Becoming a parent has given me many opportunities to reflect on my own childhood. As I interact with my baby, I imagine my own parents caring for me. I understand better than ever the sacrifices they made and the joys and worries they felt. So today, my first Mother’s Day as a mom, I pay homage to my own mom.
It’s been six weeks since my son was born. He’s gained more than 50% of his birth weight and has grown an inch in length. He’s beginning to outgrow some of his smallest clothes, and while I love watching him develop, I feel just a little sad packing away those tiny newborn-sized sleepers. He’s smiling more, which brings me so much joy, and I love it when we gaze at each other while I’m feeding him. He’s started to grasp things other than fingers, including occasionally my hair. He loves spending time on his tummy, especially on our chests, though he usually falls asleep during tummy time. He can lift his head and turn it from side to side (he’s been doing that for weeks now), and he can raise himself up on his forearms. I’m guessing it won’t be long until he starts crawling. He has my nose, cheeks, and ears; his dad’s eyes and smile; and both of our dimples.
Five years ago, my mom came to visit and brought a plastic tote full of drawings, worksheets, and other papers from when I was a kid. I began to look through it, but after flipping through a few preschool paintings and coloring book pages, I became bored and overwhelmed by how much there was, and I set the box aside. It remained closed through three moves and ended up in a closet that collects miscellaneous junk.
When I did the 30 day minimalist challenge in January, I was determined to tackle that closet. I pulled down the plastic tote and spent several evenings working my way through it. The box contained everything from day care drawings and hand-made cards to report cards, individualized education plans, and reports and short stories I’d written. Looking over everything provided a sweet and fascinating perspective on my childhood. Rather than seeing my youth through the lens of my memory, I got a more objective glimpse into my early years. Read more
I wanted to post a quick update to say that my posts will likely become a little more erratic and less frequent for a while as I prepare for the arrival of my little one. I’m getting very close to my due date and doing my best to wrap up some loose ends at work and at home before he makes his appearance. I do plan to continue blogging, but the schedule will probably look a little different for a while. If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll subscribe so you can follow me on this journey!
In the meantime, I thought it would be fun to do an open thread of YOUR advice. Readers who have kids, what are your words of wisdom for brand new parents? Share them in the comments below!
Today is my parents’ 50th anniversary. On January 27, 1968, in a Russian Orthodox church in central Pennsylvania, an 18-year-old and a 22-year-old made a commitment to one another. They upheld their vows to the very end.
It’s uncommon today for couples to marry so young and to stay together. My parents came of age in a different time and culture, a world where starter marriages weren’t yet a thing and the median age of a U.S. bride was 20.8 (by 2015, the number had risen to 27.1). Still, it’s pretty amazing that a teenage bride and a groom in his early twenties chose each other and stuck together for all those years. Read more