#bitchbetterhavemyhoney #rihanna #poohbear #winnie #jimmykimmel #badgalriri #metball #metgala

more MOMents

*First allergy season post-baby:

when you realize, I now pee whenever I sneeze

and consider buying diapers for two.

*You endured hours of labor and childbirth without any drugs,

yet you cannot make it to noon

without three cups of coffee

(that you've had to reheat repeatedly).

*When you finally get a chance to grocery shop alone,

but keep pumping your foot along the shopping cart

looking for the stroller brake.

*How is it that I have an Ivy League degree,

but can't figure out the snaps on a onesie

without aggravating some kind of early onset arthritis??

*Wardrobe=Uniform:

Yoga pants

Sweatpants

Dirty sweatpants

*If I could give anyone advice about how to prepare to be a parent…

I would say stay awake for days on end, cease showering,

tie one of your arms behind your back

and try to carry out every daily chore and activity that way.

*STEP 1: Eat chocolate while hanging out with your kid in the baby-gated play area.

STEP 2: Notice baby has a mysterious brown streak on her thigh.

STEP 3: Swipe streak with your finger, sniff it and then lick it off,

hoping it is,in fact, just more chocolate.

MOMents

*When you used to check your lipstick in the mirror in your car. 

And now you check for grey hair.

*When the only think you want is for her to stop screaming in the car seat.

And then, when she's finally quiet, you're convinced

she's choked on something back there.

*When you consider putting on makeup and doing your hair while the baby naps, 

but decide to eat a frozen burrito instead.

*When both your babies are napping, but you & your sister are texting 

about the Sofia the First episode you're still watching.

*When the baby stops crying and you think hubby's succeeded at putting her to sleep,

when really you peek to check in on them

and see your 210 lb. husband has climbed into the crib with your 21 lb. baby.

*When you pull into the driveway and realize she's fallen asleep in her car seat, 

so you just decide to curl up and nap in yours.

*When you hear a scream in the dark and realize that your husband,

who is putting the baby to bed,

has just been bitten on the nose by your little one's first tooth.

And suddenly, he was able to empathize

with breastfeeding women everywhere.

Badu-ism

Erykah Badu said it best:

A Pregnant Pause

Every year, I post this photo on our “Elope-aversary.”  Andrew and I eloped at Pt. Dume/Zuma Beach in Malibu on Feb. 28, 2011.  It was just the two of us, our dogs barking from his truck parked nearby, his camera locked off on sticks with an intervalometer and a notary/minister/officiant I had used on a recent production I had just wrapped.  Many couples choose to elope in private before their big ceremony/reception as we did, it’s true it’s very common; but we had other important reasons.  I had to marry Andrew and get on his union insurance as soon as possible.  Only a few close friends and family know the truth behind this photo: I was pregnant that day on the beach four years ago.  And then, I wasn’t.  All these years later, with a happy and healthy 8+ month old Elyse crawling, drooling and climbing all over me, I’m finally ready to write about what happened … how Andrew and I had a marriage and miscarriage within weeks of each other in 2011.  My D&C as a result of the miscarriage was four years ago today.  

“A Pregnant Pause”

I left during my lunch break.  It was an OBGYN/doctor’s appointment at 10 weeks.  Unfortunately, my husband was out of town, shooting a show on-location outside Chicago.  My “work husband” Jeff watched me rush out of the office and asked “should I drive you?  You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”  I reassured him, “no,” that it was just routine blood work and an ultrasound to hear the heartbeat.  Why I insisted on going alone I still can’t quite answer to this day, years later.  There was Jeff, and any number of other friends, that offered to and gladly would have accompanied me that day.  But for whatever reason, I chose to go by myself.

I was driving mid-day west down Sunset, enjoying the California sunshine and yapping on the phone to my friend Diana in New York.  We were chatting about the unexpected pregnancy and how a bright future, indeed, was awaiting all of us.  Diana and I were both getting married on the same weekend in May and as such, we could not attend each other’s weddings on opposite coasts.  I had just shared the news with her that after three long years of waiting for The Ring, it took less than three months for the surprise baby news!  I opened the sunroof and let it warm my face, my skin, felt my smile spread wider across my face as I waited in the typical LA traffic and discussed how accelerated the wedding planning would certainly be now.  I would have to notify all the vendors and produce the wedding in half the time to make sure I wasn’t waddling down the aisle and “showing” in my dress on our wedding day.  It’s what we did for a living after all: producing is glorified event-planning.  I remember that talk with Diana as one of the first times I was truly excited about the pregnancy and the major life events ahead, and that the self-doubt and fear of it being unplanned and overwhelmingly impossible all at once began to fade.

The doctor’s office was atop one of the hi-rise office buildings on The Strip.  The waiting room was filled with pregnant women – most with their hands on their swollen bellies, some holding hands with their husbands/boyfriends or mothers seated next to them.  I, however, had no noticeable “bump” as of yet and passed the time flipping through parenting magazines with curiosity and texting people on my phone. 

Had we told people “too soon?”  Prior to the 12-week/3-month mark, we didn’t wait until we were out of “The Danger Zone” before notifying several close family and friends of our news.  I think the wedding had a lot to do with it.  We felt more people than usual needed to know why we were moving the wedding date up so soon and so suddenly.  Besides, I was already at 10 weeks, and although quick to “round up” and exaggerate all my life, we were confident that this year would bring "marriage and the baby carriage" almost simultaneously and we felt OK sharing “our secret.”

It was all so new and foreign.  I could not believe somebody was growing inside of me already; and so, in the exam room, I felt like I was in school, trying to soak up lessons like a sponge and listening to everything every nurse and the doctor had to say to be as prepared as possible.  I was handed folders of paperwork and a pile of pamphlets about banking/donating cord blood, about stem cells and prenatal testing, about childbirth, infant preparation and CPR classes, about Cedars-Sinai hospital tours, about breastfeeding vs. formula; the information was endless.

I studied diagrams of the reproductive system and charts and images of the developing fetus over the coming months.   The OBGYN was referred to me by a friend I had known since we were teenagers.  The doctor was around our age and had delivered my friend’s first-born – her son – a few years prior.  Now, my friend was pregnant with her second!  I thought it would be fun to be “in the family way” and “on our way” together; so I jumped at the chance to share an OBGYN she loved and trusted so much.

Dr. L was kind, knowledgeable and totally approachable.  She asked where my husband/fiancé/father of the baby was, assessed my vital signs, discussed general family history and overall health questions.  And then she said, “10 weeks along.  Let’s check the heartbeat and get some images for you to take home and show your husband/fiancé what he missed!  I bet he’d love some pictures.  When you come back for your next checkup in a few weeks, he’ll listen to the heartbeat then…”

I agreed and was told to wait until the ultrasound technician in the room next door was ready for me.  I watched woman after woman waddle into and out of the ultrasound room.  I heard the chatter of their excited voices with their loved ones inside the room.  I heard the “pregnant pause” – pun intended – as they awaited information and instruction from the technician.  Then, I heard the loud drum of a healthy heartbeat echoing everyone’s excitement through the halls and out to the waiting room.  I imagine it’s the one instance when people were glad to see something spread from one patient to the other in a waiting room at a doctor’s office – the smiles were indeed contagious, the positive energy infectious as we all watched one after the other exit holding their film strip of images. 

It was like they had emerged from an old-school photo booth, like kissing teenagers , treasuring their souvenir.  Pointing at and proud of the pictures.  Blissful and blessed.

I could not wait to walk out with my images to show Andrew.  I could not wait to see our baby again – our first baby.  We had went in together at 8 weeks, when we first confirmed the pregnancy, and were able to see the flicker of the heartbeat on the screen.  Andrew cried.

I could not wait to hear the heartbeat and felt so bad that Andrew was missing all this!  Hearing the heartbeats of all those other mom-to-be’s in utero babies … that’s a sound I will never ever forget.  It was like the loud swoosh of the ocean and then the strong determined beat of the rhythm of life swimming in its ebb and flow.

When it was my turn at last, I gathered all my folders and pamphlets and brochures and paperwork and followed the ultrasound technician into the examination room.  After some pleasantries regarding the pregnancy and collection of basic info., the technician put the jelly on my belly, maneuvered the instrument around and stared at the screen on the ultrasound machine.

I felt butterflies in my stomach and giggled at the thought of the baby playing with butterflies in there.  I waited nervously during that “pregnant pause” and distracted myself by fidgeting with the crunchy exam table tissue paper with my fingers.

The technician kept moving the wand in several directions, a variety of motions and just when I felt like I had been holding my breath forever, I heard her release hers.  She let out a slightly imperceptible but still audible sigh.

And I desperately searched her face for any answers until I saw her expression darken.  I was too afraid to look but it was as if my neck slowly craned on its own and willed my eyes to peek at the screen myself.  And there the baby still was!  Sweet relief – I almost laughed!  My little Baby Bean still in the same space as when we had confirmed we were expecting only a couple of short weeks ago. 

So, maybe the technician had lowered the volume on the machine?  Since surely she had it on so high, so loud for all those other expectant mothers before me -- proud of their babies’ loud heartbeats.  I kept replaying the sound in my head - the swoosh of the ocean, the rhythm of life - and strained to listen for my own baby’s heart.

But there was nothing.  I expected the same echo of excitement but instead, the deafening silence of the ultrasound resonated deep inside of me – and there it echoed, the silence bouncing sadly off the emptiness within.

I did not even have to ask her what was wrong, or what had happened.  Her words came.  But mine did not.  She put the wand down slowly and gently placed her hand over mine on my bare and exposed stomach.

The gel was starting to give me a chill but no matter, my skin had already broken out into goosebumps.  And little did I know, just how deep and vast the chill would spread.  How I would very much be so so cold and frozen for so very long after this day.

“Honey, let me get the doctor.”  And she went to leave me there alone, on the hard table in silence, gripping that crunchy paper until it tore beneath crumpled, crumbling me.  Before she stepped out, she saw me turn my head again, slowly and pitifully towards the monitor, as if willing the image of the little bean back to life.

In two quick steps, she rushed forward and shut the machine off.  “I’m sorry, honey.  I’ll be right back.”

And there I lay, staring only at my morose reflection in the darkness of the blank screen.  My eyes were blank as well, still staring and searching.

When the doctor quickly entered, it was hard to believe just minutes before she had been congratulatory and bubbly bombarding me with brochures full of information.  And just like that, the information instead became:

D&C vs. medication

Passing it “naturally.”

“It.”

“Products of conception.”

First pregnancy.

Very common.

Not a viable fetus.

Wouldn’t have carried to term anyway.

Has not grown since last scan.

No longer a heartbeat.

No heartbeat.

Gone. Gone.

Are you here alone?

Is there someone I can call?

Yes. I am here alone.

I thought I came in with someone.

But I am leaving alone.

I had come in so full.

And am leaving so empty.

Ultimately, I decided to schedule a D&C.  I did not think I could physically or emotionally handle miscarrying at home or at work, not knowing when or how; I didn’t want to experience anymore.  I didn’t want to feel anymore.  I wanted to be knocked unconscious, I wanted it to be over with, I wanted to forget.

What happened, however, was so much worse.  Both the doctor and the hospital could not perform my D&C for TWO WEEKS due to scheduling issues.  And so I lived like that for that long.  I lived with my baby dead inside of me.  And that pain seemed just as excruciatingly paralyzing to me as losing massive amounts of blood.  Instead of shedding and letting go, I was literally and figuratively keeping it all in.

I can’t describe how much this fucked with my head.  My soul suffocated.  And my heart turned black.

I know this as one of the ultimate truths in my life: in that doctor’s office, two heartbeats stopped that day.  And our lives were never the same.

Brushing aside all the condolences and sympathetic looks and “are you OK?s” and “can someone come get you?”s  of the doctor and her staff, I awkwardly threw out all the pregnancy pamphlets and baby brochures in the reception trashcan.  Instead, I took home paperwork about pre-op instructions for the hospital.

Somehow, I got in my car and was able to drive away.  Numb and going through the motions.  I called my husband.  I don’t remember what I said.  I then called my “work husband” Jeff on the way home and told him what happened also. 

Jeff: “Tess, pull over.  Stop the car and pull over.  I’m coming to get you.”

“No,” I insisted again.  “I have to keep going.”

When asked, “What can I do?”  I told Jeff to please call anyone else that knew to tell them the news.  I could not fathom saying it over and over again.  I lost the baby.  I lost the baby.  My body failed.  I am a failure.  I failed us.  I failed my husband.  All he ever wanted to be was a father and I have failed him.  It felt unforgivable.  My failure to deliver.

And so Jeff did that for me.  He contacted every single person I had so foolishly told already.  I suppose I had spread the news so pre-emptively because of the wedding plans over the next few months and because so many of my close friends, co-workers and relatives were also expecting at the same time, most of them with their first babies.

It was these wonderful, compassionate, kind-hearted friends that received our news with the most gentle care, treating us gently while I’m sure still rattled a bit in fear for their own pending families-to-be.  After all, it could have happened to any of us.  

It was the hardest thing to see them all grow as their pregnancies progressed and then ultimately, I attended their baby showers, and met the babies after they were born -- all the time thinking that our first baby would have had the same birthday, been the same age, etc.  After the miscarriage, many other friends sent/brought heartfelt notes and cards, flowers and plants and food – everything to simply nourish ourselves after this devastating loss.

What amazed me most was the fortitude of the incredible women that surrounded me.  I knew my female friends were strong, but I had no idea that so many of them had shared the sadness of miscarriage; some had even suffered multiple miscarriages.  And it became shockingly clear to me just how many of these women hide these painful experiences, like a shameful secret, burying it deep as if it were their deceased child-to-be.  These women gave me unwavering support but also cold, hard facts and “tough love” as to the days, months and years ahead when dealing with a miscarriage as a woman, as a wife, as someone who so desperately still wanted to be a mother, despite the fear.  It was like being initiated into a tribe of tragedy and our warpaint was scars of loss.

In fact, the most valuable advice after my miscarriage came from my friend Ethan.   At the time, all those years ago, as a single gay man, a production executive and lawyer, Ethan gave no inkling to most of us that he wanted to adopt and become a Dad.  Now, he is the proud and fantastic father to an amazing boy who is almost two years old!  Four years ago when I miscarried, Ethan gave me some advice I will never forget:

“You will only understand why this happened once you hold the baby you will, in fact, have one day.  And you will look into that baby's eyes and know why he/she was meant to be and why other circumstances in life, are not.  And only then will you gain a little bit of peace and understanding about how and why you suffered and overcame that loss, for the firstborn baby you are yet to have."

That all sounded so Oprah to me back then, and I was resistant to hearing anything from anybody about moving on or getting past anything.  But it is four years later and now, we do have a child.  After a healthy pregnancy and an easy natural childbirth without any drugs or even an IV, our daughter Elyse is almost 9 months old.  Now that we are finally parents, I think about Ethan’s advice all the time.  The irony is not lost on me that I had the D&C at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Beverly Hills, on the very same floor where I gave birth to Elyse, our first-born, a little over three years later.

  

When Elyse was born, I think we finally came to peace with losing what would have been her older sibling and how that made us stronger as a couple, as a family unit, even though it was one of the weakest and darkest times of our lives.  There are issues caused by the miscarriage that we still deal with to this day in our relationship; and in a sense, we will always have to cope with the effects of that loss we suffered.

I do have to be honest that every time I see my friend’s children that were to be born at that same time in 2011, I think how crazy it is that I could now have an almost 4 year old!  These ladies and their families have even had their second kid already!  Whenever I see birthdays and announcements and updated pics of their first child -- my cousin/like a sister to me Allison’s Nadia, Anna’s Mae Mae, Teri’s Hunter, Jenn/”Boeuf’s” Sawyer, Jaclyn’s Sydney and Rebecca’s Harbor/ “Bo,” who shared the same due date (!!) I see these kids grow strong and beautiful, thriving and flourishing and I still have the pangs of pain that make me wonder why ours did not, could not … then I look at Elyse.  And into her eyes.  All 8+ months of her crawling, drooling, babbling, climbing, standing, sassypants glory and I know … this is how it was meant to be.  I will never forget the baby that could have been, but I feel so blessed to have the baby that became our “first.”

Tagging the following family and friends who are family that helped Andrew and I survive that very difficult year and who continue to always unconditionally be there for us.  THANXO.

TAGS:

Andrew Meyers
Erika Gieschen Bertling

Jennifer Margolis Bollacker

Ethan Cohan

Samantha Davis

Maribel Gamboa
Keith Garcia

Missy Mareau Garcia

Danielle Ghilardi

Jessica Gillon
Allison Hays
Doug Henning

Rebecca Taylor Henning

Jeff Keirns

Danny Kon
Stacy Lauren Kon
Brian Matthew Lee
Kara Kurcz Lee

Seth Levy

Amanda MacFadden

Carrie MacFadden

Tom Magill

Worldof La/Larissa AK Matsson
Patricia Miocic
Anna Moulaison Moore
Diana Morelli

Esther Reyes

Jaclyn Levy Rosenberg

Teri Weideman

Temple Williams

Emily Yeung

Last Haiku: Black vs. White

Take a Haiku

I went on a long walk intending to "write" one haiku in my mind…I wrote ten.

WRITING PROMPT:
Try to illustrate aliveness through a short poem, story or reflection about yourself. Describe yourself in the third person in your most optimal creative flow and deep connection with the whole of life. Include sensory details (sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing)  

Walkman

Is this me hitting PAUSE?  Or me hitting STOP?  

Stop rewinding
to the past
And fast forwarding
to the future
is futile

So just PRESS PLAY
PLAY
PLAY THE PRESENT
PLAY & RECORD
because

Everything in this life
Is the difference between
pause vs. stop.

"In Vino Veritas"

Writing Prompt: Write an entire poem the way Tyler Knott Gregson www.tylerknott.com writes them, (even if poetry isn't your usual style, push yourself outside the box) in which you are not allowed to edit a single line once it's down.  No changing words, no revising the order, nothing.  Create snapshots of moments instead of perfectly edited poetic masterpieces.

WWTKGD - Write a poem like Tyler?! Ha. Here's my attempt. PS Usually, when I write, I have some, um liquid courage, in the form of glass(es) of wine. Ironically, tonight, I wrote this and was drinking only water.

"In Vino Veritas"

You are a rare vintage

Vine-ripened to savor

The sweet flavor

Of love's swirl on my palate

You are of full body

And strong finish

And your thick legs

Prove you are potent

You are a slow sip

And no one would dare

Spit you out

And so I swallow you

Intoxicated

Inebriated

"In vino veritas"

-tess gamboa

Black Out Poetry

Writing Prompt:   Grab the nearest "broken book" to you, a new Sharpie or pen of your choice, and make new poetry out of ONLY the words on the page.  Black out the other words you don't use or choose.  By removing the pressure of having every word in the English language at your disposal, it frees your mind up to create without the burden of such choice. Start with 1 page, then try to write 5. 

Eat Pray Love - Elizabeth Gilbert
page 149 

(This exercise was definitely WAY harder than I thought.  Also, this book is sacred to me with my own notes in it -- haha -- so I just color copied the page and blacked out that way…)

"I exhale … surrounded by grace.
…You just got a taste of love.
…But a true soul mate is a mirror … that you needed to …
…show you your obstacles and addictions, …light could make you so desperate … but now it's over. … accept … the dump, baby -"

#writeyourselfalive #writeordie #30daysofwriting

My first month as a stay-at-home Mom.  With Andrew working 15-20 hour days and nights.  I decide to sign up for an online creative writing course with two brilliant poets/authors/artists I became familiar with via social media.  It is more than writing, it is therapy.  I am writing again.  And it feels like breathing.  It feels like home.  And it is beefing up this often defunct and gun-shy blog.  Bang bang bitches.  I'm fired up and firing out one entry after another.  Here are a couple of intros I had to write for the course.  It was hard to sum it all up in something so short but HI.  MY NAME'S TESS.  AND I'M A WRITER.

"Hi, I’m Tess, I’ve been writing since I was 7 years old on my parents’ old typewriters. Writing is my heart and soul and passion but I’ve also always been afraid to fail at what has always been my dream. I’ve kept it such a secret from so many and am so reluctant to share it. As such, I haven’t committed a discipline or practice to nurture my writing; I often put it all on pause and regret never expressing myself in the way I love the most. Instead, I’ve let life in general and a crazy non-stop television production job that is 24/7 WORK WORK WORK consume me, and now on top of it all, I am beyond busy with my first child, a beautiful baby girl. I’m sick of the excuses and don’t want any more time to pass without writing in my life. Thank you for creating this opportunity of cultivating creativity. Quite simply, thank you for creating. I’m so ready to write myself alive. Without writing, I really feel like I haven’t been living at all. Looking forward to sharing this journey with all of you."

BIOGRAPHY:

Tess Gamboa is an Executive Producer of non-scripted/reality television.  She has enjoyed professional and personal adventures for nearly 20 years, on-camera and off-camera, on-location, on the road, traveling the world and producing for such networks as Bravo, Lifetime, ABC, E!, VH1, MTV and FOX.  Tess has recently premiered her greatest production yet:  a brand new baby girl!  She lives with her husband Andrew, her daughter Elyse and her two dogs Sequoia and Jack Hammer in Los Angeles, California.  This year, Tess feels blessed that her two lifelong dreams have come true: to be a mother … and a writer. 

Stranger Danger

poetry seems to be flowing tonight.  #writeordie

Last Words.

Writing Prompt: If you only had one week left to live, what is the last story/poem/letter or reflection you would write?  What would you put on your last page?  What are the most pressing words you would want to leave behind? 


Last Words.

This is my last foray

Into my past transgressions
And the first time there won't be a future to look forward to

God made the world in 7 days
And in 7 days,
my world, my existence,
my life will be over. 

And on the 7th Day - REST. 

Final words flip-flop
Between two extremes:
Happily Epitaph-ter
Or oBITCHuary

To my mother, I became you
To my daughter, don't become me
To my husband, I tried
And I'm sorry and I never deserved you and this life you gave us. 

To the rest of my family and friends,
I know I always made it all about me. But I need you to know now it was always about all of you.

I should have worked less and played more. 

I should have talked less and listened more. 

I should have focused on quality and not quantity. 

My ears echo Rent's refrain,
"no day but today"
But I fear we lived
Too many maybe tomorrows
In this life we Owned. 

So when I am gone
Live for me. 

"Live. Laugh. Love."
Rise above it all

And meet me,
In the "rainbow in the clouds,"
In the twilight of time,
In the semi-darkness of pre-dawn,
In the magic hour of a brilliant sunset.

And know that "still I rise" in all of you. 

-Tess Gamboa

FOR SETH … 21 YEAR FRIENDSHIP

1994-present.  You are a gift.

Wake Up Call

Writing Prompt: Imagine your current life as an autobiographical novel.  Narrate a day in your life as the main character in your book.  What story would you tell?  Focus on details and describe yourself: include your strengths and weaknesses and everything that makes you YOU.

I am your mother.  And I can barely keep a houseplant alive.  And it’s a miracle this mutt I rescued ten years ago is still alive but I think, in fact, it was he that rescued me.  There he is, snoring at the foot of the bed as we two gals cuddle in it, in the early morning hours after your father has left for work.  The miracle mutt.  The miracle baby.  And me.  So maybe I am the miracle.  Yes.  It’s a miracle that I am your mother.

This morning in the early AM light that filters through the curtains, I can make out the profile of your perfect face.  It is like my soul silhouetted in soft folds of chubby cherub cheeks and pudgy fingers wrapped around my own.

But it is your breath.  Baby’s breath.  It takes my own breath away.  I am so close to you as you sleep.  Closerthanthis.  Nose-to-nose and I drink in every perfect little puff you sigh my way as you slumber.  Baby’s breath more precious than you know.  Because I have lost one before.  A baby whose heart stopped, who never took a breath outside my body.  But you.  You are my heart beating outside my body, as the saying goes.  You have made me a mother and I am forever-changed.

There are many things in life, my daughter, I want to teach you and show you.  But I don’t have the confidence of your father, who knew he was born to be a parent all along.  I’m not a domestic goddess either and my instincts are more fight-or-flight, rather than maternal.  I work too much and sleep too little.  I am a career woman that is married to my job, that parents my colleagues, that spends more time with my co-workers than my own family.  I may handle million-dollar budgets and a staff of dozens but when I am handed a few pounds of pure baby, it is humbling how clueless and incompetent I feel.  The What-Ifs drown out the I Think I Cans and now I stare at your face every morning and I so don’t want to fail you. 

But you make me feel like a Mom.  Every day with you, you grant me that gift.  I am grateful for that.  And my self-doubt wanes with each toothless drooly grin you show me as if an affirmation or confirmation: “Listen here, lady.  Whether you feel like a good mother or not, I have pooped and I have peed.  And there will be more.  And you will change this diaper.  And the next one and the next one and the next one.  You will clean up all my messes.  You will even clean up your own.” 

Before you, my sweet baby: My daily routine used to be shower, do my hair and makeup, stop at Starbucks, conference call after conference call with back-to-back-to-back production meetings, a thousand emails a day, an executive in the television industry, shooting and filming all day and night, every day and night for months on ends, traveling nonstop, living out of a suitcase, working 16-20 hour days or 70-100 hour weeks, etc.

After you: now I am lucky if I shower at all.  Now our big daily field trip is being able to get out the door and see if we can even make it to Starbucks.  My routine is picking your playthings and then picking up your playthings.  And then play pickup repeat.  Play-pickup-repeat.  Every day, you choose book after book and I read to you.  I hope today is the day I figure out how to shush you, soothe you, feed you, change you, love you as well as you love me.

I tiptoe through a gauntlet of colorful, musical toys and past piles of vomit-spit-up-poop-stained, pee-soaked laundry.  I stack a mountain of dirty bottles and parts and nipples like a crazy Jenga game in the kitchen sink.  These are the chores of a domestic goddess.

Every day is the same and “a mother’s work is never done."  How do stay-at-home moms do it?!  Single moms?  Moms with more than one child?!  How did my own mother, an immigrant to this country with her closest family on the other side of the globe (!!), how did my mother raise three kids in a big house with no help??  She shopped for groceries, cooked, cleaned, did all our laundry, supervised our activities, got us showered/bathed/dressed off to school in the pre-dawn darkness, etc.  I should call my mother.  Have I ever thanked her?  I’m in awe of her right now.  She was alone with all of us at home while my father worked all day and night.  And if she was struggling, I never knew it. 

Dear daughter, the struggle to juggle is what you will witness because long before you got here, I raised another child in a sense -- my career.  I nurtured it and tended to it so that it would grow and thrive.  Being so career-driven was so much of my identity that it felt odd to be motivated by motherhood.  My professional life had trumped my personal one for so long.  I fear the challenge of the balancing act everyday.  The guilt that tugs both ways: am I bad at my job now yet I am a good mother?  Or am I still as successful as I was and have instead proven to be a terrible mother??  Still, I want to lead by example and show you how independent you can be, that you can achieve any goal and pursue any ambition you can imagine.  I want to teach you values like sacrifice, determination, leadership, self-esteem, hard work, perseverance and how to embody teamwork and compromise by sharing parental duties with your father.

I want you to know that as I take my turn to be the stay-at-home mom and focus on YOU, it does not mean I am giving up ME.  I don’t want you to think that as you grow older, that you need to give up anything (a career, a hobby, a passion, a dream) that is so important to you and has become so much a part of you. 

There is room for everything.  It adds to the blessings in your life.  It enriches you from the inside out.  This is especially true for the person I can already tell you are – someone with an open heart, a vast, deeply intelligent mind and a kind, compassionate, old soul.  Eight months young with a mischievous glimmer in the eyes of an old soul who’s seen this all before.   

So today, like every day these days, we will wake-eat-play-nap-eat-play-nap-eat-play-bathe-sleep-dishes-laundry-clean-chores-walk the neglected dogs-errands.  We will explore and enjoy and question and wonder and bond and connect and learn.  I am learning more than you, it seems.

I was never a morning person and yet here I am, my new favorite time of day, to watch you before you wake and come to terms with how much my life has changed, how I have changed, how very full I am of so much.

Shhhh your eyes are opening … you’ve opened mine too.