Pregnancy can be an isolating experience, if only because it's your own. No one can know how you feel, because they aren't you. And you have no idea how to feel, because it's not something you've ever done before. Every day, every feeling, is new.
I felt fear that we might never experience the chaos of everyday life with children, that our house might never be filled with laughter other than our own. I cried thinking I may never trip over a toy on my way to bed or have a teddy bear to pick up and put away.
We're the beneficiaries of every great service that most New Yorkers are privy too: Tons of parks and playgrounds, classes, building playrooms, museums, culture, diversity... and getting to our New York offerings in a New York minute.
You feel like you are winning at times. You excel in one way, but always have a weaker leg of the race. You prepare, but you never know what the weather will be like that day. It could be cold and windy or really freakin' hot.
These days, it's sometimes hard to recall who we were before parenthood. Sure, you're still you and I'm still me, but having two kids in just as many years has made it difficult to take a breath and step outside of our roles as mother and father.
I've learned most mothers are good at what they do, flaws and all. In fact, it's our flaws that make us capable of instilling grace in our children. We have to learn to trust our instincts and trust that even when giving our best fails us, we are not failures.
It was a treat to watch a film that got me thinking about my own life experiences (in the same way, I imagine, it got a lot of people thinking about their own experiences) and the life still yet to be lived.
This winter has been brutal. I'm not talking about the freezing-your-buns-off, slipping-and-sliding-on-the-sidewalks, snow-up-to-your-armpits kind of brutal. I'm referring to enduring repeated school cancellations due to cold air and slippery streets.
The only two things these boys shared was a gene pool and an innate desire to irritate the hell out of each other. Son #1 and Son #2 possessed different interests, different personalities and different world views altogether.
As I sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and my iPhone, I noticed that my husband was busy unloading the dishwasher and re-organizing a cupboard. A wave of guilt washed over me. I'd slept later than he had by a good hour, yet I had no intention of getting up to help him.