When I was pregnant with Seven, I went to the chiropractor regularly. It started before he was born.
I have a lot of responsibilities. Some might say, more responsibilities than I am capable of keeping up with. So in order to get a break, sometimes my body just quits working. This can look like a head cold, a stomach bug, or a sudden, unexpected nap. In this case, I tried to lift my head off of my pillow one Monday morning and it felt like something in my neck had snapped.
This weekend, I lived an introverted homebody’s nightmare: I went to the Bronx Zoo on a beautiful holiday weekend with six kids, and I went to the mall afterward to get new shoes for Two, who is the most indecisive shoe shopper I have ever met. Perhaps that’s one reason why she has only one pair of shoes.
Many times, I get so caught up in needing everything to be just right before I get started, that I never actually do anything meaningful.
The time my mom put my pigtails in too tight. That is to say, the scalp sensitivity referenced below may be of a genetic nature.
There are some things you can only learn by living them.
Black Hair is something I am beginning to understand. I first had a glimmer of understanding in college, watching a comedy where Caucasian girls were disparaged for flipping their hair around. As a Caucasian girl, when I did have hair, I always liked the way it flopped around, especially when I was running and had it in a ponytail. But it also always bothered me when other girls with my hair type were really obvious about their personal grooming or touching and flipping their hair around in public. In the movie, it was portrayed as something annoying because it is something Black hair just doesn’t do.
This year, my middle daughter is in her third year of competition dance. For each of her three classes, she has a different costume, makeup, tights, shoes, and a hairstyle. For ballet, that usually means a bun, and after I finally looked up how to do it on YouTube, I’ve had good results. It’s super satisfying to take a couple of my oldest son’s worn out (and laundered) black socks, cut the toes off, and roll them into a fat donut that makes my daughter’s bun look thick and round.
When you come in to work a shift at the hospital, you always know who the senior nurse in the room is. It’s the person who has worked on the floor the longest – the person who’s the most experienced. You identify that person early on so if things go south, you’ll know who to look to.
It’s the person you want to ask if you have a question or a problem to solve. It’s the person who will offer to pass meds on one of your patients if you’re having a crazy night. Someone who will get up and just start helping you before you even ask.
Last night, that was me.
A year ago today, I ran the CDPHP Workforce Challenge at 36 weeks pregnant. It’s a tradition I have, to run one race while pregnant with each kid. It’s also a personal tradition of mine to do the Workforce Challenge. The hospital where I work is huge, and the race itself is huge. I can go to the race and disappear amidst the 10,000 participants and have time to myself, sandwiched in between walks to and from my car wherever I manage to find a parking spot downtown.
In order to do the race, I have to sign up in February, because the 10,000 spots fill up long before race day. I missed it a time or two because of that, and now I have a reminder in my calendar that lets me know when it’s time to sign up each year.
Except this year, in February, things were so bad that I couldn’t think about May. I couldn’t plan anything definite so far ahead. Just getting through each day took so much energy, let alone thinking about the future. So February came and went. March, too. And in April, things started to get better.
