I’ve never been good at sitting with my emotions.
For as long as I can possibly remember I’ve been all about processing, reconfiguring, and moving on before I can feel any kind of hurt well up. I’ve even felt a smug success in my ability to smile through pain. The only other feeling that comes close is the hollow, disciplinary victory of going to bed hungry when you’re on a diet. It’s a strange, bittersweet, Adele-worthy emotion—or rather, non-emotion. Most importantly it lets you function like nothing ever happened. Denial is key.
Of course, pretending something doesn’t exist isn’t very effective in the long run. I’m sure a wise-man said something similar at some point, but it only took a stroll through the maternity section at Target to set the realization off with me.
One minute I was jauntily walking down the aisle dowsing for deals, and the next I was stock-still, trembling with emotion, and feeling faint with rage and a kind of dangerous ambivalence that numbs the heart and ices the blood. My eyes were resting on a cute Liz Lange number that would have fit me nicely in 3rd trimester.
“You’re not pregnant.”
At first my body just thought it would be funny to give me a random reminder. This day wasn’t an anniversary, nor was it a special date of any kind. It was just a fixed point in time where my synapse decided to fire off some realizations. Thanks for that.
“You would have been about 7 months now.”
Ok thanks, I get it.
“You would be in love with life. You would be smelling the change in the air, you would be in an esoteric, motherhood-driven mindset that was all about the meaning of family...what siblings bring to each other’s lives.. “
Ok. Enough. Enough! I don’t need to feel this. I don’t.
I started to stumble through the store blindly.
“You can’t run away from everything you’ve been through.”
And there we have it folks, Ugly-Crying in Active Wear.
I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know why. But from one moment to the next I was mourning my unborn babies. My heart felt the painful cramp of loss like it was freshly earned. I felt a wash of trauma sweep over me and I gasped to catch my breath.
Great. Right here on vacation in Florida. In Target. I’m going to die. I know it.
It was a panic attack that made me feel like my heart was going to explode.
My head swam with reminders from all 3 of my traumatic experiences—my daughter being born grey and limp, her tiny body being resuscitated before being whisked to the NICU where she stayed for the longest week of our lives. Losing my second baby—the blood transfusions, the emergency operations, the hospital stay. Losing my third just a few months after that. The 2 D & Cs needed to clear the retained products of conception. The infection from the procedure. The C Diff from the antibiotics. The Crohn’s flare that had ruled my life for the last year.
I was weeping bitterly in the sales rack. The little sign that said ‘Clearance, Up to 70% Off’ was clinking gently against its support. I couldn’t wipe my tears fast enough and snot had started to pour down my lip.
I had to pull it together. Hubs and Baby Girl were in the grocery section and it wouldn’t do for them to see me like this. Hubs still doesn’t understand why I’m so affected by the last year, and I try not to cry like this in front of Baby Girl ever. It’s just too heartbreaking to hear her say ‘I fix mommy?’
I don’t know why or how we can flip that switch — how we can act like nothing ever happened. I don’t know why in that moment I busied myself with studying the first shirt I could lay my hands on, pretending to rate the craftsmanship, examining the quality of the seams and material.
Was it pride? Stupidity? The simple need to restore everything to ‘OK’? Or was I done? Was that the final cry?
“This is a part of you. Don’t deny who you are. Life is beautiful. Embrace it. The future is bright and full of surprises. Don’t re-write...remember instead.”
From somewhere I felt the bolstering words surge up through me. And that’s when I knew.
Keep your heart light and your head up.
And most of all,
Stay Positive.
XO Kat
Sometimes you just need to get away.
You need to have good food, good sex, and good conversation. You need to put aside the silly arguments you’ve had about which Wiggle is the best dancer, how to refinance your mortgage, or why Caillou seems emotionally stunted. You need to stop squabbling about who remembered to buy milk and whose turn it is to change a diaper. Let’s just cut to the chase...
You need to pretend that you never had kids. Just for a weekend.
Phew. Now that that’s out there-
I think too many times we try and ‘supplement’ our relationships instead of resetting them. You’d think it would be easier to introduce something like a date night or couples’ massage into your regular mix than it would be to look each other in the eye and say "we need some us time.. lets run away."
But let’s just say that hasn’t been my finding.
Whenever we’ve tried to have a weekend alone at home/staycation, it’s turned into “Random Project Weekend” - bizarre on the romance front but hey, our garage is reorganized (perk, right?). Dinner out has turned into ordering-in Quizno’s. Going to a movie, usually means catching up on our PVR content. Dancing? HAHAHAHA. Yeah. That was a joke. I’m not even going to mention the whole ‘economic rationalization’ curveball.
You know.
That’s when you say things like ‘Yeah, I know we wanted to go to that 5-Star Italian resto, but I have some pasta here, and we can just make a salad, and do we really need to spend that money.. and…’
THE ANSWER IS YES PEOPLE. YES. SPEND THE FREAKING MONEY. *breathing hard*
Here’s my advice to you.
Yes. You are still a good mom/dad. Yes, we know you love your kid(s). Just take the plunge and get a 3-5 hour delay from the parenting twitch. Ottawa is awesome because it’s quieter than Montreal, and feels like a 5-block diorama of Toronto. Plus it’s stuffed full of adorable little tapas bars, wine bistros, and romantic little boutique pubs. If that’s not enough, there’s Byward Market. Nuff said.
2. Shake It Up
If you guys have time together make it count. Make it interesting, unique, fun, and out of character. It doesn’t have to involve a Velcro wall and/or body paint—although I am not judging—but it should be something that you don’t take time to do but always kind of/sort of think about.
In our case? It tends to be going to concerts. I love music. Hubs does to, although he also loves making fun of me and my empassioned love of music more. I will go up to a busker on the street and tell him he played a great set. Hubs thinks this is hilarious. I like to indulge him.
This past Friday we went to see Walk the Moon and Young the Giant at the Bronson Centre in Ottawa. We were there to give them some 35-45 age demographic love (represent). They were amazing, I jumped up and down, squealed like a school girl, sweat profusely while Hubs tried not to laugh; I took pictures, swooned, and then yelled at everyone afterwards in a pleasant moment of being concert-deaf. ROCK ON. Everyone was happy.
Music pumps you full of life. Here’s my suggestion for a ‘rekindling weekend’—pick a few bands that you like off the radio. Become a spontaneous roadie. Open yourself up to new music—new talent! You will feel 20 years old, ragingly hip, and hell-bent on singing in the shower for the next week.
This is almost as good as sex.
3. Splurge
You know when you and your hubby start kicking the idea of a date-night around and it ends up being like a game of road soccer with an ice nugget that just gets smaller and smaller until eventually.. the ball is gone? Does that sound like date-planning to you? Because it does to me.
“Well maybe we’ll go to the…but then...why don’t we just...and then…you know it wouldn’t be so bad if… and why don’t we just make it another time?”
NO.
Marriage is a contractual obligation to not let the other person get out of date night. You need date night. Therefore, you must also splurge.
Get out of the house. Book a hotel room. A super-duper-fancy-really-nice one. It doesn’t have to be extravagant—no kidney selling or mortgages necessary. We went to the Ottawa Marriott in Ottawa and it was perfect. In fact I think it packs the best bang for your buck in Ontario. And I mean bang.
We got a corner-room on the 23rd floor, with a massive flatscreen TV, beautiful bathroom, amazing décor, fancy floofy bed (which I am still crushing on) and oh yeah.. did I mention the river view? The fantastic Eggs Benny in bed? Or the awesome wireless? And yeah. Netflix was smooth as butter. Just saying.
Also, Spin Kitchen and Bar is down in the main lobby. That's 10 seconds away in 'elevator time.' While eating gourmet digs in your pjs may be out, throw on some jeans after some 'bow-chicka-wow' time and have yourself some insane gnocci with lamb, or a fig and prosciutto pizza. Compliment it with a big glass of wine off their great wine list (try the Malbec). Or better yet, order everything up to your room. FANCY. (I still have that post-concert yelling thing going on.)
There’s also Vivianna Day Spa on the 4th floor. Massage? Mani? Pedi? Luscious exfoliations and rubdowns? Drool.
Apparently, there was a hot tub and pool and work-out facilities as well. Except we spent most of our time eating insanely good food and drinking wine, so I can’t give an account. That's ok. There's always next time.
Everyone thinks that parenting is a challenge, and they’re right. But it’s way more of a challenge to stay in touch with yourselves and each other as parents. Dates, getaways, and indulging as a couple are key to staying happy, healthy, and connected.
And potentially having more kids. So there’s that.
This is where you hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door.
Have fun, and stay positive!
Xo Kat
Printer-friendly version