Heading into the holidays and the year anniversary of my mother’s passing has been full of intense longing, and a lot of tears.  If I’m being honest, I had been full of anger until recently; when people would say that Bonbon is looking down on us, especially at this time of year, I immediately think, “Well, I wish she was HERE with us instead!” It’s not fair, I feel, because I am just a girl who wants her mom: I want to hug her and for her to hold my hand; I want to hear her giggle as she listens to the kids sing carols and see their festive outfits; I want to gift her something special and have her taste my treats, made with love just like she taught me; and, I want her eyes to light up with love and joy on Christmas Day as she watches her grandbabies excitedly open gifts and play with their new toys. Lily Rose and Oliver were her greatest joy, and it doesn’t feel like Christmas without her here to enjoy them.

It’s the big and small moments this season that send me into sadness: from hearing, “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas” over the radio when I start the car to decorating and baking without being able to share these things with her. Even seeing “Mom” on my Christmas card list and not being able to give her one, or her spotting her handwriting on an old gift bag tag, makes my heart break all over again. It’s not just that I don’t have a loved one here this holiday, when you are meant to be with the ones you love; it is also that this loved one left us at this time of year, so everything feels a little less joyful. I just don’t want this special time shrouded in such sadness, because that’s not what my mother would have wanted for us all.

Last Christmas Eve is still a bit of a blur: my dad came to stay with us the night before so we spent the day preparing for the big day and took the kids tobogganing. As evening came, I remember us all growing concerned when no one could get a hold of her; then my brother called my dad with the devastating news. I wish for my brother’s sake, I could erase the sound of my and my father’s screams. And I wish my kids hadn’t had to see me in shock, saying over and over, “But I didn’t talk to her today!” Once the horrible shock wore off, we talked to the kids and cried together, called family, hugged and held one another tight. Then once Lily Rose and Oliver were in bed, we did something I am proud of: we set about the difficult task of putting the Santa presents out, stuffing the stockings with toys and treats, and making sure the cookies set out for Santa were eaten and the reindeer food sprinkled outside was gone. We did what parents and grandparents do: we kept going even though it was hard, and we brought the magic! That took strength, and somehow, I feel like Bonbon gave us that strength to go on, if even just to give her grandkids, and us, the Christmas she would have dreamed of.

I have the best memories of the best Christmases that started with decorating the tree as a family, then excitedly opening chocolate advent calendars each morning, spending afternoons baking and decorating cookies, snuggling at night on the couch watching holiday movies, and reading books before bed about Santa, reindeer, elves, and the Nutcracker. Even as I grew up and understood Santa was in fact my parents and other family gifting us and creating the magic, it didn’t diminish how special and sweet the holidays were: the amount of presents and food and Christmas fun, the extra hugs and kisses and so many laughs, the way Bonbon decorated the house so beautifully, and made it so cozy and warm with her presence. My dad, aunts and uncles, grandparents, teachers and friends, helped so much too, in making these beautiful Christmas memories; it truly takes a Christmas village (get it!? 😉 to instill and maintain holiday love, joy, and magic!

Decorating the tree this year was a difficult experience: the placing of ornaments on the tree, from the hand-made ones from childhood to the gorgeous ones of hers she’d passed down, was full of longing. When I opened a box of my mother’s Christmas decorations I didn’t even know I had, I expected it to come with the same longing, but it came instead with a sense of clarity:  just when I needed it most, I had found her gorgeous angel to light my way through and give me comfort; the delicate crystal reindeer I remember admiring as a child, full of wonder at the most wonderful time of the year; and, the beautiful white and gold Santa to remind me how magical she made each and every Christmas for my brother and I! I’ve added these pieces to our treasured family ceramic Christmas tree, that I loved as a child, just as my kids do now. I remember putting each plastic play bulb in, just as they do now. These decorations will mix in with the ones Jon and I have bought or been gifted over the years, mixing old memories with precious new ones.

My dear friend Cathy, who is stronger, more resilient, and braver than any momma I know, recently reminded me that the holiday magic my mother gave us is the gift that is still here, and now it is mine to give to my kids. I am the Keeper of Christmas Magic now! That magic isn’t gifts, but the love and joy surrounding Christmas. It is the act of giving; the smiles on people’s faces; the activities that build excitement; the beautiful lights and decorations, but also the memories they evoke; and the joy of being with our loved ones, laughing and hugging, and holding one another close.

So like my mother before me, I need the help of family to keep that magic alive. Jon creates videos of Santa speaking to Lily Rose and Oliver each year, making their eyes light up with wonder; he lives to watch holiday movies and snuggle with the kids on the couch nightly, cocoa in hand; and, he is far better at wrapping, and even decorating cookies, than me (Auntie Sharon and Bonbon would be proud!). Then there is Lily Rose and Oliver’s daycare mom who does the Elf on the Shelf better than anyone, decorates so much, and plans theme days, crafts, and activities to build holiday excitement at their home away from home. Their big-kid Uncle Brett sends them daily videos of him opening his Star Wars advent calendar (the love of which is a gift from Bonbon), saying “I love you” each time, so the kids wake each morning excited to open the ones he bought for them, and say I Love You back. Aunts Sharon and Heather still spoil the kids rotten with hugs and gifts, just as they did for me and Brett; Aunt Michele does the same, choosing special presents for each lucky kid, and sharing the Winter Wonderland come to life that is her home, with us all when we visit. My cousin Tarren and I now do gingerbread houses with the kids each year, creating new memories to look back on and laugh at. But it is my dad who started filling our hearts with holiday magic even before Bonbon left us; when Mom could no longer do much Christmas shopping, it was my dad who assumed the role of Santa, pouring so much of his time and effort into making sure we all got just what we dreamed of, complete with individual stockings for even us big kids. For all of these Keepers of Christmas Magic past and present, and those friends, teachers, and more family I haven’t mentioned but who still help immensely, I am so thankful; the pain of losing Bonbon at Christmas hurts a lot less because of what each and every one of you do to fill my and my kids’ hearts with holiday love.

For the rest of this Christmas season, instead of focusing on the anger and unfairness of my mom not being with us, I choose to see the beauty of her being with us instead in spirit, forever. Our angel, our Bonbon, is with us still: she is with me in each gorgeous decoration I place around the house, in each cookie I bake for loved ones, in each holiday hug I give or cackle of laughter I make, just like she did. She is in every holiday story I read the kids before bed, and every movie Jon and I watch as a family. She is even cursing the damn Elf on the Shelf each night along with us, cause she would have HATED that new tradition, LOL;) My mom will be there as I tuck her grandbabies in on Christmas Even and kiss them goodnight. The next morning as Lily Rose and Oliver tiptoe down the stairs to see what Santa brought them, Bonbon will be watching over us all, somewhere magical where she is free from pain, maybe even dancing. But her eyes will still be aglow as she watches us, with all the love and joy she gave us. That’s the magic I believe in and will continue to keep alive this Christmas, and every one to come: that a big man in a red suit, riding a sleigh pulled by reindeer, delivers toys made by elves, to all the children on Earth; that, and the belief that the people we love so dearly, but lost too soon, remain with us, in spirit and forever alive in our memories and in our hearts. That’s the true and lasting magic my mother gifted us.

October is a month for gratitude and giving thanks. It is also a month when we speak of ghosts and spirits, remember those we loved who are no longer here, and if we are lucky enough, we may even feel a stronger connection to the souls of our dearly departed who linger on.

Gratitude is a hard thing to find in grief. It is especially hard to find when grief comes in crushing waves, making it hard to see, or even breathe. But when the storm calms, I recognize gratitude for a whole host of things, even amidst the pain of losing a soul mate. It has been almost a year since I lost my mother, and while I struggle to feel connected to the soul I loved so deeply and miss so terribly, there was connection felt, and I am thankful for it, no matter how long ago and how badly I yearn for it to come to us again.

To understand this connection, I have to explain that we almost lost my mother once before this: over 4 years ago, a clot travelled from her leg to her lungs and almost took her away then. At the time I was weeks away from delivering Oliver. We visited Mom often, held her hand in hospital, and she pulled through. Soon after returning home, we all realized she needed to be moved into assisted living. While things were harder after this major health scare and set-back, we got precious time together. We were gifted years of visits, laughs, hugs, and special moments; there were treasured memories made in this time. And she met her Ollie, the baby boy she’d dreamed of; the cheeky, smiley soul who brings joy to so many. Maybe my mom pulled through all those years ago because she knew we weren’t ready to be without her. Maybe she needed to meet her grandson, see me through motherhood once more, watch her little Lily Rose grow, see my brother build his life up even better, have more laughs with her sisters and friends, and allow my dad more time with his Bonbon. Maybe she wasn’t the one ready to leave all her loved ones and venture Into the Mystic.

Jon’s dad also got to meet Oliver, but sadly he didn’t get to enjoy him as long as my mom; after a battle with cancer, Jon’s dad passed away when Oliver wasn’t even 6 months old. We were all devastated, but it was Jon who lost his father, and while I felt his pain and missed his dad too, I didn’t yet understand the heartbreak. It took time, and as Jon can attest, the pain of losing a parent never truly leaves you:  it just eases ever so slightly, and somehow, you learn to live again, although you are forever changed in some ways.

But then on Christmas Eve, when Oliver was only 3 and a half and Lily Rose was 6 years old, in the middle of Covid and having not hugged her for months, my mom left us and suddenly I understood Jon’s heartbreak. It was his turn to comfort me. After the initial shock of hearing my mom had passed and just as the crushing loss first set in, I cried to Jon and said I couldn’t go on without her. Lily Rose, ever the sensitive and wise little soul, said hearing this upset her. She explained to me that we could go on, but we’d just have to learn to live without Grandma, just as we had eventually learned to live without Grandad.

As we approach the year mark of living without her, the sadness still feels palpable. It comes and it goes, but when it hits, it feels like a crushing weight on my chest and a deep aching for the one I loved first in this world. I know it hits my family equally as hard, in different ways, and at various times. There are songs, sounds, smells, places, and so many things that bring her memory back to us; while these signs are so appreciated, they also come with so much longing still.

There is something that brought me comfort in those first blurry days of grief; something that still gives me a sense of calm and a sort of peace now. When I feel lonely without my mother here, I hold on to a moment: Not even a week after my mom passed away, Oliver woke, yelled for me, and I went running to his bedroom. He does this almost nightly, but he has never said what he said next: someone had touched the back of his neck. Jon and Lily Rose were fast asleep in their beds.  Initially, it scared me, and my mind ran to thinking there was an intruder. Then I felt shivers down my spine, thinking what else it could be. It could have been that he dreamed it all up, but why go that route when life gives you signs just when you need them most! After speaking to family and friends who are open to this sort of thing, I knew what it was: someone, somewhere was reaching out. You don’t have to believe in any of this; just believe in the power of love to get us through this loss!

I believe that my mother reached out to the boy she’d dreamed of before he was born; she reached out to the boy she’d lived to meet. Maybe Bonbon reached out to comfort him, or maybe she reached out to him so he could comfort his heartbroken momma, her daughter she loved so fiercely and worried couldn’t get through the loss. Maybe it was her way of guiding us through as we learn to live without her. Whatever the reason, and however this was possible, I am grateful:  for the extra time and precious moments we got with her, even if it will never be enough; for the comfort and guidance of family who regularly check in and help me through; for wise and open friends who believe in magic and spirits; for signs of souls still with us and enduring connection; and, most importantly, for a mother’s love so powerful, it lives on, even after she’s left this earthly world.

When we got pregnant for the second time, I wanted to write a follow up to my very first post on this blog, Two Little Lines. I was going to call it Two Little Lines…Take Two. But I was waiting until after the 12 week ultrasound and after we announced our happy news to more than just close friends and family. Then the world fell out from under us and we found out that I miscarried. I have tried writing about this experience, but I can’t do so without becoming a puddle of tears. I’m not quite ready to put our loss into words. And for a long time I wasn’t ready to write about the joy that followed either, because I was terrified of losing again. But something beautiful and bright came from that sad experience, and the time to write about our Rainbow Baby is long overdue.

A Rainbow Baby is a baby born after a miscarriage, stillbirth or infant/child loss. The rainbow after the storm. I love this, the promise of good things to come. I kept this idea close, it comforted me. Only weeks after miscarrying and well before we knew we were expecting again, I saw a rainbow. I was bringing Lily Rose home from daycare and as we got out of the car, we both looked up to the sky and there it was. Lily pointed and said “Purple”. No matter how common it may seem, I saw it as a sign:  our rainbow was coming…I just didn’t know how soon.

When I was newly pregnant with Lily Rose but I didn’t know it yet, there were lots of early signs. This time around, I had them all again. But unlike with Lily Rose, I didn’t get two little lines to confirm it right away.  My first pregnancy test (likely taken too early, but I am oh so impatient!) showed only one line. Still no period, I tested again a few days later and it showed a faint second line. I didn’t want to get too excited, too quickly, only to be disappointed. Everyone told me that after miscarriage, you are most fertile, but I couldn’t let myself believe that it would happen so quickly. I didn’t think it would happen on the first try, like with LR.

In my heart, there was nothing I wanted more. I waited longer than some moms to try for a second. I wanted to feel ready. I waited too long it seems because by the time I was ready, it was all I could think of. It took only two months of trying for a second (I am so very grateful that we got pregnant easily). But then we lost it, and that hurt like hell. But it also made us more sure of our desire to grow our little family. I wanted so badly to be pregnant again, to bring another child into this world with my beloved, to give our little girl a sibling.

So I went to my doctor for a test, hoping badly for a positive. I took the test and went to wait in the doctor’s office. The nurse brought in a paper with the results, face down. I sat there waiting for the doctor and tried so, so hard not to flip that friggin’ paper over and check for myself. I tried hard for exactly one second…then I peeked. Negative! I felt tears sting my eyes. I was about to call Jon, crushed. I knew he would be the voice of calm to my crazy emotional self, the voice of love, support and reason. He’d tell me it had only been a month. We would keep trying. It would be fun;)

Then the nurse came back in suddenly and grabbed the paper. She looked at me and smiled. The results had changed, she had checked it too early, she said. Congratulations, she said. My heart soared! The doctor was almost as happy as me to see the positive pregnancy test. This was a doctor who had called with her personal cell number following news of my miscarriage. She cared to. She said baby would be due around June 7th:)

Sat in my car in the parking lot, I called Jon and told him the whole results-changing-on-the-paper fiasco. What a way to stress a girl out, right!? But the results were positive, and he was over the moon:) Then I called my Mom. Like any good mother (now that I know a bit about it), she was cautiously happy. I understood her trepidation. It wasn’t easy for her to watch me go through a loss only a few months before. She didn’t want me to hurt like that again, she will forever be wanting to shield me from pain, only ever wanting to protect her baby girl. I told her to tell my Dad and my Aunts, but that we would wait until we were ready to share it with everyone we loved.

Last pregnancy, we had Lily Rose wear a Big Sister t-shirt to surprise our family and friends. I thought I wouldn’t do anything like that this time. I felt almost guilty celebrating this pregnancy; like it was an insult to the soul we lost to be so happy about a new baby. And I was worried it would end the same way as before.

But early on, things felt different. Different than the last pregnancy, but exactly the same as when I was pregnant with Lily Rose. The insanely sore boobs for weeks, the back pain, first the nausea then the daily puking. Every time I threw up I felt initially frustrated at having pregnancy sickness, then a wave of joy would wash over me. Last pregnancy I had felt too well, too full of energy. There was hardly any sickness or extreme fatigue that time. For me, being sick was giving me some reassurance that this pregnancy was so far, so good. So we shared our good news with all the people who had supported us through the hard stuff, because they would be there for us whatever happened.

Bump’s First Christmas

I still felt fear at every new symptom. When I had growing pains and felt my uterus stretching I jumped to the conclusion that I was miscarrying. Every trip to the bathroom I prepped to see signs that something was wrong. It’s hard to enjoy pregnancy like that, constantly worrying. I thought my first pregnancy had been fraught with worry. But this was just silly at times. So until our 12 week ultrasound, I couldn’t completely relax. I knew the stats and just hoped that if we could get to that milestone, see our baby, hear its heartbeat, things would be OK.

At the ultrasound, I was a ball of nerves. I lay there, watching for Jon’s reaction because I couldn’t quite see the screen. I will never forget the moment his face changed:  he smiled and looked at me. In that moment, my heart felt lighter, life looked brighter. My own heart opened to let this new little soul in.

I turned to get a better view and see what he was seeing. There was our baby, a strange alien blob, but a baby none the less. The tech told us its heart rate was good, but I barely heard anything she said after that. The magic of seeing your baby for the first time on an ultrasound never grows old; to see that life is growing inside you is one of the best sights in the world! But this time the relief was overwhelming. I started to cry. I felt silly but explained I was just so happy to know our baby was there, to see its heart was beating. I desperately needed this reassurance. We excitedly left with pics of our alien baby blob and a new due date:  June 11th, my Mom’s birthday!

Baby’s First Pic ❤

We basked in our Rainbow Baby joy after that. It doesn’t erase the pain, we will never forget the one we lost. But we appreciate and celebrate the brightness that came after the storm. There is room in our hearts for three babies. This new one will just be about colourful things to come:  happiness, hope, and the promise of new life.

Thank you Tanille Williamson Photography xoxo

As soon as we made the decision to move to Regina, I started the painstaking process of calling daycares. I focused first on centres, because Jon and I were both initially so freaked out by the prospect of entrusting our precious babe to a complete stranger in a home. So I looked online, used sites other moms and friends from Regina recommended, called countless places, talked to directors and staff and got on every wait list I could, extending beyond just the area of the city we hoped to live in. My options were already limited: most centres would only take babies 18 months and older, and like most people, I was returning to work at a year (figure that one out!?). I was told so many times that the lists were long, some hundreds of names ahead of mine and others several years in length (I guess I could always stay on them for a future baby!). I was told the chances of getting my girl in were slim. And they were right, because I have only ever heard from one centre with an available spot! Maybe the trick is to start searching as soon as your baby arrives in this world, cause it’s not like you have enough going on then;)

We were both so happy and hopeful at the start of our daycare adventure!!

So I went to Plan B: looking at dayhomes. After speaking to seasoned working mommas, I learned that a dayhome might be a better fit for our little one! And they were cheaper!! And there were actual spots available!!!

We lucked out and found one pretty quickly, after only a few interviews. In August I took Lily Rose for weekly trials. Each time she did well, and neither of us cried…at first! In September Lily started full time and the daymom even said our girl was the best eater and sleeper there! She communicated well with me, reassured me during the day that our babe was happy and doing well in her care:) Then our short-lived luck ran out:  Not even three weeks after starting Lily full time, this seemingly reliable daymom started telling us she was sick, and day after day she couldn’t take LR. I do believe she had medical issues to deal with, but she dropped the ball on communicating with the parents of the babies in her care. It took weeks for her to tell us her plans going forward, and even longer to give us any kind of refund or Lily’s things. Meanwhile we would have scrambled to get daycare most days, but luckily my Dad more than rose to the challenge and cared for his granddaughter for over a month until we found a new spot. After talking to friends and coworkers, and interviewing three more dayhome providers, we chose a new place. It was run by two women, one of whom lived almost across the street! It was so near and there were two daymoms running this one, awesome:) We felt lucky once again!!

Things started out well, with my Dad taking LR over for successful trials at the end of October. But when she started full time in November, things didn’t go so well. Lily would cry on the way to daycare, cry the minute we picked her up, be clingy and crying most of the evening. Our smiley, silly babe was a whiny, upset mess most days. I got myself so stressed about how she was adjusting that I obsessively messaged the daymoms during the day to check in, but I was always told Lily was either cranky or she was sick and we needed to come get her. It was a month of being told my daughter wasn’t napping well, was hardly eating, she screamed when the other kids touched her, she wasn’t bonding with either of the daymoms. We kept waiting for the day we picked up LR and they happily said she did well, or even just OK. But it never happened. The daymom who was almost as cranky as my teething tot said they would give it a few more weeks, see if things improved. But they were never going to give it more than a month, which I thought wasn’t long enough for a babe to get used to a new people, new surroundings and a new routine.

Hard days made for hard nights:(

There was a lot conspiring against little Lily Rose at this time:  cutting molars, fighting colds, and and she’d gotten too used to being home with Grandpa, doing things on her own schedule. And this new dayhome had major structure. For a 14 month old who just wanted to play and explore, it was too much. It wasn’t her age though they told me, it her was personality! Jon was frustrated with these women early on, feeling like they weren’t stepping up and doing what they said they would. We knew something wasn’t right there, whether it was the structure, the timing of the transition, a kid she didn’t like or the daymoms themselves. They danced around the issue for days, but finally they said she wasn’t a good fit for their dayhome, and I finally listened to Jon, my momma-instinct and our child’s response to the situation, and agreed:  We were done!

The kicker came when I picked Lillers up from what would be her last day; the other daymom tried to be all sweet about things not working out, meanwhile insulting me and my girl in the process. She asked if Lily was ever around other kids, or in any activities!? Um, yeah, lots! Well, she doesn’t seem to like other kids, she said. That’s weird cause she seems to like kids when we do playdates, go to activities and birthday parties! (She likes kids lady, just not the ones here!) Miss Passive Aggressive went on to suggest we start Preschool at age 3, not wait till 4, because this transition had been so hard already on Lily. Seriously, I thought, that’s years away!! The daymom finished the unwanted advice with:  Lily Rose is just so clingy, I wouldn’t get pregnant with a second baby anytime soon. OUCH!!! At the time, I didn’t respond to the remark, because I couldn’t believe anyone (except maybe my own mother) would dare tell me when I should think about having a second child. I wish I had answered with some witty, bitchy comeback, I wish I had told the chick to shove it. But I kept it classy (ok not really, I was just plain speechless!), and instead I later vented to every friend and family member I have. Yes I knew Lily was clingy, but she’d been happy before at a dayhome, so I refused to think that she couldn’t be her happy self again someday, given the right fit. We just needed to find it…and fast!

After an especially hard day at daycare, I took this monkey for her 1st McDonald’s meal to cheer us both up;)

Enter Ayesha, and our third dayhome. We had actually interviewed Ayesha earlier, but went with stupid cranky pants and passive-aggressive almost across the street instead. At the time it seemed like the best choice. Geez hindsight is a bitch;) I called Ayesha and we were lucky that she hadn’t yet filled the spot and could get us in for December. Jon’s parents helped out by taking Lily a for a few days until we could start, so again:  Thank Gawwwd for Grandparents!!!

Even though Ayesha was a bit weary at first, after hearing that Lily had had a hard time at the last dayhome, she chose to fore-go a lengthy trial period, and started her full time almost immediately. We all thought for sure Lily would cry with her. But her first month there, Lily didn’t cry once. Ayesha said she’d never had a new baby who didn’t cry in the first month (#winning)! Then in the second month, Ayesha said Lily Rose was not only not crying, but was always smiling. And just like that, our girl was back 🙂

Our Baby is Back!

LR has been going to Ayesha for almost three months now. I was scared to say it was a success and jinx it. But I know we’ve found our fit. Things could always change in the future, but for now, Lily goes to daycare happy, and comes home happy. Ayesha hasn’t once called to say she is sick and we need to pick her up (knock on wood!). She deals with things so confidently, and calmly. The way Lily smiles at Ayesha in the morning and waves goodbye to her in the afternoon warms my heart.

Yes Lily still has days when she is cranky at night, wants to eat the second she enters the door, or is tired so friggin early. While she is slow and wants to do it all herself, Ayesha says she eats well in the day. Now I don’t know how healthy everything she eats is, but that is not something that keeps me up at night. She doesn’t nap great all the time there I’m told, and I think Lily would likely prefer two naps over the one Ayesha does. But she usually sleeps great each night and naps longer on weekends, so I choose my battles. What’s most important to us is that our girl is safe, happy and as healthy as possible.

Going into it, I had no idea that the search for a daycare would be such a difficult experience. I had no idea it would be accompanied by such frustration, stress and so many tears for me and our babe. But I know we aren’t alone in this. We got so much valuable advice from parents who have been there, done that. It’s another stage of parenthood that is just that:  a stage. The hard times don’t last forever (hopefully!) and things do get better (thankfully!!). And there were bright spots even:  the outpouring of support from family and friends; the beauty of seeing Granparents care for and bond with Lily Rose in between daycares; the experience of growing as parents through this process; Jon and I becoming even stronger as a couple by putting on a united front to find the right fit for our girl. So in the end, after two failed attempts, we found a reliable dayhome where our girl thrives, and is back to being our smiley, silly Lily ❤

Happy girl:)

When I went back to work in September I knew it wouldn’t be easy leaving Lily Rose everyday. I knew I would worry about my babe while at work. I knew after work would be rushed and stressful and we would both have a bit of a difficult time adjusting. But we’d found a good dayhome for our little girl, somewhere she seemed happy and cared for and I gelled with Andrea, the woman who ran it. After a rushed and stressful daycare search, we thought we’d really lucked out! Andrea even said Lily Rose was the best eater and sleeper there (#proudmommoment).

Then under three weeks into her full time stint, things went sideways. Andrea told us she was ill, and at first she didn’t communicate well and left us wondering for how long would we need to get alternate care (luckily my Dad was staying with us at the time and quickly rose to the challenge of temporarily watching Lily). Then she told us what we had been fearing:  she wasn’t going to be able to continue running her dayhome, due to medical issues. I felt terrible for her, I really did. But I don’t feel guilty that I also felt sorry for us, because we had to start the time-consuming and stressful daycare search all over again, undergo another trial and adjustment period. All this so soon after doing it for the first time, and we were under a serious time crunch!!

While I looked for a new dayhome for our babe, got a few names and numbers from friends, met with people and debated our options, my dad cared for Lily. Days turned into weeks, but he told us not to rush the process. While it wasn’t going to be a long term solution and we still needed to secure a new daycare spot, Dad was game to take care of his granddaughter for at least however long it took for us to find the right fit.

And so it was that I began to see him in a whole new light. He was always kind, generous, thoughtful. But with Lily Rose, he was even gentler. He was so sweet, and yet he could also be silly…and my dad isn’t really known for being silly;) But he was firm when he needed to be too…as firm as you can be with a one year old;) I knew my parents would make good grandparents. Even if they were never the ones to rush me to have a baby, I knew they would spoil the lucky kid rotten and be all about him or her. But I had no clue how well my dad would grand-parent. How well he would care for LR and how attached she would get to him.

For the next month, he read her stories, played with her toys and watched Sesame Street. He took her for walks and they played in the backyard. He held our clingy girl when she was cranky, sick or teething, missing Mommy and Daddy…and that was A.LOT. A perpetual night owl, my dad woke early regardless of how much sleep he’d gotten, so he could take her in the morning and we could get ready for work. At 65 and with a bum knee that hadn’t healed properly following replacement surgery, he trudged up and down stairs to put her down for two naps a day, often returning several times to put her soother back in (I offered to set up her playpen in the living room, but he said no, keep her where she’s comfortable). Never a big one for cooking, Dad made meals, cut fruit in tiny pieces and sparked a deep love of bagels and honey in his granddaughter. He cleaned up her messes much quicker and with far more care than we ever did, inspiring an early love of cleaning in Lily. He did little things that made our lives easier, things that I missed as soon as he was gone. He unzipped and laid out her sleepsack with such care to make laying her down the next time a little bit quicker. These things made me appreciate his attention to detail like never before. They were things that showed his OCD wasn’t always a struggle, it was a strength. And when I came home and was rushing to get us all fed, he recounted exactly what she’d eaten, and how much; what time she’d fallen asleep and when she’d woke; and, even the number of poops she’d had. At the time, I felt overwhelmed with all the information. Now, after sometimes struggling to get enough of this all-important information from a daycare provider, I realize how much I miss knowing exactly how my girl is doing during the day without me.

I think we were all a little surprised at how well he did taking care of Lily Rose. My mom says he didn’t do all this for my brother and I growing up; the cooking and cleaning and the majority of the child rearing was my mom’s domain. It was a different time, yes, but my dad was different then too. He was busy working, playing hockey, then dealing with his own issues. He was a fun Dad for sure, he played with us and took us to activities and on trips.  He was there for the big events. When my parents separated in high school and even when he moved to Saskatoon, he was there for us. But growing up, in the day to day, it was my mom who did what needed to be done to make sure we were fed, cleaned and clothed, rested, happy and healthy.

But with Lily Rose, he was excited to be involved in every way. Some days weren’t easy I’m sure, but he never complained. At night when Jon and I came home from work, he still tried to help cook and clean and care for Lily. I wanted him to relax and enjoy his time off but he still wanted to help with her nightly routine. He said good morning and good night each and everyday. He kissed her and gave her a hug. There is no holding back of affection or attention. There is not one part of him that is not completely devoted and in love with his granddaughter.

I am so thankful my dad stepped up and took care of Lily Rose when we needed him. LR won’t remember Granddaddy Daycare Days, but we can all tell her and he’ll show her the pics chronicling the fun they had really getting to know each other.  I am forever thankful for my father, for what he has taught me, for the person he is and the man he has become. And I feel so lucky that Lily Rose gets this sweet, smart, and sometimes silly guy, as her Gramps. Whatever issues we had growing up, whatever things my dad did or didn’t do for us as babies, kids or teens, he was, and still is a great dad. And as Gramps, I think he has truly found his groove.

And for me, his daughter, there are almost no words to describe how much this means to me. Just like having Lily Rose has mended any existing scars in my heart, filled up any missing pieces of my soul, and awakened a love I never knew existed; watching my parents bond with this sweet and spirited little soul makes me feel…whole. It completes the circle ❤ It makes me feel overwhelmed with appreciation for the love my parents gave me, for the parent they helped make me. It makes me happy that I can also give back to them now, with the gift of their granddaughter:  joy and laughs and a whole new love to embrace with eager hearts and open arms.