I Could Get Used to This

Amelia hasn't stopped crying since midnight last night,  (at least it feels that way but I'm sure the truth is somewhere in the middle.), the kids refused nap time, and I ate way too many chips and drank way too much hot chocolate so am now feeling frumpy, tired, and yucky.

Rather than dwell on all that, I'd like to return to the cozy feelings I had yesterday.

*****



I had a perfect day today.  It started this morning, after my work-out and before Ben went to work.

While sitting on my blue, flower-print couch nursing Amelia, she looked up at me with the widest grin, making cooing noises.  We chatted for a minute while her brother and sister were in another room playing with their dad. If I looked hard enough, I'm sure I would have seen sparkles signifying the magical aspects of that moment.

I still haven't had a night where she's slept over 4 hours.  Sometimes, if I'm lucky, she'll sleep for 3 hours straight, but that's a rare occurrence   Even rarer is when one or both of her siblings doesn't climb into bed and wake me up with their jerky movements and shifting positions the rest of the night.  Each morning I look at the dark spots under my eyes and vow to not let anyone in bed with us, but every night they come to the edge of my bed crying, "Mommy, I need you," and I scoot over so they can sleep next to me, unable to refuse their sad faces.

I also can't place Amelia in a crib yet, partly because of her siblings' delight in throwing items in with her, partly because she whimpers and cries if I put her in there, but mostly because I really enjoy snuggling with her at night.

Sleepless nights are not my enemy anymore.

After I took Emily to preschool, I sat with Andrew and read story after story.  We played blocks and giggled as his fire truck repeatedly knocked over the towers we built.  Once we picked Emily up from preschool, we came home and ate a snack together. The kids then went to their room and played while I laid down with Amelia and watched her beautiful face smile and listened to her coo.  At one point she stared straight into my eyes for a full minute, until she noticed the overhead fan. I might have gasped.

The kids refused a nap and I didn't have the energy to fight, so they played while I cleaned and wrote.  I'm sure I felt tugs of sleepiness in the corners of my eyes, but I didn't feel overpowered by them.  Instead, I basked in their sweet noises and conversations.

I listened as Emily created an imaginary world using their toy boxes, her dress-up clothes, and the cheap plastic McDonald's figurines they managed to sneak past the open grimace of our black trash can.  Andrew zoomed around the room with his big fire truck, carrying his "pink horsey" to and from danger.  Amelia snoozed on the bed, occasionally letting sleep moans and sighs escape her rose-colored lips.

I drank it all in.

This parenting gig, with all its fluctuations from perfect to crazy, is a thrilling ride.  I can't remember one boring moment - okay, there was that one month - and I also can't remember not feeling both overwhelmed and grateful that I, imperfect me, get to parent these delightful sweethearts.  I think that as I've dropped the expectations I created from reading parenting books and on-line resources on How Not to Ruin Your Children's Lives - which seems to be the basic theme behind every parenting article that endorses one idea over another - I've really embraced the fun aspects of it.  Parenting is no longer scary.

That's Life (And It's So Grand)

While I had the best intentions of running a week's worth of Top Ten in 2011 posts, my body told me to "stop that," and rest.

So I have.

On Tuesday, I went to my ultrasound appointment and saw the most amazing thing: my developing embryo's heart beat.  It was strong and loud.  I am happy.

The ultrasound also indicated just how far along I am: 6 weeks.  With my usual track record of horrible pregnancy-induced sickness, I stick to the couch and to boring foods like instant mashed potatoes with saltine crackers.  I no longer crave coffee, chocolate, or anything else delicious.  Instead, I shun all things healthy, unhealthy, and seemingly delicious by reaching for the most bland foods my irritated pregnant body wishes to consume.  My husband gets tongue lashings every day for ridiculous things.  He patiently (and not so patiently) endures them and quickly forgives my outbursts.  Thank God.

Between exhaustion and sickness, I do have brief interludes of productivity.  During these moments, I managed to complete my master's application.  I am beyond excited to have this done and will now impatiently wait on an acceptance or rejection letter.

Right now, I am resting.  Life will resume its outrageously busy pace next week, when I start back at work again, so I am taking advantage of this brief holiday by putting my feet up and watching countless hours of TV.  And sleeping.  I can't get enough sleep. (Except for at night, when my body decides it wants to act uncomfortable and send me dry heaving to the bathroom multiple times, but I seem to do okay during the day.)

I am not sure what shifted with this pregnancy.  Whether it's the attitude of do-or-die (regarding the fetus) or the, hell what could possibly go wrong that hasn't in previous pregnancies, line of thinking that has left me happily embracing each moment and living in the day.  I don't consider names, how I will deliver the baby, or what gender it is.  Instead, I am content with a heart beat, the increasing nausea/dry heaving, and the muscle pain.  I am satisfied with each day that my body holds onto the pregnancy and feel confident that things will be okay.

As computer screens increase the nausea and dizziness, I will be going on a brief hiatus.  If and when I have a break from the sickness, I will return.  But for now, consider this my good-bye until next year.

I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday season and enjoy your New Year's festivities.

There Is Always Tomorrow

It started at 4 am, when Emily came running into the room screaming because she had wet the bed.  I consoled her, changed her, and placed her in bed next to me.

When we all woke up for the day at 7, things seemed to moving along as normal.  A rush of getting the kids fed, Ben's lunch made, and starting in on the morning chores.

But by 9, my sweet baby had dumped his cereal all over the floor; stuffed the toilet with towels, toothbrushes, and other items; and torn apart my carefully organized cupboards.

While cleaning one mess, he would run into another room to make another one.

His sister was not innocently standing by.

The beautifully cleaned, vacuumed, and dusted living room was quickly torn asunder as my angelic daughter threw the cushions off the couch, spread the clean and folded clothes all over the floor, dumped her orange juice over the coffee table and floor--twice--and screamed for various snacks.

As I surveyed the damage, Ben called to ask that I mail the rent check.  To do this, I had to buy stamps and envelopes and be back before the mail man came.  I stepped over the messes, dressed the kids, and packed them in the car only to drive by the mailman on the way out.  I continued on my journey, located stamps, and set out to find a mail box (I wasn't sure where the post office was).  I also had to buy new toothbrushes as Andrew had made ours unusable.

When we arrived home, the kids continued on in their wave of destruction.  Cheerios thrown out of bowls, crackers crushed into the carpet, the clothes in drawers littering every room.

At 11, I typed a tired message to my husband relaying the mornings events. He came home for lunch and left even more exhausted as the kids continued melting down.

Functioning, at this point, was beyond impossible.  I put Andrew down for his nap. Since Emily's sheets were still not washed, I had to put her in my bed and lay down with her (rather than making some headway on the chaos surrounding me).

By the end of the day (after our house had virtually imploded), I was close to a breakdown.  We started in on our nighttime routine.  Once I bathed the kids, I locked them in Emily's room with me and read stories.

One story after the next.  As I read, Emily enacted each nursery rhyme and Andrew ran after her, attempting to copy her movements.  I watched them.  In moments, joy replaced frustration, a smile the frown.  The wrinkles in my brow relaxed as I sat laughing.  Soon we were all dancing and singing.  The days events a mere memory.

I put them in bed, giving extra squeezes in return for sweet toddler kisses.

I started in on the messes, completely rejuvenated by that half hour of fun.

There is always tomorrow, the voice whispered.

"I know.  I am ready."

Repose

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

I trudge through the snow pushing the double stroller back home from the library.  The kids, bundled up in various assortments of coats, hats, and blankets, point out objects of entertainment.

"A red truck, Mommy!" squeals a delighted Emily.

"Dada, Mama, Jump!" adds Andrew.

We breathe in the delightful scents of leaves fallen off trees, the pine cones of Evergreens, and the fresh scent of fallen snow (that is to say the air is free of smoggy residue and, therefore, scentless).   The noise of passing cars is barely noticeable as I push the stroller through serene neighborhoods.

While I engage the kids with multifarious questions, I ponder my current situation.  My habit to load up the stroller when I feel my mental capacities buckling under the overwhelming (or so my mind thinks) pressures; my tendency to lose my head when a child wakes up early from a nap (or refuses to take one) or busies herself in naughty behaviours; and my inability to confront certain places (ahem, internet) without feeling fear, with a dash of dread and a heavy side of guilt, because I am convinced of my personal inadequacies and failures.

My intense desires to be at home with my children and provide a loving, safe, and education-rich environment juxtapose with my acute longing to run away--whether to the workplace, school, or another state--from the battles being fought inside my head supposedly because of my occupation as a stay-at-home mom.

Rather than hide from these devilish thoughts, I tenuously chose to accost my enemy this last week as a knight would duel his foe. I stayed away from friends--on-line and in real life--because I knew this fight would need my full strength.

At this point it would be natural to interpose "and in the end," except that an ending doesn't exist.  With this war, the battles are waged daily--some I win, some I lose.  However, I am emerging as victor more often than as conquered.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The birds chirp, the leaves stir, and the kids continue with their endless chatter.   I open my eyes a little wider and notice the contrast between this day and the last: the pressure in my chest has lifted and I feel as light as the wind.  And though it is cold outside, I feel the warmth of this knowledge spreading through my limbs and the beginnings of a bounce to my step.

With guarded optimism, I embrace the changes and look forward to days filled with more hope and less fear.

On Being a Stay-At-Home Mom

I struggled for a long time with what I thought being a stay-at-home mom meant.  I visualized a day full of baking, putting together puzzles, reading story after story, and, of course, creating art and making crafts.  As many of you know, I detest baking and abhor having to participate in making arts and crafts.  And, with my recent health problems, floor time is very challenging.

In my mind, this makes me atypical; which, in turn, makes me feel highly uncomfortable with my new profession.

It doesn't help that I don't fit into any mold.  We live in an apartment, my husband works two full-time jobs, we have one very old vehicle, and our food budget is meager.  I struggle with chronic anxiety and depression and can barely keep our tiny space from imploding from the chaos of two kids.  Not the suburban bliss most people picture (or at least I pictured) when thinking of moms staying home with their kids.

So, when I hear women saying "I'm not the stay-at-home type" I can relate.  At least if their definition is the same one I've always used.

What am I to do?

Change the definition.

As with parenting, there are all sorts of moms who decide to stay-at-home.  I have to believe that not every mother delights in the typical homemaking (a word I really dislike) pursuits.  We all have talents and interests, outside of mothering, that spice up our résumé.

Some of my interests include helping the low income, minority, and mentally ill populations find the healthcare they need, continue on to higher education, and apply for jobs directly related to their individual talents;  fitness and helping women and men find their inner beauty and perfect their own healthy body image; and pursuing life long education by obtaining a masters, followed by Ph.D, in some area of expertise and conducting and publishing research in premier journals.

My talents include reading to and teaching my kids all sorts of things beyond picture books; incorporating exercise--whether it's walking or aerobics on DVD--into our daily schedule; and managing our finances so we do not go over our budget.

These talents and interests make me, me.  Even if it makes me an untraditional SAHM (another term I dislike).  I'd much rather do what I always wanted to do (stay at home with my kids) my way than stay within some defined boundary and feel miserable by not staying true to myself.

What about you?  (I'm sure you can relate this to your own life and whatever profession you have. You don't have to be a mom to feel as if you are an outlier.)

A Spectacular Failure

My plan of posting daily was foiled by sickness and travelling.  We are home, thankfully safe and sound as inclement weather wanted otherwise, but the sickness is pervasive.  We are all busy living in a haze of congestion, chills, and fevers.

Before I stopped, I had published every day, except one.  A decent record, for sure, but did I really do what I set out to accomplish?

Yes.

Writing daily became a habit.  I set aside a block of time for myself, nightly, to sit and write.

Posting was more enjoyable.  I wrote on a variety of themes, allowing my creativity to flow.

Giving myself a break each day provided me with the escape I needed from the incessant worries that accompany motherhood and solo parenting.

And no.

I am not satisfied with my writing.  Many days, the posts seemed more like stream-0f-consciousness writing rather than organized, coherent, and cohesive thoughts with few grammatical and punctuation errors.   My time, like so many people's, is extremely restricted.  If I choose to sit and write, I also choose to ignore the mess and continue living in a chaotic household--something I am not okay with.

While I did go outside of my comfort zone in small ways, I still kept within the confined zone.  Struggling to find the perfect word choice/combinations, appropriate tone, and correct word usage has placed more than one important piece inside the drafts folder.

I did not find that niche of which I am looking.  The subject that defines this place.  I also found myself in a vulnerable position of confronting a truth I have been avoiding.  A truth that will lead to more time and effort in order to receive adequate help.

I managed to break through the fog I had been living in by trying the NaBloPoMo challenge.  In the process, though, I found another fog that will take longer to navigate.  Something I'm not exactly prepared for but understand the necessity of facing it.

Perhaps I should dedicate this blog to figuring out pieces of myself as I venture further and further into motherhood and wifehood.  It seems to be heading in that direction anyway.

We’re In!

The day after my surgery,  Ben left for a medical school interview.  His first interview. Despite the timing being inconvenient (although this is more directed toward the unexpected surgery),  we were nervous and excited.

Ben came home feeling very confident.   Because he was told he would hear within a week of whether or not he was accepted,  he started checking his e-mail every ten minutes.  At least.

Late last night,  his diligence paid off.

We received this in his inbox.

The ** College of Osteopathic Medicine hereby offers to admit Benjamin ****** as a candidate for the Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine, Class of 2015 commencing in the Fall Term of 2011 with the total credit hours of 249.4 subject to the terms and conditions set forth herein.

I feel giddy--nay elated--that we have reached this point.  I remember our excitement when we got his MCAT scores,  thinking we were one step closer to fulfilling Ben's career dreams.  A few months later Ben submitted his primary applications and shortly after was filling out secondaries.

And here we are.  Accepted.

The exhausting exams.  The late night (or all night) studying. The loneliness.  It all paid off.

Any good ideas on how to celebrate?

A Tale of Nursing

To all my male readers: You are excused from reading this post.  Unless you really want to, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Andrew lost weight at his last doctor's appointment. His weight has been teetering at the edge for the last two and causing me a bit of worry.  My kids are short.  I understand that, but to go from gaining 3 or 4 pounds a visit to gaining a half a pound and then losing a pound usually signifies something else is happening.

Talking with the doctor, we narrowed it down to one thing: a reduction in my milk production.  I had a feeling this was happening.  Andrew has been waking up a couple times at night absolutely famished.  Considering he usually sleeps through the night, this was a bit odd.  I understood this could be due to a growth spurt, but he wasn't getting any bigger.

My doctor suggested I start supplementing.  I was devastated.

I have a love/hate relationship with breastfeeding.  In the first few months, it hurts horribly.  I crack and bleed and nothing soothes my throbbing breasts.   I cry and push my feet into the ground until the baby is latched, then I clench my teeth the entire feeding.  I develop serious tension headaches because the stress.

Why do I continue?  Because I give myself a goal after each baby is born: if I still hate it by month 3,  I will stop.  Somehow this goal gives me the stamina to continue.  That and my pride.

Once the pain subsides (around month 3),  I begin to enjoy it a little more.  Around month 5,  it starts hurting again.  For 2 weeks out of the month, it is painful and I, once again, cry during feedings.  I persist because by that point, my babies will not take a bottle.

I enjoy the bonding moments my babies and I share during those 10-20 minutes, but I don't love breastfeeding.

However, when I realized my milk production was decreasing, I was disappointed.  I have sacrificed so much to continue breastfeeding and it seems so...unfair to have this happen.   And I fought.  I tried to feed Andrew more, tried drinking and eating a little bit more, but it still wasn't enough for my poor little guy.

It was then that I realized that breastfeeding was something I thought I could control.  It seems natural that I would produce something that keeps my baby happy and healthy.  The practice was, in many ways, defining me in my motherhood.  I felt cheated.

Until I realized my goals were warped.  Raising a healthy baby should be my first priority and if I must combine nursing with supplementation to achieve this? Then so be it.

It makes me wonder what other priorities I need to readjust.

Dear Dad,

Yesterday, while walking through the grocery store, I heard our song.  The song you sang at my wedding reception.



The unbidden tears clouded my eyes as I remembered your voice, so full of emotion, singing the words--

But I loved her first and I held her first
And a place in my heart will always be hers
From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
I knew the love of a father runs deep
And I prayed that she'd find you someday
But it still hard to give her away
I loved her first

Memories started flowing.

I remembered when I left home for school.  My youth leaders had made a cd celebrating my youth.  We watched it together and cried.  You never were afraid to cry during sentimental moments.

I remembered running errands with you while living in Idaho.  It was our one chance to really talk. You listened as I expressed concerns.  You showed me that my ideas were important.

I remembered holding your hand--and laughing--when you accompanied me on field trips during elementary school.  You were the cool Dad that everyone wanted to be with.  I felt so special.

I remembered how excited you were when each of my siblings were born.  I observed as you tenderly held them for the first time and knew I wanted a husband who did just that.  I knew your love increased with each additional child.

I remembered how you taught me important lessons on sacrifice, compassion, and charity as you faithfully home taught your assigned families, served in your various callings, and worked hard to support our large family.

Your tears on my wedding day were bittersweet.  I had chosen an honorable man whom you respected, but I was leaving home.  For good.

But,  Dad,  you taught me well.   Those values you pushed so hard on me, stuck.  I believe I became the woman you hoped I would become.

Thank you, Dad, for believing in me.  I know this message is overdue, but happy belated birthday and happy Father's Day.

Love,

Your daughter

And the Rest Is History, I Guess

In continuation of Momalom's Five for Ten series, today's topic is "Happiness."  Click on over to join the fun!

During the whole appendectomy episode,  Ben decided that he wanted to try a new educational/career path.  Being in the hospital reignited his dream of becoming a doctor.  Since his GPA was practically spotless, he was weary of smudging his record with the tyrannical science courses.  With my wholehearted support,  he decided he would give pre-med a one semester try.   If he felt confident after that first semester,  he would continue on until the next semester, and, after that, he would be set on medical school.  (See? I really do support him in his dreams! As long as they do not include becoming a career pilot.)

The first semester was rough.  Not only were we new parents, but we were both taking classes.  Plus, to put it mildly, Ben's classes were not easy.

When the semester was over, he managed to walk away with better grades than he expected.   He decided to continue.

Now, almost 2 years later, we have reached a point that was a mere speck in the horizon.

Yesterday, we received Ben's MCAT scores.

If I could fully relate how much we have both sacrificed to reach this point, I would.  I will tell you this--there have been many days, especially over this last semester, when I wouldn't see Ben until he stumbled into bed around 2 am.   I'm not just referring to the weekdays.  I mean Monday-Saturday.  (Sunday was our sacred family time.) It was difficult.  Parenting two little babies by myself, especially when my husband is only a couple miles away, was harder than I anticipated.  I wrote many disparaging posts (which I may just delete) and cried more than I care to admit, but I tried my best to support my husband through it all.  It helped to know that he was struggling as well.  I mean, he had to study and actually take the test.  I only had to blubber about solo parenting.  Besides, he loves his children more than I can describe.  He would have given anything to be with them.

So.  April 10th came and Ben took the test.  When finished it did nothing to alleviate our anxiety.  For all we knew, he would be taking it again (because he likely did not do well enough) after he found out his score.

The kids and I may have seen Ben more this last month, but the tension was still palpable; the nights still sleepless.

Fast forward to yesterday.  The scores were scheduled to come out at some point during the day.  While Ben tried to work and I tried to, um, tend to the kids (meaning read all the delightful Five for Ten posts), we couldn't help but look at the website every ten seconds.

Finally, a little after 1:00, I received the call I had been expecting.  I answered the phone with a hurried--"Was it good??" To which my husband replied, "Yes!"

Pure happiness.

For inquiring minds,  knowing the score is the first step.  We will now be applying to different medical schools and starting the interviewing process sometime in September.  In some ways, I never thought this day would come.  I was sure we would be stuck in undergraduate education forever.  I am glad that this theory proved to be untrue.

That Was Love

I woke up to the familiar pain in my abdomen, giving it a perfunctory moment of my limited time.  I started getting ready with the tiny hope that I wouldn't be giving the thought of my breakfast to the pregnancy gods that morning.  Alas, it was not to be.  After two or three vomiting sessions, I finally succumbed to the inevitable: A hurried pony tail, a Pop Tart for the road, and a skirt that wouldn't bother my stomach.

The day went as usual.  Classes, homework, and the omnipresent nausea interrupting all coherent thoughts.

At 4, Ben and I were ready to go home.  We walked hand in hand discussing the day.   When we were halfway home, the abdominal pain became unbearable.  Clutching my stomach, I gasped and told Ben I had to sit down.   He worriedly looked at me.  He told me to stay put while he ran home to fetch the car.  It only took him a few minutes, but time seemed to freeze as the pain threatened to consume my whole body.

Immediately upon our return home, I went to bed.  I tried everything: deep breathing, hypnosis relaxation, and prayer but the pain remained.  Finally, around 11, Ben came in to the room to find me in the fetal position sobbing uncontrollably..

He rushed me to the hospital.

Over the next 15 hours, the doctors administered myriad tests on my aching body.   After an MRI, they finally found the culprit: appendicitis.  Within 20 minutes, I was being prepped for surgery.

The whirlwind of activity did not stop my dutiful husband from holding my hand.  He offered comforting words and many prayers.  If it weren't for him, I would have been paralyzed by fear.

During the few moments before surgery, the doctors had to ask me the usual questions: What should we do if you go into labor? Would you like us to do everything to save the baby?

This question brought fear and tears.  I told them that if that did happen, they were to do everything for my little Emily.

I spent a couple of days in the hospital recovering.  An appendectomy while 6 months pregnant is not the easiest thing to recover from.  Still, I was grateful that my little baby was safely ensconced inside my womb.

Eventually the pain subsided and the memory of the event faded.  The scar, though, will never fully disappear.

When I think about what I have sacrificed for my little Emily, I think about my appendectomy.  I not only gave my body for her, I gave my appendix (even if an appendix is virtually useless).

I have never looked at myself as being courageous during this whole experience.  Yet, courage was evident--it took courage go to the ER, it took courage to tell the doctors to save my baby if she decided to come early, and it took courage to go home.

I have learned many lessons from that day, but one of the most important is that no sacrifice goes unanswered.  And this little girl was worth the indescribable pain.



This post is in connection with Momalom's Five for Ten event.  Click over to see all other entries for "courage."

Dear 23-Year-Old Self,

Yes, I am finally back on-line.  It will take me forever to get caught up but so life goes.  While disconnected, I was thinking about this blog and realized I did not write myself a birthday letter; thus, this post's inception.

Remember those goals you wrote when you were 12?  The sheet was short and simple--something like this (in no particular order).

• Marry a worthy returned missionary in the temple.


• Graduate from college.


• Become a mom.

The goal you hoped most to achieve was motherhood.  You had no idea when that would come to pass and marriage seemed like a fleeting fancy, something that happened to those who were beautiful and witty, characteristics you (falsely) believed you lacked.

Yet, here you are at 23.  You have achieved those goals.  You are a college graduate--the first in your immediate family. You have married an incredible man who is everything you hoped he would be and more.  You have two beautiful children that bring unsolicited smiles frequently.

Motherhood was harder than you expected.  With school, you knew what was needed to receive that "A."  With parenting, there is no syllabus with its accompanying assignment sheet.  You can't check Blackboard for your grades.  There is no professor to explain difficult concepts.  So, the next time you envision that imaginary audience who groans and shakes their heads at your mistakes, remember that there is no imaginary audience.  When you make a mistake, it is okay.  Grow from your mistakes, don't dwell on them.  When you do have a question, ask your friends.  You are surrounded by experienced parents who would not think you are a failure for asking.

Please forsake those insecurities that tie you down.  You are not the awkward teenager who once lived in her older sister's shadow.  You are beautiful, vivacious, and benevolent.  You have a husband who would slay dragons for you.  You have a daughter and son who instantly forgive your shortcomings.  You have accomplished all the goals you once set for yourself.

People do not look down on you because of your choice to become a stay-at-home mom.  Stop using your education as a snobby reminder that you could have done more with your life.  This is your dream!  Even if someone thinks less of you, it is your choice to believe it or ignore it.   Instead of "if onlys" become the best mom you can possibly be.

Replace your doubt with trust.  You know what is best for you and your family.

Above all, trust your husband.  Trust your friends.  Trust your parents.  Trust your Savior.  Embrace forgiveness--of others and of self.  Hold fast to the truth that has constantly guided you.

Love always,

Me

I have been reflecting lately about whether I have truly been enjoying little moments.
While I was in school, I was concerned with being the best mommy while trying to juggle my coursework. Now that I am not in school, I feel my old spirit coming back. Without having to worry about deadlines, assigned reading, exams, or papers, I feel more able to handle each day.
Looking back, I realize how much I truly enjoyed school. What I gained was perspective. I learned how to shift my focus from homework, to the Queen, to Mr. B., and to other areas. I had successes and I had failures. I learned from each failure and strove to be better the next time.
I am finished with school for the time being. Mr. B., on the other hand, has a very long road ahead of him. Our experience of going to school full-time, while taking care of a baby, helped us grow closer. We learned how to manage very busy schedules and still maintain our relationship. I learned that Mr. B. needs to focus an extraodinary amount of his time on school, if he is to be successful.
The little moments we had in which we laughed uncontrollably, were amazed by our baby, and taught each other things from our classes, are moments I will forever cherish. I am almost saddened that I do not get to have lunch with Mr. B. on campus anymore. But, I am glad that I finished my degree so that I could become a full-time wife and mother. I am learning how to support Mr. B. in his studies. I know I need to sacrifice spending time with him in order for him to focus as much as he needs. I know that I have the primary responsibilty of taking care of the household and the Queen. I also know, at times, it is hard to bear this alone.
Since my role as student is over, I am now shifting over to homemaker. I am relinquishing the time I needed to do homework over the Mr. B. I am vowing now to cherish the moments with Mr. B. and not grow resentful. I will enjoy the Queen and learn how to handle 2 babies at one time. I will devote my time to serving those who need my help. I will make every moment count, even the yucky ones.
Here's to the wife of a pre-med student.