Parenting

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What Will You Remember
What Will You Remember 150 150 rebekahrosler

I read an article, a story, a something recently, and it was just so poignant, it stuck with me.

It was a woman recounting a memory from her childhood. She reminisced about the special nights she had enjoyed with her single mom. What she remembered most were the evenings they ate together, when her food was sliced into tiny, tiny pieces. They would sit on the floor eating hot dog and chicken nugget bites, just the two of them. When she shared this memory, her mom was shocked at her retelling of those nights, as she recalled them too, but for a different reason. Those were the nights she had thought she had failed as a mother. She was so tired by the end of the day, working two jobs to support them, that she didn’t have the energy to cook. So she opened the refrigerator, found what they had, warmed it, cut it, and sat down with her daughter to finally get off her feet.

This is such an important reminder. In this day and age with social media as our dictator, we see our friends cooking their kids kale and quinoa and colorful plates of beautiful gourmet food, that in a million years I wouldn’t even consider whipping together. So from time to time, I question my abilities as a mother. “I can’t even feed my kid well. I’m failing her.” And yes, the pictures present well on Facebook, and yeah, maybe the kid is getting the nutrients they need. But, reality check, I will never be able to do that. And guess what? What the kids remember aren’t those meals.

Earlier this week, Nathan was stuck late at work. The plan had been for him to cook dinner, as he does, but now it was up to me to prepare something. Lacking the cooking gene, I asked Harper what she would like, listing off the things in our freezer. She opened the cereal cabinet and said, “cereal, with Mommy. Sit on the floor, with a mommy bowl and a mommy spoon.”

You see, there was a night a few weeks ago where I just couldn’t deal, couldn’t function, couldn’t manage, and the easiest, most possible thing for me to do, was feed us cereal on the kitchen floor. And this 2 1/2 year old’s tiny brain, even now, a few weeks later, remembered that night, that memory, and wanted to share it again with me. It made me realize what’s important. What really matters. And that’s the special time we get to spend with our kids. Sure, maybe roasted squash is better for her than Frosted Mini-Wheats, but she is still going to grow up, she is still going to get the nutrients she needs (somehow), and to me, right now, impacting her memories is the most important thing.

When Harper was less than 2 months old, I demanded that we take her to the museum (what?!). I thought it would be so good for her to be surrounded by art at such a young age. In retrospect, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Was I presuming that by osmosis she would become cultured? She couldn’t see 10 inches from her face. To get a baby from downtown, in a massive Bugaboo stroller, to the UES, to schlep her around a museum, where she slept and shat the entire time, was a complete and utter waste of time (and anxiety levels).

When the twins were born, I tried to get out immediately with them to do things. I soon realized that the amount of stuff, the amount of schedules, and the amount of stress was simply not worth it.

Needless to say, we have not strayed far from Stuytown in the last almost 10 months. Who am I kidding? I couldn’t walk for the last half of my twin pregnancy, so it’s been well over a year.

Sometimes I get sad that my kids aren’t experiencing all that the city, all that life, has to offer. But I have to tell you: When we walk into their room when they first wake up in the morning, and they are all lying there, teeny-tiny eyes open, and they see me, and they see Nathan, and their little faces light up, nothing else in the world matters.

Harper and I are home together tonight—just us. I could pretend I’m already planning dinner, making sure the fridge is stocked. But we all know that’s a lie. We will be eating Frosted Mini-Wheats, in a mommy bowl, with a mommy spoon, on the kitchen floor, and I simply can’t wait. And I’m willing to bet, she can’t either.

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The Time is Upon Us. Rise Up.
The Time is Upon Us. Rise Up. 150 150 rebekahrosler

Since having children I’ve been hiding from politics. Its too dirty. Too exhausting. Too overwhelming. This political climate in particular – has actually made me – a strongly opinionated and vocal person – shut down. It’s just been too much. Our environment has taken a hit. America in the global community has taken a hit. Women’s rights and advancements have taken a hit. And I didn’t speak up. I needed someone else to carry that weight. I didn’t have it in me this round. I knew, assumed, someone else would. Even knowing the severe implications this would have on life as we know it for generations and likely centuries to come – I did nothing.

But I cannot hide anymore. What is happening right now. On American soil does not have a word to describe it. It is devastatingly atrocious.

This is not the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I cannot sit idly by any longer. No, I will not, cannot listen to the cries of these children. That will immobilize me. I can hear them in my head. In my heart. I know what my children sound like when I leave them at school. I cannot fathom what cries from true separation sounds like. I cannot listen. But I can do something.

I can call my Senators.

I can donate.

I can ask you to help.

I can ask what you’re doing and how I can help.

What charities can we donate to?

Are children being fostered? How do we learn more?

Does someone have a script to call our elected officials?

Who do we vote for in the midterms?

How can I – and anyone else who is ready to rise up – step up, today.

We cannot do nothing. This has happened before and the consequences of silence were devastating.

We must. I must. You must. Take action.

These are not summer camps you fucking assholes. This is not politics. This is life. Human life. Children. Helpless children. You, however, are scum of the earth and this is not one we will let slide. This one is not negotiable. You will lose.

“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

When our Grandchildren ask us about this awful time.

What will you tell them you did?

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And Then We Came To The End
And Then We Came To The End 150 150 rebekahrosler

I never thought it would happen.

In fact, I was certain it would not. After all – I was the one who didn’t want kids. What’s the appeal? I thought. You can’t travel. You’re limited. Tired. Tied down. The diapers. The mess.

You can’t live freely.

I just couldn’t see it. Not for me at least.

Then I met the love of my life – and learned that a love so strong brings with it other desires. Other needs. And with it – the realization that those other fears were less important. When a life is lived well before meeting your partner – the feeling of missing out on what the world has to offer, is a little less clawing. Creating another life. A life we make. Together. Ours. Felt like it was already a story written.

That’s what the world would have to offer, for us. Our baby.

So we had the one. Nathan would have been content. Was content. Just days after she was born, though, I realized I experienced a tectonic shift.

I too was content. I was in love. But I was far from done. Almost one year to the day later, we were pregnant with twins.

This, by far, for sure, unequivocally, would be it. There was no other possible reality. For what was originally intended to be a family of two was already a party of five. Certainly, this was the end.

The twins came. And yes. We were done. Love was bursting through every seam. As were the diapers. And the spit up. And the laundry. And the sleepless nights. And the colic. Yes. We were done. We took all the precautions to ensure this reality. We are closed for business, as it were.

And now. A day until marking 9 months with the twins and nearly two and a half years with our first, I’m questioning everything. I want more. I think I want more. Could I possibly, truly want more?

I’ve been quietly suppressing this feeling. Not accepting it. Not acknowledging it. You see, I am the only one who feels this way in my marriage. But it’s beginning to bubble over. And it’s time to honestly face what these feelings mean.

As I sat with a dear friend (and fellow twin mom) yesterday it seems I am not alone. We both have three young children. The most recent set being the twins. We shared how different the experience is with two, than with one. There are no special cuddles in bed, just you and your baby. There’s autopilot – overdrive – to just keep everyone alive. The pregnancy is like nothing a human should endure. All in all. The twin experience is just… different.

I keep going back and forth – deciding if I should say it was less special. Because that would rub people the wrong way. And that’s never my intention. But If I’m being honest, for me, it was a little less special. More robotic. The breastfeeding sessions didn’t feel like bonding. The witching hour was doubly hard. There’s just no one-on-one mommy-baby, get-to-know-each-other-moments. It’s almost like what could have been, wasn’t.

So I’m stuck in this place. My truth. We are done. Because we have to be. For many reasons. But I don’t think I can accept it. Not yet. Not now. Though I have no other choice. And maybe I don’t really want another baby. Maybe I’m simply mourning the loss of what could have been. Or maybe now that the the twins are no longer newborns, barely even infants – I can’t wrap my head around the fact that we will have no more baby firsts.

Babies. Twins. Are life changing. You just never realize what having one, or three, will do to your entire existence. I almost can’t remember the “me” from before. In a good way, I believe.

I have never accepted something in my life I wasn’t fully satisfied with. I will fight to the death for what I want or believe in. If there is something I need. I will always figure out a way. I have never failed at this.

I think this is the first fight I must succumb to. Understand that this is it. Drop my head, accept defeat and walk right up to the finish line.

I cannot cross it, though. I am not finished.

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In a New York Moment
In a New York Moment 150 150 rebekahrosler

What is life?

I suppose it’s a series of events, memories, shared experiences, solitary moments. A conglomerate, really. Some etched in our minds for all eternity. Some fleeting, which we live, and ultimately forget, lost to the recesses of a deep space within.

Way past her bed time at 9 PM, I found myself walking Harper home in a carrier, holding her tiny little hand, singing “Sweet Baby James.” Hyperaware of everything in that moment, I was reflecting on the day, and my present place in life, all at the same time.

I had snuck her out of school earlier than usual because I had broken my promise that on Mother’s Day we would “get our nails done.” She wanted yellow nails, and what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t deliver on this two-year-old’s dream?

So we walked to a nail salon. She picked yellow. And then this little one got her first manicure. While the manicurist was gentle with her delicate, teeny fingers, she kept peering back at me. Her wide, kind eyes gave me hints of insight into her beautiful mind. She was quiet and polite. And I prayed this would be one of those moments that would stay with me forever.

Next on the Mommy-Harper adventure, we were “meeting Mommy’s friends.” (Though a little while later, I realized she thought we were “eating Mommy’s friends.” I promptly corrected her.)

So I carefully strapped her into the carrier, and shared with her the universal “I just had a manicure” sign. We then headed west and walked to Chelsea Market to “eat Mommy’s friends.” We talked. We laughed. I found her ticklish spot. It was so special. I would catch her looking into my eyes. If only I could ask her what she was thinking.

We met up with friends who have been in my life for 20-plus years. These days, as life dictates, we don’t talk or see each other as often as we did in our younger days of NYC life. But we caught up. We talked moving, and babies, and gossip, and memories. Harper told them I broke her out of school. They bought her ice cream, donuts and lollipops. We said we’d do it again soon. But we all know what that means. Harper and I loved every moment (besides the twelve trips to the potty) but especially the ice cream. She didn’t want to go. I didn’t either, but everything must come to an end.

It was late and Harper needed to get to sleep. I should have jumped in a cab, but the night was so perfect. The energy buzzing around was palpable. So I strapped her on me again and I just started walking. We passed a couple of guys with pizza and beer; A young couple holding hands walking towards the unknown; A young woman on her phone recounting her previous evening’s date; Construction workers ending their day, hard hats tilted ever so slightly; An older couple meandering aimlessly; Two big, big guys walking a teeny, tiny chihuahua. Harper was starting to drift so I began to sing to her. And then I felt her little body vibrating on mine. She was singing the harmony of “Sweet Baby James” right along with me. She asked me if I wanted to hold her hand. Of course I did. We laid our hands on my chest. She kept stealing glimpses of her nails. I just kept walking. Though the day was long and she was heavy, I wasn’t ready for this moment to never happen again. I asked her what I did to get so lucky to be her mom. Her response? “I love you, Mommy.” We kept walking. I kept singing. We passed a woman waiting for Thai food take-out. Across from her was a cab driver preparing for the night shift with his bodega-brown-paper-bagged-egg-sandwich and blue, to-go-cup of coffee. The scents wafting around were so decidedly New York City. As I crossed First Avenue, ready to head into Peter Cooper Village, her body got a little heavier. She had succumbed to the night. In that second, I realized how truly, truly lucky I am. All the worries about having no salary (or insurance), and all the questions (How will we make it all work? Who has three kids in the city? Why are we still in the city?) They all left my mind in that moment. Everything is right. It’s as perfect as possible. This is precisely where we need to be right now. This family is being raised in the best city in the world. And even with all the uncertainty, all the questions, all the unknowns, I know this to be true:

There is nothing else in the world like a New York moment.

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When There’s No Time Left For Regret
When There’s No Time Left For Regret 150 150 rebekahrosler

Life is full of BIG decisions. Though, too often we are frozen, unable to take that first step to make them. Whether it’s fear of the unknown, golden handcuffs, risk aversion, finances, responsibility. All legitimate – but anchors, nonetheless.

Comfort (can?) equate to complacent. It takes a lot to make life altering decisions. It is not for the faint of heart.

In life we are frequently waiting for something, a sign, a raise, the kid, the house – the life we dream about.

The problem with waiting, is that life passes us by, and we can’t fully appreciate the life we’re in.

I’ve had my struggles. My cross to bear. But recently in life my biggest complaint was my solid job, that paid me well, provided my family incredible insurance – wasn’t fulfilling anymore. I know, some people (reading this) could think – she doesn’t get to bitch about that, that’s quite the problem to have. I’m not looking for anyone to commiserate – I’m simply now aware – that though things may look good on paper, sometimes it’s worth picking that paper up and looking beneath it – or maybe even ripping it to shreds.

It’s so cliche – but I think it’s worth considering – on your deathbed, when you look back, will you feel like you truly led a life you’re proud of? When there’s no time left for regret – will you be content?

My answer, was no.

This actually isn’t a post about leaving my job. It’s about what happened AFTER I made the decision. And, granted, it’s been a total of 28 days – so I’m hardly tenured on the topic. But, it’s incredible how the universe listens.

The day after I told my job of almost 6 years – a job that was a career move – my time had come – I received a call that both of my babies were going to begin the evaluation process for early intervention. I would need to be available about one afternoon a week, for the next month.

From there I would need to go on meetings with the state, then once approved, meet with the therapists. Then finally be available once the therapies began. This simply would not have been possible in my former life (of one month ago). I will need to be fully present for my kids.

None of this is to say – it’s smooth sailing. I have no idea how we’ll pay for daycare, insurance, lunch.

But what I know – is that it will all work out – I am as certain of this as I am the sun will rise.

As I build a new company with my business partner the focus is paramount. Our priorities and mission are entirely aligned. We want to have the best possible motherhood journey for us, as well as for the women we’re working with who are either just starting out on theirs, or deep in the trenches.

I left all my babies home last night with a babysitter for the first time ever. I had to work. Nathan had a show. It was time. And we did it. At 1am I woke up to the oldest puking in her bed. It lasted all night. All. Night. Stripped sheets. Baths. No sleep. I kept her home from school today. Because I can. Because she needs me. Because I need this. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was something more. Don’t know. Don’t care. But, another thing I would have had to struggle with, in my past life.

The juggling act.

That first step to make a change is the hardest. No debating that. But the freedom, and weightlessness that comes with that step is so freeing I can’t quite put it to words. And sure, there will be bumps in the road. There’s uncertainty ahead. But I’m trusting that at the end of (my) days, I will know with absolute certainty that I did exactly what I was supposed to do, at this moment in time, and will be completely at peace with the life I chose.

Accept the risk.

Make the choice.

Take that step.

Live your life.

There’s no time left for regret.

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A Picture Is Worth…Very Few Words, These Days.
A Picture Is Worth…Very Few Words, These Days. 150 150 rebekahrosler

Today Nathan and I were released from the clutches of six tiny hands (and 8 pretty small paws). It had been some time. We were offered an opportunity. Four hours of freedom!

What would we do?

Well, we would suck, is what we would do.

Without fail. Every. Single. Time. We are given a break, a day, a night, an afternoon an anything. We fuck it up.

We had no plan before we left (never do) and it took us an extra hour to actually leave. So our four hours quickly became three.

Movie? No, the point is we need to hang, talk, catch up.

Dumbo, for art? Maybe, but where would we eat?

UWS for the park? Nah. Just too far.

Raw Bar? Yes! Exactly what we want.

But where?

One place was indoors (way too beautiful out to waste it being inside). Next place didn’t open till 4. Other place isn’t serving food till May 2 (because, of course it’s not.) Taking travel into the equation – once we would make it to half the places we’d have to turn right around.

Finally got a reco for a spot Downtown, on the Water. Perrrfect.

But. Nah. It wasn’t. Obviously.

Riddled with tourists. “Only table open” was next to the garbage.

We bailed. Called an audible and…wandered aimlessly, because – well, that’s just us. We now had 2 hours left. Of course we start getting pissy, blaming each other, feeling dumb for wasting the opportunity. Blech.

We called some places. Nothing was working. We were walking the wrong direction. Our day was shitty. Which was really just such a bummer.

Then (hallelujah!) Stone St.! Tables outdoors. Liquor flowing freely. This was where we needed to be.

The next hour and a half was actually pretty perfect. We got a table outside. Had some oysters (success!) the rest was fried (whatever). Then we went around the corner to the bar voted “best cocktail bar in the world”.

Dead Rabbit.

Head upstairs. They do NOT disappoint.

Before we left, we had to take a picture. Prior to babies we were great about capturing us. Then when one babe joined the party there were fewer pics, but we still had some family shots. I can probably count on four fingers how many pictures we’ve been in together these past 7 months.

So, we got our smiley happy lovey couple shot – and I was thrilled.

We had about 25 minutes left. Before our window shut on this episode of “what it feels like to just be a couple again,” I planned to post the picture.

And then it all went to shit.

We got in a massive fight over the stupid car and directions. I mean. So so dumb. We were so pissed we weren’t even talking to each other. We killed 20 minutes huffing around from street corner to street corner avoiding eye contact and knowing the other was definitely wrong – and obviously the other totally in the right. Pretty sure some F Bombs were throw.

This entire post simply came about because I wanted to post the cute picture of us. But when I got right down to it. Posting it would have been dishonest. We were smiling here. But we were very much not smiling seven minutes later. I had already edited it to make it (me) look better. I cropped out half my arm because I’ve just not come to terms with my post pregnancy body, still. So what you see isn’t the whole picture. Literally and figuratively.

Is it ever? Really?

Long story short, I’m calling bullshit on me.

And I’m calling it on you. Let’s try to be real out there. Oh yeah and next time you leave the house, make a god damn reservation.

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Always The Third Wheel
Always The Third Wheel 150 150 rebekahrosler

It’s funny, I was laying in bed (really the couch) this morning (“this morning” defined by 2-5am when either someone woke up screaming, I had to pump, or some other fun activity) – feeling uninspired. I want to keep writing, but the mood really needs to move me in order to do so. I can’t just pick up a “pen” and start.

I thought about recent occurrences with one baby or another – none felt funny enough, or heart wrenching enough, that they’d be worthy of putting pen to paper.

I’d already touched on all things job/career/dream related. I’ve done the “amazing husband” post. I felt like I might just need to take a brief hiatus until inspiration struck.

And then it did.

I write a lot with humor, or babies, but if I get to the heart of it, I don’t really write about me. Sure, me as a mom, me as a wife who doesn’t clean enough. But not truly, deeply about me.

So this one, is, about me.

I’ve been lucky in life to meet incredible people. I have so many friends and acquaintances, that I lose track. Friends and family say I “collect people”. This is not intended to be a popularity contest. Quite the contrary in fact. The joys of having so many friends – is that you can always be in touch with someone about something.

But if I’m being really honest, it can be really lonely. It means, it’s hard to have the “best friend” people always talk about.

In my life I’ve been a part of many social circles, hell I’ve created most of them. And though, maybe I’m at the epicenter – it’s kind of like everything is floating around me.

I’m not blaming anyone really – I’m sure I’ve done it to myself. But throughout my life, I’ve constantly found myself in friendships with two other people, and am always the third wheel. We may all be close. But they are ALWAYS just a little closer. I inevitably find out after the fact, that plans were made, and I wasn’t included. Conversations were happening, and I wasn’t a part of them. And if really listening to myself, it makes my heart hurt. I’m a friendly person. I’m a social person. Believe I try to not let anyone feel left out. Go out of my way to include and connect people. If you’re reading this, you probably wouldn’t have imagined this about me. But I’m in a constant state of feeling left out.

I’m sure if I brought this up to friends they would offer up, oh we didn’t think you’d be free because…pregnant/102 babies/haven’t slept/assumed you couldn’t make it. But I wish people would let me make that decision. If that’s even the case. Maybe they simply don’t think (want?) to include me.

Or, and maybe I haven’t gotten to the heart of it – but maybe there’s something about me that isn’t best friend material.

I’m certain there are things I’ve done in life that have gotten me here. Instead of saying Yes to everything, I have been inclined to say No. I don’t always put myself out there, often times prefer the comfort of my own home to a party/bar/girl’s night out. So people around me get closer, and I, get sleep or TV (or at least used to, now I just get peed on – and not even in “that kind of way”).

And though all the above may be true, I also get sad when people choose everyone else (anyone else?) over me.

Granted I don’t want to be friends – or best friends with everyone – but those I’m close with, I wonder why they are closer with that one other person – and choose not to be, with me? The reality is, I might actually say no to the invite, but I’d like to be asked.

Maybe I don’t offer open conversation or invites to friends – though I think I do. At the end of the day, it just makes me think people like other people more than me. And that’s just a shitty feeling. I understand this is life – and of course this is going to happen. But it’s astounding how in my entire life I continue to find myself in this role as the odd (wo)man out.

I’m not unhappy. Hardly. I’m ecstatic about where I am in life. But this is a recurring theme that reared it’s head again this morning, and made me realize I’ve never fully processed it out loud. I’ve repressed it for sure. But ultimately – it returns.

So I guess this a post to just reinforce that everything you see isn’t the whole story. There is ALWAYS more. And just once in my life – outside of my marriage, of course – I wish someone (someone I would want too) would want me as their person, their second wheel, not an afterthought.

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What Is It You Plan To Do With Your One Wild And Precious Life?
What Is It You Plan To Do With Your One Wild And Precious Life? 150 150 rebekahrosler

There has been precisely one decision I have made in my life that I did not second guess.

That was marrying Nathan.

Never had I been more certain about anything, ever. Before and after that – my entire life has/had been a series of questions. Did I order the wrong salad for lunch? Should I wear different socks? Is this the time to have a child? From the most insignificant to the most monumental – they’ve all been questioned; I even returned my first wedding dress.

I constantly wonder what it would be like to be 100% confident in something.

This past week I re-learned that feeling.

After my metamorphosis to motherhood everything simply changed, as life does. My passions and desires shifted; what was once of the utmost importance became less significant and what changed my identity became my number one priority.

Before Harper was born I built (what began as) an online community for new moms having babies around the same time, to connect with each other.

It can be lonely.

But what I learned – it absolutely doesn’t need to be.

This group of Winter Moms and Winter Babies became my world for the first six months of my child’s life (and far, far beyond). We bonded, had each other, our babies became friends – and we had a kick ass maternity leave filled with picnics on the lawn, mid day drinks at bars, and just someone else to talk to about all the stuff no one tells you about. Or simply a walk to Buy Buy Baby, because why not buy more unnecessary shit for our kids.

Some of these moms are my closest friends. And our kids will be friends “forever”.

It was a saving grace to so many, and so hugely meaningful on a deeper level, for me.

After seeing this new community thrive, and the positive impact it had – I realized the infertility journey, too, could be an isolating experience – and these strong, strong women needed their own support network.

I created a virtual group called Warriors (no, you can’t find it, it’s secret – but if you or someone you know could use this group, please connect.) Two+ years later, this, now, international group has become a safe space for so many women who are on a journey. Some of these women have become life long friends – others sit quietly behind the screen and learn from those who came before them. Some stay anonymous – some attend gatherings. But the incredibly kind words I’ve heard from these women show that the need for a female support system is something lacking in the every day.

I kept imagining where there were pockets that needed to be filled and tried to fill them. I created a twin group, a post fertility treatment group, then a new 2017 baby group. There were more, but that’s not the point. The point is – through my transformation I learned what makes me tick, what now inspires me – and what truly makes me happy, my inner most passion. And that’s helping women and their journey to motherhood.

Women who are on a path. Women who are looking for support. Women who need guidance or resources. A shoulder. An ear. A community. A drink. A night out. A friend.

All too often we compete with one another.

I’m looking at you.

And me.

But we just don’t need to. We need to lift each other up. Help each other. A fire has been ignited in this new empowered generation and I am proud to be a part of it.

So, tomorrow, will be my last day at my job. A place I’ve called home for 5 and a half years. A space that has seen me through so much. That helped me grow, flourish, and find myself.

I will take this hat off tomorrow afternoon, I will leave midtown, take a deep breath and know that beyond the shadow of a doubt – I made the absolute, unequivocal – right decision for me, at this time in my life.

This will be the second time in my life that I am 100% certain.

As of Monday I will put a new hat on. I likely won’t shower, and will be in comfy clothes – but a new hat nonetheless.

I won’t stress getting the kids to daycare at 7:30am, maybe I’ll even stay cuddled in bed with them a little while longer.

I then won’t have to rush and worry at 5:28pm about how the hell I’m going to get back downtown to all 3 kids and get them out of school by 6 on the dot to not incur the $1 a minute late fee. In fact, maybe I’ll pick them up early and take them to the playground, a music class, a bar – whatever!

These are unchartered waters and I could not be more excited to face them.

Who knows, maybe I’ll go…dare I say it…to a spin class after 3 years??? (Probably not, but definitely a Russian Bath trip or two).

And the icing on this beautiful carvel cake that’s covered in Cadbury Creme Eggs – my friend and I had a dream, a vision. We talked about it the last weekend in January. And then we went into hyper overdrive action my last month of maternity leave.

We want to create a community among moms in NYC. It’s a 360 degree offering to women who are on their journey to motherhood, through pregnancy, after pregnancy – with a new baby, a toddler. And beyond. All day, every day – in my free time – I meet total strangers on Facebook or in a coffee shop – who ask me advice on infertility, or how the hell to raise twins and a toddler – or other things that I’m highly unqualified to answer. But, I welcome the new friend with open arms. I listen. I share. We talk. And a new relationship is born.

Mostly people are looking for companionship and conversation.

Now I get to do that all day, every day.

And I cannot fucking wait.

This door is closing. But a beautiful set of floor to ceiling glass doors, overlooking the most gorgeous scenery, with the sound of crashing waves and light pouring through are opening in front of me and I could not be more ready to take that first step.

Goodbye for now.

OOO.

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No Longer a Catepillar
No Longer a Catepillar 150 150 rebekahrosler

I just ended my longest relationship.

The courtship began while I was in my early 30s. I gave to it, all of me. She taught me about myself. Five and a half years later so much has changed and it was time for me to welcome that reality.

It was time for me to say goodbye.

She treated me well. Offered me a home, a place to grow. To learn. To make mistakes. To find my strengths and weaknesses. She taught me life lessons. I stumbled a few times. She picked me up. She ushered me into my next stage of life. She saw me through a new relationship. An engagement. A marriage. Infertility. In fact, she paid for the treatments. Both times. She provided me the means to create new lives. She was there for the birth. A metamorphosis.

My metamorphosis.

She gave me the time to find myself after the greatest shift my life had seen. Then through another pregnancy. This one was harder – but she supported me and gave me the space I needed to heal. And then through the birth of my last babies. She gave me a home and friends during all of these life milestones.

She taught me patience. And perspective.

And then I returned to her. Hat in hand. This time, though, something was different. My love, desire and passion for her evaded me. There had been a much deeper shift. She was the same.

I was not.

My time had come to walk away. To thank her for building me up. For nurturing me. For giving me friendships and teachings. For helping me mature. It was not easy. A break up never is. You question yourself. You question the reason. You look at the big picture. And at the moment. Ultimately you just must decide what’s best for you. I shared with her, the news yesterday. She wasn’t surprised. Hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. But understood. Things were different.

I was different.

You can’t hold on to a butterfly.

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Gratitude
Gratitude 150 150 rebekahrosler

I think the most eye opening thing about having children, is how everything else in your life shifts.

It’s almost like your past life never happened.

I’m only 2 years deep into this whole thing, and as I scroll back through pictures of pre-babies, I’m reminded life wasn’t always spit up and poop – but almost can’t even remember those days.

I caught up with an old friend recently, we hadn’t had quality time together in ages – and we reminisced about the good old days.

College – yikes.

Post College NYC – even yikes-ier.

If I attempted a fraction of what I once did in a week then, now, I would be dead. It’s truly incredible the phases our lives take on, with us in the passenger’s seat.

I imagine I will not be alone in thinking or saying this, but what might get neglected the most, once you have children, is the thing that brought them into this world.

When I met Nathan, that moment – I knew, everything was about to change. There was absolutely, unequivocally, something different about him, about us.

Maybe he didn’t know, but I knew – he was the one I was going to be with and create a life with.

Now, I am not one to believe in ‘meant to be” – in the esoteric sense – but after simply talking to him, I knew I would love him.

Our courtship was a relatively quick one – met online, first date two weeks later, dated a year, engaged/moved in and married within the next year. But I appreciated every day in that brief dating experience. I had waited an insanely long time for the right guy, for me. And he was it. He fit absolutely none of my long list of criteria.

And thank god he didn’t.

Rarely do I have trouble finding words – but around this, I seem to. Nathan is my everything. And I hate to say it, but since this brood expanded, I believe I haven’t said it enough, haven’t appreciated him enough.

Relationships often work best when there are complementary personalities within them. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, that is us.

And it works…

For the most part, of course.

The choice to have children is a big one – your life changes – entirely – and there is no version of going back. The quick trips out of the city. The long walks, holding hands, aimlessly. The vacations. The sleep. Just the two of you. They all become fond, albeit distant, memories while scrolling through pictures.

Do I regret anything in this current life? No. Do I wish there were more hours in a day where just the two of us, could be just the two of us, again? Absolutely. Will it happen at some point in the future? I’ve heard it does – though from this vantage point, I’m not sure I see that light at the end of the tunnel.

Along with my recent near miss, came a new found appreciation and sense of gratitude. I adore my husband like no one I have ever encountered. He is a good, good person. He is kind and thoughtful, he is loving and warm. He is moral and honest. He is creative and smart. Dedicated and loving. Funny and inquisitive. He has amazing ethic and an even more incredible heart. And supports me being me entirely. But most importantly he is a true partner and the most adoring father.

He doesn’t ever meet me half way, he goes way, way, way beyond. He is the strength to all my weaknesses.

I am not here to brag. Hardly. We have a TON of shit we should be working on. But ain’t no one got time for that. We had an incredible year of therapy right at the outset of our marriage because (I believe) everyone should. Two different people with two different communication styles and many different approaches to life and what matters. Get that crap sorted out at the beginning so you can start on solid ground. (And if not at the beginning, find another time. It’s so important. Ok, I’ll get off my therapy soapbox now).

I know there are more things, ahem, we should be doing, as a married couple. And I know we will again. But right now, we are raising the next generation, of good, kind (hopefully!) humans. I can only hope that when their time comes to begin their true adventure of life, we can be role models, in our marriage, so they too, seek out the right person for them – to build something beautiful and spectacular together.

I hope they learn, it is always worth the wait.

My final quote in my wedding vows was by Anne Bancroft, on her marriage to Mel Brooks:

“Whenever I hear his key in the door, I think, o goody, the party is about to begin.”

Nathan, if you’re reading this, I owe you everything, I do not take any of it for granted, I love you, I thank you, there will be vacations one day again, you will sleep through the night at some point. You are what keeps my heart beating…and no, I still haven’t done the dishes.

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