On last year at this time.


one of my prized possessions

Every evening before I go to bed, I write a one-line memory of something that happened that day on my index card calendar. I started doing this in December of 2012, so I already have a full year's worth of memories written on my collection of cards. It's been so fascinating to be able to read exactly what I was doing last year on any particular day, but the line from February 4, 2013 really made my brain spin:

"2013: K. put on temporary bedrest :("

I actually laughed out loud when I read it a few hours ago. The me of today started thinking "Why on earth were you so bummed about being on bedrest??? Dr. H was giving you strict orders to nap, read all the books and watch all the movies you want, and not have to do anything strenuous for at least another month...that is the life!!!!! Are you crazy?!"

The me of exactly a year ago, however, had no experience raising a child, going to school, and running a household simultaneously.

The me of exactly a year ago had no idea what both true productivity and true rest were really like.

The me of exactly a year ago didn't understand what being busy -really, honestly busy- was like.

Last year at this time, I was a mother-in-waiting. I was anticipating my son's arrival in a month or two. I had all of the "stuff" necessary for welcoming a baby into the world. I had read as many books as I could about parenting and caring for newborns.

But I had no real world experience in being a real live mother to a real live baby.

I say all of this to make a point about growth: we are constantly changing, evolving, growing as people...but also as parents. Last year at this time, I was a completely different person. I thought I knew what inconvenience and working hard and time management were all about. I didn't. I'm not saying that you have to be a parent to fully understand these concepts because you don't have to be. But what I am saying is that having my son has matured me in a much different way...in a way that I wasn't expecting at all.

I would give anything to be able to go back to my bedrest days. I should have read more. I should have relaxed more. I should have wished less about making my son hurry up. Not because I don't love him; I absolutely, unequivocally do. But because I didn't enjoy the last little bits and pieces of a less stressed, less hurried, and less productive life.

I'm thinking about what to write for the February 4, 2014 index card entry. I have no idea yet, but I'm sure it will be the polar opposite of last year's.