Life’s work.

As in, “Life is work.” A lot of work. Work is work. Housekeeping is work. Relationships are work. Kids are work. Thinking is work. Hell, even lifting a beer to your mouth and pushing buttons on a remote is a tiny bit of work. Worthwhile work, but still. Work.

I have been seriously neglecting this space lately. Thanksgiving came and went. Lots to be thankful for. Blah. Blah. Blah. It was a good holiday, actually. Don’t mind my snarkiness. (It’s a word. Go look it up.) I had a lot of time off. I got to chill with my family and some really dear friends whom I don’t see often enough. I am just very stressed lately. And anxious. Always anxious.

I’ve been doing freelance work on the side now for quite some time. It can be tough to fit it in. I work full-time already. I shouldn’t probably make more work for myself in the off-hours. But, yet…the extra money is so nice and I’m good at knocking out small design jobs and making my client’s happy with projects they need done quickly and for not a shit-ton of money. (That’s the approximate amount they might pay a design firm to help them with a small job. I assume, anyway.)

A couple of months ago I also committed to doing a job that involves web design. It’s exciting. I am enjoying the fact that it’s going well and I’m learning a lot. I am not enjoying the fact that it requires quite a bit more time than my typical freelance job. In retrospect I should have realized it would be hard on me to do a job of this size in my spare time. It just sounded so exciting and so possible.

The home life is suffering. I have been driving my husband mad with my moodiness due to stress about so many things. Because, it’s not just the extra work I’m stressing about. It’s he and I.* It’s KC and whether I’m doing right by her. It’s money. It’s trying to figure out where/how-in-the-holy-hell we will send KC to preschool. It’s guilt about wanting to further my design talents (maybe even go into business for myself) and also be a good and present wife and mother. Too. Much. Something has to give and apparently, right now, it’s my sanity. Don’t worry I’ll find it again.

*Please note: Ted can drive me to drink some days. (The feeling is mutual, to be sure.) But he’s actually an amazing guy and great dad. We are a normal married couple. We are not perfect. We have bad days. We’ve had quite a few lately, but we also have quite a few good ones too. I feel the need to clarify, because for some of you, this is but a snippet of our lives and I don’t want to give anyone any weird and wrong ideas about the state of my marriage. Know what I mean?

It’s all silly, really. I have lots to be happy about and lots to be thankful for. Money and career woes aside. KC is an amazing kid. So much to tell you about how she’s changing these days, but I cannot put it into proper words right at the moment. I will try later.

I have many reasons to be happy. However, I also have many reasons to be stressed out. Hell. Don’t we all? Life’s work after all.

Hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving and are enjoying the rest of the holidays as they unfold.

Cheers! It’s Friday. Pass me a beer.

D.I.Y. Toddler Style

As of late, KC has been insisting more and more that she can  “Do it myself.” I now let her get into the car seat by herself when I pick her up at the end of the day. I am also discovering that things she might not want to do suddenly become more appealing when I offer up the fact that “You can do it yourself!”. That will be short-lived, I imagine.

“Hey, KC! That room’s pretty messy. Help mommy clean it, won’t you. Or, better yet, you can do it yourself!”

As for her other toddler habits, I’ve stopped trying to update you here on the blog with what cute phrases she’s picked up. It’s tempting, but it’s kind of pointless. We’ve moved from phrases to full sentences. Ok, that’s an exaggeration. Still a lot of phrases. By by a lot, I mean A LOT. New ones every day. Too many to remember and recount here.

Bottom line? She’s doing great. She’s getting more and more conversational. Ted and I are constantly amazed at what she picks up and what she remembers. Especially the memory. She actually reminded him to put gas in the car about a week ago. He’d mentioned to her very casually that they were going to the store and then they needed to get gas. Sure enough, as they headed out from the store, she said something like “Get gas, daddy.” Mind like a steel trap, this one.

So here we are. At the amazing point with a child where you feel proud of what they can do, but you need the patience of a saint to allow them to practice.

“Time to get dressed, sweet-pea. What’s that? You want to do it yourself? Oh, why not. We have about 2 hours before we have to be anywhere. Knock yourself out.”

Ok, that exact situation hasn’t really come up yet, but it will. She does express an extreme preference for pink pants sometimes. It’s all good. It’s all very, very good. A person really does need some “D.I.Y.” skills. I think it’s in the Life Manual under “skills that can land you a decent job, and possibly your own tv show” … or something like that.

Today on the The KC Show, Getting Into Your Own Seat for Dinner! Impress that snooty maitre d’!

A Two Year Old Looks at Death

Our giant algae sucker died a few weeks ago. He was huge with dark brown spots and crazy sea monster-like fins and tail. He had been with our fish tank for quite a few years. As ugly as that sucker was, he was kind of cool too and obviously he performed an important service to the tank. A good childhood friend of mine who reads this blog will recognize the description as matching the “rotten banana fish” that lived in my parent’s old tank when we were kids.

Ted says he must have been dead in there for a few days. Judging from the smell. Ew. We gave him a proper burial in a giant plastic casket (a.k.a. the garbage can outside), reflected for a moment or two and promptly bought two new ones a couple of days later. Damn, they are little when you first get them. I had forgotten. I wonder if two of them will grow as big as the one?

When Ted found the dead fish, KC was with him. He very matter of factly told her, “He died.” She accepted this without a lot of questions. She is only 2 after all. Now (almost) every time she notices the fish tank, she looks as us then points to the tank and says very seriously, “He died.” Then she points again and nods her head in the affirmative a couple of times for further emphasis.

“Yes, sweet pea, he did.” What else can you say to a two year old?

The Guy Outside

KC was quite taken with one particular Halloween decoration this year. We have a “guy”, a torso really, who we purchased a couple of years ago before we had a child. He’s meant to stick out of the ground like an un-dead thing trying to escape the grave. He looks a little like Freddy Krueger minus the hat, knives and striped sweater.

When I first started pulling the decorations out I paused for a moment wondering if he was a bit much for a two year old. She was standing right next to me so I just pulled him out and smiled really big and said “Look! Isn’t he silly?!” At first she seemed a tad unsure, but she got over it pretty quickly.

Ted put “Uncle Freddy” outside the following day while he was home with KC. The next day while I was home with her again as she continued to recover from a bad cold, she starting talking about a “Guy outside, Mommy. Guy outside.” It didn’t click at first so I said, “Did you see someone walking by out there? Are they walking a doggy?” Then she informed me, “Outside, in the rocks!” I understood right away. She was talking about our Halloween guy.

Every day she tells us about him. “Guy outside! “Go see him.” Every day we go outside to check on him. Apparently when Ted first put him out, KC was there and he assured her, “He won’t hurt you.” So each time she informed me of the “guy outside”, she was careful to add, “It’s ok, Mommy. He won’t hurt you.”

She absolutely blows me away sometimes. This kid is kind of a bad ass. I am pretty sure this guy would have scared the bejeezus out of me when I was little. I distinctly recall seeing a photo of Freddy Krueger in one of the local circulars that came in the mail. It was a very clear photo of his disfigured face in an ad for the video store where Nightmare on Elm Street was a new release. It bothered me so much I had to throw it away. I was probably in middle school at the time. (Can you say, “Wussy”?)

Here’s a shot of KC and her friend “Uncle Freddy” who will probably chill with us for a few more days before he goes back in the attic until next Halloween:

Here are a few more shots including one of the little skeleton “ghosties” Ted hung from the trees…

and here is KC in her fairy costume…

I went totally cheap this year and used the tutu and wings she got for her Birthday plus a 2nd hand crown.  Hey, it works. Plus, just as I suspected, she lasted about an hour or so visiting Grandma, Grandad and her cousins before she insisted on removing the whole get up. We had some fun and then we rushed back to our house to greet all our trick-or-treaters. I am sort of ashamed to say we didn’t bring KC around to trick-or-treat with our neighbors. I don’t think she minded though. She gave out big handfuls of candy to each child who came to our door.

She also ate more candy than she has in her entire short life so far. A big lollipop, assorted sweet tart things, a gummy brain, part of a tootsie roll…and that’s just what I witnessed. She was (and I kid you not) HIGH AS A KITE. It was absolutely hilarious when it wasn’t annoying the hell out of me. (You try diapering a two year old on a candy high. Not. Fun.)

Here’s a shot of her running around our front porch at the peak of her “trip”:

“Hey, man. You got any good stuff? I need another fix. Sweet-tarts? Hershey’s? Charlston Chews? Seriously, dude. I’ll take anything.”

Halloween is pretty great and kids make it even better. I look forward to next year when the festivities will have even more meaning for her. Hope you had a spooky-great Halloween.

Addicted

KC is officially addicted to milk in the bottle. As you know, I’ve been feeling guilt lately about how much she needs her bottle and how much we JUST DON’T LIKE TO GIVE A DAMN. The situation has kind of reached it’s peak and even I have to admit it’s becoming an issue. Since the weekend, milk is all she wants. She is practically starting a new bottle before she even finishes the last. I’ve seen hard core cigarette addicts with more restraint. She came down with a cold last week and I can always tell something is coming on when her appetite takes a vacation. This is how food conversations went this weekend:

KC: “Milk. Milk! Milk! Milk!”
Me: In a cup?
KC: “No way, man! I need that bottle lady! Don’t toy with me!”
Me: How about a banana or some peanut butter and crackers?
KC: “Nooo! No. No. No. Miiilk!” (Falls to her knees in agony and “cries” some more.)
Me: Ugh. Fine. (Spine jumps out of my body to point and laugh, then jumps back in.)

We actually had a couple of nights early last week where we left every single bottle at Grandma’s house. We had to deny her the bottle at home. There was no choice. (I almost ran to the store for a new one. Almost.) She didn’t like it, but she survived for two nights. She even went to bed with a sippy cup of water instead of her usual bottle of water. I was a little amazed to be honest.

Then…Daddy caved on day 3 when she was feeling particularly sick and went back to Grandma’s house to get one. She sent him back home with EVERY SINGLE ONE SHE HAD. Even the newborn ones we don’t use anymore.

Touché, Grandma! You are a worthy opponent!

Due to the illness and the not eating very much, we’ve been just letting her have it since the weekend. She needs the fat and calories from something. But…the last day or two, I’ve been starting to feel a bit played. Surely the ever steady flow of high fat “cow juice” is having an effect on her appetite as well. It needs to be curbed and I am trying. I swear.

Now that she’s a lot better, I think it’s time to buckle down and try again. It’s time to just go for a few of days and refuse to give in to her whining. It’s time…for an intervention.

God, grant me the serenity…

Do the clothes make the girl?

Because, if so, KC and I are in trouble. We are both having pants issues. I purchased a pair of jeans (ok two) recently that were clearly too baggy for me. Standing still in the fitting room and eyeballing myself in poses I never make in real life, I decided that the bagginess was worth the “rear view” if you get what I’m saying. (Hint: they made my butt look good. I think.) Reasoning that stretch denim always shrinks, I purchased them and promptly washed one pair in hot water the next day. I now have a pair of jeans that is still baggy, but is now also just a little shorter than I’d like. Great.

I seem to have this issue with pants a lot. Sometimes I find the perfect pair, but normally they are either too small or too big. Often the ill fit doesn’t become really apparent until I wear them for one day. I come home to find my mirror image has gone from “denim diva” to “wrinkly, mom-jean wearing dork”. I have given a lot of jeans to good will.

KC is in this place with me right now except that she’s powerless. I buy all her pants. I buy them without her. I eyeball what looks like a good fit only to find she will grow out of them inside a month, or they are much longer than she is. Most recently I bought two pairs of pants at Carter’s that have no waist. I didn’t notice it before, but they don’t taper in at the waist at all. They actually get a bit wider. She wore them to Grandma’s and just walked right out of them on the spot. My daughter is two and has not got the hourglass figure of girl just yet, but she still needs some kind of mechanism to keep the pants on. (Hello? Elastic?) I don’t think she would put up with suspenders at this point in life. She barely puts up with the pants.

Clothing is frustrating at this age. Since they walk and run you really have to make sure it fits and is comfortable. It’s of even more importance than my own clothing actually. I am only just starting to realize this fact. Babies are easy. They can be wrapped in pools of extra fabric with rolled sleeves or legs. They just lay there so who cares?

Next time around I’m just going to recycle old pillow cases. I’ll cut neck and arm holes. Wa-la!

At this very moment I am heading to Old Navy to check out their toddler clothing. They always seem to have functional stuff. Fingers crossed I don’t waste any more money. The people at good will are going to love me otherwise. I don’t keep receipts for very long. (And by “long” I mean for more than 24 hours.) I am a compulsive thrower-outer. Ever see that new show Hoarders? I am the anti-hoarder.

Speaking of which, I also need some big plastic bins to store some of KC’s old clothes in. I feel like I should keep some of my favs in case we do have another girl someday. Surely I’ll be glad I did. However, the urge to purge them all, or at least most of them, is very strong. Very strong indeed. Maybe I’ll deflect this urge by organizing the all the paperwork piled in my office into file folders. Who am I kidding? I’d just toss most of it out. I can already hear Ted: “Hey, Jen. Have you seen the warranty info for the washing machine?”

Um. I have NO idea where that is. I think I saw you with it last. As a matter of fact, I’m sure of it.

A Girl Can Dream

So, I’ve been pretty absent from this blog lately. I apologize. I’ve been busy and a bit uninspired. No ability to dream up witty commentary to my life and KC’s escapades. It happens I suppose. I’m going to blame work.

Work, once you become a mother, takes on a whole new meaning, doesn’t it? SAHM (stay at home mom), WAHM (work at home mom), WOHM (work outside the home mom)…all these acronyms describing your working/mothering status are enough to make me want to put my head in a wood chipper. But, I won’t. Whether you work outside the home and put your kids in daycare, or you are blessed enough to stay at home while your partner brings the income (lucky bitch) it’s all work in the end. We work everywhere, all the time. Parenting does not stop at 5 on Friday. Personally, I feel like I have two jobs. The one I do at the office M-F, and the one I do at home which includes being a mom and the freelance design I am taking on with more and more gusto. Combine these three things and you’ve got a whole lot more than I can really handle sometimes. Even with an awesome partner who helps out, I still feel pulled in many directions.

My office job is cool. I’m a graphic designer and I love that I get to be creative, plus get money for it. The benefits like 401k and health care are obviously a huge plus. A less important perk is that it gets me out of my house and allows me to communicate with adults on a regular basis. Not that KC isn’t stimulating to my superior, grown-up intellect. She totally can be. However, the change of atmosphere at the office keeps me refreshed so the atmosphere at home is a welcome respite at the end of the day.

Here’s what weighs on my mind lately though. Despite the fact that I like my job and all that it affords me, and even though we are blessed with the best daycare in the universe (a.k.a. Grandma who used to be a preschool teacher – it just does not get better than that) I have worries about KC’s care moving forward. I am beginning to stress about how we will navigate the future of school schedules vs. office hours. Who’s going to pick KC up when preschool and then kindergarten end at hours much earlier than our workday? And what if we actually do have a second child? Ted’s mom is pretty amazing, but she’s got limits and I would not want to push it.

It boils down to the fact that I want more flexibility in my own schedule so I can pick up the slack with my daughter’s daily needs and also feel at ease with the decision to add a 2nd child to the crazy mix of our lives. I feel trapped by the need for a certain amount of money and the safety net of benefits through a larger company. There is no question that I cannot just stop working.

If my current employer were ok with flex time or telecommuting I’d be in business, but they don’t seem to dig it. This sucks, because as a graphic designer I could easily work from home and make enough hours for a full week. I might consider pushing them on this, or even looking for another job that does allow it. That could prove a lot more challenging than I think. The economy and job availability make a person just want to hunker down and pray you are not the next lay off.

You know what I really want to do? I really want to be the one who decides my schedule. I want to be my own boss. I want to be able to go for it. Just quit and start my own design business with no worry about how much I’ll be making in the beginning. I daydream all the time about whether this could happen. It’s exciting to think of it. It’s also scary as hell. I am kind of attached to my predictable income each month. Despite this, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to it and daring to imagine it might be possible down the line. In reality it means keeping the full-time job I’m in and ramping up the outside work until I’m at a secure level. Pretty. Damn. Difficult. Possible, but difficult.

Sigh. Ted plays the lottery a lot. Maybe we’ll just win the next big jackpot and none of this stuff will matter anymore. Are you currently stressing about money, work and life in general?

Yeah. The "Poo Face" pretty much sums it up. Figured it was time to bring it back for a cameo appearance.

But, it was the shoes that really did it.

Last week KC went to the doctor for her 2 year check up. She got two shots and didn’t make a peep. I was so proud. It was a very interesting visit. For the first time ever, she sat with me (or at least near me) in the waiting room. Typically she wanders all around and refuses to stay in one spot. She tries to touch all the babies, grab their bottles, or take their teething toys. (Hello germs! Nice to meet you.) I was quite impressed with her calm behavior. Also impressed when after it was done she actually requested not just any old lollipop, but a “yellow lollipop”. Who knew she preferred yellow?

She’s turning a corner for sure. I’m more and more aware these days that she’s really not a baby anymore. We are at the beginning of a difficult stage where it will be possible to ask her to follow directions, to keep still, to be a bit more quiet and to “please not run away from Mommy and Daddy” every time she’s allowed out of the stroller. However, it will require work and consistency on our parts to ensure she gets all these rules down and learns to behave appropriately.

I wrote a while back about how much she loves her bottle. Silly me. I thought it was an issue waaay back then that she still sucked on one all day long. I think I assumed she’d be done with it by now. She’s not. And it’s totally our fault. Ted and I still give her a bottle anytime she wants one. The truth? I don’t really care that my 2 year old still loves the bottle. I really don’t. However, I know that it’s something kids her age are supposed to be giving up. According to a lot of people anyway.

The day I picked her up to bring her to the doc, I asked my MIL to fill a bottle with milk for me. No way was I going to brave a long wait without that comfort item. I’ve made that mistake before. She was more than happy to oblige, but she mentioned casually that she has gotten rid of all KC’s bottles and was no longer giving in to her demands during the day. I was a little surprised. I suddenly felt very guilty that I was not doing this at home. I wondered how much trouble KC gave her about the bottle given that she always got one in the morning and about 2 or 3 every evening when we arrived home.

At the doctor’s office, for the first time, I felt very conspicuous with my “tall” baby sucking on her bottle. I wondered if any other parents noticed and if they had let their kids have the bottle for that long. Of course a lot of them probably had. I know for a fact that a lot of parents are just like me. Very loving, appropriately strict on some counts, but decidedly lax on the things that they deem “no big deal”. Things that just make life a bit easier with a willful toddler. However, I suppose it’s time to try and leave the bottles behind. I could pick a weekend and just go for it. Grit my teeth and deal with the crying. Maybe it will be that easy. I kind of doubt it though. It’s as much a habit for me as it is for her.

Plus, she’s just so little to me. Still so little. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that she’s getting so big and so “capable” already. We are toying with potty training and starting to worry about pre-school. She’s no baby anymore. Babies drink bottles, but babies don’t speak in almost complete sentences. Babies don’t wear gigantic sneakers. Dear God. I had no idea what size her feet really were. The girl at Stride-Rite this weekend measured her at a size 7.5 shoe. Recommended she wear an 8. I’d been squeezing her into 6.5 often looking at those and thinking they seemed big. Talk about a “slap the forehead” moment. Obviously I needed something to clue me in to her “kid” status. Let me tell you, those shoes certainly did it. We might have the WNBA in our future.

****

Follow-up: I tried to do it this evening when she came home. I offered up milk in the frog cup with straw instead of the bottle. (Look at the cute froggy faaaace!!) I might as well have told her Hello Kitty died. It did NOT go over well. Not well at all. I might be in trouble. The funny part is that she’ll take water in a sippy cup no problem-o. But, BY GOD, that milk had better come with a synthetic nipple on top, bitches, or there will be hell to pay. HELL, I tell you.

Well excuse me, Miss Manners.

Last night we were sitting at the kitchen table after dinner when I suggested KC treat us to a tea party. She happily obliged with her sweet new tea set that makes an annoying adorable beeping sound every time she pours. (and pours, and pours…) She presented me with my serving, added a little spoonful of air for taste and then went about making a cup for Daddy too.

I put my tea up to my lips and gave it a big ‘ole sluuurrp for effect. Ted looks over at me very seriously and says, “It would be nice if you waited for everyone else.”

Well excuse me, Miss Manners. I didn’t mean to offend.

She bakes too. Must get that from her Dad.

Fear

I’ve always had some trouble with stairs. I don’t really know why, but I just don’t feel comfortable unless I can watch my feet hitting each step. If I can’t, I tend to over think my movements and often I end up stumbling a little. I’ve never taken a bad fall, but it’s always on my mind. Especially on the steps in my house. They are steep and hard – all wood and kind of slippery.

One of my biggest fears, when KC was just a baby, was that that Ted or I would be carrying her down those stairs and we would trip and fall. Both Ted and I have slipped and fallen about halfway down by ourselves. Nothing like that ever happened with our fragile little girl, but it was on my mind a lot. If the two of us were up in the office with her and Ted carried her down the stairs without me, I’d have “a moment”. I’d sit in my chair, frozen and not breathing, palms starting to sweat a little. I’d hold that pose for a few seconds until I knew they were both down safe and sound.

Behold. The slippery stairs of death.

I know this may sound kind of silly, but if you’ve ever been to my house and gone up and down those stairs you probably understand. Plus, let’s face it, as a brand new parent it doesn’t take much to make you feel paranoid about hurting your new, fragile “package”. A lot of parents make “mountains out of mole hills” in those first few months thanks to the intense pressure created when you are thrust rather abruptly into the role as guardian of something so small and (seemingly) breakable.

Ever seen a dude hold a baby for the first time? I still hold other people’s babies like that.

Months passed and KC learned to crawl, then walk. Those stairs remained closed to her for quite some time. I didn’t have the stomach to let her scale them even when she began to get more confident on her feet. Finally, about 4 or 5 months ago (give or take) we started letting her go up by herself. Going down has been carefully watched and I encourage the “on your bum” method as much as possible. She’s incredibly agile so I have started to get a little complacent. I don’t run to her every time she tries to climb the slide out back, or when she takes the less scary steps in front of our house. She’s proven time and time again she can handle it.

Then on Saturday my fear of the stairs inside was realized if only for a few moments. Let me stop here and just say SHE IS FINE. Because I know what you are thinking right now. Yes, she did fall down the stairs. She fell from about halfway up, although I cannot say for sure because I was not watching. I was not watching. Stupid. She’s gotten so good at going up and down that I let her go by herself while I tried to finish up something on my computer. She grabbed a couple of small toys and said “Downstairs now”. I said “Go ahead.”, reminded her of the “bum method” and went about my business.

Even in the back of my mind the voice of reason hinted that with toys in hand the journey could be dangerous. I heard the toys hit and bounce a few times. For a split second I prayed that she just dropped them, but then I heard her cry. That’s when I realized I had also heard a series of soft thuds alongside those little plastic toys.

Fear always seems to hit you in the torso doesn’t it? It’s like your heart and stomach come to attention at the exact same time.

The good thing is she cried immediately. It would have been worse if she didn’t make a sound. I ran down, scooped her up and carefully sat her on the couch to inspect her for injury. A few red areas where she hit hands and knees, not even a bad bump on the head. She was ok. She cried, but also asked to see a book that was sitting nearby. It took less than one minute for her to calm down and start playing again. It took a little longer for my heart to stop racing. I honestly felt like I was going to puke for about an hour or so.

I gathered our things together and we got in the car as planned to drive the three hours to GG and Gramps house near the beach. We had a wonderful weekend together. Just us girls playing on the playground in Bethany and wading in the ocean waves. I love her so much. Just like any parent, I have that dark worry in the back of my mind at all times. Something could happen to her. Something really bad. I think often about kids who are really sick and spend so much time in hospitals. How do those parents survive that constant fear? I think about parents who have suffered the unimaginable loss of a child by illness or accident. Then there is the possibility of kidnapping and abuse. It’s enough to make you hide your kid inside forever.

My own parents have endured the loss of my brother, Scott, due to suicide. That’s a really tough one to mention here because I know my Mom will read this and I HATE the idea that I’ll surprise her with unexpected feelings of sadness. However, it plays a big role in my own fears if I’m being honest. Experiencing that kind of tragedy opens a bad portal where fear of the unexpected can flow in easier than before. It lives with you from that point on. Quietly sitting in the periphery like a dark shadow. Not always interfering, but definitely always there. Making sure you don’t forget that life can change in an instant and you’ll never see it coming. If I don’t acknowledge the loss of my brother when speaking of this, it’s the elephant in the room.

Since it was my loss too, I have a pretty good idea of how bad it really is for my Mom and Dad that they lost their son, one of their babies. It doesn’t matter if the child is 3 months or almost 30 years old. He’s still your baby. Anyone, parent or not, can wrap their brain around that one and feel sympathy. However, it’s not until you actually become a parent that you can empathize to a degree. Even if you haven’t lost your own child. After just two short years, the love I feel for KC is so strong that the thought of anything happening to her is unimaginable. It has added a decidedly different emotion to the many that I already feel regarding the loss of my brother. It gives a much more clear understanding of how that loss affects my parents every single day.

This post has gone longer and in a much different direction than I intended. I don’t want to end on a sad note, but it’s hard not to feel a little sad when contemplating these things. I guess the trick is (and so far I think I’m doing ok at it) that you have to remember that you cannot control everything that happens in this world and you have to try and accept that. It’s a chaotic and (let’s be honest) fucked-up place a lot of the time. It’s also a beautiful place. Even with all the loss and the pain we endure. There is so much beauty all around if you look for it. I see it especially in the people who take those horrible hits, get back up again and keep on living themselves.

Life is too short. Life is scary and, for some people, much harder than seems fair. Life pretty much sucks, but it is also a real gift. I don’t want fear to stand in the way of enjoying my own life. I especially don’t want my fear to stand in the way of letting KC have lots of good moments for herself. Even if those moments happen far from me, where I cannot hold her hand as she goes down the stairs*.

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*Of course if those “stairs” involve a career as the first female to perform stunts more death-defying than Evel Knievel,  you might just see me running behind her with a giant foam mattress screaming about helmets and knee pads.  I’m a pretty big supporter of letting people (kids included) choose their own path, but I am a Mother after all.