I thought becoming a mom would make me feel like I finally figured things out. Not the case.
When I found out I was pregnant, a year of maternity leave sounded like eternity leave. A WHOLE YEAR!? Bless up Canada! I mentally vision-boarded all the amazing things I would accomplish in those 12 months:
- Have a successful blog read by millions
- Become a badass CEO of my own company and parade around in colourful power blazers
- Own a magazine-worthy home with a fireplace, rose garden and nursery that would make other moms on Instagram comment “Obsessed”
- Be perfectly settled and rid of anxiety and stress because my life was finally figured out
I have accomplished none of these things.
I quickly learned that being a mom really is a full-time job and totally neglected this blog due to lack of “me time.” The a-ha moment for my lucrative business hasn’t come to me yet. I have moved three times and I’m in the middle of a fourth. And my old anxieties have been replaced by new, louder, more confusing ones.
A House is Not a Home
The biggest mental tug-of-war I’ve been battling is where to call home. Since my husband Devin is American and was working for the University of Michigan, we decided to spend a big chunk of my maternity leave in a small town just outside Ann Arbor called Dexter.
We rented a stunning custom-built house on three acres of woodland. A winding country road that ends at the Huron River. Apple trees, a symphony of backyard birds and coffee on the deck in the morning.
Idyllic, but not ideal.
The people, the pace and the prospects all check the right boxes. Our friends there own beautiful character homes and run organic farms, where their kids run around barefoot and pee in the grass. The kind of life I fantasize about sometimes. There was one thing missing for us though–roots.
They all grew up there. Some went away to school or to explore the world, but they have returned to their built-in history. Their parents and grandparents are there. They run businesses. They’ve been members of clubs for years.
Devin originally moved there with an ex who was from there to “settle down.” Clearly that didn’t pan out. We were transplants flying solo. No family. No support system. This really hit us hard when American Thanksgiving rolled around and we had no plans.
Green dreams and red tape
There was also a nasty monster lurking over our shoulders the whole time. It’s name? Immigration.
The process for me to get a green card through spousal sponsorship is extremely time consuming and expensive. It takes nearly a year, and I don’t have the funds to just sit in America and wait that long without working.
I didn’t want to fall in love with Dexter because I knew it was next to impossible for us to stay there. I was in an uncomfortable state of limbo, not knowing what our next move would be and kept Googling “Is it better to live in the U.S. or Canada?” to try to get some insight on what would give us the best life. When I’d ask friends, they’d just chime in with, “Yeah, tough call.”
We also put our blood sweat and tears into Devin’s permanent residency application to live and work in Canada, which was approved earlier this year. It’s an “If you don’t use it, you lose it” kind of status. So here we are.
Swimming upstream
After an entire year of hemming and hawing, writing out pros and cons lists and constantly crying about not knowing what to do, we did the opposite of most couples when they have a baby–decided to move to Toronto.
We signed a lease on a really weird apartment above a Portuguese sports bar in Corso Italia. Apparently our living room used to be an illegal poker club. If someone blindfolded you and took you there, you’d think you were in Eastern Europe. Large porcelain tiles, vaulted ceilings and a kitchen that literally looks like a bar.
No laundry.
No parking.
Oh yeah, and to get to the entrance, you have to climb 40 STAIRS! 😳
We traded quiet country living for incessant noise and exploitative costs. Devin traded his full-time job with benefits for freelance gigs and a bunch of question marks.
When I got the keys a few weeks ago, I burst into tears.
What are we doing? Why did we choose this? Is it a good move for Sunny? For us?
I’ve been so consumed and preoccupied with existential dread , when “watching” a movie lately, I can’t tell you what the damn thing is about. It’s like I’m looking through the TV, pondering whether we just made a huge mistake that will rip us apart.
A light at the end of the subway tunnel
Now that we’ve moved in most of our stuff (and hired two different sets of movers try to lug our piano up those 40 stairs), I’ve exhaled a bit and am slowly transitioning from petrified to pumped.
Exploring our new neighbourhood has been great. Amazing coffee, great pho and awesome parks for Sunny to play.
The parents we’ve met in the city are much more like us. They have career goals and an appetite to explore as much of the world with their kids as humanly possible. I found people in Dexter were much more focused on parenting as their main goal (which is in no way a bad thing–I actually wish I was more that way sometimes).
I also feel much more comfortable having my family an hour away. My dad came up for the weekend to help us paint and my mom no longer has to drive five hours to visit Sunny, who she calls “Pump” (short for Pumpkin).
Though I am now a parent, I feel like I really need my parents during times like these. We have an incredible support system of family and friends now. Roots!
So, a few weeks in, our legs are getting ripped from those 40 stairs, we’ve scoped out the nearest laundromats, and I’m trying to live in the now instead of worrying about the future.
Times they are a changin
There is a lot of change happening at once for me. This week Sunny is set to start a nanny share (where two families share a full-time nanny for socialization and economic reasons). We have partnered with a lovely family a few blocks over with two daughters.
I know it will be good, but I have that kind of anxiety like when you have an exam the next day.
I have spent EVERY day with Sunny since she was born. Passing her off to a complete stranger is not going to be seamless. I will probably cry more than her. I know it’s a right of passage for both of us, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
She is the poster child of separation anxiety right now, so the first couple weeks will be rough. I’m strapped in for the bumpy ride.
Work work work work work
I’m also set to start back at work this week. I honestly feel like I’ve been in another dimension this past year. I forget what working feels like. What do I even do again?
It will be very strange not having my little sidekick pulling on my pant leg all day. I will probably burst out into “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in the office and start asking my colleagues “What does the cow say?”
I forget what it’s like to be just me.
Though I will miss being with Sunny all day, I am looking forward to regaining my independence. It will be nice to focus on creative projects, get back to writing and making videos, and going out for lunch without making sure the place has a high chair.
The next year
I am quickly learning the phrase, “The days are long, but the years are short” is too true. The tiny blob of helpless flesh I pushed out of my body a year ago now walks around, dances to “Uptown Funk” and knows exactly what the cow says.
I feel very unsettled right now. I post pictures of Sunny and I smiling like we’re in a Sears catalog, but I’ve been crying a lot these last few weeks IRL.
I have to remind myself that though I didn’t accomplish my goals for the year, I am chipping away at my biggest goal of all–being a good mother to Sunny.
We may crash and burn and be on the move again in a few months, or moving back to Toronto could be the best decision we’ve ever made. All I know is the family and friends surrounding us here will hold our hands through whatever the universe deals us this year. In the meantime, we’ll be down the street eating pho.
