A Faint Pink Line

It was exactly two years ago today. Two years ago. Holy shit. How can it already have been two full years since I discovered I had a potential life growing within me?! Sometimes I still can't believe I'm even a grown-up, let alone a wife and mother of two functioning, walking, talking, healthy, happy human beings.

I made sure to do it in the morning, as they say that's when your hCG levels are at their highest. So I got up early (probably around 9AM; funny how definitions change, huh?) and, after "holding it" for several hours overnight, really had to go. I figured waking Joe up would be way too much of a formality; I thought, "Screw it! It's not like it'll be positive." Really, I was just "seeing how they worked" as I had just purchased an economy-sized pack of test strips online; for what we thought would be the long journey ahead of us.

I peed, dipped, set my phone timer, and went into the kitchen to start breakfast. It must've been about 5 minutes. I walked back to the bathroom, took out the test, and saw the faintest of pink lines. Here's a photo of the first several tests (yeah I'm the weirdo that saves positive pregnancy tests), see if you can detect the line from the top test:

It's there. I swear.

I decided, since this experience had been far less momentous than I had envisioned it my entire life up until that point, that I would try to make it a bit more of an eventful, albeit very unexpected, surprise for Joe. I grabbed a dry-erase marker and drew this on the bathroom mirror:

Don't judge the horrible caricature. Anyway, I woke him up, awkwardly asked him if he had to go the bathroom (I couldn't be patient and let him just go on his own now could I?!), then watched with a shit-eating grin on my face as he read what was on the mirror. He smiled a super groggy smile, gave me a huge hug, then asked to see the test ;)

That was the day I found out I was going to be a mother. January 12, 2013. I wanted to remember what the day looked like, so on my walk down to the store I took this with my phone:

Later that day I met my friend, Hannah, for lunch. Then that night, Joe and I went to dinner with our buddies Eric and Hannah. I wanted to tell them so badly. I almost felt like in some way I had changed already and everyone knew anyway; like you could see it in my face, my walk, my mannerisms, my voice, everything: I was making a human! (At the time we only thought one). But, alas, our little secret stayed with us for several more weeks.

Every day I watch these two little girls flourish before my eyes. They giggle at us and one another, flip through books, clap their hands to their favorite songs, whine out of frustration as toddlers do, give loving, but sloppy, kisses to their daddy and me, and with energy and curiosity, precociously explore the world around them. I see all this and I truly have to pinch myself as I feel so incredibly fortunate to have the privilege of calling myself their mother.

Amazing to think that our journey together, the very start of our relationship really, began with that faint pink line on that sunny January morning exactly two years ago.


1/52: Where You Live

This one is particularly literal. But, I have good reason.

We just returned home to Berkeley after going back East to see my husband’s family for just about two weeks. Unfortunately I brought back a bit of a sinus cold/ headache. So, for the last couple days we’ve stayed cozy in our jammies, said “the hell with it” to taking down holiday decor (scant as they were), flipped through our books, jammed to our music, and basked in this lovely California sun via the light of our living room window.


It’s good to be home!

Project 52 Explained

I decided that this year, to challenge myself as well as keep myself taking photos regularly between (potential) clients, I would participate in a "Project 52." So, for any that don't know what that is, I thought I'd do a brief explanation.

A "Project 52" is essentially a weekly photo assignment in which you are to post a photo each week of the year (hence "52") in accordance to a specific weekly theme. Many times, and as is the case for me, you are held accountable by the support of other participants. So in that sense, over the 52 weeks, friendships are forms, critiques are given, your craft is (theoretically) fine-tuned and, above all, you have 52 images, that you wouldn't normally have prompted yourself to take (as they are "just a regular day"), to cherish and reflect upon at the end of the year.

Every Sunday I will post my "Project 52" Theme, Image, and Brief explanation as to why I feel they all coalesce. So, let's get this P52 party started!

My Icarus Complex

Photo Credit: Meghan Schmidt

In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Daedalus, before embracing his precious son, Icarus, for the final time, cautioned him:

“Take care to wing your course along the middle air;

If low, the surges wet your flagging plumes,

If high, the sun the melting wax consumes:

Steer between both:

Nor to the northern skies,

Nor south Orion turn your giddy eye,

But follow me.

Let me before you lay rules for the flight,

and mark the pathless way.”

In one ear and out the other.

My “Icarus Complex.” That’s what I call it.

I’m sure you know the type...

The type that daydream in the back of the class and, only when called upon without warning, you come to realize were lost in their own thoughts for the last hour...

The type that seemingly have no verbal filter, chatting insistently while interrupting you mid-sentence in a thoughtless but well-intended attempt to wedge in their two-cents without the slightest regard for courtesy...

The type that find such true insight and resonance in a piece of music that, while bussing to school/work/home, they can’t help but ignore the stares as they tear up and get lost in the melody…

The type that grin widely and wave hardily at a beckoning stranger, moments before cowering in embarrassment as they catch a peripheral glimpse of the oscillating hand (and eyes) of the intended recipient behind them…

The type that actually stop to smell the roses; then grab their camera, put on the perfect lens, adjust their settings, take seven photos of the roses from differing angles, stop to smell them again, look around for where their friends wandered off to, then go on their way...

The type that find it impossible to not express (all over their face) what they are feeling the instant they are feeling it...

The type that, though try as they might -- be it bleaching their arm hair to the point of numbness, extreme dieting to be able to beat the scale and squeeze into smaller jeans, even traveling the world in an attempt at self-realization -- simply will never fit into the mold society deems appropriate for them.

Now, I’m sure you’re savvy enough to know that this is me we’re talking about here. These types are my people. I love, nurture and wholeheartedly accept these aspects of myself now. But, there was a time I neither loved nor accepted my strange brew of idiosyncrasies.

Although I feel I’ve been an anomaly since birth, being in one of two sets of twins, I do have several very specific life experiences -- some of which I will doubtlessly share at another time on this blog-- that help to shed light on my disposition. From childhood abuse and severe trauma to bouncing from one temporary home to the next as a very young child (until my aunt and uncle intervened when I was nine), the chances of me becoming a square peg were pretty much guaranteed. But, you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Let me explain my “Icarus Complex.”

I tried so so hard to conform. To fit in. But, I wasn’t being my authentic self. Like Icarus, in trying to be somebody I wasn’t, I foolishly flew higher than my fabricated wings could handle because I thought it felt right, and, as a result, felt myself plummeting into a sea of negative emotions. For a long time I felt constant, overwhelming anxiety, bouts of paralyzing depression, unfounded heated jealousy and, probably worst of all, an aggressive, unrelenting sense of self-doubt.

I felt doubt in my ability to truly listen to and reciprocate happiness or even sympathy for dear friends. I felt doubt in my ability to excel academically when rightfully challenged by a plethora of highly intelligent peers. I felt doubt in my ability to grant the type of emotional support and understanding that my husband so instinctively and consistently provides me. I felt doubt in my ability to connect to my daughters in such a way that they fully understand the aching love that swells in my heart for them, the unconditional appreciation I have for their uniqueness, and yet still the deep-seated, petrifying knowledge that I mustn’t shield them to the sometimes harsh realities of this world (at this point in their lives their “harsh realities” include not being allowed to eat books or dip their hands in the toilet water, but you get the idea). And, I think perhaps more than anything, I felt doubt in my ability to escape the self-fulfilling prophecy of somehow following in the footsteps of my mother.

So, I had a decision to make:

A. Sink under the weight of the negativity and ever-mounting stress.

B. Continue to doggie paddle through, dodging the tempests as they come.

C. Stop the wading, grab onto the outstretched hands reaching in from the shore, dry myself off,  fashion some kick-ass wings, and soar.

Through the encouragement of my insanely supportive and creative husband, as well as other dear friends, I chose C. This Icarus survived, is wiser from the long journey, is forgiving to herself (mine’s a chick). This flight may still be foolish and undoubtedly filled with risk, but I believe that taking flight despite the risks is related to the profoundly interconnected nature of the human spirit and overall meaning for purpose in this life.

So as I stand here at the precipice of this tower, prepared to embark on this new flight, determined to stay the course, staving off the storms as they come. But as I hunker down in preparation to push off, I will reflect upon these befitting words of Oscar Wilde’s...

“Never regret thy fall,

O Icarus of the fearless flight

For the greatest tragedy of them all

Is never to feel the burning light.”

and take the leap.