Project Winter

2 Comments December 8, 2015 drworobec

My kids are now 6 and 3, rounding the bend to 7 and 4. Beyond the baby stage, there’s no more naps, no more diapers, no more babies in our house. And while I may or may not have cried when we took down the crib last year, I am excited for what this new chapter of parenthood brings. Enter skiing.

I grew up in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains and skied many times a year. But I wouldn’t say that it ever became a passion of mine; I do love the outdoors and the exercise and the scenery, but the actual skiing part is a medium on my list of loves. And lately, my distaste for Winter has grown. You would think that an Alberta-girl would be used to sub-zero temperatures, but my theory is that I got my quota of Winter as a child….. these days I freeze solid in November and don’t thaw out until April. “Embrace the winter,” my mother says, “there’s nothing you can do to change it.” Sigh, I’m trying.

You probably already know my views on keeping kids active, and skiing seems like the perfect way to accomplish that goal through our long Canadian winters. Plus it’s a great lifetime sport, a way to have fun together, and a justifiable excuse for hot chocolate in a ski chalet. So we’ve made the investment. My husband and I just purchased full ski gear (Merry Christmas to us!) that we hope will last for many years (as did my previous 1989 Salomons), and we plan to rent equipment for the kids for this, our inaugural ski season.

I’m calling it “Project Winter” and we’ll see who wins the battle between myself and Mother Nature. We’re embarking on the ski-family journey of two hours to get ready, three runs on the bunny hill, forty-five minutes to complete a bathroom break, and sleeping kids on the drive home. And if you see my husband, ask him about the time I left him stranded on a ledge at Sunshine Village in Banff….. on the day he proposed…..

This works for us.

Leave a comment November 10, 2015 drworobec

I find myself parenting differently the second time around. My expectations have shifted and my this-is-what-the-parenting-books-say has completely disappeared. I think I’m a better parent because of it.

A prime example of this are my three-year-old daughter’s sleep habits. We moved a couple of months ago, and she developed a new routine. Our new house has a main-floor Master bedroom, and nearly every night, she tip-toes downstairs in the middle of the night and crawls into our bed. Most nights I don’t even hear her, and I will often wake with her little body pressed up against mine. Not only do I not mind this even a little bit, I actually need it too. I’m still adjusting to my own “new normals” and there’s a big part of me that feels safe and secure when my children are at my side. Content and happy, calm and peaceful, just how life is meant to be. She snuggles into me and whispers, “Mama, can we snuggle?” with her sleep-drunk voice and her bedhead hair. So I wrap my arms around her and we fall back to sleep, both comforted by the fact that we’re together.

But I find it interesting that I’ve never questioned the “should I put her back in her own bed?” part. If my son, my first-born, had done the same, I likely would’ve done what many parenting books suggest: that children need to sleep in their own beds. I likely would’ve walked him back upstairs to his room, and put him back to bed. Because that’s what I “should” do. Or, more accurately, that’s what I perceived I should do. But now I realize that parenting is so much more enjoyable if you simply do what works for your own unique family in your own unique situation.

This works for us.

You are the Person I Wrote this For

4 Comments October 13, 2015 drworobec

October 15th is soon rolling around again. October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

I had a devastating miscarriage in 2011 and I often pour my heart out about it around this time of year; the purpose being to try to lessen the stigma of miscarriage and the awfulness that surrounds it. Every year, when I publish ‘Break the Silence,’ I have women email me to share their stories of grief and loss. Sometimes these women are complete strangers who found me through WordPress. Sometimes these women are patients who haven’t told me about their experiences. Sometimes these women are friends, sometimes good friends….. and most times I have no idea they’ve been through this pain until I receive their email. So this tells me that there is still stigma, there is still silence, there is still suffering, and there is still work to do.

If you have not yet read my ‘Break the Silence‘ post, I hope that you will today.

However, this year, I’m going to approach things differently. Today I am going to tell you about what can happen after a miscarriage. Today I’m going to try to give you hope that there is another side, a happy side, beyond all of your sadness. For me, that happy side came in the form of my daughter. My rainbow baby, some would say; a beautiful and bright spot that comes following a storm.

I’ve written about her many times over the years, from what she taught me on maternity leave, to her fiery strength, to her happy disposition, to my hopes and dreams for her….. but I haven’t written about what that little girl does for my heart. I mean really, really does for my heart. You see, she helped me out of my deep sadness into an even deeper happiness. The thing is, she thinks I hung the moon; she’s my shadow, my sidekick, my little buddy. When her little feet pad into our bedroom at all hours of the night and she whispers, “Mommy, can we snuggle?”, oh my sweet girl, of course we can.

My miscarriage is still in the back of my mind, but it’s not at the front, like it used to be. It still hurts to remember, but it doesn’t hurt as much, not like it used to be. I don’t remember the anniversary of our loss every year, not like it used to be. And I don’t tear up when I talk about it, not like it used to be. So if you’re reading this and you’re nodding your head in understanding or crying your tears in heartbreak, well then, you are the person I wrote this for. Email me, talk to me, and I will share your sorrow.