Mommy Ever After » Valentine’s Day

I have so much.

mommyeverafter — Tue, 25 Nov 2014 10:11:00 +0000

This weekend was the first that the fierce cold really whipped me in the bones.
It has been dancing around, and gotten close, but this weekend it hit me, and got under my skin.

We spent most of the time holed up at home, in our cozy fuzzy living room.
When we went outside for some brief errands on Saturday I felt so chilled that it was hard for me to warm up, so I decided to put a long sleeve shirt over my tank top that was under my cashmere sweater.
I don’t know why, but I looked in an unusual place in my closet (not where I keep my long sleeved shirts, but rather my “exercise” clothing, despite the fact that I do not exercise) and peeking out was a very special shirt.
It was my Valentine’s Day present in 2013, the month after we had moved into our new home.
It was a surprise, because my husband picked it out himself, so out the blue, because he saw it and thought it was soft and sweet and it was so thoughtful. And what I now know is that I was given that shirt the very day that my son was already a bunch of dividing cells, taking a ride into what would be his little nest for the next 9 months.
But the first time I wore the shirt was not until a few weeks later, on March 2.
At that time, I was a week late. It was the first month that pregnancy could even be a possibility and I tested early and it was negative. But for some reason, I really felt like I was pregnant. I had no symptoms, I just felt something. The parents of the students in my class said I was glowing, and I swore to them that I had no idea what they were talking about (because at that point, I did not! I still maintain that I did not! Pinky swear!) I told them that I was likely just gaining a little weight. My pregnancy test was negative, after all. Well as I mentioned in talking about his birth story, I found out I was pregnant on Saturday morning, March 2, while my husband was out to brunch with our family and family friends. For some strange reason, I pulled the last test that I had in my linen closet and I peed on that stick, home alone with my then 2 years and 11 months old daughter. I remember looking at the instructions carefully. I remember seeing that the control line would appear on the right, indicating that the test was done properly, and that the variable pregnancy line would be on the left. But what happened was strange; the control line did not show up, but instead, a dark maroon line on the left. It was not until a minute later that I saw both lines appear. I had two lines, the pregnancy one was just the first to arrive at the party. As a matter of fact, my son liked to be early for everything, coming out 4 days before his scheduled C-Section at 38.5 weeks.
I was in shock and amazement. “I’m pregnant!” I told my daughter. She didn’t quite understand (thank goodness) and then, I can say I really was glowing. I could not believe the miracle that was happening inside of me. I can still feel the swell of emotion as I type these words. I remember wrapping the stick carefully in a box for my daughter to hand to my husband upon his return home from brunch. I remember his face. Surprise and joy. I remember Face-timing my sister, the first person we told. She was ecstatic. I remember having my dad stop by and having the test displayed on our mantle. He hugged us all. I remember calling my mom, who had just landed in St. Thomas, to tell her (she claims she already knew). But more than anything, I remember the feeling that I had, which was the sheer awe and gratitude that we would be growing our family. And I think that because I already knew the magic kind of love that comes with motherhood, I loved this baby instantly.
I rubbed my belly, under my pink striped shirt.
I have written so much this year about my difficult pregnancy, numbness towards the baby, postpartum and my struggles, but I want to make sure to write how much I cherished the baby growing inside of me from the second I found out that he was in there. It was like my heart grew instantly. As did my belly, which seemed to pop out the moment those two lines appeared.
Today, I put on that pink shirt again to get the chill out, but I had my son to keep me warm.
And with him in my heart two years ago, I felt happy. And with him in my arms today, I felt even happier.
This photo makes me want to smile, and it makes me want to cry.
If I’m being honest, I am not writing this post with dry eyes.
It’s that thing about the magic.
I have so much, more than I could have ever hoped for or imagined, but I will never have that experience again,
of waiting for two lines to appear
and knowing that a life was beginning inside of me.
Please please know that I write this with the utmost sensitivity. I realize that some will never experience that joy; I realize that for some, two lines on a test is not a happy thing.
But for me, I am still coping with this loss, and it is still something that I think about every day.
Just like the cold wind today, it dances around me, when I see a pregnant person, or a baby announcements or newborn photos.
I will repeat, I have so much.
I have a loving family, a devoted husband, a beautiful daughter and an adorable son.
I may not have everything, but I have so much.
I have so much.
I have so much.
I have so much.
And I have a warm pink striped shirt,
and two babies to snuggle up into it.

The post I have so much. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

You say tomato,

mommyeverafter — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 13:11:18 +0000

I say, why celebrate Valentine’s Day in February
when you can rock it in June?!

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My first, funny Valentine

mommyeverafter — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 12:09:43 +0000

had quite a lovely day.
And we hope that you did too.
xxxx

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‘Twas the night before Valentine’s Day

mommyeverafter — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 22:03:21 +0000

and the babe and I are busy picking out her heart day ensemble.

Lola and Zig gave it their stamp of approval.
So, you know,
we’re all good now.
And, while we’re on the subject,
as I was just writing the date,
I realized that today, February 13, 2011 is exactly the 10 year anniversary of a great
milestone
in my own life;
the day I got my braces off.
And yes.
I know.
I was a dental late bloomer of sorts.
Wanna make something of it?
So, not only am I happy that it’s almost the day o’ love,
but I’ll be smiling extra wide this evening,
as I remember my first metal free meal,
on this date,
so many years ago.
I still remember what I ate.
Pizza.
Guess I know what’s on our menu for this evening.
As long as my dogs approve.

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full heart/full circle

mommyeverafter — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 00:41:12 +0000

When my husband and I began to date,
we shared an instant connection.
It was different,
it was special,
it was every cliche in the book
and more.
3 weeks after our first date,
after a fun night out with his friends,
we walked down the street,
the Art Museum to our right,
holding hands
and talking about,
well,
us.
I wish I could remember exactly how the conversation went,
but I think it was something like this:
“So, I really like you.”
“I really like you too.”
“I feel like you’re my boyfriend.”
“I feel like you’re my girlfriend.”
“So are we?”
“We are.”
And so
we were.
The next morning, when I awoke,
my very first thought was
“I love him.”
It slammed into me like a train.
I did not, however, profess my love for him right then.
I did, however, bite my tongue, nearly every time I saw him after that, in order to avoid spilling a bit, fat “I love you” all over him,
before
a) I was ready and b) he said it to me first.
Yes, a week later I squeezed his hand three times,
I.
Love.
You.
willing him to read my mind and the signal I was sending to him.
He squeezed my hand back four times,
I.
Love.
You.
Too.
But, it was only a coincidence.
A month later, I traced the words on his back.
I drew hearts.
I wrote
L.
O.
V.
E.
over and over
sprawling like graffiti
but he just smiled,
rolled towards me
and kissed my forehead.
A gesture of love,
absolutely;
but, I needed to hear the words.
I expected him to tell me he loved me when I came to his front door, toting homemade brownies and the King Kong DVD.
I did not hear it that night.
I expected him to tell me he loved me over extra large Margaritas, as we sat on his back porch that Cinco de Mayo, reminiscing about high school with all of his best friends, who had known me way back when.
I did not hear it that night.
I expected him to tell me on our weekend in the Poconos, when we hid under the covers and whispered our deepest secrets to one another, as the lake sang to us from outside the bedroom window.
I did not hear it that night,
nor any other time that special weekend.
I did not, in fact,
expect to hear it when I heard it.
It was during our first fight.
We had a horrible, gut-wrenching blow-out of a fight that June,
about 10 weeks into our relationship,
which, looking back on it, was really about nothing.
Nothing worth mentioning.
Nothing but my own childish insecurities,
immaturities
and fear.
I loved him and I was scared.
And it was during that argument,
as I sat on the floor of his bedroom sobbing,
wondering how and why these tears could be coming out of the best thing that had ever happened to me,
when he screamed,
“But I’m in love with you.”
And then,
everything changed.
That was the night that our relationship detoured,
and became much more
than it had been before.
He had seen me at my worst,
and therefore,
deserved me at my best.
On that June night, I did not know that this man,
this man whom I loved so much that it hurt,
would be proposing to me just six months later.
I did not know that we would face many more tear-filled fights together,
and many more nights whispering under the covers,
and many more days of laughter and pain and hope and despair and joy.
But, I did know that hearing that he loved me as much as I loved him
was all that I needed to know.
The very next day,
being young
and being in love,
we decided that we would use the opportunity to profess our adoration for one another in the most spectacular way possible, by celebrating Valentine’s Day.
In June.
What can I say?
We’ve always been a bit out of the box.
And so, we spent the next evening eating chocolates,
drinking champagne,
reading cards
and exchanging gifts.
I got him a wallet.
It was a grown up gift.
It was a grown up relationship.
I was growing up.
He got me a beautiful scarf,
so special and unique and thoughtful and perfect and me.
It looks a little like this.

See?
Beautiful, right?
And I wore it almost every day that summer–in my hair, around my wrist, around my neck–and it was my constant reminder that, even through the tough stuff,
we were anchored together,
even by a small piece of Pucci.
So, with Valentines Day around the corner, I can’t help but to think of the first day-o’-love we spent together,
back in June,
back when we were babies,
back when love was so new that it felt effervescent on my tongue.
I loved him.
I still do.
That Valentine’s day,
many years ago,
I didn’t know that he would be the man I would marry.
I didn’t know that we would grow the most magical, amazing, beautiful, precious baby together.
I didn’t know that on Superbowl Sunday, I would dress the baby in a pair of too-big tie-dye skinny jeans,
and use my special Valentine’s Day scarf as a belt for her,
as it fit perfectly around her tiny little waist.
But, I do know that he loves me as much as I love him,
and that is
still
all that I need
to know.

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