Dear X,
When we talked on the phone earlier this week, you mentioned that you and your spouse are thinking of having a child. You mentioned that you'd been reading books to prepare for the parenting experience. I laughed at you. That wasn't very nice of me.
This past week has been - without a doubt - the hardest yet in my short time as a parent, so I wasn't as supportive as I perhaps could've/should've been.
First, Hagen has been sick all week. When the rash bloomed this morning all over his torso, we finally determined that he has roseola. So - a cold, an ear infection, and a crazy rash-bearing virus, all in the same ten days.
On Thursday, the whole family was in Missoula when a snowstorm rolled in. It came so fast and heavy that Thor and I didn't think we could make it home, so we stayed at Sue's house where we all slept within a few feet of each other. Hagen decided he didn't feel like sleeping; for the first half of the night, Thor and I took turns walking laps around her bathroom to keep him from crying and waking up everyone else. Then, when that didn't work anymore, we took turns driving around the neighborhood, every hour on the hour. Because it's open 24 hours, we even swung by Walmart at 4am so I could pick up some groceries while Hagen and Thor slept in the car. For 48 hours, I didn't sleep, I wore the same clothes, and (I'm guessing) smelled funny.
The next morning, I had to write a script for a pitch reel based on a scientific premise I don't remotely understand. I can name every contestant in the history of Top Chef, but that doesn't come in handy when I'm being paid to understand biomimicry. In the end, I stared at my computer and cried, because that was easier. Thor had a class that day on avalanche survival up at the ski hill. All day, I imagined he had dug himself a snow cave and was sleeping in it, because that's what I'd be doing.
Off and on all week, I've been picturing you reading those books and attempting to prepare yourself for an experience that's impossible to prepare for. When you're pregnant, people give you infuriating advice like, "You should sleep when the baby sleeps!" By the way, the only people who should be allowed to say that are people who have already washed your dishes, swept your floor and run a load of clothes. Folks rarely share the unvarnished truth about having children: It's rewarding. It fills your life. It changes the way you view the world around you. You instantly love another person in a way you previously couldn't have wrapped your head or heart around. But it's hard. It's so so so hard. You may think your job is hard, but it isn't. You could quit your job and be digging trenches for the Peace Corps in Guadalajara by next week. You could give your dog away. You could sell your house, or hell, burn it down. But once you have a baby, you spend every waking minute of the rest of your life thinking and worrying about it. I know this is true, because when we had that snowstorm earlier this week, I had three messages on my phone from my mother calling to be sure that I was okay. I am 36 years old and 1700 miles away from her. Doesn't matter.
OF COURSE I'm overjoyed to be a mom, and I don't take it for granted. I'm insanely lucky to be married to a good man with two beautiful, (typically) healthy children. My life is blessed - I know.
But don't say I didn't warn you.
Don't worry; this blog'll be back to cute pictures of cute children doing cute things tomorrow.
-Brooke
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