one more week

Four weeks. 

That's what I told myself in the beginning. Just four weeks. 

I felt that I had suddenly been thrown into a life of another person. Like someone had placed me in a rowboat with no paddles, handed me a newborn baby and pushed me off into the sea without another word. Following a birth that didn't go as planned, my family who last minute cancelled their long awaited visit, and a toddler who was angry at both mommy and daddy for the new addition to our family, I felt lost, I told myself I just had to make it to four weeks and it would all get easier. It was all a blur, and not the usual overtired and overwhelmed blur that you expect when a new baby arrives. I felt like I was watching my life go on outside of my body, like I was just on autopilot and going through the motions of it all. The real me was there, just watching, unable to help and unable to do anything other than telling myself, just make it to six weeks. 

At six weeks we were at my discharge appointment with my midwife. She asked me how I thought my birth went, and I smiled even though I didn't want to and I said I didn't remember it. Because I didn't and I still don't remember the birth of my second baby. She said she wasn't surprised because I seemed "so out of it" and like I "wasn't there." I kept smiling, but inside I wanted to scream and cry and ask why she didn't try to connect with me, why she felt like I wasn't there but didn't ask if I was okay, why she felt like something was wrong but no one asked what it was. Why my birth choices were questioned and why I felt traumatized. Just make it to eight weeks. Just eight weeks. 

"Fake it 'till you make it." It was some of the best advice I had gotten so far. Connecting him to his own birth was still difficult for me. Connecting him to the baby I loved and nurtured and grew with my body for ten whole months was difficult for me. Eight weeks and I was still learning how to love my own baby. I wore him close to me, I rocked him every time he cried, I held him close while he slept and smelled his red hair. He was the perfect baby. An amazing sleeper, a sleepy smiler, I whispered to him that I loved him, that he was my baby, that mommy would do anything she could to protect him and make him happy. His sister forgave us. She told him to "shh, shh, shh" when he cried, as soft and gentle as she heard us tell him. I faked it the best I could. Ten weeks. I could fake it until then.

Ten weeks. Was I faking it anymore? I realized that I worked hard for his smiles. That even though we were never into baby talk, I repeated every goo and gah back at his happy face, that every time he searched for me in the room and found me, his smile after was the lighthouse beacon through the fog. I found myself missing him when he slept and cherishing every dimple. The way one of his eyes gets smaller when he smiles, just like his sister, just like me. When he cried out at night, "maaaahhh", I swore he was calling for me, not because he needed to nurse or be comforted, but because he knew I needed him as much as he needed me. 

Ten weeks is what it took for me to realize that I loved my baby. 

I lost ten whole weeks to postpartum depression. My life consisted of going through the motions, holding and nursing my baby for those first times on autopilot, while the real me was buried deep within myself. At almost twelve weeks now his newborn smell is starting to fade. He's lost half of his thick red hair. He barely sleeps in my arms anymore. He is already so much more different than the baby that was birthed in our living room, with thick chubby cheeks and rolls that go on for days. I didn't get to know him well enough, that baby born into my own hands. Those irreplaceable moments were taken from me by myself and forgiveness is just one more thing I have to accept.

There is still a small splatter of blood on the bottom of my bedroom door. I've left it there intentionally. I barely remember being led into our bed and being handed our baby, but the small red stain helps me. The photos taken help me remember. He is my baby. I grew every inch of him with my body, every one of his fingers, every one of his toes. I don't remember him being born, although I'm told I was strong. Although I'm told I was loud and I pushed hard, I don't remember my baby being born into my arms. I don't remember much of the early days, or of the first few weeks. I don't remember his first few cries or how he wanted nothing but to nurse. I don't remember the first time he opened his eyes. I don't remember the first time I smelled how new he is, but I know I already miss it all.

Just one more week. One more week and it will be easier than the last week. Just make it to twelve weeks, I tell myself. Twelve weeks and you will forgive yourself a little more than you did last week. Just make it to twelve weeks. Maybe then you can finally say you feel alright. One more week, and then we will look to the next week after that. Just one more week and maybe then then you will finally start forgiving yourself for missing out on the moments when you were right there all along.

Day in the Life.

It's easy to get lost in it all. The totally routine yet completely unpredictable days that seem to always be too long and too short at the same time. The days that can drag on and on, though at the end of the day there's always more to do. An ordinary day is cleaning endless messes, kissing endless boo-boos. fulfilling endless needs.

An ordinary day consists of me giving all I can, every bit of myself minute after minute after minute, until those minutes add up into hours and days and weeks of crazy, chaotic, indescribably wild moments. 

An ordinary day is about embracing the imperfection and finding magic in those moments. 

The moments so sacred and secret that no one else even notices them, where life suddenly seems so spectacular for absolutely no particular reason.

The moments that can be so easily missed unless you surrender to the day and all of the beautiful chaos it brings.

  The moments that fill you with unconditional love, make your heart swell, and make you think, "I am so lucky they are mine." Moments like his first smiles. Watching her eyelashes flutter as she drifts off to sleep.  Pulling a blanket over him as he shudders with a happy sigh. 

How she waits at the window for daddy to come home.  Her ceaseless imagination.His smiles at 2 a.m. when he wakes up in my arms. Her contagious giggles. 

The playing that makes the endless messes. 

Fulfilling their endless needs.

The wild running, dancing, jumping girl and her endless boo-boos. 

 These moments are reserved only for those that have spent dusk until dawn rocking a sick child, those who have put any one dream on hold, those who add up all the small, magical moments and see what a wild, crazy, beautiful life we have. We are a brave, loving and giving group, us mothers, and no one can quite experience these imperfectly perfect moments like we can. 

An ordinary day is always extraordinary in our eyes. 

Honest Motherhood -- Annie

You can read more about the Honest Motherhood project on this post here. This post features a good and amazing friend of mine, Annie, and if you want to read more #honestmotherhood stories check out the tag on Instagram!

Every time that I look at my daughter, it is still hard for me to believe that this is happening.

Twelve years ago, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Disorder. I was told that it might take a while to conceive, or impossible. Fast forward to a doctor's appointment where we discussed weight loss and possibly starting drugs to help me conceive in the future. SURPRISE! About a month of starting the medication, I was on the road to Motherhood.



Being a mom is not what I had expected and I would not change it.

Everyday there is something new. Tantrums, laughter, toothless smiles, tears and endless affection. There are bad days where I just want to walk out and never come back, but honestly, she is the best thing to every happen to me.

 

She helps me get over myself and my personal struggles. She pushes my patience to the limit and shows me that my love is endless. This is a hard job, a thankless job, and I wouldn't trade it in for anything.

You can find Annie at her blog -- http://www.neverafalsepositive.blogspot.ca/ or on Instagram as @saruimi

The Adventures of Growing Up

Watching a baby grow into a toddler can be hard on the soul.

They want to do everything on their own, and after your offers of help get "no!" so many times, you learn to sit back and watch. Watch her climb up and down the ladder to the slide ten times. Sit at the top looking down at the ground below, which must seem so far down to your tiny babe. You hesitantly offer to help again, and again are told "no!". She wants to do it on her own, and you know she can. She sits at the top and begins to count..

 "One!"

 "Two!"

"Go!!"

And she flies down the slide.

 With wild abandon she slides down over and over again, going faster every time until she's not even counting anymore. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just a girl with wind in her hair, and the sun on her back. A girl who's figuring out more and more every day that she can do more without your help than ever before. She may still need your help down that last porch step, or with reading her favorite bedtime story, but one day she'll be doing that on her own too.

It's hard for me to imagine that 18 and a half months ago she needed me for absolutely everything. We've always answered every cry as soon as we've heard it, from the first day she was here. And still, we have this amazing, wild girl who wants to do everything she can by herself.

 Every day she'll need me less and less for the simplest of things in our lives, and it's something I'm learning to accept with each one of those passing days. Watching her grow has been completely indescribable.. Knowing that every new word she learns is something we've taught her. Hearing her say "love you" and running up to us for hugs out of the blue. She insists on holding our hands when we're out together, both of them, walking in-between us and linking us all together. Every day she that she shows us she can do something on her own is another day she shows us what a compassionate, sweet, and loving person we are raising. This unbreakable and irreplaceable relationship we share with her every day means she will always need us. Even when she can tie her own shoes. 

It's inevitable that she's going to grow up. We can't stop time, and with every passing moment I'm more proud of this little life. She may be growing up quicker than I ever thought possible, as fast as everyone said she would, but every day I'm nothing but proud and patient. Excited for our family to grow and our future together, but doing nothing but enjoying what we have right now. We'll never have these first moments again with her. Once they're gone, they're gone forever and another day that passes is one we will never get back. Every first, every moment, is as precious as it is bittersweet.

Watching our baby that only once needed mama and nothing more grow into a person is one of the most surprising, slightly terrifying and crazy adventures I could have ever imagined. I don't think there's anything as fulfilling in this entire world.

Honest Motherhood -- Marissa

A few months ago I came up with the #honestmotherhood tag on Instagram after writing this post on my blog. If you haven't had a chance to read it yet, it's a post that talks about the glamorized view of motherhood on social media and how at the end of a normal day in our house, there are Cheerios in every room, I've been in the same yoga pants since the day before and a pile of laundry can be found in three out of five rooms. Being honest is really important to me. I follow hundred of different families on their journey through life on Instagram and in blogs. Sometimes it's hard to see images of families that never seem to have bad days, who can go out to ice cream without a toddler meltdown, who make Pinterest-worthy crafts out of pine cones and daisies. But we have to remind ourselves that sometimes people only share the good parts of their lives. Their toddlers have meltdowns too, and I'm sure there's been at least one day in their lives that they didn't change out of their PJ pants for a full 24 hours. 

The #honestmotherhood tag has been full of moms sharing their experiences with hard days, happy days, all nighters and the amazing but confusing emotions that come with being a mother. I've read through all of them and every photo makes me feel more real as a mother than the last one. I recently decided that I wanted to take it further and open up my blog as another place to share some stories from some honest mothers. I hope that through these stories we can continue to inspire each other even on the hardest days, and connect through our honesty. 

The first post that I want to share here is from one of my best friends, Marissa, who's known on Instagram as @marissaeff. She also has a blog at http://whatareblogscalled.wordpress.com/. When I think of honest, this mama is the first one that comes to mind. Her blog posts are always raw and full of emotion, and she inspires me on the daily. I hope this series only continues to show us that while we may all have perfect days where we get to eat three full meals and days where we take ice cream trips with no spilling, whining or temper tantrums, it's important to always show the good and the bad. We as mothers can be each other's strongest support and I hope we continue helping each other through every amazing (and sometimes terrifying!) stage of motherhood. 

You can read more about how to submit to the project after you check out Marissa's post on Honest Motherhood below.  

Coming Soon!

We have some exciting things around the corner -- some beautiful Honest Motherhood stories shared by some amazing mothers that will inspire you, some new Kingston Babywearing Project posts, a thrifting guide, our silk and luxe Sakura Bloom reviews, as well as some news that's going to blow your mind!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

Courage

“Perhaps strength doesn’t reside in having never been broken, but in the courage required to grow strong in the broken places.”

Why I Haven't Been Blogging Lately

(This could also be titled "Excuses, Excuses", but I'll stick with the original title for now.) 

1. Most of our days look like this (photo removed by myself for baby bum!). Cooped up inside (yep, still snow on the ground), with a babe running around just like this and climbing on everything she can, with the vacuum in pretty much every shot as we spring clean in hopes that spring will actually come around. Is anyone else just finding out that their toddlers don't stop moving? Like, ever. 

2. These are the kinds of endearing things she's up to lately. Nope, no adorable art or flower sniffing over here. We're all about ironically chewing books and carrying socks around in her mouth, and trying to play in the toilet.. I may have given birth to a dog.

3. This is what eating looks like lately. No cute trays of color coordinated fruits and vegetables, because as cute as those are there would be no point in this house. Food is fingerpaint right now, and three meals a day = three baths a day. Why do toddlers like to touch their hair when they eat?!

Okay, so I'm (mostly) joking. Life really is like that around here right now, but the reason I haven't been blogging (besides constantly cleaning and making sure Emmy doesn't jump off the table) is because we've been enjoying it. Every crazy, messy second of it. 

A lot of it is tough, but I can definitely say we were kind of expecting that so at least it's not a surprise. Emmy never stops going. Never! I don't know how toddlers do it! She prefers trying to break into kitchen cabinets instead of playing with her own toys, would rather eat dust bunnies for dinner and throw dinner piece by piece on the ground, loves getting into every closer and drawer and basket and dumping it out.. It never stops! And sleep? I thought she slept bad as a baby, but it really doesn't compare to the last few weeks...

Take last night for example. Emmy decided to wake up a half hour after we put her down and wanted to party 'til near midnight. And as much as I was looking forward to kicking my feet up after a long day, I instead spent the night reading books about shapes and watching A Bug's Life and rolling around in the bed with an overly exhausted, but refusing to sleep 14 month old. Although I woke up tired this morning, it was worth it to me, even just for the memories. Every moment with her is worth it, even the ones that make me question my sanity... And yes, there are a lot of those.

So, life with a toddler. It's difficult, it's busy.. it's what anyone would expect, really. We catch our breath during her naps and try to sneak in a shower. We clean up the house from it's hurricane mess and save our TV shows for after her bedtime. Sometimes we are so tired that we leave the mess where it is and pass out before nine.. Sleep debt is a terrible thing. M and I spent our last date together doing icicle maintenance on the house and picking out a new shower curtain. The parents of a toddler are ever-so romantic.

Toddlerhood isn't all bad. She brings us book after book to read to her, and even if she only gets through half of the book before running away, I love that she loves reading. She wears her baby in a makeshift sling, from one of mommy's or daddy's scarves, pausing in play to say "shh shh" and pat the baby. She holds our hands while walking in the store, in the yard, or even through the house. She can use sign language like crazy, asking for a drink, more play, a bath, something to eat-- and every day she parrots more and more words, saying "thank you" and "hi daddy". Every day she is smarter and wilder than the day before, and every day I find something new to love in this free-spirited little girl.

So, I have sacrificed my very loved blogging time in the name of a shower and traded in photo editing for vacuuming. I know, I know, pretty lame excuses as there are mamas with multiples who rock this blogging thing (how do you do it?!). As much as I know and believe that parents are superheros, even Wonder Woman needs to sit back with a glass of wine and marathon Friends every once in a while. Sometimes I feel like I need to take a break from these things so I don't get too overwhelmed. I do love social media and every single person I've connected with through the platforms I use, but I'm not ready to have two babies yet, so sometimes my blog gets put on a shelf for a bit until I have enough time to breathe. Maybe I'm not as Super as some Super Moms but I know that I give it my best, and in the end that's what matters to me most.