Taking the macro perspective, 2020 has been an absolute disaster. Literally end of the world stuff: plagues, wildfires, tornadoes, police brutality, and we haven’t even gotten to the election yet… part of me, the part of my soul that will forever remain the 10 year old girl who lost sleep trying to justify how the protagonists in the novels I read could still make their way to heaven despite never explicitly reciting the the sinner’s prayer in the text, wonders if we aren’t actually already living out a version of the Left Behind series where all the terrible stuff still happens, but just a lot less people got raptured than expected.
But despite possibly living out one of the most traumatizing book series of all time (I read the 40-book Left Behind “kids” series when I was young and impressionable and I’m clearly still scarred), I can’t say that 2020 hasn’t had its highlights for me on a personal level. I would go so far to say it’s been one of the best years of my life, but I feel like that would be an insult to the rest of the human race so I’ll refrain from saying so.
I counted down the new year with a hand on my stomach, knowing that even though I couldn’t yet feel the flutter of life that grew there, it was real and present and oh so anticipated. For pockets of time, that knowledge would fill me with hope unbridled from fear. A hope so strong, it felt as though it could bring me to my knees or send me out singing in the streets, which I would shamelessly do from time to time on walks with Wilson.
We were able to sneak in a California road trip before the country went apocalyptic, starting in San Francisco and ending in San Diego. I ate anything along the way the little human inside me could stomach, which was mostly carbs. The plainer and carb-ier the better. I stood in before the Pacific Ocean and let my hand come to rest on the little bean growing in my belly, marveling at how simply good the world can be at times and imagining that the next time I looked out on this view, I’d have a little one running along the shoreline, full of the same wonder.
I traveled a lot for work pretty much up to the lock down. Through every plane ride and hotel stay and conference, having a little companion with me made all the difference between a lonely couple of weeks and a welcomed adventure. I felt him move for the first time right before the plane touched down in Grand Rapids and at the next conference I traveled to I proceeded to weird people out by spending the whole time behind the booth staring and and touching my stomach like I was waiting for an alien to pop out.
Then we found out at the twenty-week mark that “he” was a “he” and Jackson and I and the rest of the office workers of America were sent home to find out if they really liked their spouses or not. Luckily, even after spending virtually all our time secluded together for months, we did. And the fact that we got that time together before a new baby made time together a rarity? Let’s just say if I had to pick a time for a pandemic, I couldn’t have done a better job of it.
Even the cancellation of my April marathon ended up being a blessing in disguise, since I’m pretty sure if I tried to run a marathon at that point my pelvic bone would have spontaneously combusted into a million pieces. So instead, my friend and I did our own marathon in March. We had ourselves dropped off in the middle of nowhere- 27 miles from the finish line we had previously decided on (it was her 27th birthday so we agreed the extra .8 miles was absolutely necessary). My friend ate pretzels and beer cheese three quarters of the way in, I felt like my pelvis had grown sentient and wanted to murder me, but we got there and I was glorious and unforgettable. And most importantly, I can still tell my little one that he’s already run his first marathon.
And once he arrived, well, how could any year be considered the worst year ever when his arrival was part of it? My mission in life is to make him smile, and luckily he’s not a tough audience. But like anyone who isn’t a pathological liar will tell you, it’s hard becoming a parent: physically, mentally, and especially emotionally (those hormones are no joke). There are some days that are just straight up awful and some nights where you wonder what the heck you were thinking. But there’s a depth to life that wasn’t there before him, and it permeates every part of me, changing me for the better.
My biggest hope in life now is for my son to be happy, healthy, and to know he is loved. And weirdly, wanting that for him made me instinctively remind myself that I deserve those things to. I knew if we both have that, there was nothing in the world we couldn’t do.
I’ve seen this new mindset manifest itself in obvious ways already. Let’s take running as an example. Not being able to run during the second half of my pregnancy made getting back into it that much sweeter. But that break also made me realize that I don’t have to run to be happy. Movement everyday is still pretty essential to me, but it doesn’t have to be running. It could be walking, yoga, a free You Tube workout video, you name it. And this revelation made running seem like so much less of a chore and so much more of a reward. Every run I’ve gone on post-pregnancy has been one I’ve looked forward to and enjoyed. And not for the sake of getting down to a certain size or back to a certain speed, but for the simple act of doing something that makes me feel strong and calm and happy. It gives me time to clear my head of all the monotony motherhood can bring. It refocuses me and makes me appreciate with every step how good it is to be in this body that can move and give life and enjoy being alive. I can say with complete honesty that I’ve never loved running more.
And food? Food and I have always had a passionate love hate relationship, but in the weeks after giving birth, eating was literally just a matter of survival. I had neither the time or the energy to think about what I was consuming, let alone if I enjoyed it or not. This was incredibly unnatural for me and thank goodness it passed, because food is so much more than just sustenance. Since then, my body has been working hard to recover and to grow my baby. And it’s been hungry. Like after a long run hungry. And I’ve only wanted to fill it with lots and lots of good things. My meals make me happy, my snacks make me smile, and it all makes me feel like it’s something life giving.
So here’s to living deeper and fuller and to seeking health, happiness and love. Hope you have all had a bright spot or two in your 2020 so far.
