Transgender Transatlantic on the way out, Irish-Armenian Alliance on the way back

Now that I'm two full days back to the reality of my life, I've had a moment to reflect on just how freakin insane the actual travel part of my trip to Ireland actually was. If I had never even seen Geraldine in Ireland the flight out and the flight back would have been enough of a shit show to have made the trip worth while. At the very least worth while to write about in this here blog o'mine.

Ok. So. The ticket was free. Free tickets mean layovers which for people who work/travel for work is a major hassle. Layovers for stay-at-home moms means more time to drink and socialize with adult strangers at the bar -- which is awesome. Given that normally an interesting week for me would be scoring a free pass to the zoo or the aquarium -- the thought of a free ticket to Ireland with a layover where I could day-drink between flights...well, let's just say...I started to drool just thinking about it when I got my itinerary.

On my way out, my flight to Ireland had a three hour layover in Atlanta. I think I was in the TGI Friday's bar about seven minutes after the plane had landed from Boston. Not to worry, I made sure the TGIF bar was the closest to my departure gate and that my bag (an enormous suitcase entirely filled with baby gear for my friend) was checked through to Dublin. Score. I had almost two and half hours to hang out, relax, and pull some poor sap into a adult conversation with me since the only people I hang out with on a regular basis are under the age of three.

I opened my menu and ordered the first gorgeous looking mixed drink they advertised. I couldn't mess around and have a beer or a glass of wine -- I needed to go all out if I was going to take full advantage of this time away from home. A guy pulls up a stool next to me and orders a beer with the thickest masshole accent ever. The vodka drink is making me think I might still be at Logan airport and missed my initial flight to Atlanta. I ask him where he's from, he says Boston. I say, "Clearly. Where in Boston?" He says Roslindale. I tell him I'm from Southie. He says he grew up in Southie. I tell him my cross streets he tells me his. Of course, they're like three blocks apart. I have found my layover day drinking friend.

He's a dad, I'm a mom...blah, blah, blah....it was a totally plutonic and friendly conversation for those of you with dirty minds out there who think I'm about to go on about some airport rendezvous. Please. I'm a mother for Christ sake. I haven't had a proper haircut or bought any fun new outfits in a LONG time. This was strictly business. Day-drinking, desperately-need-to-socialize-with-adults-over-alcohol kind of business. We were just starting to really throw our masshole accents around when the bar sprung a huge leak. There was a good inch of water involved. I wasn't going to let anything ruin this layover for me, and having been a waitress for what felt like one hundred years during my teens and twenties -- a flooded bar doesn't bother me in the slightest. I actually tried to help clean up a bit given the panic that ensued around me. I guess soppy wet luggage and backpacks bother people. Not me. The point is, I got a free a drink for my "troubles." Seriously? Troubles? I should have showed them my daughters care page -- maybe they would have given me a keg to carry on the flight with me. Anyway, after the leak debacle me and Mr. Southie yucked it up a bit more and then he headed off to Sarasota to golf with his brother-in-law.

I'm just about to check the time since this has been a bit more of a hectic day-drinking situation than I first expected when the older business man standing to my left (who had been happily getting a kick out of me and Mr. Southie's masshole exchange for some time now while throwing back chardonnay after chardonnay) buys me a drink. Again. This guy is not hitting on me. Just a few chardonnay's in and hoping to take Mr. Southie's place and have a few laughs with a crazy stay-at-home mom day drinker before his flight. I'm thinking, damn! I'm on a tear! I haven't lost my ability to day drink or make conversation with adults in a bar! I was feeling pretty damn good (and buzzed :) let me tell you.

I guess you can kind of see where this is going -- but yes, they called my name over the loudspeaker, yes they almost canceled my ticket and threatened to take my enormous bag of baby gear off the plane, and yes I almost missed my flight to Dublin. All I remember thinking as I raced towards the gate is how the hell am I going to explain to my brother (who gave me the free ticket) and my husband (who is juggling both work and our kids for me) that I missed my flight with a THREE HOUR LAYOVER. Doesn't matter. Because once they double checked my passport to make sure I wasn't some last minute shoe bomber and I crossed that threshold -- I was on the plane, had already scored two free drinks, and basically felt like the hottest shit at the Atlanta airport. Well, the hottest shit wearing yoga pants and mom clogs anyway.

I sit down. I'm on the aisle and there is an empty seat next to me. I feel like I've won the lottery and the buzz I've got on actually has me thinking that my overall luck in life has turned a corner. I'm thinking...this is the beginning of the rest of my life (totally over dramatic but remember there were two huge vodka cocktails involved and a glass of chardonnay that I basically had to chug before sprinting to my gate). It's a good thing I have an empty seat next to me because in the next seat over is the largest human being I have ever seen in all my life. Not fat, large. Just straight up enormous. And she's a grandmother. She's got a big ol' gray ponytail and her shoulders are towering over the back of her chair. If she's Irish she looks like she probably pushed a tractor without an engine with her own brute strength over the green grassy hills of whatever remote village where she's from. If she's American? I don't quite know what to think but let's just say, it's pretty clear this is Granny's first trip on a plane. With the empty seat between us -- I'm not bothered by this in the slightest except for the fact that Granny stands out just a smidge amongst the other Irish families returning home from a vacation in the states.

I get settled and realize that they've updated the personal entertainment systems on international flights since the last time I was on one and they basically have every movie I've missed since the kids were born -- on demand, at my fingertips, for free. This is going to be the best seven and half hours I've had in a long time. I can finally watch The Artist, My Week With Marilyn....haven't even gotten to Ireland yet and am having the best time of my life. Until....

Granny needs some help with her remote. She's clearly trying to figure out all this entertainment madness even dragging her finger across the screen like it's an iPhone. I'm feeling pretty good about myself so I figure why not give this poor woman a hand. I start helping her figure out how the remote works, get her situated with her earphones, we have a nice little exchange, introduce ourselves, etc. She's trying to open some kind of little package of snacks or something with a plastic knife and cuts her finger. I give her my napkin as she waits for the stewardess to bring her a bandaid. Then she leans over to me and says, "Even with the tiniest cut, I bleed really bad because of the agent orange exposure." Um, ok. Shit. Buzz kill alert. My good deed to help this woman is clearly going to turn into the mother load of buzz kills and I haven't even ordered my complimentary glass of wine yet. Goddamn it. Things were looking so good back in Atlanta.

She was clearly wanting to have a chat -- so I said, "Oh, that's awful! I'm assuming you mean agent orange from Vietnam?" She said yes but still wanted me to engage her in conversation so I dug my heels in. "What was your role when you were in Vietnam?" -- I know what's coming but I just have to be sure this situation is actually happening to me. She says, "I was fighting just like everybody else, I was a man back then." Right. Of course you were.

She then goes on to tell me she suffers from PTSD and this is her first big trip since her suicide attempt a few weeks ago. No joke -- seriously. I immediately tell her how amazing I think it is that she's taking this trip, that Ireland is a beautiful country and that the fresh country air and beautiful scenery will do her wonders. I sound like I work for Ireland's Tourism Bureau -- but seriously -- what the hell else could I have said after all that? I love the Irish to death but as I'm hearing this woman's story I'm secretly wondering just how well this Trannygranny is going to fair on her first trip out of her house in a few years having picked Ireland as her destination. The Irish are fantastic -- don't get me wrong -- but I'm not sure "celebrating diversity" would be in my top three adjectives for describing their culture. The poor thing...she'll be fine but, um, wow. Not exactly what I expected when I sat down buzzin from my first time back on the bar scene in two years. It was sad/inspiring to say the least -- and sure as hell chalks up to yet another situation where I'm thinking -- do I have a sign on my forehead that says, "Hi, I'm Molly. You may not know me, but I'm the kind of person you can just divulge all your shit to immediately upon meeting, here have a seat, lets get started."

Ok. So that was the flight out. On the flight back I'm a little less enthused about flying over Boston, down to Atlanta, and then back up to Boston for a total of 13 hours. Being my first trip away from the kids for this long, I'm ready to get home. My suitcase is entirely empty except for a screwdriver (I brought over to put a baby swing together that I had brought for Ger) and one tube of nipple cream (she laughed when I tried to give it to her and said, "Whatever that is, get it away from me.") Huge enormous suitcase, light as a feather, and with these two items in it -- my suitcase will undoubtedly be the butt of a few TSA jokes. I'm going to try like hell to keep a straight face myself when the guy at customs asks me if I have anything to declare.

I get through customs, and hurry to my seat so I can get started on the remaining 2011 oscar nominated films I have left to watch :) When we arrive in Atlanta my flight is delayed 45 mins, given that I have nothing in my suitcase I need other than the suitcase itself, I try to get on an earlier flight to Boston rather than work my regular shift at the TGIFriday's bar. No can do. Guess it's not the 90's anymore and standby is a thing of the past. So, I end up back at TGIF to check in on the staff and see how everyone's doing while I was away for the weekend. The 45 minute delay turns into an hour and half delay and we board the flight. Everyone boarding this flight is flustered about the delay -- but I'm starting to go green with exhaustion at this point. Well, that was just the beginning.

They tell us (after we've all freakin boarded the damn plane) that there is a mechanical problem and they are trying to fix it. They ask us to pull your shades and turn off our air while they attempt to fix the problem. I told you we were in Atlanta, right? Well, it's freakin hot in Atlanta. The lady sitting next to me is a hysterically funny chick, right up my ally with her kind of humor, and is having none of this delay shenanigans. Actually, her name is Shannon the Irish nickname for Shenannigans :) She's freakin funny as hell -- so I'm thinking, well at least she's got some life in her -- this might actually be fun. She asks me my name, I tell her Molly. We go on to find out that we're both walking Irish-American stereotypes and collectively our kids names sound like a rugby team out of Southie. A super nice guy is sitting next to her and he's trying to help make a baby stop crying cross the aisle from him. He ends up pinching the baby by accident and the little one goes into an absolute fit. I felt bad for him, but not as bad as I did for the mother of the baby. Been there. We all start laughing at how awful this situation is getting, Shannon makes a joke about the two of us being Irish and guesses that this guys is Armenian. He is. She asks him if he'd be willing to change his name to Shamus just for the flight but he ends up just sticking with his real name, Andrew. He knows he's got his hands full with these two Irish lasses he's just acquired in row 42 -- but he's totally game. He ends up being freakin hysterical too.

Long story short is that Row 42 starts begging the stewardesses (two jacked gay guys who literally could not keep their hands off each other -- kinda funny) for alcohol to make this situation more manageable. They're not having it. Shannon and I have just hatched a plan to takeover first class because we know they're getting their drink on -- when they ask us to deboard the plane and wait to hear whether we're actually going to get to Boston tonight. Thinking back to how insane my flight was on the way out -- I'm not surprised in the slightest at the thought that I might be sharing a hotel room in Atlanta with my Irish and Aremenian buddies.

It wasn't even a question that the three of us were heading straight to a bar to await word on the status of our flight. A lovely sushi dinner and drinks at the bar across TGI Friday's (I'm becoming a local at Terminal E) and we've become fast friends. I can't even begin to explain the conversation we were having together -- it was like the three of us had been friends for years. Really....it was awesome. Funny stuff, serious stuff, it didn't matter -- we just fell right into a complete and utter comfort zone with one another and given the horrendous situation -- we were having a really good time.

We boarded a second plane, kept our original seats, and continue to laugh our asses off and tell stories (some of which I can't even go in to detail about here - but just know they were AWESOME). All we could hope for was that soon the plane would take off, they'd bring out the beverage cart, and we'd keep this party going. Not so much.

Everything you can imagine went wrong. We had to wait for a new flight crew because at this point it would have been illegal for the same crew to stay on the flight they had been working so long. There was a fucking peanut allergy on the plane. They tricked us into thinking at one point we were leaving and then they realized they hadn't put ANY BAGS ON THE PLANE. Passengers literally started taking a poll, "I don't really need my bag, do you need your bag? I don't even really like my suitcase, I've been wanting to replace it for some time now. Maybe if we tell them that we're all fine leaving without our bags they'll just send the bags to Boston later?" At this point, I never cared about the screwdriver or the nipple cream, now I don't even care about the suitcase itself. Totally replaceable. JUST FUCKING PULL BACK. It was awful. But it gave us a LOT of material to laugh about and the three of us were on fire with the amount of shit happening that we were able to make fun of. We left Atlanta five hours after our original flight was supposed to leave. Unbelievable. By the time I got to Boston I had been up for 20 hours. I could have gone to Vietnam, been exposed to agent orange myself, and made it back to Boston in that amount of time.

Needless-to-say, we arrived in Boston after seven hours together. In seven hours it felt like we had the kind of friendship that was formed over four years of college or as if we had all lived together as roommates in some city together. People may not understand when we refer to one another as "old friends from Delta 1400 Class of 2012" but I told Andrew and Shannon that I would be more than willing to put together an alumni newsletter so we could keep in touch year to year -- maybe even organize a summer bbq where we as Row 42 alums can get together and have our families meet one another :)

Fucking crazy. And boy would I love to put the finishing touches on this post and tell you that the insanity ended there. Sorry. If that were the truth I wouldn't be the kind of person that people say, "You should write all this shit down. The weirdest most ridiculous things happen to you." (Hence, one of the reasons for this blog, I guess.) One last disaster and I swear the post from hell will end.

My parents ended up spending the night at my house minding the kids because my husband had an early morning meeting the morning after I arrived and they wanted to be sure there was coverage for the kids if I didn't make it back from Atlanta. I basically fell into bed like a dead person and then woke up at 7AM to find my parents and my nine month old son in a panic outside my daughter's bedroom door which she had locked from the inside. Yup. My two year old was locked in her room. She's crying from inside her room and my son is crying outside her room. I think my parents might have been crying too, I can't remember. Seriously? Is this really happening right now?

Now that's she's walking, at some point during the day, she had pushed the button in on the inside of the door, and when my parents put her down in her crib the night before they pulled the door shut -- locking it. We had to call a locksmith in Southie, who of course had a thicker brogue than even my girlfriend Geraldine who I had just been with the night before in Dublin. I started thinking...maybe I haven't even left Ireland yet and this is some kind of an acid trip?

Needless to say, this lovely Irish guy picked the lock and I got to rush into my daughter's room and yell, "Surprise! Mummy's home!" I think she's still trying to understand why I went through all the effort to have the door busted open to make my return so overly dramatic. But, I'll just let her think that was all part of the surprise of me coming home. I'm trying not to think about the fact that the next time I try to go on vacation she's probably going to have a fit thinking that means she has to be locked in her room while I'm gone.

Anyhoo....told my parents about the whole Transgendered/Transatlantic/Irish-Armenian Alliance debacle over coffee. Later that evening my mum went out to meet a girlfriend (who I know really well) for drinks and started to tell her about my return flight last night. Her friend looked at her in disbelief. She was in Row 20 on the same flight. She said she kept seeing someone that looked exactly like me -- since there was plenty of opportunity given we got on and off the planes what felt like a million different times -- but she just thought -- that's impossible. Molly has two small children -- what the hell would she be doing in Atlanta? I must be losing my mind.

Nope. That was me :)

Terrible Tourist

Geraldine and her family have been calling me a "terrible tourist" since I arrived because I can't be bothered to do any touristy things and instead have been catching up on sleep and just spending time with her.  She gets very annoyed with me every time I'm out here because she feels like she's letting her country down.  Here she is with an able bodied American on her hands and she can't even get me into a pub or a single castle or anything.  She even brought me down to the Jameson distillery -- I was pretty sure she was going to force me into a tour -- but as it turns out she actually walked in and asked the staff if she could exchange me for a better tourist -- someone she could actually show around Dublin :)  Didn't work.  She's been stuck with me in my pajamas on her couch all weekend.  And it's been lovely.

She's super pregnant and I'm super tired from child rearing -- so we make a good pair.  She's hanging in there with things as best she can....it's not easy waiting for a baby to arrive.  She is in her last month and I've been getting sympathy pains all weekend just knowing how tough that it is.  Anyone who has been pregnant knows you exist somewhere between wanting to rip the band aid off already and have the damn baby or just stay pregnant the rest of your life so you don't have to face what lies ahead.  Your first pregnancy is so hard because no matter how many people around you tell you what it's like to have children...you just can't know what they are talking about until you experience it.  Everyone has the best intentions of helping you understand what you can expect as you get closer to your impending due date -- but on some level you just don't quite know what you are waiting for exactly.  It's so hard to imagine yourself holding your own baby, becoming an actual "mother", and trying to picture your new life with a baby in it 24-7.  You've seen people around you do it throughout your life -- but here you are about to embark on it yourself.  Crazy stuff.  Makes the waiting hard.

But my friend Ger is the trooper of all troopers and she's getting through this last part one day at a time. She and I had similar first pregnancies in that they didn't pan out to be what we expected.  Ger hasn't put a nursery together.  I didn't either.  It was too hard to have baby stuff just sitting there waiting when I wasn't sure what was exactly going to happen with the baby....the thought of having all that stuff lying around if the unmentionable happened....it was just too hard.  Ger's baby is healthy and she's got tons of family support and amazing friends -- but that doesn't change the fact that she's 34 weeks pregnant and lives alone.  It's scary.  I was scared in my last month waiting for the baby to arrive and I had Brian AND my parents living with me.  This morning I had to leave Geraldine.  And while I love my husband and my kids....I selfishly wished we could time travel back to when it was just the two of us living together as roommates....if I was on my own with no one else depending on me...I would have stopped my life and lived with her this last month just to calm her fears and let her know someone was physically there for her if she needed anything leading up to this "wee one's" arrival.  It literally broke my heart to leave her this morning.  But when she dropped my off at the airport this morning we both said (admittedly through a few tears) -- we're going to be old and gray someday just sitting around laughing and carrying on with all of this behind us.

When I had to drop off Geraldine at Logan airport a few weeks before I delivered Haven -- I was a mess.  She grabbed me by the shoulders and she told me that no matter what happened, she'd be back, we'd see each other again soon and we'd always, always be there for each other -- through thick and thin -- I'd see her again, the baby would be born, and we'd get through whatever lay ahead with Haven's diagnosis.  Well, two and half years later, here I am at Dublin airport on my way back to Boston with my arms on her shoulders returning the favor.

I told her no matter what, I'd see her again, she'd have her precious cargo with her, and this scary part of things would be behind us.  That we'll always have each other no matter what.  I gave her a kiss, told her she was going to do great, that she should try not to worry too much...she'll be alright....because she's going to be a wonderful mother.  She really and truly is.  I couldn't be more proud of her and I couldn't be more thankful that I was able to be there for her in her time of need.   Just like she was there for me during mine.

Ireland

Yes, the title to this post is true. I have two small children and I am on my way to Ireland today.  By. My. Self.  You'd think I was one of the Real Housewives but I'm not.  I just have an awesome husband, a super generous brother and amazing parents who are going to help my awesome husband with our kids while I'm away.

One of my best girlfriend's is having a baby in early August and she's going it alone, so my brother, who travels a ton for work, gifted me the miles I need to get to Ireland.  For free.  I don't quite know how to thank him for his kindness exactly but I know he knows just how much this trip means to me...on multiple levels.

The combination of getting a break from the unrelenting and back breaking work that is being a stay-at-home mom AND getting to be there for my friend -- who I would literally cut a limb off for -- means the world to me.  We haven't seen each other in over two years.  In fact, the last time I saw her she came to Boston to be a support to me one month before I had my daughter who has a heart condition.  At the time, I was 9 months pregnant and the doctors told me they couldn't really be sure how things would turn out with my daughter once she was born, we just had to wait and hope that the open heart surgeries they were planning after she arrived would keep her alive.  Needless-to-say, it meant a lot to me that she came all the way to Boston -- if nothing else than to give me a huge hug and tell me she loved me and that we'd get through this no matter what the outcome.  And we did.

Fast forward to today and she needs a similar visit from me.  And because of my amazing family I'm able to return the favor.  She's having this baby on her own and while she does have family in Ireland who I am sure are going to step up to the plate and help her -- she is definitely overwhelmed and a little scared and I just couldn't live with myself without wrapping my arms around her one last time before this baby arrives and letting her know -- she can do this.

She and I used to live together and were crazy-ass waitresses at a local Irish bar in Boston -- and man did we paint the town red.  In a major major way.  In ways that are not appropriate to discuss in this blog or in really any other setting besides the two of us alone laughing our asses off about some of the stunts we pulled (which we will be doing in less than 24 hours :)  When we were together we were hell bent on never getting married -- and if anyone ever asked us if we thought someday we might want kids -- we'd laugh in their face with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  Not exactly the earthmother types that you would want raising your children.  But here we are...I have two and she's got one on the way.

I have surprised myself time and time again with actually being an amazing mother.  And as fun loving and crazy as BOTH of us would like people to believe we are -- well, because in all honesty we are bat shit crazy and know how to have a hell of a lot of fun -- BUT, I know she is going to be an amazing mother, too.  Honestly, I think this baby is going to force her to let down some of that armor and let the world know just how much she's got this covered.  She might not know it yet -- but that's what I'm going to Ireland to make sure she knows going into this.  This baby is a lucky baby.  And she is beyond lucky to be about to become a mother.

And until I get there and throw my arms around her -- I am going to enjoy the hell out of being hands-free and without my two kiddos (as much as I know I'm going to miss them -- already cried twice this morning).  I'm going to ride the escalators instead of the elevators, enjoy the enormous salad I just ordered (that's more than I've eaten in two and half years combined) and I'm going to eat it with two hands :)

Father's Day

You would think that having kids would make you more aware of holiday's like Father's Day.  Instead our world is so hectic and chaotic, I barely remembered to get my husband a card let alone do anything special for him.  I never watch television that isn't DVR'd so I can't even rely on commercials to let me know what holiday's are fast approaching.  Just more baggage to pile into the backpack of mommy guilt we all wear as mothers.

I used to be one of those people who enjoyed holidays, I would look forward to any excuse to party with friends and family.  Thanksgiving, New Year's, Halloween....hell Arbor Day, Flag Day -- I don't care -- let's get together, celebrate whatever day it is, laugh and drink.  I even used to throw ridiculous parties for myself on my own birthday, now I can't even remember how old I am.  Regardless, Father's Day today was spent with my husband and kids and my parents who just returned from being away for a month.  The kids are so happy to have "Mamaw" and "Bumpa" back and because they are such an amazing support to both me and my husband we're happy to have them back too.

Before kids, I could actually think in advance of something nice I would like to do for my dad for Father's Day -- make him something, write him a thoughtful card, take him out to dinner.  Today he came over, babysat my kids for an hour so I could run to Men's Warehouse with my husband (now THAT'S a hot date -- let me tell you!), prepped all the food for the grill, and I think he even ended up doing the dishes.  Not exactly how you picture honoring someone for all they've done for you over the years.

But I'm lucky to have a father that literally has NO PROBLEM doing all those things for my family -- even on Father's Day.  He's literally one of THE nicest, sweetest, most caring people on the planet (ask anyone :) and he would literally bend over backwards for me, my husband or my children.  And he has.  Over, and over, and over again.  I'm really lucky to have had him as my father growing up and he continues to be a father for the family I have created in my adult life.

Now let's talk about the less than amazing Father's Day for my husband.  Listen up, because this is every man's dream...we left the kids with the grandparents in order to steel a quick moment alone so I could properly honor him for the amazing man that he is....at Men's Warehouse.  There's nothing that says I-love-you-for-being-the-husband-that-you-are-and-the-most-amazing-father-in-the-world-to-our-two-adorable-children than having him fitted for new suits because he's lost weight working around the clock for said adorable family.  These new suits (that we are thankfully getting during a buy-one-get-one free sale) will better fit my husband's incredibly shrinking body as he continues to burn the midnight oil while I stay-at-home with our small children.  I think he got more action from the male tailor during the fitting than he has from me in months (nine months to the day Ronan was conceived to be exact....I'm kidding, it's not THAT bad).  So, we left Men's Warehouse talking about how much muscle mass he's lost because he's shriveling away behind his computer in order to support our family.

As we approached our car, a homeless woman sitting in front of a store front window asked us for some spare change and when I told her I didn't have anything on me (which is true -- since I don't make my own money anymore as a stay-at-home mom, the idea of a wallet or even pants with pockets sort of becomes obsolete), I saw my reflection in the window behind her.  And I have to say, the homeless woman looked a hell of a lot more pulled together than I did.  I'm not saying she doesn't have a story to tell or some serious shit she's dealing with -- I would never make fun of something like that.  But she did -- at least aesthetically -- look a hell of a lot better than I did on that street corner.  Not better off -- just better looking.  I was again reminded of just how physically taxing and utterly exhausting it is for both of us to be in this phase of our lives with small children.  It's taken a toll on both me and my husband physically.  But I just told him that no matter how skinny he gets or how haggard I end up looking at the end of the day -- he's a damn good father, I love him to death, and I hope for both of us that we survive this phase of our lives in one piece.

Who knows, maybe when we're 50 we'll miraculously wake-up one day to a quiet house hold looking like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.  One can dream.

heart mom/regular mom

I am a heart mom to a two year old daughter with PAIVS and I also have a 9 month old son with a healthy heart.  I created this blog because as a new mom I have found it unbelievably helpful to read other people's writing about motherhood.  But being a heart mom can sometimes feel a little different from being a "regular" mom.  I have oftentimes wished I could find other heart moms websites who are lucky enough, like me, to be off their care page (for now anyway) and are raising their heart kids and their healthy kids -- and just trying to hang in there with it all.

We're not that different from any other family except that we do always have our daughter's heart condition in the back or front of our mind (depending on the day) and it's probably fair to say that the first year of our daughter's life likely gave my husband and I a few more grey hairs than the average parent.  While our lives are not currently in complete and utter chaos because of our child's heart condition -- they sure as hell have been in the past and god willing it won't ever get that bad again anytime soon.   I am unbelievably fortunate that I don't have to update a care page about my daughter on a regular basis right now and therefore I feel like this blog is a more fair representation of my family's day-to-day existence.  We've thankfully moved out of the crisis mode in which we started our family with and we now live with many of the struggles and joys that everybody else lives with - the four of us just do it with a collective seven and half ventricles instead of eight.

So, we live a little bit differently in that it's been a tough road to get to where we are today, but not nearly as tough as we maybe originally expected.  We spend a lot of time feeling unbelievably grateful and blessed that we've made it through all that we have.  But as grateful and appreciative as we are -- we're admittedly just as tired, stressed out and exhausted as any other parent with young kids is on any given weeknight or day that ends in "y".

Our kids are exactly a year and half apart in age -- almost to the day.  That by itself is a challenge.  But I have to say, especially now that I have my healthy heart son, I am completely amazed and in awe of just how awesome it is to have a healthy child from birth.  I feel so unbelievably appreciative of both of my kids and what my family has been through in the past two and half years that I feel compelled to write about it.  If not for the camaraderie some other heart mom might gain from reading this (or any mother for that matter), but also for my kids and for me.  Who knows -- maybe it'll be nice for them to read someday about our day-to-day when they were little and it might not be a bad thing for me to reflect on things every once and a while given how crazy our lives are and how hard it is right now to relish in the "present".  Hence, the creation of this blog.

I am so lucky that my two year old daughter is doing as well as she is with her diagnosis and that my son is happy and healthy 9 month old.  I only just came up for air enough that I feel like I can finally take a minute or two (who am I kidding this will probably be my one and only post because I have no idea how I found the time to even figure out how to set this thing up) to reflect on everything that's happened and everything that lies ahead.