CallaLiliesForever

I was fortunate enough to be able to stay home with my son until he was six months old.  Some time I will write my thoughts on being a “Stay at Home Mom”, but today I am writing about being a mom who works outside of the home.

I have a Monday through Friday, general office hours type gig. It pays well, is close to home and I like my boss. he is good at what he does and stays above a lot of nonsense that previous employers got caught up in.  Occasionally I can work from home all or part of a day which is helpful because my husband owns his own company and is attempting to work from home WHILE being the primary caregiver for our son during the day.  He often is walking out the door while I am rushing in. We do have a friend who can come and watch our son when we are unable to manage coverage but we try not to tap into her too often.

When I walk through the parking lot into work and see car seats in the back of other cars I imagine the parent dropping their child off at some sort of daycare/childcare before coming into the office.  The thought of that being me with my son pings at my heart a little bit.  I then feel a wave of gratitude that when I leave for work I know that my son is at home with my husband.  Not saying anything is wrong about using daycare and those families who utilize it by choice or necessity, it is just that my husband and I agreed we wanted to try and manage our son’s care between the two of us as much as possible (especially in his first year).  And so far we have been able to juggle enough of our life and make sacrifices to do so.

I miss my son during the day, he is almost ten months old and so much more active now than when I was staying home with him.  He clings to his Dad, and although I love the fact that they are close…his preference for Daddy hurts my heart a little.  They play, eat, go down for naps, etc  more than my son and I do.  It actually seems like they communicate in their own language.  But then again when he is having a hard day, or I am, and I question whether I would be okay being with him for eight hours straight during the day, alone, I appreciate the fact I can walk out the door and enter a world of adults.

It is quite an interesting combination of emotions, to feel both jealous and relieved that my husband is with our baby all day, not me. Then having to talk myself out of thinking I am an asshole regardless of which one I may be feeling. I know this is a common struggle, I know not to beat myself up about it – but it is a high strung and sensitive reality.

So I have been a little radio silent the last month or so…you know with the holidays and all the hustle & bustle and emotions & baggage that come with them.  In addition to all of this, I have been allowing myself to feel some self inflicted pressure to only write about something clever, insightful and/or inspiring… and I am not sure if anything I have had to say is any of those things. But if I continue to wait for any of those things to come to me – I may never write another post.

Baby’s first Christmas has come and gone.  He loved the lights.  We would go outside and watch them blink.  As soon as our artificial tree was up (the first artificial we have ever had) he zombie army crawled to the tree and laid down on his back and looked up through the branches.  I laid down there with him for a little while.  It was a sweet time that I will cherish and he won’t remember.  Then, about thirty seconds after I got up from the moment we spent together looking up through the fake, prelit branches…I realized what a challenge having a tree with a curious and persistent eight month old would be.  I had been told about different gates and barriers we could use to keep him from pulling the tree down on himself and/or gnawing through a string of lights, but opted to use kitchen chairs as a barricade around the tree.  Needless to say it impacted the aesthetics of a Christmas tree.  He also loved to open presents…tearing the paper was VERY exciting – the gifts themselves were neat too 🙂

This weekend is New Year’s Eve and it is our tradition (about seven years running) that my husband’s oldest son spends this holiday with us.  It is our Christmas with him.  We are looking forward to it.  I am dreading the day that he wants to spend that night with his friends.  For now I will embrace paying family board games, making vision boards and cooking dinner and desserts.

2017 is a new year and the familiar phrase is, “what will the new year bring” but  I am trying to push myself to ask “what will I bring to the new year.”  It doesn’t have to be clever, insightful or inspiring…it just has to be real.

I feel as though it is difficult to meet people and build friendships.  In school it was easy, you are in class with people or as an athlete your teammates are friends by default.  Some of these people stay with you for a lifetime and some quickly become out of sight out of mind.  As an adult (post college, real life adult), I, like many women have made a majority of my new friendships through meeting people at work.  In no way do I have an especially active social life, this was true even before I had a baby, but I will say that I have a few very special people in my life who have proven to be good friends. These friendships look different than friendships that began when I was younger.  The ages of these women vary from 34 to 67. Some are married some are not. Some have children, some do not and never did, some wanted children but do not have any.  Some will plan to retire in their fifties others are working well into their sixties.  Some were born here in the United States, others were born elsewhere.  The variety offers amazing perspective.

My heart hurt for two of these women and their families earlier this month.  The first came to visit with me and meet the baby in August.  She and I had worked together until I was seven  months pregnant.  She was so excited for us.  She knew the heartache of losing my Mom and being a grandmother of teenagers she loved that I was close to my Grandma.  Honestly, her energy and attention toward me and my pregnancy meant a lot to me.  To a certain extent her presence in my life helped to fill part of the space that my Mom’s death left.  During the visit we caught up, laughed and I took some pictures of her with my son.  We made plans to visit again soon.  A month later she began to have some health issues but expected to recover. A few weeks later on a Friday (on a whim) I text to check in with her and she was back in the hospital again but expected to be home on Monday.  We made plans for her to call me.  She always said that pictures of my son made her happy so I sent her a picture of him, she responded “so handsome.”  Monday came and went with no call.  I figured that she didn’t get released or she was too tired to call once she got home.  On Tuesday someone who used to work with us called me, leaving a voicemail to call her back.  In this world where texts dominate communication rather than speaking on the phone the phone call alarmed me.  I told me husband that I wouldn’t be surprised if she was calling to say something happened to my friend in the hospital.  Sure enough my intuition was right, my friend had died in the hospital on Saturday. My friend, someone I used to see everyday at work, someone who touched my heart had died.  I have looked at the picture of her laughing with my baby taken just two months (practically to the day) that she died.

Another friend is in a group of women who have become friends of mine.  We get together a couple of times a year.  They supported me through my Mom’s diagnosis, illness, our move out to be with her, her death, my grieving process, my pregnancy and these first several months of motherhood.  They encouraged versus discouraged us when we decided to seal up the house and move out to California to be near her.  One of these women even checked on our house a few times a month for six months.  It is a higher caliber of friendship than I had experienced in the past.  This women had become unexpectedly pregnant.  The same week that I found out about the death of my friend I mention above, she began to have serious complications with her pregnancy.  I won’t go into to much detail because it is all still current.  But, she was told she was going to loose her baby five weeks ago now, we all were devastated for her and felt helpless.  This week she will have made it to twenty six weeks – something doctors said wouldn’t happen.  She and her daughter are fighting and each day that passes her daughter is growing bigger and stronger and has a better chance of living.  We celebrate every week she gets through.  Her strength and faith throughout this experience inspires me.  It really makes me acknowledge and grateful for my healthy pregnancy, delivery and baby.

The strength of a friendship is evident in hard times.  If we can’t go to our friends when we are broken, scared, depressed, embarrassed…then what is the point of the relationship?  Friends are supposed to cry with you, fight for you and lift you up.  Friendships go both ways.  I try very hard to be a good friend, a friend I would like to have.  I am so glad that I reached out to my friend to check on her health and try and set up a time to visit.  It helps my heart heal and allows me to think of our relationship in a positive light rather than regret – wishing I had followed up with her.  My other friend who is fighting for her daughter’s life supported me through my pregnancy and helped throw a surprise baby shower for me.  I am glad that I had reached out to her a few times in her pregnancy prior to the complication – now that she is having a hard time I am able to maintain that support rather than trying to establish it.

Be loving. Be honest. Be hopeful. Be protective. Be present…in the lives of the people you call friend.  Send that text, drop a card in the mail, make that call…Be a friend.

In the words of my Grandma, “you have to be friendly to make friends.”

 

 

…And I may have looked down and realized my cover was not doing much covering. So, maybe it was a pub…and we were having brunch…and we were the only customers. But it still made me laugh.

The first morning we were of our beach vacation we walked to the “Main Street” area of town.  We were trying to find someplace to eat that was not really busy but offered more than what the coffee shops would.  We decided on a pub a few storefronts down from the main drag.  It was Saturday morning and they had a bunch of the college football games on.  There were only women working and they were all cheerful and easy going.  We were seated, given menus and had our drink orders taken.  The orders went apple juice, water and (some) beer that was on draft. I would have LOOOOVVEDD to order a hibiscus.  We were finally on vacation, by the beach and could walk home. But, I was still nursing even though I do pump and store milk, my baby won’t take a bottle.  He refuses to do anything but play with it and look up at us with a gum filled grin and milk all over his face.  Or, stretch his head away from the nipple E.T. neck style, half crying with milk all over his face.  Needless to say it is a work in progress.  So, it was water for me.  While we were looking over the menus baby boy started to get hungry.  When I nurse in an establishment we usually ask an employee if it would be okay for me to breast feed there.  It seems to set a nice, supportive tone and it helps minimize the chances that someone might get caught off guard.  Although we were the only ones there my husband went and asked the question.  The girls working were more than supportive, so I started digging for my privacy cover.

My son loves to eat, but he is to the age now that he is also very curious about the world around him and is easily distracted (which is the main reason I usually try to find a quiet place to feed him rather than out in public).  So, even though he was hungry he was also hearing all the football games on, new voices as well his Dad talking next to us and his brother across the table from us.  I put the cover around my neck and he assumed the position.  He likes to play with the cover (yet another distraction) so I was gripping part of it to keep it tight.  He had just stopped nursing but I hadn’t pulled him out or slipped my arm back into my sleeve yet.  We were ordering and I was the one who was a little distracted.  It was when my stepson was talking to our server about his pancakes that I looked down and realized one of my girls, the one he had been “num numming” from, was not covered at all.  She was out there in all her glory.  I caught myself from squealing and went ahead and redressed myself.  Fortunately for EVERYONE involved my stepson was too busy ordering to notice and no other customers were around to witness it.

So, the story could go one of two directions I could get judged for not only bringing a baby into a bar but nursing him there too.  Or, I could be judged for being a topless girl in a bar.  Judge away if you want – or laugh, I think it is funny.

At the beginning of October we took our first vacation as a family of four.  Embarrassingly, it was the first vacation my husband have ever taken for pleasure rather than a trip to visit someone.  Throughout our relationship we have never taken a real vacation…now for our first one we have a twelve year and 6 month old in tow…haha.  Our trip was to the Pacific Ocean and we rented a vacation home right off the water.  It was a beautiful view of the beach.  There were plenty of windows and balconies, we could smell the ocean and hear the waves.  My husband and I knew it would not be especially relaxing but it was important to us to take a trip as a family.  As time goes on we are being very intentional in making memories and taking pictures.  We understand the value of looking back at pictures.  Although the baby will not remember the trip, he will be able to look at the pictures of all of us together, exploring. Our twelve year old loved the house, it was quite an experience for him- not one that he will forget anytime soon.

Traveling, driving eight hours, with a six month old is NO JOKE.  He is a pretty easy baby but is not a fan of the car seat. I am glad we took the trip but I was definitely not rejuvenated upon return.  There are a few things that I learned/realized during this vacation:

-A baby requires a lot of packing…clothes, play gear, stroller, carrier…etc.

-Trying to nurse a baby on rest stops during the drive can be awkward, sweaty and very unsuccessful…

-Some parts of a vacation should be electronics-free

-“Mom” is expected to come up with meal plans and packing

-Sunscreen and hats are a staple

-Adjustments in expectations need to be made

-You will come back more tired than you left

Overall it was worth it.  Anything of value takes time and effort.  Spending time together as a family, making memories, experiencing new things are all valuable and worth it.

 

Feeling the End of Summer Blues here…There is no school preparation rush around our house (my stepson is in year round school and so he started at the beginning of August), we did not have a season of travel that is coming to an end as Fall approaches, truthfully our day to day life will not be changing at all.  But, for some reason we (my husband and I) seem to be blue about the end of the summer.  Maybe it is a sense that is ingrained in us from our school days?  Maybe it is that the end of the year, October through the beginning of January, seems to go by so fast?  Maybe it is the reality that the precious first months of our son’s life have flown by and the family and friends have already made their visits to meet him? It is not that we do not like the last few months of the year and holidays that they bring. We are looking forward to watching our son experience this time of the year for the first time.

Perhaps it is common to feel this “let down?”  I don’t really know, but I think it is okay to take time to reflect and feel a “lull” now.  The majority of another year is gone and the last three months will be filled with preparation for different holidays, celebrating those holidays, recovering from those holidays, preparing for a new year…it can all cause emotional highs and lows…and can keep us busy and distracted. I often feel a lot of pressure to be happy and cheerful during this time.  To be honest I put much of this pressure on myself, I believe that I am SUPPOSED to be feeling a certain way.  Realistically, any changes we hope to make at the beginning of the year would benefit from being planned out around this time. Right now, there is little distraction. It can be a time of rest, thoughtfulness and intention.  I don’t think we are sad or bummed that the summer is over and the end of the year roller coaster is beginning. Maybe the term “End of Summer Blues” comes off a little more negative than it should, but I will use it anyway.  Soon we will be carving pumpkins, making obscene amounts of desserts and smelling apple cinnamon and sugar cookie candles…and I will love it.  But now, right now, I have the Summer Blues.

 

If you say you are going to do something, do it…or if you don’t, at least acknowledge that you didn’t.  In general I do not consider myself a “needy” person.  For the most part I believe I am self sufficient and since being in a relationship with my husband there is even less that I feel that I cannot handle.  That being said, the last few years have been particularly hard.  Throughout these difficult times people have offered to do things for me (us) and then don’t and then just simply act like they never made the offer.

This behavior really started to impact me when my Mom was diagnosed with cancer and began treatments.  I still lived out of state at the time and my Dad wasn’t a particularly attentive caregiver or housekeeper.  So I was reeling from the news of her illness and the extent of the disease’s progression, I was not satisfied with the care she was receiving, and I was not physically there with her.  I could not see her or touch her.  Some friends knew how devastated I was and when I asked if they would stop by and visit with her (since I couldn’t) they said they would.  Just the thought of them stopping in to offer some socialization for and assistance to my Mom lifted some weight from my shoulders.  They would see her and touch her and somehow I  would feel more connected to her.  For whatever reason, none of them did.  None acknowledged the lack of action on their part…and I did not communicate my disappointment.

This is one example.  The offer to bring food by when I had Caspian or to help around the house while I was recovering are two more.  There are many more, but the point is not for me to list complaints. And, I am not saying the help was necessary.  I survived.  I am pointing out that even those who may appear self sufficient may benefit from some authentic support.  If it was genuinely offered and not done then it would be an automatic response for the person to follow up and acknowledge the fact that it didn’t happen.

Then on the other hand some people show support and kindness that caught me off guard and was completely unexpected.

While my Mom was alive some friends sent flowers or dropped of food dishes.  Some even called and texted her.  One day when I called my Mom she was very cheerful and started telling me that one of my friends had taken her to a movie.  In fact, this same friend had come by several times to play games and watch T.V. with her.  I was so pleasantly surprised and grateful.  I felt supported.

When my husband and I moved out to stay with my Mom during her last few months alive we literally closed up our home left the state for six months.  During this time a friend went out of her way to come by and check on things for us a couple times each month.  This helped relieve us from a concern so that we could focus our energy on spending time with my Mom. She said she was going to do something and she did it.

As our son’s due date drew near a family friend, who had provided support through my Mom’s illness and my grief, offered to come visit after his birth.  She was very specific that the visit would be to support us: help around the house and with the baby.  I thanked her and told her I would get back to her once we got home from the hospital.  The baby came and we were getting settled at home. She contacted me to check in and follow up on her offer.  She shared the dates (and there were several) that she would be able to come out.  Things were going smoothly and I wholeheartedly thanked her for her offer but explained that we were doing fine. Just the fact that she offered and followed up made me feel encouraged and supported.

Why do we feel the pressure to offer help, but not enough pressure to acknowledge it when we don’t/can’t follow through?  On the flip side, when someone offers us something and then does not follow through, why do we feel so uncomfortable asking that person about it? Perhaps we don’t do a good job holding ourselves accountable so then we are less likely to hold someone else accountable?  Even when we really needed the help or were looking forward to the support.  People please, don’t offer something that most likely won’t happen…and if you do offer something and cannot see it through, acknowledge it.  It matters.

“They grow up so fast” … a saying parents hear ALL the time. Although I know it is a cliche but I feel this way about our infant son. He is already four and a half months old and how much he has changed and grown leaves me in awe. Witnessing him get bigger and stronger…going from his body needing support in every way to him whipping his head from one side to another, turning to face whoever is speaking, reaching and pulling. When my husband and I are talking he will often squawk and squeal as though he is part of the conversation. He has started pulling anything he can reach to his mouth to suck on and gum. He laughs and giggles. We talk to him and exaggerate our expressions, encouraging him to listen and interact. He will arch his back when we lean down to his rocker, knowing we will need to slip our hands behind his back in order to lift him up. He will look over or around things as needed to be able to see us.  All of these things are examples of how he is growing, learning and changing. Perhaps the most obvious example of this is his improvement during “Tummy Time.”

Like many parents of a newborn we introduced “Tummy Time” when he was just a few weeks old. At first we were not particularly diligent about doing it consistently. At his two month check up the doctor flipped him on his belly to see how he reacted to being in that position. He squirmed and strained, she used her hand at the base of his neck to help him lift his head. During this exercise she encouraged us to have “Tummy Time” every day. Then she laughed and commented that he may be having a hard time with it because his head was so big (it is huge!). From that appointment forward we made it a point to have “Tummy Time” at least once, usually two or three times a day. He was always a good sport about it. After a few minutes of this exercise he would get frustrated and we would finish up. Slowly he would last longer and longer prior to getting frustrated. Then the other day as we were having our normal routine it hit me – there he was with his head raised high, looking around, up on his bent knees, reaching for toys and squirming…he was trying to crawl. He was squealing with joy while I clapped and praised him.

We not only expect, but encourage babies and young children to try new things. There is no shame in their attempts and subsequent failures because they are growing and exploring. They don’t know to be embarrassed when they are unsuccessful in their efforts. They don’t know to let their pride and laziness hold them back until we show them this behavior. So at what point do we no longer think “trying” is something to be celebrated but something to hide and be ashamed of? As though a skill or any improvement can be reached without the effort and possible embarrassment of the mere attempt. It hurts our pride to expose ourselves in this manner. For some reason, once we reach a certain point in our lives it seems as though the status quo is to maintain as we are – that may sounds redundant but hear me out. We become complacent. I know that too often this has been the case with me. I allow my inner skeptic to whisper doubt into my mind. Then negative thoughts float around my head while my motivation flies out of the window. The fear of failure ends up having far too much control over my goals and desires whether they are related to my career, physical health, spiritual health, relationship with my loved ones, etc. To try to improve at something or to start working on a new skill is scary and takes energy. It would mean exposing myself during the journey. Too often when an adult tries to expand, grow, change and/or improve it unsettles those around them who may have goals that they are too afraid to pursue. This unsettled feeling leads to apathy in the best case scenario and essential sabotage in the worst.

During “Tummy Time” our son doesn’t have a choice. We flip him on his belly and he works his little muscles to build his strength. We are there to encourage him and cheer him on. Seeing his improvement over the last few months has been a perfect example of how diligent effort, working through frustration and some encouragement can make a huge difference. At first you may feel clumsy and awkward when you are trying to make a change. Growing and improving can be uncomfortable, frustrating, painful and can leave you feeling exposed. But, if we are realistic about our goals and we are consistent in our effort, allowing ourselves the time and grace to struggle and regroup…isn’t it nearly impossible to gain at least SOMETHING from the journey? And hey, it takes a lot of guts just taking that first step, knowing that the end result might not be how exactly as you hope but giving it a try anyway.

It is fairly common and accepted that what makes a “family”  is not strictly biology. Members can be married in, like in-laws,  or honorary, like the neighbor who is considered and acts like they are related.  We can call a dear friend our sister or our child’s best friend one of our own children.  Lines are blurred and blended and it doesn’t seem to have any negative connotation.  Then, why is  it when the “step” child / parent relationship enters the picture that barriers go up and emotions run so high?

Perhaps one of the reasons is the events that led up to a “step” relationship. Typically there is some sort of break-up and heartache that causes the parents to separate.  The term often used to refer to this  home is “broken” and that makes me cringe! Somehow implying that divorce or separation means that the family and its members need to be fixed – because that is what we do with things that are broken, right?  The topic here is not about causes of divorce or separation, but it is that sometimes these things happen and when they do…then what?  The household and those involved are broken?

What does that term communicate to the child/children involved?  Are they broken?  If something is broken doesn’t it need to be fixed?  Does that mean the new partner for mom or dad is the missing piece, they are what will “fix” things?  But then how is the child supposed to feel about the other biological parent, are they still broken?  The fact of the matter is that some children’s parents will separate. Often one or both will become seriously involved with someone else. What does that family look like, what is it called?  Let’s change our terminology from “broken family” to “blended family.”

I know I did not create this idea, but I love it.  Our immediate family is made up of two parents and two children: My husband and I, the son we had together is an infant and my husband’s first son is officially a “tweener” as of this summer.  He and I have known each other and been a part of each other’s lives for over eight years.  I love him and to a certain extent  will always consider him my first son.  I am lucky to be able to be a part of his life and I know he has made me a better person.  We are fortunate, his father (my hubby) and mother have a pretty good, working relationship.  It is clear that I am not trying to replace anyone.  She and her family accept me and my role in his life. Which, as I see it is simply another adult who loves him and wants what is best for him.  Nothing and no one is broken and in need of being fixed. We are blended  and now my “step”son has a whole tribe of people cheering for him and supporting him and my biological son has an awesome big brother.

Our family is BLENDED not broken…check out this video!

This first post is a little long.

If you have read my “About Me” page you know that in the last two years or so both my Mom and Grandma have died. Often when we loose a loved one we will search for reminders of them or evidence that they are still in our lives. I know this was the case for me. My Mom loved hummingbirds and calla lilies. She would get excited and say, “Oh! Look at the hummingbird!” Seeing either of these makes me think of my Mom and I feel a connection with her. It makes her physical absence from our life somewhat tolerable, even that phrase “somewhat tolerable” doesn’t sit well with me but I will use it. After her death we packed up her house and I sorted through her things…desperate to find something that she wrote or set aside specifically for me. As time passed I stopped my search. Then, when I was six months pregnant and at the height of a very emotional holiday season, I found pregnancy journals that my Mom wrote during both of her pregnancies. She had never mentioned the journals, I didn’t know they existed and definitely didn’t know to be looking for them. Seeing her thoughts, concerns and hopes for us written in her perfect cursive was very intimate. Reading them brought me so much comfort during such a special and emotional time in my life.

By the time I delivered our son I had spent two nights in the hospital getting very little rest. On the Labor and Delivery floor I could hear families there cheering on whichever loved one might be giving birth to the newest addition. While walking the halls in my gown we saw visitors beaming with pride as they came and left the room they visited. I could imagine mothers in the room with the with their daughter. Only once did I let myself feel sad about the fact that I did not have any family other than my husband in the hospital with me. Even if I fought off being sad about it, this fact cast a shadow the entire experience.

Once we had been moved to our recovery room we were greeted by an experienced nurse who was supportive and an obviously strong advocate for her patients. Her name was Marianne and had a daughter who had the same birth month and day as me. My mother’s name was Mary Ann and she was a great nurse who was a strong advocate for her patients. Once Marianne left the room, my husband and I talked about our belief that this was more than a simple coincidence. We both were a little teary and in silence looked out the window. It was overcast outside and had been raining all day. The ground was soaked and raindrops were running down the window. My husband said that they were Mom and Grandma’s tears. That they were there with us.

After three nights in the hospital we were ready to go home. We went home as soon as we were given the option. So there we were, the three of us, the first night at home with baby boy. And we began our new life. All three of us were tired. My husband and I had dinner and we made our first attempt to go to bed. We were up and down with the baby all night. My milk had not come in and I was not sure if he was getting anything at all when he nursed. We swaddled him and walked with him. We spoke to him and rocked him. We were trying to work through our fatigue and exasperation. Finally, in the early hours of the morning I was walking with him. I was staring at his beautiful face his clear blue eyes were wide open and he was puckering then relaxing his perfect, pink lips. I was in love and felt insanely inadequate and helpless. Then without recognizing it I began humming a song. A song that I pulled out from somewhere deep in my memory. It was “You Are My Sunshine.”

A week or so went by and my Uncle sent out an email about my recently deceased Grandma with some paperwork attached. The attachment was some memoir type pages written by my Grandma for her grandchildren. On the pages she wrote things about herself like what she wanted to be when she grew up and what her favorite song was. She wrote that her favorite song was “You Are My Sunshine.” I stared at the page – I couldn’t believe it. The song that I had forgotten until that first night home was her favorite. That song continues to be my go to song to soothe him (and me :)).

So there without searching for them were several examples of how my Mom and Grandma were there with me during an amazing and scary time in my life. They could not hold my hand or hold my son, but they found a way to weave themselves into this experience. To wrap themselves around our family. I see my Mom in our baby boy, in his sparkling eyes and round head. I hear my Grandma’s voice saying, “Every baby is precious,” as she did during each conversation we had after I became pregnant. I will continue to cherish memories of my Mom and Grandma. I welcome the reminders that make their presence evident in our lives. Calla lilies will forever be my favorite flower. And when we are all out in the pool and a hummingbird flutters over us, I know it is my Mom checking in. I will smile and say, “Oh! Look at the hummingbird!”