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Right about this time last year, I was 40+ weeks pregnant, literally begging IJ to make his appearance. I was talking with a friend about her choice for her word of the year and she asked if I had come up with one. I joked that it was “LABOR” for obvious reasons. Well y’all, 2020 heard me and was like “Hold my beer, we’re gonna stick you to this.” Who would have thought the actual labor that happened a week later would be the easy part??
2020 was WORK, y’all. I know I’m not alone in feeling that way. I know so many of us had the hardest year of our life so far. For the RamFam we added a new person to our household, which don’t get me wrong is totally joyous and adorable, but it’s also a lot of other things. It’s postpartum in all her hormonal glory. It’s teaching five other small humans to share a little bit more of their time with you…and not to jump on momma when she’s feeding the baby. It’s the greatest lack of sleep we’ve ever endured. It’s sharing your body with a not-so-tiny little milk addict 24/7.
By March we were finding our new groove, and then Tyson went limp at dinner one night. If I’ve ever felt my heart leave my body it was watching the ambulance drive away with him and without me. His asymptomatic-since-birth heart condition and taken a complete one-eighty. They admitted him, ran lots of tests, and ultimately recommended heart surgery. Heart. Surgery. For my six-year-old. Let me tell you having to choose between your oldest and youngest child isn’t just labor, it’s agony. But our state had just confirmed their first three cases of Covid. Everything was unknown, but it was clear the hospital was the last place I needed to be with my newborn. So Liam stayed with him for the six days he was admitted. The surgery had a few complications and took twice as long as expected but was a complete success. It also revealed to his doctor that his case was far more high risk than we ever realized. More proof that Ty’s presence in our lives and in our family is a precious, precious miracle.
The day he got discharged was the day the country shut down. Our schools went virtual indefinitely. Liam’s job became full time work from home. Spring was a blur of us once again redefining how we worked as a family. Days were filled with zoom calls for two, three or four kids, none of whom could work a laptop by themselves…which really looked like me ducking between them all as I had obviously forgotten to put pants on again, and reaching over to mute or unmute someone for the 100th time while trying not to lean too far while feeding IJ lest I expose my mommy milk bag to the whole class. Plus that whole thing where we learned how not to be constantly annoyed by one or more of the seven people that are now and forever more around you all. the. time. I was great fun, y’all.
Summer was spent fervently praying for schools to return to in-person in the Fall, all the while knowing deep down they wouldn’t. So I hesitantly and grudgingly prepared for another adventure I swore I would never undertake in motherhood: homeschooling. It’s just not something I ever felt called to do. And I know so many who are called to it so beautifully. My sister? Mom of 7, kick ass homeschooler. Those genetics skipped right by me. And yet I also knew with our kids’ special needs, their general lack of prowess on a computer, and my limitation of just the two arms and one brain, I could not facilitate a kindergartener, first grader, and second grader through hours of daily virtual schooling and maintain my sanity.
So end of August we jumped head first into the deep end of that homeschool life. If I’m being honest, it’s January and I’m currently feeling even less confident in my abilities than I was in August, but that’s another blog for another time. For right now, my only assurance is that we literally have no other option, and at least it’s not middle school. Will we continue next year? who knows. But for now it’s the path we are on, and it is most definitely a labor of love…heavy on the labor.
In all of that change and hardship and chaos, in all of that labor of 2020, there were so many moments of brightness and gratitude. We got to spend practically the whole year together. Liam has been home for all of IJ’s firsts. That baby has had more hype-men for every single milestone than any baby could ever hope for. Our kids have deepened the roots of the true friendships being built within their sibling bond. They are a pack, and they celebrate each other’s strengths and support each other’s struggles (and yes they fight 843 times a day, but we’re focusing on the light right now). Despite having fewer dates than ever in our decade together, Liam and I had more time with each other. We got to make new routines for sharing parenting and work. We got to dream and plan and set boundaries and goals.
No doubt, labor was definitely the word in 2020, but it was good labor. We planted seeds to better our family: how we operate, how we love, how we give, how we share. I want 2021 to be about cultivating the labor of 2020. If you look up CULTIVATE in the dictionary–just kidding who still has one of those, but when you type it into google you will see words like “to foster the growth of, to further, to encourage”. That’s what I want to do this year, in my home, with my family, in my world, with my friends, with social media, with myself. I want to foster the growth of all the good things we started last year. I want to further my relationships with others and with that hot mess in the mirror. I want to encourage my kids and my husband and my barista and the neighbor at the park and the mom in my dms. I want to be a light for others this year, as bright as the sun shining down on those seeds, cultivating them into the sweetest fruit.
Happy New Year, friends! I hope it brings you everything you are striving for. I hope you find light, encouragement, and love here long the way! I’d love to know your word of the year if you’ve picked one! Drop it below!
