The Perfect Myth

February 6, 2017February 6, 20179 Comments

Over the last year and a half I’ve had a good, long laugh at my pre-kid self and all the things I said I would absolutely, never in a million years, ever, do. As an example, Logan and I have taken a certain amount of pride in being anti-TV for nearly a decade. Yet here we are today, reciting the lines from Masha and The Bear from memory because that’s what happens when you watch all 17 episodes 47 times each with your kid. Thanks, Netflix. No seriously, thank you so much Netflix, I love you. There’s a long list of unplanned for transgressions but there’s a really big one I need to address today.

Myth.

I call it The Perfect Myth and it lives on Facebook. Have you noticed? My hair looks awesome, I’m wearing actual eyeliner, and my clothes are astonishingly unstained. Pearl is beaming with dimples that will make your heart soar and somehow, my husband looks oddly pleased to be in a field or grassy expanse in the middle of a work day. This is not real life, this is The Perfect Myth.

Myth.

Before our daughter was born I had grand plans, I was going to be a real mom, honest and genuine about all of it. And that’s the beauty of real life, I get to be that real mom every day. Turns out real life is tough, messy and immune to my controlling tendencies. So Facebook is my perfectly manicured lawn, my award-winning rose garden, the calm, beautiful facade I maintain as a reward for the reality I tend each day. It contains those moments that happen either purely by accident or in that five-second window where preparation, prayer, and bribery pay off with the help of a professional photographer. I feel like I’ve earned this carefully crafted social existence. By now, we’re all in on the social media joke, aren’t we? We know that Facebook is whatever we want it to be and the punchline doesn’t actually matter which is why I’m not sorry about The Perfect Myth, not even a little bit.

Fact.

Dear Kara

December 2, 2016December 2, 20161 Comment

Pearl spent more than a year under the watchful care of Emma, Megan, and Katie. Together, these women shaped my daughter’s life. I see their influence everyday. When Pearl offers a hug on instinct to a crying kid, there’s Emma. When she stands on our coffee table, creeps toward the edge, and yells “JUMP!” with pure mischief in her eyes, there’s Megan. Seconds later, when she smiles and climbs down carefully, there’s Katie. Sure, Logan and I played a role and the genetics are undeniable, but Monday-Friday from 8-5 plus countless Saturdays with Emma, that was probably the best thing we ever did for our kid.

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Pearl was a flower girl in Emma’s wedding and on the big day, mentally, she was kind of a wreck. She’d scream to be put down then immediately scream to be picked up. Toddler emotions are ~~complex~~ exhausting. Maybe she was dealing with her own brand of grief as she watched Emma get married and start a new life on her own. Unless she was in the arms of an Engbrecht, she was truly inconsolable. They’d spent a lot of time together, their bond was so second-nature your teeth about ached with the sweetness. Still, I was fairly convinced some type of magic was involved here.

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So strong, reliable, and nurturing, I often forgot Emma was more than a decade my junior. Whether dealing with the 12th schedule change of the day, or Pearl’s first six months of endless spit up, or gently pointing out that my shirt still had a tag on it, she never let on that I was the raving lunatic I felt myself to be each day. She shared Pearl’s triumphs and sorrowed in her minor slip ups, so much so that I never felt like I was missing out on the months that were slipping by so quickly. Because Pearl was in safe hands, so were our hearts.

Moments before the ceremony began, the tattered remains of my patience were fading fast. Shoulders slumped and toes pinched in ill-advised heels I asked Emma’s mother Kara what type of magic she used to subdue my daughter and could I get it on Amazon Prime? Without missing a beat she said, “Hey, if your kid is sweet to everyone except you, you’ve got to be doing something right.” Immediately I felt an odd lightness in my shoulders and realized, just like that, she’d worked her spell on me too.

So, thank you, Kara. Thank you for raising daughters that were not only sweet to me but were also 100% with their love and adoration for Pearl. Thank you for teaching them grace. Thank you for teaching them honesty and selfless love. Thank you for all the important lessons you taught me through your amazing daughters.

How to Dress a Tornado in 17 Easy Steps

July 25, 2016July 25, 20164 Comments

For the past three weeks, I stood by and watched while family and friends held Pearl, cuddled her, hugged her, tickled her, and loved her in all the ways I couldn’t. This was easily the most difficult part of my cancer experience which means, actually, I’m pretty damn lucky.

Since being reunited with my daughter, we’ve had an extended moment of incredibly sweet, excessive devotion to each other. Every night in that small space between fighting the inevitable and dreams of nutella sandwiches (that’s what they dream about too right?) Pearl likes to make sure I’m still around. She jerks wide awake, takes one long concentrated look at my face, gives me an enormous dimple-cheeked smile, and passes out on my shoulder.

Stop and smell the dandelions

In turn, I give in to her tiny demands regularly. I know there’s an entire industry devoted to avoiding this grave parental misstep but screw it. In her entire life these days, the ones where she’ll grab my hand and pull me around the house to squeal with delight at the existence of windows, will seem like a flash.

I feel good, really good, and it’s unlikely that I’ll need any more treatment. It turns out doctors don’t like to throw around words like “cured” with cancer patients no matter the clever verbal traps you set for them. So I’ll wait impatiently but in the meantime I have a long list of blessings to count.

And because it’s rude to advertise your parental brilliance on Instagram and then not deliver…

How to Dress a Tornado in 17 Easy Steps:

Stop buying anything even remotely white, just stop it
Sign my petition to end the total nightmare that is baby clothes with buttons, together we can stop the madness
Remember this counts as a workout, good for you!
Offer to let the tornado choose her own clothes
Spend the next 30 minutes putting all the clothes back in the drawers
Allow an additional five minutes to apologize to the tornado for not letting her eat the rhinestones off her tank top
Time for a distraction, sing a totally made up song about monkey butts
Chase the tornado as she runs across the living room with her eyes closed and only half her pants on
Wonder if this will be the day you have to explain to the ER nurse how your tornado gave herself a concussion
Oops, the tornado just crapped her pants, start over
It becomes clear at this point that tornados prefer to be naked
Distract the naked tornado, almost anything will do but I highly recommend a cell phone insurance plan
Take a 5 minute break, let the tornado loose on the tupperware drawer, you deserve coffee
Offer to let the tornado try to dress herself
Remember this always results in a screaming match when you eventually try to help
Bribery exists for a reason people, have you heard of these things called yogurt melts? What a world!
Realize that a diaper is perfectly acceptable attire for a tornado on any occasion

365 Days of Pearl

May 20, 20161 Comment

On the first day she had no name.

On the third day, somewhere between exhaustion and adrenaline, she was Pearl.

On the 12th day I made final notes in the most absurd and meticulous journal I’ve ever kept. I deemed Pearl’s bowel movements normal and vowed, once again, to never read internet mom advice.

On the 21st day she rolled over and Grandma and Grandpa Haifley were our FaceTime witnesses. Coincidentally, this was the same day I tested the shriek factor on Grandma and Grandpa’s speakers.

On the 52nd day I took 287 photographs and in the haze of naivety known as new motherhood, was certain I would print all of them, the next day. I can’t even tell you where those photos are saved today.

It’s a good day when you’ve got cake on your feet

On the 97th day we found that of the many benefits to having a daughter, the impromptu dance parties are our favorite. No matter the time of day, the food in front of her face, or the mental torment of a choking hazard being removed from her grasp, turn on some tunes and this girl can shimmy shake like nobody’s business.

On the 129th day Pearl discovered that Lefty, in addition to being a chihuahua with obvious mental issues, was also a pretty good playmate. Our dog has never been fond of tiny humans charging him but on this day they bonded over a game of tug-of-war. We decided he could stay when he knocked her down and she giggled for two minutes straight.

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On the 183rd day Pearl mastered the bear crawl and the running tally of all the “I would nevers” came to an official end as I squealed and hooted watching Pearl scamper across the house and took more photos that I also cannot find to this day.

On the 268th day we discovered that if we laughed every time Pearl shuddered at a pureed, so-called food, she would laugh. Consequently, the second and third bites would go over much better. Laughter is responsible for her love of green beans and squash.

Little cupcake

On the 301st day Pearl took her first shaky steps and turned our world upside down, legitimately, this is why our house is always a mess.

On the 324th day she started playing favorites with her books making her mama’s english major heart nearly burst with pride. After the 700th reading of BINGO was his nameo, the aforementioned english major heart developed a slight twitch.

On the 365th day Pearl had her very first taste of the wonder and beauty that occurs when you combine cake, chocolate, frosting, and sprinkles. It is only now that I realize, none of us thought to give this poor kid any milk.

These 365 days of Pearl have been filled with smiles and tears, chaos and giggles, a healthy mix of parental terror with a dash of toddler fearlessness, and a whole lot of sparkle.

Pearl & The Case of the Chaos Tornado

April 18, 2016April 17, 20164 Comments

“I swear I turned around for one second,” Logan said, panic saturating his pores. I don’t doubt this. Pearl is fast. To give you a reference point, she’s somewhere between a snake and a mongoose, and a panther. She had closed the door to our bathroom and opened the nearest drawer effectively barring anyone from getting at her. We stood staring at the door, mentally calculating the life-threatening dangers locked inside the bathroom with our daughter, united in dread.

Baby blues

Logan used logic to determine breaking the window was our best option. I utilized a mother’s expertise for nonsense and casually suggested to my 10 month old, “Pearl, babe, close the drawer.” Voila. She closed the drawer. Multiply impossibility and subtract reason, these are the mathematics of motherhood. Today I will admit she was probably just excited to hear my voice. Years from now, as my maternal induced psychosis worsens, the story will evolve. I will proclaim my daughter followed precise instructions given to her in fourth century Latin and upon opening the door, gave us the square root of pi. Enjoy this time of partial sanity my friends, it is merely fleeting.

Borderline heart failure induced panic followed by baffled laughter, a shoulder shrug, and onto the next chaos tornado, parenting defined. Ultimately it seems, with a little luck, resolutions to life’s most earth-shattering moments can sometimes be swift. Similar to my recent thyroid cancer diagnosis which had us equally flabbergasted, the solution will be simple and relatively easy. A few weeks from now I will trade my thyroid for a scar but, like our bathroom window, I will remain intact. More importantly, I will be happily exaggerating Pearl’s intellect for many, many years.

Best. Hugs. Ever.

The Day She Didn’t Choose Me

January 24, 2016January 23, 2016Leave a comment

Today my daughter chose the babysitter. Normally I come home for lunch and Pearl’s eyes light up, her arms reach out to me and the love she shows is undeniable in that display of pure need. Today, none of that happened. Instead she held tight to Emma, snuggling into her neck and refusing to let go. I would never hold this against Emma, she is an incredible blessing to our entire family. But I nursed the pangs of heartache and guilt throughout the day, blaming an eight month old child for my destruction. She did not intend to shatter my heart. Pearl is just a baby, I repeated this to myself several hundred times.

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Everyday I worry. Everyday I question my decisions and choices. Am I really doing the absolute best for my family? Some days yes. Some days I am super-mom, I am invincible, untouchable, unstoppable. If the apocalypse crashed down upon us at dawn, we’d be just fine, we’d kick apocalypse ass. Other days no, just no. And that two letter word contains more than enough defeat, additional explanation unnecessary to any parent.

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At 7:35PM I forgave my daughter her unknowing indiscretion. I forgave her as we swayed together, nearly inaudible coos escaping her tiny perfect body as she drifted off. I forgave her as my feet sank into the carpet, my toes imprinting our love on the world below. We swayed much longer than necessary. Feeling her warm, even breath on my shoulder, her fingers gently squeezing my arm and releasing, squeezing and releasing, her entire body eventually falling into a peaceful, heavy, relaxation. She is safe, and warm, and loved. She is innocent and I do my best and so we are granted equal amnesty.

Tonight we conquered emotional cataclysm, tomorrow is another day.

A youth well spent

January 1, 2016January 1, 20162 Comments

I hear this question a lot these days, “Do you ever wonder what you used to do with all your free time?” The first few times I fell right into the deep hole of despair this question, perhaps unknowingly, implies: the agony of a wasted life.

Yes, I miss sleeping in. I miss the days when my body wouldn’t automatically come to life five minutes before Pearl wakes up. I miss staying up late for no apparent reason, safe in the knowledge that I would feel wonderful the next day regardless. I miss the freedom to just read all day, the freedom to spend days agonizing over a single blog post. But it’s not these little moments seemingly filled with nothing that I mourn.

To answer the question, no I do not wonder how I filled my time. I remember fondly, I spent it doing things like this:

Pardon my humble brag, but I’m happy to say my youth was not wasted. Life did not begin or end with Pearl. She found us mid-way through the story; well developed characters with an expansive history rich in self-discovery. And even though our time is now spent doing this like this:

Happily, it was our past that got us to this present, and what a gift it is.