meditations of a blueberry

I lie in the dark, attempting to will sleep to come to me. All is quiet in the house except for the soft breathing of my sleeping children. I wrap myself up in the fleece sheets and feel the warmth flood my body, and still sleep does not come. The moon shines in my window and I get up to close the curtains. Flashbacks of the week flood my brain as I relive each moment where failure flooded my day. This parenting thing? It's not for the faint of heart. It's without a doubt the hardest, most thankless thing I have ever done in my life. Most days I waver between wondering what the hell I'm doing and hoping against all hope that nobody figures out that I'm just faking my way through it all. Every single day I find myself full of wrong choices and wrong reactions and wrong actions and so many wishes that I could start over and try again. It's bloody hard to be responsible for tiny humans. Beyond the mundane tasks of feeding and clothing them and making sure t

Recently I got lost in my diary from high school, and the more I read, the more my heart broke for 14 year old me. How worthless and unlovable I used to find myself! And how much I believed those lies. Signs of my depression peeking through amidst the teenage angst. I often wonder how I made it through. I started wondering what I would tell her if I could go back and comfort her. Timers on cameras and just hoping that it turned out okay! What do you tell someone who is hurting and only sees dark? What do you say to encourage a young girl who feels so alone? What words do you use? I would tell her that her worth is not tied to boys. That she is beautiful whether a boy thinks she is or not. That what these teenage boys think won't matter in a few years. That it's okay to be on her own and not be dating someone. That she doesn't need to do something just because a boy wants her to. That she is in charge of her body. That she will make mistakes but that they don&#

"Comparison is the thief of joy." That's what they say. I sit in the light of our Christmas tree, amongst the soft pillows on my couch, wrapped in the cozy comforts of an old blanket and I look around. I see photos of my loves, hear the laughter as they play downstairs, taste my hot coffee on my tongue, and smell the scent of Christmas beside me. Home surrounds me, in scent, taste, sounds, and sight. I am so blessed. And yet. And yet. And yet so often I feel like all this is not enough. Like I am not enough. I look past the carefully placed Christmas decorations that I lovingly and carefully put away each year. Many that I have made, some purchased new, some purchased secondhand. I see the scratches and dents on the walls that has come with 4 kids that are less than careful. Scratches that have come because of previous owners not painting over oil paint properly. I see furniture that we have had for years that has faded or has broken

The last of my babies sleeps on my body. Every night, when I lay my head on my pillow and pull the covers over my body, she usually worms her way to my armpit so that my arm must go either under her or at an awkward angle over and around her head. An awkward angle that any cosleeping parent knows well. Some nights, she is directly on my chest with her head wedged into my neck in such a way I'm surprised I don't wake up with a crick in my neck. And some nights, like tonight, she's tossed and turned and now lays with her head snuggled into my soft belly. I complain every night. I like my space when I sleep. I am a tummy sleeper. But, I deal with it and try to move my body slowly into a comfortable position for me while still not disturbing her. It doesn't usually work. I usually end up back in some contorted position just to keep her happy so she can nurse. I really should start insisting she sleep in her own bed. I really should night wean her. All the bo

A phone call. An anxious voice reaching out, finally admitting that it's time to ask for help. A racing heartbeat as that voice whispers the words "mental health issues" to the listening ear on the other end. Embarrassed. As if it's something to be shameful about. As if a broken brain is different than a broken arm or broken stomach or broken lungs. Afraid. That my doctor would tell me that what I've been experiencing for most of my life is normal. That I'm silly or "making a big deal" out of things and that this is just how life is. This was me several weeks ago. I finally decided that I needed to talk to my doctor.  Shame flooded my whole body when the nurse asked me the reason for the appointment. Why? Why did I feel the need to whisper, especially since nobody was around me? When I went into my appointment, my doctor validated everything I have been feeling off about. She gave me a game plan to help offset the damage my brain is trying to

Eyes closed, I look up to the sky, breathing in the last wisps of summer while I taste the promise of Fall on the tip of my tongue. I feel the last warmth of the sun's rays rest on my face as summer promises to return again. The breeze gently caresses my cheek as it continues on past, swirling the falling golden leaves at my feet. My babies' laughter and screams waft into my ears like a melodious symphony from a master musician and I smile as I feel a tear roll down my cheek. I stand at the precipice of the next phase of my life. Goodbye birth. Goodbye babies. What has so far defined me for the last 7 years is changing. And with that, comes the realization that I too must change. And yet. And yet, I feel stagnant. Unable to push forward. Frozen in fear at taking the next step. The first step. Uncertainty abounds. And thanks to an unwelcome resident in my brain, I am unsure if this fear and uncertainty is due to its grip on me or not. But no. I r

Years ago when the only little I was chasing around was E, I went on a few babywearing walks. On one such walk, we took a break at a playground for the bigger littles to play and while I was nursing E, I overheard a conversation that has stuck with me since. A wonderful and wise mama was having a conversation about being finished having children. She said she had expressed possibly wanting more children when her partner said to her, "there is more to being a mom than pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding." (it was a long time ago, I may have the exact wording slightly wrong.) For years, those words have rattled around in my head, but I didn't truly understand them until now. Tonight, I took the crib down and changed it into a toddler bed for the last time. And although we didn't use it much with Miss A, it was still a symbol of babyhood that remained in my bedroom. The symbols of babyhood are slowly leaving my house. Baby clothes here, infant bucket seat there,

As the sun prepares to set on another August 1, I sit alone in my thoughts surrounded by people I love. And though I know the love is true and that I'm not alone, I feel guilty. Guilt for forgetting. I almost forgot the date. Eight years ago, August 1 marked the beginning of the end . I almost forgot today. I almost forgot that we found out that the life that we were so eagerly expecting was not to be eight years ago today. When I realized that today was the anniversary of that awful weekend , my heart seized. The guilt began to seep into my brain. The tears flowed from my soul. How could I forget? For eight years, I have sadly anticipated August 1, reliving the pain through my memories. Wondering if there was something I could have done, though I know there was nothing. Remembering the moments of fear until it was finally confirmed. This year, I thought about it a few times throughout July, and then completely forgot. I think about it often, but usually this time o

Who am I? When the caterpillar builds her cocoon, does she know of the intense change she's about to endure? How her body will literally melt into goo and miraculously turn into a butterfly? Does she know how one day she will stretch her wings and fly? Is that little caterpillar afraid? Does she exist at all in the butterfly? When a woman has her first baby, she changes from just a woman to a mother. She knows it is going to happen, but she doesn't exactly know how much it will change her, no matter what anyone tells her. Her body changes physically, yes, but her heart and mind do as well. The woman she was before is still there, but she has forever changed, never to be the same again. Sometimes if we are not careful the woman gets lost in the mother. She gets lost in the day to day tasks of diapers and laundry, lunch and bath time, snacks and cleaning, reading books and rocking babies to sleep. And if you have multiple children close together, this is even more

I've moved on. From the baby stage. From the nonstop diaper changing and being the sole source of nourishment. From the endless nights of clusterfeeding. From the pregnancy heartburn. From the feeling of a baby digging its foot into my ribs. From torpedo bellies. From not being able to see my toes. From not being allowed to sleep on my stomach. From strangers' inappropriate questions. From nonstop leaky breasts. I've moved on. And yet, I linger. In the sweet baby squish that still remains. In the smell that I can still faintly smell amongst her baby fine hair. In her still pudgy little fingers and toes. In the way she still snuggles into me, like I am the only one there. In the eyelashes that rest against her cheeks as she sleeps. In the memory of how it felt to carry life within. In the urgency of her latch when she's tired and is looking for more than just nourishment for her belly. In the lines and marks that pregnancy graced me with as a reminder to the miracle

Dear postpartum depression, You are not my friend. But I have come to realize that you are my constant companion. Not a welcomed companion, mind you, but a companion nonetheless. No matter what I do or say, you will be there. At what point do you cease to be postpartum depression and just become depression? Because if I'm being honest, you have always been there in some capacity since I was a teenager. Sometimes laying in wait for the perfect moment to show yourself again, letting me believe that you have gone and I have won. Sometimes hiding in the shadows, reaching out with your long fingers caressing my soul and whispering your evil little nothings. Sometimes screaming your lies in my face while your talons dig deep into my heart and mind. Sometimes I've been able to ignore or fight, and sometimes I've succumbed to your attempts to discourage and destroy me and needed someone to come help me fight you. But now, I've realized that you are alwa

There is a saying about friends that has been in my heart since I was a teenager. "Some friends are there for a lifetime, some for a season." It's true, but it's more than that. Some friends are the taxi cabs in our lives. They don't always take us where we want to be, and sometimes they turn out to not be who we thought they were. Sometimes they turn out to be creepy and we rejoice moving on, and sometimes we are sad their time in our lives is over. Some friends are the lighted traffic signs in your life, directing you on your journey. They do not follow you, but they point out the way. They are the guide posts that direct us, the maps that help us through. Some friends are our reflections. We see what we need to see when we look at them. Sometimes we don't like what we see, but if we are honest with ourselves, we know we need it.  Some friends sit with you in the quiet depths of your soul. They know you. Intimately. They recognize

It's been awhile. The last months have been busy and full and scary at times. We had an experience that has made us unbelievably grateful for public health care. It's not perfect, but when we needed it, it was there. Back in April, after a barrage of tests in the ER and an order to go to the Stollery Children's Hospital the next morning, E was diagnosed with HSP. HSP is a self resolving illness that affects blood vessels which in turn causes nasty rashes, intense joint pain, and bad stomach cramps. It can take a few weeks to a few months to clear out. The only treatment is supportive, giving Advil several times a day along with ice and heat packs. We seem to be mostly out the other side. He still needs to be followed up with his doctor for a year (it reoccurs in about 50% of cases, usually more mildly), but besides a few instances of stomach cramps a few times a week, he is much better. He was in so much pain. He couldn't walk or bend his legs. Some days he couldn&#

Today is my birthday. 34 years ago I was a squishy newborn curled up in my mom's arms as my mom was amazed, terrified, and in awe that she was now a mother and wholly responsible for the new life before her (or at least, I imagine that's how she felt because that's how I felt when my first was born). I came into the world surrounded by love, chocolate cake, and crocheted blankets. 34 years later and I am once again surrounded by love, chocolate, and a crocheted blanket from my Nana. 34. 34 is the age that I picture my mom at when I think of her. Sometimes with a perm, sometimes with short hair. But always full of love, even when I hurt her in ways that only a teenager can hurt a parent. 34. I don't feel 34. I swear yesterday I was graduating high school and getting ready for university, but that was almost 16 years ago. Now I'm closer to my 20 year reunion than my 10 year reunion. I think back to my 18 year old self and wish I could tell her that her life

From as far back as I can remember, I always wanted to have kids. I even wrote a letter to my future daughter when I was 16. I still have it, sealed away in a decorated envelope full of teenage doodles and angst on the outside. I'm dying to know what I wrote inside.  I don't know what I pictured having kids would be like. Likely some picture perfect vision with sounds of laughter and little feet running around while I read them books, tried to avoid stepping on Lego, and drove them to basketball games. I suppose I got some of it right. I'd like to say that I wasn't wearing rose coloured glasses, but that would be lying. Truthfully, I don't think I ever really thought about what it would actually be like to have kids. And if I did, those visions definitely did not include very young kids. I just always knew that I wanted to have kids. But I didn't know what it actually meant to have kids, to be a mom. I didn't know how intense, and yet h

As I lay in my bed tonight, the soft breathing of a baby on the cusp of toddlerhood surrounds me. She's insisting on snuggles on my chest. Her sweet, chubby, little hand is gripping tightly to my necklace as her body stretches out along my own. The little curl by her ear is visible in the glow of my screen and the tips of her eyelashes flutter close to the top of her cheeks. One year ago, I was simultaneously cherishing the last moments of pregnancy and wishing she would make her appearance soon. And now, I find myself wondering what time has done with my baby. It wasn't very long ago that I roared a squishy, 11 lb 6 oz baby girl into this world in my kitchen. Surrounded by love, strength, and support, I surrendered and learned how powerful I truly was. I learned what the true power of WOMAN was.  Surrounded by other strong women, I dug deep inside myself and found a power that I didn't believe I had. Bringing a baby into the world, no matter how one does it, is always

My body is not perfect. My skin is not tight and smooth. I have lumps and bumps in all the wrong places. My muscles do not make themselves known by sight alone.  My belly wiggles and jiggles when I move. I have rolls on my back and rolls on my belly. Thanks to my diastasis, my belly pouches out, likely making strangers wonder if I am currently pregnant. Even my breasts are not immune and due to aging and pregnancy, they are larger and no longer as perky as they once were. Stretch marks stretch across my belly like some sort of weird road map to nowhere, some of them still angry and red, some turned silvery. My hair has strands of silver and white peppered throughout it. No, my body is not "perfect." There are "rules" to having a perfect body, even a postpartum body, and mine does not follow them. It must be tight. It must have curves in all the right places and none in any of the "wrong" places. It must not show any signs of aging or any signs that a

As I sit here in the morning sun, I'm overtaken by how quickly life truly moves. It feels like it was just yesterday that we celebrated seeing seeing E on the ultrasound screen, and yet that was 7 years ago this week. 7 years later and I'm sitting holding my fourth baby, and first daughter, tightly as she naps in my arms. This morning, we walked my first child to the bus for grade 1, and he will walk home from the bus alone this afternoon. That same child stayed up late last night to finish reading the Harry Potter book we had been reading together, and he cried at the ending. Last week I registered my second child for kindergarten. That second child and my third child are currently building Lego together, getting along for the time being. And I sit in the morning light, rocking a sweet sleeping baby girl, listening to those 2 middle boys talking and laughing, in amazement at what my body has created and nourished. Miss A turns 1 in 5 weeks. It's hard to believe that last

I tell my kids all the time that they can't control what others do and say, only how they react to it. When someone says mean words or treats me poorly (whether meaning to or not), I get to choose how to react. I get to choose whether I let those words seep into my soul, affecting my entire day, week, month or whether those words bounce off of me. I get to choose whether those words become part of my story or not. When someone hurts me, either physically, emotionally, or mentally, I get to choose. It's up to me how I react. Do I let it colour my day, my life, infecting myself and, consequently, how I treat others? Or do I tell myself that, yes, it hurt, but I am bigger and will not let it hurt me more by passing it on to someone else? It is hard. So hard. Someone said to me once that this lets the other person get away with whatever they have done. That it doesn't "punish" them for their wrongdoing. But that's so far from the truth. Just because I refus

I am so bad at this friend thing. When I make a friend, a real friend, it's for life. I will fight for them. I will give everything I am able to give to them. I will do whatever I can for them, whenever I can. I will be there to listen at 3 in the morning when they are hurt and I will cheer with them when they are happy. I will rejoice for them when things are going their way and I will mourn with them when they don't. But I'm so bad at the friend thing. I'm socially awkward, flitting around the outskirts, never feeling like I was truly fitting in. Always have been, even in high school. It takes a long time for me to connect with people, and I'm always wondering if I am being judged for all my flaws. If people are just being kind to me, or if they actually like me. I have some wonderful friends who I know love me, but they already know all my flaws. They know that I will sometimes cancel on things that I have agreed to attend (especially something in the evening,

The sun has set on the first day of 2017. A new year lays before our feet, an old year behind us. That old year holds plenty of pain and despair for many people. So much destruction, sickness, and hurt in so many lives, both near and far. It was hard to not think 2016 was out to get the world. But not all was bad with 2016. At least, not in our home. Our year held wonder and joy with the birth of our Miss A, the last little life that will grow in and be nourished by my body. I've watched as she grows, a bittersweet smile on my face. Her firsts are my last firsts. Her first breath in my arms was my last first breath. The last time I will wait with baited breath, overjoyed for those sweet cries. The last time I will ever latch a brand new baby onto my breast, bracing myself for the deep, scrambling latch of a hungry newborn. The last time I will feel a newborn bob around looking desperately for my nipple..Her first smiles were my last first smiles. Her first belly laughs were m