It was a beautiful afternoon. Blue, sunny, skies warm temperatures – a perfect Seattle summer day. My three year old and I walked towards the community center holding hands. As we got closer she froze up. She stopped walking. She said, “I don’t want to go.” (more…)
I remember my first true experience with death. I was maybe around 9 years old. I was at school one day sitting in the middle row of desks. I turned and saw that one of my closest friends had turned red and was shaking in her seat.
She fell to the ground, some of the children around her got up to see if she was ok, and I just stood there. (more…)
When I first heard those words ring out of my 4-year old’s mouth, I was crushed. I immediately thought that this was my fault. Am I too hard on her? Am I too strict? Am I too neurotic? Does my job look boring to her? Is it because I stay home?
I thought about myself as a little girl, taking care of my dollies. Yes, I wanted to be a mother, no doubt, as a little girl. My daughter plays with toy dinosaurs all the time. Was that the problem? Should I be providing an environment of more baby doll stuff? Where had I gone wrong? (more…)
When I was younger I always envisioned myself with a large family. I thought for sure I’d be a mother of four. When my husband and I talked about starting a family, he seemed to dream about a large family, too. I am currently a mother of two little girls, ages 6 and 2.
A friend of mine asked me when my youngest daughter was only six months old if we’d be adding a third to our little family. I brushed the question off with, how could I possibly think of another baby when I was just pregnant 6 months ago?!
You know what it’s like, if you are dating someone everyone always asks you “when are you going to get married?” Then, when you get married they ask “when are you going to have a baby?” After you have a few kids, “when are you going to have another baby?” What’s the next round of questions after that?
Which brings me to my next question… when do you know you are done having children? (more…)
I have always been a modest person, and I think I got that from my mom. It may have been a generational thing (she was born in the 1940s), or a cultural thing (she was born and raised in South America).
In any case, I remember that once I got a little older (maybe around first or second grade?), I wasn’t allowed to take baths with my brothers anymore, and I was always instructed to get dressed and undressed in the bathroom, by myself, behind a closed door.
This stuck with me, and as I have aged, I have continued to be a demure person…whether it be at the doctor’s office, in the shower and locker rooms at the gym, or even in the privacy of my own apartment.
Enter labor and childbirth… (more…)