Four years ago this week, I was juggling both my science role and my mom role, and my heart nearly broke every time I had to leave my little one at home with Grandma.
Three years ago this week, I was at home full-time, but alone with my active and curious toddler while on pregnancy bedrest. We came up with some wonderful activities … and a few that were real stretches. I started this blog to talk about our adventures.
Two years ago this week, I was in chemotherapy, exhausted, wan, and isolated for risk of infection. Then I made promises to myself that I would do more, and perhaps do it differently when I was better.
One year ago this week, I was recovering from an emergency oopherectomy, wondering what the future held.
This week, I threw my big kid the best party I could imagine, a science adventure — at his request! — with 10 of his closest friends. We made, and ate, birthday cake not once but twice. We played outside in the late summer sun. We went out for ice at our favorite summer place. Both boys started preschool, and it looks like it may even stick this time. I buckled down and began editing the chapters I’ve written for the NASA book. My husband is making major progress at work, and we’re celebrating that (even though I don’t talk about him here). I just started a PT-approved fitness regimen, and it looks like the back pain may even be improving as a result. It’s a new life. Not a perfect life. Not a pain or trouble free life, but … it’s life.
It’s my life.
And I intend to turn my eyes forward now, and plan beyond the short horizon that I’ve been focused on, worried about, convinced that I must achieve ALL my goals in … and live.
I might even take time to go for a walk. Because I want to be here
In one year, when I am finishing the book, sending my oldest child to kindergarten, and teaching my youngest to write his letters.
In two years, when the book goes to press, my youngest goes to pre-K, and my oldest starts first grade.
In three years, when I’m back at NASA, or on to a new adventure, but still home in time for milk and cookies with my grade-schoolers. (At least half the time. The children do have two parents, after all.)
In four years, when … you know, I haven’t looked that far, out beyond my 5 year survival horizon, since I was diagnosed. For the first time in my life, I honestly don’t have a five year plan. But you know what? I plan to be here.
That’s my new plan.
I plan to be here.
Stick around. The getting’s about to get really good.