Life as usual

I'm actually thankful to report that there's nothing to report! Life has been pleasant, happy, and good. We stopped house-hunting, divorced our realtor, and focused on what matters - us.

I have a good balance (for now) going on between work, home, friends, me. One thing I've been repeatedly thankful for is my healthy, happy daughter. I heard one of the doctors talking about putting a 4 year old on a diet. A 4 year old. It blew my mind. An obese child. Every kid I know runs around all summer and wants to be outside come rain, hail, or snow. I watch Lilah gobble up carrots and hummus, broccoli, asparagus, basically any fruit, and gulp down water and coconut milk. Her appetite seems insatiable, but she eats like she moves - constantly. Don't get me wrong, my kid asks for cookies for breakfast and cake pops nearly every day of the week. The difference is, she doesn't actually get them. She's been denied suckers at the doctors' office (yes, the one I work at) for being naughty. She's thrown fits over desired cakes or cookies, but she still doesn't get them. As we speak, I'm watching her "sneak" around the corner (in full sight of me still) and scoop hummus out of the container she was asked to put away. Straight into her mouth. Our eyes meet.

"I'm just tasting it, Mama." Raised eyebrow. "Well...you said it was good for me." Touché, little bird.


We were eating dinner tonight and she started completely scarfing down her baked vegetable chips, so we made it into a teaching point.
"Are those good?"
"Yeah! I like them!"
"I'm glad, babe. It's good that you like them. But do you know what happens when we eat food we like really fast?"
"What, Mama?"
"We don't get to enjoy it. It goes straight down into our tummies and skips our tongue. And our tongue is what helps us taste food. So we eat it, but we don't enjoy it."
"I want to to enjoy my chips, Mama!"
"I do too. Let's practice slowing down, okay?" And we did. Took small bites, chewed well, swallowed. She beamed at me.
"It tastes better!" I smiled back. "Can I enjoy a cookie?" It's hard not to laugh when she tries so hard to be crafty.


While out and about, Lilah has been more often making use of what I've been telling her since she could speak. She asks questions faster than I can answer them, so I always tell her, "Tell me what you see." I like forcing her to observe the world around her. And she notices everything. In the car next to us today: "What's that girl doing, Mama?"
"Brushing her hair, it looks like."
"What kind of a girl is she?"
"I'm not sure, sweetheart. I don't know her. What kind of a girl does she look like to you?"
"A smart girl. You know why? She's a smart girl because she's makin' her boy drive." Sure enough, the male companion was driving. I'm not sure what that says in light of feminism, but she knows I dislike driving! I'm thankful every day for our wonderful family, our private rituals, and our happy summer evenings together. There's nothing terribly exciting going on lately, but after the "excitement" last summer, I'm happy to revel in the mundane.

Brave

Lilah Rose and I had a mother-daughter-date. We have been giddily looking forward to the premier of Brave for over a month. Dano opted out. I was just hoping to make it through one Pixar movie without crying. On the way to the movie, we went over the ground rules of the movie theater - 1) We don't ever scream. 2) We don't ever run away. If Rules 1 or 2 are broken once, she gets a warning. If broken twice, we go home regardless of how much more movie there is left. She told me she understood.

She was jumping up and down and squealing while we were still in the parking lot. Flocks of other little girls made their way inside. I guessed they weren't on their way to see Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. Lilah made friends with pretty much all of them.

Once inside, we picked up our tickets (which Lilah insisted on holding) and made our way to the concession counter. She only gets to go to a movie once every couple of months, so we go all out. She got her kid pack of fruit snacks, lemonade, and a tiny bag of popcorn in a happy meal-esque cardboard box. She asked me to carry her tickets so she could carry her armload of snacks and try to find Theater 14. At least 4 people told me how cute she was with her pile of treats as big as she was and her blonde pigtails.

Lilah sat through at least 30 minutes of previews while munching on popcorn and emitting shrieks of commentary. "MINIONS!" "What's a vampire?" "I want to see a movie about a Princess now."
"That isn't about a Princess. What is that, Mama?"
"The Hobbit, baby. When we're done with Ramona, we can read that story book."
"What is that?"
"It's Gollum."
"Can we see that movie?"
"Absolutely."

The traditional Pixar short was La Luna, a beautiful animation of a little boy on the moon.  During the actual film, she was fine.

 Lilah had only two instances of leaving her seat, both to use the bathroom. The toilet seat was too big and she was scared to use it so changed her mind. The second time, I was a bit insistent that she at least try. She tried to gesture with her hands just how much she did not want to use the giant toilet, when she fell in. Our eyes met and it was understood that she would not be using the theater toilet anymore.

Back in the theater, she crawled into my lap, cradled her lemonade, laid her head on my shoulder, and we watched. The movie was unexpectedly lovely. It was primarily about the relationship between mother and daughter so it was great for us and our girls' night. The headstrong teenager just wants her mother to change so she can have her own way and live her own life. In the end, she has to teach, grow with, love, and protect her mother in order to fulfill her destiny. She realizes that her mother spent her whole life loving and believing in her. Princess Merida risks everything to repair the bond that was broken between her and her mother. Lilah and I nuzzled our noses at the same time and she poked at me for the tears on my face. I have cried in the past over movies like Whip It that portray a strained mother-daughter relationship, but they were always tears of anger and bitterness. These were tears of love and happiness to have my sweet daughter. All the old bitter sting is gone from my life, eradicated as if it were never there in the first place.

There was a mother this week whose 21 month old son was dying in the hospital. Rather than accept gifts and flowers, she asked everyone to go out and make a memory with their child. Feed them a banana split for dinner. Do something fun your kids will remember. We took Lilah out yesterday and gave her ice cream for dinner. We talked about how she was blessed to be a healthy little girl with a strong body and doctors who take good care of her. It was difficult to explain that some children were born without healthy, strong bodies and they don't get better when doctors try hard. We were giving thanks for our healthy girl and sending good, happy thoughts to all the children who were sick. Lilah kept calling it our blessings dinner. Ice cream because we had blessings. I ignored the judgey looks from our server when I asked him to bring ice cream before our food and just took comfort in having my family happy and healthy. I know there will be moments when she's angry at me, hates me even. But I'm hoping that like Merida in Brave, she realizes that everything I did, I did for her. Even when mistakes were made and I regretted harsh words, I always loved her more than anything. She's my miracle girl.

Pure joy

It all started with a movie.

Lilah and I were scanning HBO Go for something new to watch. I saw the movie Ramona and Beezus. My mind flashed back 17 years.

There was a kindergarten open house at Pansophia in Coldwater. My brother Zachary was talking to the teacher, along with my parents. I don't remember where Nicholas was. I just remember feeling mentally weary. I can't remember why. Weary down to my bones at the ripe old age of 8. There'd been a fight of some sort in the car on the way over. Maybe I was weary of the fights.

I was wandering around a classroom when I spotted several cardboard boxes full of chapter books. There must have been a sign or something indicating they were free. I remember falling to my knees and going through every single one of them. Touching. Smelling (nothing smells better than a worn book). Reading dust jackets and backs. I lit up like a firefly and the rest of the room melted away while I lost myself in choosing as many new books as I could carry. For whatever reason, we weren't a library family and there weren't a lot of books in the house aside from those meant for small children. That night would be the start of me building a sizable personal library. I left feeling alive again, reading something magical and sympathetic to the woes of childhood by Beverly Cleary. That library was very tragically lost to me when I moved out at 17. In the dorms in Ohio I didn't have room for any books or the time to read them, and when I moved to my own apartment in Nashville I wasn't allowed to take anything my parents bought me. While this did not include most of my books, there had been so much fighting over the subject I didn't take them. I painfully regret that choice now. The magic, beauty, and escape my eyes had been opened to that night when I was 8 changed my life forever. What began with Ramona and Beezus evolved into Great Expectations and Robinson Crusoe into The Lord of the Rings and The Scarlet Letter into 1984 and The Song of Ice and Fire.

Fast forward to 2012 and movie night with my 3 year old daughter. I looked at the title Ramona and Beezus with doubt. Should I take the risk of letting any film with Selena Gomez ruin a precious childhood memory? As my offspring wriggled and fussed next to me ("Moooovie Mamaaaaaa!") I resigned myself to disappointment and called out, "Play Ramona and Beezus." The Kinect did my bidding and we settled in to watch.

After the credits rolled, Lilah clapped in my arms and I hastily swiped away about 45 tears that had sneaked out of my eyes like jerks. The movie was the perfect portrayal of a precocious, imaginative, often-misunderstood child in a world without facebook or cell phones. Lilah Rose asked to watch Ramona and Beezus literally every day (this request was not always granted) until HBO took it down. She and I went to the Ferndale Library and I took her to the fiction section. I have to admit, when I handed her a well-loved copy of Ramona to check out, a few more sneaky tears escaped my eyes when her beautiful face gleamed and she hugged it to her chest.

I was astonished that a 3 year old was even interested in a chapter book with hardly any pictures. Almost every week night, we've spent 30-60 minutes snuggled on the couch reading 30+ pages of Ramona's life. I can ask her questions after we finish or even the next day, and she'll answer me. I know she's comprehending it. The only reason we stop each night is bedtime's insidious approach. We were at a garage sale today and I found another Ramona book in a bin. She squealed, "Ramona!" with bright eyes. She clutched it tightly in one hand and held a dollar in the other, handing it to the girl selling the books. When they couldn't make change, they handed the dollar back to her and said the book was hers to enjoy. You'd have thought she'd won the lottery. Or whatever the preschool equivalent of winning the lottery happens to be.

When Lilah Rose was having a bad night a few days ago, she put her head in her hands (dramatically of course), sighed, and looked up. "I'm frustrated. I just want to feel happy, Mama."

Don't we all, little one, I thought. "What makes you feel happy, pumpkin?" She considered carefully.

"Daddy does. And you do. You make me feel happy." We've spent the 2.5 years since this child started talking trying to get one point across to her - we can meet her needs better and faster if she uses words to tell us how she's feeling in lieu of shrieks and wails. And 9 out of 10 times, she does a truly spectacular job for a 3 year old. We are lucky parents to have so little guesswork involved when it comes to what she wants. I told Dano just the other night, "Even when we have terrible nights, the fact that she answers 'Daddy and Mama' when we ask what would make her happy says we're doing something right. Not toys or candy. Her family makes her happy, and going to the park and reading her books. She's great." Nothing brings me greater happiness than reading Ramona to Lilah for an hour and having her sad to go to sleep because she's caught up in a story. She could have grown up wanting to play sports or video games, and she still might choose to try those things. If she does, she'll be amazing at them. But the fact that she chooses to lose herself on Klickitat Street at such a young age brings me nothing but pure joy.

Lilah, Illuminator

For any of you who haven't seen The Book of Kells on Netflix, you should. Lilah has been enthralled with the film for well over a year now. The premise is Ireland during the Dark Ages. The Vikings were invading, the "North Men". A young monk named Brendan lives in the monastery of Kells. His uncle the abbot is determined to protect the monastery by building a wall around it, rather than fleeing for safety as residents of the other monasteries have done. Brendan is forbidden to leave Kells or venture outside the wall for any reason. He assists the brothers in translating and transcribing the Gospels. The brothers all lament at their limited skill and wish for a "true master" illuminator. Brendan divides his time between helping his task-driven uncle with the wall and his true passion - time in the scriptorium with the books. Without books, people would have no hope and it's their job to bring hope to the people in the dark days before them. All the brothers' dreams are realized when a master illuminator named Aidan seeks refuge in Kells after fleeing the Vikings in Iona. On the tiny island, he had been working on the Book of Iona, a book to turn darkness into light. "Sinners are blinded after looking at it, for to gaze upon the book is to gaze upon heaven itself". Aidan takes Brendan as his apprentice against his uncle's wishes. Aidan realizes he is aging and his hands aren't as steady as they used to be. He begins instructing Brendan on beginning the "Chi Rho" page, the most important page in the entire book because it contained the abbreviation for "Christ". Aidan encourages Brendan to leave Kells - both to find the rare ingredients to make the richest ink and to find inspiration in the surrounding forest. Aided by a faerie girl name Aisling (pronounced Ashlyn) and a white cat named Pangur Ban, Brendan fights for illumination against his uncle, ignorance, stubbornness, fear, Vikings, and the pagan deity Cromm Cruaich that still lurks deep in the forests of Ireland.

Lilah adored the film from the first time she saw it. It was up for an academy award, but it lost to Up. Her infatuation with it has been growing lately. Strangers in our home would more than likely be extremely puzzled by her odd behavior. A few months ago, I came upon her marching solemnly up the stairs carrying a plate full of pretend tea cakes. When I say solemnly, I mean no smile, total focus, one foot in front of the other, like a funeral procession. She stopped at the top of the stairs, turned slowly, and said, "I'm going into the darkness now." I couldn't form words to appropriately convey all the questions I had for her. "Into the cave of the Dark One. Cromm Cruaich. To feed him." She nodded toward the cakes.
"And...where is the cave of the Dark One?" She sighed.
"Under my bed." So a pagan god lived under her bed and enjoyed tea cakes?

More recently, the DIA hosted a drop-in workshop to make your own illuminated text. When I told Lilah about it, her little blue eyes were shining. "I can have my own Book of Kells? I can make it? With ink?!" She talked about it for a week. We went, and we made a page with an ornate gold and green letter L. She was thrilled.

Other Kells related events include her carrying around a marble, looking through it with one eye. I asked her what she was doing. "From a humble little berry comes the most beautiful emerald green ink." Of course.

She was sitting on a chair while I swept the floor around her, coloring. I asked her what she was coloring. Heavy sigh. "I'm not coloring, Mama. I'm working on the Chi Rho page."
"Okay then. Look at you!" She looked around.
"I'm on an island. In the sea. Where all islands should be. On a tiny island called Iona."
"Right."

She calls our cat Pangur. She talks to an imaginary Aisling. Everything lately is Kells related. I'd love to take her to Ireland to see the book itself. My plan when we get a house (if we get a house?) is to paint the walls to look like the trees surrounding Kells. Her only goal in life at the moment is to grow up to become an illuminator. "Lilah the Illuminator" she told me today. I don't have the heart to tell the child that there are no illuminators anymore. She'll figure that out eventually. In the meantime, I let her sing and play and transcribe. Even if it means marbles become berries and glass ornaments become the Eye of Columkille. In her heart, she is a master illuminator.

She's...3?

My daughter, my sweet baby girl, is 3 years old. Her Auntie took her out for a birthday lunch and sent me a photo of them eating hummus. I burst into tears at work and demanded of one of the billers, "How old does this child look?!?" Bewildered, she answered 2 or 3. To me, she looked 15.

On the day of her actual birthday, I got up and made her strawberry pancakes per her request. She looked around and asked where her puppy was. Apparently I'd missed the memo that on one's 3rd birthday, one was automatically presented with a puppy. We had a quiet day at home playing, snuggling, and talking. Her grandpa came over after her nap and played some more. He took her to Target to get her a brand new "fedder peelo" (feather pillow). She's been asking for one for ages. We grilled burgers for dinner, and Lilah got a nice piece of grilled salmon (also her request). We watched the Muppets with Grandpa, and Erin and I made cake pops after she went to bed. It was a calm day, but very enjoyable. It made the transition easier on me. She'd moved from toddler to preschooler before my very eyes.

The day of her party, I dressed her in the black and white dress with polka dots and pink trim that just screamed "Lilah Rose" when I first saw it. I thought back to the day she was born as I brushed her long, blonde hair and weaved it back into a little crown. She was so little. Even after going through labor and delivery, she still blinked up at me with those big, blueberry eyes so full of peace and tranquility. And now she was 3. A little lady, no longer a baby. I didn't know how I'd cope.

Her party was lovely. She was so happy to have family and friends there to celebrate her special day. She loved her cake and gifts and spent most of the time running round barefoot in the yard with her cousins and friend Anya. There was minimal cleanup, hardly any stress (other than the chaos surrounding opening presents), and an overall great day. I felt blessed to have people in our lives so willing to celebrate the life of my child.

Her 3 year physical with Dr Kolin was yesterday. She was 2.75 inches taller and 1.25 pounds heavier than her last visit 6 months before. I was amazed. The child had grown that much in half a year? Where had I been? Why had I been such a jerk, yelling at her every other day for growing out her her pants and shoes? My increasing grocery bills and never-ending shortage of fruit and coconut milk suddenly seemed justified.

Other than a slight duck-walk to compensate for flat feet, her physical was perfect. Dr Kolin was most concerned with making sure we paid close attention to her education, since she was "precocious" and extremely advanced in her language and social skills. She showed some concern over us living in the Hazel Park school district, but we assured her we'd be very involved in her education and were willing to transport her to whatever school district could best meet her needs. Dano acknowledged we would probably meet with some opposition, but that we had discussed at length the possibility of home-schooling Lilah Rose during her middle school years. Dr Kolin was surprisingly supportive, saying she thought middle schools shouldn't be co-ed. "As long as she's actually taught, I think it's a good idea. The only thing you learn in middle school is how to study and use your time wisely." I wasn't expecting any support for this tentative idea of ours. I was pleasantly surprised. When we (mostly I) expressed concern about her not knowing her shapes, letters, colors, etc. Dr Kolin shrugged it off and thought her brain was processing things at a higher level than green squares. Every parent thinks their child is exceptional. It was nice to hear an educated medical professional agree that Lilah Rose Marie had big things on her horizon as long as we provided her with the opportunities she needed.

With every year, I love her more. She grows more into a wonderful little person. The further away from a tiny, helpless baby she gets, the more of the"Lilah" comes out. I think of how she's going to be at 10, 15, 20, 30. It scares and excites me. I know she'll be wonderful. I know it will be challenging. Even so, I can't wait.

Spring is here

Amidst the busy house-hunting and birthday party planning, Spring has crept up on us. It's been a lovely combination of cooking outdoors, open windows, fresh air, singing birds, early sunrises, flowers blooming, long walks, and sidewalk chalk.

Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."

After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.

There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.

Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.

Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.

"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.

"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?

After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.

A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.

I got big plans...

For pretty much everything in my life, I have a plan.

We're in the throes of the home-buying process. To ease my anxiety over a series of events I have no control over, I lie awake at night thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong. Then I think up a back-up plan for that scenario. Then I think up a back-up for my back-up. It never helps me sleep. It barely even makes me feel better. But that's what I do.

My career plans and directions are always in the back of my head. What I want to do. How long it will take me to do it. What it will take to get it all accomplished.

My plans for the current week are kicking around in there too. Bills due, chores needing to be done, cooking and baking to complete, commitments I've made.

Gardening and sustainable living plans have been at the forefront of my mind lately, as well. What I'll plant, how much, where, when (all complicated by the simple fact we don't know where we'll be living next month). I take pride in my abilities as a planner and multi-tasker. I'm good at it. I keep lots of plates spinning at once without letting them fall and shatter.

It seems like more and more lately, I've been taking a step back to admire all my spinning plates. I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done. No disasters. No crises. No broken plates. Everything's moving along nicely and I'm doing my best to be patient at the things I can't control and let the universe work itself out. However, upon taking that reflective step away from the wonderful chaos that is my life, I realize there's an aching emptiness in my heart. This sounds absurd, I'm aware. I have an incredibly fulfilled life. I have a husband who grows more awesome with every passing year. I have a daughter who I couldn't love more as she grows up into an amazing little lady. My cat is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the dearest little animal there is. We have a house, good food, a great family. I am in a career field I love and feel blessed to be a part of. The emptiness I feel is purely selfish on my part.

Before Lilah, I had this awesome group of friends. Classmates and coworkers, I had a different activity and friend for every day of the week. After a long shift at Red Lobster, I'd go out with the best, most drama-free servers I've ever met. We didn't party or get crazy. We went to Fridays for 4 dollar appetizers, talking and laughing until we were almost too tired to drive home. At school, I had a tight-knit group of no-nonsense girls. We were in it for the piece of paper and actively shunned the nonsense that went with a class of mostly females. The instructors loved us for saying what they couldn't to our ridiculous classmates. I can't think of a single area of my life where I didn't have something to look forward to. Home was a place of rest and relaxation with my husband and the occasional friend who stopped by. It was a much-needed contrast to our crazy schedules and busy social calendars. And I was thriving that way. I build my home as a sanctuary, and this is still how I operate.

The problem is, we made choices no one else made. We got married (too) young. We started careers. We (accidentally) started a family. Instead of doing whatever made us happy, it almost seemed like our choices were being made for us by the path we chose (and are still so happy with). But nights like tonight, when I'm sitting at home alone, I'm painfully aware of the world around me. While my baby girl sleeps soundly and my husband is at class, I'm alone on my couch. Every time I log into Facebook, I just get one more reminder of which friend of mine is doing something awesome tonight. Who's going out for drinks. Who's got big shopping plans. Who's going to the casino. Who has a vacation planned. Bonfires. Bike-rides. Hikes. Adventures. Concerts. Movies.

I spend my spare time planning crafts and activities to engage a toddler-brain. I love it. It's just the almost 25-year old in me tonight that's crying selfishly. She's the one who wants peers again. I just want a handful of couples who know what it's like to live for your family and their happiness and don't mind that some days you don't get to shower or look cute or have new clothes. Sometimes all your scrubs and shoes have holes in them because groceries matter more, even if snotty girls at work make comments about not wearing old shoes so much. Sometimes planning a great dinner your family is excited about is all you have to look forward to at the end of the day, and it's still enough to light you up after a stressful time at work. Sometimes you realize with a start that at almost 5 years of marriage, you've still never once been on a vacation with your spouse because you hit the ground running as a couple and have just never stopped. None of our friends understand that. They awesomely make concessions for us. They come over here, knowing we can't go out. They invite us out individually so we can still be social if we "take turns". But none of them get it. I work with nurses in their 50s and 60s, or MAs who are single and happy that way. Dano goes to school with mostly 18 year olds who are fresh out of high school and don't care. Where do you go to meet people you have something in common with at this stage of our lives? Basically, you don't. You deal with it. And you have the occasional bad night in a mostly awesome life, because you know you wouldn't do anything differently even if you had the chance.