You Sit on a Throne of Lies!

Why is it that when you know your scale is broken you still always assume everyone else’s scale is broken and ha ha don’t they know the only accurate reading is visible only to you in the privacy of your bathroom? 

Which is to say that I bought a new scale. Guess what. MY OLD SCALE LIED. Of course it did! I knew it did but I wanted to believe otherwise. Perhaps the snug feeling in my shorts *wasn’t* just my weight “rearranging itself.” That isn’t even a thing! Weight doesn’t one day go, “Hey Herald come with me to this belly region so we can try out a new view! You know, hanging outside the top of this lady’s shorts!”

What does this have to do with anything? Well, it seems that this week is all about slaying. Not slaying as in “Beyonce is slaying on the red carpet.” Slaying as in, time to slay all the damn illusions and lies you have been telling yourself for too long.

Think you are losing weight even though your damn scale is five pounds off? SLAY.

Think you are totally cool with and have come to peace and understanding about ——>INSERT LIFE ISSUE THAT SUCKS<—???

Think that while yes those confederate monuments are gross and racist and vile you never really considered that WE LITERALLY WALK AROUND WITH MONUMENTS CELEBRATING SLAVERY AND WHITE SUPREMACY IN THE SAME WAY AS IF GERMANY HAD KEPT UP A BUNCH OF HITLER STATUES AND YELLED AT PEOPLE WHO WERE LIKE UM THOSE ME UNCOMFORTABLE???

How did I not see all this?!

That’s right, the word of the week is slay.

Slay those illusions and falsehoods. Because the truth–that is something you can work with.

The scale speaks the truth and now you can accept reality and decide maybe not to eat the large Costco bag of Veggie Straws by the fistful. 

Life is hard and painful and yet…it’s only when you face the pain that you can release it. (Phew doesn’t that feel better?)

 

The confederate monuments are turd burgers so why not replace them with something way cooler like a statue of Missy Elliot please and thank you? (You can sign to support the cause here.

Anyway, you totally got this. Go slay some dragons. Excuse me while I got throw out that old, lying scoundrel of a bathroom scale. 

 

Advertisements

What Four Looks Like

l2jjb3gtjdex2dxdc

Four is learning to whistle along with Peppa Pig.

Four is puppet shows and pirouettes.

Four is nonsensical knock-knock jokes and pretending to read clocks.

Four is eating pb&j, cheese sticks and cereal–all before 9AM.

Four is finding loopholes in bedtime rules.

Four is big feelings, and even bigger hugs.

Four is winning at Memory and mastering big-kid puzzles.

Four is I got it!, I know!, I can do it!, and I love you you, mama.

Four is holding on tight to fleeting 6am snuggles.

Happy birthday today to my little girl (who does not seem so little anymore). I looked at what I wrote last year and I can’t believe how much my daughter has grown. I can only begin to imagine what she will be like when I write this next year. Oh, how the time flies.

And because I’m ridiculously sentimental, thinking a lot about the birth memories I shared in The Birth(day) lessons. That nesting-pregnant-woman seems like a child compared to what I have grown into during these last four years. It is truly a joy to watch how much we grow, too, hand-in-hand with our child.

Reflecting on Three Years (Plus Eight Months) of Parenthood

Part 1: The Pregnancy Lessons

My daughter turns three tomorrow. Which got me thinking: I will be celebrating three years of parenthood!

But then I realized, not quite.

birthday_cake

Happy three years! (And eight
months!) (Illustration source)

I count the months before my daughter’s birth because I think pregnancy is a form of parenting, too.  To be fair, I’m not sure I became a mother the day I saw the positive pregnancy test. I think that happened a week or two later.

There I was, maybe five weeks into my pregnancy and I noticed spotting. It was significant enough that I got worried. I called my midwife’s office in a panic. The nurse explained that it could just be bleeding from implantation. Or it could be something else. She explained how at this stage there wasn’t really anything they could do. She encouraged me to rest.

My heart dropped. I curled up on the couch and cried.

I learned the first lesson of parenthood: vulnerability. 

I remember thinking, wait a minute. This is really scary! The worry…the fear…so much was out of my control! How was it possible to become so attached to a being so small that its heart beat couldn’t even be detected yet?

0N5VDHD2AG

Baby poppyseed (Photo Source)

Which taught me the second lesson of parenthood: surrender. 

There was nothing else to do but surrender to what was. I didn’t like it, I didn’t want it, but I had to remain suspended in this in-between place. Where it felt like everything and nothing was possible.

Who knew parenthood was one big Zen practice?

My husband was surprisingly laid back about the whole thing. If it isn’t meant to be, it isn’t meant to be, he said. He didn’t get it, not yet. This embryo the size of a grain of rice (or was it a poppy-seed?) wasn’t real to him yet. Not like it was to me. If it—my baby!—stopped growing, if it wasn’t meant to be, I would still be devastated.

This taught me the third lesson of parenthood: gratitude. 

 

Three weeks later I was sitting on a cold vinyl examination table. The midwife asked a few questions and then stopped abruptly. Wait, we were moving out of state soon? (Yes, in a month!) Why on earth were we in her office? she asked. She explained that we could have waited to find a provider once we moved.

I remember being aghast. Was she joking? Wait?! There was no way I could have waited. The bleeding had stopped and I wanted confirmation that all was well.

She proceeded with the ultrasound but I am sure she thought we were a couple of overly-neurotic new parents. (OK: fair enough.) Suddenly there was a rapid sound, like a horse galloping, I remember her saying.

That was my baby’s heartbeat. It was more than well.

My heart swelled.

I understood gratitude that day. It was a gift, this live child growing inside me. It wasn’t something to be taken for granted. There were no guarantees in this journey.

All this and I was only eight weeks into parenthood. Six months later, while eight months pregnant, I learned these lessons all over again, magnified by 1,000.

[Tomorrow:  Part II, The NICU lessons]