All The Things That Mattered Before: The Postpartum Diaries

Before baby boy was here, when we were preparing for him to be here, there were a lot of things that we thought mattered. Having all the right items on the registry. In the right color. The right pattern. Having all of his little clothes laundered and folded and put away in just the right drawer. Having all the furniture in just the right place in the nursery. Having a very detailed birth plan. Timing the baby shower just right. Making sure I walked enough, ate the right things, stretched. Left very detailed notes for my sub. Published blog posts in a timely manner.

Those were the things that mattered before.

But the things is, my very detailed birth plan was for a vaginal birth I didn't have. Out of a page and a half of double spaced bullet points, only two were relevant for my c-section. 

We excitedly set up his swing and his bouncer, two things we knew we just had to have...only to find out that as a very little dude, he didn't really care for either. That could change...but right now they are more for show than anything. Sometimes they hold things that we pick up off the floor (toys, blankets) and don't put away right in that moment, but rarely do they hold our baby.

He has so many cute little outfits--and he spits up all over those, just as often as he does on a burp cloth. More, actually. 

Oh, and diaper blowouts...those don't care about how cute the outfits are, either.

I guess what I'm saying is that a lot of the things we thought mattered before, really didn't--or more accurately, don't anymore. And that's okay. Everything has its own time. But it is kind of funny, when I think about what matters now. 

What really matters--and I mean most importantly, REALLY freakin' matters--is that we are keeping this sweet little boy safe, happy, and healthy. 

What matters is that we try everything--all of the things--to make sure that safe, happy, and healthy happen. 

What matters is that we are his safe place. While he is learning more about this world, his needs are fairly basic. Mama=safe. Mama=comfort.

What matters is that I am learning to advocate for him and for myself when I need help or when something feels off, because it really, really matters now that I'm worrying about something bigger than just me. 

What matters is that we are learning what he likes and dislikes, and what his cries mean.

What matters is that I drive really safely, whether he is in the car or not--because a boy needs his mama.

What matters are the quiet moments when he falls asleep, snuggled against our chests.

This matters.

What matters are the loud moments, when even though we don't know what's wrong, we are there to hold and comfort him. 

What matters is the weight of him on my chest as I bounce, sway, rock, or carry him.

What matters is when his sweet little hand grabs on to my collar while he's nursing.

And many more things like that.

Two Months Postpartum

Postpartum highlight: Parenting is weird. We get so excited when he farts. Or poops. Or sneezes. 

As the first-time mom of an 11 week old, I can officially say that the first 11 weeks are the hardest! But ask me again next week, and I'll probably tell you it's the first 12. I never understood people who said they didn't want kids. I never made them feel bad about it, never tried to convince them otherwise. But as someone who really wanted kids, wanted to be a mom more than anything else in the world, I didn't understand why they wouldn't want that, too. But now? Now, I get it. This is HARD. This is NOT for everybody. And props to everyone who knows themselves well enough to definitively say that. And no, I'm not saying that I regret becoming a parent--I'm just saying that I get how this isn't something everyone would want. 

What to Expect After You've Been Expecting

A lot of learning has happened for us in the last 11 weeks, the last 6 especially. The best way I can sum up the learning process is that you have to learn what to expect from your baby...and then be ready to expect something completely different. For example, our little boy who once napped for 1-2 hours at a time, suddenly started napping only half an hour or so. At first, it was jarring. It gave me anxiety. Why wasn't he sleeping? What was I doing wrong?! Why was it taking as long to put him down as it took him to nap? This went on for several days, until finally I learned to expect him to just sleep half an hour. And let me tell you, life got a lot easier after that. I learned how to plan my day in half hour increments. First nap=eat breakfast. Second nap=start laundry. Or pick up the house a little. Maybe make a phone call. Third nap=eat lunch. Fourth nap=also nap. And so on. And then one day--surprise! He slept for two hours during one of the afternoon naps. Great, I thought, things are tipping back the other way. Then bed time happened. Or rather, didn't happen for several hours. So I now expect a longer nap in the afternoon, but don't let it go longer than an hour, hour and a half tops. 

At 7 weeks and 4 days old, Rett smiled in response to Chelsey's voice--and it's hands down one of the sweetest things I've seen in my whole life. I was changing him upstairs and she came in the room and started talking to him, and as soon as he saw her, this big smile broke across his face. It melted our hearts. Since then, we have gotten many more smiles--mostly on the changing table, oddly enough. That's where he seems happiest. We call it his reset pad, because when he's really fussy, sometimes we just take him in there and lay him down and talk to him and sing to him, and it seems to reset his mood.

Another favorite moment so far was baby's first blowout. He has been a very gassy baby, and we've tried a lot of things to help him work it out--gripe water, gas drops, reflux meds, tummy massage, Windi, bicycling his legs, tummy time, giving up dairy--anything to help our little boy! At some point several weeks ago, his tummy was so tense and we could tell it was hurting him. To make a long story short, as Chelsey handed him off to me one afternoon, she realized he felt wet--and then she saw it. Parents, you know what I'm talking about. The discolored onesie. The kind that makes you afraid to take it off, let alone unfasten his diaper. I got him upstairs to change him, and when I unsnapped his onesie, all I could do was laugh. Ya'll, the blowout was so intense I had to just cut the onesie right off of him. Chelsey was gagging at the sight of it, and we were both so happy he had finally pooped--we busted a gut at our poor son's expense. Later, when retelling this story to friends, I was reminded that the little shoulder pieces on a onesie fold down so that you can slide it down over their body instead of pulling it up over their head. It's one of those things I forgot in the moment--I just knew I wasn't pulling that mess up over his head!

Postpartum on the Real: Bonding

So there have been a lot of fun moments. A lot of learning moments. But let's get really real for a minute. One of the greatest expectations when you have a child--one that everyone talks about--is feeling that special bond with your child. Especially when you're breastfeeding. There's this magical bond between you and your baby. It's something Chelsey worried about finding, because I'd be the one feeding him. But here's the rub: I realized one day, that I wasn't feeling bonded. Thinking back, I kind of recognized it in the hospital. Oh yes, I loved this little boy--this tiny human I grew and carried inside of me for ten months--from the very start. From the moment I saw the word "pregnant" come up on the digital screen on the pregnancy test. But bonded? Not something I was feeling. And once I realized that, I felt a lot more things. Like guilt. Anxiety. A feeling of not being enough. 

As I thought more about it--why I wasn't feeling this wonderful, magical feeling that everyone talked about--I realized that it was partially because of all of the frustrating aspects of motherhood that I had encountered up to that point. A big one was nursing. It's been a damn journey. And a hard one. And those really frustrating moments had made it hard to feel bonded to him. Not to mention that he started out as a gassy and fussy baby, and we didn't know about wake windows, so there were a lot of moments there that really seemed to test my fitness as a mother. 

I read somewhere, on some Instagram post, that it is in fact completely normal to not feel bonded with your newborn right away. Normal, but not really acknowledged. In talking with Chelsey one late night when a lot of emotions and hormones were tripping over each other, I discovered that I was not alone: she wasn't feeling that magical feeling, either. There are many moments where I'm glad parenting is a team sport in our house, and this was one of them. To not feel alone, to be able to share the burden of that guilt, to name it and put it out there and and work through it--took two of us.

Janet Catherine Photography, ya'll.
Book her, like, now!

Then one night, after he had gone to bed, I found myself sitting downstairs, watching videos of him on my phone. And at night, after he nursed, I found myself holding him in the recliner long after I should have put him down and gone back to sleep. And the next day, while he napped, I found myself missing him. I found myself in many more moments thereafter, looking at him, nearly in tears, because he brought me so much joy. 

There are still moments where the bond doesn't feel quite so strong. I think another realization I've had about bonding is that my expectations for how it would go and feel didn't match my reality. I imagined  my child needing me: reaching for me, calming instantly in my arms. What I had was a child crying to be fed. A child crying to have his grumpy tummy soothed. A child, crying. It took some time to realize that he was, in fact, telling me he needed me, in the only way he knew how. I had to learn to see every cluster feed, every instance he woke after only an hour to eat yet again, as him telling me he needed me. That his little fussy noises in the middle of being put down for a nap may very well mean he's wet again, even thought I just changed him. And as I learn more about his needs and how to meet them, I feel more confident as a mom, and more bonded with my baby. 

Another mama friend recently shared that what she shows the world--really what we all seem to show the world--is the highlights. The good times. The best angles. The wins. But that's not the full picture. And I do my best to paint an accurate portrait of my experiences here when I write, no matter what the subject matter is, because people need to know. People need to feel validated in their experiences, and if I can help create that validation by sharing, then I am glad to do it. 

So here we are. I go back to work in three weeks, and I cry at least once a day about it. I know I'm not the only mama who has ever felt this way, but this grief looms so so large. The thought that he may be with someone else when he hits his milestones tears me apart. It is also especially hard because two of my mama friends who I have shared this journey with are fortunate enough to be able to stay home for the rest of the school year with their babies. We've taken every step of this journey together, but this one I have to do alone. I keep joking that I was hoping if I complained enough, someone would start a GoFundMe page and raise enough money so that I didn't have to go back to work! To be fair, I didn't start playing the lottery, either, so there's no one to blame but myself. 

For now, I am trying really hard to focus on the moments I'm in, and not worry about what comes next. And on we go.

We loved celebrating
St. Nick with Rett

Having a baby gives the
holidays a new level of magic

Mama Needs a Moment: The Postpartum Diaries

This post was supposed to be ready two weeks ago.
Make plans, God laughs--and so does your baby!

One Month Postpartum
Highlights: 

*I can now sleep on my back! I have been looking forward to this for sometime. But just because I can, doesn't mean I do. In fact,  I don't sleep on my back. I sleep on my side, my faces inches from the bassinet, listening for his breathing, and his little noises that let me know he's about to wake up. 

*I can now scoot my chair all the way in at the dinner table! This is especially exciting at my mom's house, where space is tight in the kitchen. 

Picture this: It's 10:30PM. You take the sleeping baby from your spouse to put him down for the night, but realize he has a full diaper. You begin to change him--rookie mistake--but by some miracle, he stays sleepy. Suddenly, a thin stream of pee shoots up past your baby's head, soaking him, the changing mat, the couch. You thrust your hand forward to cover little buddy's little buddy, but it's too late, the damage has been done. "We need to give him a bath," you say. Your spouse looks at you, a mutual feeling of exhaustion stretching between you. "Right now?" she says. Yep. Right. Now.

No one could have possibly prepared us for parenthood--it's on the job training. We knew having him would be an adjustment. We knew we would be tired. But holy cannoli. Seriously, if someone has his instruction manual and you are withholding it as a joke, we are not friends. Leave it at the door, no contact drop-off, and walk away.

In my last blog I talked about the new meaning "it takes a village to raise a child" had taken on. It is even truer now. I never thought I'd need--or ask for--help. Everyone says, "If you need me to come over and hold the baby for an hour while you nap/shower/do laundry, let me know!" What a nice thing for people to say, I would think. I want to go back and shake myself and say, 

"Lookie here, cupcake--say yes. Take them up on it. Your laundry will be piled up. You will be covered in fluids--so many fluids. You will be ex-haus-ted. When they offer, for the love of God, say yes!" 

Actually, it didn't take long for me to give in and start asking for help once Chelsey went back to work. There was a day where I texted a friend and asked if she could come over the next day just so I could make a phone call. I hadn't gotten to it that day because baby boy was either in my arms sleeping or crying. All. Day. Long. And it was not long after that, that when Chelsey suggested I go by my mom's so she could take care of him and I could sleep, that I cried, big fat tears rolling down my cheeks, because it wasn't until she said that that I realized just how tired I was. 

Even on the toughest days, this is still my favorite job. But this is hard. Some days are really good and I feel like I've finally got it figured out. Some days, Everett and I take turns crying. Or cry together. Before we left the hospital, the nurse made sure to tell us to be on the lookout for signs of postpartum depression, one of which was crying without a reason. On the really tough days, I would laugh through my tears as I reminded Chelsey that she shouldn't worry, because I always had a reason. There have definitely been days where I've doubted myself. Days I've felt like a bad mom. Days when I've been frustrated and overwhelmed. There are some things you just don't know, until you know. Showering is now a sacred and precious thing, because it is the one time I am alone, and no one is demanding anything of my body but me--and all I'm asking it to do is stand there. But there are so many good and beautiful moments that overshadow everything else. 

I digress. After nearly three weeks of camping out on the couch, we finally moved upstairs. I was so excited to sleep in my bed. I was so wrong about being able to sleep in my bed. Everett didn't want to sleep in his bassinet, and, as I'm learning, sometimes baby calls the shots. He and I spent a majority of the next few nights together in the recliner--just feet away from my bed. In between nursing and dozing, I would gaze at my empty side longingly: pillows perfectly fluffed, sheets pulled back invitingly. It took a few more days, and some advice from a friend, to ease him into the bassinet, and now he has no problem sleeping there for the 2-3 hours in between feedings. 

I'm not sure where the last month has gone. At work, a month takes approximately 8 years; at home with Rett, it takes about 8 seconds. Time is really irrelevant in the 4th trimester, though. Honestly, there is no point in pretending you have a schedule. Or in setting a certain time you will do something. For the first week and a half, babe seemed to have a schedule. After that...not so much. He developed a "witching hour" (if you know, you know) that would happen every night between 7-10PM...often for longer than an hour. Around week three we learned about cluster feeding, as he entered his first growth spurt. Essentially, instead of eating every 2-3 hours, it was every 20 mins-1 hour. Super un-fun for mama, because she had no idea what the heck was happening. There was a lot of Google searching that happened that week. I read out loud to him the parts that said that along with cluster feeding, he should be SLEEPING MORE. It was on every site, in every article, but completely lost on my son.

Around this time I also set up an appointment with our pediatrician to get some help with breastfeeding. No one tells you how hard it is. I really struggled--some days, I'm still struggling. It is such an incredible thing to be able to sustain and nourish his little life with my own body. But also a frustrating thing when it isn't going as well as I want it to. I can be quoted as saying, "I hate everything about breastfeeding, except the fact that it feeds my son." That's not entirely true. But at 2:30AM, when there is milk dripping everywhere, and he won't latch, and the nipple shield is falling off, that's just how I feel. 

Anyhow, at this appointment, the doctor noticed that Rett turns his head to one side more than the other. They call it torticollis. She recommended a physical therapist to us, and we were able to get in to see her the next day. I really enjoy working with her, because she not only works with him on stretching out, but with both of us on breastfeeding. Essentially, it all goes hand in hand. So in the last two weeks I've been feeling more confident in nursing, and it seems to be getting easier. 

Which leads me to my next one month realization...getting out of the house with a newborn is HARD. Trying to get both of us ready, a diaper bag packed, him in the car seat without crying...it's a lot. This little boy does not like to be put down, which means even if I get him ready on time, I have to get myself ready while he cries and cries, and it breaks my heart. Even if the diaper bag is packed and ready ahead of time, the second I put him in the car seat, he cries and cries. Since he isn't able to keep his pacifier in on his own, this often means he cries all the way to PT, which thankfully isn't far. With the nice weather we've had recently, I've wanted to get out for walks, but the same story applies. It's hard to get out the door, and once we are out, there's no guarantee we will stay there. 

I know I'm missing some things, but thinking about everything we've experienced, caring for this sweet little babe in the last month (now 6 weeks!), I have to say one thing: I'm sorry for any time I have ever judged someone else's parenting. I will never judge your parenting again. Okay, well that may not be true...as a teacher, I am privy to a lot of things that go on in people's homes. But with this new perspective, I've realized that even when I'm thinking to myself, "Oh my, what goes on in that house?" I need to remember that those parents, too, were in the trenches of this phase, and SURVIVED. This is not easy! So so worth it, but damn has this learning curve been steep. Oh, and single parents--you da real MVPs. I honestly don't know how you do it. You are warriors.

Rett is getting so big so fast. I am not wishing away any of these moments...but also, I can't wait to see what happens next!

Here are some 1 month photos that I took of him...on Sunday. Follow me for more parenting hacks : P

Thanks, I Made Him Myself: The Postpartum Diaries

These two weeks have been pretty incredible, in so many ways. I will circle back around to little man's birth story in a separate post, but there's plenty here, for now. 

One week postpartum

Postpartum highlight: On day 4, I could wear one of my regular old t shirts without my belly hanging out the bottom, a problem in the last month or so of pregnancy.

I woke up today and nursed my son—“nursed” and “my son” still being words that feel clunky on my tongue as I say them. (Already I can’t remember a time before him being here, but there are words and phrases we are still growing into.) When I lifted him up to hand him to Chelsey, there was a large wet spot underneath him on the pillow. Inexplicably, he was not wet. Nor was his diaper. Not having all the answers about your child, I’m learning, is part of motherhood.

In out past life, before Everett, we would talk about what would happen if we won the lottery. Chelsey would ask me if I would still work. It was an easy answer: of course I would. I love teaching, and no amount of money could change that. But now, it's a whole different kind of lottery. Undoubtedly, we have won the jackpot. Just look at this sweet face. 

This is the most important job I've ever had. And the only job I want to do for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, we'd actually have to win the lottery to make that happen. A mom can dream, can't she?

I finally understand the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child". Our village has surrounded us with so much love, in many forms. We came home to a fridge and freezer full of meals, and some adorable decorations. We've had supplies and food dropped off and sent. We've had so many messages asking how we are doing and if we need anything. What I've come to understand, through everyone's generosity and kindness, is that the ways in which our village helps us raise our child do not always have to do directly with the child. Often, our village takes care of us, so that we may take care of our child. Either way, we couldn't do any of this without you!

In the same way, I have to say how much I appreciate Chelsey being able to take off and be with baby and I for a few weeks right away. Holy moly, I couldn't do this without her. I've never felt so strong in our partnership. Already we are finding our new rhythm, taking care of this little boy, and each other. 

Our first night home, we thought we had set things up so perfectly in our room. We got ready for bed, which included setting some cushions up so I could sleep sitting up, and set our sweet 3 day old newborn in his bassinet. The cats, who had been arguably disinterested in said bassinet for the many weeks it had been set up, were suddenly drawn to it. Chelsey caught Huck mid-jump on his way into the bassinet from the floor. We did some quick problem solving, and draped a swaddle across the open side of the bassinet to help the cats understand that this was no place for them. Still, I settled in with my arm draped across the bassinet, just in case. 

Finn has a habit of walking across the tops of our pillows to get to my night stand, from which he jumps up on to the dresser. With several couch cushions behind me, he had lost his pathway. He is a resourceful cat, so he found another route--walking across me. However, as he is not a careful cat, that wasn't going to work--not with a 3 day fresh incision at my bikini line.

So I decided to sleep in the recliner. It seemed like a really good idea, until I realized I was hesitant to put up the foot rest, lest I would be unable to put it back down, due to the aforementioned 3 day fresh incision (in which they rearranged my insides, including my abs). Nor, I realized, could I recline, as that would require using my abs to push back the back piece. No problem, I thought, I could sleep sitting up. It was a great idea until I could feel my feet swelling. So up the feet went. 

We seemed to be good to go, until it was time for the first feeding. I needed light, but not too much light. We had bought the perfect little nightlight for just such an occasion...and it was set up in the nursery, where I assumed I'd be feeding little man. Thus the room rearranging ensued (again, seriously couldn't do this without Chels!) She got the light from the nursery, moved my night stand over, and helped me get set up. 

The next morning, we decided sleeping downstairs might be easier. So that is where we've been camped out ever since. The first week brought many firsts for us and baby Everett. For example, his first bath at home.

Verdict: He did not like his first bath at home.

You can tell by his little scrunchy face. But also, by the fact that in the brief moment it took to wrap him up in his sweet little towel, carry him to the living room, and snap a cute pic, he promptly sharted into his sweet little towel, and we had to take him right back to the bath. 

In our first week home, we also saw the pediatrician, who did a heel stick to check Everett's bilirubin. Bilirubin is a yellowish substance in your blood that occurs naturally when red blood cells break down. It's the substance that can make you appear jaundice when there is too much. They began watching his levels in the hospital, because my blood type and Everett's are different, which means (if I'm understanding it correctly) that my body can produce antibodies that "attack" his red blood cells, causing an excess of bilirubin in his bloodstream as the RBCs break down. All this to say that the pediatrician felt that his bilirubin level was high enough to warrant action. Within hours, a "biliblanket" was delivered to our house so that we could start photo therapy. Baby's skin and blood absorb the light waves from this blanket and change bilirubin into products that can pass through baby's system. Essentially, this meant that our little buddy had to lay on, or be wrapped in, this blanket as much as possible. It also meant daily heel sticks to check his levels.

The next day was Saturday. We took Everett to the lab to get his heel stick. After several days of being able to take care of our little man together, we were thrown off when we were informed that only one parent could go with him into the lab, due to Covid restrictions. The moment felt heartbreaking, but the decision was essentially logistical--baby boy was in the car seat, which Chelsey was carrying, due to my lifting restriction (nothing heavier than baby). So Chelsey went in with him. I went outside, and peered into the waiting room through a window. As much as I've voiced my aversion to being present when he gets his vaccinations, not being able to be with them tore at my heart in a whole new way.

For the record, she said he handled it like a champ.  

No heel stick on Sunday. Monday's level was promising enough that we were told we could discontinue the biliblanket. And that was week one.

Two weeks postpartum

Postpartum highlight: On day 10, I could finally fit into my sandals that my feet had been too swollen to wear comfortably for the last 4 or 5 weeks of pregnancy.

In the hospital, Chelsey "had a chat" with Everett. She told him there were three things he could not do while she was holding him:

1) Cry;

2) Pee on her;

3) His belly button (cord stump) can't fall off.

Well, 1 was inevitable. 2 has thus far been avoided. And 3...well, that one was just funny. On day 9, as she held sweet baby Everett in her arm, a wild swing of his arm sent his little cord stump flying into her lap.

In the last two weeks, we have been officially welcomed into motherhood, having been baptized in all manner of bodily fluids. Such a tiny human creates an amazing amount of laundry--for all of us. I enjoyed the first few days being home when it was no shirt, no problem. And then my milk came in, and now I can't even be without a bra. And breast pads. 

On a related note, nursing is hard. I've gotten a lot of help and advice from friends, the awesome lactation consultants at the hospital, and our pediatrician. But at 2 in the morning, with a crying baby, that shit is hard. I've spilled collected breast milk on me more than a handful of times. When he is desperate to eat, he becomes frantic and flails his arms wildly. He won't latch without a nipple shield (did you know that was a thing? It helps with the latch, but not entirely, and not when he's flailing and knocks it off mid-feed.) There seems to be some kind of secret formula for balancing nursing, bottle, and formula, but so far it has eluded us. And as we work to figure it out, little man's sleep schedule is all over the place. We all get frustrated--him, because he's hungry, me, because all I want is to feed him, and Chelsey because there's not much she can do to help either of us--though she does what she can.  

Speaking of emotions. Definitely feeling all of them. Many moments of bliss, as I look at my son, and my little family. Moments of sadness, when I think about going back to work in January. Moments of desperation when nursing isn't going well. Moments where we laugh so hard we cry. And moments of something stronger than I can name. 

One night, when the humans were downstairs--Everett asleep in his little cocoon, moms enjoying the peace of a moment with no expectations--and the cats were upstairs--snuggling and napping--I was overcome with this unnameable feeling. It was something akin to pure happiness, a feeling so strong that it bordered on grief. I looked at Chels and said, "I just want my whole family down here," and then proceeded to cry. And soon after, when the cats did come down, I cried again. 

During pregnancy, I fell in love with my body, and that hasn't changed. I am amazed by all of the things a pregnancy and postpartum body does. My body has been through such an incredible amount of change in the last ten months, and so it continues. One week out, I had lost 20lbs of what I gained while I grew my son inside of me--but it doesn't matter to me how fast I lose the rest.Two weeks out and the tiger stripes are less noticeable, but it doesn't matter if they never go away. I've been stitched inside out and glued, and have this scar below my belly button that will always be with me, and that's perfectly fine. All of these things were a part of bringing my son into this world. The same body that grew this little human is now nourishing him.

My favorite thing to hear from people is how beautiful and perfect my son is, because I get to respond: "Thanks, I made him myself. Well, mostly. #science."

He has already grown so much in the last two weeks. I can't wait to love him through every milestone yet to come. 

The Things That Keep Me Up at Night: Returning to School Edition

Here's the thing: teachers are losing sleep. Right now. In the middle of the summer. Losing sleep thinking about our families. Our kids. YOUR KIDS. That's right, it's the heart of the summer, and we are up in the middle of the night worrying about a myriad of things related to returning to school, and your kids are on that list. Just like they always are. 

Given that I will be quite pregnant by the time we return to school, I have a specific set of concerns (it finally happened--a newborn contracted COVID-19 in utero--read more here) but even if I put those fears aside, I'm still left with plenty of other valid ones. The speed at which teachers have fallen from grace in the eyes of the general population is both alarming and disheartening, and yet, not altogether unexpected. Teachers are often blamed and shamed into silence by people who have NO IDEA what we actually do. We were heroes when we were suddenly asked to change our entire teaching style and adapt our methods to teach virtually. At my school, we had about an hour's notice. Now that we are asking for the health and safety of ourselves and our students to be considered, we are being painted as villains. Forget the fact that in many places, teachers are not even being included in the discussions about what "back to school" will look like. The blame falls on us, time and again.

Look, we are in the middle of a freaking pandemic. There are no great options. People are losing their health insurance. People are losing their jobs. Not all families have the option to make virtual/distance learning work, for fear of those things. Childcare options are unavailable or have dwindled. People are worried that their children will fall behind if they are not physically in school. The mental health of our children has been affected. Our mental health as adults has been affected. There are a multitude of factors at play.

Let me assure you that there is not one single K-12 staff member or administrator who works in a brick and mortar school building that does not want to physically return to that building when learning resumes in the fall. Our caveat, if you will, is that we want assurance that it can be done safely--for EVERYONE who will be in that building. The daunting thing is that when the decision was made to close schools (my district left in-person learning on March 13th, 2020) there were 1,629 confirmed cases in the US, according to the CDC; 19 of those were in Wisconsin. On July 13th, 2020, The US recorded 3.3 million positive cases, with a single day total of new cases of over 55,000 (494 of those cases in WI). It doesn't seem to make sense to go back now.

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-53088354

The CDC guidelines are logistically apt. Check out this summary on cnn.com Essentially, they recommend social distancing, hand washing, reducing student interaction, wearing a mask, and suspending large group events such as sports and assemblies. Sounds good, right? Hold my iced coffee.

At a minimum of 20 seconds per hand washing, a typical class will take anywhere from 6-8 minutes at the sink. Realistically, we know it will take a little longer--let's say 10 minutes. Each time. And this is to happen several times a day. Yes, we will have hand sanitizer (if it was on the supply list), but hand washing is still more effective. So let's say we do this two or three times a day. Right, okay. No problem, since it is being recommended that kids stay in one classroom all day long. Which means no lunch in the cafeteria, no essentials (music, art, PE, library), and possibly, no recess. So we will have plenty of time to spend washing hands. Right, okay. 

My classroom is about 24 ft x 27 ft. That's wall to wall, without taking into account any furniture. My average class size is about 25 kids. The recommended distancing requires 6 ft of space between students. No need to do the math, there. If that's not possible, install sneeze guards or partitions. Right, okay. Some suggested state guidelines say a schedule could be arranged in which only half the kids come at one time. So let's say we find a way to get 12 kids in there, appropriately distanced. I have 5th graders, so while it wouldn't be ideal, they would be cooperative. I wonder what it would look like in a kindergarten classroom? Right, okay. So the CDC recommends that all of their desks face the same direction. I have tables currently, but not a big deal--there could be desks in storage somewhere. 

Now let's consider how education has evolved in recent years. Students no longer sit at desks all day, oh no. They come to the carpet several times a day, a space in which I could effectively social distance 4-5 kids. When they aren't at the carpet, they are often working collaboratively in partners or in groups. (Think science experiments, book clubs, projects.) Oh and also, that half of the class that isn't physically in school that day--how am I addressing their learning needs as well? I can't offer them the same level of support as I can to the kids sitting in front of me--certainly not simultaneously. 

Kids want to come back to school. They miss their friends. Their developing brains crave structure and routine. But given what I have just described, there will be a potentially traumatic discrepancy between what they are expecting to return to, and the reality of what it will be. We will see the effects of this discrepancy not only in their behavior, but in their mental health. Do kids need social interaction? Absolutely. With no carpet time, group work, recess, meals in the lunchroom, or essentials, that social interaction will look quite different, and likely be disappointing.  

Kids are also likely missing the relationships they build with adults--much as we are missing those relationships we build with them. I recently had a former student express that she wants to come back, because if she has a question, she can raise her hand and the teacher can come over and talk to her one-on-one, which was a lot harder during virtual learning. I agree--while teaching and relationship building can be accomplished in some ways through a computer screen, it isn't at all the same as being physically in the same place. But remember, in that physical setting, I have to be 6 ft apart from my students. Want to hazard a guess at how many of my reluctant readers, or kids who are "stuck" on their math, will want to have that conversation with 6 ft of space between us?

On a totally separate note, there are some hilarious but accurate videos out there about what it would look like if we ask kids to come back to school wearing masks. Right...okay.

Furthermore, the CDC says classrooms should be well-ventilated, bringing in air from the outside, if possible. (My school has no AC, and my room has two tiny rectangular windows, maybe 2 ft x 8 in, located 2-3 ft off the floor.) But not every school is as outdated in their accommodations, so I digress. 

There are an unlimited number of what-if's that accompany being physically back in school, ranging from: "What if a child doesn't have a needed supply?" (let me tell you, it doesn't take them long to lose all their pencils) to: "What if we have a positive case of COVID-19 or multi-system inflammatory syndrome in the classroom?"

I'm not saying we shouldn't go back, rather that all options need to be carefully explored. We need a little understanding to go between the public and the people making the decisions, as well. This is not an easy decision, and the fact is that there is no single decision that will please everybody. The selfishness and entitlement that has been highlighted by this pandemic needs to be forgotten; we need to set better examples for our kids. We need to BE better, for ourselves. 

*We need to advocate for our kids and ourselves, respectfully, in appropriate ways with appropriate people (e.g, loudly complaining to your friends over a glass of wine in a bar about how "the district/superintendent/teachers are insane", is NOT helping your case.)

*We need to establish the understanding that districts are making the decision they feel is best for everyone, not just for you and your family. As I said, there is no one-size fits all solution, here. Whatever is decided upon will hit differently, depending on your circumstances. You're allowed to be happy, mad, or frustrated about it. Condemning the people who made the decision isn't productive. What a great time to show your kids how to handle disappointment and frustration in an appropriate way.

*I've heard many people claim that their status as a taxpayer in a certain district gives them the right to dictate the outcome of this decision. Your tax money supports free access to a public education for K-12 students (which, I might add, is what all of the "back to school" options will provide). Your tax money does NOT entitle you to dictate the specifics of the decision making that happens to create and maintain that education. As a parent or community member, you are absolutely entitled to a voice. When was the last time you volunteered for a school event, or attended a PTO meeting? When was the last time you went to and/or spoke at a school board meeting? Contacted a school board member about an issue you had strong feelings about? Voted "yes" to a referendum? Contacted a lawmaker, elected official, or candidate and told them to fund public education? Supporting public education is a full time endeavor, not one that should be allocated only to times that are convenient for you. If you've never made an effort to support education, either let this be the first step in that journey, or take a seat. 

Learning will resume in the fall; it does not necessitate the four walls of a school building in order to take place. We all want to be back within those walls come fall, but we want to do it in a way that guarantees everyone's health and safety. I think of the many staff members who are high-risk, going home to their own children, or who have the responsibility of taking care of others who are high risk. I think of our students who are also going home to some of these same circumstances, with an elderly or high-risk caretaker or adult in their home. 

I don't have the answers. In fact, I believe there are no good answers in the midst of all of this. Who ever saw us in this situation! What I do know is that the number of acceptable student deaths due to COVID-19 is 0; the same goes for the acceptable number of teacher and staff deaths. We'd all rather see pictures of our kids and staff on the same page as their classmates--not on a page entitled, "In Memory of..."

*There are many factors, questions, and considerations that I did not even brush the surface on, but believe me, the sleep I lose at night involves all of those things, both what is written and what is not. 

Oh, Baby!

This is a post so, so long in the making. And yet, I've waited weeks to write it.

This is what week 16 of pregnancy looks like. Here I am at my appointment this morning. Before I can enter the hospital, I must stop to check in with the nurses sitting in a makeshift assessment station. I am asked questions about why I am here, any symptoms I have experienced, any possible exposure. My temperature is taken. I am directed to choose a mask: small, medium, or large. The halls of the hospital have an eerie feel; they are nearly empty, missing the buzz, the energy that comes from a mix of excitement, anxiety. Although I can't see the expressions behind the masks of the few people I pass, eyes look worried, anxious, somber. In the waiting room, there are signs to indicate where it is safe to sit--not too close to anyone else. At my appointment, I am alone. There is a no visitor policy, under which my wife does not qualify as one of the exceptions, since I am not dying or giving birth. We share the moment we first hear our little babe's heartbeat over Facetime. It's not how we planned that moment, but we also acknowledge that we are lucky--somewhere else in the hospital, a nurse may be facilitating a Facetime exchange for a
patient who is dying, and wishes to say goodbye to their loved ones.

It's a bleak picture.

Even before the pandemic, this pregnancy has been nothing like I thought it would be. I expected great excitement. I expected to feel pregnant at every moment. But for me, many moments of this pregnancy have been colored by the loss of our last one, nearly a year ago. During week nine, just two weeks after seeing baby growing and measuring right on track on the ultrasound, I worked myself up into believing something was wrong. After four weeks of nausea, I wasn't nauseous enough to feel like I was still pregnant. I called the doctor in a panic. They are so so good and kind there. They let me come in to see baby. They completely understood. They said to come back anytime I needed to be reassured.

Before that, there were several weeks of blood work, days apart, to make sure my HCG (the hormone indicating I was pregnant) was rising appropriately. With each number, I was scouring the Internet for what my level should be. The first time, it just barely doubled. Doctor was happy, I was skeptical. The level continued to rise, seeming to be in accordance with the doctor's expectations. I tried to be excited. When the doctor said it was okay to stop drawing levels, I was anxious. How would I know everything was okay?

The weeks pressed on, waiting for our first appointment at 7 weeks--a week earlier than normal, so the doctor could make sure everything was okay. Waiting for the ultrasound at that first appointment, we were quiet, tense. This was the appointment at which, during the previous pregnancy, we found out that there was no baby growing. We asked the tech how this was supposed to go, and explained what had happened last time. She was very kind, and told us everything as we went. Within 5 seconds of the start of the ultrasound, she said she would take a few pictures and then project the screen for us--she could already see baby and a heartbeat. We both cried.

Our next big appointment was week 12. We were waiting for this one so that we could publicly announce our news. We were nervous, once again. Our anxiety only increased when the heartbeat couldn't be heard on the Doppler. They didn't seem concerned, and went to get the ultrasound machine. "There's the heartbeat, that little flicker. There's baby's arms, fingers...and legs." There it was, our little babe, finally looking more like a babe than a bean. We got some new snapshots of babe, and began to plan our announcement. Chelsey was elated; I was still hesitant.

As we entered the second trimester, I waited for the telltale signs that things were okay. You guys, I'm still really tired. I'm still having aversions. I'm not having any consistent cravings. After hearing the heartbeat today, I'm feeling a lot calmer. But not completely.

The fact is that at this point, there is less than a 1% chance that I will miscarry and lose the baby. And yet. We know that things still happen. Things can happen in the second trimester. Things can happen during birth. Or days before. And "can happen" would sound less scary, if we didn't know people who did have things happen.

Last time, I had gut feeling that it was a boy. This time, no gut feeling...and I suspect it's because there is a level on which I am afraid to assign any more importance to something I might lose. Now that we've heard the heartbeat (and I can play the recording on my phone at any moment), I'm hoping that gut feeling will appear soon.

It's taken up until a week or two ago to settle into the idea that everything you hear about the way a pregnancy should go, is subjective. Read the books and articles, listen to the podcasts, carefully. "During week __, you may experience_____."   "Some women will experience _______." It's tricky territory. While I know that when it comes to growing a human, and raising a human, there is always a level of anxiety involved, I am learning not to let it get the best of me.

As we entered the school closure and safer-at-home order, much of my anxiety revolved around a fear that if we lost this pregnancy, the amount of time and money we would have to invest to produce another one, was insurmountable. We used our last vial of sperm to produce this pregnancy. The amount of money we would have to front to get and store more wasn't something we had laying around. Not only that, but with such uncertainty surrounding the virus--and as things began to close--I was afraid that even if I was ready to try again, our doctor's office would be closed, or not doing "elective" procedures like ours.

We have been through so much to get here. It's time to celebrate, not let fear take anything away from these moments. I will listen to my heartbeat recording, anticipate the feeling of little kicks and wiggles, continue planning a nursery, and research the latest and greatest baby things to put on the registry. I am resolving to find the joy and lean into feelings of optimism. As with many things, the plan, and the timeline, are not mine. There is so much I can't control. So I will learn to embrace the journey, whatever may come.

On the Transition from In-School to In-Home Living, Learning

It has been a month since I have seen my kids. 4 weeks, only one of which (spring break) was anticipated. When we first left school, the plan was to be back in session today. Things have changed drastically since that decision was made. And the hard truth is that we may not be going back this year at all.

What a crazy time to be growing a child. Or raising one. Or BE one. 

Sending home kids for any kind of school break isn't quite like you'd imagine. You often hear how thankful teachers are to have a break from school. Check in on your teacher friends the week before Christmas, and somewhere around mid-February--we are not okay! We are drained. Done with endless paperwork and hoop-jumping. We need to recharge. We are ready for some time with our families. But walking away from our classrooms doesn't mean leaving everything behind. We carry our students with us everywhere we go. And we are left with questions, when they aren't with us: Are they eating? What are they eating? Are they being taken care of? Are they safe? Are they left alone during the day? Are they being loved...or abused? 

And here's the kicker: when we know a break is coming, we have time to mentally prepare ourselves. We check in with our kids a little extra, hug them a little tighter, and reassure them that we will be back together soon. But this time, was different. We didn't have the luxury of time and mental preparation. And neither did our kids. My kids cried. They hugged each other. They hugged me. I had a kid lay face down on the carpet for a solid five minutes because he was so overcome with emotion he didn't know what else to do.

I miss my kids like crazy. My heart hurts to be away from them under these circumstances. Early on in this "extended break"/"quarantine"/"corona-cation", I saw this:

And it broke me. 

We were having the most incredible year. I felt like I was in a good stride as a teacher. I felt like I had built strong relationships with students. I was excited about all the learning they had done, and the ways in which they were showing me they had learned, and were eager to learn more. I was excited about the things I had left to teach them. They were getting excited about our overnight field trip to camp, 5th grade recognition, and the transition to middle school. We weren't done yet. 

And now, life looks completely different. 

The transition from in-school to remote learning is not one we anticipated, as teachers. Nor one we feel adequately prepared for. And I can't help but think that this is not an easy transition for families, either. Everyone is trying to find a new normal, but none of this is. This is so much different. Which means that our expectations have to be, as well. Our older students are now taking care of younger siblings, on top of any schoolwork they are being asked to do for their multitude of classes. Many of them are our essential workers, at grocery stores, hospitals, and nursing homes. Our younger kids are dealing with some huge changes in routine, missing their friends, their teachers, and are scared by all the incoming information, which their families may or may not have time to sit down and talk through with them. Academics are not a top priority for kids right now. Yes, I would love to know that they are reading, writing, doing math, etc. But we are in the middle of a GLOBAL freaking PANDEMIC. There are just things that are more important. Kids need to know they are safe and loved. They need structure and routine--kids like boundaries. They rely on them. They need time to connect. With family, with friends, with nature. They need time to move around. To play. To tag, to swing, to leap, hop, and skip. To draw with chalk, to blow bubbles. They need time to be creative. Sing, dance, make music, imagine. They need to take breaks. To learn how to regulate their emotions. To think through a problem. To come up with an idea. 

Parents, there is phenomenon in teaching known as "the first six weeks". The first six weeks of school are spent building relationships, and establishing routines and procedures. Yes, we do academics. But that time is so precious and important--it sets the tone for the whole year. While you have known your children for much longer than that, take it easy on yourselves as you are establishing the routines and procedures for your "new normal"--we are only 4 weeks in. And you're not just settling in your kids--you are settling in yourselves. So be kind to yourselves. Know that whatever you are doing for your kids is enough. Whatever routines you find that work for your family are perfect. You don't need to keep up with the family next door. Or the Pinterest-perfect moms you see posting on Facebook. (Take it from teachers who get stuck in this black hole at the beginning of every school year while we try and set up our classrooms!) You take care of yourselves, and your babies. I'll say it again: Whatever you are doing is enough. And your children's teachers stand behind you. Please take care of our kids :)

A Decade in Review

This decade held many significant changes for me. 2009 was the year I figured out I was gay. I started to realize it in January of that year, and thus ensued some discovery, heartbreak, and growth, which seemed to happen fairly quickly, only to start the process over again before the year was out. I learned a lot more about love—loving others and loving myself—that first year, than I ever had in my five year relationship with my boyfriend. Ending that was a huge moment of growth, as it was the first time I felt I really took control of a situation that no longer served or fit me, and had the strength to say so and walk away. Just over a year later, I met the woman who would, in this same decade, become my wife.

In 2010 I finally let my friend Jake Kulba convince me that I should work at the Wisconsin Lions Camp. I took in my first role as a nursing assistant, and, while I almost talked myself out of going in the weeks prior to camp starting, the moment I stepped foot on camp grounds, I knew I was home. The people I met (Chelsey included) and the work I did (as a nursing assistant, cabin counselor, and CORE director) changed my life. I spent five amazing years on those hallowed grounds, working with some super amazing kiddos and staff members. It was here that I learned ASL, which I largely attribute to Brian Nehls, who taught me all the useful words, and some of the naughty ones. Camp was arguably one of the most significant experiences in my life. WLC provides the camp experience to kids and adults with disabilities (blind/visually impaired, deaf/hard of hearing, ID, diabetic, epileptic) at no cost to families. While I love Disney, I’d argue that Camp is in fact the most magical place in Earth.

Between Camp and college, my mind would be opened more than I had thought possible. College gave me the opportunity to explore my privilege, and meet people unlike myself. This has laid much of the foundation for how I approach life now.

My last year of college and second summer at camp, my dad was diagnosed with mesothelioma. After months upon months of testing and misdiagnosis, the news came in May of 2011, right before I was to start my second summer at Camp. The initial prognosis gave him 8-12 months. My mom said I had a choice to make as far as what I wanted to do with my summer—go to camp, or stay home. My dad was quick to cut in and say, “You’re going. The work you do there is important and I am so proud of you for doing it.” So I went. He spent his summer doing chemo and radiation, doing the best he could to fight the inevitable. Mesothelioma is a terminal diagnosis. I came home in August and started student teaching.

I graduated college in December of 2011. This remains my proudest accomplishment, and the last major event in my life my dad would be a part of.

January of 2012 is a month I’d like to completely erase from my history. Actually while we’re at it, let’s forget the whole damn year. After being given another 8-12 months to live, we lost my dad just three weeks later. There is a strange dichotomy in watching someone you love slip away, wanting so badly for them to stay, and knowing that they are being relieved of their pain, wanting that for them as well. Losing my dad was the most significant and devastating thing that has happened up to this point. It tore me apart. It showed me what true grief was. It taught me that time is fleeting and that I should hold on to moments, because eventually they are only memories.

2012 was a painful year in so many ways. I lost myself. I felt deep pain or nothing at all. I was numb. I felt incapable of happiness, of love, incapable of anything but grief. Chelsey was integral in me surviving that first year without my dad, loving me unconditionally while I decided if I could love her, as I invented reasons to push her away, letting the grief determine and define my entire existence. It would take me all the way until early 2014 to finally decide that she was still the one for me, and there she was, patiently waiting. This is how I learned that love was stronger than grief. I put her through a lot of shit, but she stayed, strong and sure, simply because she loved me that damn much. It still blows my mind, even as I’ve used other opportunities to test her in this decade, and she has remained by my side. Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.

A moment of recognition to acknowledge the loss of my appendix, just three weeks after my dad died. It was my mom’s first day back to work, and she said it was just gas. I think she hates when I tell this story, because she feels guilty, but I have never felt any ill-will towards her over it. I mean, I had Mexican the night before, it was a logical assumption!

In 2012 I accepted my first position in education as a 4K paraprofessional at Elm Dale Elementary School. I explored the world of coming out in the work place, which was scary and has taken years to actually feel okay. One of our favorite stories is that I spent time one day tidying up Melissa Steigerwald’s closet, arranging the construction paper into color order—RAINBOW ORDER—and then later actually came out of the closet to her. I joked that I should have just burst out of the literal closet, paper sorted neatly behind me and just been like:

Anyway, that was probably the weirdest birthday present she ever got.

In February of 2013 I tore my second ACL while playing on an indoor soccer team with some former teammates from my Ladybug days. This effectively ended my soccer playing career, as I was told that if I continued to play I would more than likely tear my ACL again. While I wasn't afraid of that, I knew that I didn't have another 6+ months to dedicate to recovery from said injury. So I had surgery on the ACL, and soon after took up running--casually, at first, but we know where that's taken me. After months of being laid up and not being able to use my leg, I learned to appreciate having mobility. Running felt like a good way to honor that.

In August of that year I accepted a position as a fifth grade math teacher at Elm Dale. I had a really great group of kids, and was thrilled to be the other Wilke in the building. I had a great neighbor and great teaching partners who really supported me as I navigated life as a first year teacher. That year, my partner Nicki McGath, brought to us the idea of coaching for Girls on the Run, which is something I continue to do and am very proud of. It is something that has changed my life as a runner, and has been a great way for me to share that love with young girls, all while teaching them truly important lessons about self love and self worth, conflict resolution, and the importance of lifting other women up. 

The next year, in 2014, I was moved to another school, Maple Grove, for reasons that remain to this day very unclear. The best I can ascertain is that there were other changes that were being made and I was collateral damage. They initially shuffled me into a first grade position, which I was less than thrilled about. I had previously interviewed at MG for a K5/1st position, and was told by the principal, Dana Croatt, that they loved me, but I was truly an upper grades teacher. To that end, when, later that summer she had a fourth grade position open up, she contacted me right away and asked if I wanted that instead. So this is how I came to teach 4th grade, with a great group of kids who I had the privilege of looping with. Prior to starting this position, the love of my life has asked me to marry her, and I asked her back. That summer I also went skydiving for the first time, in celebration of my golden birthday. I was finally in a place where I could feel happiness and love. Life was good.

That second year at MG, I began to feel at odds with the district in the sense that my philosophy about teaching no longer seemed to match. This discrepancy spurred me to take another scary step, and begin job searching. Although Dana no longer worked at MG, she was instrumental in helping me secure an interview in my current district. I can’t thank her enough for that. Leaving the people at MG was hard. My partner, Chris, pushed me and grew me as a professional. I found my coworker Cathy to be my rock, someone who was incredibly familiar with my grief and helped me navigate through it on more than one occasion. Friendships and connections I had started to make felt like a page of a book that was unfinished. But it was time to go.

2016 was an incredibly busy year. I got hired in South Milwaukee in May, spent the summer preparing for my wedding, and searching for a place that we could call home. In the span of about three weeks, Chelsey and I moved into our place, got married, went on our honeymoon, and I started my new job. It was a whirlwind.

My time in South Milwaukee has grown me in more ways than I can imagine. I always kid Rochelle (my teaching partner for the first three years) and Michelle (special ed teacher for my first two) by sarcastically saying, "Thanks for hiring me," because they were in on my second interview, and that first class did not break me in easy! But ultimately, I was glad to be working at Lakeview. The staff was welcoming and kind. The first few months were busy, and with little time to connect beyond a professional level, I was lonely. I began to wonder if I had made the right decision.

In time, I found my people. I found the most natural connection with Kristen, and proceeded to ask her a million questions (as I do, when I'm getting to know someone) in order to forge a friendship, one that soon became my anchor. Through Kristen I met her bestie, Chris, who graciously accepted me into their circle. From here, I went on to make solid connections with more people. My people. My tribe. The people with whom my connection far surpassed just "work friends". As I recently explained to my tattoo artist, I have always been surrounded by good people, people I needed who were there at just the right times. But these people are my people.

This decade has taught me so much about relationships. It has taught me to grow comfortable with the fact that they grow, and fade, and change. That there are different levels to relationships. Not everyone is meant to stay forever, and that's okay; some people are there for superficial reasons, and some just by circumstance. Some people fill your soul like a missing piece. And those, those are your people.

My first year at Lakeview brought me close with Janet, who not only helped me start GOTR at LV, but has played such a huge role in my journey as a runner. Running slowly became a huge part of me, a part that has grown me mentally, physically, and emotionally, as I've gradually taken on bigger and bigger challenges. Janet made me believe in myself, leading by example as I watched her keep showing up and putting in the work. From 5Ks, to my first 10K during the Winter Run Series, to my first half marathon, and later, something I never said I'd do--my first marathon. I have received so much support along the way (again, I take a moment to recognize my wife who gave up a lot of Sundays as I did my long runs, stood in rain and freezing cold at start and finish lines, and became an expert at race chasing so I always had someone cheering for me along the course.) After my marathon not going the way I expected, crossing the finish line and seeing my whole family+ in front of me was incredibly emotional. I fell crying into my mom's arms, a mix of disappointment in my race and gratitude for the support. And there was Janet, who has been my inspiration all throughout. What a beautiful moment.

After a few years of teaching summer school, I knew that it wasn't for me. Through Chris Steigerwald, I was introduced to Laura, who interviewed me and offered me a job at Club Rec. Similar to my work at camp, Club Rec is a therapeutic rec day program for kiddos with disabilities. while Camp will always have my heart, this job has made for several amazing summers.

In 2017, we wanted a dog, but were told no, and got a cat instead. As a kindergartner, we went a field trip to a farm. We sat in a circle on the grass and the farmer allowed us to pass around a kitten. When it got to me, I had no idea how to hold it. It was little and squirmy and had sharp claws, and in that moment I knew that I'd never have a cat. And you all know the story of how, just six short months after getting Huck we ended up with a second cat, Finn. 

I have no regrets.

In 2018 I traveled alone for the first time. I went to Denver, where I was lucky enough to be able to stay with my cousin, Kym. This trip gave me the chance to reconnect with myself, after a period of feeling like I had lost myself in my relationship. I needed to make sure I still had the things that made me, me. Colorado, I love you.

Late 2018 brought the start of our journey to parenthood. In the weirdest moment of my adult life, I ordered sperm over the phone. Then, because I'm only a part time adult, I joked with Roxanne and Cortney, our school secretaries, that I was going to have it shipped to the office. I'm lucky that they appreciate my sense of humor!

Along this journey, we have faced many challenges. 2019 taught us so much. It has brought us to our knees. It has made us strong. 2020, we hope, will make us happy.

Recently, it's been hard to look beyond the last year. But reflecting on this decade, I can see how much I've grown and changed. How much I've been affected by people around me in both big and small ways. Friends, coworkers, family too numerous to mention here. How the me I am at 31 is actually pieces of the me I was at 21, 25, 28, and so on. Life is a beautiful crazy thing.

Cheers to the new year, the next decade, and all that awaits us there.