How the birth of my son reminds me daily to stay grateful

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Photo by niklas_hamann on Unsplash

Twelve years ago, I nearly died in childbirth. It’s not something I often bring up because telling people about your birth story is akin to telling them about your dreams. Maybe it’s an interesting story for you, the person who experienced it, but it's hell to have to listen to for everyone else.

With that in mind, I’m still going to tell you a story about giving birth, but I’ll keep the labour stuff to a minimum.

After enduring two days of contractions, I was rushed in for an emergency c-section, and the overworked doctor performing the surgery sliced open one of my arteries and didn’t notice. …

If you let them

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Photo by Ioana Casapu on Unsplash

Jamie and I got in a blowout fight last week. It was the kind of thing that ends up with one of you sleeping in the spare bedroom, cuddling with the dog. I finally understand the meaning of being in the doghouse.

As usual, in the rational light of day, I realized that my end of the argument was overboard. It all comes back to this crippling insecurity I still have, even after 34 years of life on this planet and ten years with this man I love so very much.

In truth, I wouldn’t want to imagine a life without him. Even now, as I write this, we aren’t talking because the bad feelings of our argument are still burning hot. However, even with this angsty feeling sitting between the two of us, I still can’t imagine my life without him. He has given me two beautiful children and a home and those sparkling diamond earrings that I never wear in fear that I might lose them. …

Am I the only one brave enough to say it?

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Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 23 years old. I attempted it a few times as a teenager but failed the test miserably on all occasions and vowed I’d never drive a vehicular machine again in my life.

However, like all beautiful moments, motherhood hit me like a ten-pound bowling ball splitting open my midsection with alarming pain and intensity. …

In a world that feels so stressful

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Photo by Ilya Shishikhin on Unsplash

I’ve always believed that happiness equated to success. If you are happy, you are successful in life. Joyfulness, without a shadow of a doubt, means that you are rocking this thing called life.

The theory fits pretty snugly into everyday life. When we are feeling cheerful, we sit on top of the world. Nothing shakes us. We are firm in our resolve that if we can keep up this feeling of euphoria, then all will remain right in the universe.

However, therein lies the problem — we cannot be happy all of the time. Well, at least I, for one, can’t. It’s exhausting. I have hundreds of moments throughout the day where stress showers down on me—periods of heartache and disappointment from the many unforeseen experiences of everyday life. There are times when a myriad of emotions will whitewash me, and I will be left with this astounding feeling of nothingness. …

Why a six-second kiss every day with your spouse has the ability to change everything.

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Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

If you are a reader of my work, you’ll have noticed a distinct pattern in my writing as of late. I’m feeling a bit insecure. This mentality crops up now and then in my life because, at heart, I am an anxious person.

I’m working on this by learning how to reduce my stress and appreciate my body as it is — in all its glory.

However, sometimes when these feelings of insecurity hammer down upon me, it begins to affect my personal relationships with people. I tend to withdraw from those that mean the most to me. I suspect this is a defence mechanism to hide my shortcomings. …

And what I do instead

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Photo by Brittany Neale on Unsplash

It’s quarter to ten at night, I’m stuffing Lays potato chips down my gullet, and the soothing multicoloured lights of a Christmas tree are spurring me on to keep writing. …

And I’m still using it to this day.

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Photo by Andrey Zvyagintsev on Unsplash

When one embarks on a girl's trip to Mexico at 18 with three of her closest friends, there are bound to be shenanigans. Hopefully not dreadful, getting tied up in some Mexican Cartel drug situation type shenanigans, but you know, the normal kind of shenanigans. Is this the most someone has ever used the word shenanigans in an introductory paragraph? I hope so.

I had never been out of Canada before, so the girl's trip I took with my roommates in 2005 was very special to me. …

What they say is true. It’s not about the tools but the passion.

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Photo by Pierre Gui on Unsplash

I use to hate baking. It was all too mathematical — at least that’s what I was told. I didn’t really know because when people would describe it as having anything to do with math, I ran out of that place like a cat on fire.

Whah? Numbers and formulas? No, thank you!

But then my husband and I opened up a bakery, and my hand was forced into learning. James is a Red Seal Chef and was happy to show me the ropes. However, he wasn’t a fan of how I didn't follow the recipes he gave me and instead made up my own simpler recipes. …

A little rant that could potentially save your life.

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Photo by YIFEI CHEN on Unsplash

It always amazes me to listen to the stories that my husband, a railroad conductor, brings home from work. Just this morning, he was telling me about a carload of young men who had put their lives at risk the night before to beat the train over the crossing he was protecting.

“The most ridiculous part was that we only had two cars on the load,” he said incredulously, “Like, these guys would have only had to wait a minute at most.”

Instead, the brazen young driver saw the crossing lights begin to flash, indicating that the train was coming and decided to make a run for it. My husband, whose job it is to manually “protect” the crossing until the arms are fully down and blocking the roadway, had to jump out of the way lest he risk getting hit by the car that was now speeding towards him. …

Or, why I need to stop posting selfies to Facebook when I’m feeling insecure.

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Photo by Charles Deluvio on Unsplash

As I write this, the psychology of it is all so clear to me. I think back to when I was an awkward teenager and trying to traverse the God awful world of adolescent dating. Thank the good baby Jesus that Facebook wasn’t a thing or else I would have gone off the dang deep end as far as posting self-indulgent highly filtered selfies went.

Once, a guy was dropping me off at my house, and when I leaned in for a kiss, he jumped back as if I had just put a piece of dynamite in his trousers. He then caught himself and the horrified look on his face, shot me the finger guns and jumped back into his enormous diesel truck and sped down my block and out of sight. …


Lindsay Brown

Mother, writer, user of too many hastags.

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