Now, I know its not New Year’s Day or anything, but who says I can’t have a moment of reflection in the middle of June? I’m in a good spot, but my journey has been seasoned by so many life changes that happened to cram themselves into this past year that I feel like I could be about 10 years older. I feel like I’ve turned the page into Part 2 of the story of my life. My twenty-something free-spirited, city-dwelling, triathlon-seeking, day-dreaming, Starbucks-addicted, well-rested, fun-oriented, occasional bar-hopping foodie former self has transformed into a wife, a mother, an almost 30-something list-maker, with a full schedule, a truck load of responsibility, and a HUGE lack of sleep. Now don’t get me wrong, some things haven’t changed- I still have Starbucks in hand, gorge myself on any food I can get my hands on, and I’d like to think I still have hints of “fun” and “free-spirit” sprinkled in there somewhere…but life has changed. Who’s hasn’t?
If I could put all those little life-changing moments into a concise ridiculously long blog post, this is what it would look like.

Last June started as any other. I found myself blowing out candles at a sunny backyard celebration of yet another year past. Except that this time I was almost 9 months pregnant and getting ready for the arrival of my first born. I felt at peace, feeling relieved that I had made it to full term without complications, but realizing (with increasing fear) that somehow, this growing human had an exit strategy, and that it was imminent. Oh boy.
I forged ahead, scared shitless, tired, excited, and hormonal. I washed laundry (I can hardly believe I accomplished this task, of all things), and folded tiny onesies into neat piles. I organized my condo, cleaned every square inch, rearranged furniture (just for the pleasure of it), and packed my bags. I crammed my work schedule to somehow fit my last NINE 12-hour shifts into a stretch of like, 12 days (what was I thinking?!), and I prayed that everything would be OK.

And it was. I worked my last shift on a crazy, full moon kind of NICU day- short-staffed, full board, babies everywhere. I waddled up and down stairs to resuscitation rooms, admitted twins all by myself, stuck myself with a needle and wound up in the ER. I was pumped full of meds, drained of blood, and sent back to the NICU to finish out my shift. I cried. I felt contractions, ached all over, and dreamt of maternity leave. Somehow I made it home that night, but something was changing. The following day was Friday. I was 39 weeks, and at the end of the day as I finally laid down to get some much-needed sleep, I went into labor. No need to hurry though, it was still another 24 hours before I finally met my beautiful baby girl, but she was definitely worth the wait…and the crazy last shift, and the lack of sleep, and a million needle sticks…if that is what it took for her to arrive healthy, and happy, and wonderful.

July was a bit more blurry. I was stuck in a new mom fog, trying to figure out how on earth to find myself amidst the cloth diapers, poop, spit-up, baby books, and toys littered around my condo. I moved from the recliner, to the bed, and back again. I lived in a 10 x 10 box. I was lucky if I showered. I wanted so badly to be one of those jogging stroller moms running around Green Lake freshly showered with a happy sleeping baby. Well, I wasn’t one of those moms, and my baby was not one of those babies. So we bonded over our inability to achieve those goals and hunkered down until we both figured out to how to be functioning humans. Through that fog came happiness, and amazement at my new world. It also came with of bit of sadness. My dad underwent surgery and radiation for throat cancer, and inevitably entered the long, painful journey of fighting a terrible disease. Though he has prevailed, watching him endure so much pain was terribly frightening- you never think that one day you will be taking care of an ailing parent. But we endured together, and learned entirely new definitions of strength, and family, and love.

As August delivered a nice heat wave and final rays of summer sunshine, I finally started to find my stride…and we traveled! With a newborn! What were we thinking?! We found ourselves in California to visit the Douglass/Gonsalves blood lines, and show off our little one. I am so glad we were able to make the trip, but I would urge other new mother’s to think twice: you WILL be exhausted. And boy, were we ever! Between our family time and my sweet nephew’s 1st birthday party, we found ourselves at the ocean for Gilli’s “first dip in the Pacific” milestone. What a treat!

As fall approached, I tried to savor my final moments of maternity leave, and prepare myself for yet another new role: working mom. When I walked through the NICU doors for the first time in 3 months, I realized, in a whole new light, just how much motherhood had changed me. I am a different nurse now than I was before. In no way do I think that having a child or not having a child makes someone better or worse at their job, but for me I feel different. Watching new families holding their little ones, waiting to see that single moment that someone becomes a parent for the first time, watching sweet babies take their first breath, or their last…each one of these moments sends me to a different place than it did before. I feel more connected. It feels more personal. I am more emotional. I have found this new window of passion for what I do…and I feel a stronger drive to make a difference in each one of these babies’/mothers’ lives. This, I have discovered, is a breath of fresh air, for it makes each of the moments that I have to be away from my own child that much more worthwhile.

Winter took us to the suburbs. Wait…what?! I know. I didn’t think I would end up back there. But, when you get married and have babies, decision-making stems from practicality, and much less from spontaneity. On a positive note, I am not yet driving a mini-van (I’m still too cool for that). But inevitably, I’m sure that’s coming for me too one day. My days of being a young and cool mom are surely numbered. What I thought I wouldn’t say here is how much I enjoyed our little suburban rental. It was so cute! With flower boxes and a white picket fence, and a huge private yard full of roses and blackberry bushes and a firepit. We painted a nursery and bought a crib (this might have been 6 months too late, but we got it)! We got cable and a king size bed, and we started shopping at Costco. We started to enjoy all of life’s little luxuries. And just like that, I realized my baby was growing up.

It was about the time that the crisp cold air of winter subsided and the flowers started to bloom that my sweet little infant started to explore her world, and her boundaries. I blinked and then found her standing up at the bathtub, all by herself- her little naked bottom looking as cute as ever, but lacking the fat baby rolls that I loved so much. She started cruising the furniture in double time, and couldn’t wait to take off on her own.  I happened to be working the day it happened, the day she took her first real steps- she was only 9 1/2 months old, and I was absolutely heartbroken to miss it! But when I walked through the door that evening, she took 12 steps over to me, and I cried and melted, as any proud mama would.

Throughout the spring, I found myself once again navigating new territory- toddlerhood. Since G decided to meet her milestones early, I was once again ill-prepared for her endeavors. Baby proofing commenced, I got back in shape (solely due to chasing said toddler), I finally started to get a bit more sleep, and for no good reason, I decided to try my hand at planting a garden. Now, like anything else I seem to get involved in, I was in way over my head.  We planted a huge assortment of vegetables and flowers, and worked day in and day out to get everything ready, and watered, and nourished, and we grew evermore excited about our upcoming bounty. Sadly, our success rate wasn’t stellar, but despite our shortcomings, we learned many lessons- particularly that you need to aim a lot MORE time and dedication toward a garden than we were actually capable of doing at the time, and that next year, our garden will be tiny. Regardless, we had a lovely spring- watching our garden grow (sort of), walking to the park every day, swinging in the hammock on warm afternoons, and dancing to the hip tunes of Caspar Babypants and JJ Heller. I baked pies from freshly picked rhubarb, and started to reminisce about all the little amazing moments I managed to squeeze into the year.

This month, we celebrated my first baby’s first birthday. How does that even happen? I’m amazed at how beautiful she is, and how sweet and nurturing and smart she is becoming. I’m amazed that we made it through this first year, and still feel somewhat normal. Somehow, even when you have no clue how to be a parent that first time around, life kicks you in the butt and you get through each day the only way you know how, and when you sit down and look back, you realize that you really were OK all along. This amazing miracle of a human we created is a real person now, and she has her own thoughts and dreams and ideas. I now realize that although I may be her mother, she is my teacher- and I am honored that she will be the one to guide me through this amazing little journey called parenthood.