A Bumbly Dr Mom
On the eve of my firstborn’s ninth birthday, I sit straddling the precipice that is working motherhood. The tenuous balance should not be lost on anyone, especially those that have experienced the climb. For those that haven’t, do not pretend to understand.
Nearly a decade of wondering how to balance. Nearly a decade of second guessing. Nearly a decade of compromising. Nearly a decade of growing. Nearly a decade of living a double life.
Each child gifts their parents with unique rewards. Number one’s amazing abilities astound all those that she meets. A perfect blend of parental stubbornness, determination, humor, and approach. Learning milestones as a med-student with her as my guide set me up for failure. A lesson learned the hard way; patients do not follow the books from which we learn our trade. I anchored my skills as a mother on my knowledge as a physician. Occasionally, my hold crumbled beneath my hands.
At times, feeling like a failure for being unable to advance, reach further, or even maintain. At times, feeling judged by how she (and the littles) developed. She has been pushed to the edge, secured only by the thin, no longer present cord, which still binds us. As she develops, becomes, and blooms in the inhospitable role of a physician’s daughter, she inspires the world around her. Her abilities to bloom where she is planted inspired me to dive into a free-fall of truly rural medicine.
Our recent relocation: in part for a job of a lifetime, in part for a family-friendly community, has been a near insurmountable task for all of us. Daily, I am exposed to new or previously limited cases. We suffered enough through intern year; yet, I chose to essentially repeat the experience by now practicing emergency medicine, hospital medicine, outpatient medicine, and obstetrics – often all in the same day. Daily, the littles face challenges of how to blossom in the now fertile soil of a quaint community. Daily, the firstborn accepts her rights with “all other duties as assigned” as the inheritance. Daily, the hubs, our rock, quietly ensures our suns rise in the east, our food is on the table, and our house still provides shelter. Through adversity, we have moved together. We have grown. Our blood has thickened.
The cold permeates everything at this time of night in the ER. However, the sunrise on the day of my daughter’s birth is enough to warm even the Iowa winter day. Happy birthday, Sunshine.
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