This month was eventful to say the least. Thanksgiving and the kickoff of the holiday season brought warm memories, family visits and cheer, but a death in the family and a family member's medical emergency also brought a range of emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum. It brought moments that gave me renewed appreciation for my parents, my in-laws, and parents everywhere, not only for the support and love they provide but for the strength it takes to make a child's world safe when the real world is wrought with danger. It's the stuff they don't teach. The stuff they don't prepare you for. The stuff that makes you clench your teeth, swallow your tears, roll up your sleeves, or stay awake at night just to ensure everyone but yourself is taken care of. That's what being a parent is sometimes.
Being a parent sometimes means sympathetically nodding while a friend tells you about their late night, their low energy, their need for coffee, while trying to remember the last time you got more than four hours of consecutive sleep and realizing it was more than a year ago.
Being a parent sometimes means putting your sunglasses on and smiling so your kids don’t know your eyes are filling up with tears.
Being a parent sometimes means putting your sunglasses on and smiling so your kids don’t know your eyes are filling up with tears.
Being a parent sometimes means going without makeup for days because getting everyone else ready in the morning is your first priority.
Being a parent doesn’t stop at 18. It sometimes means babysitting at the drop of a hat to get your own grown-up child out of a jam, or even grabbing a bucket for her to yarf in during a bout of food poisoning, even though she’s 32 years old. (thanks dad)
Being a parent means calling every day just to see how that 32-year-old is doing. (thanks mom)
Being a parent sometimes means worrying about people other than yourself, when you are the one sitting in a hospital bed.
Being a parent sometimes means untangling a logistical nightmare, countless phone calls, research, and developing contingency plans while still making time for Christmas crafts, shopping, lists, cooking, and generally sprinkling fairy dust all over the house when no one is looking.
It’s kissing boo-boos and softening the world. It’s painting rainbows and everything rose. It’s hoping that they stay that way as long as possible- hopeful, honest, innocent, and happy. To show them no sadness, to hide them from harm.
It's hugging a sobbing three-year-old and telling him everything is o.k. And we are so thankful that it is.
This month, I was reminded of just how strong my husband is. He is a rock. For his family, for himself, and for our children. In this season for giving thanks, I am thankful for him.
Baby Bro spent his last morning as a nine-month-old in the Emergency Room with a stomach bug that I'd feared was something worse. I sat there holding my baby wrapped in my hoodie because it was the only article of clothing in our possession not covered in vomit. It was 39 degrees outside and I was wearing a tank top and leggings with puke on them, waiting for the doctor to take an x-ray to make sure Baby Bro hadn't swallowed anything dangerous. I was scared, smelly and cold but I didn't care about anything other than making my baby feel better as quickly as possible. I thought to myself, "sometimes, this is what being a parent means."
We are looking forward to turning a page this month and having a fun and happy Christmas season. Or in the very least, a month with less yarf.
At ten months old, Baby Bro is starting to form some really strong opinions!
He likes: walking while holding our hands, crawling, clapping, babbling, pointing, eating finger foods (purees are so last month) kicking stuff while walking, wrestling with his brother, dancing, parades, pianos, and so much more.
He dislikes: 24-hour stomach bugs, diaper changes, and staying still.
