the other day i took douglas to cincinnati children's hospital to have his hips checked. it's a routine protocol for babies who are born breech to ensure that dysplasia hasn't occurred. thankfully, the ultrasound scan came back perfectly normal and his hips are in ship-shakira-shape. a truth that for many other children we saw that day, was not the case. as i pushed my healthy happy boy in his stroller through the glossy halls of the hospital, we were met with the faces of sick children i have seldom seen in real life. the faces reserved for the gut-wrenching saint jude's hopsital commericals that come out around christmas time and particularly horrific episodes of grey's anatomy. we saw parents in waiting areas with cups of coffee and a look of fatigue i have never known. the kind of tired, i would guess, that comes with having a child who is sick. relentless in nature. unkind and unwavering. as we sat before going back for doug's ultrasound i looked around at all the different children waiting to be seen. young children. old children. babies. someone's baby. every race, gender, social-economic class, ethnicity and beyond. children and their loved ones with dreams and hopes and ambitions and goals. brought together because of a shared commonality: being unwell. that's the thing about illness. it doesn't discriminate. i talked to the technician who performed doug's ultrasound as she worked. i told her how humbled i was. how torn apart i felt. gutted after spending less than an hour bearing witness to such pain. i asked her how she did it. how she combated the cold truths hidden beneath the surfaces of the mickey mouse murals, brightly colored elevators and princess stickers. she was so bright and cheery and utterly delightful. i can't imagine the sadness she's seen. perhaps even felt herself. the terrible results she's had to place flatly on her expression, because she isn't at liberty to share them with the families. she simply smiled at me. she told me matter-of-factly that even in the most dire of circumstances things could always be worse. and i suppose she's right. then she told me that my son's hips were perfectly ok, and that she wasn't supposed to tell me that until the doctor looked at the results but she knows how moms worry. and she was right about that too. i've felt differently after visiting the hospital. stirred, in a way. i can't stop thinking about the faces i saw. i can't shake the images from my head. and i'm not upset about it. i want to remember those faces. those families. i hope they remain ingrained on my heart and etched in my memory so that the next time i start to feel sorry for myself i can jolt myself with a dose of reality. it's funny, i was thinking about teaching and how whenever we took prayer requests in school, no matter what, i always had a kiddo who asked to pray for sick kids. don't get me wrong, we prayed for a lot of dogs and cats, siblings, parents and the occasional "bird i saw on the side of the road this morning" (may he/she/they rest in peace) in kindergarten. but i always had someone raise their hand and ask to pray for kids who are sick. and i can't help but wonder now if that's because some of my students have also born witness to the sadness that encountered. to the reality that stares you down when you see a tiny human in distress. when you see anyone in distress. i sincerely hope that this post isn't taken as a pity token for families suffering with children who are ill. i mean it to be nothing of the sort. i only wish to offer my experience in the hopes that maybe someone out there has encountered something similar and has felt the uneasiness i have. i urge you to lean into it, and do something good with it if you can. that day, and every day since, i have said an extra "thank you" to the big man upstairs for the health of my child and prayed blessings and peace over families whose circumstances aren't as fortunate as mine. i have bad days. really bad days, sometimes. i have moments when i forget what a gift it is to have breath in my lungs, a heart in my chest and a brain in my noggin. moments when i forget what a gift it is to have a son and family who also share those things. and if you've had those moments too then i leave you with the words of the lovely ultrasound tech at children's hospital: it could always be worse. and i wish that for you, it gets better. and it will. xo
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this morning i attended my first workout class since having doug.
i wish i could tell you it’s because i want to better myself and self-care and all that but if i’m being honest, it’s because i have a wedding in three weeks and a dress i need to fit into. but hey, a reason is a reason right? anyway, i was agonizing last night as i thought about my 6 am barre class. i looked through my dresser trying to find an outfit that would make me look skinnier than i am. will my butt sweat show in these leggings? is this sports bra too tight? dear god, what if i lactate during class? the truth is, i’ve put on weight since doug was born and it’s not in the most flattering places. i’m never not sweating and i justify eating ice cream at any point during the day. don’t get me wrong, i’ve never been the skinniest or fittest lady in class, i’ve just never been the biggest. so this morning when my alarm went off, i started to think of all the reasons why this class was a bad idea. you’ll never make it. you’ll look like an idiot. you can’t do it. and again, i’d love to say that i practiced positive self-talk and banished all my negative thoughts with the power of confidence and beyoncé. but in reality i simply told myself “you gotta fit in that dress, girl” and promised myself i’d get an iced coffee afterwards. hey whatever works, yo. when i arrived at class (on time no less!) there was only one spot left in the studio. the sun wasn’t even up and this place was packed with women. women of every race, shape, size and age. each one there for her own reasons. i felt immediately better. i was truly encouraged by the sheer number of people in that room. now, pre-baby laura was a bit of a comparer in group fitness classes. am i doing it right? that lady’s feet are more pointed. that lady is doing better than i am. that lady is barely breaking a sweat does she even have sweat ducts!? i know they say just worry about yourself but come on, if they really wanted us to only look at ourselves they wouldn’t line the damn walls with mirrors. today was different though. when i couldn’t do something as well as my neighbor i didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. when i began to sweat profusely (about .838483 seconds after starting) i toweled off and embraced it. i looked around the room and instead of feeling inadequate i felt something totally different. something new. i felt proud. i felt strong. i felt grateful. i thought about how much my body has been through over the past year and all the good that’s come from the changes i’ve experienced. instead of noticing the clothes my peers were wearing i found myself noticing their scars. the ankle scars. the shoulder scars. the scars that aren’t visible but are surely there hiding beneath the surface. each of my classmates has a body that contains stories and pains and memories and life. i can get so bogged down by what i see in the mirror sometimes that i truly forget how amazing biology is. i made a human, who cares if i can’t do a friggin side plank? and you know what? even if my body didn’t make a baby it would still be hella amazing. i have a heart in my chest and a brain in my head that allow me to contribute good to the world everyday in tons of different ways. and what’s more: you do too! butt sweat be damned, our bodies are incredible and i choose to celebrate mine today. this doesn’t mean i won’t be back to my worrisome self tomorrow. heck, those feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy may even creep their way back into my mind this afternoon. but for right now, i’m going to celebrate what my body accomplished today because i was able to get out of my own head. and it is my sincerest wish that you experience that same kind of pride today too. in culture that seems hell-bent determined to make us feel bad about ourselves, we must take these small victories and cherish them. so whatever victory you’re celebrating today, just know i’m celebrating right along with you. forever rooting for you, lh this morning i saw something i have never seen before.
on my block, in my tiny neighborhood, was an ice raid. my house sits on a dead end street that runs perpendicular with another dead end street. essentially, the residents on those two streets were blocked in and unable to leave. neighbors were confused. adults were trying to get to work. kids were getting ready for school. i was in my car with my husband and baby doug as drew asked the ice officer if there was anything that could be done to get us out, as i had a flight to catch. the officer looked at us closely. my eyes were glued to the incredibly large automatic weapon that was strapped to his chest. he tapped it lightly as he looked at us. he was calm, friendly. my heart raced, frantic. silent, i strained a smile. he looked at my clothes, my wedding rings, my hair and make up. he examined drew the same way. then he radioed the other officers and they created space for us to leave. they made an exception to let us out. an exception that i have no doubt in my mind, had to do with the color of my skin and the seemingly “nice” things the officer was so obtusely assessing about my appearance. nice white couple. jean jacket. big blue eyes. family car. no threat. as we drove the short distance to the main street, i looked at the other police officers, detectives and members of ice. it was terrifying. they had spotlights on a large house where no doubt multiple families of hispanic descent live. lived. there were loud bomb-like sounds coming from inside the house. i assume they were attempting to smoke the families out but i can’t know for certain. i heard no screams. saw no one leaving. only officers going in. but i only saw one part of this picture. i can’t begin to imagine what was happening on the other side of the door. children live there. i know that. moms and dads. sisters and brothers. families. no different from the one in the car with me. they said it was going to be a while. that’s what they told us. an apology for the inconvenience. i wonder if anyone is going to apologize to the families being torn apart in that house? an apology for causing the fear in those kids? an apology for barging in and physically removing people from their home. that seems like a bigger inconvenience to me. i know they came here illegally. i know they broke the rules. and i like rules. rules keep us safe. they keep things fair. but as i drove to the airport i couldn’t see the fairness in what i had just witnessed. perhaps it’s because of innocence of the children involved. perhaps it’s because of the families. and perhaps it’s because there isn’t anything fair about it. my parents taught me that righting a wrong with another wrong isn’t doing right at all. that’s what this feels like to me. it was wrong for them to break the rules. i know it was. they should have followed the rules. but as i watched my baby boy sleeping in the backseat i thought about how there isn’t a single thing i wouldn’t do to ensure his safety. i watched my husband as he drove us. my family. my whole world. we forget the privilege we have to have been born in this country. into these opportunities. and i know that if my family didn’t have these opportunities i’d be hauling ass to get to a place of safety and freedom. for them. and even this direction-following list-making goody-two-shoes would break and bend any rules to ensure those opportunities for my son. and i wouldn’t be surprised if you would too. i have privilege. i show no threat. i offer no reason for fear. no cause for questioning. i was reminded of that this morning. my heart aches. it hurts because i don’t have a solution to offer for this problem. i can’t think of a way to fix things. to right a wrong with right. in a manner in which everyone is respected and treated with dignity. in a way that doesn’t cause the break up of families. in a way where no one gets hurt. the shooting in el paso a few months ago was the largest and deadliest attack against latinos in modern us history. 53 people died last month alone from mass shootings. 53 who the hell cares if they were legal or not? this can’t keep happening. this can’t become the normal. the status quo. the terrible thing that, “just happens but what can we do?” today i saw with my own eyes what i had previously only seen on the news. it wasn’t bloody or noisy. i know of no casualties. officers were nothing but pleasant to my family. but that doesn’t make it less wrong. there will be empty seats in classrooms today. young players missing soccer practice or ballet. there will be children who go to sleep tonight without their parents. my child will go to bed without me tonight, as i travel. but his circumstances are much different. and that is his privilege. our privilege. my privilege. and i may be the white lady with a nice manicure who no one sees as a trouble maker but i will not be silent about what i saw. they came early. before the sun was up. they were quiet. no fuss. no mess. they didn’t want to turn heads. ruffle feathers. make waves. but they shook something in me. and i haven’t stopped shaking since. and i don’t think i will for a long time. |
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