Motherhood

 It's no secret that being a parent can be difficult. We are made aware that there will be sleepless nights, temper tantrums, illnesses, bratty attitudes and so on. When we embark on our parenting journey, we concoct an idea of what kind of parent we'd like to be; whether that be the opposite of our parents, similar to them, strict, easy going, a health nut, a softy- you name it. Then, we become parents, and nothing goes according to plan. 

And that plan keeps changing right along with our children. 

Sometimes, the most difficult part of parenting is letting go of the parent you want to be, and becoming the parent your child needs you to be. 

I feel like I peaked as a parent when my girls were younger. Cuddling and reading was my motherly love language, and most things could be fixed with a snuggle and a good picture book back then. I also felt like this was when I was the most active with them; visiting multiple playgrounds, libraries, zoos, Toe Jam Puppet Band (if you know, you know), doing all the crafts. Until one day it all just seemed to stop. 

They read books on their own. My oldest became repelled by my affection. Crafts were no longer fun. Playgrounds were for babies. 

They started doing more on their own and with their friends, and after years of (admittedly) being more of a helicopter mom, I felt like I had no idea how to parent my growing daughters anymore. What comforts one doesn't help the other, and so the mother I had always been and told myself I would be could no longer fit in a one-size-fits-all package. So now, not only am I learning how to navigate a new level of motherhood as they grow up, but also trying to be two different versions of that mother so I can accommodate their separate needs. 

Some days I feel like a failure. Like there's not enough of me and the versions of myself I need to be to go around. My little one still loves to cuddle, play board games, have dance parties, and play pretend. She can turn on the water works at the drop of a dime, but is easily soothed with a long hug or affirming conversation. So, at times, she's "easier" to parent because this is the version of myself I am most familiar with. My oldest, however, would probably request payment if she were asked to play a board game with us, acts like she's allergic to hugs, and the only pretending she does is putting on one hell of a happy face when opening a gift she doesn't care for. 

It's a struggle, because I have to be two moms; one that's always prepared to cuddle and soothe and play, and another who needs to give space and have long talks and guide. It's a struggle because it's different...because it's change - and change challenges us. 

But we also grow from challenges, and my biggest challenge right now as a mother of a 10 and 13 year old is to let go of the mother I want to be - or think I "should" be - and let my kids guide me to be the mother they need. It's okay for kids to be the teachers and parents to be the students sometimes. When asking my girls what they need, how I can help, what sounds fun, I learn. I shift my parenting. I adjust.

It breaks my heart when my teenager is emotional and won't let me near her. It sucks when your suggestions for activities are met with a dramatic eye roll. It hurts to look back at all the things we used to do together that are no longer cool (despite their tattooed and pierced mom being a willing participant). I was prepared for dirty diapers and obnoxious strollers and restaurant meltdowns. I was not prepared to feel like I am losing little bits of them so early. 

I thought the younger years were so much more consuming, with all the parks and play dates to keep them occupied and out of the house for a bit. But now, listening to the tween spew off Stranger Things facts for hours on end or listening to the teen's latest Hot Topic fashion dilemma has me wondering when the hell we got here. There's a quote I'll never forget reading, that said something like "one day, you went outside to play for the last time and didn't even know it" - THAT'S how this feels. I had no warning they'd outgrow playgrounds or feety-pajamas or freaking hugs. I also had no idea how much I'd have to outgrow things about myself to better accommodate their needs. 

I miss fuzzy pajamas and picture books, but I am learning to adjust to my (sorry for saying it) new normal. My teenager and I have the  L O N G E S T  talks, share chapter books and Netflix shows, have a mutual love for chocolate and coffee, and are trying to find common ground with our needs - because I just want to hug the shit out of that girl all the time and she'd rather live in a bubble (so long as it contained her guitar). As for my little tween, I am forcibly trying to slow down time by simply appreciating her littleness; watching her play, letting her occupy my lap, wiping her tears while she lets me. 

So maybe I didn't "peak" as a mother when they were babies and toddlers, but I'm having a hard time convincing myself of that when it feels like you give and get so much less as they grow. For now, I will keep splitting myself in two - or so it feels - to hug one more while I hug the other less. To be fun one minute and calm the next. To keep learning and growing right along with them. I may miss those squishy baby faces and the simplicity of one-size-fits-all motherhood, but I definitely don't miss diaper bags and car seats, so I guess I'll take it. 

Us

 I could write about our love story all day long. Because it's so random, because no one thought it would last, because we were so young, just because. 

18 year old Lauren and 20 year old Eric had never met until we went to Providence Rhode Island with friends to a dance club hilariously called Club Hell. I was with the most random group of girls from high school, and technically had a boyfriend at the time. When Eric asked me to dance, I said yes despite funny looks from the rando-group. I remember him being a "respectful" dancer, keeping his hands appropriate unlike most guys in clubs. At the end of the night, he caught me outside and asked for my number. My friends couldn't believe I gave it to him, hence said boyfriend, but I was young and he was nice. When he texted me with his, I added him to my contacts as Club Kid Eric.

At-the-time-boyfriend found out about this little number exchange, and decided to save the number himself so he could be a macho-man and give him a ring. When Eric received the call, he was on a playground with a friend at the beach in Fairhaven, MA - a place I had never heard of and never knew I'd one day live. Eric, being all macho-man himself, responded to the call by saying that if he were keeping his woman satisfied she wouldn't be handing out her number. 

So that was that. Onward with said boyfriend and goodbye to Club Kid Eric.

Fast forward one year later, boyfriend and I break up. I was in Maine with two friends, planning our next Club Hell excursion. Young, immature Lauren always needed to have the next move in play, so I thought "what are the chances?" and scroll down my contacts to Club Kid Eric. I said something along the lines of "Hey, you may not remember me, we met last year at Club Hell; I'm the one who's boyfriend called you...anyway...heading back to Providence this weekend with friends and wanted to see if you wanted to meet up". Little did I know, he was in a relationship and his girlfriend had his phone when this text came through. His response was a short "Sorry, I have a girlfriend". Damn. Delete.

Life moved on. Rebound Lauren found someone new, and Eric and his girlfriend broke up. He also deleted my number, but his break up sparked an interest to contact me. He had to go through old phone records to find it, and succeeded. By the time he messaged me I was in a relationship, but we found each other on AIM (if you know, you know) and social media. He got back with his girlfriend, and I got pregnant, but we cordially stayed in touch; especially when I was up all hours of the night with a newborn and he was working late shift electrical jobs. 

When the time came for me to admit that I was unhappy in my relationship, I confided in Eric. He actually encouraged me not to leave (which he now jokes was reverse psychology) - because he believed families should stay together. But my happiness was important not only for myself but for the mother I would be to my daughter. I left.

Soon after, Eric started asking to hang out. I was an ass about it. Or a good mother. I told him I was not ready for a relationship, that I would not ditch my daughter to hang out, that meeting up would mean going for a run, or joining us at the playground. Cue our first "hang out" where he drove the hour and a half to my mom's house, after my daughter was asleep, where we drank Mike Hard Lemonades and ate all the food my Italian mother had spread out for us. No running. No playground. One super awkward teeth-clanking kiss goodbye. 

Playground hangouts ensued, where I told him the next person I officially dated would be the one I'd marry. I was ashamed of myself for having a child with someone I didn't want to spend my life with, and wanted any "dating" I did to really teach me about what I wanted and what I could give. My famous line to Eric was "I am going to go one 100 dates before I commit to someone" - I agreed to be his girlfriend two weeks later. 

No one thought it would last. That there was no way a 23 year old Eric would be tied down to someone with a baby. That this was just another rebound for Lauren. Dates continued to be trips to the zoo (Eric's first birthday gift to my daughter), stroller walks, at-home dinners. 

Then Lauren gets pregnant again. Even through two forms of protection, it happened. This turned a new, fun relationship into an "oh shit, do we really want a life together?" (I'm painting such a lovely picture of myself in this story, aren't I?) A few days after working up the courage to tell our parents, I started bleeding. The pregnancy was ectopic and I had to have emergency surgery to remove it. I'll never forget calling Eric into his Mom's back bathroom where I discovered the bleed; he went to sit in his Step-Dad's office, in the dark. When I went to check on him he had one thing to say: I want to marry you. 

This was just four months into our relationship, but being forced to make the decision of whether we were together for a pregnancy or together for love made us realize the ladder. Eric went to my Dad's house to ask his permission and receive the ring my Grandmother had left me, and less than a year later we were Mr. and Mrs. Dorschied. 

I have to admit, to everyone that told us we didn't know what we were getting into, that marriage is a life long commitment that can't be based simply on love, that it takes endless hard work - you were right. We had to learn through some hard years exactly what that effort meant, and we are so lucky we did. 

Looking back on all of this is absolutely wild. Club Kid Eric, who I met at age 18 with a boyfriend, who I gave my number to on a whim, is now the father of both my beautiful daughters, and providing our dream life in North Carolina. We always say that if there was ever a meant-to-be, we are it. If we don't work out, it doesn't exist. If one of us didn't go out dancing that night, if I didn't give him my number, if I never reached out a year later, if he didn't go through those phone records...

12 years together today, and I wouldn't change one thing. 

12 Years Ago

 

I remember this day so clearly. I was sitting at an oversized dining room table in my very first apartment, having made the tough decision to leave Lyla's biological father. So many feelings of guilt and failure plagued me. Though my pregnancy with Lyla was unplanned, and I was so young, I wanted to make it work. I didn't want to have a broken family, I didn't want to be a cliché, I didn't want to be judged. I remember telling my dad, randomly, on his back deck while Lyla splashed in the turtle kiddie pool. I put on such a good show of happiness that he seemed blindsided by the news. 12 years ago in that apartment, tears streamed down my face with each friend or family member I told, and sweet 10 month old Lyla crawled up to me, cuddled me, and gave me her binky. I was sad for her, but in that moment I also knew I was doing the right thing. 

Her father was not mean, he was not negligent, he wasn't a bad father. He simply wasn't the one. It took 9 months of pregnancy and 10 months of Lyla's life for me to see that the happy ending I desired would not be with this man. I had moved out of my childhood home at 19 to gain independence with my new family, and moved in with my mom at 20, new mom, lost. I don't remember how I told her bio-dad, but I do remember standing in Lyla's nursery with him, staring at her perfectly hung, tiny articles of clothing, us both crying. No matter how unhappy you are, it sucks to hurt someone. Even worse when that hurt means breaking up a little family. His hurt turned ugly and cruel, but that first night Lyla and I settled into my mom's condo, I knew it was the right decision. I could breathe, and she was happy. 

As I reflect back on that time 12 years ago, I am proud. What a messy thing to have to do at such a young age, but even that young, I knew that the best mom I could be was a happy one. I deserved that, and so did my daughter. When Eric came into our lives, they changed forever. My marriage is the thing I am most proud of. We work hard, we love hard, we have fun, we work things through; what an example to set for our daughters. An example I could have never given if I stayed with someone else for the wrong reasons. A love I would have never experienced if I never left. I'm here to thank that young, scared, but strong new mom from all those years ago because her decisions are the reason my life is so blissful today. 

I could have let the embarrassment of what others would think or say get the best of me. I could have continued to post a fake happy life on Facebook and deeply yearned for more every single day. I could have "done the right thing" and marry that man for the sake of a baby, and came pretty darn close. I could have kept telling myself that he doesn't hit me, that he financially supports us, that he's a good person, but man - am I glad I didn't. I had every excuse to stay, and I didn't use a single one. My girl and her binky, 12 years ago...we changed our lives by choosing happiness. 

F*!# Comparison

I was initially going to post this as a Wellness Blog but it ended up being more of a "Lauren's Story" kind of vibe. So here we are. 

Freaking comparison. It can be a good tool in some instances, but for the most part it makes us feel like shit and prevents us from accepting and loving who we are, how we are, and where we are. 

As a new-to-competitive-running 9th grader, I had no idea my running form was different. I had never seen myself run in a video or mirror, and my funky-form was never pointed out by parents or peers. I found out in a hurtful way when I overheard my coach telling other teammates I ran like the Scarecrow from the Wizard Of Oz. I still didn't know what that meant, other than that I was, in some way, different. I noticed it "for real" by watching my brother - who has similar wonky form - run by me one day. I remember asking my dad if that was how I ran, and he said yes, but that mine was slightly worse. Great. The good news was that the fact that my hips rotated in a way to create a windmill-like leg kick-out made me pretty damn fast. The bad news was it also caused me to be constantly injured. And also, fuck that coach for not even trying to help me in the slightest way. Anyway - I think this was my first taste of true comparison; beyond wanting to buy Abercrombie because everyone else was, but wanting to change something about my body. I started noticing everyone else's legs that didn't bow in or their feet that didn't angle out. I noticed their beautiful running strides that didn't cause them hip or knee pain. I got so down on myself that I relished in every slight "injury" I had and didn't finish a single Cross Country season beyond 9th grade. 

I got back into regular running after having babies, and mostly forgot about my windmill legs - perks of not being able to see yourself when you run. After a short time, running became something I truly loved and relied on, and so when people did notice my stride and decided to comment on it, I realized I had a choice: quit once again, or own it. I chose the ladder. I will be the first to introduce myself to you as "the one that runs funny", and even though there are still times I wish I were different, or times I get insecure meeting new people to run with, or feel that hurtful sting when people point it out to my husband, it's me. And it's how I was born and built. (I wrote my college essay titled "Born To Run, Built To Break"). The only way I am able to keep up with running is by letting go of comparison, because it won't change a damn thing. And thank goodness I did, because running has brought me some of my absolute best friends. 

Onto lifting. CrossFit bodies are AMAZING. I could watch badass women lift serious weight all day, totally in awe of what their bodies can do. Years ago when my husband started CrossFit himself, I was smacked with some serious insecurities I didn't know I had. Society had always told us to be thin, and this born-runner nailed it without effort. But suddenly my thighs that didn't touch were nothing compared to these other muscular masterpieces. An injury prone, lanky runner was not made for CrossFit, despite dropping into a few classes with the hubby. Having a funky running stride but still being able to run was one thing. Not having thick thighs or any upper body strength and not being able to do something totally sucked. I wanted so badly to be a part of this kickass world that I started lifting on my own and insisted on calling myself a "CrossFit Dabbler". Not even close. Sure, I was lifting, but hella light weight, super slow, and no where near CrossFit status. I'd look at what others were lifting, or how often, and feel terrible about myself once again. Damn comparison. But, I loved the way I felt when I lifted. I loved feeling myself get stronger. I loved the way my body looked with the miniscule amount of muscle I put on. And so once again, I had a choice: stop lifting because I would never be a CrossFit girl with a CrossFit body, or simply do what I could. I am no where near the PR's of some of my badass friends or influencers, but I'm also so much further than when I struggled with an empty barbell. Shutting out comparison and focusing on the body I was given and it's abilities - even the limited ones - has been freeing. 

Letting go of comparison in these two situations wasn't easy. But it was so worth it. Accepting myself in my own fitness world has spilled over into so many aspects of my life, allowing me to live in an intuitive manner. When you feel good about yourself and the choices you are making, you are a better person - trust me. I am kinder to myself and in return kinder to everyone around me. These are two examples of oh, so many, where comparison can be evil and dictate your life if you don't shut that shit down. So I'm here to say hey, I'm Lauren, I run funny and love to lift weights. And I hope you conquer any comparisons you are struggling with, because we will never be anyone but us.