My love for my son is no less fierce or intense. But yes, it is different. Part of this is clearly because of their 3.5 year age gap. For example, communication: My daughter has a stunning vocabulary for her age and a wisdom that is hard to put into words. My son is just learning to speak. It is easier for me to relate to my daughter in many ways, because she can tell me how she is feeling and what she wants and she will sit down with me, whereas my son uses non-verbal communication, his dozen words and a lot of running.

But, as I said, my love for him is unquantifiable. Just this morning the four of us were up early and all cuddled on the couch in the basement, listening to my son’s new favorite song (and let me tell you, he makes it known) and I kind of nuzzled up to his head and inhaled him, like people do with newborn babies. He smells delicious. I can’t describe it, but I got so lost in that smell, I could have stayed there forever.

But if we are being really, truly honest, which I always am, I think that the part of my relationship that mixes me up a bit is the fact that he was born and I subsequently lost my mind. So my feelings about our introduction are a combination of bliss, gratitude, joy, terror, sadness, pain, guilt and some PTSD. Once my mental health started to improve and I was left alone, again, to take care of my son, I thought, “How am I going to do this? How will we work?”

My little guy has surprised me from day 1 of his existence in my womb, and hasn’t stopped. He cracks me up, for in the span of 3 minutes, he will steal my kale smoothie, switch the Living Room TV to a setting that I can’t figure out how to fix, take apart my bathroom vanity, while marching around, bag of pretzels in one hand and blowdryer in the other. (This is what he did after lunch today.) He just tried to race his Matchbox cars over my computer keyboard. He is just different than I am. I am lazy. I like to play chill games. He likes to go go go go go go go go go go.

But something hit me today, as I got dressed, and I was inspired to journal it, as he deserves it. I wanted to write about him. My closet happens to be in my son’s bedroom, so as I picked out my outfit, I sat him on his glider and talked to him. “I’m just putting on my shirt now! What do you think?” And I smiled at him as broadly as I could and he smiled back, with his entire face. I ran to the bathroom that is across the hall from his bedroom and waved to him. He continued to beam.

“We are doing this,” I thought.

This, this period of time right now, is an odd one; This is not what I expected from my life, and I feel the entire spectrum of emotions when I think about it, ranging from extreme sadness to pure happiness. This morning, on that couch, my head in his hair, I was as blissful as anyone could be.

And then there are other times, when I am trying to figure out my path forward, and I get down.

But I realized today that I have this constant reminder with me; My little strength symbol.

I want to be happy, not just for myself (in fact, I put myself last, but that’s a whole different story), but for him.

So right now I am sitting on the floor of the basement, perched on his “Anywhere Chair”, typing, as he runs around, playing trains, sliding down the rollercoaster, handing me a plastic croissant and saying, “Apple, mama?” as he shoves it into my mouth, climbing on the furniture and continuing to mess with yet another TV. I am now listening to the sound of my home phone dialing.

But we’re doing this.

And even though I just had to get up from my chair on the floor (despite my inherent laziness) to hang up the phone because he actually did just call someone, we are doing this.

And so I am going to go now. Not just because he is dialing more numbers, but because I want to give him my time. I want to play with him, cooking together in his fake grill. I want to help him to do a puzzle. I want to smell his head.

So, it may not have been the easiest path,

and every single day still has it’s challenges,

but I get to smell a heavenly head, and see a huge smile that has all but 2 teeth filled in, and laugh at the little drop of milk that gets caught in the cleft of his chin and live in a constant state of surprise and amazement and awe.

And I get to continue to learn, from my baby, how to be strong.

(Our respective perches. At least for this second.)

Update: My mom just called.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Nothing. You called me? I got a missed call from your home phone.”

My son freakin’ called my mom.

“His first call to Bubbie!” she exclaimed, so excited.

“He is delicious.”

And I have to agree.

The post We are doing this 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 husband’s early morning Facebook status update.

This was when she crawled into our bed around 7am. Usually, one of us gets up and takes both kids downstairs, but this morning, for a change, we both woke up and brought the baby into bed and she followed.

“Daddy, I had a dream and you and [K’s best friend] took me to this party at a haunted house and I made a new friend. And there were ghosts, and skeletons. I was just walking along and suddenly there were dancing ghosts. And skeletons. And ZOMBIES.”

 Then the discussion turned to her birthday party. Her birthday is in April.

“We could have a clown come.  [beat]  The problem is, I don’t. like. clowns.”

It was then probably 7:02.

“We can have a Scooby Doo party. I already told J that she is Shaggy. Or, actually, let’s do a Grease party. Or we can do the Scooby Doo party and daddy can dress up like a ghost and we can make your car into the Mystery Machine.”

The thing about my daughter is, she does not stop talking. Apparently she comes by this honestly; I have been told that I was the same way as a child, but I cannot imagine that it was to this extent. She actually never, ever stops talking.

There was a Saturday, two summers ago, when we decided to do a “new” “fun” family activity and visit an organic orchard somewhere west of our suburb. The drive from our house to the highway is probably 4 minutes long. She was so chatty in those four minutes that when we got to the place where we would get on I76 I told my husband to keep driving straight, so that we cross the bridge into Philadelphia and have lunch right there, one minute away. It was even too much talking for me.  I was already so exhausted by her that I could not imagine another 45 minutes in the car. And this sounds so terrible, as I adore my child and love how verbal she is. It is one of her most fabulous defining features. But sometimes, when she won’t stop talking and we are expected to engage in every part of the conversation…

it gets to be a lot.

This morning, my husband took the kids down for breakfast while I lingered a bit longer in bed and I came down to find her eating,

wait for it–

Rice Krispies and a chocolate donut. Good intuition, that kid.

She then asked if we could sing the finale song from “Into the Woods” with the Baker’s Wife (me) and Baker Baby (her). I was in the middle of singing, “Hold him to the light now,” when she stopped me and said “No, really hold me to the light.”

Next, she wanted to hear this song, which is awesome.

It is actually something we are working on next door, as my bandmate and I like to try to find interesting harmonies or songs with counterpoint melodies. We have gotten into a good groove that way and music means so much to me.

In any case, this morning my daughter wanted to sing the girl’s part of the song so I sang the boy’s part.

And then she wanted to be the girl. Not Taylor Swift; nor Taylor Swift specifically from the “Blank Space” video; she wanted to be Louisa from the YouTube video.

I put lipstick on her, tied her half into a half up bun and dressed her in the closest thing I could find to a blazer, which was a jean jacket with leather arms.

She then performed her part, alone (refusing help when I tried to teach her the actual lyrics) and asked for me to video tape her.

I did and put it on my private Instagram. My friends pointed out something very funny. Truth be told, I actually just laughed out loud while typing this.

Instead of singing

“Got a long list of ex-lovers
They’ll tell you I’m insane”

she actually sings,

“Come along with stomach lovers…”

And then it was time to get ready for school.

So there you have it. My kid is funny. She makes me laugh every day, and even though she doesn’t stop talking, I am lucky that I get to have so much entertainment in my life,

all before 8am.

The post My kid is funny. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Last week, I wrote my first ever post about sex. I am very careful about the content that I include on my site, a site called “Mommy, Ever After”, but I think that the post (and the subsequent conversations that it sparked) are lifestyle issues that will help all of us in our “Hopeful Stories”.

First and foremost, thank you, you brave souls, who responded to the post, both publicly and privately. I had some of the most entertaining conversations and actually laughed out loud at times. And I also was able to gain incredible insight, and get some really difficult questions answered. I learned SO much!

So what did you* have to say about sex and what did I learn?

Here goes…

First of all, the majority of the people who responded were married** women. The main variable was age, as I heard from women from 25-65.

Every single one of the people in that demographic (demographic being “married woman”) agreed with my theory, in some way or another, that married people do not typically talk to their single friends about sex. They also felt the bubble-person feeling that I feel.

This was, based on my “research”, for two reasons:

Either, the married woman would talk to her single friend about the single friend’s sex life in great detail without the single friend asking about the married friend’s sex life

or

the married friend felt uncomfortable bringing up her own sex life, primarily because of the fact that she was married.

My theory remains that married women do, however, discuss sex details (and sometimes very intimate details) with their married friends. For instance, I heard from married women whom I do not know very well (perhaps I have only met them a few times, haven’t seen them in a decade or our relationship has been limited to online only, thus far) yet they were unabashedly sharing details with me about very specific things regarding their own sex lives and sexual selves. I should note, I am being deliberately vague when it comes to detail, as when I published the first sex post I assured you that the post would not, in fact, be all that sexual, and I am trying not to veer off course. If you want to message me privately, that is a different story. There are some women who do not know my middle name but know the most personal details of my sex life because of the conversations we have shared after my post.

In my original piece, I mentioned that there is a wide spectrum when it comes to talking about sex with a member of the opposite sex, whether one party is married, both parties are married or some other combination. This was confirmed to me in my conversations, as many married women do talk to other men, married or single, about their sex lives, but made sure to say things like, “…usually with my spouse present.”

So, in all, my theories were essentially confirmed. All of the many combinations I had laid out (no pun intended. See? Still got it.) seemed to resonate with you.

But, and this is a big but, this didn’t answer my question of why.

And that question was answered yesterday. Yesterday, in an insightful conversation with a friend whom I just getting to know, things became elucidated.

She wrote, “I think that’s why people often stop talking about sex once they’re married – it’s something that becomes part of a private, shared experience between a couple and if one person talks about it in detail without the knowledge and consent of the other, then it’s akin to telling someone about your husband’s bathroom habits or his secret love of soap operas or something. Again, nothing about actual sex.”

She nailed it (No pun intended. I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself).

In my last post, I wrote:

“And then I got to thinking about marriage. And friendship. When we get married, we are not suddenly bubble people. We are the exact same people we were before we exchanged vows, but just committed to another person for life. So what happens that makes our single friends shun us when it comes to their desire to hear about our sex lives?

When I was dating my husband, I am sure I shared stories with my girlfriends, or asked questions, and that was fine. But nope, oh no, once the ring was on his finger, the idea of talking about my husband became repellent, like talking about one’s parents.”

I was implying that there was a negative connotation around this shift in behaviors; that single people did not want to hear about married people because it was somehow icky, and that married people did not want to share with single people because they feared making their single friend uncomfortable.

But, no. That’s not it. It is about intimacy.

A good friend and I were talking about the subject, and to protect her identity I am not going to say whether she is single or not, and she made the point that when one is single, a sexual encounter is a story; it is entertainment for others. On the other hand, for married couples, sex is implied, therefore not noteworthy, and that only other married people could understand that the notion of “it is just part of the package” is a fallacy.

I have some really smart friends and readers who have become friends.

So, there you have it. Our first foray into the world of sex.

And then, like most things do, this got me thinking.

I thought of my recent post entitled “You are not alone.” which is a nod to Into the Woods but also a very profound message; you may feel lonely sometimes; you may feel like the “other”; but you are not alone.

And in that post, and earlier in this very post, I referenced the many, many emails I get from you guys every day. I feel so blessed. For me, Mommy, Ever After has become a community, and a very strong one at that. But it just occurred to me that you (readers) don’t always get to benefit from it. Yes, I share as much as I can, as I am so inspired by what you share with me, but I am just one person with one perspective.

So I get these incredible messages from you in which you tell me that you can relate to my story or anxiety or problem or triumph and I get to have this amazing web of people with whom I can communicate so candidly.

And I will be honest; A lot of the emails I get are about feeling lonely.

But what about you?

I started this blog four and a half years ago because yes, I wanted to chronicle the life of my new baby, but I also wanted to tell other mothers, honestly, in a real way, that it is OK to feel sad and scared and frustrated and bored…AND enchanted. And Since the “Happy Story” turned into the “Hard Story”, my mission to help others became much stronger. That is my “Hopeful Story”. And so, I am trying to think of a way that you, my readers, can actually feel like you are a part of a community as well.

Do you know that over 60% of you live in the same geographic region? That means that you could meet for coffee or set up a play-date, if you were introduced.***

And the other 40% of readers from California to the Czech Republic to China can develop meaningful, special online relationships…but not if I do not connect you. So that is my next idea.

I have created what is called a “SECRET” Facebook Group. Not only is it a private group (which means that it is by invitation only and not visible to the rest of Facebook) but this group is so private that no one not in the group will be able to know of it’s existence. No one outside of the group can search for anything related to the group, nor could they ever see anything you post or comment on within the group. Let me make this extremely clear: no one outside of this incredibly private group will be able to see that you are a member. No one outside of the group will know that there is such a group. It is as secret as secret can be.

(That said, those of you who do accept will see each others’ postings, only on the group page, and really, isn’t that the point? If you are someone who joins this group, you are looking for community; so everyone who says “yes” to this for me (and I ask you to please, please say “yes”) can raise a hand. You are in this together. You are not alone. You can even join just to watch dialogues from afar, but from some of the emails that I got this week, I think we have a lot of great stuff coming our way…)

What I am trying to say is that I would love to build a community.

This is going to take guts, guys, but I am hopeful that instead of commenting on a post that I put on my personal page, which is then visible to thousands, you will feel comfortable in the privacy and security of Mommy, Ever After’s Private Community Page.

This is how it will work. If you have reached out to me previously, or if you are someone whom I think would be a positive addition to the group, I will invite you. You can choose whether or not you accept.

And then, you can have at it.

I will insist upon a strict set of guidelines (which are posted in the Group’s heading) but the basic idea is that this group is a vault. What happens in the group stays in the group.

Do you know how many of you wrote nearly identical messages to me this weekend about sex and marriage?

Do you know how many of you are looking for new, good friends?

No! You don’t! But you can!

I am hoping that this Facebook Group will allow you to

ask questions

seek advice

share tips

make a playdate

make a coffee date

make a wine date!

Remember, I am the administrator. No one can join the group without my approval. This means that if I do not know you, you aren’t getting in.

It’s like The Pink Ladies but wayyyy more exclusive.

So for everyone who wrote to me this week,

to everyone who has written to me over the past few months,

and the past several years,

take the leap.

While I don’t have a crystal ball, I can almost guarantee that it will make your life better.

We do have feathers on our side, after all.

*no one was quoted, nor was any conversation even referenced in the writing of this post without the individual’s express permission to do so.

**I use marriage here as a general term, the way I used “sex” as opposed to differentiating between “sex” and “gender” properly in my previous post. I do not wish to offend, nor alienate any individual or population. The group whom I refer to as “married” includes life partners, long-term relationships, etc. People who are committed and clearly not single.

***Always use caution and be careful when meeting a stranger from the internet. I will moderate strictly, but it is always a good thing to remember.

UPDATE: If you would like to be added to the group, please send me a message via Facebook or to Rebecca@mommyeverafter.com. I can invite only my personal Facebook friends, but I want to expand our community, and there are thousands of you who could benefit from this. Thank you!

The post We talked about sex. (Let’s talk some more.) appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

And I can’t believe how different things are now.

She is no longer in college.

She is no longer a White House Intern; (Though we now stay in touch with her former boss from that summer, as he has become a dear family friend.)

She is no longer traveling abroad on the reg.

But, some things never change.

***

Today, I introduced my kids to Grease for the first time.

I am lucky enough that my daughter is just young enough that anything inappropriate goes over her head (she was completely oblivious to the cigarette smoking, shockingly, and does not even come close to getting any references to drugs or sex).

I did, however, have to explain the premise to her; I said, “Imagine that we were away in St. John and you made a best friend and you were sooooo sad when we had to leave because you thought you would never see your friend again…and then you ended up both going to the same school, and you didn’t even realize it.”

She was a bit hesitant. Her loyalties are to Into the Woods and Rent and I respect that, because, come on, they are genius in completely different ways, but Grease…it’s Grease!

I told her to wait for the first song; I told her that I thought she would like it.

And oh, she suddenly transformed, in an instant, from The Baker’s Wife into Sandy.

It didn’t matter that we had spent this entire snow day acting out Into the Woods 172 times, or that she stood at the sink for a half an hour “preparing things to bake”, or that she told me, at one point, that she was pregnant.

She was now Sandy!

And I don’t blame her, because

It may be four and a half years later,

so much may have changed,

but,

still,

Grease is the word.

#pinkladiesforever

The post “Tell me more, Tell me more.” appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Which means that I had to get really clever, myself.

My daughter, the method actress, is enamored with Into the Woods.

We act out scenes from the musical every day, rotating parts; We watch clips from the movie and the staged version on Youtube and the XBox1; We sing every song.

So I know that she is completely obsessed

and with knowledge comes power.

You see, I have this insight because I am also a crazy musical theatre fan, and throughout my life, since I was two years old, I have been Dorothy, and Eponine, and Maureen and Amneris and Catherine and oh so many more characters that have gotten under my skin in a way that is impossible to describe to anyone who doesn’t know the feeling. It’s just one of those things.

This morning, I woke up at 10 after 7, when the baby let out his first cry of the day.

I got up slowly, bundled up in a hooded sweatshirt and when I opened my bedroom door and walked into the hallway I was greeted by a small girl with a large blanket, a makeshift cape around her shoulders and a hood on her head, skipping around.

“Oh, hell0,” said the girl. “I’m just on my way to my grandmother’s house but I seem to keep finding a wolf who actually looks like a man and he has candy.”

(At least she finally wised up and chose a better part than the “Baker Baby”.)

“And then, as I was getting a bouquet for granny, I heard Jack in the distance!” she continued.

So, we walked together into the baby’s room, and when we saw us, he flung himself down, theatrically, onto his back, so that he was sprawled out, crying in his crib. This is presumably because:

1. His daddy has been sick since Thursday (more on that, later), and my son misses him as he has been out of commission

and

2. I have two incredibly dramatic children.

Truth be told, I am tired. It is hard taking care of two children alone, all day, for many days in a row (mad props to all of the people who do this every day; I am in awe of single parents, parents and caregivers whose partners work long hours and anyone else who is tasked with this job regularly).

When we finally got the baby up and changed, the three of us headed downstairs for breakfast. As I was preparing the baby’s milk, the kids’ meals and trying to take care of the dog, I asked my daughter if she could bring Lola’s bowl over to me.

“Okay,” she started, “But let’s pretend that you didn’t really ask me to get Milky White his food but you just turned around and I was there with the bowl for Milky White’s food, like I thought of it on my own, and then you can say ‘Thank you, Little Red’. Can we do that?”

All the world’s a stage.

“Sure.”

So instead of having to run around like a chicken with my head

(or a maiden in a tower with her hair)

cut off, I was able to use a little creativity and the magic of musical theatre–something that has been so important to me in my life–something that I now see being so important to my daughter–to actually make life a little bit easier.

Little Red was happy to show The Wolf into the other part of the Woods, The Baker’s Wife was uncharacteristically allowed to leave the room for a second (because, spoiler alert: The Baker’s Wife does end up leaving) and Little Red was happy to let the dog in and out of the house (although it took Lola a bit longer to realize that she was supposed to come when she was being called “Milky White”).

All of this sounds great, and it was great, but I will admit one thing: While I figured out a way to occupy my daughter, who, in turn, entertained my son, I was spending time using a microplane to grate fresh carrot over Lola’s food.

One step at a time, I say.

(And, you know, it is very hard to take steps when there is pitch on the stairs.)

The post Milking it. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Then, my parents took  my daughter to see her new favorite movie, I picked up the cake for my husband’s birthday tomorrow (more on that later; he actually reads this blog so I don’t want to spoil the surprise) and I awkwardly told the girl behind the counter of the bake shop, “Ok, bye, love you!” I apologized and we laughed.

We had some things to pick up and I had a few gifts to purchase so we went to a store, despite the absolutely torrential rainstorm outside.

As I walked into the store, I saw something from afar that I thought might work for a gift, but as I got closer, I lost my breath.

Now, see below, at what I had written not 4 hours before.

And not only did I write it, but I had included a footnote about to whom I should attribute this quote, as there is great controversy over it’s origin and author.

Sometimes you just can’t explain things; The universe sends you messages and you choose whether you want to believe in them or not.

I believe.

***

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

My hands are running back and forth across the keyboard. I know what I want to say, I am just not sure how to properly convey the message so that it is as clear as I desire for it to be.

This quote is one of many that resonates with me, and I am fortunate enough that I have some very special girlfriends with whom I trade inspirational quotes, poems and photos via text, almost daily.

I write on this site all about my own struggles. My physical and mental issues. My battles.

But there is something that you may not know.

Every single day I receive several private messages that are written differently, but that have the same underlying theme, and that is this: “I wasn’t sure if I should write to you, but I feel like we are so similar in so many ways and I can relate and connect to you and your anxieties and struggles.”

Ever single day. And every single one of these messages means an incredible amount to me. I can’t even begin to convey how much they mean to me; every time I read a new note, I share with my husband how touched I am (I do not share the notes, nor anything about the senders or content) but just that I had a dialogue that was very special. So to those of you who have been brave enough to type these notes, thank you. And to those of you who are still on the fence as to whether or not you should reach out to me,

I implore you to please write.

Because you are not alone.

It is amazing how we as humans (and I would say particularly mothers, but I am not at all trying to stereotype or marginalize) are so hard on ourselves. I remember one of the quotes that I sent to a friend, and it was something like “Imagine if we spent the whole day obsessing about the things we liked about ourselves.”

Now anxiety, like most things, has a spectrum, and there are some people who have very little. But really, most people I know feel it, feel it palpably, and it causes a deep feeling of loneliness.

I used this example before in my writing as a hypothetical, but I want to tell you about something very personal to me. Out of respect for others and to keep things as confidential as possible, I am going to be vague about the context, but I was in a group recently in which I raised my hand, frustrated. I expressed my feelings and insecurities. I shared how lonely it felt to feel different.

The facilitator of this group repeated my sentiments to the rest of the room, where there were at least 20 people present, and asked if anyone could relate to my feelings of insecurity, “different-ness”, and loneliness.

Every single hand went up.

Every single hand.

I was shocked.

In my eyes and from my perspective, the things that I was sharing were clearly not applicable to anyone else in the room. But they felt them, too, just as acutely.

That is when I realized, I am not alone.

And why I say

you are not alone.

I have held my nose and jumped in to the deep end of the pool, so to speak (a metaphor my doctor uses) when it comes to being open and honest about my own mental health issues. I share more than most people. But I realize that sharing things–admitting to these vulnerabilities–is terrifying.

But, while I can’t make a 100% guarantee, I strongly, strongly believe that if you share how you are feeling, you will end up feeling better.

Not only will you have said it–the thing that is so hard to say–but you will have said it to someone who can empathize.

You can take it off of you. You don’t have to carry it anymore.

And, at the very least, you can know that by writing, you will have touched another person’s heart.

I so wish that we, as a culture, were more sympathetic to one another. We rally behind so many causes (which is fantastic), but we don’t really take the time to acknowledge the seriousness of our mental health issues.

So if you can take away anything from this post it is this:

The way you feel–that way that you are sure that no one in the world can possibly relate to–is something that so so so so so many of us feel. Sharing those feelings takes bravery, and if you want to start by sharing with me, I can assure you that you will find empathetic ears and a caring heart. You can always Facebook message me or email me at Rebecca@mommyeverafter.com. Again, everything you say remains between us. I am your vault.

But, most of all, I want you to remember this one salient point:

You are not alone.

Just a reminder: I can offer friendship and support, but I am not a medical professional. Please consult with your doctor if you are having a really hard time struggling with your emotions or, simply go to the nearest Emergency Room.

The post You are not alone. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

I had at least a handful of moments where I would catch eyes with my son and smile and he would beam back at me with his grin that is becoming more toothy by the day. I think there is a small part of me that fears that he doesn’t love me the way that he could or should because I didn’t exactly make the best first impression. But every time I see him smile like that, and when he nuzzles up to me, right thumb in his mouth, left hand reaching for mine, I know that he loves me, too.

I feel particularly emotional today for no one reason. No, it is not hormonal. Perhaps it is because of what I wrote last night and all that it conjures for me, or perhaps it is from some other stressful things in my life. I just feel extra raw.

And I have no idea why, but today I cried. A lot. And it wasn’t sad crying. It was just emotional crying, if that makes sense.

I cried while reading some personal messages that I received today. I am humbled, truly, when people share themselves with me, as I have with them.

I cried about stuff related to my desire to publish my book (I want to help others so badly!!!).

I cried when I took my daughter to the Pediatrician and saw a new baby in it’s infant seat. (perhaps that was sad crying). I felt so wistful. It ached.

I cried as I made my daughter the appointment for her FIVE year old check up. How is my daughter turning five this year? The receptionists talked about it incredulously as well, as they remember her as a newborn.

I cried when we were in the actual exam room; we had a pretty long wait (as she was given some tests) and I started to sing to her from my new favorite part of her new favorite musical and she stopped me, because she said that the people in the other rooms would think that I was the real Baker’s Wife. I am still not sure why that would be a bad thing (maybe she thinks they would steal me and throw me into the woods?), but I cried at her innocence.

I cried when I asked her if she loves performing and told her how much it has always meant to me. I welled up trying to explain to her how it has forever been my dream and I was so moved by the poignancy of our talk.

I cried on our way home from the doctor, which is literally down the street, because as we approached our normal turn, Queen’s “Somebody to Love” started to play and I said, “You have to hear this song, do you mind if we drive around a little bit?” (we had her dad’s super fast new car and could zip around the streets).  She was obviously game. I told her that it was Freddy Mercury singing. “Oh, Queen.” she replied. And I belted out the words and then, when it ended and we pulled up in the driveway behind my pink peace sign, I cried to have had that experience with my little girl.

I cried this evening, after I put my son to bed, when it was time for me to give a final snuggle to my daughter. I noticed that there were black drawings on some of the furniture by her bed. It is a well established rule in this house that markers are to be used only on paper (and this rule was implemented after certain dolls were colored, etc.) I cried because I saw the fear and pain in my daughter’s eyes. And I had a wonderful parenting moment. I told her that I was not mad at her (her biggest fear), and that I was proud of her for being honest. I told her that we all make mistakes. She asked me not to tell her daddy and I told her that I tell him everything. She asked if she could snuggle on me for a little. Her eyes. Those sad eyes.

I cried tonight when I watched the Season 1 finale of Broadchurch.

And then I cried afterwards when I went up and looked at my sleeping daughter in her bed.

On my way to my bedroom, I looked down at my sweater to see this:

Ok, I thought. I’ve got this.

All of these little crying sessions have been very small, perhaps even too small for anyone else to notice, and part of me thinks I am holding in one giant deluge of tears. That remains to be seen.

But there is one positive that I take away from having an emotional day like this; it means that I am keeping the promise I made to myself to “cherish the mundane”.

I had a cold day in with a sick child and a needy baby and I was able to enjoy them. Not all of the time. But most of the time.

And that shows me how far I have come.

Or, as some may say, how far I been able to travel out of the woods.

The post An emotional day. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

So, this morning, I rummaged the back of the drawer in my bedroom in search of something that I have not seen for two and a half years; my journal.

I bought my journal from Borders, when it used to exist, and the first entry was written by my husband. We were just dating at the time, but met on a work lunch break and he left me a little note.

I used this journal to work on my thesis.

and then in 2012 I used it as my sacred songwriting book, as I spent half a year involved in a musical partnership; I had a talented musician to write the music and I wrote the words.

 It was actually with great pause that I decided to include a page from those particular songwriting days. And the page you see is truly the most legible of all of the notes; the dozens of other pages from that summer are filled with crossed out lines and ink of different colors and notes in the margins and many words are barely readable.

And then, that collaboration ended.

And I was lucky enough to find a new, most fantastic musical home. I found the place where I belong.

In any case, I broke out my journal this morning so that I could write an entry about the new year. I would write about how 2014 was extraordinary in so many ways, and about my hopes for 2015.

But, as I started to write, the one pen that I had that is the kind that I like (I like pushy pens, not the ones with wet ink), kept stalling on me, and I decided that perhaps it wasn’t meant to be; Because, in truth, this has become my journal. This is where I share my deep secrets and fears and most intimate works of writing.

Over the weekend I wrote about being very moved when I took my daughter to see “Into the Woods”.

 Ever since that Sunday matinee, this one line has stuck in my head and I can’t stop singing it:

Sometimes people leave you.
Halfway through the wood.
Others may deceive you.
You decide whats good.
You decide alone.
But no one is alone…

The post I can decide what is good (and I can be good in the process). appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My son woke up late, as a treat, and my daughter followed me into his room to change his morning diaper.

“Today is the day!” she beamed.

“I know! Today is the cookie party!” I answered, referring to our plans for the special Pollyanna party with our best friends.

“No!” She cried. “Today, Bubbie and Zeydie come home from St. John!”

My parents have been away for two weeks. Despite our best efforts to make up for our missed trip, she missed her grandparents an extraordinary amount.

They spoke on the phone every day, and, evidently, on one such conversation, hatched a plan for her to have a sleepover at their house on the night of their return. It didn’t matter that they wouldn’t land until nearly 5:30, when we usually start bedtime at 6, or that they had just been gone for two weeks and had a long day of travel; they all needed this date.

She counted down the hours.

Fortunately, she was able to fill her day with plenty of fun; a trip to the library to see zoo animals and out to lunch with her friend (who, as of yesterday, may be her boyfriend. There was a kiss.); our Pollyanna party with a house filled with best friends and more cookies than any of of us could count.

But she had her eye on the prize.

I got a text from my dad shortly after five letting me know that they had landed and I told my daughter.

She threw her hands up in the air and shouted, “I’m free!”

(Whatever that means.)

When the party broke up, she went up to her room and she packed her suitcase with care, and the help of her GodMama , who had stuck around post-party,

as my husband drove to get my parents from the airport and her godfather and I cleaned up the kitchen.

And, finally, after a seemingly endless two weeks, Bubbie and Zeydie walked through our front door. Both of my kids freaked out, but the excitement between my parents and my daughter was incredible. With barely a glance behind her, she went off to their house for their date.

I didn’t hear from her the rest of the night (except for a quick call to say “Goodnight”) but I did follow her evening on Instagram, courtesy of my dad.

First, there was a bubble bath; then, spooky stories in Bubbie and Zeydie’s bed; then morning episodes of “Scooby Doo” in bed and making pancakes with Zeydie and doing laundry with Bubbie.

She was so happy, as for her, my parents are a part of her sense of home. 

I was up in my bedroom with my son when she got home. I heard small footsteps coming up the stairs and heard my door open slowly.

“Your missing puzzle piece is back!” she said, and climbed onto the bed and into my arms.

How could one child hold so much wisdom; so much love?

From where does she get these things?

“How was your time?” I asked.

“Amazing.” She said, telling me stories, some true, some potentially “elaborated”, like shaving with Zeydie (true), playing the Mermaid game with Bubbie (true) and staring at her brother’s picture and wanting to cry but being able to take a deep breath to hold back the tears (ummmm…).

And she is right; my missing puzzle piece is back. But so are my other missing puzzle pieces. Because as much as I am a grown up, it is nice to have my parents back, around the corner.

And then, today, I met another parenting milestone; I took my daughter to the movies all by myself. This is something that most parents with children my daughter’s age have probably done with great ease and frequency, but for me, it was a marker of how far I have come in the past year. This week a year ago I was at my lowest. Today, I was a grown up, a mom, sharing a popcorn and Sour Patch Kids with my little girl, so that I could expose her to one of my all-time favorite musicals that has been made into a movie.

If you have been a reader here from the beginning, you may recall that at four months old, I showed my daughter the filmed stage version of “Into the Woods” with Bernadette Peters and the kid was mesmerized. One point for “Nature” there.

When I found out that it was being made into a movie (and with some of my favorite actors) I (not surprisingly) freaked out and had awaited it’s release eagerly. And I decided that I would try, today, to take my daughter to see this movie with me.

She and I often watch clips from the aforementioned filmed stage version, as she loves the opening number and “Moments in the Woods”. For that particular choice, we may give a point to “Nurture”.

I found myself extremely emotional during the film. First of all, I thought it was excellent. Second of all, the music is incredibly evocative for me and “The Baker’s Wife” is my dream role. But, most poignantly, I was hit with a case of the feels every time that the movie made a point about parenthood. There I was, my daughter snuggled up next to me in a dark theater, listening to Meryl Streep singing,

The post Nurture, Nature and “Into the Woods”. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.