2013

I think this picture kind of sums up this year. I cannot believe that much of the first six months of this year I was still in active treatment, chemo and radiation. Events that filled almost every day, that my daily life revolved around, that consumed so many minutes to give me so much more time - dates, times, actions, results, appointments - now seem so far away. While this nasty nasty beast still unfortunately inhabits a too-large place in my mind, it has been evicted from the front room. Now it resides in more of a hall closet. It will eventually move to the backyard and then the next block, town, county, state and country, maybe eventually planet, but for now, this is progress.

 

My baby potty trained, started expounding in paragraphs of conversation, and started preschool this year - my baby baby started walking, running and semi-talking.

 

The next year I am certain will bring greater joys, accomplishments, opportunities. My husband and I, after the past two years, are more intent than ever on setting some serious and much anticipated changes in motion. Life waits for no one. The holidays will be here again in the blink of an eye and we will gather again, eyes sparkling in the bevy of twinkling lights, to celebrate and look back in awe of all that 2014 has provided. 

To those who comment on my Christmas posts...

Christmas 2012

To those who have commented on my admittedly prolific liking of Christmas pages and talking about Christmas songs and basically my overall overexcitability about Christmas this year...with no malice in my heart and the best of meanings...stuff it.

I don't comment when people post 45 political posts in a day, or share 18 ramblings about how they hate Christmas. I don't comment about people and their 52 pinterest ecard posts about wine. Yet for some reason people feel compelled to comment on my sharing of what I feel is joyful...yes, it may be early - yes, I truly realize it is not Thanksgiving yet, but you know what? I effectively missed the holidays last year. I was there, but I wasn't there...I wasn't able to fully participate. I saw my kids, but didn't get to fully experience Jack's 2 year old wonder at the lights and Santa and stocking and elves. I had my two month old, but I was so busy taking care of her, and recovering from two surgeries, and going through chemo that I didn't get to soak in my baby girl's first Christmas. I didn't get to decorate, I didn't get to sing carols at church, I didn't get to feel Christmas. I didn't get the luxury of Bah Humbugging it because I was praying too hard to make it to this Christmas.

So forgive me for my giddiness, for my wanting to share the fact that I am happily and unabashedly overcelebrating the holidays this year. Forgive me my liking of many many Christmas posts, of snow and trees and wreaths and candles. Forgive me my inability to throw away any precious holiday that I am given with my children. I don't begrudge you your existence in the benign and blissful obliviousness that total health brings. I used to live there myself, but I have moved...and at my new address, you will find me overcelebrating most anything I can.

Day 6 - My Children

Raising children is some serious shit. It's hard, difficult work that tests your patience in ways you never knew, like working muscles you never knew you had during that first Pilates class. I am still amazed that a tiny little person (in Jack's case, not so tiny, he's already more than half as tall as I am) can create ways to push your buttons in ways even your husband hasn't figured out yet...boggles my mind. Adding a serious, life-threatening illness to the pot is like adding some sriracha to a bowl of cayenne pepper soup - it just adds fuel to an already heated situation, and I am in no way proud to say that I have taken my emotions out on them at times over this past year - I've snapped and yelled at times much louder and more often than I should have. I pray and pray that some of those memories get lost in the ether.

 

 

But beyond the frustrations and madness of raising children is truly an awe-inspiring space, a place where time both stops and careens forward. I know other parents see their children growing up and want desperately to push the pause button...but I, warranted or not, feel like I'm sprinting, holding their hands and dragging them along, because I want to see everything that they do, I want to see all of the years and the events and growing and the stumbling and the successes and the failures. I want to see and touch and breath it all and I feel like I have to do IT RIGHT NOW. But I can't, so I take every day, and though I may lose it sometimes and I will most definitely never be the perfect mama, I dole out copious amounts of hugs and kisses, and breathe in these beings who for whatever reason were crazy enough to choose me to pass through.

 



One year ago...

 

A year ago, a large team of NICU doctors stood in a delivery room with nothing to do, amazed that this month-early girl needed not one iota of help and was in fact healthier and bigger then many term babies. To my little chemo-sabe, my little buggy boodles, you gave me more strength than you will ever ever know and I look forward to many many more birthdays with you. Happy happy first birthday my girl.

 

 

 

 

I wish for you so many things I cannot even articulate them. I wish for you the world. I wish for you joy and pain and laughter and tears. I want to see you dance and sing and grow and learn. I want to hug you and kiss you a billion more times. I wish to see you follow your big brother to school. I wish to see you do wonderful things and get into trouble. I long to see those amazing blue eyes ingest everything they can. My big girl, I wish to see you grow up.

Thank you for this year.

10 months.

As with your brother, I am amazed at how lovely, how striking you are, that I produced you. It truly awes me.

You crawl like a lightening bolt, like a water walker hovering just above a solid surface...you "talk" to your brother, you two screech at each other like howler monkeys. You are saying mama but I'm not sure if it's just one of your noises or if you mean it yet. Eating is getting better...sleeping, well, I'm crossing my fingers that the day, or night I should say, is coming. You exhaust me and I am blessed for that. I am sure I will appreciate it more later on. Love you little buggy.

9 Months.

Nine months. Two teeth. Crawling, cruising, crashing.

My big girl, growing up, moving fast.

Blond hair growing, laughing, smiling, clapping.

Singing (screaming) with brother.

Climbing, hugging, waving hello.

Slow down baby girl.

Wait for me.

8 months

Finally cutting first tooth....

Desperately trying to crawl and very frustrated not to get it quite yet....

Loves older brother so much, stares at him anytime he is near....

Loves to stand but not quite on her own...

Is the.loudest.baby.ever.....

Sleeping through the night? Hahahahahaha....

Continuing the Thomas tradition of super drooly babies...

Pooping like a boss...

Eating eating eating - pumpkin, yams, spinach, broccoli, carrots, apples, plums, peaches...

Talking and yelling from sun-up to sundown...

Being a cute 8 month old.

mother's day.

I missed out on Mother's Day 2010 by a few weeks, very heavily pregnant with Jack, developing a lovely case of PUPPS, and just trying to get a few hours sleep a night through the heartburn, so this is my third Mother's Day. And as with everything, its meaning has changed for me. Again, I will NEVER be one of those people who say I'm so happy I got cancer, it changed my life...because, umm, hello, yes, it changed my life but I could do without that, thanks. I will admit it changed my perspective though. Now, don't get me wrong, I would love to get the mixer I've always wanted and promised myself, or maybe the ring I've been coveting for 10 years now, a surprise getaway, or hell, a card and some flowers would be spiffy. Okay, so I still have mortal wants and desires, cancer doesn't make you a saint people, but overall, while some mothers are out there bemoaning their lack of gifts or time to sleep in or breakfast in bed, I am content with the sheer existence of the fact that I'm here and I'm privileged to get to mother these kids. God willing, I get to spend many more mother's days with them, ingesting the fact that I have had another year to know them, for them to know me. When I was still in the "fog of war" right after my diagnosis, when I was walking around with the 1,000 yard stare, one of the first things that scared me terribly, one of the first things that I cried to my husband was not about me per se, but I sat there looking at him, pleading with him, that "I can't leave Jack, he doesn't even know me yet." The tears flow just thinking about that, because I can relive that moment all too clearly in my mind.

While I strongly believe now that I will be around for a while, I am assured of the fact that no one, not any one of us, knows what is going to happen, and that anything could happen at anytime, which is why I am still compelled to write these things. And I'm also here to reflect on and acknowledge the fact that my kids have endured a pretty shitty year themselves. For this, I have more unwarranted guilt than most can imagine.

Baby, I'm so sorry for this past year. I'm sorry that I got sick, I'm sorry that sometimes I was very sad and you didn't understand. I'm glad you didn't understand. I'm sorry that sometimes I got short with you, and it was not your fault - I was scared or sad or worried or tired and sometimes I am ashamed to say I yelled at you louder than I should have, or got mad at you for things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry that I couldn't play with you as much as I wanted, after two surgeries and chemo and radiation and a new baby. I'm sorry we couldn't do all of the cool and fun things that I have "pinned" for us to do. I'm sorry you got cheated out of a normal Halloween and Christmas. I'm sorry for this whole year.

You have been amazing through all of this, and you are a wonder to me. A year that would have been enough change for you just with your sister arriving, when just navigating the world of being 2 is hard enough, you had to deal with all of mama's crap too.

I pray you will not remember much of this year, that you will remember the 95% good and forget the 5% bad that keeps me up at night, and I pray we will never have to relive it. You don't know how much I look forward to watching you grow, how much the thought of you developing into a little man more and more each day gives me reasons... reasons for so many things.

My little girl, who I don't even really know yet, yet have known forever. My little mini-me. You surely did not ask for this, to be subjected to tests and poking and prodding and toxic poisons before you were even born. But you, my amazing, stunning little beauty came through with flying colors. I think all of our doctors knew you would be fine, they were all pulling for both of us so very much. But when I was in the prep room before going to the operating room to have you, the one nurse came in, and she, not knowing us, started listing all of the myriad things that may be wrong with you, insinuating that I should expect them to immediately whisk you away, terrifying me since up until then everyone was completely optimistic that you would likely need no intervention. She reiterated that the entire NICU team would be in the delivery room, waiting to pounce on you. Well, she didn't know you did she? You came out screaming and bright and pink and BIG for 35 weeks and 5 days. And you needed no help at all, as I knew you wouldn't. Everyone in that room was so happy, for both of us. I am so privileged that you chose me, even with all you had to go through to get here. I am so very eager to witness who you become. And also to see you grow into all of that tulle I have for you. :) Again, even though I didn't know it, you were exactly what mama needed.

To both of you, thank you - thank you for choosing me to be your mother, thank you for your resiliency and forgiveness, thank you for letting me into your world, thank you for bringing amazement to my world. No matter what happens, no matter where life takes our little family, always always remember the inimitable words of Christopher Robin:

"Promise me that you will always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think."

6 Months.

Realized I forgot to post a picture of my beautiful little outcome of this whole mess...six whole months old! Where does the time go? (Although it does seem to go simultaneously quicker and much slower - at 4 in the morning when she won't go back to sleep and wants to party)

My big little tiny girl...

What we need.

(ocregister.com)
 

God gives us what we need, not what we want.

I never wanted a girl. To paraphrase a song I've never heard - never, ever, ever, ever, never, ever was I having a girl. Ever since I myself was small, or whenever I first started entertaining the juvenile desire to be a mother, I was adamant that I wanted boys. ONLY. Maybe it was because I grew up in a female-only household and was pretty much sick of the raging estrogen and resultant lunacy, maybe it was because most of the kids I grew up with, including the cousins I was closest to, were boys, maybe it was because I knew what shits girls could be and didn't ever want to have to deal with that.

As time went on, I amended my wish to be having a boy first. I desperately wanted a boy first, I think because I had harbored a unbridled desire from early childhood for an older brother (which when I was 35 I found out I actually had! and a younger sister! But that is an entirely different chapter in this book. Feel free to pre-order now.) Lo and behold Jack showed up as a VERY pronounced boy at my 20 week ultrasound and I was ecstatic. I remember driving back to work from the US and texting my friend "I have a penis in me!!!!" And I was blessed with a giant, beautiful, smart, funny, and extremely energetic little boy who tests me every day, who forces me to face my faults, who makes me desperately want to be a better mother, who made me a mama, who truly is my heart.

When we attempted to add number two to the family, my husband was already certain we would have a girl. In fact, before Jack, he was certain we would have a boy, then a girl, no matter what happened, what I wanted, whatever. That was it, that was the way it was to be. So, during my 13 week US, the Dr said "It's pretty obvious what it is if you want to know" which I automatically took to mean a boy, I mean, pretty obvious, right? He said, "Yep, pretty obvious it's a girl." The 20 week US confirmed it, although the tech was pretty pissed actually when we said, oh yeah, we know it's a girl. She was a little bent that her surprise factor was usurped. Oh well, the trials we live with. Obviously, you know what happens next - mama gets diagnosed with cancer and to be perfectly honest, as I've mentioned before, the whole "whoohoo, we're having a baby" excitement sort of fell by the wayside. We even, for a few days, did not know if we would be able to keep her.

But then the ground started to solidify again, and I started to breath, and she came. And all of a sudden, this not-quite-tomboy-but never-a-girly-girl started buying ruffly, frilly clothes in sizes that she won't wear for many many months, and that I desperately hunger to see her in. This little girl, who tenously climbed a mountain with me before she was even born, gave me more than she will ever ever know, she gave me another reason to believe. This little girl, who I only met five + months ago, gave me tangible visions of a future, of manis and pedis and dancing and tutus and glitter. This little girl, with her cornflower blue eyes a thread connecting her to her ancestors, a mirror image of me otherwise, puts her powder-soft hands on my face and twists my heart. I need this little girl to know that even though I didn't know that I wanted a girl, she was exactly what I needed, at exactly the right time.

Crunchy leaves.

I was a nerd. Not like a nerdy-nerd, but I loved school. I'm referring to elementary school mostly - high school and I weren't really friends. But I can still feel what it felt like to look forward to "new" every year, new backpack and lunchbox, new pencils, new things to learn, new pages to unfold. New came in September, not in January like it does for the adult world. And after the unbearably hot late summer that Southern California always suffers passed, the brisk, bright leaf-filled days of fall would come, Halloween songs would be sung, Thanksgiving hand-print turkeys made, and finally cotton-ball Santas would be produced. I still remember the feeling of leaves crunching under my feet, fall art projects in my backpack, school bake sales taking place. I feel bright and happy, full of life....and safe.

I don't know what to do with what happened yesterday. Honestly, tragic news happenings happen everyday and they don't usually affect me. I'm honestly not the most sympathetic person in the world, it's just how I am. It's not desensitization, it's just that I know shitty things happen to people all the time. But this, this hit me. Ever since I got pregnant with Jack, the one thing I have most looked forward to is him starting school. It keeps me going these days, knowing how badly I want to see him on his first day, experience the things that he will learn, new discoveries. I want him to have bake sales, friends, songs, phonics, spelling, new backpacks and lunchboxes, proliferating art projects. I want him to be safe.

I can't say where I stand. I grew up in a family of hunters, I'm two generations removed from a farming family. I grew up with guns in the house, and God-forbid, they were kept in unlocked closets and dresser drawers that I can't remember ever not knowing about. I just always knew never to touch them. My husband and I were both in the military, schooled in weaponry, we do keep guns in the house, however they are in a locked safe. We both enjoy shooting as a hobby and as a means of protection. We are both safe, legal weapon owners. Would I give up my guns to bring back those kids or to keep Jack and Amelia safe forever? Dear God, in a heartbeat. I am so very sad. I'm trying so hard to keep myself alive, it never dawned on me I would have to think about keeping my babies alive doing something so ordinary. They deserve to have crunchy leaf memories.