march reblogs

and reveling in Springtime

Can you believe that March is over? Here in Brooklyn, every few days the Spring sunshine peeks its head through the lingering gray winter clouds and my heart beats faster with anticipation - the best part of the year is nearly here.

As a parent, I’ve learned to lean into the hibernative nature of winter. For the past few months, our weekends have been slower activity-wise, we’ve stayed in more, and generally have not over-exhausted ourselves in any real aspect of life.

But now, as the sun stays out longer and the nicer weather compels us outside, our rhythm has changed. We’ve spent recent evenings playing in our building’s courtyard with chalk and bubbles, we’ve squeezed in trips to the playground between the end of childcare and before dinner, and last week we even walked with our nearly 21 month old to an ice cream shop a half-mile away - the longest she’s ever walked in one stretch (we definitely took the bus back).

Despite the tickle in my nose and my itching eyes, my soul is so ready for all of the blooming flowers and living that’s to be had in the Springtime.

Read on for this month’s round up of writing from some of the talented folks I’ve been inspired by on Substack.

I’ve followed

Sara Clark

for years — at least 7, I think. Some of her yoga videos got me through the early days of lockdown, and I just generally appreciate the way in which she tends to mindfully move through the world. For that reason, I especially love this piece from her — even someone who has what looks to be an easeful life outside of the US can’t escape our larger society’s breakdown of real community.

Your Exhaustion Is Not Your Fault

But even in the sweetness of my bond with my little one, there are moments when the overwhelm of parenting catches up to me—after a night of cluster feeding or when her nap I’d counted on shifts into her needing to sleep on me, taking with it my prospective “free time.”

Like right now as she snuggles in to sleep, breastfeeding in my left arm while I type this with the fingers of my right. At times I feel helpless, and then I remember to surrender. I remind myself that it’s all fleeting and actually quite beautiful; a prayer answered to get to hold the human I carried in the comfort of my arms. And perhaps it’s also my baby telling me to go slow today, mama.

And. I still feel the ache of what’s missing. The absence of an aunt, a cousin, a grandparent—someone close by and trusted, someone I could call without hesitation. Someone who isn’t also lacking community; consumed by the demands of capitalism, too busy with too little time to spare. Someone who already loves her. Someone who already loves me. That kind of sacred support. I grieve the idea of it.

I texted this next post to my girlfriends Adrianne and Rae in the group chat that we’ve had since the three of us were newly pregnant in late 2022. I love that we are walking through parenthood on the same timeline, it’s like a phone-a-friend when something inevitably changes with one of our kids. Is your kid doing this? What are you feeding your kid this week? I originally texted them

Danielle

’s piece because the idea of Schemas—the mental frameworks we use to understand the world around us—was fascinating to me. This post felt like it answered a lot of the questions and thoughts we share about our toddlers. But then, as I kept reading, the post went on to talk about what Schemas look like in adults and it was like a lightbulb went off in my mind, giving me a tangible way to describe the constant change that are the early years of parenthood. I walked away from reading this post with a better sense of how to navigate and bring some grounding to this life stage, not just for my tiny human, but for myself, too (“tiny anchors in the upheaval” - so good!).

Schemas, Routines, & Finding Meaning in Transitions

There’s always shifting data as the baby grows, as the weather changes, as my own needs and plans and goals begin to take shape.

Just like my son, I’m experimenting, tossing things over the edge and seeing what sticks.

And slowly, little pieces of structure are starting to emerge—tiny anchors in the upheaval. Maybe they’ll hold. Maybe they won’t. But for now, they’re forming the framework of my days. Until the next update, at least!

Sharing a TW for miscarriage/pregnancy, for this next one.

Reading

Sarah Furniss

’ post about wanting a baby, conceiving a baby, losing said baby, and everything that comes before, during, and after, felt like I the most human thing I’ve ever read. I sobbed through it, knowing the pain of not having an easy time getting pregnant (including an early loss), especially when you’ve moved through life generally being able to figure out how to achieve anything you want. The way that women have been talking more openly in the past few years about pregnancy, miscarriage, infertility, etc. gives me a lot of hope that these “taboo” topics will become less and less isolating.

One year and no baby later.

I start keeping a mental list of who didn’t check-in. I tell my therapist about this, but I’m “going through a lot” right now, so it’s okay. No one says “miscarriage” to me, but rather “how are you doing” or “how is everything.” I guess that’s a nicer way of putting it, but it irks me that people are afraid of what just happened to me. I felt really close to everyone and now there’s distance and no one can even say what happened. I’m reminded that people are uncomfortable and scared and don’t want to say the wrong thing. I call people names and say they’re cowards to Rip. I’m being unnecessarily mean. I take it back. We’re both hurting. More sushi.

Katie Hawkins-Gaar

’s 35th life lesson of the 40 that she’s writing ahead of her birthday touched on something I’ve been thinking about a lot - time. Recently, I’ve been overwhelmed with the feeling that all the time I have in any day belongs to someone or something else. My job that requires me to commute into the office 3 days a week, my child who needs my time to survive, the daily management of the household, and all the time that gets sucked away and into my phone - via news, text messages to return, work slacks, Instagram, etc. I knew that I had more time than I felt like I had, so I did two things. First, I timeblocked my ideal morning and evening.

The second thing I did was buy a Brick, which locks down the apps of your choosing on your phone, and they can only be accessed by physically tapping your phone to the Brick. It creates an important physical barrier that makes me feel silly getting up from whatever I’m doing to go look at something distracting on my phone. At first I felt…pathetic? for needing something like this, but then I reminded myself that our phones and the apps on them are made to be addictive. Our time is valuable currency that companies use to make money off of us, afterall. It’s not my fault for not being “more disciplined.” Katie’s post only made me feel better for implementing these intentional behavior changes to allow myself the full access to the time that I actually do have. I’m not perfect in sticking to my calendar or always locking down my phone when I should, but the effort is there.

The life you want won’t schedule itself

Because here’s what I know — what we all know: The life you want won’t schedule itself. There’s never enough time for everything, but we can reclaim some of our time by deliberately making space for what matters. When I prioritize walks, friend dates, and even 15-minute stretch breaks, I remind myself that I am more than my work. That life is about more than productivity. Creating space for rest and joy is a tiny, lovely act of rebellion — one I have to remind myself to keep up.

Okay, happy Springtime friends. 🌸

Get this week’s playlist here.

Meghan