Today’s post comes with a revelation of sorts. One that’s hit me gradually over the past year. I think we all go there from time to time, to the lands of some-day-I’m-gonnna and If only my life were different, I’d do XYZ. I’ve lived most of my adult life in those places. A place where there was a better kitchen to cook and bake in, better weather, where I had more space, more time, more money, more anything than what I had right in front of me.

Then, a few months ago, I heard myself saying it about motherhood. I was looking through the blogs of some creative and crafty moms—some who were homeschooling their children, others who worked full time, but who all managed craft an artistic life for themselves and build a home filled with creative energy for their children.

And in reading about these women’s lives, I found myself saying: Someday I’m going to live creatively like that. Someday I’m going make things for my home. Someday I’l live in a place with and extra bedroom where i can craft and lay out giant sheets of paper for my daughter to color on. Some day I’m gonna, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…

And then, I stopped myself.

What if I just did it now?

What if I just repainted those kitchen cabinets a rich color that has no resell value, simply because I loved it? What if I saved an egg carton and bought a $1 bottle of craft paint and turned it into pumpkins for Halloween? What if I just started trying to do all of those crafty things that people more talented than me did and that I admired from afar?

I have, and will only have, one child.

How much of her life (of my life) am I going to waste dreaming it up differently, instead of simply living it differently?

The image for this post, along with the entire the album I have been building for December Daily, represent my current answers to that question. I am loving the process, and I am learning so much about myself and what I value in the mean time.

Journaling:

This is my first attempt at making a holiday card. I’m not actually sure why I’ve never tried it before. Mostly, I think I’ve always been in search of that perfectly choreographed portrait placed on the just-right cardstock.

My life, my photography, my non-new clothes just weren’t worthy of commemorating in a photo and sending to other’s mailboxes.

Those grand visions may come to fruition some day. But this year—when I am learning to appreciate the holiday season as it is, without longing for something else—I’m happy to have this pretty good photo.

And I’ll take pride that I’ve made something good enough, with my own hands.

A delightfully rainy day yesterday, filled with little more than laundry, movie-watching, and watching the leaves blow around. So, a simple layout, documenting the decorations in the dining room. Far from my favorite, but will do.

Day 5 Journaling:

Santa Coaster

It wasn’t her first time meeting the big man in the red suit, but it was the first time she’d been this close to him since learning to talk and express herself. She was nervous, but not exactly terrified. Santa eased her tension with a couple of high fives and a handshake. Seeing Santa is the advertised highlight of this train ride. But for Lyra, nothing was more exciting than finally getting the chance to stop watching the trains from a distance, and climb aboard. So worth the $4 per person the city charges. This is certain to become a family tradition for as long as we live here, and Lyra remains interested.

Day 6 Journaling:

Saturday was the day that I had been anticipating for almost a year. The Santa Coaster ride was one of the highlights of our holiday season last year. And as Lyra’s love of trains emerged this year, I couldn’t wait to take her on an actual train. She loved everything, but her up-close encounter with Santa.

It was a joy to capture and I was so happy to share that day with our playgroup friends, and to be able to capture some sweet images of these families together.

We kept things going into Saturday night, with a long drive to downtown San Diego, for the annual December Nights festival. It wasn’t quite a disappointment, but it was less festive than I had built up in my mind.

Sunday was quiet day at home, capped off with a homemade beef stew and an afternoon viewing of A Charlie Brown Christmas and stove popped popcorn.

Journaling:

The thing about December is, it’s unlike any other month of the year, filled with gatherings and presents, and decoration, and magic. But it’s also like every other month of the year. It’s filled with laundry, and cooking, and bills, and traffic jams and all those  other daily frustrations that feel much less than Christmasy.

It’s also filled with unexpected surprises—good and bad—like your mother calling you in tears at 6 AM because her knee is swollen and she can’t bend or put any pressure on it. We spent several hours in the emergency department today, and left with crutches, strong narcotics and no real  answers. More than likely, her almost 60-year-old knees have decided they’ll no longer tolerate kick boxing, step aerobics, and daily 5-mile run.

Hopefully, today is the worst of it and the agony doesn’t linger around to coat her entire holiday. As for me, I’m grateful for Delotid, because watching her sob in pain hours was really quite awful.

Journaling:

Lyra opening her fourth advent gift. A pair of mittens to match the hat from Day 2.

There were many images I had picked out, that were imperfect and each failing to convey to tell story in their own way. Part of working on this project is accepting your original plan (the album is constructed ahead of time, with only pictures and journalling added in December). This is constraining, but not in a bad way. It’s good for perfectionists like me, who over-think, and rework until a layout that should have taken 10 minutes, stretches to an hour. I’m learning to limits in this and to enjoy the process.

Journaling:

There was more to today than driving that long distance to Stagecoach Park and watching her play and run.

But when she opened her second advent gift and discovered that pink beanie inside, her eyes lit up. She wore it for hours. 

It was the first time since she was a newborn that I managed to get her in a hat.

Who knew that all I had to do was call it a present?

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December Daily is an album project that documents the 25 days leading up to Christmas conceived by Ali Edwards. This is my version.

While not writing, I’ve been baking, cooking, and creating seasonal decorations for our home. I’ve decided to document some of that in this space. I’m not sure what this will evolve into, but I’m going with it.

The first day of December has mainly been about preparation. There are boxes everywhere, some half-filled with decorations yet to be put up. The tree is up, but only has lights on it. Some holiday craft projects are completed, many are still in the wishful thinking phase. Dinner was a delicious posole, made from leftover turkey. Thanksgiving still lingers, but my heart and mind has turned toward all things Christmas. I am so excited for this month.
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December Daily is an album project that documents the 25 days leading up to Christmas conceived by Ali Edwards. This is my version.

This space has been quiet for most of this year. I don’t know if it shall reawaken again. For now, I’m letting it go. I just don’t have anything more to say than, “I saw a whole other future. I can’t stop seeing it.” And how many times can one really read write about that? Should this space come alive again, it will be because I have found more words. As of now, there are not any.

Lastly, Me

The nature of who I am means that my mind is always thrust between intangible times: pasts and fantasy futures. Now, is only important in how it relates to before. I am not a buddhist. I will never be in the now. I will always be dreaming of possible tomorrows and recounting (dwelling? agonizing over? deeply mourning?) the past. As such, I can only tell you about how I am doing right now, by comparing it to how I was a year ago.

It’s a little tough right now, but no where near as hard as it was this time last year. As the first anniversary of my trauma approached, I was so sad I could barely breathe. My daughter started walking and all I could do was feel sorry for myself, for the loss of my infant. I was in deep mourning for the me I was the previous year, happier than I had ever been, so full of purpose and optimism as I readied myself to give birth.

We all know how that story unfolds.

And now, some gory details that I don’t think I’ve shared before.

And at a year out, I still had pretty regular bouts of pain. I couldn’t feel my bladder when it was full. I was often incontinent. My pelvis would ache for days any time I had intercourse (never mind the fact that it took six months before I was successfully able to). My scar itched and burned. I had chronic gas and constipation.

Two years out, and I have regained much of my sensation in my bladder. I still leak whenever I have  a hard sneeze or cough. I may have a rectal prolapse, but don’t yet want to find out. A day of walking or lots of activity will leave me sore the next day, but it’s rarely debilitating these days, just generally uncomfortable. My scar still itches, and a flailing foot during a wild toddler diaper change has occasionally landed on my belly and caused me to well up. It hurts, but it doesn’t kill me.

Right now, I mostly mourn the finality of the childbearing question. The fawning strangers who tousle Lyra’s hair and say, “You have to have another one!” aren’t meaning to be cruel. They don’t deserve to have their faces flushed when I sometimes retort, “I would, if I could.”

I would. If I could.

Some days I hate the fact I can’t. I hate tamping down all those thoughts that pop up and say, “With my next one, I’ll do X differently.”

You only get one shot
do not miss your chance
to blow
this opportunity
comes
once in a
lifetime

You’re not going to believe me when I say that I’m doing okay. But this time last year I didn’t understand why I’d survived. Sometimes, my survival felt like a mistake. This year, I know that I’m here because there is one child in this world who was waiting to call me Mommy. And while it doesn’t sooth every hurt, it is: Enough.

And now the part, where I sound like I’m bragging

With the verbal leap has come a shocking intellectual one. Shocking to me, because I not one of those Alpha Moms who reads chapter books to her child before bed time, reads quality parenting books, and actively devises lesson plans. Rather, I am a mom who tries to disguise boredom when asked to read Brown Bear six times in a row. We actually own very few toddler books (I prefer to check them out from the library), and several of the ones we do own consist of nothing more than a picture letter or number on each page and a pretty illustration or photo. So, I was a bit caught off guard one day in May when we pulled up to one of our local grocery chains and she began to point and shout. “O! O! OOoooOOO!” from the back seat.

Since this occurred during The Period of Acquiring Many New Words, I assumed at first that her O was just a general sound of excitement. But she was pointing wildly, and continued to point and shout O as I released her from the car seat and plopped her into a cart. It was only then that I realized she was pointing at the large letters on the front of the store: V O N S.

How does she know that’s an O?!

Soon, O would be joined by A, Y, E, I, and U. By  mid-June, she would be able to sit on my lap and say almost every letter out loud (F, S, and R are the exceptions. She can point to these when I say them, but she lacks the motor skills to form these sounds yet). Pointing out letters and naming them is now her favorite past time. She also likes to write them, but her handwriting is purely imaginary at this point. It amounts to scribbles on a paper, and I’m honestly in no rush for it to progress any further.

On a similar note, she has decided in the past week that she loves to count to ten (always skipping seven, though. It’s a number she recognizes when asked, but I’m guessing it’s a pronunciation issue again). I don’t think there is anything worth noting about by-rote counting as this is merely recitation. What shocked me was that, like the alphabet, she has learned what the numbers 0 through 10 look like and she can name them as objects. she also has at least a rudimentary understanding of there being a sense of order and counting because we can tell her that she may have have two or three tomatoes and she attempts to count them (not always successfully).

I’m noting this here because I know it’s unusual. I’m not placing any meaning on it, I’m merely noting it as a quality that is unique to her (much like her strange eye color or late growing teeth). Actually, placing any meaning at all terrifies me. I am too imperfect, too flawed, and often too self-absorbed to be a mother to an unusual child. The idea that my resources–financial, intellectual, emotional–may be inadequate to give her what she needs chills me to bones. I google “22-month baby recognize letters” and my results turn up nothing tangible. Like so many mothers who have searched longingly, but for very different reasons, I’m looking to see her placement on the milestone chart. I want to be safe in the knowledge that she’s somewhere n that curve, and just like everyone else. She can’t use a shape sorter. That evens things out, right?