You guys, Q is awesome. There is some third-baby-magic stuff happening over here. He eats when he is hungry. He sleeps when he is tired. He laughs so hard he gives himself the hiccups, and then his hiccups make him laugh, which makes me laugh and pretty soon the two of us are laughing so hard that we look like crazy people. His pancreas works, for now (more on that later). He is always happy to see me. His needs are concrete and his problems are solvable. I swear, he understands me in a way I have never been understood before. He is my buddy, my buddy who just wants to nap and cuddle. It is so much good, an island of good in a rough sea of big, hard things, a respite that I so desperately need. 


His birth was fast and furious and before T1D, I would have had a lot to say about it. I might have more to say later, but in the weeks that followed, the play-by-play of November 19th has grown fuzzy and inconsequential. I do remember that one minute I was waddling down the hallway being admitted and the next minute (no, but really, like the next minute), he was here, ushered into this world by an indomitable midwife named Felicia, who at the moment of truth, locked eyes with me, told me to close my mouth and bear down. He weighed over 9lbs and other than some initial issues with low blood sugar (more on that later) was the picture of health. In the past three and half months he has grown and bloomed into the most reasonable human I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I am so glad that he is here. 

Starting a Village

Enough is enough. I'm starting a village.

This is hard. The days are long and sometimes the nights are even longer. I often wonder how other people are doing it. I think the short answer is, they aren't. They are faking it, just like I am.

I'm done faking it. I'm inviting people into my messy kitchen, pointing out the junk drawer. I'm inviting them to join my village. Because, that is what is at the root of the isolation and the loneliness of modern parenting, we are all hiding our messy kitchen, our four year-old's paci, our bag of Doritos.  Our shame is the barricade between us and our chances at community. 



There are a handful of people in my life that are already in my village, the people who say yes when they can, the people who call on me for help, and I treasure them. They know all about my messy kitchen, and have invited me into theirs. But I seem to run across, on a daily basis, people who are too busy judging to help, or people who are too busy hiding to be helped.

Enough. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. My house is never as clean as I want it to be. My clothes are all shoved into random drawers. There are always dishes in my sink. We currently have an old Star Wars bed sheet tossed over the TV because we told O it was "broken". I bought O and P a snack pack of Keebler cookies each at the grocery store the other day, just so I could drive the last fifteen minutes of my day in peace. I am often short tempered, usually when, in retrospect I realize, they needed my kindness and patience the most.

If you can live with all of that, then I am inviting you to join my village. Come be beautifully imperfect with me. Come try your best and enjoy the successes and failures that comes along with it. Come have dinner in my messy kitchen. Come share a bottle of wine on my back porch. Let's parent together. Let's share the load. 

The only rules: help when you can, and remember everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about, so be kind.

Oh, and I might ask you to watch my kids for a few hours every now and then.

Now accepting applications.