Parenting Pete

I keep seeing all these social media posts about 2020 being the longest year ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to be joyously waving goodbye to 2020 on New Year’s Eve like the rest of the world, but I think for me, for us, the longest years have passed. I hope.

2016 and the longest months of goodbye to our sweet (toddler) baby

2015 and never sleeping because I was so afraid to lose Grace every damn day

2003 and poverty + parenting a tween as babies ourselves

So. Thanks, foster parenting, I guess, for prepping me to live like this indefinitely. Sorta.

What was one brighter spot in your day today? Did you laugh? Feel connected? Not panic for even a few seconds?

Our brains are wired for survival. That means focusing on the negative. Focusing on the tiny moments that keep us going takes practice. Over and over again.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart. 

Anyway. The posts about how they told their 5yo and how that she is dealing (or not) have really gotten to me. And first I though it was because of grief and (toddler) baby leaving. I just realized while sipping my coffee and watching Grace that my reaction is more about almost saying goodbye to Grace at that same age and how we anguished about how to tell Smash and Pete. It was so close. So so close.

So I’m gonna take deep breaths. Drink more coffee. Watch Grace teach his 2yo sister (who is wearing the pjs toddler baby wore on her last night in our house jesus) how to play with cars. Remember that they’re mine. And make plans to call Grace’s other family.

Pete: At a friend’s house. Didn’t sleep. Gonna be a pleasure when I pick him up. Yay.

Smash: Irate that I thought that 6am to noon was enough screen time. Currently eating celery and clutching a packet of hot chocolate.

Grace: Insisting on wearing shorts and not leaving the house without a marker-drawn scar like Scar from the lion king. Great.

Baby sister: Ate cake out of the compost. Currently wearing the lid to the diaper soil like a hat. She’s the worst of them, y’all.

Wife: Over. It.

Me: Trying to not lay under the couch in defeat. I made radish pickles that I’m pretty excited about, though.

Stumbled upon a forgotten old album - a song was quoted in something I was reading. This was the soundtrack to the year when I first met a girl, came out to everyone, and got my heart broken for the first time.

I probably haven’t listened to it since that rollercoaster year but hell if I don’t know every word and feel a tinge of excitement + exhilaration + fear + heartache as the songs change from one to the next.

Oof. Foster care ghosts in my dresser.

(No newborn means I can actually clean on a day off. Ha?)