I have good stories,

funny stories,

warm stories,

and a love story.

But I haven’t been able to write, because I have been too busy doing this thing called living.

So, I decided that while I took the time to craft and publish these stories, today, I would republish the story that I wrote on this date, March 30, of last year (not knowing what it would be). I thought that it would be a nice exercise to display just how far we as a family have come. I expected something emotional or a silly tidbit, but it just so happens that on March 30, 2014, in a serendipitous coincidence, I wrote a special post–the beginning of my “Hopeful Story”.

So, while you wait to read about my today, I hope you enjoy reading about my day last year, in

Home.

Originally Published on the old MEA site on March 30, 2014.

When we started thinking about having a second child, we were warned that two kids does not equal double the work, but instead, 100 times the work. We have not found that to be true. In fact, we don’t even think it is double the work. We feel like the jump from no kids to one kid was much greater than from one to two. I believe that this is in part due to the fact that we waited 3.5 years between kids, and my daughter can do things like let in the dog and go into the fridge for a snack and take herself to the bathroom. It is a juggling act at times, but it works. Despite my struggles, I haven’t felt overwhelmed by having two kids; unless you count feeling overwhelmed with love. And I mean it.
But having two kids does mean tag-teaming. My husband usually does my daughter’s bedtime. It’s a special time they share. He tells her stories; sometimes they are about Star Wars, sometimes about princesses; last night it was My Little Pony. He sings to her a certain repertoire of songs and they snuggle. It is very sweet.
But tonight, as a special treat (really, for all of us) I said I would come in after stories and songs for a snuggle session with my girl.
I crawled into her bed and rested my head on the pillow next to her. And I got that peaceful feeling again, one that has been so hard to find recently. But I got it.
And I asked her if I could sing her a song, because all I could hear in my head was the Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros song “Home”s chorus.
Home,
Let me come home,
Home is wherever I’m with you.
“With you I feel home,” I told her.
“With you I feel whole,” she replied.
She is so amazing.
Home is wherever I’m with you.
Even though life has been hard, I am grateful for the little things, like 10 minutes of snuggling with my firstborn, who is growing up so quickly I can hardly catch my breath.
And I’m starting to find my way,
slowly,
arduously,
but I really am starting to head in the direction
towards home.

*Featured Image by Lindsay Docherty Photography

The post Home, again. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I wrote about how on Sunday we did things like Build Bears, eat popovers and lose our son in the mall for five minutes. I felt like a human again.

Well, let’s say that if Sunday was a hill day, yesterday was a valley.

But throughout the day today we climbed, each in our own way.

Since (how I mentioned previously) the other story is not my story to tell, I will tell you that while I woke up this morning not feeling great, I ended up feeling better and better as the day went on.

I danced with my son, all around his bedroom, to Ed Sheeran’s sick Grammy performance of “Thinking Out Loud” (featuring John Mayer, Herbie Hancock and Quest Love). We both felt so happy. I thought to myself, “Have I ever felt this happy before? Certainly I must have been happier than this little moment.” but I really was so filled with joy.

And then the best friend who made me an “aunt” texted to say that she was driving around, and asked if we would like company for an hour.

Yes!

So I got to see my little niecey and watch my son try to hug and kiss her, too shy to ever actually make contact.

And there were some other snapshots of tiny, wonderful moments (tasting an amazing date, fresh from Israel)

and some crappy moments (listening to my daughter cry because the ziplock bag that holds her little plastic My Little Pony dolls broke).

I was glad to just be able to chill with my husband, tonight, with some TV or a podcast. First, I would be able to catch up on my Bravo and E! shows while he went rock climbing.

And then, and yes, I am purposely being vague here, he got home and we held hands, as a team, and he had to face a source of stress in his life, and I made my intention, ahead of time, to not let myself become enraged.

I am an extremely calm person. Extremely. You would think that because I am so emotional and dramatic I would be having outbursts left and right, but I have raised my voice maybe a handful of times in the past decade. I never yell.

But, tonight, I failed at meeting my intention. The rage crept up inside of me, as a mixture of protectiveness and disgust, and I tried to just breathe through it.

Another thing I am is a lazy person. I don’t say this disparagingly. I am not lazy-minded, nor am I a lazy mother, but in general, I would rather be relaxing than running.

But after we dealt with the stressful situation, and I sat there, rage coursing through me, my husband told me that he had just heard a really cool new band on the radio. Saint Motel.

And he was excited about it, so I sat on the couch, under my blanket, the E! channel frozen on my living room TV, as he plugged the song “My Type” into our stereo.

And all of a sudden, almost instantly, I started to shake my head. It was super catchy!

We both sat for a minute, moving to the beat of the song, and then I realized, I wanted to dance.

“Do you want to dance?” I asked my husband.

“Sure!” he said.

We could dance it out.

And so we had a crazy dance party in our living room

and all of a sudden my rage evaporated.

I actually danced it out.

I think that this vignette would make for a better scene in a movie than it does for a blog post, as this story is more of a scattered diary entry than a moving call to action or personal confession,

but I think that’s OK. I give myself permission to share with you the fact that I had two dance parties today,

with my two main men,

and that they made me happy.

And, as so many of you have said, just take life day by day, sometimes even hour by hour, so that is what I am doing. And this hour is an hour to dance party.

So that I shall do.

And, because it needs to be said, I am absolutely no longer Marnie; after this past week’s episode of Girls I am, 100%, no going back, Jessa. She rocked my world this week.

See? This is totally a quirky diary entry.

Dear Diary,

Today I made up a few games with the baby and he ate two poptarts, a cheese omelette and a kale smoothie for breakfast. I also got to see my niece in one of my very favorite shirts that once belonged to my daughter. I got to hear praise about my husband and echo it.

I listened to Ben Stiller on Howard Stern and I found about this new band called Saint Motel.

I had the best date ever. Oh, and by date I mean the pitted kind, from Israel. It was outrageous.

I got angry, but then I danced it out.

XOXO Love Always,

Jessa

The post Dear Diary, Saint Motel and rage no more. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Gay Talese: “I see so many possibilities. I see things from so many conflicting point of views. I am not judgmental, which is one of the terrible things about me. I am not judgmental.”

Lea Thau: “This is the single thing that I love the most about your work, and this is what I try to do in my work and it is this profound sympathy you have for these perfectly flawed human beings that you profile. And I think that maybe this is the biggest difference between being a journalist and a storyteller is that a journalist or a reporter always seems to want to poke holes and punch holes in what people and show the inconsistencies, and also, you are not denying peoples’ flaws you’re not making them into these idealized versions of themselves, but there is a profound sympathy for the ways in which they are a flawed human being and there is in someways a desire to make them as whole, as understandable, as likeable as possible and I love that about what you do.”

There are times, believe it or not, when I am listening to a podcast other than Serial (that is also not even a podcast about Serial) and I am so moved by the words that I feel compelled to sit and transcribe them–to play them over and over again as I type feverishly with my headphones on my ears–because they give me pause, in a good way, and make me feel like a part of something.

-From KCRW’s “Strangers”, in the episode entitled, “Gay Talese: Committed Voyeur”, from May 9, 2013.

The post I am not judgmental. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Dearest Loves,

For someone who loves words, I am having trouble finding the right ones; this is the hardest love letter I have ever had to write.

I guess I shall start with “I love you”. I love you for caring about me and for supporting me, when I am fun to be around, and when I am a mess.

Some of you have held my hand at my darkest hours; There are some of you whom I have never met; Your presence in my life is my charm, which, as I have mentioned before, is probably my favorite word (in all parts of speech).

For years–during my postpartum, but even before that if I am really being honest–I have felt lonely, sometimes. I felt like an other. As my soul friend said to me recently, “We are each others’ other.” I felt as though I had more fears than other people, more anxieties, more insecurities, more failures, more doubts, and the list goes on. But because of you, my loves, I don’t feel that at all anymore. Not one little bit. I feel like I am a part of something, and that something is so beautiful and pure and good. And for so long, I wanted to be beautiful and pure and good. And your presence in my world is showing me that I deserve this love, even when I find it hard to believe.

Today, my daughter and I were cuddling on the couch in the basement, just talking as we stared at the beams of the unfinished ceiling, and she asked, “Mom, if I tell you something, will you give me a time out?” Never really a good intro, but I told her that she can always tell me anything. “I think you are really sweet because you never yell. Sometimes daddy yells, but I like it better because you don’t yell.”

“That is because I am someone who stays calm,” I explained to her, which is true. I don’t yell.

“Am I calm?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, honestly. “You get upset and when you do you cry and sometimes you scream when you cry and it is very loud and it hurts my ears.”

“Am I a cry baby?” she asked.

“No, you are not a cry baby. But you aren’t calm.”

“I have never seen you cry sad, mom. I have only seen you cry happy.”

Obviously, that is not true, as I am sure that in the past year she has seen me at very low points; but for some reason, the image that sticks with her is a happy one; she sees me as emotional, but also well.

And an enormous part of my wellness is because of you, dear loves. Your support, your empathy, your compassion, your generosity, your thoughtfulness, your kindness, your bravery, your companionship, your cheerleading…

You keep me going, even when I feel like everyone and everything else is trying to knock me down.

You see, life is life; it gets hard sometimes. But your presence also makes my life good. Fun. You make me laugh with silly posts and texts, you hold my hand while spilling secrets in bed, you let me squirt sriracha into a martini while we laugh so hard together that we can barely breathe.

When I experienced inpatient hospitalization and then, later, another serious treatment plan, I confided in you that I was worried about being able to keep it all going; my health, my duties at home and my blog.

And what did you do? You all offered to help. To bring my family meals. To write guest posts for me. And that is when one of you coined the term #teamMEA.

Mommy, Ever After is my third child, and you are like the amazing playgroup that I met because of having given birth to this baby; the kind of playgroup where the friends around you in the circle on the floor are your friends for life.

Jim Morrison said, “Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself – and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.”

And that quote right there means a lot to me (and not just because I trekked through a hailstorm in Paris to visit his grave). As I have gotten older, I have learned the difference between true friendship and that which is not. And it’s OK to have acquaintances. They serve their purpose. It is better to have people to say “hello” to than a bunch of enemies.

But you, my loves, are not the latter. You are my true friends. You care about me and I care about you. You love me at my lowest. You lift me up when I feel most lost. You cheer for me the loudest.

So, what I am saying, loves, is that you’re stuck with me.

For your love, I will be eternally, endlessly grateful.

Because of your love, and a few feathers, I will be able to soar.

Love, always,

B

The post #teamMEA appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I am also making much more of an effort to meet my basic health and human needs.

And as great as that is, and though my quality of life has improved over the last few weeks, that comes with a catch.

My daughter turns 5 next month and as my very close friend said today, “She is a very mature 5″ which is true; almost an understatement. She is wise and empathetic and intuitive; but that also means that she can be both cunning and cutting.
She is now at a point in her language where is able to identify the adjectives that represent the tone in which one is speaking.

For example, if I were to say something like, “Yes, that would be awesome if the baby took the ice cream and smeared it all over the kitchen floor,” she would reply with, “Mom, your just being sarcastic.”

She gets nuance and emotion. And she can use that to her advantage in mostly positive ways, but goodness does it make it hard sometimes. This weekend I had to teach her what “manipulative” meant.

She had taken to saying things like, “I am going to tell you something that I want to do, and if you don’t let me do it I am just going to tell you now that I will be sad forever and I will not be able to stop crying for three months.”

I called her out on this, turning the tables with examples, and we have now changed the language to, “Mom, I would really like to do something. If you say no, I may be disappointed but it’s ok.”

But today, she really hit me where it hurts.

She found that guilt soft spot,

the place in all of us where it is tender and sensitive and fragile,

and she gave it a nice wallop.

My daughter was very disappointed when I sent our babysitter home a little early so that she could avoid driving into the city in bad weather. But instead of using our new phrase, she cried hysterically and said that she was so sad that she could not play with her best friend (our sitter is virtually a part of our family, but come on) and then said, “You don’t even play with me mom. You just watch.”

“What are you talking about? Watch what?” I asked.

“You just sit with us and watch “Vanderpump Rules“.

“That is not true and that is not nice. I play with you and sing songs with you and dress up with you and beanboozle and show you music videos. And FYI, Vanderpump Rules is only on once a week, anyway.”

But I really started to feel guilty; because part of what she said is right. I do not run around like our two sitters do. I do often not engage in elaborate games that involve running up and down the stairs of all four floors of our house, like she gets to do when her godparents or our friends visit.

And that is not because I don’t care and it is not because I am lazy.

It is because I am tired.

 I am not just “oh it’s hard being a mom” tired, but I am tired because my body is still healing physically

and working very hard to get back to a place of strength and wellness.

My kids and I played in my daughter’s room this afternoon; we did low-key playtime, where I let him open and close drawers and my daughter read books to me and then I took out her special ponies to play with.

And then I asked her for five minutes to sit quietly. I would stay in the room with her. I would watch and enjoy; I just needed five minutes of time when I did not have to be “on”.

And she went and socked me in the gut, yet again. “I am so lonely I am just going to wait downstairs until daddy gets home.” (which made no sense, because I was offering to sit with her, and her proposed plan would leave her downstairs and alone, but whatever).

I called my husband as he drove home from work.

“She says I don’t play with her. I feel like a bad mom,” I confessed.

And he talked me down. He reminded me of our special, unforgettable day just one week ago.

“I guess I am good at nurturing,” I admitted.

“You do so much,” he said.

And, because I am very tired…

BREAK.

***Literally 4 hours later***

I could not make this up if I tried.

I typed those words above: And, because I am very tired

and I fell asleep.

Sound asleep.

At 6pm I fell asleep. I napped until 7:30 when my daughter cried from her room that she heard the sound of a big bang.

So, I guess I need not say anymore; I think that the above speaks for itself.

To be honest, 4 hours (a chicken pot pie and 3 episodes of House of Cards later), I don’t remember how I was going to finish that sentence.

And, because I am very tired–

you can fill in the blank; I am sure you can.

Here. I’ll go first: And, because I am very tired, I am more sensitive than usual, so probably harder on myself than I should be, as sleep impacts my mood profoundly; and because I am so very tired I fell asleep at 6pm while typing a blog post.

There you have it. A reminder, perhaps another little nudge from my angels, to take care of myself;

that being a good mom doesn’t mean running or jumping or chasing; it means loving with all of your heart and soul.

And that I do.

The post Because I am very tired appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

And it’s funny, because some days that seemed really bad ended up turning out ok;

Then, on other days that started out so joyful, storm clouds moved in and things fell apart.

This week I learned that I was capable of strength that I did not know I had; I often see myself as so fragile, but I am not.

This week I learned that there are some people in our lives who are always going to disappoint us.

This week I learned that my people step up to the plate in ways I could never have imagined; I received help from people 16 months-85 years old; My tribe was there for us beyond belief and my new community has turned out to be so much more incredible than I could have ever imagined. #teamMEA.

Sundays are always hard. I think that’s a pretty universal thing–the Sunday Night Blues, we call them–

but today is a bit harder than other Sundays, as I have a big week ahead.

I have been running a very long marathon and this week I find out if I am able to cross the finish line.

Or not.

Today I saw a quote by C.S. Lewis on the Facebook Page of Italia Gandolfo of Gandolfo Helin & Fountain Literary Management, the agency by whom I am represented. I know that as a writer and person, C.S. Lewis is many things, but instead of getting involved in anything religious or political, I will remember him as the author of The Chronicles of Narnia, books I read in elementary school, and that remind me to keep believing in the fantastic.

Because in times like this week, you can do all that you can, you can try your best, you can plan, you can work as hard as possible, you can run that marathon with all of your heart, but sometimes, more than anything, what you need is faith; just the ability to believe that success is possible.

And so I choose to believe that this past week brought me closer to my people; it has shown me what I am made of and made me feel more grateful than ever for the love that is in my life.

And as far as next week…I am not sure how it is going to go,

but I believe, with all of my heart

that there are better things ahead.

The post to believe appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

As we headed back for my test, my heart racing, my stomach turning, I admitted to the bubbly, kind tech that I am a bad combination: I am claustrophobic and a hypochondriac. She laughed, in a warm and kind way, and assured me that there was nothing to worry about. “I just have bad anxiety,” I told her, as I was putting my belongings into a locker by the MRI room.

We got into the room, she put a fresh sheet of tissue on the table and then she said, “Before you go in, I just have to tell you a story. Long story short…” and then went on, and I am not exaggerating, to tell me a ten minute story about how her son started to get weird neurological symptoms, including screaming fits, twitching, the inability to balance, sleep or brush his teeth and she was sure he had a brain tumor, being an MRI tech and all. AND, he also had anxiety. They took him to many hospitals and finally, through a special program, he was diagnosed with Encephalitis, the source of all of his symptoms. Including the anxiety. So basically, she spent ten minutes telling me why I should be more worried. I actually got a bit woozy at one point and sat down (there is only so much you can hear about the blood and brain) but when I finally got in the MRI machine I actually started to laugh. It was so ridiculous that I just had to laugh.

2. Speaking of my MRI, I had to take out my new ear piercing, just two days after I had it done, as there is no metal allowed. I tried to put it back in last night and it didn’t work well. So my husband re-pierced my ear. I feel like this might not have been a great idea.

3. Today, someone pointed to my son and asked, “Oh, so you’re the babysitter?” (Score!)

4. This week, I received the most incredible support from the most incredible friends, near and far. I felt very loved and for that I feel very blessed. I was able to ask questions, ask for help, tell seemingly endless and boring stories at times, and other times, I did not have to say anything at all.  #friendshipisthickerthanblood

Speaking of friends, this, the whole dress debacle that seemed to dominate the internet last night, caused me great anxiety. I asked my one bestie, the neuropsychologist, why our brains would make us see things so differently (she saw gold and white; her husband, my husband and I all saw blue and black). I tried to explain to her what white looks like to me: I said it is a light color, whereas black is a dark color, like the sky outside at nighttime. She asked me if I saw marshmallows as black; I asked my other bestie if this was a sign of the apocalypse. I was seriously scared. Thank gd she has a survival kit.

5. This morning felt like a mom-win.

I made three different breakfasts for three different dependents, because my one child does not eat strawberries or muffins and the other won’t eat blueberries or eggs.

and then there was this one. Have I mentioned that we hand make all of her meals?

Then, I packed a lunch and decided to write a note for my daughter that she could read by herself (because she’s really taking off in her reading and it is so cool!) So I tried to make it easy, and use a picture like they do in the BOB books.

Except, I can’t draw. My husband makes the most amazing lunch notes, but this morning it was on me.

Let me see if you can figure out what I was trying to convey with this masterpiece here:

Finally, my last moment of heart-exploding pride came when it came time for my daughter to leave for school.

I mean, the newsboy cap; the kiss; the chunky thighs; the love.

And those are a handful of things that are on my mind.

So, what color did you see?

(Just kidding. I do NOT want to know.)

The post A handful of things appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Today, however, is a day that I will never forget. And that because today was one of my best days as a parent; one of the best times of my life.

Let me first tell you a story.

Six months ago, my daughter woke up one morning and told me that she was ready to get her ears pierced. I had been encouraging her, so I was excited, and picked her up from camp with my mom, her J, who is her godmother, those pastel colored mint nonpareils and many promises of things that she would desire.

We trekked through the mall and found the piercing station, signed all of the paperwork, picked out the earrings and then my daughter completely freaked out. Like, epic, screaming, wailing, terrified of the marker freak out. She was, evidently, not ready. #fail.

It is a subject that has come up on and off since the summer and the conversation has always ended with, “You know what? I am not quite ready yet. I will get my ears pierced when I am ready.”

This morning, out of nowhere, my daughter woke up, came into my room and said, “Mom, I am ready,” with great conviction.

We talked about it and she didn’t back down.

And then, I had a minor anxiety attack. Because of logistics and the hours during which I have my sitter, I  knew that I would have to get her ears pierced around lunch time or a bit after so that I could go without the baby, as I had childcare during those hours only. My daughter attends school 9am-3pm. The idea occurred to me that I could keep her home from school today (I looked at the temperature on my phone and it read 5 degrees) for a special date. But for some reason this made me feel like a bad mother.

I consulted with my husband. I asked my best friends for their opinions. I asked J, who is, among many other specialties, a licensed child psychologist. I posted the question in the incredible Mommy, Ever After community group. “Am I wrong to keep my daughter home from school today to get her ears pierced?” My anxieties were not about academics (she is doing just fine) or the social component (she loves school and has many friends) but for some reason I feared that by keeping her home for no reason would give her school anxiety. And then I thought back to my childhood, when my mom would give me and my sister “mental health days”. My sister and I both went to graduate school, she is an award winning journalist, and neither of us feared school or had trouble making friends or keeping up. The response that I received from my friends was a rousing, “Yes! Keep her home! There is nothing to worry about!” (By the way, in case you are reading this and happen to be one of her teachers, please know that a big part of my anxiety was due to the fact I value and adore you to no end).

So I took a deep breath and emailed the school and said that my daughter would be absent today.

This afternoon, while the baby was at being watched, I had a date with my daughter. On our drive to the mall we had incredible conversations. We talked about being nervous and about how important it is to not let our fears stop us from doing things that we want to do. I did not want to give her any of my phobias, but she already knows that I don’t like snakes, so I used that as an example. “Even though I don’t like snakes, I love to hike in the woods and be in nature,” I explained to her. And this lead to a great conversation about animal classifications and I was able to teach her the difference between mammals, reptiles and amphibians.

A few times during the drive she told me that she was nervous, but we kept repeating our mantra, which was “sometimes things scare us, but we won’t let them stop us!”

My daughter was a rock star today. We went to the piercing place, and although she was very apprehensive, she didn’t back down. The one caveat was that I had to get a piercing first to show her that it does not hurt. (This, I now realize, was an incredibly wise move the day before I am getting an MRI.)

For her earrings, my girl picked out pink stones in the shape of a heart, and had me choose a shining pink heart as well.

“We will be twins!” My own heart was bursting as she sat, stoic and brave, as two women pierced her ears, giving her a sparkling heart in each ear.

She did it.

We celebrated with a special date and I told her I was proud of her as many times as I kissed her (which is a lot).

And then I realized something so important; my earlier anxiety was in vain;

Today, my daughter missed a day of preschool and although she loves her teachers and classmates, she will get to see them every week day until June.

But today my daughter learned something that is impossible to teach without doing.

Sometimes things scare us but we won’t let them stop us.

Today, she learned to trust her instincts; she learned that she was braver than she realized; she learned that I will always have her back; she learned that the world has many things that are scary, but that we can, if we are lucky, conquer our fears.

Today was one of those parenting milestones that I will never forget.

Sometimes things scare us but we won’t let them stop us.

And in a home that is already filled with love, there is still always room for three more hearts.

The post I will never forget. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My grandparents came over for lunch, as I needed them to watch the baby for me so I could go to a doctor’s appointment. There are times on this site when I share more details than others–sometimes I am purposely vague–but today I will open up and tell you the whole story. Pardon me if things seem a bit scattered; I am doing the best that I can.

As I have mentioned, we are now in the end stages of finishing our basement , (Carpet goes in tomorrow! We have outlets!) after we had a great flood last year, ruining an entire POD worth of possessions and leading to the carbon monoxide poisoning of both me and my children. That was (is) stressful, but I am very excited about our new big, great living and play space. Not only do I love this because in the finishing of the basement do we gain a new family room from our sunroom and a new guestroom from our former playroom, but I love home design (if you are new on here, I wrote about the transformation of my home on a site called 511 Ever After). I have had a ball picking out paint colors and fixtures and carpeting and tile and it feels kind of nice and grown up to build something of our own, truly from the ground up. But not only am I excited about my basement, I am proud; I felt proud when we got up from the lunch table and I toured my Mommom through the partially finished space. I am going to be honest in saying that it felt good to be able to say, “Here is where I had them put in closets with built in shelves for the toys and then look, we created a nook over here.” and “Look at my new laundry room.” because I have always struggled with feeling like a real grown up (as if I am some sort of imposter) and this made me feel really accomplished in a way that I have not before.

And then…

And then, Mommom and I walked up the steps and someone working in the house said, “Um, I am not sure what is going on, but I think that there is a problem in the garage.”

To give you a visual, our garage is off of the kitchen, next to our back door and powder room and mudroom area. I opened the door and saw water spraying out from the house-side of the basement. Spraying with force. A pipe had burst (I am assuming) and water was covering the things that we moved from the basement to the garage to store, and also things like sports equipment, bikes and strollers. Fortunately, I had electricians working here, and they knew more than I do about home repair, so they shut off the faulty pipe, but I was very upset. Another burst pipe? Really? Just as we are getting our (house related) lives back together?

And then I realized, I was running late for my appointment with the doctor. And this wasn’t one of my normal doctor visits. And I couldn’t find my keys, so I ran around, and my Poppop told me to slow down 15 times and cautioned me to drive safely to the hospital, but I was in a frenzy.

As I drove to the hospital, the place where I had both of my children

and the place where I was told that I would not longer be able to have any more children,

I called my dear friend. “I just needed to say this out loud to someone who will understand.” And she was so kind and compassionate and she did.

I walked through the hospital feeling trailed by ghosts. As I walked in the atrium, I saw myself, 18 months ago, walking through the same area, my belly so far out in front of me. I remembered the kind of tea I had ordered and I remembered the hard phone conversations I had had on a specific bench and I broke a little inside.

“I am never going to have that ever again.” That sentiment echoed in my head on repeat. I couldn’t help it. And I am grateful for my family and my children and my recovery, but I am still in pain.

In any case, I was particularly nervous for my visit to this particular doctor, for a very specific reason. In “The Hardest Post I’ve Ever Written”, I said:

“In having my son, my sweet angel of a little boy whom I love with all of my heart, I experienced great depression…the hormones. The crushing hormones that sneak up on you and embrace you in their anxiety-producing grasp. So I suffered what I now know is called peripartum depression. I felt down. Not all of the time, but some of the time. A lot of the time. I couldn’t focus on my family. I had scary thoughts. But I was ok. I was still myself.

And I saw doctors and they were all concerned for me for after the birth. I remember one saying “I am concerned about you having this baby and having a walloping case of postpartum depression.” And I didn’t quite understand it but I knew to fear it.”

My appointment today was with a neurologist. I have never written about this before on here, but when I was 7 months pregnant I had a severe migraine with a complex aura. I am sure that many of you suffer from migraines, my oldest friend has had them for years, but that day was truly one of the scariest in my entire life. I have had many migraines in my life, most of them silent, but twice I have experienced an aura. The first time was in 7th grade math class. I began to see bubbles in front of my eye and my hand went numb and then went home with a crushing headache and vomiting. And by home, I actually mean to Mommom’s apartment where she took care of me and I watched “The Price is Right”.

The second time was much worse. As I said, I was very pregnant and I was sitting in my sunroom and playing with my daughter when I started to see black spots in front of one of my eyes, as if I had been looking into the sun or a bright light. That then quickly turned into a trail of shimmering lights and a vague headache. At this point, because I knew enough about migraines, thinking I was on the verge of an ocular migraine, I called my mom to come over to help me with my daughter.

She took me into bed and we all cuddled up in my darkened bedroom and she kept the dialogue going with me in order to distract me, but suddenly I realized that I was losing a word or two per sentence. And then I lost the ability to speak or communicate. I could think what I wanted to say, I could speak, but I was talking in gibberish. And I sent a few text messages during that time to try to ask for help, but they were in completely incoherent as well. I could not get words out. That was the single scariest thing I can ever remember happening to me. After that, the numbness and excruciating headache that lasted for two days seemed like a piece of cake. Truly.

In any case, I went to a neurologist early in the Fall of 2013, 33 weeks pregnant, and was diagnosed with “Complex migraines with aura”. And then I sat in my new neurologist’s office and I sobbed. I sobbed to him about my fears about a repeat C-Section when my OBGYN was not taking me seriously (he intervened and wrote a note to him, explaining that I needed to be treated with more care, thank you very much) and I sobbed about my fears about a repeat child. And more. And he is the doctor who said, “I am not worried about a neurological problem with you; what I am worried about is that you are going to develop a walloping case of postpartum depression.”

He gave me prescriptions that day, for medicines (that I have not taken), for tests (that I did not have done) and a note with the name of a psychiatrist.

This is the psychiatrist whom I see twice every week.

This man, this doctor, had a profound impact on my life, and he had no idea (because I never followed up with him as I was supposed to). I apologized today for being a “bad patient” and he said “I am in no way angry with you, I just want to get you better.” and ordered a new round of tests (I have to suck it up and get the dreaded MRI/MRA but this time I do not have a basketball sized stomach and can take anxiety medicine) and will be seeing me again in a month. He truly seemed to care.

I left the hospital a little shaken. I was nervous about my upcoming tests and nervous about what I would come home to find, and the elevator was not working, and because I had not been able to find a parking space, I had to park on the top tier of the garage. I took a deep breath and walked up the four flights of stairs (which, I realize, is not a lot, but for me, right now, it is) and got to the top when I realized that I had not paid for parking before leaving the hospital, which is their newish policy. So back down I went. And then back up, again. And I had to laugh.

What a day.

I got home and my grandparents were playing with the kids and my aunt had come over and brought them fun toys and my husband was home and hugged me in the way that I needed to be hugged.

And if I haven’t gotten real so far, here it is.

I have been advised by some people to share less on this site; all of these suggestions have been well intentioned, absolutely, but they have basically ranged from the notion that I am perpetuating my “hard story” by continuing to write about it and myself, to the fact that I want to still be regarded as a trustworthy member of the community, without the stigma of mental illness attached to my name.

But I don’t believe that.

Because the first thing that I wanted to do after holding my son and snuggling my daughter and hugging my husband was to let my fingers slide across this keyboard and let the words pour out of me (like, let’s say a flood. Too soon?) This is my outlet. Yes, my primary goal with this site is to help others, but I am most definitely helping myself in the process.

So you may have noticed that my posts recently have been a bit more upbeat and light. That is for two reasons: First, because things have been going pretty well, and for that I am so grateful. But second, it is because I have made a conscious effort to try to make this blog less “harsh” or “honest” or “self-reflective”. But that’s not who I am.

And today was a bad day. And it is OK for me to admit that I have had a bad day.

If people look at me differently for it, then it is their problem.

My tribe, my true, deeply rooted tribe of people, love me and support me and build me up, even on my weakest days (and sometimes mostly on my weakest days. Do you know how many of my people have sat on my bed with me in the past 6 months alone? When I’ve needed them they were not only “there”, they were right there). They don’t try to silence me, they let me be who I am, and that is honest and communicative and as I said to my husband during a teary conversation on Saturday, “I must be doing something right, because look at my friends.” I have the best friends in the world. No, really, I do.

So today I felt anxious, I felt proud, I confronted a new home challenge and ghosts from my past, and took steps towards taking care of myself, both medically and emotionally. Like my basement, I am a work in progress, and unexpected obstacles come up, but I am learning to fix them. I am finding my strength.

And it’s funny; as I type this I am realizing something. Maybe today wasn’t so bad, after all.

The post It is OK for me to admit that I have had a bad day. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

So, when I heard this song, I was moved, immediately, and sent messages to my husband, and to J, for different reasons; because CSNY was our first concert together and because my inner spirit is a peace sign to her.

Tumbleweed, your inner spirit is a peace sign to me
Life is full of little tricks and we can always pick up sticks
And build again, that’s what we do

Harmony, the way we hold on when we tumble though the night
Life is full of strange delights, in the darkness we find lights
To make our way, back home again

Tumbleweed, I’m baring my soul to you
Tumbleweed, it’s all that I’ve got that’s true

Bite me now, with your confusion, your happiness and delight
It will only hurt a moment, then it’s gone and you can see
There’s nothing left, to leave a mark

Animal, care for your kind, in the way you always do
When the flower moon is shining, it’s eclipse and your lips smiling
Comfort me and I comfort you

It is interesting; when I heard the acoustic version of this song on the “Coffeehouse” station this morning, it was sung as “Tumbleweed, your inner spirit is a peace sign to me.” and that is the same diction used in the official listing of the song lyrics. However, in the link above, which is considered the video for the song, the lyrics are changed to “Tumbleweed, your inner beauty is a peace sign to me.”

I will take either.

Also on “Coffeehouse” I heard this old classic, about which I texted my main band bro, saying, “We should totally do this song!” and then proceeded to belt it out, emoting greatly, publicly, on Lancaster Avenue.

My drive took me to Vivi G. shoes in Eagle Village. It was the coldest day in recent memory, but I wanted to get my flip flop on.

I have mentioned recently that I am just finally starting to very, very slowly replace a few items from my lost shoe collection and I was so lucky that my girl, Jen, owner of Vivi G., hooked me up with my sandal start. But I also managed to have a little fun…

After my quick shoe shopping trip, I had a much more profound trip down memory lane. I met up for tea with an old friend. All that I can and will say is that this person was once very special to me, and though I have not seen her in closer to two decades than one, she now means more to me than ever. She is what I call a Unicorn; she is someone who is, if you can believe it, equally beautiful inside and out. Her inner spirit is a peace sign to me.

 The rest of my day was spent doing regular, every day things. I went to the bank. I picked up an entire roll of tinfoil off of my first floor. I spoke on the phone with my friends.

And when it came time to do bedtime, my daughter asked if she could read along with us.

My kid is reading and it is really cool.

I, meanwhile, could barely read “Fox in Socks”, despite the fact that I consider myself to be a master at tongue twisters (I even teach classes on the things!) and definitely said some inappropriate words. Sorry, Dr. Seuss.

We somehow made it through the Tweedle Beetle Battle and cuddled up and talked her favorite subject, once again: the plans for her upcoming birthday party. “We could do a swimming party,” she said. Her birthday is April 18. “Where are we going to be able to have a swimming party?” I asked.

“Miami!”

I held her to me and did want to let go.

I chose a new lullaby for my daughter tonight. “Kiss Me”. I thought she would like it.

I was right.

And a few minutes ago, long after we tucked her into bed, as I was working on gathering the music for this post, she came to my door and said,

“Keep on playing it,” she whispered. “It’s amazing.”

Her inner beauty is a peace sign to me.

The post Your inner spirit is a peace sign to me. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.