Tears

Growing up, I remember my mom crying a lot.  Not necessarily bad or sad tears, just lots of crying. 

Every time somebody got married on All My Children...she cried. 

Every time a player was seriously injured during a Redskins game...she cried. 

Every time she heard a sweet or sad song, every time she heard about a new baby being born, and every time someone passed away - even if she only knew them through a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's brother...she cried. 

And Lord help us every time my brother and I participated in a school play or chorus concert, or went to another high school dance, or drove a car for the first, second and fifteenth times, or participated in our respective sports...man, did she cry.

I honestly never really understood.  I "got" that she was proud of us.  I knew she loved us.  And I understood that someone getting married/having a baby/breaking their arm (and subsequently having to sit out for the rest of the season) were all semi-emotional moments.  But I just couldn't fully understand -- why did anything remotely emotional make her eyes swell up and cause her mascara to run?  (FYI - she's since discovered waterproof mascara.)

I'll tell you why.  Damn hormones.

For the love of all that is holy, hormones are ridiculous.

Perhaps I should preface this by telling you that I have never been much of a crier.  Bang the crud out of my shin and pour blood?  Ok, I'd cry.  Have my heart shattered in a million pieces by a (less than desirable) boyfriend?  Yeah, I'd cry.  Somebody passed away that was close and dear to me?  I'd definitely cry.  But otherwise my family liked to refer to me as the "hard ass".  I didn't really get emotional about things.  Case in point: my parents bought me a BRAND NEW car when I was a sophomore in college.  Did the whole surprise thing where they bought me a few silly gifts convincing me that was all I was getting, and then my mom told me she was dying to show me her rose bushes in the backyard and when I went outside, there it was -- a gorgeous, shiny new sports car with a gigantic ribbon on top.  They were POSITIVE I would cry.  Nope.  Not this hard ass.  I was thrilled and beyond excited.  But no tears. 

All this to say that I apparently was lacking in the hormone department up until about 2 years ago.

Then I got pregnant.

Pregnancy started out relatively relaxed.  No truly absurd outbursts or crying sessions.  But by about 20 weeks, I was crying and insecure about everything, stopping Todd dead in his tracks mid-dinner-making to console me.  And for about 17 more weeks after that, if I had a hormone surge, no amount of consoling could fix my need for a "good cry".  So I did a lot of random crying.

And then Nick was born.  And the crying only got worse.

Why?  I had not a clue other than I'd had a baby.  In my defense, it turns out that those tears were in fact less of the "baby blues" and more of post-partum depression.

Eventually all of those hormones evened out, I calmed down, and I was able to wrap my head around this mothering thing.

But now?  Now I can't help but think of my mom every single day.  Because the tears?  They still come...for reasons I would have NEVER shed a tear for before.

Sunday I cried watching football as they panned across Ravens player Torrey Smith's tear-stained face during the National Anthem (his brother passed away the night before, but up until Sunday I had no idea who Torrey Smith was).

Monday I cried listening to country star Lauren Alaina's new song 18 inches as she sang the words "7 pounds and 18 inches, the doctor lays that new baby's head right on her heart".

(I might've just cried typing out those lyrics.)

Tuesday I cried as I watched an old man carefully mount his bicycle in old town, shaky but confident, slowly riding it through town like I'm sure he's done a million times in the last 80+ years of his life.

And last night I cried as I recalled a conversation Todd and I recently had about bullying...knowing that all too soon Nick will be in school, and it is our job to protect him -- and it breaks my heart just thinking about anybody ever hurting him.

I cry any time I see a sorority sister announce her pregnancy or post pictures of her new baby on facebook.

I cry any time I know of a friend going through a difficult time and not being able to do anything to help console them.

I cry when I think about my grandparents and my parents getting older...knowing that I can't keep them all forever.  Wishing I could.

And I cry and I cry and I cry.  Sometimes happy tears, sometimes sad tears.  But they come.  And they come without warning.  I just can't help it.  It's these dang hormones.

So the next time you see me and think that I look like I've been crying...truth be told, I probably have.  Because most likely?  I was just watching the latest Subaru commercial.  And I guarantee if you've seen it, you've cried too. 

That is, if your hormones are out of whack like mine.

Dora saves the day...or night rather.

I'm blogging from my phone at 11pm on a Sunday night, because I don't want to forget this little moment. A moment not much different from any other night over the past 19.5 months. But a moment so sweet and pure that I just feel the need to write it down so that I don't forget.

Nick has always been a hit or miss sleeper. Fortunately, since he turned a year old, he's been more hit than miss and rarely wakes at night unless he's cold, teething, sick, or scared from a bad dream. And when that happens, it's usually well into the early hours of the morning, waking us all from deep sleep, jolting us upright in bed in panic.

But tonight, Nick awoke around 10:45pm...just as I was turning off the tv and putting down my phone for the evening. I checked the monitor to see him standing in his crib, crying out softly. I could tell it was either teething or a bad dream. So I went in to comfort him and give him some orajel to relieve some of the pain (he's currently cutting his eye teeth on top). The orajel didn't help and he continued to cry, while reaching up to put his little arms around my neck - begging to be picked up from the crib and pulled into our room and bed for the night. But being that it was so early in the night, I couldn't bear the thought of none of us getting any sleep all night, seeing as Nick is a terrible co-sleeper (tossing, turning, kicking, and generally laying awake talking to whinnie, me, daddy, the ceiling fan, etc. etc.). So I tried to hug him until he was content, but he refused to lay back down and continued to cry.

So I pulled out the secret weapon...Dora.

See, Nick is in a bit of a Dora phase. And by "bit" I mean completely and totally in love. And seeing as I'm a sucker for anything that makes my kid sublimely happy, I purchased him a stuffed Dora pillow a few weeks ago. But up until now, Dora has been an "awake" toy only.

So tonight, as he continued to cry, totally un-soothed by mommy hugs, I asked "do you want mommy to get Dora?". Instant silence. The tears ceased and he nodded a slight "yes". I sprinted downstairs, scooped Dora up, and ran back into Nick's room. As I handed her to him, I whispered "but you have to go ni-night with Dora". And he squeezed her with all his tiny 30+ pound might, laid down right on top of her, and went back to sleep. Just like that. Pure sweetness.

And now, here I am, blogging about how I got my kid to go back to bed, so that I too could get some sleep, and instead I'm staying awake to watch him snuggle with Dora, occasionally reaching out and rubbing a soft foot of his teddy bear across his face, as if to reassure his bear that he hasn't been completely replaced. Man, toddlers are the best. I love this little boy. And tonight, I love Dora, too.

At 30...

I turn 30 on Saturday. 

To me, 30 seems like much more of a milestone -- almost "epic" if you will -- than 18, 20, 21, or 25 ever did.

Maybe it's because I'm in that so called "prime" of my life.

Maybe it's because I'm more secure in my life - happier about my day-to-day - than I was at any of those previous age milestones. 

Maybe it's because at 30, I finally feel like I know who I am. 

At 30, I will have been employed by the same company for a solid 8 years.  The better part of a decade.  A company that has taught me growth, responsibility, and far more communications skills than I could have ever even imagined learning in my 4 years pursuing a BA in Communications.

At 30, I will have been married for 3 years.  A solid 3 years.  To a wonderful man.  A man who restored my faith in the ability to have a solid, loving, successful relationship.  A man who surprises me daily with his strength and commitment to our growing family.  A man who loves me no matter my age, weight, or amount of days I have gone between hair-washes.

At 30, I will have been a mother for 19 months.  To the most incredible, beautiful, intelligent child I have ever encountered.  A toddler than tests my patience and my mothering skills by the hour, but softens my heart and brings me to my knees in prayer and gratitude with every kiss and every hand-hold from his tiny little fingers. 

At 30, I will have been a daughter, sister, granddaughter, and niece for 30 years.  As part of an amazing family - built on solidarity, loyalty, and above all unconditional love.  A family that has always stood by me and supported my decisions.  A family that would give their lives for each other.  A family that I only wish I had appreciated my entire life, as much as I do now - at 30.

At 30, I will look towards the future with anticipation, excitement, and gratitude, for everything and everyone that has helped to shape my past 30 years, and everything and everyone who will be cheering me on through my next 30 years.

And at 30, I will spend more time being grateful, and less time being jealous.  I will spend more time with my family and less time only wishing I had done so.  I will be more patient, more respectful, more mindful, and more punctual. I will be more forgiving of myself if I stumble on any one of these.  And I will finally love me for who I am -- and for who I will become. 

30 already sounds awesome.