meditations of a blueberry

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...