When you are a mother, taking your child with you to the bathroom is status quo, especially in public spaces. Even if you have a little boy. I mean, where else are they to go?
Yesterday was no different from any other outing. Except, well, someone was listening.
When I was growing up, I was ridiculed for being too thin – too imperfect by the world’s standards. But, in college, I came into my own (even if my tank top choices were questionable). And, for the first time, I loved the skin I was in.
Just before I turned 26, I miscarried our first child. I let the darkness carry me away for many months.
My husband and I weren’t in a position to pursue pregnancy. And I felt like a failure.
Our family recently moved…twice. And somewhere in between the boxes and whispered curse words, I caught a glimpse of nearly three years of loving sacrifice.
Nursing bras.
My husband had carefully stacked my drawers beside the dresser, and in that moment I felt exposed.
What am I still holding on?
“Two boys and one girl is my ideal.”
I couldn’t help but eavesdrop. You don’t see two grown men discussing fertility over dinner very often.
But such was the case last night.
Meanwhile, my husband and I were body-blocking our children from leaping to their death from the open second floor window.
Ah, dinner in Snowmass Village, Colorado.
Continue reading “The Great American Family Road Trip [2017]: Day 7”
Five years ago, I would have never asked myself such a question. Life was demanding, of course, but I still found time for phone calls, thoughtful e-mails, and my calling card: handwritten thank you notes.
Then came the babies.
When I found out my second child would be a little girl, I panicked. I may be a woman, but I only had experience parenting a son.
“Well, open it.”
I looked from my boyfriend to my parents. Frankly, I felt framed.
It was Christmas 2007. I wasn’t ready to be married. But there my boyfriend sat expectantly. I had just unwrapped a cherry jewelry box.
No, really, I don’t want to look inside. Please don’t make me look inside.
“Okay,” I resigned. I feigned a smile with the understanding that – if a ring was inside – I would have a choice to make. A public choice. An immediate choice. A forced choice.
The writing on the wall, however, had been revealed to me approximately nine months prior – during my first international service trip.
Nicaragua. Orphans. And a promise to give up sweets for Lent. Continue reading “Proposing Motherhood”
In every parenting journey, there is a moment when the unthinkable happens.
You decide to stop having children.
For our family, the curtain call came five months after our daughter was born. No more babies. Slowly, our lives adjusted, my body mostly returned, and our careers settled.
But a question has increasingly haunted me: Now what?
I used to think I knew everything, then I attended college.
I used to think money would buy happiness, then I held my first real job.
I used to think I understood sacrifice, then I entered marriage.
