I have exciting news to share!
Perhaps you already saw on social media, but last month I was named a finalist for the Prairie Sky Chamber of Commerce Warman, Martensville & Region Business Excellence Awards (WMBEXA) for New Business of the Year!! (Say that 3x fast, record yourself, and send it to me!)
To say I am excited is an understatement. I’ve already shared some of my reaction on social media, and now wanted to dive a little deeper into what this means to me.
I found out I was nominated in three WMBEXA categories in December. I remember the day so clearly: we were having our last moms group before Christmas at my house. My husband texted me, asking if I was home and if the moms were still there, replying, “Perfect” when I said yes.
He shows up, hands me the cards congratulating me on being nominated in the Customer Service, Community Involvement, and New Business of the Year categories. Cue the tears. Why? Well, one, because I’m a pretty emotional person. Two, because we were in the midst of some really hard bedtimes and we felt so drained emotionally, mentally, and physically. That exhaustion made this recognition That. Much. Sweeter. And three, I’ve been busting my butt these past few months (heck, past couple years, but really extra recently) to grow my business.
For those not familiar with these business awards, you then have to apply to be chosen as a finalist. You fill out an application that takes hours, and I mean HOURS. Those applications (you can apply in two categories, so I chose Community Involvement and New Business) consumed my life in January. I don’t even want to say how many hours it took me to do them. We are at least in double digits…
Not only did they consume my life, but I had incredible amounts of help from two people in particular: my husband (who cried with me when I was nominated – he knows how hard I work and that’s how proud he was) and a dear friend, Erin Francais. I need to write an entire blog post about her at some point, and I will (this is me getting you to hold me accountable). She read and reread and edited and took photos and helped me choose photos and responded to messages without exasperation. I messaged her every day for a month. Probably multiple times. And she still talks to me!
I also had to ask people (all women actually – talk about #womensupportingwomen) for letters of support, and I was overwhelmed not only by women’s eagerness to help me, but by their kind words. More tears, lots of them. I’m basically constantly crying.
To be completely honest, when I tackled the New Business application, part of me wanted to quit. It felt so hard. But it’s supposed to!! You are reflecting on how far you have come, what is your plan, what are your goals, what skills do you have to make that happen, what have you achieved so far. It took a great amount of introspection, but (wo)man, was it worth it. I got to see just how far I have come, and then I had a clear plan of where I was going and how I was going to get there.
So how far have I come? I won’t share everything I wrote in those 15 PAGES, but in a nutshell, when I first completed my training as a postpartum doula, I didn’t have a clear direction, but I ploughed forward anyway. I started by creating an online, social media presence and a blog. I did weekly live Facebook chats to create a virtual, online moms group (because I really wanted the in-person moms group!). I started speaking to expectant moms or new moms, I attended trade shows. I landed my first client! And then another and another. And then in the midst of planning to move our family to Brandon and my husband already gone, I said, F*** it, and started the moms group I dreamed of with the support of Haylie Lashta out of Warman Physio. This replaced the live chats. Thank goodness I went forward with this group: we didn’t end up moving, but more importantly, it was a hit. By creating community for other women in the area, I created the community I was lacking. Their letters of support were testimony to what that group means to them.
I connected with local businesses in the area so there was coffee at the moms groups and giveaway prizes. Everybody wins when we businesses promote each other and work together!
Along the way, I added programming workshops to help women deal with the emotional load of becoming a mom and also to help find peace after a traumatic birth. Then I took the birth stories I was writing and upped the ante and now create stunning birth story books that you really won’t find anywhere else, and I’m so busy with these, and know I’m going to only get busier. I’m a damn good writer from all these years as a journalist (16+! Where did the time go?!), and I am creative and have a knack for design (that is always improving, thanks to the very particular eye of my friend, Erin!).
Erin, oh Erin. She sat me down in the fall, told me my prices were bullshit, designed a gorgeous logo for me, helped me revamp my price guide and make it gorgeous, and then not-so-subtly convinced me to redesign my website that looked more blog and turn it into the beautiful masterpiece it is now (I mean, bounce around my website, it’s gorgeous!). She helped me rewrite my packages and services. She has taken photos upon photos: all the beautiful, professional photos on my website are from her. She is so talented and a true friend. She has helped me more than she realizes. Or maybe she does realize. She’s smart like that. Either way, she helped me take my business to the next level.
Did I mention I did all this while being a full-time mom, wife, and friend, and a part-time web and social media editor?!
I have to add: I have made a very conscious decision a few months ago to only follow people and groups on social media that inspire me, to only be friends with people who lift me up, and to only collaborate with other strong, fierce, but kind women. I am the sum of all the strong, amazing, badass women in my life, and that is on purpose. I don’t waste my time with negativity or drama. You shouldn’t either.
So that brings us to the WMBEXA gala on May 3rd. It took me about an hour to fill a table of 8 with women who have been my greatest supporters, and I am so grateful and SO EXCITED to share this evening with them. Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am. Thank you, fellow badass, beautiful women.
And guess what?! There is more to come. Stay tuned.
The birth story of Stella as told to me by her mama, Kristin
To see the birth story book, watch the slideshow. Read the full story below.
I was due on October 5th. That day, I had asked Hazel what she wanted to do. I wanted to have a day of mommy-daughter time, and just let her pick. So we spent the day at the park, and we went to Tim Hortons and got some Timbits and had lunch together.
“We just enjoyed each other because I knew that time was short at that point, and soon it wouldn’t be just me and her.”
I came home, and I was very tired and uncomfortable. We had supper, and I just rested. All night long I had to pee: I kept getting up to pee, and I just couldn’t get comfortable. I was in pain, not with contractions, but just with a full bladder. I’d pee and the pain and discomfort would go away. I was getting up probably every hour and a half to go to the bathroom.
Chris was normally off on Fridays, but that day he had been asked to work overtime. He was getting up to go to work at about quarter to five. I was up at 4:30 to go pee. He asked if he should go, and I said yes, I figured I just had to pee lots, and that if something changed, I’d get someone to drive me to the hospital. I was saying this going into the bathroom. I went pee and came out and suddenly had a bad back pain and bent over the bed. He looked at me quite sceptically, like ‘Should I be going?’ I thought I was fine.
We were trying to talk quietly so we wouldn’t wake up Hazel, who had joined us for snuggles at around 4 a.m.
“Are you sure that wasn’t a contraction?”
“No, it didn’t feel like a contraction.”
A little time went by and another hit, and I admitted to myself, ‘Okay, maybe this is a contraction.’
Then another one came. I was much louder getting through that one.
Hazel woke up. At that point, I thought, ‘Oh yeah, this might be labour pain’, and I was trying to get dressed, trying to get my pants on but having a lot of trouble doing it because I was nine months pregnant and in pain!
I remember thinking to myself, “Well, fuck…I thought I had more time!” For whatever reason, I had been certain I was going to be way over due.
Chris tried to put my pants on, and I got mad at him: “Don’t touch me, I can do it myself!”
He said, “I don’t think we have a lot of time.” He called his mom, and by then Hazel was quite concerned as mommy was making some odd sounds. I think I was quite snarky with Chris multiple times. He was trying to rush me into the kitchen and somewhere around there (around 5 a.m.), his mom showed up.
By then I had made it out to the living room, but it was still 5:30 or 5:45 by the time we got out of there. Chris was so panicked. For whatever reason, he knew it was happening faster than I did.
Unbeknownst to me, every time I had to pee may have been labour pains, but I slept between each time, so this didn’t occur to me until later.
I had to have two more strong contractions before I made it to the car.
If he could have picked me up and put me in the car, he would have.
“We need to go!”
“I cannot stand up right now, therefore I cannot walk to the car. If that means I’m going to have a baby in the porch, then I’m going to have a baby in the porch.”
We made a very mad dash to the city and had a couple really good contractions in the car. Then we got to the maternity ward and didn’t realize ahead of time that no one would be in the old building on the main floor, so we went to Emergency. They got me in right away and wheeled me along.
I remember getting into the wheelchair and thinking, ‘Oh, thank God.’ They wheeled me all over the place, and I didn’t have to walk. They wheeled me up to Labour & Delivery and did my assessment. They wanted to check how far dilated I was, and I didn’t want them to touch me. It must have been about 6:15 at that point.
I was 9 cm dilated, but they were having trouble getting the heart rate from the baby, and they wanted to do an internal fetal heart check with the electrode through the uterus to the baby’s scalp. I said, “Nope, you’re not doing that to me, she is fine, I know she is in there.” I just wanted to sit on the birth ball and labour there because that’s where it felt good.
I remember being both simultaneously terrified but also knowing that I could do this, that I knew what I was doing this time, and I was prepared. I was going to have a better birth than the first time, and I was ready to fight for the things I wanted this time. Which is why there was only a nurse and a doctor in the room when I delivered: I didn’t want ANYONE there. No extra fluff or distraction. Though I didn’t realize I was gonna be done in 45 minutes. But having soooo many people in my room with Hazel when I was labouring was so distracting and annoying and frustrating and unnecessary. So I was ready to fight anyone who didn’t listen to me.
I remember telling the nurse and doctor,“Fuck off, there’s no way you’re making me labour on that bed,” when they asked me to get up there so they could check me.
The on-call doctor came in, and it wasn’t even a doctor from my clinic, because the doctor on-call from my clinic couldn’t make it in time. The nurses told her how far along I was and the doctor wanted to check me. I finally said yes, she could look, mostly because Chris was persistent and worried.
I got back up on the table, she said she wanted to break my water, and I said no, because with Hazel it made it hurt more and didn’t help. She said, “We need to put the electrode in (for fetal heart monitoring), and we can’t do that unless we break your water.” I said no again, and she replied, “I can almost 99% guarantee you that if we break your water, this baby will be here in 5 minutes.” Chris convinced me, so I let them do it.
She broke my water, and they put the probe in and found the heartbeat, and she was fine, just like I said she was. Three real good pushes, and she was out. She was born at 6:55 a.m. I think we got to the hospital at 6:15 a.m. They didn’t have enough time to admit me or put an IV in. She was in a hurry.
They put her on my chest right away and I got to cuddle her and hold her. That feeling. I don’t have words for that feeling. Does anyone? But I can say that I knew her. I knew my baby and I knew she was mine and that she belonged to me. (When I had Hazel, I felt like someone had placed a stranger on me. There was no instant bond or love at first sight. It took me a year to get that bond.)
That feeling, it never gets old. She was all squishy and covered in white and adorable. We asked for delayed cord clamping, so we probably sat there for a good five minutes.
They asked Chris if they wanted to cut the cord and he said no. I gave him hell.
“I shoved a baby out my vagina, you can cut the damn cord.” So he did.
They took her and weighed her. She was 7 lbs 8 oz and 21 ¼ inches long and healthy and happy. We were in there for probably half hour, maybe even longer, skin to skin. They were stitching me up. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking, coming down from the adrenaline, and they brought me toast.
They gave her back to me. We got the placenta packaged up and our gal came and picked that up for us.
I got to just lay there and hold her and cuddle her. She slept tucked in against me. I just got to sit there and get to know her a little bit and soak it all in. Chris got to stare at her and hold her and cry. After half hour or 45 minutes, they had a room ready, so I showered, and they wheeled me up to my room and just spent the day recovering and getting to know each other.
When Hazel was born, we had around 30 people in our private room, people coming and going all day. I remember being exhausted, so this time around, I wanted a lot less chaos. We had a lot of time to ourselves, getting to know the new baby who remained nameless until the next day. It took us 24 hours to name her.
We had a list of names and just kept going through until we had one that we felt was hers. I knew that I wanted Esther in there for my great grandma, but other than that we had lots of names that we liked but couldn’t agree on. Eventually we agreed on Stella Rose Esther. She felt like a Stella.
Stella is funny – like has a sense of humour already at one-year-old. She is goofy and fun and has no fear. She is fierce and adventuresome and smart and crafty and even a little bit manipulative. She knows how to get what she wants! She’s perfect. I love watching her and her sister together: no one can make Stella laugh like her big sister.
This time around my postpartum experience has been totally different than the first time around. I suffered postpartum depression with my first, who was also a hard baby with colic and reflux. We also had breastfeeding challenges. Wanting this experience to be different, I surrounded myself with support. It certainly helped that I had an easier baby this time, but it also helped knowing I had family to help me, friends, a nanny, and a postpartum doula.
I didn’t realize the first time around how isolating motherhood could be, and I wanted to make sure I was well prepared this time. One of the best baby gifts I gave myself was hiring my postpartum doula, Darla, from Postpartum Darla. Having her come once or twice a week was amazing. It gave me someone that I could leave Stella with while I took Hazel for some much needed Mom and daughter time, someone to ask questions about breastfeeding or baby carrying, make sure I got fed or got a shower or a nap if I needed it! She encouraged me and gave me confidence, supported me no matter what, and just held space for me when I needed it. I can’t say enough good things about her; best gift to myself ever!
A Warman mom and doula recently saw first-hand the contrast and importance of available birth education, especially around breastfeeding, when she supported new moms in another continent.
This past spring, Lindsay Bitner travelled to a town near Monrovia, Liberia for missionary work. She and five other members of the Awakening Church in Warman joined two others from Winnipeg, and formed a team with a medical doctor, three nurses, and two support people from British Columbia.
The team set up a clinic that was based out of an orphanage, using the school on the compound. There were separate rooms for registration, nurses, treatment, the doctor to see patients, prayer, and then one set aside for long-term care. Many people who needed IVs stayed in that room, but it was also where Lindsay did breastfeeding education.
“Once they (the team) found out I was a doula, they were like, ‘OK, all the pregnant moms, all the newborns, are coming to you.’”
Lindsay, who is a mom herself with three young children, saw any new mom that came through, offering her breastfeeding tips and education, including checking their latch. A big part of education was talking about mom’s nutrition. She says many moms were only eating once a day and often only drinking two cups of water a day, so we had to see if they could eat or drink more.
The struggle there, says Lindsay, is that the country has 80 per cent unemployment, so sometimes eating more food just isn’t an option.
Many moms asked for formula or hinted about it (at least 80 per cent, but she says it could have been almost 100), noting the baby would cry after a feed and worrying they weren’t getting enough, and if a baby was malnourished, they were given a bottle of formula.
“There were maybe 2 or 3 moms who were confident they were feeding their baby well. I did see ads for formula, which really broke my heart, because there’s no advertising for breastfeeding.”
As a mom and doula, Lindsay ended up providing a great deal of breastfeeding training to moms on a recent mission to Liberia.
Given the unemployment situation and concerns around safe drinking water, the big concern is formula isn’t a sustainable option for many.
“I did make sure to tell every one of them that what they were eating was really important to make the best milk for their baby. I made sure to emphasize that if you keep nursing and if you’re eating and drinking enough, your body is gong to make exactly what your baby needs, and formula can’t do it. And also making sure they understood that as soon as you stop nursing, it’s really hard to get it going again.
I explained it as a vitamin for them versus a dependency on it for all of their meals in hopes that it would last.”
“Trying to educate them that if you only do this, then you won’t have milk left, and you won’t be able to afford formula,” explains Lindsay.
“I taught a lot of moms that: if a baby looked malnourished, we would give formula, but encouraged them to keep breastfeeding and more often, because it is clean and affordable. The hygiene of it and affordability of it are the important factors, whereas here it’s not as big of a deal.”
A couple stories really stood out for Lindsay. The first woman she saw had her seventh baby with her, who looked undernourished.
“The mom said, ‘I can’t feed her because it’s so painful.’ Her nipples still looked really raw and awful even though the baby was four weeks old. I showed her how to get a wider latch.”
And even though many patients spoke English, the team often had a translator – a 22-year-old guy.
“By the end, he had a breastfeeding education and could tell the moms what to do without me explaining first for him to translate,” laughs Lindsay.
“Once this particular baby got a good latch, the mom exclaimed, ‘Wow, that doesn’t hurt as much,’ and that felt really good because I was helping one mom.”
Anyone I taught, I said, ‘Make sure you tell everyone you know that you need to have the areola in the mouth!”
A heartbreaking story that stood out was an auntie who brought in her three-month-old niece, whose mother had passed away two weeks ago. The baby was being fed water and glucose.
“We made up formula for baby, who took the bottle well. In the hour that she was there, she brightened up a lot. We sent that auntie home with four cans of formula in hopes that that would tide them over until they could get some money to get some formula.”
One of the interesting parts of her experience was hearing the moms talk about their birth experiences. She noted many aren’t afraid to have a home birth, and was fascinated because their rates of epidurals versus not were the exact opposite as here.
“I talked to a midwife and we were talking about the differences, and she said they have a 15% epidural rate (only for emergencies), whereas I heard a nurse say with a client of mine that there is an 85% epidural rate here.”
Lindsay says some of the teen moms who came through the clinic were afraid of birth and labour, so she did a mini prenatal prep class for them, but she says any mom who had had a baby wasn’t as worried.
Lindsay admits that while the experience was enriching and rewarding, it was also heartbreaking.
“We had seen the community Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and it got pretty overwhelming because by Wednesday, it was the people who were pretty desperate. I had to take a longer lunch, I just wanted to do more. ‘Can I not eat today so they can eat?’ I asked. Our team leader said, we are doing the best we can, we have to help the one person in front of us, we have to love the one person in front of us, and hope that it goes beyond that.’
“I clinged to that because what else can you do? There is nothing else you can do.”
I’m proud to share this guest post from a fellow mom who is so articulate and strong, her words need to be shared far and wide. Enjoy. ~ Darla
Prior to becoming pregnant, I had put a lot of time and energy into myself, especially my body. I did yoga daily, was on a diet that I was eating primarily vegetables, went for runs, and spent a lot of time being concerned with how I looked. Were my muscles showing? How did these clothes fit? What size could I fit into? As I look back on old pictures and try and fit into old jeans, I can only see in hindsight just how tiny I was. I can remember having tricked myself into thinking that I was finally confident in my skin, but would then be so self-critical every time I stepped in front of the mirror. I was strong and healthy, but I wasn’t comfortable and I wasn’t happy.
During my pregnancy, maintaining that active lifestyle became too much to handle. Physical activity gave me anxiety and I worried that I would hurt the baby. Eating felt good so I caved into every craving that I had. I kept telling myself that I was young and would want my old routine back once I had my baby and would “bounce back”. The result? I gained 90 pounds in 9 months.
Once Neera was born, I quickly realized that falling back into my old workout routine wasn’t going to be an option. I needed to recover from my delivery. I was exhausted and sleeping whenever she was. Breastfeeding tired me out. Breastfeeding also made me want to eat everything in sight. Sure, breastfeeding helped in shedding some of the weight I had gained, but not all of it, and it didn’t “fall off” like articles I had read said it would. Instead, it stuck. It stuck to my hips and my thighs and my belly and my love handles.
The only part of my old routine that I maintained was the self-critical stares in the mirror.
When would I “lose the baby weight”? Would the stretch marks ever fade? Would my body ever look like it used to? When would I get to reclaim the body that my baby had taken over for nine months?
Pretty sad thoughts to be having.
What I should have been asking myself is, “When will my perspective change? When can I learn to love myself?” I don’t know what sparked it, but eventually I looked in the mirror and decided that I was going to love that reflection. I decided that I was going to focus all of my attention on being a good person and a good mom, not a “good” body – because every body is a good body! I decided I was going to celebrate my body for bringing the greatest thing that ever happened to me into this world. And I decided I wanted to talk about why I felt any of this in the first place, and why many mommas do.
All too often, on top of all of the other new pressures and expectations when you become a momma, there is an unfair focus put on your body. What was my body before? What is it now? What did it go through? Will it ever be the same?
When I search #postpartumbody on any social media platform, the majority of photos are regarding what it took to “loose the baby weight” or tips to get fit quick.
I’m sorry, but this just isn’t real for me. It is hard enough for me to find time to make a healthy meal, let alone get to the gym multiple times a week. And you know what? We shouldn’t feel like we have to do any of that!
Don’t get me wrong, I still strive to be a strong and healthy momma, but I think it is well past time time that we start to shift the conversation about what that looks like, sounds like, and feels like. The size of clothes that fit you does not mean strong and healthy. The number on the scale does not mean strong and healthy. Limiting your diet so you feel guilty every time you want a cheeseburger does not mean strong and healthy. “Losing the baby weight” does not mean strong and healthy. To me, strong and healthy means balance: fuelling your body with good food but not feeling bad about the wine and chocolate – trying to get outside for walks but not feeling bad about binge watching Netflix while you cuddle your baby – having goals for living more actively but not being self-loathing about where you’re at. Be a rebel and love yourself, as you are, where you are, for all the glorious things you are!
I “lost the baby weight” the moment that Neera entered the world. I love my body, as it is, for being capable of such an indescribable, miraculous feat: creating a human life. The extra skin, the push and pull, the scars; they all serve as reminders of what my body is capable of and the space that it gave me to grow a new life. My focus, now, is on the love and connection I have with my child. My focus is on the light and love I see in her eyes every time she looks at me, and how much easier it is to manifest that love for myself than it ever was before.
I think one of my friend’s kiddos said it best. Every time she is in her bathing suit her son points to her tummy and asks, “Did I do that, Mommy?” And she responds, “You sure did buddy.” Then he smiles at her like he created the most beautiful piece of forever artwork. And you know what? He did. They do.
I hope that one day, all of us can look at ourselves the way that children do. I hope that one day we can search #postpartumbody and see mommas who are celebrating their bodies as they are and not attempting to live up to some ridiculous body ideal that the rest of the world has. I hope that mommas can be the ones to shake the way we see one another in the world, because body positivity doesn’t just affect mommas; body positivity affects us all.
So here is me and my daughter, stripped down and as real and raw and honest as we can be. This, to me, is what really matters. Let’s start filling our social media feeds with photos like this; with photos of reality and of love.
**these wonderful photos were done by molly.jeanine.photo – check out her amazing work on Instagram**
This post originally appeared on The Momma Moments blog, and it was shared with permission. Read more about Jess here: she is a mom, daughter, partner, sister, teacher, writer, yoga enthusiast who uses her talents to help break down the stigma around mental health. She is part of a revolution to normalize talking about our struggles as moms. You can find more of her work on the Mothers Empowering Mothers Blog.
When my son started preschool, I was nervous kids would make fun of him.
He initially wasn’t talking as much or as well as his classmates. Both teachers have commented how much more he is talking in just a couple of months and how he is easier to understand.
Pretty sure Cub is copying his preschool teacher here! He digs Mrs. O.
I’ve written about Cub and his uniqueness before: he may not speak as well as kids his age, but he can read anything, spell, and loves maps. Last night he corrected me when I pointed to a country on an unlabelled map. I said it was Israel. He proceeded to tell me, “Israel’s not in Africa. That’s Eritrea.”
I was so pleased when Cub seemed to blend in with the kids who had been together for months, and if he or they were aware of their differences, I didn’t see it on the occasions I was in the classroom: kids would often ask him to join in playing and he eagerly sang along to all the songs and joined in activities. And Cub would come home and talk about his friends, rattling off all their names. It made me wonder when kids start to notice differences?
My heart broke a little at a recent preschool day. Cub was “helper” since I was a parent helper, and one of his jobs was to read everyone’s names who were at school that day so they could say “here!” While he can read each of their names, his pronounciation isn’t as clear as that of his classmates, and one of the boys started imitating how he was saying names. I don’t think a five-year-old is capable of being malicious, but it was obvious he noticed Cub was different or not saying it right, and he and his friend were getting a kick out of it.
My heart hurt partly because Cub talks about this boy at home and seems to really like him. I was so glad that he either didn’t understand or care the implication of someone mimicking him saying “Pub” for “Cub.” It was also the first instance where I saw someone make fun of my child for being different. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. It hurt me much more than it hurt him!
It reminded me of the book I’m reading right now, Precious Cargo: My Year of Driving the Kids on School Bus 3077 by Craig Davidson. The author is a writer who, out of desperation for income, takes a job driving a bus of children with special needs. In one of the chapters, he reflects on a few cases where he sees kids or adults making fun of his passengers. In more than one instance, he gets out and confronts people (which, upon reflection, he doesn’t recommend: he actually threatens to punch the dad of one mean kid and gets into an awkward altercation with said dad).
So, I’m not planning any altercations with any preschoolers or parents! Far from it. It was his realization that hit home for me and came to mind: he realized his outrage at people wasn’t helping him or the kids he was trying to protect.
“If anything, my actions merely called attention to matters they had learned to dismiss, having developed strategies to cope; I was the equivalent of an amplifier, forcing them to hear a frequency they had taught themselves to tune out.”
Man, when I read those words, I was really struck by them. It’s funny how the world works: funny that I was reading this book and had just read this package, which then popped into my head today, when I really needed it. We all want to protect our children and we would do ANYTHING to protect them. But sometimes you can’t. The world keeps turning, there will always be someone saying something mean or rude (as kids or adults – sometimes I think adults are worse), and you can’t always be there to stand up for them. They have to learn how to stand up for themselves or learn how to celebrate their differences and be proud of them. We have to do our best to install pride and confidence and kindness in them.
Cub is lucky to have two fabulous preschool teachers, both of whom he talks about frequently!
Speaking of kindness, the teacher gently asked the boys to stop repeating Cub, and then one little girl, after Cub said her name, turned to the teacher to earnestly say, “Teacher, Cub did a really good job on my name!” The teacher suggested she tell Cub, so she walked over and told him. I wanted to hug her and cry. I’m tearing up writing this now. Cub was of course unphased by it all.
Our kids don’t need us to protect them, and we won’t always be there anyway every time someone hurts them, intentional or not. They need our love so they can go out into the world and stand up for themselves with the knowledge we always have their backs.
And in the end, kindness always wins.
“You’re not always capable of changing the world – and sometimes it’s hard to protect even your little patch of it, the garden where the most beautiful flowers grow. But you have to trust the resiliency of those flowers. They have made a life in that inhospitable soil, and somehow they manage to survive.” ~ Craig Davidson