2018 in one word: Transformative

2018 in a few more words: It was an unexpected year. I, of course, knew we were going to have a baby this year. I also knew it would be hard. Isn’t that what everyone tells you about parenthood? That it’s hard? But either I didn’t listen, they didn’t articulate just how hard or, most likely, you just really can’t understand the magnitude of parenthood until you’re in the thick of it.

Although becoming a mom wasn’t the only thing that happened this year, it was the most shaping event of my year and perhaps the most shaping event of my life. So it stands to reason that my major life takeaways this year all revolved around becoming a mom.

Love

Parenthood reveals another layer of love you didn’t know existed. There’s the love a child has for her parent, the love a spouse has for a spouse and the love between siblings, grandparents, other family members and close friends.

But the love I have felt for Landon — and that I know Brian has felt, too — is mind-blowing and powerful. It’s enough to both move a mountain and bring me to my knees with the sheer weight of it.

We also can see the love for us in Landon’s eyes. The way he smiles at us when we walk in a room expresses pure love, as does the way he takes a break from eating to look up at me and smile with a grin that goes up into his shining blue eyes.

We also have been enveloped in love from family and friends this year. I was blown away by the support of many of those closest to us, especially in the direct aftermath of his birth. Some dropped everything to come be by our sides. The outpouring of love, even many months later, from people I barely know left me with tears in my eyes. Our worlds are full of loving beautiful people if we choose to see them.

Even strangers showed love. The nurses in Butler Hospital after I gave birth were incredibly kind and even loving to me, especially knowing I was recovering on the maternity floor but didn’t have my baby with me as the other women did whose rooms I walked by each day. One nurse even made me a name banner for Landon that still hangs on our bulletin board.

The NICU nurses at West Penn would leave notes “from Landon” for me to see in the webcam, which was the only way I could see Landon for five days after his birth.

Death

It’s quite the juxtaposition that the very moment in life that brought about this new love and new life was also the moment in which I flirted with death.

I’ve been fortunate in life that I’ve not lost many people close to me. Both of my grandfathers passed before I was born and one grandmother remains living. My other grandmother didn’t pass away until I was in my late 20s.

But confronting my own death? I didn’t think I’d have to deal with that until I was at least 100 (I have life longevity goals). Yet Landon’s birth was preceded by severe complications with eclampsia and HELLP Syndrome. I spent much of this year processing and trying to understand what happened in those lost moments to me.

Through that time I came to understand that as resilient as humans are on many levels, on many other levels we are fragile. Life is fragile. And it doesn’t happen the same to any two people. I walked away relatively unscathed. But I’ve heard of other people with the same complications who were on dialysis until they could receive a new kidney. Others died.

Life is a miracle. Not just babies’ lives, but all life. Every day that we get to wake up and tell our spouses and children we love them is a blessing.

Grit

People liked to tell me to “savor every moment.” Some moments were savorable, but most early parenthood moments were more of “grit your teeth and get through it.” It’s OK to not like getting up every three hours and it’s OK to not like getting spit up, peed and pooped on. I don’t know anyone who savored those moments of parenthood. But I did savor the very few quiet moments we had when Landon wasn’t in pain and screaming and we just existed together.

It took grit to get through pregnancy and childbirth. It took more grit to get through three very tumultuous months of maternity leave. It took grit to go back to work and try to balance being a professional and a mom. It took grit to hook up my breast pump many times every day for months and months, especially when I realized Landon’s developmental delays would make breastfeeding impossible but, as one who believes in the health benefits of breast milk, I wasn’t quite ready to switch to formula.

Some days it takes grit to not tell Brian he’s loading the dishwasher wrong when, in reality, he’s just loading it his left-handed man way as opposed to my right-handed woman way. The dishes get clean regardless.

I have yet to discover just how much grit it will take to raise a growing, strong, active baby boy, soon to be toddler boy, eventually boy boy to teenage boy to man boy with all the transitions in between.

There will be moments to savor. There will be moments to grit my teeth and bear it. But through it all, Brian and I will be guided by love for this person we created.

Hope

Hope can be a fickle thing. My hopes for each day vary wildly. But my big hopes I think remain the same. Only now my hopes aren’t so self-centered.

I still hope to get to Glacier National Park. I hope to ride horses regularly again one day. I really hope Lexi’s successor will be a golden retriever. I actually hope for a minivan. Subaru Foresters are so small when you add baby gear to the mix and actually still expect to have room for the parents and sometimes even the dog.

My hopes for Landon, though, are bigger.

I hope he knows how much he is loved by so many people. I hope he grows up confident in himself and compassionate for other people. I hope he is giving and kind. I hope things come easily to him, but not so easily that he doesn’t learn the value of working hard and overcoming challenges. I hope he is content in his life and the choices he’ll make, but not so content that he doesn’t strive to make and meet new goals and find ways to continually better himself.

I also plan to take action on hope. None of the above is going to happen on its own. Landon will not learn any of the above if Brian and I don’t first model it ourselves and shepherd him to do the same.

Bring on 2019

I’m not leaving 2018 as the same person I was when I welcomed 2018. But that’s the truth of every year. Can you really spend 365 days on this planet and not be different, at least in some ways? I don’t think so. There are too many lessons to be learned, too much life to live and too many people to meet in those 12 months to not evolve a little bit more.

2018 certainly was transformative. I gained a new name of Mommy. I learned more love and more respect for life. My hopes and dreams became so much more than just about me, or even about Brian and me. I no longer see the world through only my eyes. I see it through my son’s as well. It is an unexpected and awesome honor and responsibility.

I don’t know what the year ahead brings. It likely won’t be all good and likely won’t be all bad. We will most definitely laugh and we (I at least) will probably cry. One thing I do know for certain, though, is that it will be another life-changing year. This trip around the sun will be another opportunity in which to experience life in a way that will alter my perspective and let me view some aspect of life through a different lens.