What is Mother’s Day When You’re No Longer A Mother?

Tonight I was going through my email inbox and what do I see?

Mother’s Day-related emails.

Mother’s Day is Sunday May 8th this year.

Noah will have been gone for 6 months on May 22nd.




Half a year.

How can that be possible?


It still feels like yesterday. It still sometimes feels like it’s not actually real.

I can still feel the creases in his hands…his cushy cheeks when I would squeeze them and make him make a fishy face….how long and heavy his body felt when I carried him on my shoulder.

Today I went to a dealership to talk about trading in my van and downsizing to an SUV.

We bought that van specifically for Noah and for the transportation of his wheelchair.

Now there is no Noah. No wheelchair. No we.

I don’t need a van anymore. It’s just me now.

Even driving it gives me the feels sometimes, not seeing that little bear hat in my rearview mirror anymore.

This face is all I have.

I still haven’t put the headrest back on the seat where his carseat was. I don’t know if I can.

Those random Mother’s Day emails felt like a punch to the gut. I forgot that it was just around the corner.

Last Mother’s Day, Noah and I ran a race together using his Upsee.

10392284_10155552833995434_7773319414079575336_nThis year I will be driving back from the Montana Beast, something that I never thought that I’d ever be able to participate in.

I’ll be bringing this sign with me….

20150523_105642….And running the Beast in memory and in honour of my sweet baby boy.

But tomorrow night I will be lighting a candle in memory of Noah and all of the other HIE children whom we lost too soon.



Remember this sweet face.

…..I’m just trying to deal with life, one day at a time.

One impossibly long, sad, day at a time.


When People Ask If You Have Kids

“Oh, you have kids?”

“How is your son doing?”

“You had a kid, right?”

“How old is your son now?”


…… These are all questions that absolutely NO ONE prepares you on how to answer. Maybe I’ve just been noticing them more, but it really depends on the situation as to how I choose to answer them.

Last night, I was serving a table and one of the customers was a girl who I went to school with who was a year older than me. She was with her family, including her 2 children. Our conversation went similar to this,

Her: “You had a kid, right?”

Me: (fuck) “Yes”

Her: “Oh, how old?”

Me: (brief pause) “Oh, he just turned 5” (fake smile)

Her: “Oh wow! These are mine, (gestures at children)”

(blah blah, I ask how old they are)


In that situation, I DO NOT want to get into the actual truth. Because I don’t want to make her (or her family) feel awkward. And every time that happens, it just makes the asker feel bad about asking, even though asking about someone’s family is a very normal small talk thing to do. Also, I’m at WORK and I don’t want to potentially ruin their meal by getting into a very sad topic. No one wants to think about children dying. I figured that if she decided to creep me on Facebook later, she’d very quickly see the truth. My cover photo is this right now FFS:


Another situation that happened recently:

I was at my work Christmas party, we went to a bar for the afterparty and some people from the other restaurant location in town were there as well (there are two locations). I made an offhand comment about being pregnant, and one of the girls from the other location asks, “Oh, you have kids??”

Me: “(pause) Yes”

Her: “Boy or girl?”

Me: “Boy”

Her: “What’s his name?”

Me: “Noah” (please stop asking me questions, I don’t want to deal with this)

Her: “Oh, where is he tonight?”

Me: “(longer pause) Oh, he’s with his dad”

Her: “Oh that must be nice, getting a break!”

Me: “Haha (awkward chuckle), yeah”

My friend was sitting next to me, and he just shoots me a look, like WTF? And I just whispered to him, “…sometimes it is just easier to lie…”

Since the day Noah was born, if Caleb wasn’t out with me too, usually the answer to where he was, was “with his dad” (why do people ask that question anyway, it’s not like he’s in a corner in the bar lol), so that lie came a little easier than trying to think of anything else.

Another situation, but I didn’t lie:

I was at a party/event thing on New Years Eve, and I ran into a girl I knew in college.

Her: “How’s your son?”


Her: (panics at my silence)


After 5 years of talking about my child in random conversations, it is extremely difficult to stop making offhand references to him, whether by mentioning pregnancy or him directly. I never know how to refer to him, past or present tense, if I do talk about him truthfully.

It’s a very strange and awkward adjustment. And it doesn’t help that most of these situations seem to happen when I’ve been drinking (I guess that makes sense, I have a higher likelihood of being in the position of talking to strangers if I’m having a night out).

Most of the time, I really have no idea what to say. I feel bad because I don’t want the other person to feel bad for asking, but I also feel guilty because I don’t really like lying to people. I suppose as with everything with this whole mess, it’s yet another learning curve. Maybe I’m too focused on the other persons’ feelings, but am I being considerate… or maybe I’m just being cowardly, because in most situations I just don’t want to deal with the look of pity and their obvious immediate regret for asking the question?

I just don’t know. I wasn’t prepared for this shit.

…. but is ANYONE ever prepared for this?



Happy 5th Birthday, Noah

Right now it’s 11:24PM. In 36 mins, Noah would have been 5 years old.

I would have been staying up way too late putting the final touches on things for his birthday party tomorrow.

I would have had a kitchen full of cupcakes, fresh from the oven.

I would have had a fridge full of food, ready to go.

I would have had a to-do list a mile long.

I probably would have had my Christmas shopping done by now.

Instead the billowing snow reminded me of when we had to postpone the transport plane to the Stollery by almost 8 hours because of a snowstorm.

Instead I turned the heat on in the back of the van when I started it after work yesterday, and realized that I hadn’t had it on since the last time Noah had been in the vehicle, two days before he died. That heat was always for him, I never had it on when I was alone.

Instead I cried in Hallmark the other day because I accidentally wandered into the new baby aisle and saw “5 years of memories” on a milestone book.

I never got to fill out a milestone book, he only ever reached one….smiling at 7 weeks. There are two uncompleted ones in his box of stuff, not sure what I want to do with them yet.

This year has been easily the best and the worst year of my life. I learned so much about myself and accomplished so much, but then my marriage ended, and just 3 short months later (to the day!), my only child passed away.

On what should have been a day filled with chocolate cupcakes (one of the very few solid foods that Noah could actually eat) and balloons and spending time with my son, instead I will be alone.

My day is full of plans to keep me surrounded by people and hopefully distracted, but at the end of the day I will be going home alone and cuddling my son’s teddy bear to sleep.


It’s just you and me now, Mr Bear.


This year you (not in any particular order):



…took Mr Bear to school…


…met the Premier of Alberta…


…got to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s room on your very own floor bed…


…had fun dressing up for St Patricks Day…


…played and watched Video On Trial with Daddy…


…started Kindergarten!


…ran a race with Mommy!


…went to the gym with Mommy…


…hacked the planet with Daddy…


…hung out with friends…


…graduated preschool!


…got big boy jams…


…got a big boy bed!


…were a Spartan!


…were the best cheerleader for Mommy’s races!


…went on lots of walks with Daddy…


…became a Tim Hortons spokesperson…


…turned 4…


…had a great Christmas…


…visited the pediatrician…


…went swimming…


….had lots of fun at school…



20151122_130807 …and passed away.


I love you, sweet Noah. I miss you every day.

Happy 5th birthday, Mr Baby.

Love, Mom


Crisis of (Lack of) Faith (And other thoughts)

I find it incredibly ironic that taking Noah off life support and the resulting days following cemented my atheism, and now Noah passing away has made me wish that I had a religion and could believe in an afterlife, etc.

I would love to believe that Noah is “in a better place” (but what better place could there be for a child than in his parents’ arms?)…

I would love to believe that Noah is in “heaven”…

I would love to believe that Noah is completely healed from his brain injury…

I would love to believe that he’s playing with other children or hanging out with relatives who have passed away…

I would love to believe that Noah is now an angel…

I would love to believe that Caleb and I will see Noah again one day…

… But I can’t. And it makes me sad. When I laid on the bed next to him and said goodbye, it was bizarre because he wasn’t actually *there*. I knew that he couldn’t hear me.

He was gone. His body was there, but it wasn’t the same.

I would love to be able to use the concept of heaven as a method of comfort, but I can’t. I know that he is gone and I will never see him again. I know that he is in his urn and that is it. I know that when we die, we are just…gone.

And that’s really depressing. The lack of closure is hard to bear. I have feelings of guilt over ways that I could have been a better mother to him. I was thinking last night about how I used to hold him in my arms and watch TV and he would pass out, and it made me sad because we hadn’t done that in months, ever since I moved out and the condo stopped feeling like my home. His last few months were all about change. Caleb and I separated, I moved out, he moved into a new place. It makes me wonder what he thought about all of it and if it bothered him. It makes me wonder if he was happy about moving and all of the changes….if he was okay with not seeing me as much. He was home with me all day every day all summer and then suddenly he started full time school and we separated shortly before that, so he would only see me for about an hour before school and two hours after. The two hours after were never anything special. We would get home and he would watch TV and I would get ready for work.

It was always hard, not being able to do things with him that other parents can do with their kids. There was never any taking him to the park or letting him play at the indoor playground or the bouncy castles, etc. It makes me wish now that I had made more of an effort to do things with him, but at the same time, it was always exhausting trying to do anything and he would always cry without the tablet (unless we were walking). It’s just hard, is all. I always imagined that I’d be this super involved parent, but parenthood with him was so different than anything I could have ever imagined.

My logical brain tells me that I did the best that I could, but my emotional brain wonders if that was good enough.

Logically I know that there is no crystal ball and we didn’t know that he would pass away just 3 short months after the separation (weirdly enough it was 3 months to the day…), but at the same time I wonder if we had just held it together for a little bit longer, if it would have been better for him.

I keep thinking about that morning and how I missed Caleb’s phone call by an hour and a half, because I was sleeping in after working until 1. If I was still living with Caleb, I would have been right there. I would have been there for Caleb when he found him…..instead I was late as usual and it makes me feel incredibly guilty that my last act as a mother was missing that phone call. I have always felt like a subpar mother, but that was the final nail in my coffin (pardon the phrase).

Ever since Noah was a few months old, I wanted more children. In the last 6 months I wasn’t sure because of the extent of Noah’s care and what he would need in the future. After the separation that intensified, because at the very least it would probably be at least 5 years before I got pregnant again (barring any accidental pregnancies). Now I don’t know. I always knew that another pregnancy would be very emotional and difficult because of Noah’s birth injury, now it will be doubly so because of Noah’s death. I don’t know if I can handle it, and that makes me sad too. I love children. But I don’t know if I could be someone else’s mother when there is no Noah. Obviously I have years ahead of me to decide, but every time I see a baby or a small child, it’s on my mind. I’m also simultaneously terrified of getting pregnant again, it’s a weird juxtaposition.

I used to be married and have a family. Now I’m at square one again. It’s bizarre and it’s heartbreaking for so many different reasons. I always wanted to be married once, have kids, and then eventually have grandchildren, and then I would die. But clearly that’s not what happened, so I don’t know what that means for my future. It’s a weird feeling, having complete freedom (for lack of a better word) again, but having so much more life experience behind it. I literally can do whatever I want. I used to lament about being stuck in Grande Prairie because of Caleb’s job, and then because if I moved then I’d never see Noah. Now I can move if I really wanted to, there’s nothing holding me here….but that’s also terrifying. I’ve never lived anywhere else. Could I move away from my hometown and my entire support system? I don’t know. Maybe I’m a lifer.

I have wanted to go back to college since Noah was born, but I couldn’t because of needing childcare. Now I have the option to go back to school, but I still have no idea what I want to do.

My brain is constantly flooded with all of these questions and it sucks. I’ve been sleeping horribly lately and having weird dreams. Right now it’s almost 3:30 AM and I am blogging instead of sleeping.

Caleb and I have a meeting at 10 to dissolve Noah’s RDSPs and adjust our life insurance policies. They were set up with the intention of me being a stay at home mom, and even after our separation and when we eventually divorced, we were going to keep the other as the beneficiary because the funds were intended to support Noah, but now that Noah is gone and we are no longer together, that has to change. And that kind of sucks. So much has changed in the year since we set them up, it’s actually mindblowing.

Also, I now hate Christmas and that is another thing that makes me sad.

Noah’s birthday is in 9 days.

The end.



“Not Grieving Properly”

Last night a friend made a comment to me about how he was surprised that I wasn’t falling apart.

At the memorial I shed a few stray tears but that was it. Observing myself, I felt a little self conscious about it, like people would be judging me for not being a total mess.

I have always been good at compartmentalizing. My therapist once said that I was a high functioning severely depressed person….and that was because I had to be. Noah still had to eat, even if I didn’t want to get out of bed.

And the thing is, as much as I’d love to just lay around and do nothing, life goes on. I’ve already missed a week of work and I won’t get baby cheques this month, so that’s approximately a $1000 difference (including tips) in my income this month. Missing two whole weeks of work to wallow doesn’t help to pay my bills. Starting next month, I have to start paying Caleb for half of the things he’s still paying for (car insurance, cell phone bill, life insurance, Blue Cross, etc etc), and that doesn’t just suddenly go away because of a traumatic event in our family.

You can’t cry 24/7. You can’t let your grief consume your life. There is no “moving on” or “getting over it”….I’ll be grieving for the rest of my life. But as it’s always been, random things will hit me in  a certain way and now it’s two stabs in the heart instead of one. Typically it falls under the categories of “things I can’t do with Noah” (that typical children can do or would enjoy), and that’s now compounded with “things I’ll never do with Noah”.

I’m still going to do weird things like cuddle his urn on the couch when I’m alone watching TV, and I’m not afraid of putting that out on the internet and for people to know about it, but for the most part I am going to seem like I am holding it together. I can’t fall apart at work, my job involves customer service and putting a smile on my face. I may have a moment or seven where I’ll have to step into the kitchen to collect myself before going to my table (this has already happened prior to Noah’s passing), but for the most part, I will have to keep it together just to function like a normal human.

Grief is complex and it comes in cycles, I already know this from years of mourning the child that I expected to have. And some of that grief came from worrying about things that I now don’t have to worry about…like him being abused, mistreated, bullied, etc. So some of my previous grief is gone and I’ve gotten some closure in that sense. But now there is a new grief, and it’s one I’m obviously not familiar with, as I’ve never lost a child (in the literal sense) before.

It’s strange and bizarre and surreal, and I’m trying to live with it the best that I can.


The Eulogy

* The formatting is being stupid, so the bullet list is the only way to make it stay together -.-


  • “Once upon a time
  • I stood where you stand,
  • staring up at the same stars
  • as they sparked against the night,
  • and I believed
  • for a moment
  • that I could live forever.
  • Nobody does.
  • But I was and you are
  • because love put us here,
  • because hope made us fight,
  • because being in the world is worth
  • the deep ache of the too few hours we are granted.
  • See?
  • Sunshine
  • laughter, singing,
  • trees whisper in a breeze
  • that sighs down from tumbled clouds a whole sky high.
  • There are books and birds and infinite particles of sand,
  • hands to hold and warmth to share,
  • hearts full,
  • salt sea air and grass just cut,
  • and shifting shades of light
  • at dawn, at dusk,
  • and even after the dark falls over us,
  • love will burn on
  • and on.”
  •  – Claire Greer

This poem was written for Noah by a dear friend of mine who lives half a world away. When Noah was just a few months old, Caleb’s sister Olivia directed me to a blog about a little girl named Sophie who had HIE just like Noah. Through that blog I met her mother, Claire, and through her I found a wonderful tribe of women who understood exactly the trauma that Caleb and I had experienced over Noah’s first few days. I am endlessly grateful to Claire for all of the support that she has given me over the years and this poem, that she wrote especially for Noah, was so fitting that it deserved the place on the back of his memorial booklet.

Noah’s birth and following days were the most difficult and the most traumatic days of my life. My therapist once said that I was having to grieve the baby that I thought I would have while also adjusting to the new one that I brought home. I found this to be especially true as the years went on, and Noah got further behind his peers developmentally.

Caleb said to me the other day that we’ve basically been grieving for the past five years. As sad as this all is, Noah’s passing also provides us with a bit of closure and relief. We’ll never have to worry about him being bullied or ostracized at school; his classmates loved him and read to him and missed him when he was gone. We’ll never have to worry about who will take care of him when we’re gone, because we know that he had the absolute best care in the world. We’ll never have to worry about his body getting too big for us to carry… he may have been half of the length of my body but he was still a tiny thing.

In a way, that’s sad in and of itself. I have always said that I wished that I had a crystal ball to see what Noah’s future would be like. Caleb was always so much better than me at living in the present, while I was always thinking ahead about things like harness systems and lift vans, thinking about how difficult it would be to take care of Noah as a teenager or an adult. That’s the thing, though. In life, there are no crystal balls. If we would have known ahead of time when Noah’s last day on earth would be, we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the time we had with him, it would have always felt like a ticking clock above our heads. Life is so fragile and fleeting, and I think that we forget that so easily.

When I was pregnant with him, Noah gave me a reason to live. When I was deep in depression and actively planning my suicide when he was almost two years old, thinking of leaving Noah motherless or leaving Caleb to raise Noah alone, led me to getting the help that I direly needed. When I was ruining myself and my body, Noah gave me the strength to strive for and accomplish many of my personal goals. He has saved my life in so many different ways over these five short years he granted to spend with us, and I will continue to grow and learn in memory of him and all of the strength he had in his short life.

Noah may not have had the life that Caleb and I dreamed and wished for him, but he loved the life that he did have. He did not speak words, but his smile spoke volumes.  He had a gentle soul and a quiet strength that inspired me every day. He was always the happiest boy, and animals loved him for his soft and gentle nature. He loved going to school, and swimming, especially in the hot tub. Whenever I took him to the pool he would always smile so big when I put him on his back and guided him through the jets in the hot tub. He loved to be read to, and his favorite foods were chocolate cupcakes and yogurt.

Noah was the shining light in his daddy’s life, and vice versa. I used to always say that Noah only needed me to keep him fed and warm and his Video on Trial on loop, a placeholder until his daddy came home from work every day. The love between them inspired me to be a better mother, even though I felt like I could never measure up. I am beyond grateful to have shared this parenting journey with the wonderful person that Caleb is. Noah was his carbon copy, and he will always be his special little boy.

Noah has taught me so much about love and compassion, and through him I have met so many children with many different conditions and issues that the typical child doesn’t have to deal with.

He turned me into an advocate, and someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind when something isn’t right. I was 19 years old when I got pregnant, and I thought that I had everything figured out. Noah threw a huge curveball into my life and taught me that babies aren’t like a Huggies commercial, and sometimes things go wrong even when you do everything right. Life is so precious, and yet so unkind at times. He taught me to appreciate what I have; my health, a fully functioning body, and the support system around me.

It’s so strange, now, knowing that he isn’t here. As mothers we throw so much of ourselves aside the minute we see those two pink lines. Every minute of our day, at least subconsciously, is spent wondering if our babies are okay. I never had to actively worry about Noah when he was with Caleb, I was never one of those mothers who couldn’t leave their child with someone else, but I would still think of him during the day or think of what my next responsibility for him was. I’d be at work and thinking about how I had to get up at 6:30 the next morning to go to Caleb’s to get Noah ready and drive him to school. I’d think about how I had to email the teacher about something, or think about planning Noah’s birthday or taking him to a playdate, whatever. This week has felt very surreal even just in that sense. Driving past the school almost every day but not driving in. Not seeing Noah’s carseat or bear hat-topped head in my rearview mirror. Hearing his baby cousin squawk from the other room and thinking for a moment that it was him, and quickly reminding myself that it wasn’t.

The amount of love and support we’ve gotten this week has been overwhelming, but also so beautiful, and an excellent testament to the impact that Noah’s short life has made on the people around us, or even people we’ve never actually met.

We called today a celebration of life, because Noah has brought so much life into our lives, and we will forever be grateful for those lessons that he has taught us. His memory will bring us strength, and the love he brought into our lives will resonate forever. Our little boy is gone, but he will never be forgotten.

  • I’ll love you forever,
  • I’ll like you for always,
  • As long as I’m living,
  • My baby you’ll be.

The Celebration of Life

Noah James Hiebert’s Celebration of Life will be held on Saturday November 28th at 10AM at Oliver’s Funeral Home (10005 107 Ave, Grande Prairie, AB T8V 1L8).

There will be a luncheon held after the non-denominational service. Semi-formal is preferred but really your presence is appreciated no matter what you choose to wear.

Thank you to everyone for all of the beautiful words of support. It is beyond overwhelming to see how loved and appreciated Noah was by so many.

** If you would like to donate to help us cover the expenses of the service, my lovely friend Jill set us up a GoFundMe, you can find it here


And the waves crash down.

My little boy is gone. He passed away in his sleep this morning.

I keep swinging between forgetting and remembering.

So much of this was reminiscent of when we were in the hospital when he was born, it’s weird.

I was supposed to take him to my parents’ house today  so that he could get a haircut.

I woke up and saw a text from my mom, cancelling on me. I said, can we do it Wednesday? And she said she worked every day besides Sunday now (she used to have Wednesdays off).

I looked at the next text message, and it was my friend wishing me a good morning. I texted him back asking him what his plans were for this afternoon, as I have to work at 5 and was now not taking Noah for a haircut.

My next text message was from Caleb, and it said “Call me right away!”, sent 1.5 hours before. I assumed he was mad at me for something. I called him back and he didn’t answer. I was just texting him saying that I was sorry I had missed his call as I was sleeping in, when he called me back.

I thought he was joking. He said, I would never joke about something like that. I said, no, you wouldn’t. He said that the police were there, and victim services.

I told him that I would be right there.

Then I screamed in a tone that I have never heard from myself. I was hysterical. I could barely stand. I got my roommate to drive me to Caleb’s (Caleb had mentioned getting someone to drive me, I hadn’t even thought of that).

My logical brain took over and I posted on the Facebook group for my work, asking if someone could take my shift tonight and possibly tomorrow.

When we were told that he was being airlifted, my logical brain took over there too.  I knew that I *needed* to find the hospital social worker so that she could connect me with the social worker at the Stollery, and I *needed* to find my doctor so that I could be discharged early…. Very much like, “okay, I need to do this, this, and this, in this order”.

I also emailed his teacher. Because logical brain told me that he’s supposed to go to school tomorrow, so they should know. Because any time that he’s ever missed school, I’ve emailed the teacher to let her know. And I didn’t want to call her right before school tomorrow, she has to put on a happy face for two different classes of kids, I figured giving her some time would be the best. She’s been with Noah for three years now.

There was a woman there for some reason, I’m not sure what her role specifically was, but she handed me a folder with pamphlets/information booklets from the various local funeral homes in it. I opened it a little and the first one on the top was the same funeral home that the hospital had given us the number to when we brought him home. We chose that one.

I laid on  his bed with him. His face looked like so many stillbirth baby pictures I’ve seen. For some reason it never occurred to me that that’s what everyone’s face would look like. I pointed that out to the victim’s services lady (she accompanied me into his room), and she told me the scientific reasoning behind it. I said something like, “that’s the science,  Noah”.

My brain is weird.

I had to make a statement to the police. The policeman said that it is very common for children with his condition to pass like that. I knew that already, from years of being in HIE groups.

We had to decide if we wanted an autopsy or not. We chose not to.

They called the funeral home for us to arrange for his transfer.

I had to call my parents. My mother was hysterical. Caleb started crying again when I said those words.

I told my birth club. I remember telling them about when we took Noah off life support when we were in the hospital.

I told another group that I’m close to.

I told my HIE group.

The funeral home workers showed up.  My parents wanted to see him before he was moved. So the workers waited outside.

My parents and sister showed up.

The funeral home workers came inside again, and moved him. I watched them load him up and put him in their vehicle. They had wrapped him in the blankets he slept on. The blankets that his Auntie Olivia made for him before he was even born.

When he was born he was immediately sent to the NICU and I sent Caleb up with him while I got stitched up. This was the opposite. Caleb was downstairs and I went up and watched him go. I had to make sure he was safe.

I called a few of my friends. I messaged a few others.

My parents drove me home. I had a shower and ate. A friend came over.

Another one is staying with me tonight.

Today is bizarre. It feels like I have two different brains, and logical brain is the only one around right now. Emotional brain keeps coming in at random times and asking if this is real.

Logical brain is letting me function.

My sweet baby boy is gone.




More Changes

As of about two weeks ago, I officially rented my first apartment🙂 it’s a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom (!) condo, with an outdoor power parking stall and an underground parking stall included. There’s also an exercise room in the building! It’s a cute little place and it’s nice to not feel like a hobo anymore.

Mentally and emotionally, things are difficult. I feel like in general we are fed this storyline of life, where we are supposed to grow up, find someone, fall in love, marry them, have their babies, and live happily ever after. I thought I found that at 19 years old. I was wrong and now what? What do you do when you’ve been in that stable type of relationship for so long and now you’re not?

I think the biggest thing is that I have let my hobbies go in the process. I had to step down from the Run Walk Club and I miss it so much that it hurts sometimes. I can’t make the monthly meetings now because I work most Mondays and can’t afford to miss work. I haven’t been going to the gym at all and I’ve been stuffing my facehole.

I definitely need to get some hobbies going again, lately all I’ve been doing is watching Netflix, eating, and napping if I’m not taking Noah to and from school or at work. I don’t even know what I used to do with myself all day before I had Noah….I didn’t work that much! It’s weird feeling like a single lady again but yet still having Noah responsibilities. The juxtaposition is hard and some things just hit me right in the feels….like when Noah and I got our flu shots the other day and I had to fill out our forms. I just ended up putting the condo address down for both of us because I didn’t know our new addresses offhand, but it really drove home the fact that Noah and I have *separate addresses* now. I don’t live with my child. That made me feel incredibly sad, even if logically it’s the best set-up for us.

This time of year is always difficult for me. I know that this year will be worse, guaranteed.



The fear is taking hold…

Today I had a dream about a seemingly wicked 21+k obstacle race that involved bouncy things. Sort of like a Wipeout trail race.

(I have a lot of dreams that feature really neat race concepts, lol) 

But in the dream I had only done half of it and then couldn’t figure out where I was going and I couldn’t find any volunteers to help me and everyone else was long gone… All I could do was just cry hysterically in disappointment and frustration,  and eventually I just gave up because I knew that  I’d never finish before the cut off time.

CLEARLY my brain is starting to connect my experiences with Tuffest 10 (although to be fair I injured myself and that was the main reason why I couldn’t complete the full 21k) and my feelings of failure and disappointment with the impending Beast this weekend…. Logically I know that this will be a much better outcome (and the course will be adequately marked, haha!), but the fear is setting in because the last time I attempted a half marathon trail run, I failed miserably.

This will  be my first of that same (and most likely longer) distance since that race,  plus I’ve never done a race on a mountain before (well besides in Grande Cache, but it wasn’t a ski hill). I AM scared that I will fail again and all of the time, training, and more importantly, MONEY spent on my two big weekends of Spartan races will be a waste…. I NEED that last piece of the trifecta medal or all of my effort will be for naught!

Realistically I KNOW that I will finish in time…. I have 9.5 hours before they take people off of the mountain. But still, the fear…. Tuffest 10 broke me, it was the first race that I basically gave up on, and now the Beast will be here in just 4 short days….