Defensive Parenting

"People are telling me I'm selfish because Rori is going to be my only child."

This was the beginning of a conversation between my friend and I last night. Not only does she have the best name ever (three guesses what it is), she's an outstanding person and a wonderful new mom. The road to getting pregnant and the pregnancy itself wasn't a walk in the park for Ashley and her partner. She's had to face more health issues than any 20-something should have to. It's changed her life, her career and her person, but she's a strong person and she's made it work. (In case you're wondering, that is why she's one of my best friends)

And I sit her defending her, which is almost as crazy as the fact that she has to defend herself and her decision to anyone else. What the what?! Why do we have to defend every.single.decision we make as parents? Why does the rest of the world feel they need to weigh in on that? Ack!

It's infuriating to think that another person would feel they had the right to tell a mother - especially a new mother, in Ashley's circumstances - what's best for her family. Selfish for only having one child? It should be some kind of bad joke, but the unfortunate truth is that shaming has become such a big part of our society that I don't think folks even realize they're hurting one another any more.

In the world of Pinterest and My Sweet Sixteen, it's never been harder to be a Mom. The bar has never been set so high. I was damn happy as a kid to get a homemade pizza and store-bought birthday cake, with a handful of friends to play with. My Mom didn't wear designer clothes to pick me up from school or gymnastics. And it was great. I often wonder if she worried about how she looked when she went to the playground, not because of how her clothes made her feel but how she felt in front of the eyes of other parents.

We've got slut-shaming, fat-shaming, and mom-shaming. At least it's not racism though, right? (See that? That's called sarcasm.)

 I've been accused of being selfish and a bad mom because I went back to school. Clearly we can all see how selfish I was to want to work towards a better future for my family. It's ridiculous and unfair and it totally disrupts our lives as mothers, women, friends, people. And I guess I'm selfish, too, for only having one child. Gosh, what was I thinking? *eye roll*

Is it just me, or does that make about as much sense as wearing a raincoat in the shower or drinking decaf coffee on a Monday morning?

Why do we feel like we have the right to tell another mother how to raise her family? When did it become OK to project our values onto everyone else? I would have loved to have had another child, I'd have loved for F to have a playmate - a little brother or sister to share with and teach and learn from, but I didn't. And do you know what? I'm not a bit unselfish in being glad for that. Selfish would have been having another child that I would struggle to support financially and emotionally. Selfish would be Ashley having another baby and risking her health, wellness and happiness just to make all of those mom-shaming bullies happy.

Selfish is not considering the welfare of your family first.

Last year, I vowed to stop apologizing as a mother, woman, friend. I won't apologize for going back to school. I won't apologize for being a single mom, for not lending my clothes to someone, for not driving people around. I won't apologize for turning down opportunities that didn't fit into my plan, or accepting the ones that do. I won't apologize for putting my son before anyone else. I won't apologize for making my happiness a priority.  I won't apologize for standing up for myself or a loved one. Don't apologize for things that aren't worthy of an apology.

We shouldn't have to.

Whirlwind Wednesday

The past 24 hours have been a whirlwind adventure. We got a kitty, and gave up our beloved Beagle, Daisy. My eyes are swollen from crying, while I chuckle at the expression on Duncan (our new kitten) as he watches me type away at my keyboard.

The decision to re-home Daisy was heavy-laden with pros, cons, facts and raw emotions. I've had my floppy-eared baby since she was 6-weeks-old. Daisy was, and is, a great dog. Had I known then what I know now, however, Daisy would never have been a part of my life. I didn't know this apartment was in my future. I had no idea that Red, or public relations or any of what has happened was in the cards for me. It's been a journey filled with surprises, heartache and joy, but tonight was especially heart-wrenching.

The idea of re-homing my girl came way back in October, when I knew I was coming back to school. The question of where I would live with a dog in the city was blaring at me. It meant living in a more expensive apartment, further from town, but I love my place. It was worth the price. Without those big eyes and floppy ears, I'm not sure I could have survived November-January here. Things got easier when Red came into my life, but being away from F was hard. Too hard.

The only thing harder was making it work here, alone, with F and Daisy.

I hit my breaking point when, on one of our walks, F got his sweaty hand free from my own, equally sweaty hand and bolted away from me - towards traffic. Panicking, I dropped Daisy's leash to chase him. Unsurprisingly, she chased me.

We got lucky. The car saw F get away. It stopped. I grabbed him, furious and terrified and relieved all at once. I picked up Daisy's leash. I went home, sick to my stomach with worry. I couldn't do it any more. What if it happened again? What if the car didn't see him? What if I didn't catch him on time? What if. What if. What if.

With a heavy heart, I let Daisy go to a lovely family of four who live in a beautiful area outside of the city. She'll live out her days with two young boys, a stay-at-home Mom and all the love in the world. She'll be loved and well-cared for and that's all I could ever hope for her, for someone to love her as much as we do.

It was knowing that Daisy would need to find a new home, it was knowing that it was going to take a toll on us, it was knowing that I'd need a furry friend to snuggle with from time to time that Duncan became a part of our life. I've always had a cat. Cats are independent. They can live happily in an apartment, inside and safe from the noise and bustle. They can climb on your lap when you need a friend, or curl up on the chair across from you when you need your space.

F's tears have been dried in the fur of our little friend, too. Nothing will replace our Daisy,  but Duncan will be our furever friend to help us heal after saying goodbye to our favourite, floppy-eared gal.

Chance

I’ve grown to be pretty cautious over the years.

Once upon a time, I would ride my bicycle as fast as I could down the driveway – feet out to the sides, wind blowing in my face – and I wouldn’t worry a hair on my little head. It was fun, and I was carefree. I used to venture out and try things from playing a new sport to learning new information and then, one day, the fear of failure and disappointment and hurt instilled itself deep within my once carefree self.

And now I’m not so carefree. I don’t take chances any more. I analyze the bejeezus out of everything. I doubt. I question my own decisions and I won’t even get into the lack of faith I have in the decisions of others.

It was years of analyzing and questioning before I filled out those seemingly simple sheets of paper, moving frantically because I was so afraid I’d change my mind.  I was chancing it.

I wrote the letter. I took a chance – risking my fragile heart breaking again. What if there came no reply?

It’s been more than six months, and I’m not sorry I did it but I moved faster than I was prepared to and felt my comfort zone disappear as things began happening at the speed of light. So I put on the brakes. No more. I couldn’t.

Until I realized that I might not have the chance again. Time won’t wait for me to be ready. It can’t wait. Life moves on, and passes us by and chances escape us. Can I take that chance?

Can I risk the meltdown I’m sure will come from meeting my birth family on short notice – in under 48 hours? Can I live with the regret I might always have if I didn’t go in the 11^th hour, when there may never be another opportunity?

These are the things that no one ever prepares you for. There’s no book on how to cope with adoption disclosure. There are no rules. No “What to Expect” literature as you venture into it all.

Unless you’ve ever looked in the mirror and wondered who you are and where you come from, you can’t understand. And the only thing harder than that, is when you look at the little person who is a part of you and wonder what parts of them you don’t know, because you don’t even recognize those parts in yourself.

What if this is my only chance to know?

Left

No matter how hard I try, I've realized that I'll never erase the damage that J left from my life.

I foolishly convinced myself a few months ago that I was over thinking about what J put us through. Fat chance. Whether I like it or not, I will live with the hurt that he caused for as far into the future as I can see. Sure, the pain has dulled and sometimes I completely forget about him, but every now and again it pops back up the way your finger stings when you get nail polish remover in a hangnail you'd forgotten you had. Ouch.

I've undeniably been the happiest I've ever been since Red came into our lives. F adores him, and I have to admit that I'm pretty smitten myself. We have fun, and we laugh and my heart nearly bursts when I watch F and Red playing together, or listen to them talking about the solar system, trucks or what they did while I was at work. Maybe it's because I'm so happy with Red that I find my mind wandering back to how unhappy I was a year ago, but it's a place I often find myself revisiting: the place I never want to go back to.

When J and I split up, I selfishly shut down. I won't lie and give you the "I did the best I could" line, because I didn't. I spent my days on the couch or in bed, I spent hours on the phone crying to my Mom or my friends, and I left F to play with his toys while his Mommy felt sorry for herself. When I finally got my shit together, people would offer up their condolences - hoping that they could ease my pain with "better now than later" or "at least you're still young".

When I decided to come back to school, I heard the same lines: "do it now while F is still small, he won't notice as much", or "it'll only get harder from here on out, girl". Just like the day I admitted that one of my biggest fears what that F would be damaged by J's leaving and then my own, I'm bombarded with "F's too young to understand" or "F doesn't even notice that you're gone".

Bull shit.

F is three-years-old. He's not stupid. He's not unaware. He knows damn well that his Mommy is away most of the time, and that shocking reality crashed into me this week.

We were wrapping up a fun time at the pool. F had been laughing and splashing, "swimming" and learning his own limitations while Red and I looked on. In anticipation of a toddler meltdown (leaving the pool is, afterall, a tragedy), I decided to dry off and get dressed to make it easier. I went back into the pool area armed with towels and a Kinder Surprise, and watched as F and Red swam around for a few more minutes. Then Red started walking up the ramp to leave the pool.

"I don't want to go!" F cried, though he slowly followed Red up the ramp.

"Well, I'm going to go," Red told him. "I need to go and get dressed."

F stopped and Red kept walking along the side of the pool, until F started to cry.

"Everyone leaves me. Every body just leaves me."

Heart. Broken.

Earlier in the evening, as we were getting our swimsuits on, a young family with two small children was drying off to leave the pool. F pointed out that the man was a Daddy. Two hours later, he's announcing that everyone leaves him.

F's never really had a Daddy, and while it's not my fault I find myself riddled with guilt over it. Hearing him say "Every body just leaves me" rips the heart right out of my chest. This is what I was afraid of. This is what makes being away from him the hardest.

I tell him all the time how much I love him, and explain the whys and the hows of Mommy going away for school. I promise him that I'll never leave him, and assure him that no matter where we are, he can always find me in his heart. But the fact is that I leave him almost every week, and it's taking a toll on him.

In the last couple of months, Red and F have formed quite a little relationship. F really needed that. He talks about Red all the time, and I couldn't be happier that F finally has that special relationship with a guy. But Red is leaving soon. I haven't quite decided how I'm going to approach that bombshell, or when or even if I want to.

Maybe we'll just have to go along for the ride.

2.6 Seconds

I am envious of my not-quite-three-year-old's short attention span.

Yep, I said it. I am envious of the very same attention span that drives me completely bonkers 2.5 million times a day - and I mean certifiably crazy-pants kind of bonkers. From putting on socks to picking up toys, the kid switches tracks faster than you can say "attention". It's exasperating and hilarious at the same time.

Earlier today, I decided to approach the subject of my impending move.

"F, can you come and sit on Mommy's lap?"

"OK, but we need to rescue my toys. And then we need to play with Thomas and Edward and Gordon and have you seen Daisy Doo?"

This my friends, is what I'm working with.

I tried not once, not twice, but about thirty-seven times today to explain that we're going to be making some very big changes.

"Mommy is going to go back to school to make things better for us. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mommy. I want to make things better for you. Where did Daisy Doo go?"

In a split second, this kid can go from all serious to mischevious and back again. That was about the time I realized it. The thing I've been both praying for and secretly fearing:

He's going to be just fine.

This is what my heart looks like - Blue eyes, blonde hair and a mischevious grin.

Yeah, he's going to miss me and saying good-bye will be hard on us both, but he's got a million and one things happening in his little life all day every day. He's got his toys and his imagination pulling his attention all over every minute of his little life. It's not going to be so easy for Mommy. I'm going to be living five hours away from my heart.  For the first time since he was born, I'm going to be alone. Sleeping alone, eating alone, watching TV alone.

I'm going to miss him, and unless I can adopt his 2.6 second attention span, I'm going to be one sad little Mommy.

Leaps and Bounds

In only two short weeks, I am embarking on a whole new journey in my life.

I'm going back to school, as a single mom. Leaving my son with my parents.

And guess what? I am scared shitless.

If you haven't read Standing Up, you might want to do so to fully understand my situation. I shared my displeasure at being called a bad mom for trying to make my life, and in turn my son's life, a Hell of a lot better, but I also gave some insight into the fear I hold in my heart as I stare into the unknown. It's daunting, to say the least.

If it was simply a matter of leaving Finn with my parents, it would be a simple matter. I'd see him on weekends, he'd come visit me every couple of weeks and all would be well. But, there's a lot more to the picture than just that.

You see, I actually have a life here. I'm involved in my community, and I love this community. If I was willing to give up my dreams and settle, I'd never leave here... and sometimes, that's really tempting. This community is one in a million. A year ago, we were celebrated by the Lieutenant Governor for the province's Community Spirit Award. As an active member of the community and also several of the community's organizations, I received this award. It was the third time I received an award of this honour.

When I accepted my seat in school, I also had to accept that this meant a lot of sacrifices, beginning with being separated from Finn for 5 days a week. I also had to give up my position as Secretary and elected member of the St. Ann's Bay Health Group Society - but not just that. In addition to my position as secretary, I also cooked lunch for seniors every Wednesday. I founded and ran a youth group. I also created a wellness program focusing on easy ways to make your life healthier and happier. All of that went into the box of things I had to leave behind.

Devin and I, testing out our new turnouts!

Next, my position as Medical First Responder on the North Shore & District Fire Department, where I am a third generation member (AND I get to drive a firetruck - how cool is that?) along with my kid brother. We gear up next to my dad, uncle, cousins and neighbours. I'm the head of the Ways and Means committee, aka fundraiser, and a member of the Fire Department executive committee. I also took care of renting the fire hall.






After that is my involvement with the church - which, sadly, was the easiest for me to give up as my minister just retired. This woman shaped my faith and watched and helped me grow.

A lot of my identity is engrained in my involvement here in the community. I'm a volunteer, a fundraiser, a role model... am I really ready to give it all up? It's a hard question for me to face, and even harder for me to answer. Why? Because the answer is yes... and no.

I'm not ready to give up my identity. Even if I move away, I'm still a volunteer fire fighter. I'm still a Medical First Responder - I have Health Care Professional training that I will carry with me everywhere, up and down the highway, across the province. I might not be Secretary of the SABHGS any more, but I'm still involved - I'm turning that wellness program I spent hours on into a blog and newsletter for the winter. These things make me, well, me!

There are times when taking baby steps was all I could do to get by, but right now I need to throw myself into my future. Get out there and make things happen, because the truth is... no one else can do that for me. So here I go, with my Big Girl Shoes on!

Standing up

This post is a little bit angry.

You have been warned.

When I first started this blog, I mainly wanted to treat it almost as a diary only with less tears and smudged ink. I wanted to unleash how I felt, get my fingers moving across the keyboard and record my thoughts, feelings, fears, and aspirations in a way that was as positive as I could possibly make it. I wanted to be able to come back and look at the posts in a week or two, and feel better - even if no one else ever looks at it.

I recently made the deicision to go back to school. When I moved in with my now ex-husband, I gave up a lot of my dreams and goals. When we got pregnant, I gave up my social life, my friends and my identity. When my son was born, I made a half-assed attempt to get my education together. I loved the program I was enrolled in - working with persons with various (dis)abilities. I have always been fascinated with autism - stemming from my bus-buddy, a young man seven years my junior who had autism. Gabriel was smart, sweet, and incredibly talented. He would often sit and tell me about a movie he watched or video game he was playing in such detail I imagine it was still playing in his mind's eye.



Who wouldn't make sacrifices for a face like that?

When I left college to research a better fit for me, I helped my husband go back to school. We were married, had renovated a home and were even discussing getting pregnant again. When an opportunity to go into Public Relations - a career I have always wanted - presented itself to me, I sadly had to turn it down. It wasn't feasible. Fast forward six months and my husband and I had separated, I was alone and struggling on a shitty salary, in an OK job, feeling completely unfulfilled. This was NOT the life I wanted for myself. So I decided to make the life I want for my son and I.

First, let me say that I am being a little bit selfish and that I think it's OK. I give up my own sanity on a daily basis, so I figure selfishly wanting a better education, career, home, car, wardrobe, and POSSIBILITES can be allowed - mainly because that selfishness will spill over into the selflessness of being able to give my son all of the things that I want for him: an education, the opportunities to enjoy afterschool activities like sports, vacations to cool places, a safe home, a happy mom.

Evidently, all of this makes me a bad mom. Yep. I'm a bad mom for wanting to better myself.

Going back to school means a big sacrifice. It's in another city, four hours from our present home. Daycare is expensive and hard to get into. The waitlist is about a year. So I put my name in, accepted my seat at school, went apartment hunting and accepted that, for the first time in my life, I will be living alone. My son will primarily be staying with my parents.

I felt really great about this decision - who is going to love my son more than his grandparents? They raised me in a home filled with love, and while it's not the ideal situation, I'd rather my son be with them in a safe home, where he will be engaged, loved, cared for, spoiled, supported and disciplined according to my standards than for him to be in a daycare with strangers and twenty-five other kids, getting less one-on-one time, being exposed to behaviours and language I'm not comfortable with and missing the people who have been with him almost every day since he was born.

Many of the people I have spoken to about my plan have responded with love. Words of support and congratulations, wistful "I wish I would have been as brave as you are", empowering "you deserve this" and warm "you'll do great, no matter what" comments have made a hard decision a lot easier to take. All of my good feeling was spoiled in a single sentence, from a bitchy "frenemy" from high school.

"Wow, so you're just leaving him behind like that?"

Cue the entire world of good feeling and excited anticipation falling down on my head.

Yes, I am leaving him behind. It's a temporary fix - kind of like the temporary fix where we moved back into my mom's place because my ex doesn't financially support us. Or like the "temporary fix" where she's been living with her parents, with her kids, for four years.

But I am NOT abandoning him. I will drive home every weekend I am able (weather permitting), and I am renting a two bedroom apartment so he can come and stay with me often . As soon as I find an affordable daycare that I feel comfortable having my son attend, he will move in with me.

I didn't become a mother under the circumstances I would have liked, but I am blessed to have this little boy. I love him, and I want what's best for him. An unhappy mom who never realized her dreams is not what's best for him. A mom who's working a minimum wage job and barely getting by is not what's best for him.

So, to every person who feels that I am a bad mom for making a tough decision that they don't have to make:

Walk in my shoes for a day. Feel the hurt that I feel in my heart day in and day out. Experience the fear I have for what the next year of my life is going to entail. Feel the loneliness I live with, knowing that I really have no one I can talk to who truly understands what I'm going through. After you've done that, go ahead and judge. Call me a bad mother... but you might be surprised to know that your opinion has changed.

 

F and I, being silly.

 

 

I never once complained to be perfect. Finley goes to bed late, watches TV, and sometimes to avoid a fight, I let him skip brushing his teeth. But I love him and cherish him and you can never take that from me.