meditations of a blueberry

I have been hiding. I have plenty of started blog posts. Posts about parenting and children and the reality of being a mom. Posts about life and living. Posts about pain and hurt and wondering why. But I never seem to finish them. Even this post I have opened and closed several times, writing a sentence here, deleting a sentence there. Never quite finding exactly the right words for what I want to say, what I need to say. I have been hiding. We have just come out of a cold snap. Weeks of weather so cold, warnings about skin freezing in minutes accompanied the weather forecast each day. It took longer to bundle up for our daily walk to the bus stop than it did to actually walk there. Layers upon layers of clothing covered our bodies as we stepped into the frozen air. We were so focused on how cold it was that we didn't notice how dark and quiet it was. Our walk home was always brisk as we rushed our bodies home, eager to be inside our warm house. Then we'd get home and

So, you just had a baby. Your first. Your heart is flowing with love for this little life that you created (or not! Sometimes it takes longer to bond for some moms, and that's okay too!). You're on your way home from the hospital (or snuggling in your bed post homebirth). You know your life is going to change, but you have no idea how much. Laundry will pile up and be a permanent fixture in your home. The odd time that you finish it, your child will immediately spill something or their diaper will leak or they'll spit up all down your back. Your walls will never be clean for more than five minutes again. If you're lucky, you will get to clean them when the kids aren't home and they will stay clean for as long as they are gone. "I'm hungry" and "Why?" will become the soundtrack to your life. A trip to the grocery store alone will feel like a vacation. In fact, you will start considering that "me time." You will be so tired that

For everything there is a season. Or so they tell me. Seasons are not forever. They pass. Sometimes they pass with what seems like lightning speed, and sometimes they drag along as if someone had accidentally pushed the slow motion button. Sometimes you are surrounded by others in the same season as you, and sometimes you are all alone. The season of my life is currently babies and toddlers and all that pertains to the crazy life that is 4 children 6 and under. I am in the season of life where if I get 2 mins alone to go pee without hearing screaming at least once a day, I feel like I won the jackpot. I am in the season where my life is ruled by snacks and naps and early bedtimes lest my precious little people suddenly turn into gremlins. I am in the season of diapers and diapers and even more diapers. I am in the season where by the end of the day, I am just spent and can hardly find the energy for much else besides losing myself in an episode of Doctor Who or Supernatural,

A little over 9 years ago, I was laughing and rolling my eyes when my friend told me about this website called "Facebook." "Like I'd join that," I said. "I will stick with MySpace." Little did I know. Shortly after that conversation, I gave in and joined when I was at the university curriculum lab procrastinating doing a project. Soon the addiction took over. And before I knew it, everyone I knew was on Facebook, even my Nana. Now, Facebook has evolved into this amazing tool to be used to keep in touch and to feel like part of a community. But there does come a price. Sometimes we share openly and honestly about our lives, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we share only the good parts of our lives, creating this illusion that everything is perfect in our world. This not only hurts others as they inevitably compare their lives to a nonexistent perfect life, but ourselves as we are not being open with our lives. This is why I insist on being an open

This morning I awoke to light peeking in through the curtains, the smell of bacon wafting upstairs, the sound of children's voices echoing throughout my kitchen, and the soft touch of a baby's hand caressing my face. When I got up, I was greeted with excited voices saying "Mommy!" as they ran to give me a hug. I have never been a morning person (possibly an understatement if you ask my mom and dad), but these moments where my children run to me almost make me one (almost...coffee brings me the rest of the way). Not every morning is like this, but today was. This Thanksgiving weekend we have snow. A fair amount of snow. Enough to pull out the sleds for the kids to pull each other around in. Normally, I feel disgust or annoyance at the first snow, especially when it comes before Halloween. But this year, watching them outside playing (interspersed with the usual sibling fighting and screaming) while the smell of pumpkin pie wafts past me, I feel grateful. Grateful for

"Hurry up! Let's go, let's go, let's go," I said to my toddler as he inspected the long grass, seemingly unaware to my urging to move his little body faster. I could feel my frustration and anxiety mounting inside me. We were going to be late. Again. And my sweet little man was completely oblivious to everything but that stupid grass. Finally, I picked him up and carried him alongside his sister as we rushed to get my oldest off the bus. I had left early. It's literally a 2 minute walk to the bus. I don't understand how we were running late. Yet here we were. Late and rushing. Again. In the last few years, I've tried really hard to not rush and to instead slow down. I haven't always succeeded, but I have tried. When you're rushing and hurrying everyone up, sometimes you miss amazing moments. Like when my toddler inspects the long grass and lays down like he's a lion stalking his prey. Or when the baby sees her brothers beside her and laugh

I have spent much of my life questioning my worth. Wondering if I was smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough. Wondering how I could make myself organized enough, patient enough, "mom" enough. Wondering if anyone could see how much I was faking it trying to be enough and wondering what they would do when they found out the truth. Well, here is the truth that I am finally starting to believe (after 33 years, 10 years of marriage, 5 children, and 2 university degrees). I am enough. And so are you. That's right. Just as we are. Flaws and everything. Know why?  Because God doesn't make junk. If you don't believe in God, then replace "God" with whatever word you'd like  (Allah, nature, biology, whatever). Even diamonds have flaws if you look closely enough, and yet even the most flaw filled diamond still shines brightly under the right light. We are enough too. And we can shine brightly no matter our flaws. I'm impati

My body is in a holding pattern. Six months later and my body is still very much postpartum. And why shouldn't it be? Six months ago my body was growing an 11 lb 6 oz baby. My fourth. My third large baby. Of course my body has not "bounced back." It shouldn't. And I shouldn't expect it to. My body has done an amazing thing. It has grown and nourished 4 babies. It has stretched to unbelievable sizes to accomodate large babies. It doesn't need to bounce back. It needs to be loved. It needs me to love it. This body is mine. It's not perfect but it's mine. It's a soft place to land for my kids. These strong arms lift up and fly my kids around the room. These legs carry my body about my day. This still round belly is the perfect place for the baby to snuggle into. Eventually I will heal my diastasis. I may or may not lose the weight. I may or may not fit into my smaller clothes. It doesn't matter. The future doesn't matter. I will not put my

The smell of new pencils and blank paper is in the air. The excitement of kids and parents alike is thick and hangs amongst the sales racks of nonmarking shoes and first day of school clothes. Backpacks that are much too big for little bodies are stuffed full to the brim with kleenex, glue sticks, and Crayola markers. Busses are shiny and clean. Teachers are lovingly arranging their classrooms so they are inviting and organized, hopeful for the learning that will occur shortly. September. Back to school. My biggest starts Grade 1 this year. I'm not really sure how that's possible, but here we are all the same. It seems like yesterday he was a wee babe. Nursing all hours of the night. Laughing and giggling as he watched the fan above him. I swear just this morning he was taking his first steps down our hallway in the condo. And now he's six. I'm sure by the time I blink again he will be heading into Grade 12 and I will wonder what happened to the last 12 years. Time. S

A couple of years ago, I trained for a half marathon. I committed to running in rain and snow and wind. I ran over icy roads and through freezing winds. I ran through slushy puddles and an April blizzard. I lost many toenails and ended up with a very hurt knee. It was not easy. I was not a runner before, but I sure felt like one after. It was not easy, but when my feet hit the pavement in Vancouver, it was sure worth it. As I ran up the hills and felt my body's strength, it was worth it. As I ran beside the sea line and breathed in the salted air, it was worth it. As I saw that finish line looming in the distance and gave my body that final push towards it, it was worth it. When I finally crossed that finish line and collapsed on the side of the road with such a feeling of accomplishment and exhaustion, it was worth it. But for all my training, I wasn't ready for the emotional and mental side of being in a race with hundreds of other people. I just couldn't train for the me

Fatherhood is not for the faint of heart. One must be brave and willing to put one's own needs on hold for their children. True fathers do more than just help create a child. True fathers don't even need to have been there at the start. I have many fathers in my life. I consider myself quite lucky, in fact, to have so many great ones surrounding me. My own father, my step father, my father in law, and of course, the father of my children all display different characteristics of what makes a great father. Over the years, expectations of what makes a great father has changed. No longer is it solely about being the breadwinner. We expect more now, rightly so. But how do you make a good father? First, take a huge scoop of love. Fathers need to have love. Love for their kids of course, but also love for their partner. They need to display this love, so make sure to add in plenty of hugs and kisses. Next, pour in some hard work. A lot of hard work. More. Keep pouring. Okay, that

I am not a gardener. For the last 8 years, we lived in a condo without a yard. For the year before that, we lived in a basement suite and the landlords used the entire back yard for an amazing garden (though they didn't live there). For the 4 years before that, we lived in a different basement suite and didn't think to ask if we could have a garden. Oh, I have tried growing things in containers. I spent a lot of money on containers and seeds and soil and every time everything would just die. I either watered too much or I'd forget and the soil would dry out. One year, my wonderful neighbour Margaret  (who passed away the following year) took it upon herself to make sure my plants were watered and they actually did okay that year. At least, the flowers did. But every other year, things slowly died and my black thumb showed. Mrblueberry laughed at me and shook his head every year as my excitement at the promise of spring took over and I bought planters and seeds, and how ever

When you are pregnant, you are not only adding a tiny human to your family. You are adding love and laughter and joy. You are adding anxiety and frustration and tears. You are adding moments of sunshine and moments of rain. But most of all, you are adding laundry. Yes, laundry. It is amazing how much laundry one tiny human produces. And if you don't keep up with it, if you let it go a few days without thinking about it, suddenly Mount Laundry becomes a new planet and you can't even find the washing machine because it is covered in tiny baby onesies and mismatched socks and muddy pants and underwear that makes you question if your child even wiped when they went to the bathroom that day. And then it becomes baskets upon baskets of clean laundry that require folding only to be unfolded when the bigs attempt to put their own laundry away and then worn again and the cycle repeats itself again. It's like Groundhog Day but with laundry. And while laundry does work just like t

Yesterday marked 10 weeks since my sweet Miss A joined us earthside. 10 weeks of wonder at being the mama of baby girl. 10 weeks filled with bittersweet moments. 10 weeks filled with firsts. 10 weeks filled with lasts. Her first smiles were my last first smiles. Her first laughs were my last first laughs. Her first coos were my last first coos. It's a funny thing, this last experience of having a new baby. Even though my soul knows my family is complete, I feel an ache in the deepest depths of my being knowing that these are my last firsts. I find myself longing to experience those first slippery moments of newborn squish again or to feel those sweet kicks in my belly that only I felt. And yet, I do not actually want to be pregnant again. In no uncertain terms, my body says no. But then there are those moments where I feel The Ache. I've read about The Ache before (if you haven't, click here and do it --I'll wait). I've heard my friends who are past the baby stage

Miss A is almost 7 weeks old. Last week, we had our final midwife appointment. It was  bittersweet. I've come to think of my midwife as a trusted friend. For over 4 years, she's been a part of my life and has seen me through some of my most vulnerable times. At my appointment, I got the glorious news that there are no signs of uterine prolapse. Hallulujah! But all is not good. My ab diastasis has worsened to the point of possibly requiring surgery. And I developed an umbilical hernia. Of course pregnancy couldn't just leave me with stretch marks and extra weight. But  suppose that's what happens when you grow an 11 lb 6 oz baby. Don't get me wrong. My body has done amazing things. It has grown, birthed, and nourished 4 beautiful children. It provides warm, soft hugs to those children when they are hurt and lifts them up when they fall down. It has carried those children when their legs get tired. It has stayed awake when it so desperately wanted to sleep to comfort

After 5 pregnancies and 4 babies, I am well aware of how the body changes postpartum. My body grows large babies and stretches unbelievable amounts. I know that it takes months to lose the belly. How in the days immediately proceeding birth my body feels oddly empty as my organs begin to rearrange into their usual places. The way it takes weeks for the uterus to return to prepregnancy size. How weeks and even months post birth my ligaments are still loose from the effects of relaxin. How the postpartum hormones can make the mind crazy. It still manages to surprise me each time. 3 weeks ago, I started this postpartum journey for the last time. I am well aware that I'm postpartum, but for some reason, I keep forgetting. This birth just went so much better (birth story to come soon, I promise!) and my body literally feels 100 times better than it has felt after any of my previous births. Even my postpartum belly has gone down a lot faster than previously. Instead of looking 7 months

Waiting. I'm not so good at waiting. My guess date has come and gone and I feel like I'm in the twilight zone. We are in a holding pattern now. Every morning I wake up in disbelief that I am still pregnant. As if I would have magically forgotten about giving birth in my sleep or something.  And so we wait. And wait. And wait some more. Every twinge, every random contraction makes me wonder if that's the start. One second I feel like I should be "doing all the things" to get labour moving, and the next I remember that I need to rest so that when labour does happen I will have the energy to bring this baby girl earthside. This isn't new to me. I had to wait with both A and L. It's just as hard to wait the third time around. I have spent almost this entire third trimester feeling mostly calm and ready to wait for the day that baby girl chooses as her birthday. Since my guess date has passed, however, my impatience has risen up to new levels. And yet,

Dear Pregnancy, We need to talk.  I'm breaking up with you. That's right. It's over. Please pack up your stuff and exit my life at your earliest convenience. Preferably today. It's not you, it's me. I swear. Okay, it's not me either. It's what you do to me. The heartburn. The heaviness. The emotions. The difficulty in not losing my temper over minuscule things. The back pain. The having to pee a million times in a day. The not being able to lay on my belly. The struggling to put on shoes or socks. The pain of a baby on top of my pubic bone. The feeling of my hips as they widen to allow for birth. The slow, slow, slow walking. The pain of carrying this heavy belly everywhere. The inability to walk up a set of stairs without having to rest. The anticipation of wondering when labour will walk through the door. The longing to meet this baby girl. You really, really aren't good for my mental health.  It's too much.

This is my last pregnancy. When this baby girl finally makes her appearance, there will be a closed forever sign on this baby making factory. I just can't fathom getting through one more third trimester, let alone a whole other pregnancy. Don't get me wrong. I am in awe of how a woman's body can grow a human being from two tiny cells. The miracle of life is happening right now inside my body. How is that not amazing?? But not everything is amazing about pregnancy. Sure, some women get that glow and breeze through pregnancy like they are a graceful queen gliding through a crowd of people. Their hair is always luscious and their skin is flawless. Their energy levels never drop below nesting level and they never stare into a porcelain throne. I'm sure these women are few and far between though. I know that I am certainly not one of them. And I would wager a bet to say that most women have moments where pregnancy is just plain awful. There are moments (long moments som

Sunday is a big emotional day for me and it has nothing to do with Valentine's Day. It will mark 38 weeks for this pregnancy and I'm not really sure if I want it to hurry up or slow down. This will be the last third trimester for this mama. After this baby is born, this baby making factory is closed for business.* This uterus will grow no more babies after this one is all done. Four third trimesters is most definitely my limit. But that's not the only reason it will be emotional. It is also the day, 6 years ago, that I was due with our first angel baby . 6 years . I can't even believe it's been that long. I remember approaching this day for the first time with dread as I was just starting to feel E move in my belly. And now, I approach it not with sadness and dread, but with quiet contemplation and slight apprehension. I wouldn't change how the last 6 years have gone for the world, but I often wonder who that little one was meant to be. What would my life l

We've always planned to have four children. From the very first conversations we had about kids before we were even married. But the decision of when to have a fourth child wasn't so much a decision as it was a "let's just do this now" random comment after having lost my job. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that it would happen so quickly. I wasn't even at the start of my cycle when we started trying, and yet, I still got pregnant that cycle. Apparently, this child was destined to join our family. And now, at 36 weeks pregnant, I find myself wondering what the heck I got myself into. How on earth am I supposed to manage four children (under six years of age!) while Mr Blueberry heads back to work a (very) short 3 days after she is born? I am starting to realize how much I took him having the summers off after our other three were born for granted. No wonder I found those transitions easy! I didn't have to worry about my older kids and could just lo

Assuming all goes to plan, this will be my third home birth. Lately, I've been retreating into myself more and more as I begin the journey to prepare myself for birthing this baby. With A , I had no idea what to expect after a tough hospital birth and just went with the flow. With L, I wore some serious rose coloured glasses, believing that because I had experienced home birth before that I would be able to achieve a quiet and empowering birth. Ha! That wasn't even remotely close to actual events. This time? This time I'm being more realistic. This time my glasses are clear. I have given birth 3 times before. Each time, I yell. I scream. I swear like a trucker. I constantly say that I can't do it. No matter what my intentions are going in. No matter how much my midwife, doulas, and husband tell me otherwise. I am most certainly not the picture of calm and serenity that some women are in birth (seriously, how do they do it?!). I do not breathe my babies into the wo

This too shall pass. Enjoy every moment. Time flies. Bullshit. Yes, that's right. I call bullshit. Okay, okay. I am guilty of saying the first thing. Often. And it is usually my go to advice for pretty much anything. And really, it is true and I do regularly find myself muttering it throughout the day. But can we just be real for a moment? In the thick of the foggy years that consist of small children, often I just don't freaking want to hear that. I know it's true. I know. But sometimes, when the day has gone downhill at 160 km/hr from the moment I opened my eyes and all I want to do is to swim in a pool filled with wine, "this too shall pass" sounds like bullshit. I just don't want to hear it. Instead, I wanna hear "let me pour you another" or "dude, me too" or "kids can be such jerks." And don't get me started on enjoying every moment. I don't want to enjoy every moment. There are moments I woul

It could be said that 2015 was the year of lessons. Hard lessons. Several lessons that brought me to my knees in despair. Lessons that required me to challenge ideas and realize hard truths about myself. Lessons that forced growth. Some lessons that I'm fairly certain life has tried to teach me before through friends and family, but I wasn't listening then. I've always been a kinesthetic learner, so I suppose that it took me actually experiencing life to truly learn them. 2015 certainly didn't turn out the way I had thought it would.  The loss of three grandparents. The loss of not only just my job, but a company that I truly believed was making a difference. Moving to another city. A major change in government, both provincially and federally. Deciding to have a fourth baby and getting pregnant seemingly minutes later. Finding out this fourth baby is (supposedly) a girl. So much change, so many lessons.  So in no particular order, here are the lessons that 2015 brough