Well the dishwasher and my family survived my absence while I was at BlogHer last week!
Val and I had so much fun meeting everyone and showing off our "baby," BonbonBreak.com. But, boy it's been over a week and I'm still tired. My feet have yet to recover. I forgot what it was like to wear heels all day.
This mom/work thing is not for the faint of heart. I haven't had to straddle two different worlds before. When my husband and I had our children I had the opportunity to leave my job and completely immerse myself in the mom role.
Now, not unlike an actor who joins a new cast after spending years on one loved and familiar show, I have to learn a whole new role.
Will I be able to cut it? Can I recreate myself at the age of 46?
Funny enough, these were the same fears that I had when I started on my motherhood journey 13 years ago.
With this new chapter of my life opened and waiting to be discovered, it seemed like the perfect time to re-visit a piece I did last year after Joe and I had the chance to get a way for a few days last March.
This piece was originally published on the dishwasher March 13, 2011 under the title, "No Place Like Home." It is by far my most visited post. Thanks for letting me go back in time.
For a few days this week, I visited a place I haven't been in years... NoKidLand.
For four nights I slept in a bed with my husband with no
children trying to sneak in between us. We even had a chance to share a
kiss without anyone claiming we had emotionally scarred them for life.
No one woke me at 4:30 with a box of cereal or requests
for toast, with butter. At no time did anyone spit their food in my hand
or give me a half eaten apple to throw out for them.
It was heaven. It was blissful. It was the life my husband and I shared for almost six years.
We lived in my favorite place in the world, New York
City. Although our one bedroom apartment wasn't large, it was on the
26th floor. I could look out my window and see the lights of the city,
and it always thrilled me.
My husband and I had only ourselves to worry about. We
took long walks on Madison Avenue or through Central Park on weekends.
If we wanted to go to a movie or out to dinner we did. We had no
responsibilities beyond our jobs and our cat.
Funny thing though, as much as I enjoyed our life, I
wanted more. I desperately wanted to go to KidLand. I would look
enviously at women who pushed baby carriages or were obviously pregnant.
Manhattan is famous for beautiful shops filled with
designer clothing, jewelry and shoes, but I would walk past the trendy stores and instead drool over the baby
shops, the maternity stores, the toy stores.
When three years into our marriage I found out I was
pregnant I was overjoyed. I felt as if I was given the keys to a world I
always wanted to enter. Our apartment barely had enough room for our
cat, my husband, and myself, but I started planning for where our new
baby would sleep.
I even took a certain amount of pleasure from having to
throw-up while walking down a city street with my husband. We were going
to have a baby.
When at 10 weeks we found ourselves at our obstetrician's
office looking at a sonogram with no heartbeat, I was devastated. I
still remember the day I had my D&C. My husband and I praying
together in a small room that tried to be homey with dried flowers which
only seemed to remind me that nothing was alive anymore.
Lying on the operating table, the anesthesiologist asked
me to think of something happy. I started to cry because the only thing I
could think of was a beautiful baby and a nursery. My doctor looked at
my tears, and sensing what I was thinking, quietly said, "Kathy, think
of a beautiful beach on Hawaii."
Three more times I would have the joy of seeing a
positive pregnancy test only to be devastated two or three weeks later
when those pregnancies ended as well. Why me? Why us?
After a little more than a year, four miscarriages,
and infertility treatments, my husband and I deiced to end the baby
dance. We started to research adoption. We had recently moved to a house
in Queens, and the room we had painted blue for a nursery started to
seem like a good place for a guest room.
Imagine our surprise when only about a month after ending
our fertility treatments we were back in the office looking at a strong
heartbeat. We were pregnant!
Each week, I held my breath as the doctor would do an
ultrasound and each week I would leave the office feeling exhilarated. I
promised myself I would enjoy every minute of my pregnancy and every
minute of motherhood. Morning sickness, heartburn, and dirty
diapers were the things that dreams were made of.
Three kids and twelve years later we are as far into
KidLand as we can be. The chaos of the morning routine, the seemingly
endless trips to the pediatrician with a sick child, and the bouts of
tween attitude seem like a small price to pay for the other wonderful
things KidLand offers.
The wet kisses my five year-old gives me. The look of
pure pride on my special-needs daughter's face when she shows me the
outfit she dressed herself in. Or the quiet conservations my oldest son
and I have over hot chocolate and coffee before school. I love the whole
messy package and am grateful for each day.
I would be lying, though, if I didn't admit
that sometimes the memories of my old life call to me. Especially when
I remember eating a meal in peace or taking a shower without someone
asking me if I've seen their shoes.
And, it was lovely to be in a hotel room with my husband
and know that nobody was going to knock on the door and ask what we were
doing in there. To feel free to read, go for a walk, or deep condition
my hair.
NoKidLand was a wonderful place to re-visit, but, I am so glad Kathy doesn't live there anymore.
As always I thank you for your constant support of me and my dishwasher!
