Childhoodtake2!

Have you ever stepped into a moment that is so quiet, so wonderfully quiet, it is precious?

March threw us one last storm, a pretty big one.
My girls and I decided to take a walk right in the middle of it.
No cars, no plow trucks yet, no people, just our feet again the crunching of the snow.
Just a puppy trying to stay warm and dry.
And out of nowhere, my biggest little said, it's so quiet mom.
I know sweetie, and it's wonderful. I'm so happy you're here with me.

Last week, later at night, I took the puppy out by myself.
The wind that had been rushing through the air had died down, the rain stopped, and it was pleasant.
I had intended to just to a loop in the neighborhood but I just couldn't stop moving my feet, it was so quiet.
Just me and her.
No lights, no neighbors, no other dogs to get her to pull in one direction or another.
Just us and the quiet night.

After all the questions were asked, after the results were in, after the doctor left, it was just us.
And my tears, in the quiet.
Just a quiet moment between two people that have never shared a quiet moment.
Just a quiet moment between two of the most unlikely pair.
A moment so beautiful it was almost poetic and you don't do poetry.
It was in the quiet that I found love.

In the morning, rushing them out the door, getting in all we have to do before busses come, it's a bit loud.
And then, once our final smooches are smooched, and everything is ready, I close all the doors and take one moment of quiet.
I start a yoga class.
And take a shower.
I light a candle, I sit in my clean kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee and I get to work, in the absolute quiet that I have the privilege to appreciate.

Lying down next to you at night, you start with all the questions and all the talking and all the things to keep the night going.
Eventually, you settle into the quiet. You snuggle in and rub your eyes a little. You move around and find the right spot and then the quiet of the night settles in and your breathing gets a little heavier, a little deeper.
We continue to whisper I love you here and there, but the quiet has finally won and you are ready for sleep.

Have you ever stepped into a moment that is so quiet, so wonderfully quiet, it is precious?
Like listening and watching the rain.
Like sitting outside during a snowstorm.
Like taking a warm bath and just sinking in.
Like sitting in a dark room to write to your babies.
Like reading a book.
Like snuggling with a puppy.
Like a run with no music, no talking, just the sound of your feet on the pavement.
Like late-night walks.
Like a cup of coffee with yourself.
This introverted mother works hard for her quiet. Sometimes she has to work to find it.
Sometimes it just creeps up on her and she allows it to wash right over her body.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, https://fiveminutefriday.com/2022/03/17/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-easy/we publish those words. This week, we write on easy.

Go.

If it were easy, everyone would do it.
Everyone would get up early.
Everyone would hit the gym hard.
Everyone push.
Everyone would work hard.
Everyone would be able to do it.

If it were easy...but it's not.
Life has a lot of ups and downs.
Life has a lot of beauty, a lot of easy.
But it also can be hard at times.
And then there are times when I just make it harder.
To prove myself, to push myself, to make sure I still can.

But, it's okay. It's more than okay.
It's how I was wired and I have learned how to calm it down when I need to and turn it on when I have to.
Like my work, I love my work and I love working.
I use it to escape, and also because I'm good at it and that feels good.
So I work hard at it.

Like my workouts.
There will come a day I can't do what I do today.
But, because of my diagnosis, I want to make sure I keep pushing that day as far back as possible.
I want to keep moving and doing.
I want to push myself, hard.

But what does come easy for me...
routine, doing, loving with all I have...
traditions and caring and smooches and squeezes...
naps and baths and taking care of those I love.
There definitely are things that come easy for me and things that I do for the ease of it all.

So yes, I push, I do the hard work, I do what comes naturally to me and I do the things that feel right.
Sometimes easy, sometimes hard, sometimes comfortably, sometimes out of my comfort zone,
always me.

If it were easy, everyone would to it.

Just because I'm carrying it well doesn't mean it's not heavy.
And just because it's heavy does not mean I'm not carrying it well.

In 2021, my little family was thrown into change and loss and we carried it.
I do not know if we carried it well, but we did carry it.
I carried it for my little family, I carried it for my extended family, I carried it for friends, and I carried it for me, so I wouldn't have to face it.
But there were moments I had to put it down to become a puddle.
Because loss and grief are hard to carry.
Just because I carry it well, doesn't mean it's not heavy.
And just because it's heavy does not mean I'm not carrying it well.

We carried it by talking.
We carried it by continuing to talk and talk.
We talked about what ifs.
We talked about how different things are now.
We talked about traditions changing.
We carried it by talking and talking. I tried to make sure to let you know you could keep talking to me, keep telling me how you feel, keep trying to work it out in your head, in all of our heads.

We carried it by crying.
We would cry at night all snuggled in.
I would cry alone.
I would cry with you.
We cried while we walked or had family dinner.
We cried because I tried to be honest but hopeful.

We carried it by knowing our parts, our role, or continued roles.
I tried to make sure you knew what we are responsible for and what we have to let go of.
I tried to make sure you knew what lines we had to draw and how we will continue to let love in.
We worked on what love looks like, how people are to make you feel.
And I was reminded by those that I love that this is the thing I do well, I love with all that I have, so we did that too.

This year, the weight is a little more as I continue to wrap my head around life now.
Life without. Life without.
And at times I have such a heavy weight of loss.
And at times I have such a release of peace.
And at times I'm just in awe.
How life and love and friendships and togetherness, how they can all be so fragile.
Just because I carry it well, doesn't mean it's not heavy.
And just because it's heavy does not mean I'm not carrying it well.

My girlfriend once spoke of loss and mentioned how the grief comes out sideways.
Like when I'm walking Pearl alone in the morning and I think of it.
Like when I rest my eyes and wind up crying into my pillow.
Like when I'm driving and out of nowhere, I'm so sad.
I do not know if I carry it well, because it's so damn heavy.

I'm going to keep crying, and being okay, and crying.
I too may get to a point where I am over it and can just be again.
I'm going to keep being concerned and wondering and hurting and then coming back to the way it is and finding peace in that.
I'm going to keep you talking, I'm going to keep being honest. I'm going to keep asking. I'm going to keep saying I'm sorry for the pain the last year has brought and the pain we still have to face.
But, just because it's heavy, does not mean we are not carrying it well.
And just because we are carrying it well does not mean it is not so damn heavy.
Either way, we can lift the load together, find a way to make it lighter...together.

March is about women. Strong women, the ones you can count on.
I know it's hard, this mother-daughter thing, but you can count on me.
I've got you.
I've got your back, I stand with you.

Lately, we've been watching a lot of TV together.
It started with shows I wanted to introduce you to.
Some of my favorite comedies. And now, it's become another one of our things.
One of those things you look forward to, another mother-daughter thing we have.

Like our walks, like reading dates, like our obsession with Pearl.

Mother-daughter things like our ups and downs.
Our connection but also how we can rip each other open.
Our love, our bond.

Mothers and daughters talk.
And I know I am not your first go-to. It takes you longer, but we get there.
We talk through the days, the good parts, the busy, the parts that weren't so good.
When we both lost something important, we talked and talked and talked.

Mothers and daughters hug.
Sometimes I hold on to you as if I can't let go, because letting go has a greater meaning than just letting the hug go.
Sometimes you hold on to me too.
At 12 about to be 13, you ask me for hugs.
A morning hug, a good-bye nose kiss, a good-night hug.
You and I hold on to each other hard.

Mothers and daughters hold hands.
And cry.
And laugh.
And tell jokes.
And share stories.
And share.

Mothers and daughters bump heads.
And say things they don't mean.
And stomp around each other.
And try and make up.

Mothers and daughters are a tough combo.
I show up for you.
I'm learning to let go a little more each day.
Because I trust you, I believe in you.
I'm learning.
I'm trying.

Mothers and daughters who are the same, share so much.
Like a stubborn personality.
And a sense of humor.
And fear, we share fear.
This world scares us a bit.
What I wish for you is that you will learn to push through that fear.
Because you have me in there and you will realize you will get to the other side.

Baby girl, I'm so happy you found me, came to me, made me a mamma, your mama.
I always and forever knew that if I were to mother, a girl would find her way to me, and you did.
Baby girl, I know you're not a baby anymore.
I know.
But I also know that this feeling of mothering you will never go away.

So when we talk about your future and talk about things like...
Where you'll end up.
What state your college will be in.
How many babies you want.
How you picture your life.
The line of work you want to be in.
How it will feel when you're not here.
Just know that you changed me for the better.
You made me the best version of myself.

I know it's so connected, this mother-daughter thing.
But you can count on me.
You were and always will be my daughter, and mothers and daughters mean something to each other.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on carry.

Go.

On the day you were born, I whispered in your ear as I put you to bed...
I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.
And to this very day, almost 13 years later, I still do.

When I first had you, I didn't feel a weight or a pressure. I felt light, comfortable, and like this was what I was meant to do.
I think that's what surprised me the most.
I was the woman that never wanted to mother and then all of a sudden, mothering is what I felt most comfortable in.
I was so comfortable in my skin as your mom.

Your dad and I fell into a grove and it was like our life, just with an added source of pure joy.
You were my smile, you made me laugh and you made me swoon. I never swooned before you sweet girl.
I didn't feel your weight, I was light as a feather.

It wasn't until the toddler years that the fog set in and the weight was noticable.
Our second was here, our first was in full-force threes, my career was an all in kind of place, and I carried parent-hood.
The pressure was on and it was felt from everywhere.

But mothering, I still felt just right at mothering.
Even with a toddler, even with a newborn, even sick and unable to move, even with a career that I took two week off from, moethering you both felt weightless.

Until the decisions got harder.
The choices weren't so clear.
Until I realized I have no clue what I'm doing because all I've ever done is love you.
And, we're coming towards the years where we're all not sure how hard we will hold on to that love.

But here is the thing about mothering...
A mother's love can carry you through.
A mother's will can be your will.
A mother's heart can bare the weight.
A mother's touch can heal.
A mother's soul can be the light you need.
A mother's home can be the shelter you need.
A mother's love can and will carry you through.

I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.

Stop.