Hello, March!

I can't believe March is here. It's been a hectic 2016. It doesn't seem possible that we're three months into the year. It's starting to warm up in Arkansas. Beautiful flowers are blooming. Delicate green leaves are appearing on the trees. And I get married in just a few short weeks. MARRIED!

After nearly 13 years of single life filled with being alone at times, dating and being independent and self-reliant, I'm starting a new chapter. Really, it's a continuation of an 8-year commitment - I met the man I get to marry back in 2008 - but there's something about marriage that is special. Right?

Today I brushed the dust off my blog and gave it a makeover because in just a few short days I will change my name. I've looked forward to getting a proverbial giant can of spray paint and violently covering every sign of the last name I have used for the past 15 years, but now that the day is almost here I am a little hesitant. I kept this name after divorce because it's not my ex's last name. It's my son's last name. And part of me doesn't want to change that. 

We've talked about the name change around here for a while now. Just when I start to get excited about signing a new name, I feel sad. I don't want my son to be different from me. And he doesn't either. I can't even believe something I've looked forward to for so long has become this hard to do. 

I still have a few more days to get this straight in my head and heart. And I have a million things to get done before the big day. Maybe I should buy a can of spray paint and see if that helps. :)

It Gets Better

Today is an awesome day for me. I've had several crappy, God awful ones, but today rocks. Today I turn 37. I'm so very grateful. And thankful. My 36th year was filled with so many ups and downs. It was kinda awful at times. But today is different. Today marks a brand new beginning to a fresh new year - one where I'll marry my best friend (in six months). One where I get to live life more fully and to its maximum potential. 37 is gonna be grand. I can already tell.

Today I've heard from my family, friends, coworkers and acquaintances with wishes for a great day and year ahead, and I can honestly say that my heart is full. The blessing of a scary, awful medical experience is that you feel so much more completely whole in moments where you are so fully blessed. You don't take things for granted as easily. Life is truly a gift and you feel blessed to be alive.

If I could tell you one thing as you get ready to go through your DCIS journey, it's this: it gets better. You WILL feel better. If you are in pain, it's gonna pass. If you are uncomfortable because you have to sleep on your back, you WILL get to feel comfy in your own bed again. If you're scared about upcoming surgeries or procedures or test results - you'll get past it, and you'll surround yourself with a rockstar medical team who will guide you through it all. The crappy day you're having right now - the feeling that you're not "yourself" - the days when you are sad or angry or scared or uncertain. All of that DOES pass, and you'll feel better. One day you will.

There also could be speed bumps and twists and turns in the road. Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better. What if you get test results that change the diagnosis? What if the journey of fighting cancer must be repeated later down the road? What if things actually get worse? That's certainly a possibility too - for all of us. There are no guarantees, and I'm not naive enough to think that everything always works out in the end. Life is full of uncertainties and ups and downs. It tests your faith and your convictions. It always seems like you've either just gone through something, or you're in the middle of something, OR you're just about to go through something. That's life - no guarantees. Sometimes the news sucks. But I'd like you to consider that you are strong and that you will find a way to get through it, no matter what it is. And - God willing - once you're through it, you'll feel like a brand new person.

I'm at that place today where I can finally say that I am happy. I didn't know if or when I would get there. I've had many crummy, awful days. Days where I didn't think I could motivate anyone with my words here because I couldn't even motivate myself. It sucks.

My wish for you as I blow out my birthday candles today is that you'll soon get past this icky, awful time too, and that it will get better for you fast. I'm here to say, it gets better.

Twelve Years

I can't count the number of times I was told how fast time flies for a parent. I heard it many times. Each time I was focused on the moment and didn't care to consider beyond it. No doubt I was rushing around to keep up with my schedule or worrying about the ups and downs of life. And I was remembering how long it took for me to graduate high school and finish college. Perspective is certainly dependent upon age. In 2003 it certainly didn't seem like time was quickly passing, as a tiny baby boy was in my arms. 

Now here we are - 12 years later. Twelve. If I hadn't been there for every moment of it, I simply would refuse to believe it.

Twelve years ago at this very hour - 11 p.m., I was just arriving at the hospital in Northwest Arkansas. The arrival of my one-week-past-due baby boy came without any fear or fire drills. The signs that he was coming came very calmly while I was in the restroom peacefully at home. I could not have planned it any better. In my estimation it would have happened at an embarrassing moment. While I was at work perhaps or in the car. There was certainly no need for the plastic shower curtain I had been sleeping on top of, strategically placed underneath my bed sheets. Thankfully. I was terrified that I would be speeding to a medical facility in extreme pain, panic and terror. Fueled by dramatic television portrayals of how it happens, I had convinced myself of the worst possible scenarios when I imagined the day. Thank goodness that was not the case.

No, in fact, it couldn't have been a calmer arrival. I called my doctor to ask if I should come in. My water had broken but nothing felt any different. Nothing was really happening. I wondered - and even asked - if I could just sleep at home and come in when it was closer to time. The medical professional told me it was best to come in. So I did. 

I calmly got there. Checked in. Got to a room, still calm, and still not sure it was even time to be there. I spent the night of January 13, 2003 in the hospital room where I would meet my baby boy the next day. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Too nervous to sleep. With the help of some medical and pharmaceutical support, I became a mom the next morning. 

It blows my mind that earning the title of "mom" requires no qualifications or prerequisites. Sure, you have doctors and nurses who make a few fast suggestions before they send you off on your way to figure out how to care for a child back at home. But when it really comes down to it, you're on your own. I have learned every single day. And I continue to learn. I am in no way perfect, but I trust that I am perfect for my son. I believe that God's plan is a perfect one. I trust that He knows exactly what He is doing. I've been a single mother for all but those first 5 months of my son's life. That didn't feel perfect when I was living it. That certainly wasn't how I pictured things. Though painful, it was absolutely the plan. Better things were coming. A happiness that I hadn't even considered was possible. And it was coming, years down the road. And I would be a better mom if I was on my own. In fact, I am.

Now I can see that I trained for this role my entire life. God gave my son one of the bossiest and most independent moms in the entire world. One who could handle the path. Shakily at first, but eventually with confidence and certainty. I was made for this. Was it easy? No way. I definitely could not have done it without the support of my family that first year. But I did it.

I often have said out loud that every year of motherhood is better than the previous one. First you have a baby. That's cool. But then all these awesome milestones start to happen. Then words. And sentences. And questions. And conversations. And before you know it there's school. And activities. And martial arts. And band. As we approach the teenage years I hope the trend continues. May I always find more joy and appreciation year after year. 

Just as I felt 12 years ago, I don't feel prepared to raise a teenager.  But I am certainly up for the challenge of figuring it out. Bring. It. On.

I get six more years to figure out how to prepare a young man to be his best self in this great big world. Only six more years before college, career and hopefully adventures and a wonderful life of his own. But the world isn't easy, or fair. I pray that I'll be guided to make the right decisions along the way as I help him be the very best grown-up that I possibly can.

Happy birthday to my sweet, sweet T. I love your laugh, your blue eyes, your quick-witted sense of humor and tendencies to start random collections. Your appreciation of music, movies, television and technology makes my heart smile. I love how you value family. I love your ability to adapt and see the possibilities ahead. I love you, baby boy of mine. Happy 12th birthday. 

Love, 

Mom