My Battle

I pour myself a second glass of wine.

I listen to a fireplace humming.

I create a vision of beauty through my rose colored glasses.

Glasses too narrow. Too heavy. Too much. 

I sense something gracing my presence. 

I forget the life I used to hold on to.

I prepare for a journey that does not divulge into two roads.

Maybe three roads. Four even. Too many to count.

I dance to a forgotten song.

I sink into the depths of my own fortitude. 

I cry remembering what this purpose looked like for me.

Unshakeable. Inevitable. Irrevocable.

A girl. Just a girl. Like me.

Hand on child bearing hip. Legs on old worn down furniture. Lips parched from lofty days. Knees breaking to the sound of cries. Hair matted from the endless turmoil. Breasts heavy from endless feedings. Eyes glazed from the all consuming battle.

One. Two. Glasses of wine. 

His Body is Too Young to Look Like His

The feeling should not be described as discontented. Unhappy. Or annoyed. It’s neither apathy or frustration. It could be sadness.

But really, it’s probably grief. 

A couple weeks after Atticus was born I was given an alarming message. It blindsided me but it didn’t shock me.

“Mackenzie, did you know dad is in the ICU?” My sister Mikia informed me as she stared at her phone.

I’m careful with my expressions. I’m not someone who needs to feel the drama or participate in it. I wasn’t sure which expression to convey. So I was stoic, almost cold.

I couldn’t articulate a sentence. I was grasping for words. Language. Joan Didion tells us that we tell ourselves stories in order to live. I found myself lost in language, unable to find the right expression, the correct answer or even a simple breath.

I was lost in my own thought process.

I shook my head.

“No, I didn’t know”

One sibling began rambling about how she was going to go see dad, my mom looked as paralyzed as I did... knowing she wanted to support us but unable to find her own correct words.

I received more information. Details.

He was unable to talk or stand. His friend had to call the paramedics. He tried to fight them off. He wasn’t breathing. He was transferred to a larger hospital. He might not make it. He was on life support. He was unconscious. 

They think it’s thick blood. They think it's cirrhosis of the liver. They think it’s a stroke. He's receiving a tracheotomy.

Heart attack. Coma. Pneumonia. 

??????????????????

Somewhere between all the words a sweat bead formed on the back of my neck. 

I hadn’t seen my dad in almost 16 months. I had no desire even now to see him. 

Nothing changed for me. My boundaries were still the same as they ever were, even with his looming death smacking me in the face.

I wiped my neck which had stiffened.

It’s not that I didn’t love him. It’s not that I didn’t care. 

I just wasn’t ready.

I listened as the other, more current with my dad, siblings updated me on his condition. Mikia and Sam made the long treck to Pueblo to see him first. Wide eyed they updated us all on his state.

Tubes in his nose, mouth. Unable to move or speak. Unconscious. Swollen. 

Sick. Very, very sick.

Tatiana and Ben made the next treck to see him. Same. Unable to move or speak. Tatiana wrote him a letter. My uncle Mark flew in. 

We all were grateful.

Death, grief and sadness all took residence in the front part of my brain and nestled it's way into my heart.

All I kept thinking is that he had died to me already in so many ways. 

Why would I go see him now?

So there I would stare out the window during my 3AM feeding, hoping my mind would stop buzzing, stop yelling and terrorizing my feelings. I had to make a decision to see him or not. I did not want to make that decision. 

It was not until I received a letter from a college friend of my dad’s; he encouraged me to allow him to apologize if in fact he were to die. That I could give him an opportunity to convey a message. This struck a cord with me. I needed to allow that moment to take place for his sake, not necessarily mine. 

It still loomed in front of me.

I arranged to meet with Uncle Mark. I was so grateful he was there. He would ask the hard questions to the doctors and allowed us kids to figure out our way.

I was still the only one who hadn’t seen my dad.

And truly out of just pure gut, I called Mark and told him I was ready to see him. Zac and the boys would come with Co and Ax would not be allowed in the ICU, obviously, but I would have my support system. 

I didn’t know what I’d say. I didn’t know what I’d do. 

I just stepped out in blind faith.

I sat in the ICU, talked with a family that was there visiting that knew my dad. So many would ask me questions, but though I was family, I was a stranger just like them. I didn’t know anything. Cohen didn’t know anything. Zac was my quiet, yet my strong ally through it all... knowing I needed to feel everything.

Mark asked me if I wanted him there in the room.

“Yes, thank you"

It came without hesitation. I was nervous.

I walked slowly into the ICU. It smelled like dirty socks masked with an artificial lemon hand sanitizer aroma. 

My stomach began to grow knots. My hands were sweating as we came around the corner. I walked into his room and stared out the window. I couldn’t look him in the eye yet.

Fear, grief, anger and sadness. They were all felt simultaneously. My knees buckled under my own weight.

I walked to the far side of the bed. He was awake. He hadn’t been awake for my other siblings, the ones that actually talk to him. He was awake for me. 

The irony killed me in that moment.

He had three tubes in his mouth, tubes in his arms and could hardly keep his eyes open.

He stared at me, and I tried to stare at anything but him. The monitors. The wrinkled bed sheets. The chair to the left of his bed.

“Hi dad”

Silence. My stomach grinding into my back then up my rib cage. He stared at me.

I wanted to run.

“Hi dad, I just wanted you to know that I came to say I love you and hope that you get the healing you need when this is all over.”

My arms, crossed. I kept rolling my eyes to the ceiling. Fidgeting with my fingers.

I couldn’t help but notice the strained intimacy I kept trying to force. It was a vulnerable, sad and emotional moment, but I kept taking small steps backwards... shifting my weight. I was an outsider in the seemingly intimate moment.

My thoughts were factual, guarded.

He began to cry. Weep. He held out his hand to touch mine. Huge and swollen. I looked at Uncle Mark and reluctantly patted his hand. 

“You’re going to be alright dad, I love you and want you to know that I want you to have a relationship with your grandsons...”

He tilted his head and began to cry some more.

“I just had a baby and named him Atticus. He’s.... um....  beautiful.” I kept staring at the floor, to Uncle Mark and then at my dad... I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I love you dad. All your kids came to see you because we want to see you get better in every area of your life.”

Then, I couldn’t help but make my boundaries clear... “The next time I see you will be when you have done the work to be better.... in all areas of your life.”

He kept staring at me. It was burning through my whole body. I wanted out. It was too much.

“Um, ok dad?”

He attempted to write something. He wanted to tell me something. It was an awkward time for me standing there, arms crossed watching him watch me.... trying to write something with his big swollen fingers. 

I just wanted out.

I began inching my way toward the door.

“I love you dad, hope to see you soon.” 

Uncle Mark followed me as we left.

I immediately saw the hand sanitizer as I bolted out of the room. I pumped it four times and rubbed it all over my hands and arms. Telling myself I was doing it for Atticus... knowing in my heart I wanted the experience off of me. It burned in my soul. I gave Zac a look as I scurried into the waiting room.

I wanted out.

Zac went and talked to my dad. Conveyed a similar message as I did but with more charm and finesse. I nursed Atticus in the lobby. I distracted myself by counting the tiles on ceiling.

47

Zac finished, and I packed up. We drove home.

I felt disconnected and silent. I love him. I want the best for him...

But I don’t know him.

My mind and my heart filled my thoughts for days. I kept telling myself I needed to process what had happened but distracted myself in other ways.

He was in the ICU for nearly 6 weeks. Nearly dead. 

I cried once last week about it. My emotions finally manifested and grief washed over me. It was there, staring out the window at my 3AM feeding. I nursed Atticus and sobbed. I couldn’t control myself. My grief turned into anxiety, and I felt sick. Alone. 

My dad has lost almost all of his friends and no one that I am current with really knew what was going on. My dad was dying and it was complete strangers who would send me messages of comfort. Nothing made sense.

I sat there after putting Atticus to bed. Alone with my grief. Alone with my pain.

My strong wall that I built was crumbling. I was hurting and my feelings were so out of touch.

Still are.

I haven’t seen him since then. It’s all I can give at this point. He knows my heart.

Grief. It sneaks up on me at times and shakes it’s fist wanting to be known, heard and dealt with...

It’s the one emotion I hate more than the others. It can’t be tampered with or destroyed completely. It aches in every part of the body.... revisiting especially when you wish it wouldn’t.

So I pray and I leave a tiny sliver of my heart for hope...

Miracle of the Moment

Atticus Samuel.

2 weeks old.

So stinkin' cute.

He brings me such joy.

Currently nursing every two hours during the day, every three hours give or take at night. He is sweet and content baby and never cries for very long. He loves to "yelp" which seems to just freak him out more than anything. He has the longest fingers and toes. His nose is different that Zac, Cohen and mine as well.... it curls up all cute. He pees and poops nonstop and grunts and groans due to gas. 

Yes. Joy.

I remember around this time with Cohen I was insanely overwhelmed. There wasn't a day I wouldn't sob myself to sleep only to wake up to Cohen crying. I would sob while I nursed him, changed him, bathed him... whatever. He was too much for me.

This time... I feel more relaxed. When Ax cries I don't tense up and want to cry... in fact, I think it's precious. Good lungs.... right? I am tired, sure, but aren't these moments precious? Don't you blink your eye and suddenly they are grown men?

Zac and I always talk about the miracle of the moment.... how we should never wish our lives away on a life that seems bigger, better and more important. Sure, it's nice to dream and have goals but not if it sacrifices our moment. Living in this very moment despite the coulda, woulda, shoulda. 

So I live in this moment. It's fleeting and children are such a treasure. 

Atticus

Atticus Samuel Tamayo.
6 pounds 14 and 1/2 ounces.
20 inches long.

The name Atticus came from my favorite literary character....ever. Atticus Finch. What's funny is most people when they hear the name Atticus either know the book or obviously don't. It's not a name you hear in classrooms, at work or shouted on the street.

I love the name.

Right after I found out I was pregnant Zac and I were figuring out what names we liked. He mentioned Atticus. I immediately thought of To Kill A Mockingbird. It just struck me all gushy inside.

I wanted a man that my baby could read about, to ponder about and reflect upon when he's older. I want him to know that he was named after one of the most incredible and kind spirited men in all of literary history. A man who was brave, fought for social justice and loved his children. A man who was wise and considerate but never prideful. A man of courage.

"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see through it no matter what."--Atticus (pg. 112) 
"Before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience."--Atticus (pg. 105) 
"You just hold your head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anyone says to you, don't let 'em get your goat. Try fighting with your head for a change…it's a good one, even if it does resist learning."--Atticus (pg. 76) 
"It's not okay to hate anybody."-Atticus (pg. 246)


Samuel came from another man I adore, my sweet brother Sam. I loved the meaning of Samuel "God heard" and I also wanted to keep with our Hebrew naming theme (Cohen means "priest" in Hebrew). Zac and I agreed upon it and we were going to surprise Sam after Atticus was born. What makes this story even more wonderful is that Atticus was born on Sam's 22nd birthday.

A little guy born into the world with the names of incredible men on his shoulders. Just the way I envisioned it.

My labor was insanely easy this time around... grateful since the first time it was 40ish hours and 9 hours of pushing. I started having contractions while getting my hair done with Mikia but wrote it off as nothing. When I got home though they got more and more intense. Zac got home from work about five, and I was having a hard time talking through the contractions. I knew they were getting more intense.

We got to the hospital around 6:30pm and I was checked.... 3.5 cm. Ugh. I was told to walk around the hospital to see if I could progress a bit. 45 minutes later I was sobbing. Gripping the hand rails of the hospital. Seriously, in so much pain. The best part is when Zac told me to "just breathe"... I think I almost ripped his hand off. Nothing made the pain feel better and I was having only back labor. I told Zac I had to be checked and at this point I was almost to 6 cm. I told them epidural NOW. I was beating Zac's arms and chest in so much pain. They couldn't get the IV in, I showered earlier that day and was really lotiony. HA. We traveled to the delivery room and waited for the anesthesiologist. I was sobbing and completely out of body. I was at 7 cm. I got my epidural and cried into the arms of the nurse. I layed down after and still wasn't feeling any relief. He told me it would take about twenty minutes before full relief. That's when my water broke and I felt the urge to push. The epidural hadn't even kicked in, my mom had just walked in the door and I was ready to go! UNREAL

Fifteen minutes of pushing and he was born. So perfect. So cute. SO EASY. Such grace to me.

Now, a week later I am still getting my groove back. I wake him every two-three hours to feed as he loves to sleep. His cries are precious, and Cohen is in love. He especially loves to talk about the hand sanitizer. He is such a great big brother.

Now the real challenge will be managing the two schedules. Cohen and Atticus. The never ending question of "Who needs my attention more in this moment?!"

I'm getting a groove. Things are starting to settle down.

Mommy of two!

20ish Days

I can hardly believe I am looking at 3 more weeks of being pregnant. It flew. It seriously flew by.

I was washing and putting away clothes this morning while Cohen was at VBS. I neatly stacked the diapers and rearranged the living area preparing for baby. 

Where should I put the cradle? The extra blankets? The diaper genie? 

It all seemed overwhelming. Nothing seemed to fit anywhere. I didn't like the way anything was looking. My nesting wasn't cute... it was irritating. 

3 more weeks?!

How I'm feeling: 

Emotionally: Like I'm on a freaking roller coaster. Lots of crying. Lots of laughing. Lots of all of the place. Zac is working nights for the next few weeks so I'm feeling lonely at night and very alone with my emotions. It's strange to look around and realize life is going to change drastically in just a handful of weeks. 

Physically: I'm feeling like I have a nice big baby, my tummy is feeling full and active. I've gained about 23 pounds this pregnancy, ten less than with Cohen. So I'm not feeling as bloated as the first time around. I'm feeling sweaty and hot-flashy... constantly! Pregnancy isn't sexy the last month.... at all... :)

Mentally: I jump all over the place. I feel confident one day and freaked out the next. I keep thinking "I have to figure out social security stuff, birth certificate stuff, insurance stuff and be responsible for another human being!!" It's a very sobering, freaky thing. Some days I feel like I am deserving of another little boy in my life and other days I feel like I am not ready. 

What I'm craving: Not much since my nausea has been acting up again (what the heck?) so it's a lot of greek yogurt, graham crackers and juice. Nothing else sounds very good... :) Though Hot Tamales (the candy) have been on the brain a lot recently.

What I'm missing: Sleeping on my tummy. I can't wait to lay on my tummy again. 

What Cohen is thinking: He is so adoring of his mama and her belly. He kisses my belly and rubs it constantly. I think a lot of my joy comes from watching him being sweet to his little brother and explaining to me how he "knows more" and will help him be a "man." I can't help but think about the important role Cohen will play for Baby T. Cohen is going to be such an incredible big brother. He is such a wonderful helper.

What I'm enjoying: My last few moments alone with Cohen. I get choked up thinking about the last five years we've had together just the three of us and often just the two of us. So much is changing and at times my joy feels a lot like grief.

Baby's weight, name: We have a first and finally a middle name picked out. We are going with an "A" name but you'll just have to wait until his entrance to find out what it is! We love his name and we love what it means to the both of us. Baby is in the 90th percentile so perhaps an eight pounder??

I'm enjoying these last few weeks of movements. It's the absolute best part in my opinion. Since Zac and I have agreed this is my last pregnancy, I am trying to enjoy even the heartburn.... :)

My next update could be about our little guy.

Surreal. 

Remembering the Good

I can hardly believe I am on the home stretch of my second pregnancy. I truly thought this pregnancy would go on forever, but it really hasn't. I have enjoyed, even in the wee early mornings, every kick and stretch from this little guy. He'll be six pounds by Monday and knowing that if, for some reason, he were born tonight... he'd make it. He'd be ok.

Um.... what?!!!

I have been doing a lot of reflecting about what this transition will look like for me. I have blogged about it some but mostly I have felt Mary-ish, pondering it in my heart. Everyday Cohen and I go on adventures I begin to think....

Is this the last time we'll ever go to Wal Mart, the mall, on a hike... just the the two of us?

I'm comfortable with Cohen. I know him. I know when he's five seconds from a tantrum, I know his quirks, his pet peeves, his favorite Avengers star (Hulk), his humor....

His everything really.

Now this little guy enters the picture.

I'm terrified of post-partum depression again, of receiving 30+ stitches again, of a terrible labor again, of feeling hopeless again.

It's a terrible nostalgia.

I'm also feeling very protective of Cohen, his feelings and how he is going to adjust. I've only had eight months with this little guy and 5+ years with Cohen. It's hard not to feel like you're doing one a disservice by spending so much time with the other.

I've tried to release a lot of the anxiety that crawls and sits on top of my brain. Zac is so good for moments like that. He gently (sometimes more assertively) reminds me of the importance of being grateful.

One of the sweetest moments I've had with Cohen is after we were watching Star Wars. We talked about the myriad of characters, and he wanted to talk extensively about Darth Vader (the coolest). I asked him if he was a good or bad guy. He of course said BAD enthusiastically, but then in all seriousness he looked at me and said...

But mom, at the end, he remembered the good.

Hm.

I think about him saying that weekly. It was bad until he remembered the good.

"First" Day of School

This morning was a real tear jerker for me. It wasn't suppose to be, in fact, I had worked myself up so that it wouldn't....

But alas, it did.

Cohen had the opportunity to shadow his new kindergarten class at AACL. We had talked about it last week, and he was so excited to try on a new class. He was sure he would have "homework" since he was in a big boy classroom and couldn't wait to meet all of the kids. We got to the school early so we sat in the car and talked for a few minutes before heading inside. Cohen had no nerves. I did. I felt like I was starting my first day of kindergarten. Cohen was joking around and I sat a bit nervously. It was strange.

I suppose I realized the importance of this particular transition in that moment. As parents, we spend years with our kids at home often times wondering....

When in the world can I send them to school??!

Cohen has been in preschool for a couple of years now but today felt different. It felt... bigger. I felt like I couldn't hide Cohen from the world anymore. He would see it now with his eyes. 

I'm sure you feel the same way, to a degree, when your child graduates from high school. It's a bittersweet experience. Grateful, proud, excited, nervous, anxious, detached...

Perhaps, a bit sad?

I've watched Cohen coo for the first time, roll over, learn to army crawl, take his first steps, go to preschool, see the ocean for the first time, learn to laugh, put on his clothes, articulate his feelings, paint his name on paper...

So there we were, walking into the front office. I filled out paperwork smiling to the cute receptionist as I heard laughing and screaming from the kids in the hallway. The receptionist and her big toothy grin guided us both down the hall, through the kids, over the backpacks and around the corners. Cohen grabbed my hand halfway through. I knew he was trying to brave. What he didn't know is that I was fighting back tears myself. 

Mommy was trying to be brave.

We walked into his classroom where there were big Mac computers, puzzles, games, toys, alphabets, numbers and more odds and ends than I have ever seen. We made our way outside to where the kindergarteners were playing on their very own playground. With only sixteen kids in Cohen's class, we were greeted with enthusiasm. The teach sat up, smiled and shook my hand. 

Cohen let go of mine.

We chatted. Small talk. I tried to eye the kids. 

Would they be nice? Behave? Treat Cohen fairly? Sweetly?

The teacher briefly showed me where they would be, I gave her Cohen's snack and then looked for Cohen to say goodbye.

He was gone.

He chatted to a little girl and then sprinted up the playground set. I eyed him for a few seconds. I didn't want to be the mother who called her child over a million times to come kiss her. 

I remarked that he was incredibly independent, we chatted about pick up time and then I left. I walked outside and watched him play on the playground. He didn't see me there. He didn't need to hold my hand this time. 

He was ok.

I got in my car and sat for a little while. That's when I started to cry. 

Kids grow up so fast. The cliche is so true and in that moment, I knew it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled he's in school and that he is becoming more independent.... a little man.

My grief came from the realization that time is precious. Our words are precious. Our conversations are precious. Our laughter together is precious. 

So I drove away. Confident of that I have done my part to prepare him for big boy school.

I'm so proud of who he has become and truly, what kind of mother he has helped me become. Baby T will receive so many of the benefits that come from all the years I spent with Cohen. Learning, trusting, seeking and observing.

My Coco has a very unique, special place in my heart and someday I hope to share that with him.

A mother's love is unlike anything I've ever experienced.

I'm learning how to not only ride this train but guide, conduct and understand it as well.