, and planned to meet up again before the reunion. That was one of the last normal days in my life. I woke up the next day, and had this sore in my mouth. It hurt like hell, and I could not figure out where it came from. Every day from that day on, something new happened. I would feel like I was getting a cold. I was feeling more fatigued every day. I would find bruises on my arms and legs and have no idea where they were coming from. Horrible sinus congestion and drainage, body aches, and then the low grade fever started. By Wednesday, I was in bed battling some virus. I went to a Minute Clinic on Saturday. They started me on an antibiotic and told me to call my doctor on Monday if I did not feel better. My best friend called Monday. "You need to go to the ER." I said, "I've already talked to my doc. They are going to see me at the end of the day." She was not happy I was waiting. Two minutes later, my husband comes into the room and says, "We need to take you to the ER." I looked at him and said, "BFF just called you to take me to the ER, didn't she?" He said yes. I insisted I shower first (it had been five days), so my husband stood at the bathroom door to make sure I did not fall. If he had not been there, I would have collapsed.
A trip to Community South's ER turned out much differently than I expected. We checked in and were quickly brought to triage (not a lot of action in the ER on a Monday at 1:00 pm). Then you see the first concerned, confused, twisted-up face of the day as they are looking at your vitals. I had a CT scan, peed in a few cups, and lots of blood taken. A nurse finally comes in and says my blood counts are very abnormal. She read me the results, and we just stared at each other. That, "I know that you know that I know these are really bad results," look. She said the doctor would be right in. My husband asks, "Do they think you have an infection in your blood?" I just looked at him and said, "No, they think I have leukemia." They were correct. The oncologist said I had acute myeloid leukemia. No biopsy required; the abnormal cells were clearly seen on the microscope. I was instructed to go home, eat dinner, and pack a bag. The cancer floor at another local hospital would have my room ready tonight, and I would be gone about a month.
I'm going to stop at this point because there is a lot more to say. However, if you have read any of my other blog posts, you will recognize my reference to a very large thing that picks you up, spins you around, and drops you on your face. I guess it happens more than once.
If you look at my Facebook page for 2014, it looks a bit schizophrenic. From January to mid-May, it looks like one person's life, then it looks like another personality took over. The posts are different. Some of the people in the pictures are transformed into unfamiliar faces (that would be me). And, there are more pictures with a hospital for a backdrop than an episode of, "ER." So, let me begin.
May 9th, 2014, a lovely Friday evening, and I was meeting up with a group of people from high school. We were having a pre-class reunion, "meeting," since our 25th reunion was that summer. We had drinks, got reacquainted with those we had not seen for years, and had a nice time. We said our good-byes, and planned to meet up again before the reunion. That was one of the last normal days in my life. I woke up the next day, and had this sore in my mouth. It hurt like hell, and I could not figure out where it came from. Every day from that day on, something new happened. I would feel like I was getting a cold. I was feeling more fatigued every day. I would find bruises on my arms and legs and have no idea where they were coming from. Horrible sinus congestion and drainage, body aches, and then the low grade fever started. By Wednesday, I was in bed battling some virus. I went to a Minute Clinic on Saturday. They started me on an antibiotic and told me to call my doctor on Monday if I did not feel better. My best friend called Monday. "You need to go to the ER." I said, "I've already talked to my doc. They are going to see me at the end of the day." She was not happy I was waiting. Two minutes later, my husband comes into the room and says, "We need to take you to the ER." I looked at him and said, "BFF just called you to take me to the ER, didn't she?" He said yes. I insisted I shower first (it had been five days), so my husband stood at the bathroom door to make sure I did not fall. If he had not been there, I would have collapsed.
A trip to Community South's ER turned out much differently than I expected. We checked in and were quickly brought to triage (not a lot of action in the ER on a Monday at 1:00 pm). Then you see the first concerned, confused, twisted-up face of the day as they are looking at your vitals. I had a CT scan, peed in a few cups, and lots of blood taken. A nurse finally comes in and says my blood counts are very abnormal. She read me the results, and we just stared at each other. That, "I know that you know that I know these are really bad results," look. She said the doctor would be right in. My husband asks, "Do they think you have an infection in your blood?" I just looked at him and said, "No, they think I have leukemia." They were correct. The oncologist said I had acute myeloid leukemia. No biopsy required; the abnormal cells were clearly seen on the microscope. I was instructed to go home, eat dinner, and pack a bag. The cancer floor at another local hospital would have my room ready tonight, and I would be gone about a month.
I'm going to stop at this point because there is a lot more to say. However, if you have read any of my other blog posts, you will recognize my reference to a very large thing that picks you up, spins you around, and drops you on your face. I guess it happens more than once.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Those three little words...
When people talk about those, "Three little words," most people assume it is, "I love you." Those are powerful words. For some, they may be difficult to ever say. Some may let those words drip from their lips as effortlessly as water. Everyone wants to hear it. Everyone wants to say it. You are a big, fat liar if you say you don't. Tell others whatever you want, but you cannot deny, at least to yourself, that it is a desire and a need we all have. But, those are not the only three little words that should count. Maybe there are those that think nothing else matters, but I disagree. You can give and have all the love in the world and still feel like something is missing. So, I have comprised a list of phrases that I find to be just as important to hear as, "I love you." Here we go:
- "You, sit down."
- "I got this."
- "Like your haircut."
- "You losing weight?"
- "You're not ___ (enter your age)."
- "You are strong."
- "You are important."
- "You are amazing."
- "You are mine."
- "I need you."
- "I want you."
- "You're my friend."
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The second time around isn't always easier
A few weeks ago, I blogged about my first daughter turning ten years old ("10 years down, the rest of her life to go" from September 18, 2013). Today is daughter #2's birthday. She is eight years old today, going on 25. When I learned I was having a second daughter, I was thrilled. I already had a ton of baby girl clothes from my first pregnancy. We had the infant car seat, the crib, a pediatrician, and the infant-stage was still fresh in my mind. There was no doubt that all the lessons learned from daughter #1 would make #2 a breeze. What started as a breeze turned into a whirlwind.
From the moment my doctor gave me the look...the look that told me the delivery of my baby was not going to happen as planned, I knew she was going to be different. I had to have an unscheduled C-section under general anesthesia after a full-face presentation and two failed epidurals. They put the mask on me, I sucked in the gas, and fell asleep. While floating around in the silent, painless void of happy gas, I heard a voice calling my name. My eyes slowly started opening, and just like when someone awakens from sleep in a movie, the blurry light started to brighten and my vision began to focus. "Amy, I've got your baby!" The shape of my doctor became more and more clear. She was still wearing the surgical mask over her mouth, but her eyes were smiling at me. Next to her face was my new baby girl. She was wrapped up in a blanket and her long hair was hanging out from the edges of her newborn hat. I asked, "Is she alright?" My doc said, "She's fine!" I said, "Good," and fell back to sleep. Not exactly how I was going to greet my daughter into the world, but there was nothing I could do about it. My next meeting with her was in the post-operative recovery area. I had no idea how much time had passed because I was still cruising through Happy Gas-town. There was this baby fussing - not really crying, just fussing. Then I realized that was my baby fussing. I halfway open my eyes. Sitting next to my bed was my husband holding our baby girl. He was smiling and rocking her. She was yapping at him. "If she's hungry, give her a bottle," was the first thing out of my mouth. There were so many narcotics pumping through me I could barely talk, but I still knew what my girl needed. She drank two infant bottles before we were even moved to my postpartum room. The girl could eat! And, she still can. I've often said that my Riley has not changed her eating habits since she was born: she still needs to eat every two to four hours or she gets cranky.
What I learned over the next few weeks and months and years is there were lots of things easier about girl #2. This baby was sleeping through the night by three weeks old. There was never that volcano of formula getting spit up all over a brand new outfit. She did not drool even when she was teething. She did not put weird things in her mouth or nose or ears. Potty training was done by four years of age (that includes waking up dry). Everything happened easier and faster and I thought I was really getting the hang of motherhood. I have never seen a child this smart and funny. The level she operates on is higher than most kids her age. She is not perfect: she whines, fights with her sister, and hates to wake up in the morning. But, I can say with confidence that this girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.
I love my daughters the same amount, but I have learned to love them in different ways. What is a reward to one is not very important to the other. As I have discovered their differences, they have shown me how to parent. There are basic rules that apply to everyone, but there are times when individual circumstances have to be evaluated and handled accordingly. Daughter #2 is not as snuggly, she is a total daddy's girl, and I am often the butt of her jokes. I am pretty sure she never cried when getting dropped off at daycare or school. She has told me she wants to go to a bording schol and just come home on holidays. I don't love her more. I just love her different. I give her more space. I know when something is really important or really difficult or really hurting her because she will ask me for help. She is an amazing kid that in some ways is already a little adult.
"I call him Mini-Me." Happy birthday, Roo.
From the moment my doctor gave me the look...the look that told me the delivery of my baby was not going to happen as planned, I knew she was going to be different. I had to have an unscheduled C-section under general anesthesia after a full-face presentation and two failed epidurals. They put the mask on me, I sucked in the gas, and fell asleep. While floating around in the silent, painless void of happy gas, I heard a voice calling my name. My eyes slowly started opening, and just like when someone awakens from sleep in a movie, the blurry light started to brighten and my vision began to focus. "Amy, I've got your baby!" The shape of my doctor became more and more clear. She was still wearing the surgical mask over her mouth, but her eyes were smiling at me. Next to her face was my new baby girl. She was wrapped up in a blanket and her long hair was hanging out from the edges of her newborn hat. I asked, "Is she alright?" My doc said, "She's fine!" I said, "Good," and fell back to sleep. Not exactly how I was going to greet my daughter into the world, but there was nothing I could do about it. My next meeting with her was in the post-operative recovery area. I had no idea how much time had passed because I was still cruising through Happy Gas-town. There was this baby fussing - not really crying, just fussing. Then I realized that was my baby fussing. I halfway open my eyes. Sitting next to my bed was my husband holding our baby girl. He was smiling and rocking her. She was yapping at him. "If she's hungry, give her a bottle," was the first thing out of my mouth. There were so many narcotics pumping through me I could barely talk, but I still knew what my girl needed. She drank two infant bottles before we were even moved to my postpartum room. The girl could eat! And, she still can. I've often said that my Riley has not changed her eating habits since she was born: she still needs to eat every two to four hours or she gets cranky.
What I learned over the next few weeks and months and years is there were lots of things easier about girl #2. This baby was sleeping through the night by three weeks old. There was never that volcano of formula getting spit up all over a brand new outfit. She did not drool even when she was teething. She did not put weird things in her mouth or nose or ears. Potty training was done by four years of age (that includes waking up dry). Everything happened easier and faster and I thought I was really getting the hang of motherhood. I have never seen a child this smart and funny. The level she operates on is higher than most kids her age. She is not perfect: she whines, fights with her sister, and hates to wake up in the morning. But, I can say with confidence that this girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.
I love my daughters the same amount, but I have learned to love them in different ways. What is a reward to one is not very important to the other. As I have discovered their differences, they have shown me how to parent. There are basic rules that apply to everyone, but there are times when individual circumstances have to be evaluated and handled accordingly. Daughter #2 is not as snuggly, she is a total daddy's girl, and I am often the butt of her jokes. I am pretty sure she never cried when getting dropped off at daycare or school. She has told me she wants to go to a bording schol and just come home on holidays. I don't love her more. I just love her different. I give her more space. I know when something is really important or really difficult or really hurting her because she will ask me for help. She is an amazing kid that in some ways is already a little adult.
"I call him Mini-Me." Happy birthday, Roo.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Homecoming, class reunions, and beer
Last week, I went to the Homecoming game at my high school. I graduated from a small, Catholic high school in Indianapolis 24 years ago. I have not been back for a football game in 23 years. My class' big 25th reunion is next year, so me and some friends decided we would take part in this year's activities. My close friends and I can go anywhere and have a great time. Watching a football game in the crisp September air under the lights, running into old classmates and teachers, going to a bar afterwards for some beers; this was all I expected, and that was fine. That was fine because that was exactly what I got.
Sitting in the stands at the game was a bit surreal. It was the first time I sat in those bleachers as a real adult. I watched the young kids, from grade school to high school age, cheering for the home team, walking around and laughing with their faces painted, and seeing who could wear the most wacky outfit to the game for attention (it's usually some guy who is a sophomore or junior). I remembered that feeling of independence and safety walking around the high school football game: your parents let you walk around without them (independence), but you were constantly surrounded by other students, teachers, and parents you knew (safety). It was great to see this tradition continue, and I hope it is still there when my daughters are older.
While sitting in those bleachers, I saw my old French teacher. I could not believe how great it was to run into her. She was always one of my favorites. I had no problem recognizing her because I swear she has not changed a bit. Amazingly, she remembered me, too. We hugged and laughed and I told her how she is an awesome teacher, and I hope she is still there when my daughters are older.
After the game each year, a local bar sets up a tent in the parking lot. It is the official, "old peoples' homecoming." There is a band, beer, and the largest group of alums I have seen. A lot of people have no desire to go back in time. They do not want to keep in touch with classmates. They have no desire to go to class reunions. They think, "If I did not talk to those people in high school, why would I want to talk to them now?" Why? I'll tell you why. People change. Maybe not all people, but most people. I am not denying that there feels like there is a, "class system," in place in high school. But, we all grow and learn about ourselves, and there comes a time when we let others see more of who we are. We then find that the parts we never saw are the ones that make us alike. The shy kids are more confident. The confident kids are more humble. Remember the star basketball player? He has a son who cannot throw a free throw. The really smart girl in class? Has a child with severe learning disabilities. The nerd that no one really paid much attention to? She is running a successful business, married a pilot, and has a daughter that is president of her class. The playing field is leveled and now you do not know which class people belong to. I like that.
Time has an amazing ability to chisel away parts of people. Sometimes the parts are there to protect that fragile girl that has not built up her own self esteem. Sometimes the parts are huge, attention getting accolades that the star athlete earns. There are the nerds, the sluts, the punks and goths, the class clowns, the brains, and the numerous kids that can float between the groups. The chisel reveals, after 20 or so years (time works slowly), that we are not all that different. The, "us," in high school was a scared, less confident, and usually insecure teenager. We find our niche, our safety zones, and we stay close to that comfortable feeling of friends we have a lot in common with. Those with children, especially teenagers, of their own probably see this more clearly. You are happy that your child gets decent grades, has some good friends, and gets involved with extracurricular activities. We only see our kids with the ones they spend their free time with. I think it is important to make sure they know that they do not have to be best friends with everyone, but they need to be kind and respectful to everyone. They will not be able to fathom the thought that 20 years will go by and when the chisel drops to the ground, what will others see? If they promote kindness, humor, fairness, and friendship, they will have someone come up to them one day and say, "I always liked sitting by you in biology class," or, "You always seemed confident in yourself. I admired that about you." People are not all that different from each other.
Oh, and beer can help a lot. There is no denying that it lowers the inhibitions and raises your confidence. I shared a beer with quite a diverse group on homecoming night: head bangers, football stars, cheerleaders, basketball players, band members, sluts, and nerds. What I discovered is that we all have become the adults that can float between the groups. That is a good thing.
Sitting in the stands at the game was a bit surreal. It was the first time I sat in those bleachers as a real adult. I watched the young kids, from grade school to high school age, cheering for the home team, walking around and laughing with their faces painted, and seeing who could wear the most wacky outfit to the game for attention (it's usually some guy who is a sophomore or junior). I remembered that feeling of independence and safety walking around the high school football game: your parents let you walk around without them (independence), but you were constantly surrounded by other students, teachers, and parents you knew (safety). It was great to see this tradition continue, and I hope it is still there when my daughters are older.
While sitting in those bleachers, I saw my old French teacher. I could not believe how great it was to run into her. She was always one of my favorites. I had no problem recognizing her because I swear she has not changed a bit. Amazingly, she remembered me, too. We hugged and laughed and I told her how she is an awesome teacher, and I hope she is still there when my daughters are older.
After the game each year, a local bar sets up a tent in the parking lot. It is the official, "old peoples' homecoming." There is a band, beer, and the largest group of alums I have seen. A lot of people have no desire to go back in time. They do not want to keep in touch with classmates. They have no desire to go to class reunions. They think, "If I did not talk to those people in high school, why would I want to talk to them now?" Why? I'll tell you why. People change. Maybe not all people, but most people. I am not denying that there feels like there is a, "class system," in place in high school. But, we all grow and learn about ourselves, and there comes a time when we let others see more of who we are. We then find that the parts we never saw are the ones that make us alike. The shy kids are more confident. The confident kids are more humble. Remember the star basketball player? He has a son who cannot throw a free throw. The really smart girl in class? Has a child with severe learning disabilities. The nerd that no one really paid much attention to? She is running a successful business, married a pilot, and has a daughter that is president of her class. The playing field is leveled and now you do not know which class people belong to. I like that.
Time has an amazing ability to chisel away parts of people. Sometimes the parts are there to protect that fragile girl that has not built up her own self esteem. Sometimes the parts are huge, attention getting accolades that the star athlete earns. There are the nerds, the sluts, the punks and goths, the class clowns, the brains, and the numerous kids that can float between the groups. The chisel reveals, after 20 or so years (time works slowly), that we are not all that different. The, "us," in high school was a scared, less confident, and usually insecure teenager. We find our niche, our safety zones, and we stay close to that comfortable feeling of friends we have a lot in common with. Those with children, especially teenagers, of their own probably see this more clearly. You are happy that your child gets decent grades, has some good friends, and gets involved with extracurricular activities. We only see our kids with the ones they spend their free time with. I think it is important to make sure they know that they do not have to be best friends with everyone, but they need to be kind and respectful to everyone. They will not be able to fathom the thought that 20 years will go by and when the chisel drops to the ground, what will others see? If they promote kindness, humor, fairness, and friendship, they will have someone come up to them one day and say, "I always liked sitting by you in biology class," or, "You always seemed confident in yourself. I admired that about you." People are not all that different from each other.
Oh, and beer can help a lot. There is no denying that it lowers the inhibitions and raises your confidence. I shared a beer with quite a diverse group on homecoming night: head bangers, football stars, cheerleaders, basketball players, band members, sluts, and nerds. What I discovered is that we all have become the adults that can float between the groups. That is a good thing.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
10 years down, the rest of her life to go
After you've done something for ten years, you would like to feel like you are doing it right. In most professional fields, a decade of experience is a time frame that elicits confidence and admiration from other people. A surgeon tells you, "I have been performing that procedure for ten years." Sounds good, doc, cut me open. A broker says, "I have been investing peoples' money since 2003." Awesome, Mr. Moneybags, where do I sign? We equate the length of time a person has done something with how good they are at it. Usually, this is a fair indicator of the results we can expect. There is no substitute for experience. However, what do you do when after ten years of doing something everyday, you still are not sure if you are doing it all right?
Today is my daughter's birthday. From the title of this blog post, you can probably guess that she turned ten years old. I was lying in bed last night remembering what I was doing in 2003: I was waiting for my cervix to dilate. It was taking its time because I was at the hospital nearly 24 hours before I delivered my baby girl. She was beautiful, perfect, and they handed her to me like I was supposed to know what to do. Luckily, between my years working at an OB/GYN office with amazing nurses, doctors, and moms, my skimming through What to Expect When You're Expecting, and that natural maternal instinct, I took her home and managed to raise her. Every day, I kissed her. Every day, I told her I loved her. Every day, I told her how important she is to this world. I still do every one of these things every day. I also ask myself every day, "After ten years, am I doing this right?"
There is no way to describe parenting. Probably because it is not an experience, it is a life. Like life, we have to take it day by day. It doesn't matter that those whom have more experience than us try to guide, shelter, and show us the way. We usually do not listen to all the advice we are given, for we all feel our lives ultimately must be shaped by ourselves. We have to say it to hear it. We have to do it to feel it. We have to lose it to appreciate it. When it comes to parenting a daughter (or two, in my case), all I can hope for is a baby that grows into a smart girl that changes into a confident adolescent that moves into a goal-driven teenager and ends up an accomplished woman. Too much to ask? Yes, it is. I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to make mistakes. It does not matter how hard I try to make her perfect, she is going to need to say it, do it, and lose things on her own to make her life hers. I will always be there to support her.
Happy birthday, baby girl. Live your life...as long as I am always in it.
Today is my daughter's birthday. From the title of this blog post, you can probably guess that she turned ten years old. I was lying in bed last night remembering what I was doing in 2003: I was waiting for my cervix to dilate. It was taking its time because I was at the hospital nearly 24 hours before I delivered my baby girl. She was beautiful, perfect, and they handed her to me like I was supposed to know what to do. Luckily, between my years working at an OB/GYN office with amazing nurses, doctors, and moms, my skimming through What to Expect When You're Expecting, and that natural maternal instinct, I took her home and managed to raise her. Every day, I kissed her. Every day, I told her I loved her. Every day, I told her how important she is to this world. I still do every one of these things every day. I also ask myself every day, "After ten years, am I doing this right?"
There is no way to describe parenting. Probably because it is not an experience, it is a life. Like life, we have to take it day by day. It doesn't matter that those whom have more experience than us try to guide, shelter, and show us the way. We usually do not listen to all the advice we are given, for we all feel our lives ultimately must be shaped by ourselves. We have to say it to hear it. We have to do it to feel it. We have to lose it to appreciate it. When it comes to parenting a daughter (or two, in my case), all I can hope for is a baby that grows into a smart girl that changes into a confident adolescent that moves into a goal-driven teenager and ends up an accomplished woman. Too much to ask? Yes, it is. I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to make mistakes. It does not matter how hard I try to make her perfect, she is going to need to say it, do it, and lose things on her own to make her life hers. I will always be there to support her.
Happy birthday, baby girl. Live your life...as long as I am always in it.
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