The truth is I am deathly nervous. It’s been a while; it’s been so long since I last sat down alone with my thoughts. Listen, writing is not easy. It’s like a wrestling match in my head. I’m in the ring trying to pin down each fleeting memory, each sacred moment. Sometimes I find myself literally banging my head on the table, forcing a word, a sentence out. Or I close my eyes and place my hands over them to block out everything around me so that I can feel the entirety of the thought. It’s easier not to write; it’s easier to say I can just live through it all…Read More
This is the second time I've committed the grave sin of allowing dust to gather on this space. There is so much to say, so much to remember. But there is very little of me to write it all down, to build castles of paragraphs. It's not laziness, I've realized. It's guilt. I shouldn't be staring at my laptop and pounding on the keyboard; I should be caressing the face of my son, carrying him every single moment, singing him nursery songs. I should hold my life instead of write about it.
I look at him again. I've got it all wrong. His presence in my life -- his bold, perpetual presence -- must rouse me, not inhibit me. If I truly love him, I must pull out the best of me and stash the worst of me away. For there is a tiny tot that looks up to silly old me, asking me to show him the way in this mystifying world. I don't even know how to navigate it myself. But maybe writing will help. It should. It did before. It always does.
So here's to the words that will do me a service, to the act that makes sense of all the contours and challenges, to the art that captures the beauty of a boy, of a family, of motherhood.
May I never give up on it.
And may you never give up on me. Thank you for your unwavering patience, for waiting for my thoughts to become words.Read More
If I could write a letter to my pregnant self, here's what I would say...
Dear First Time Mom,
Let me tell you the truth: motherhood is laced with idyllic stories and tempting fantasies. I'm looking at you now, your 8-month pregnant self, belly rounded with life and your head full of those half-truths. You're dreaming about wrapping your son in his muslin blankets, planning out his monthly birthdays, shopping for his stylish organic rompers. You're spending so much time looking at swimming trunks online, little shoes and backpacks for all his adventures. You wonder what toys and books and Disney movies you'll introduce to him first. You and your husband are brimming with excitement as this new chapter is finally within your horizon.
But let me hold your hand, Deanne. Let me show you the realness, the rawness of it all.
Brace yourself. Are you ready?...Read More
I was expecting but everything that happened that day was unexpected. I woke up that morning dazed from lack of sleep, frustrated at the endless tossing and turning I did the previous night. Couple that with the horrendous traffic to our weekly hospital checkup and I had the kind of morning that I wanted to forget.
Amidst the white walls of my doctor's clinic, we discussed the long wait our baby was making us go through. I was 39 weeks and 4 days and there were still no signs of labor. No contractions, no water breaking, no pain. Obsessed with getting things done on time, I was secretly worried. I had three days left to give my baby a chance to come into the world naturally. Otherwise, I would go under the knife. It seemed like it could happen in three days. It seemed like it couldn't, too.
Before the ordered internal exam, my husband and I had lunch. Over our favorite spaghetti, fried chicken, and chocolate chip pancakes, I talked about my worries, he talked about his dreams, we talked about our parenthood. In spite of the fears, there was a lot of laughter over anything and everything. I palpably felt the chemistry that brought us together years ago. He reminded me that even if things don't go our way, we would still have Noah...Read More
I was in my bed, crying out of frustration. It was almost 9 p.m. and my husband wasn't home yet and I hadn't had dinner yet and I had not thrown out the trash yet. I wanted to but I couldn't. Pregnancy. There's just something about the first trimester that makes you helpless and weak and - dare I say it? - useless.
It was a bleak time, a bad time, an unforgiving time... for me.
I didn't want any of it. I didn't want go through it anymore, the underbelly of the bump.
My days became nights. Most mornings were lost since I would wake up close to noon. My husband would kiss me goodbye as he would leave for work and I would only faintly remember that. I stood up to eat and then went back to lying down again. Loneliness loomed. I had no more time to spend as sleep became my ally. Closing my eyes seemed like the best solution to the endless nausea and fatigue and loss of appetite. Perhaps it would all go away? When it always seemed like night, they did...Read More