There are days I wish I could be a parent and a mother from a different generation. I recently watched a video clip online (only slightly exaggerated and very true) depicting mothers today and how interactions can go in a social setting-- usually, I watch these, chuckle to myself and go about my day but this particular time it struck a chord with me and stayed with me all day. Here is the link to the video if you're interested in watching it.

After watching this and thinking back on various situations that I've found myself in over the past 6.5 years of being a mother I can honestly say that there are days that I wish I could have been a parent at a time when ‘it takes a village’ was actually a thing - not just a saying. It’s not that I don’t recognize how much we’ve accomplished so much in the past few decades and grown leaps and bounds. It’s also not because I don’t enjoy technology and social media (I mean, I AM a blogger!). It’s just that – it feels like a generation ago would have been a simpler time to be a mother, and a simpler time to raise a child. A generation ago would have been a time when children didn’t have a social calendar that rivals a celebrity; a time when mothers weren’t publicly shamed for their parenting choices; and a time when a simple search for parenting information would return a flood of conflicting “expertise,” causing us to lose sleep worrying that we are getting it all wrong. Before a world of helicopter parents and lawnmower parents. Before we were a society that described parenting in terms like “attached parenting” and “detached parenting.” The days before we had to go Facebook to catch up with and check in on with family only to scroll through our feed and have anxiety attacks after reading three different articles telling you that you’ve been doing thirty things wrong this entire time, and by your calculations led you to realize your children are royally doomed for the rest of their lives.


We live in a time of the great debates— and I’m not talking presidential debates. I’m talking about society's great debates about parenthood: vax vs. anti-vax, breast vs. bottle, public school vs. homeschool, formula, cry it out vs. co-sleep, front-facing or rear-facing, organic or non-organic, college-level preschool or play-based learning, screen time or no screen time. And the list goes on, and on, and on... It’s endless and it is simply taxing on the already very weary soul of a parent.

Now, we feel this urge to shame, condemn and criticize other mothers. But it hurts so much when it happens to us. We share because we want to feel that sense of community, but then we constantly feel led to defend the things we do and the choices we make. Rest assured, I will not throw stones at glass houses because I have the ability to see my own flaws, and I’ve ridden the guilty bus a time or two. But flaws, flaws are something that every single living, breathing, walking, talking human, parent, mother, and father have, they've always been there woven into our personal DNA. But today – in this generation – it feels like each and every one of these flaws is magnified in a way they have never been before. Furthermore, our shortcomings and personal choices are also picked apart and set center stage for mass criticism. Even more painfully, these choices can be silently mocked or judged with disapproving eyes.


I wish for the times of a ‘village’ in support of the greater good which is- surviving while our children are thriving. For once, can’t we go back to a time when surviving meant serving up a pitcher of red kool-aid on a warm day just to see some happy stained smiles, letting your child play with and drink from the garden hose without worrying about lead exposure, letting your kids paint each other from head-to-toe because it keeps them happy, packing simple lunches in a brown paper bag without any fancy faces, serving up fruit snacks without have to apologize or explain, using timeouts and accountability consequences, allowing your child to watch two movies in one day because you need a mental health break,  having a hidden pack of strawberry mentos in your bag for emergencies, and serving Fruit Loops for dinner when dad is working late. Can’t we go back to a time when thriving simply meant just being a remarkably average parent, instead of an exhausted superhero with a worn out cape?

We all crave community, acceptance, and understanding with a side serving of grace. Let your children be children a little while longer – and be proud of that. We are all just trying to survive. So, gift others around you with empathy. Be understanding of differences. Be a friend to someone who needs a friend. Be kind to your fellow mothers and fathers. Be humble, please. Be compassionate and caring. Let's be a village in support of all of the other villagers.

There is such bittersweet feeling that surrounds the last child. When you know you are done and your family is complete; you're excited about the future but you just want to hang on to every single second and have them not pass by too quickly. I don't know if it's really the fact that's she's our last or that she still looks at me like I'm her most favorite person in the universe. As I reflect back on the past twelve months with our dear Naomi, the events surrounding her birth are moments I will never forget!
It’s was a cold and windy January day, we had just gotten home from being away all morning and early afternoon at my grandpa’s funeral. We walked away from the burial site at 11:05 am, picked up the girls, grabbed lunch and headed back home. I had a 39-week doctors appointment at 6:00 pm that night and convinced Aaron to come along - I had been having false labor for two weeks and he thought I was bluffing every time. I felt the need to prove to him that things were indeed moving along. A quick checkup with my midwife confirmed that I was dilated to a four and almost at a five but since I had no consistent and timeable contractions I was going back home tonight. Since the girls were with Aaron’s parents we asked them if they minded if we grabbed a bite to eat, we ordered steaks and chit chatted about how this would probably be our last one-on-one time before baby. We drove home, picked up the girls, took them home, bathed them and tucked them in for the night. At 9 pm Aaron told me he was going to bed hoping to get a good nights sleep since he’d been up since 2am that morning and was exhausted. By 9:30pm the dishes were done and a detailed note with instructions for my mother-in-law including the girl's schedule was written down and placed on the counter as a ‘just in case’ measure of peace of mind. I readied myself for bed, laid down, checked my phone one last time-- the screen read 9:35 pm. As soon as I discarded my phone to the nightstand and rolled over my first contraction hit and it was the mother of all contractions. I never felt super strong ones with the first two because I had my beloved epidurals before things got crazy but in that moment I was sure I had just given birth. I squeezed my eyes shut and peeked, nope no baby but I thought I better wake Aaron up. He was sound asleep and nothing woke him until the next contraction hit exactly 5 minutes later and my nails made contact with his arm. I’m sure there are still marks. He didn’t believe me but called his mom anyway and after two more at 4.5 minutes apart I'm sure glad that he did. So you can picture a dark house with only the light from the hallway bathroom shining, I’m breathing through the pain, pacing, packing toiletries, checking off the list,  on the phone with triage trying to explain to my midwife that I'm in labor and this is my third so please, believe me. I'm stopping every 4 minutes to try and breathe through them. At 10:15 pm my mother-in-law arrives, I’m carrying bags to the garages and hanging on to the kitchen counter for support. This time it’s his mom who lovingly tells him he better pick a pair of shoes, find his charger and get in the car. Meanwhile, I’m already there- with it started, the garage door opened and yelling that if he doesn't get in now that he's going to be grabbing his chains and delivering this baby himself. We leave our driveway at 10:25 pm, and one uncomfortable ride later we are in the parking lot of Women's and Babies hospital at 10:35 pm. I walk myself back to triage while he grabs the bags. The nice lady behind the window says the midwife said to be expecting me but they are currently in the middle of switching shifts so let’s do paperwork...paperwork? I don't even know what my name is or how to verbally communicate so I'm not sure we are going to get any paperwork done. My contractions were 2 mins apart and after recognizing my discomfort the only thing that receptionist got out of me was a wavy line that was supposed to be a signature. They quickly escorted me to a triage room and confirmed, to everyone’s surprise, that I was at 10 and ready to go. But- here comes the part that turns my little world on its heels.

Midwife: “Alright, you're at 10 Tiffany- it’s time!”
Me: “Ok. What does that mean for an epidural?”
Midwife: “I’m sorry but your not getting one, it’s too late unless you can sit still long enough for them to stick a needle in your spine.”
Me, clearly not happy: “What about Tylenol in my IV?”
Midwife, amused: “We can't, not this close to the birth, the baby could be born drowsy.”
Me, clearly not happy: “I’m sorry but I can’t do this without drugs”
Midwife, chuckling: “Oh yes, you can! And dear you're about to. Has your water broke yet?”
Me, alarmed: “IT JUST DID!

I’ve never seen people move so fast in my entire life. I’m placed in a hospital bed, the sides are flipped up and we are hauling it through the hallways, one nurse pushing a door button and the next one running ahead to grab another. Poor Aaron is trying to keep up, and the last thing I hear him say was "I guess we're running now..." We make it to a delivery room, bright lights, eight people zipping around, wheeling this and wheeling that, and then all of a sudden I have four people surrounding me but I can’t focus on any of their faces. They are shouting directions and what I think are kind and supportive things at me but I went to another place mentally for the next 5 minutes, Aaron claims he was next to me but I can't remember that. Well, after two pushes and the most incredible pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life - at 11:05pm - I had a 7 lb 2 oz baby placed in my arms. It honestly took me a second to register what had just happened, I remember the one nurse giving me a funny look like, hey- here's your baby, but then there was Aaron beside me and there was our precious Naomi.

We did our skin-to-skin, filling out the paperwork that was put on hold earlier and found ourselves in a new room. The night nurse arrived, introduced herself and sent someone in to bathe the baby. Aaron was asleep in the pull-out chair beside me and I was sitting there alone after handing over this fresh babe in my arms to get her bath, I was still trying to play catch up to what had just happened. There’s that bit of time that comes after giving birth that happens for some people that not many people talk about. The part that comes after your body is done doing its job and your mind takes back over. For me, it was like, “Ok, wow - did that just happen? Am I really holding my daughter right now? My last baby. Did I just give birth? It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. That was not my plan. We were just at a funeral, exactly 12 hours ago. Why didn’t anyone believe me that I was in labor? My husband. My midwife. Thank god my mother-in-law did! Maybe if Aaron would have found his phone charger sooner! Maybe he shouldn’t have taken so long to figure what shoes he wanted to wear! Then I could have gotten my epidural... (pipedream, wasn't going to happen) Maybe I shouldn’t have walked from the parking lot into triage. I should have just gone back to the hospital after we had dinner to be double checked because I was starting to have some backache. Why is she here? Didn't she know that she's supposed to wait until next week when things are calmer on the farm? Thank goodness I pushed him to finish her nursery last night because I felt I needed to have it ready-- even though no one else understood my rush. Why? Why is HE sleeping right now? I’m going, is he the one that just gave birth- to a human being. What made him so sleepy? I was the one screaming like a feral cat who was being declawed. Seriously body, what just happened to me?!”

And then the night nurse hands her back to me smelling like the yellow bottle of Johnson and Johnson baby wash, her hair is completely clean and fresh, she’s swaddled in her new cactus and rose swaddle- she’s alert and looking right at me, and it clicks. This is my baby, created perfectly and wonderfully for me. She came at the exact time she was supposed to come, and all of her 10 toes and fingers are mine. No, it’s not my plan because it was His plan. Every single thing happened the way it was supposed to happen because that moment-- at 11:05, that birth was created to prove to me that I cannot control all things and I am made of a lot more than I think I am, I am stronger than I think. My husband is sleeping because he was up for 24 hours straight at the time of her birth and needs to leave to go back to work in 30 minutes - so I let him sleep. I take a deep breath and just let my mind catch up to my body and I hear Him say: 'Now, this is a lesson-- learn from it.' And not only did my heart grow three times its size in that moment with love for my third baby but my faith grew with trust and gratefulness.
 I can remember the birth of all three of my precious girls, but Naomi’s is one I will never forget because it's birth story and a life lesson all in one.