Living in the Moment

Over the past couple years, I’ve heard it time and time again: Live in the moment. Be present. Time goes so fast. Children grow so fast. And for a while, I didn’t really understand what that all meant; when you have two babies at the same time, you find most days aren’t spend enjoying the moment but rather moving through each moment as quickly as possible in order to get to bedtime. I remember thinking a few weeks after the girls had come home from the hospital “if only there was a fast-forward button for life, and I could skip ahead to the fun stuff.” It wasn’t until their first birthday that I realized with a jolt that time HAD flashed forward, at blinding speed.

          With that revelation, I vowed to enjoy every minute of their second year… Some things, however, are easier said than done. Once again, many times throughout the past twelve months I’ve found myself filthy, exhausted, still in my pajamas and sitting on a pile of broken crayons, wondering desperately “is the day over yet?” It’s a struggle to be present and appreciate all the moments when sometimes those moments are full of tantrums, sleep regressions, days where you wear someone else’s bodily fluids for hours, and countless nights spent cleaning a house up of children’s clutter only to realize it’s all going to be a mess again when everyone gets up. Sometimes, it feels like Groundhog Day, living and reliving the same chaotic schedule, and you find yourself wondering (as Billy Murray’s character did) “well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today.”

          But lately, it’s finally hitting me: my girls are growing up. I know, I know, they’re only 2. But they’re singing, dancing, giggling, slimming long-limbed little people, who have a million different moods and are constantly expressing their opinions. They aren’t babies anymore, and I’m really beginning to comprehend that their dependence on me is slowly slipping away as they age; like water, I find I’m futilely trying to hold onto it, only to watch it trickle between my fingers. And some days that makes me feel really helpless; I know I can’t stick them in a Rubbermaid bin to stop them from growing, but now and then it’s tempting.

          But that is where living in the moment comes in. Recently, while I was browsing social media on my phone, one of my daughters whined, grabbed my hand, and tried to drag me off the couch. At first, I was annoyed, until she did it again and again every time I picked up my phone; she wanted me to be present, and to pay attention to her. Suddenly, that’s when it hit me: living in the moment doesn’t mean enjoying every single minute of parenting, because that’s impossible. Rather, it means CHOOSING to enjoy my kids when they give me the opportunity to. It means playing with them when they’re happy, not just as a distraction when they’re sad. It means tickling them as often as possible because one day those big baby-belly laughs will disappear forever. It means instead of feeling irritated that the child on me is pinning my arms and won’t let me get my coffee, realizing that eventually I’ll wake up to children who won’t want my lap, or will want someone else’s instead. The truth is these moments are painfully fleeting, and one day I’ll be an empty nester, looking out the window wondering where the time went, and longing to have just one more day with them as my little girls. And when that day comes, I don’t want to be filled with regret. I don’t want to look back on all the times I spent on my computer or phone rather than with my kids… sure, photos are great, but memories are better, and you don’t make many glued to a screen. 

          That doesn’t mean I’m going to try to be a perfect parent, but rather it means something infinitely better: I’m going to try to be a PRESENT parent. I’m going to dance to silly songs and do all the actions to “Mister Sun” even though it makes me want to kill myself; I’m going to run through the sprinkler with them even though it’s really friggen cold; I'm going to make shapes out of playdough even though I hate the way it gets stuck under my fingernails, and I’m going to read Robert Munsch books so many times that I’ll end up with several memorized, running on repeat through my brain all day like a terrible techno song.

In short, I’m going to do my best pay attention while they want me to, because eventually they won’t. And that, I think, will make all the difference. 

How I Stopped Worrying About My Preemies' Development (And Learned To Love Them The Way They Are)

Lately, I’ve really been hit by the reality of the girls’ prematurity. They’re smaller, chubbier, and have less of that sassy toddler independence I see so often in other 2 year olds. They still need a huge nap a day, they still have a bottle in the morning, and they aren’t yet ready for potty training even though I’d planned for them to be there by their 2^nd birthday. 

But this is what I’m learning: regardless of your plans, the universe has something different in mind. Much in the way that last year I had to reconcile myself to the fact that they wouldn’t walk by their first birthday, this year I’m having to face the other milestones they won’t hit by their second. And that’s okay. Because ultimately, their health and progress is a miracle in itself−while other 2 year olds were developing in the womb, my girls were in incubators for months, their development disturbed every single time they were touched. Every time a diaper was changed, a feeding tube filled or replaced, medicine administered, blood taken or given, the girls’ growth was slowed and their fragile environment altered. Instead of a head start, they had to wait behind, and that continues to plague them now 22 months after their early arrival.

But I refuse to be brought down by this, or to allow them to be either. Their prematurity is not a handicap, and I won’t let it be. I refuse to be discouraged by the odd stares people give us when we say they’ll be two in July. Or the way the doctor says they’re a little short for their age. Or how the only thing they like about their potties is that they can sit on them−anything beyond that is out of the question, for now.

And this is where I’ve learned that faith is so important−if their prematurity has shown me anything, it’s that believing in their ability to overcome obstacles is sometimes the best way to help them. Eventually, they will catch up, and most importantly: they don’t even know that they’re behind. The best thing I can do for them is to not know it either; to stop marking milestones, stop comparing them to other toddlers, and more than anything to START celebrating how far they’ve come. As far as their growth is concerned, while it might fall somewhere between their actual age and their corrected age, that doesn't mean I need to be somewhere between joy and sadness, between pride and guilt. 

Instead, I will recognize them as they are, and take joy in it. Much like their personalities, their development is unique to the world, and one day that might be the very thing that makes them stand out. And I will be there, forever their cheerleader, when it does. 

"by being yourself, you put something wonderful in the world that was not there before."
-Edwin Elliot

21 Things I Love About Being A Mom

Well I haven't posted in a while; I've been in school, and spending my time writing essays rather than blog posts. However! In celebration of Mother's Day this weekend, I thought I'd churn out a little post on some of my favourite things about being a mom. So here we go- I'm sure many many many mom's out there can relate!

21 Things I Love about Being a Mom

1. Firstly, obviously, pregnancy. I know it isn’t this way for everyone, but I felt at my most beautiful when I was pregnant (once all the puking and puffiness had stopped!). It was such an amazing feeling to be sharing my life and body with two little people, and, as a pregnant girlfriend of mine said to me recently, it’s “so liberating to not worry about my stomach, and to show it off instead of hiding it.” On that note, fuck you David Chesney.

2. Seeing my girls’ capacity to LOVE. They love everything, from flowers in the yard and rocks they collect as friends, to stuffed animals they pet and snuggle, to our human-like salt and pepper shakers they hold and kiss. And how they love me unconditionally; even if I screw up, they will still smother me in hugs and kisses as though it never happened… I am way too aware that this won’t last forever, so I always try to cherish it.

3. Getting to play with toys all over again. I never grew out of loving playgrounds, crayons, Lego or Barbie’s, and now through my girls I get to indulge in these things without looking like a complete freak.

4. Watching how resilient they are; unlike us, where a bad day can affect an entire week, kids bounce right back and for me that’s so inspiring.

5. Dressing them. It sounds odd, but I love when they lift their arms automatically for a shirt to come on or off, the fabric sliding against their smooth, perfect skin. I love when they kick their feet at the tickle of my fingers when I put their socks and shoes on, and how in awe they are whenever they get to wear something particularly “pretty”. (Side note- this might just be in rebellion of the puffy poo-coloured coat my mom made me wear for years.)

6. The way their hair smells after a bath, and how soft and fluffy it is against my cheek when it dries.

7. How my girls find joy in the simple things, like a bowl of their favourite fruit, or a bucket of water, or a colourful stone, or a grassy hill perfect for running and tumbling down. It is so easy to make their day.

8. Watching their fearless confrontation of the world. They are constantly testing their limits, seeing if they can climb higher, run faster, and when they fall, crying or not they always pick themselves back up and try again. It doesn't occur to them to give up, and that's something as adults we should try to remember. 

9. Seeing what your kids have inherited from you. My girls love books and stories with the same intensity I always have, and it’s so cool for me to see that they share that passion. I frequently find myself running through titles in my head of books I will be able to pass down to them, and that feels like the most amazing gift. Also like me, they love being outside much more than being indoors, and are always happiest when they’re being active or creative; we’re perfectly matched.

10. Seeing how your kids are different from you. My girls are blond and blue eyed, love water, and love kicking, catching, throwing, and chasing all kinds of balls… when it comes to athletic equipment, I’ve always been a flincher, and I'm also one of those swimmers who spends most of their time flapping their arms wildly, trying not to drown. Needless to say I’m glad they got these traits from their dad.

11. How I’ve learned to value time, particularly my own time. Having kids makes you realize how quickly it really passes, and that you have to make the most of what you’re given.

12. How being a mom allowed me to build my own family. My parents divorced when I was in my early teens, and for years that was very difficult for me. Marrying my husband and becoming parents to our girls is a fresh start; it’s given me back that sense of togetherness, a family unit that for a long time felt out of my control. 

13. How I’m so much more empathetic than I used to be. I am less critical, more open-minded, and see everything now through the eyes of a mother (which also means I cry a lot more easily… ew.) Every suffering child is MY child, every pained mother is ME. It’s an entirely new perspective I didn’t expect, but it’s so incredible.

14. Getting to witness untainted innocence.

15. How much more I love my husband. Watching him be so sensitive with our girls, so aware of their needs, so patient yet strict when necessary, so playful yet sweet and cuddly too, so ridiculously hands-on, and how wonderful they are because of (rather than in spite of) his contribution makes me fall in love all over again.

16. The way you never really know how you really feel about people until you consider if you'd trust them to babysit your kids. Revelation! 

17. How it’s given me the gift of selflessness. You don’t really know what love is until you love someone more than yourself; until you’ve been puked on and didn’t change your clothes because the puker wouldn’t let you go so you just marinated in it for a while; until you’ve given up that last cookie, chocolate bar, or ice cream cone, because your child wanted it and you valued their smile over your own; until you’ve read “Green Eggs and Ham” fifteen times in a row to entertain them on a long drive… that’s love.

18.How it's made me brave. Spiders, failure, catastrophe, none of them phase me like they used to anymore; becoming a parent and having the rough beginning that we did has shown me that not only CAN I conquer anything, but I HAVE to, for the sake of my girls. I’ve learned the art of how to suck it up, with a smile.

19. The way the girls make me kiss their stuffies good morning and goodnight. In fact, ALL the kissing, hugs, cuddles, and big sappy smiles that come with having toddlers. 

20. The way it’s made me appreciate and understand my own mom in a way I never would have thought possible before I had kids. I know people always say that, but it’s SO TRUE! My mom is a trooper. 

21. AND last but not least… that I’m so happy. I might be physically run-down, a little sleep-deprived, occasionally irritable, constantly hungry, constantly drinking cold coffee, forever multi-tasking, forever absent-minded, drowning in laundry, a 24/7 maid, and endlessly discovering chewed up food in the most bizarre places, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Becoming a mom has brought me the most amazing joy and peace that makes aaaall the other crap worth it. 

There you have it!
Happy Mother's Day to all the AMAZING moms out there; hope your family spoils you as much as mine is spoiling me! 

xx