A Real American Love Story...

Eight years ago today, at around this time, I was getting ready to go out to meet some coworkers for a happy hour. There wasn't anything exciting about this happy hour (most of us were single or newlyweds without kids so happy hour was a common occurrence) but I had no idea that that night would literally change my life forever. That night, I met the tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, Catholic Irishman who would turn out to be the person with whom I would spend the rest of my life.

But let me back up to the time when I wanted to run Mike Milligan over with my car:

Mike and I were working for the same company but in different offices. We were both team managers but, because this city is so big, we hadn't run into each other in person. We had, however, had a few *run ins* over the phone. Also, I should mention that his brother, Matt, was a team manager for this same company in the same office where Mike worked.

Matt and I were both weekend managers and one of the many areas of contention with our former employer was “Territory.” Each office handled a set territory and we were all always warring with each other over who got what work in what territory. One weekend, Matt and I got into on the phone over a territory dispute. That was all it took for me to decide that That Milligan Boy was an ass.

The funny thing is, I didn't even know there were TWO of them. Every time I saw the initials MM, my lip would involuntarily curl up in a snarl. I was convinced this “MM” was a total terd.

I know this all sounds childish but, trust me; this territory nonsense was a big deal back then.

Several weeks later, I had the perfect opportunity to pay back my nemesis and I seized it! That Milligan Boy (Mike this time, not Matt) called me to discuss a territory dispute and I proudly told him that there was nothing to discuss  and disconnected our call. I silently high fived my B%*&$y self and went on about my day. Crazily enough, my behavior didn't make “MM” my biggest fan either.

You can imagine the egg on my face when I found out there was more than one of That Milligan Boy and that my revenge had been visited on the wrong one. But still, they were brothers and if one deserved it, the other probably did too!

So there I was, 8 years ago tonight, getting ready for a happy hour with my office. I wore my standard blue jeans, black shirt, and black boots. As I locked my apartment door and got in my car, I said a prayer that my debit card had enough money to cover the bar tab.

I arrived and started chatting with my coworkers and about half way into my first beer, one of my team members, Adam, walks in with this good looking guy. He was tall, had a friendly face and warm eyes, and was wearing a brown leather jacket. He and Adam headed my way and as he sauntered slowly and deliciously across the room, the sweetest smile locked on his handsome face, I *KNEW* that this was That Damn Milligan Boy.

He walked up to me all cool and collected. Adam introduced me and he stuck out his hand and said “I’m Mike Milligan.” “I know who you are,” I replied and walked away. ‘Ha!’ I thought to myself. ‘I’m so freaking cool. I’ll show *him* who’s still in charge here.’ Lame, yes. I know. I was young and dumb and trying to impress a boy. I probably read that trick in Cosmo or something.

As the night went on, our group moved to another bar and after a few more beers, I found myself chatting it with The Milligan Boy. And as it turned out, he was pretty nice. And even cuter up close without my b*&%h face on.

On a side note, Matt also came out that night and I got the chance to distinguish between the two Milligan boys. I found that Matt was pretty nice too. I also got to meet his sweet and funny girlfriend too (who would later become my sister in law!).  I realized this Milligan crew was kind of a lot of fun and not so terdy as I originally thought.

At some point in the evening, we got to talking about investments. Please don’t ask me how that conversation came up because I’m still not sure. Anyway, so Mike says something about investing and I, attempting to impress this good looking and apparently investment savvy man, say “Oh, I love investing!” His eyes lit up with excitement. “Really?” he asked with genuine delight. “What are you investing in right now? What investments do you have?” Aw, crap.

I blinked several times like I was having a seizure, bit my lip to appear seductive and cute and stammered, “Oh, er, um, I don’t actually have any investments…but I think they’re kind of cool. I’d like to have some…someday (when I don’t have student loans coming out of my ears and finally have money for more than just ketchup and baking soda in my fridge).”

And I should have known then that this man was special because my sweet and gracious future husband just smiled and said “Oh, that’s great!” And he totally let me off the hook.

My new found crush also tricked me that night. A couple of years after we met, Mike was giving a guy friend some dating advice and he said something like “You know when you are ‘in’ with a girl when she buys you a beer.” I scoffed and said “Looks like that didn't work so great for YOU.” “Really, you sure?” he asked all innocently. I had to think back to our happy hour meeting and then I remembered: I HAD BOUGHT HIM A BEER! How did that happen?? How did I end up buying him a beer? He’s good ladies, he’s good. And he was right: I was REALLY into him.

And, okay, I’ll tell this part of the story though it casts Mike and me in an…interesting…light:  After who-knows-how-many beers, we kissed. A lot. And he was the best kisser I had EVER kissed. True story. Still is, folks, still is.

At the end of the night, he asked for my number and said he would call me the next day. I wasn't sure I believed that but I really hoped he would.

That night, as I drove home, I felt happy and excited. I didn't have any feelings of *knowing* that he was THE ONE or anything like that. I just felt happy and peaceful and like I had just had a great night talking to (and, er, kissing) a really great guy. I really did hope he would call but I didn't want to get my hopes up.

But hope is what Mike Milligan brought into my life that day and he’s delivered on his promises every day since. 

The next day, as promised, my phone rang. I said hello and had my very first phone conversation with the man who became my very last boyfriend. 

How to Fail

Today I had the pleasure of talking to a soon-to-be-new dad. I say it was a pleasure because it truly was wonderful to hear him talking about some of the things he is worried about or prepping for in anticipation of his child. I was reminded of my own concerns before The Boss Lady was born, of Mike’s concerns, and of our concerns now. Concerns about whether or not we would be able to cut it as parents or whether or not we are raising this crazy monkey child to someday be a productive member of our human society. The thing is ALL parents: expecting or currently on this roller coaster ride, have concerns about whether what we are doing is right or wrong.

But here’s what I told this Dad To Be and what I tell myself so frequently it’s becoming a little bit of my mantra: There are crackheads all over the world having babies and most of them turn out just fine. If a crackhead can do it, so can I.

Okay, yeah, I know. I shouldn’t set my standards so high as a crack head. But here’s my point--often times in this parenthood gig, you don’t even have to do it “right.” You just have to do it.

And, oh yeah, here’s the big one: You have to care. You don’t have to get it “right” every single day but you do HAVE to give a crap.

You don’t fail when you feed your toddler ravioli for the third night in a row. You don’t fail when you forget to change your kid’s diaper for 6 hours. You don’t fail when you open a door, not realizing they are standing RIGHT THERE, and slam their head into it. You don’t fail when yell or lose your s&*t because they haven’t let you get a good night’s sleep in 2 months.

You fail when you stop caring. Those parents who people look at with a raised eyebrow, you know THOSE parents, those parents stopped caring. They stopped being present in their kids’ lives. They stopped waking up every day with the attitude that it was time to get back on the horse and try it again.

I feel like I have this “get back on the horse” conversation with myself every other day. I have it so often that I wonder if my “horse” might actually be one pissed off bull because it bucks me off so often. And that’s totally okay. If I was a neurosurgeon and every day I went into surgery and my patients came out brain damaged, well, then I MIGHT want to consider permanently dismounting the horse. But parenthood isn’t like that. You can screw up A LOT and still go back after it the next day. And your kid will be so happy you did. There’s no HR department here keeping tabs on how many times you screw up. Thank goodness for that too because I would have been fired months ago for excessive foul language and drinking on the job.

Kids don’t have that same tally sheet us grownups do. They aren’t keeping track of every time you blow it. They aren’t holding a grudge against you for all of your wrongs. Kids care about being cared for, being loved, and knowing that their parents keep trying to do their best. They’re so much more resilient than we give them credit for. In their tiny little bodies God has given us a glimpse of His own grace and His ability to forgive us our wrongs and love us despite of and because of our flaws.

I should know. I screw up a lot.

See, I come from a family of Yellers. My dad was a Yeller. My mom was a Yeller. Whenever any of us got upset at something or each other—we yelled. Sometimes I yell without even being totally aware of it. Sometimes I’m not even that upset but because I’m a Yeller, someone who doesn’t know me might think I’m royally ticked. Lucky for me, I was blessed with a kiddo who’s either deaf or isn’t fazed by my antics. Often, after I’m done with a rant, she’ll just sort of look at me like “Blah, blah, blah, Mom. Have another drink.”

And though this is a little embarrassing, I’ll admit that there have been times when I really snapped at or yelled at Olivia and I felt AWFUL afterward. I felt/feel so terrible and sick about talking to my child in such an ugly manner.

Here’s where I believe the defining moment is though.

Have you ever had your feelings hurt by someone who just would NOT or never did say “I’m sorry?” It sucks. It is the worst feeling to know that someone has hurt you, whether they meant to or not, and didn’t even have the give-a-crap to apologize.

So, when I screw up, I kneel down in front of The Boss Lady and I say, “I’m sorry I acted like that.” And that’s it. I don’t say “I’m sorry but your behavior caused it,” or “I’m sorry but I was having a bad day,” or “I’m sorry but ANYTHING.” I don’t have a “but” in my apology. The thing is, the apology isn’t to explain what SHE did wrong. It’s to atone for what I did wrong.

And for all of the other little things us parents can get all twisted about: the type of school they go to, the amount or type of food they eat, friends they’ve made or not made, clothing and where it came from or how much it costs, potty training to late or too early, talking/not talking, sleeping (or not), rewarding good behavior or punishing bad, fit throwing, daycare or no daycare, whether or not they are enrolled in enough “programs,” etc., etc., etc.

I just take that queue from Lady Loco. I watch her to see if SHE is happy and healthy and developing at a rate that is healthy and good for HER. A very good friend of mine once said something that I thought was brilliant and it was shared with her by a “veteran” mom.

My friend and I were talking about daycare/school for young kids and she was saying that she really would like to be at home with her kiddos and sometimes had mixed emotions about how long she was away from them during the day. And this other veteran mom asked her this, “Are your kids HAPPY?” To which she had to answer “Yes.” And the veteran mom explained that that was the important thing. All of the guilt and the worry about whether or not we are doing the right thing is going to be something we just have to work through.

One of the biggest compliments I have ever gotten about Oli came from her teacher at school. When we went for her Parent/Teacher Conference in September she said that from the moment she met Oli she knew that she was “very well parented.” I sort of looked around the room for the people who were responsible for that and then I realized, “Oh, wow, that’s US!”  

I try to make it a point not to worry too much about whether or not I’m good at this gig. Some days I’m just not. That’s what wine is for. I kid! I kid! Kind of. I do have those days when I’m sobbing and telling Mike I should just go to some secluded island because Olivia is better off without me screwing things up all of the time. Really though I think that stems more from my need of an island vacation and a fantasy about laying on a lawn chair with unlimited pina coladas.   

Some other days I feel like I have knocked it out of the park…okay, so maybe like 3 days in 2 & ½ years I’ve felt that way, but STILL! I do have good days—even if I can only count them on one hand so far. And for the most part, I have quite a bit of confidence about the job we’re doing with Olivia. She’s a great kid. And if we’re not doing it right, she can always cash in her college fund for therapy. Or get her own reality show (Honey Boo-boo, anyone??).  

I think The Boss Lady’s going to turn out just fine though. I can tell by the smile on her face each day and the way that others love to be around her. Mostly, I can tell in the way she lights up when she sees me each morning when she wakes up and each night when I get home. That light in her eyes lets me know that she doesn’t hold a grudge for my earlier transgressions, that she loves me as I am, and that it’s worth it to get back up on the bucking bronco each day—even if I just get thrown off again. 

Mama Bear

I have officially become one of those moms who corrects other mothers’ children at playgrounds/jungle gyms/the grocery store/etc. And I’m not one bit ashamed of it. Because what I’m starting to realize is that there are a lot of moms out there who just don’t give a crap about their own child’s behavior. As long as their kid isn’t terrorizing them, they really don’t care that Junior or Pretty Princes is busy peeing in a corner or pushing other kids or taking toys away from smaller children. And to those moms, I’m just gonna say it: You suck.

Now, if you are reading this blog, you probably aren’t one of the moms I’m talking about because most of the readers of this hopefully-someday-world-renowned site are my friends. And I don’t have sucky friends.

So, why the sudden rant? Here’s why:

 Yesterday Mike and I took Olivia to one of these indoor play places that seem to be in every strip mall around here. This one is an “indoor safari park” and it had jungle gyms and a train and these mechanical jungle animals that the kids can ride. Luckily (or so I thought), there were separate play areas for the little kids (ages 2-4) and the big kids (ages 5-10).

Now, Mike and I are probably a little tough on Olivia in the sense that we watch her every behavior when we are out (and at home for that matter) to make sure she’s behaving—being polite, not taking toys away from others, waiting her turn, etc. For all of The Boss Lady’s rambunctiousness, she’s actually got a very sensitive and sweet spirit. She’s the kid who’s always helping others in her class if they are uncomfortable or sad. She waits her turn and if another child takes a toy from her, she just lets them have it. She is not the aggressor and this is the one area of her personality I can definitely say she got from Mike and Mike alone. This is something I adore about my husband—that he has a big heart and can shrug off most things. He’s firm without being pushy and he’s earned a lot of respect from every single person who meets him because he is so easy to get along with. I am proud that my daughter has inherited this from him. I am…well, I’m a little more of a firecracker. Let’s just say that. Loveable, but fiery.

So anyway, we’re standing beside the little kid jungle gym watching Olivia navigate through the slides and ball pits and she slides down the slide and is coming out of the ball pit and she comes face to face with this really cute little boy probably just a couple of months younger than her. I think, “Oh good, she’ll make a friend,” as they stood there just staring at each other like toddlers do. I had seen this kid and his mom around the place earlier and his mom was sitting just a few feet away chatting with a friend of hers. And I watch this super cute little boy bring his right arm back behind him, swinging it forward, and landing a kidney shot on Olivia’s left rib cage. So I ran over, gave the kid a roundhouse kick to the head, put him in a triangle hold, and choked him out. The end.

Okay, not really.

What I did do was walk to my sweet girl who was now in tears, kneel down beside both of them, and say to this very cute future serial killer/sociopath, “Sweetie (Butthole), we do NOT hit other people. That is not a good way to express yourself.” He looked at me contritely and I followed up with, “Now you need to say you’re sorry.” “I’m saw-wee,” he said and moved to hug Oli. Olivia grudgingly hugged him back and we went to find another activity.

This is what the scene looked like in my head though (I thought out posting a pic from the internet but I’m not sure if that’s a copyright issue so you’ll have to endure my incredibly artistry):

And The Future Unibomber’s mother NEVER EVEN STOPPED CHATTING WITH HER FRIEND. And I KNOW she saw what happened and she saw me kneeling beside her kid and my kid bawling and she didn’t even  say a word to her own kid, to mine, or to me. Now, if I saw another mother having a chat with my child, I would go over and find out what was going on. And if I found out that Olivia had purposefully hit another person, I would pull her pants and panties down and I’d bust her ass right there in front of God and everybody. I’m serious. That’s intolerable.

I know that there is a certain age where kids hit. Olivia went through a phase around her first birthday where she would hit me. It was almost like she was just trying to figure out how she could use all of her new-found mobility. And a couple of months ago, when she pushed that line again and hit me, her pants were pulled down and she got a swat on her behind. Because at this age, she knows better. Or at least we should be well on the road to that understanding. That is the ONLY behavior in our house that gets a spanking. We do NOT hit or cause harm to anyone or anything purposefully. Period. And this little boy was old enough to know better. And if he wasn’t, his mother should have stopped her gabbing for 2 flipping seconds to come over and teach him better.

But it doesn’t stop there. About 30 minutes later, Olivia is jumping on this trampoline thing and the little boy comes over and Oli immediately moves away from him and points and says “That boy hit me!” We assured her all was well and that everyone could play together nicely. No sooner was that assurance out of our mouths than Little Mussolini walks up to Olivia and moves to hit her again. But this time, she moves out of the way before he can make contact. So he pokes her in the face! The face!!!  Well, Mike didn’t see that first incident but he sure did see this one and he yells “HEY, KID! BACK OFF!” I mean, really it was a little jarring.

If my scene with the kid looked bad in my head, here’s what Mike’s scene looked like:

 As I mentioned before, my husband is an incredibly kind soul. So for him to get upset enough to call down another child that sternly it had to be pretty bad. I mean, some little terrorist just hurt his little girl for crying out loud. I’m not gonna lie—I felt a little proud. And then I realized that if we stuck around this insane kid we’d end up on an episode of Cops or something because sooner or later I was going to confront the woman who didn’t care that her spawn was creating chaos for other children. We walked away from that area and found another place to play. I kept my eye on the little devil though and watched as he threw balls at and hit other kids. And still his mother sat gabbing on about the latest sale at My-Son-Is-A-Future-Puppy-Kicker Kids’ Consignment or something like that.

Sadly, this is not the only incident we’ve had where Olivia has been injured by another child.

When she was about 18 months, there were several biting incidences at her school. About every other week, she would come home with a note saying she had been bitten. Then we got a note saying she had been bitten on her face. For real. I nearly came unglued.

 See, I’m not as kind hearted as my other half. I may live in the ‘burbs now and I may throw a party with Martha Stewart-esque vibes, but I’ll get Trailer Park on your ass before you know what hit you. And that instinct was fired up when my kid came home looking like she had been hanging out with Hannibal Lecter. After that incident, I sat down with the director, we had a chat, and a few things got changed at Oli’s school.

This August, just 2 days before her 2^nd birthday, I got a call from her new school saying that she had been pushed by another kid off of a play fort. When I went to pick her up that afternoon, she couldn’t walk. I mean that literally. She could not put any weight on her right leg. We went to the ER, x-rays came back negative and we were told it was probably a muscle strain/sprain and would just have to heal on its own. We had a gym party scheduled for her just 4 days after this incident and I knew something wasn’t right when my normally boisterous kiddo didn’t want to take part in the festivities. After several more doctor’s visits, calls and a full month of watching The Boss Lady favor her right leg, we found out her leg was broken. And had been the entire time. A month in a full leg cast later, she was healed and back in action.

If you have never seen a kid (especially a two year old) in a cast, let me just tell you: it’s heartbreaking. And when it’s your kid and it’s because SOMEONE ELSE caused it, it’s just infuriating. I’m glad I don’t know which kid it was that pushed Oli but I sure hope his or her parents saw my child limping into the school every day with her bright pink cast and a huge smile on her face. Okay, okay, I know that the kid didn’t intend to break Oli’s leg but it was still so sad and upsetting and I cannot tell you what kind of heartbreak it caused for Mike and me. It was really sad and hard to take care of such a young child in a full leg cast.  

See??? Really, really, REALLY sad. And cute. But sad.

Shortly after the cast was removed, we were at a Chick-fil-a play place and an older kid decided Olivia wasn’t moving fast enough down the slide and pushed her off. I was up and out of my seat, flying over to the two of them before I really had my wits about me. “HEY!” I screamed, putting myself in check as I knelt down beside the two. I looked the older boy in the face and explained that he didn’t need to push younger kids or any kids for that matter. The little terd just shrugged his shoulders and started to walk away. I grabbed his arm, turned him back toward me, and said, “No sir. You are going to listen to me,” as I further explained how he needed to be careful when playing around others.

Again, a situation where his mother was sitting RIGHT THERE and never said a word.

Folks, I am just baffled by this. I know that parenting is hard and exhausting and sometimes you just want to let your kid run free. And as long as they aren’t bothering YOU, well then, sorry to the suckers who are getting terrorized by them. But that’s not the right way. I am not an expert in this gig and I certainly do not deign to give out parenting advice but this is right up there with letting your kids drink beer and smoke cigarettes. It’s just not right.

Mike and I have had the conversation a few times now about how to teach Olivia proper self-defense. In a way, we’d like to just teach her to go all guerilla warfare and just take out anyone who lays a finger on her.  But I don’t WANT that kid. If I have to choose between the kid who is causing harm and the one who is being harmed, I’d rather have the kid who is being harmed. Weird to think about, I know. But I would be mortified and horrified if I knew Olivia was causing harm to someone. She’ll survive being bullied a little. I certainly did and so do millions of kids every year. The kid who is BEING the bully though…well, I don’t know who that kid ends up being.

And look, I understand that some kiddos just have behavior issues and I know there are lots of parents out there who are dealing with those kids and trying to work through those issues. I applaud those parents for continuing to try to teach those kids how to have better behavior.

 However, those parents  who just sit by and let their kid do whatever they want…well, I don’t have any problem trying to teach your kid if you won’t. Cause when someone hurts my kid, I’m worse than a mama grizzly bear. I’m a mama bear who’s just a little bit trailer park. 

Sometimes I forget

Lately, I’m a little worn out. A lot worn out. We’ve got some sleep stuff going on that I was going to share with all of you because, well, you know what they say: Misery loves company. And we are just coming off of the holiday madness and well blah, blah, blah. Bottom line: Parenting a toddler takes a lot of energy.

But then tonight I got a note that made me think about some other stuff. It made me think about what my life used to be like BEFORE Lady Loco moved into the asylum. Sometimes I completely forget what my life was like before Olivia. I feel like I have known her my whole life. I’ve grown and changed so much, Mike and I have grown and changed so much, that it’s hard to imagine our life WITHOUT her.

Sometimes I forget what it was like to have NOTHING to do after work. I forget what it’s like to come home with no plans for dinner and Mike and I just look at each other and say “Want to make some nachos while we figure out what we are going to do for dinner?” And then we’d have a beer and nachos. And that was really dinner.

I forget what it was like to be able to get up an hour before I needed to be somewhere (instead of 2 ½ hours minimum). I forget what it was like to be able to shower and blow dry my hair without stopping to get juice or help turn on/off some toy. I can’t remember the last time I took a crap without someone on my lap or singing “The Wheels on the Bus.”

I forget what it was like to be able to go a movie when I wanted or to eat dinner at a place that doesn’t have a kids’ meal that comes with a toy. And it’s a good thing I’m a master multi-tasker or I wouldn’t ever be able to converse with my husband over dinner with the constant interruption from The Boss Lady.

And the list of things I’ve forgotten goes on. My life has changed in ways I NEVER could have imagined. And I would be a big fat liar if I said that I don’t occasionally fantasize about my life BTBL (Before The Boss Lady). The “me” in that life is well rested with perfectly blow dried hair, a house with windows absent of tiny hand prints, caught up on every new release movie, and enjoys a cocktail on a patio somewhere that serves only fabulously exciting food.

The note I got tonight reminded me of that “Me.” Only, that note reminded me that my Fantastical “Me” is a bunch of crap. I mean, sure, I may have been more rested but taking a crap has never been more entertaining since I started singing “The Wheels on the Bus.”

Sometimes I forget that all of those times that I was doing all of those things that my glasses depict in a rose colored hue, I was looking forward to a day when I was serving up peanut butter and jelly while talking to Mike about the upcoming weekend’s birthday parties and folding tiny pairs of Dora The Explorer underwear.

My life BTBL was complete in the sense that I totally took advantage of the life phase I was in but I always *knew* in my heart that someday that completeness would look empty without the addition of a Mini Milligan. I *knew* that I was called to motherhood. No, I didn’t spend every waking moment waiting for it and I thoroughly enjoyed my life without a kid but Mike and I would always talk about our future with one. We would talk about what our family vacations would look like or what kind of grandparents we’d be like.

And never once did it occur to either of us that our future might never happen. That note tonight reminded me that for some, that future doesn’t happen. For some, the love of a future baby never comes to fruition.

I’m not talking about choosing not to be a parent. That’s different and I actually totally support couples who choose it. In fact, I have a great respect for people who just know their calling is not that of Parenthood.

I’m talking about those folks who have the same life Mike and I did BTBL. The same life where they laughed and loved and did what they wanted to always *knowing* that someday they’d be looking at a little person who was an extension of them. And then it just never happens. Unfortunately, Mike and I have known a few couples for whom that is a reality. I am completely and utterly heart broken for them. And I never know what to say or what comfort I can possibly bring. I don’t even know where to begin to offer comfort to those couples.

Without getting into lots of dirty details, I’ll just share this: creating a baby was very easy for Mike and me. I remember being SO excited that first month of actually trying to make a baby. I remember taking that first pregnancy test, hands trembling, heart racing, trying not to get pee all over my hands. I remember seeing that it was negative and just feeling…DEVASTATED. Yeah, dramatic, I know. One whole month and I was crushed that it didn’t happen. And then the next month, on a stick covered in my own urine, I saw the words that would change my entire heart and soul.

We had talked about what it might be like if we hadn’t been able to have kids. We *think* we would have worked together to work through and to try to live our life fully as just the two of us. But the reality is that I have NO idea how we would have handled that. If I was that devastated and that excited after just one month of “trying”, I cannot imagine month after month of that stupid stick not yielding that symbols or words that my heart so wanted to see. I cannot imagine years of that. I cannot imagine the toll it would take on my emotions or my body or my marriage.

This short note I received tonight reminded me of a life I’ve already forgotten and I needed that reminder right now. I was reminded that my life BTBL was fun and full of doing what I wanted but it wasn’t always perfect. Just like now, I had good days and bad days. Days where I was frustrated and anxious. Days where I was bored. Days where the joy in my heart made me feel so fulfilled. And I had days when I dreamed of someday looking at a tiny face that Mike and I made together. A tiny face that looked like us. In my life BTBL, I really, really, really wanted the life I have now.

And I was reminded that sometimes I take this life for granted. I forget that for many it does not come easy if ever at all. When I do that, when I take this incredible gift of Motherhood for granted, I know that I’m slapping that gift in the face.

Look, I’m not saying I feel guilty or bad for having had a child so easily. I don’t feel guilty for the days that I sit in the midst of blocks and goldfish crumbs and think “I wonder what’s going on in Vegas right now…” I cannot help that there are bad days in this gig and I know it’s natural to let my mind wander back to the days of BTBL.

What I am saying is that my reminder note tonight made me think about how I do have a duty to see past the bad. I have a duty to my fellow mothers and especially to those friends, family, and acquaintances who may never have the opportunity to go on this incredible journey. Sometimes I need to take a break from my fantasies of spending Saturdays laying on the couch watching Lifetime movies and be reminded of how ALIVE my Saturdays are now with birthday parties, park visits, play doh creations, and books about caterpillars and bunny rabbits and tenacious pigs aptly named “Olivia.”

I love my life with The Boss Lady and I would do NOTHING to change the course that our life has taken since her. It’s been an incredible journey so far and I can only imagine the wild ride we still have ahead of us. And when I think of a life WITHOUT her, I feel sad and lost and like a piece of my soul might never have existed had I not met her. If something happened to her tomorrow, I would still feel SO INCREDIBLY BLESSED to have known this child. I would not trade a day of my life with Olivia for any amount of time eating nachos and drinking beer and sleeping in.

I had an opportunity tonight to really remember my old life without any rose colored glasses. I had an opportunity to remember why Mike and I wanted so badly to add to our family. I had an opportunity to remember and reflect on the incredible ass kicking that motherhood really is. Beyond tonight there will still be minutes/days/weeks that I am frustrated with this gig (hell, there will probably be one of those moments tonight!). But because of that note tonight, I got a reminder of the blessing this journey is and it’s a reminder I will not so easily forget.