Extraordinary in the Ordinary.

April 16th is a date burned into my brain. 

It was Theo’s due date and I stared at it, counted down from it, circled it on my calendar, talked about it, dreamed about it and more just as any other eager-beaver, soon-to-be new mother would. 

I liked how it sounded and looked. 

4/16/16.

All even numbers and multiples.

But, even in my big, naive expectant momma dreams I knew landing on the due date likely wouldn’t happen. And, I knew that was okay. 

I remember the awaited day well. It was a Saturday and it was finally warm. I actually went to a friend’s baby shower and walked around Broad Ripple with my sister and great friend, Betsy. All in all, a very ordinary day.

Three days later, April 19th is also a date that has stuck around in my messy mind. 

It’s not Theo’s Birthday, but rather the day I got induced. I remember that warm Tuesday where I was still working, despite being overdue, and taking a conference call on the drive to my appointment. I wrote notes and followed through with tasks on my lap top while perched the examination table waiting for the doctor as my fat, flip flopped feet dangled above the floor. Pretty ordinary.

Every year since 2016 these dates have been far from ordinary to me. They have made me take pause and even made me a little sad. On Theo’s first birthday in particular there was a cloud that followed me around those five days leading up to Theo’s birthday, April 21. Things that I have since learned would— and should— be expected given my experience.

My experience of getting induced, it not working for two whole days and ending an emergency c-section. My experience a few days after that c-section with postpartum preeclampsia. My experience of being a new mom thrust out into the world fighting blues, anxiety and wondering, “What the heck is even going on? How is this my life?”

Maybe if you are coming from a different perspective, my experience seems like no big deal. Maybe even a gift. I had a healthy baby after all. Maybe my experience sounds pretty ordinary. But those dates and the time they represent? To me they are extraordinary.

I have heard a couple people compare this time of quarantine to maternity leave. I don’t find it ironic that these people are also those that speak out in an effort to normalize postpartum depression based on their experiences. I too have felt the familiar fogginess of that time in this quarantine. The feelings of isolation, unpreparedness, nerves, and fears of my inability to handle all of the things I might need to handle. I have had the similar thought I had on maternity leave of being a “package deal” with my kids. Together 24/7. Unable to be apart and, in turn, a clunky unit leaving the once simplest of tasks a challenge to complete. Wondering, “What the heck is even going on? How is this my life?”

Maternity leave and those early days of motherhood are things every mother experiences. Days that much of society sees as sweet, but very banal. Sleepiness and cuddles, right? Something very ordinary. But, perhaps to some like me, extraordinary.

As rumblings quarantine started, I pulled myself and the kids out of the world. We hunkered down early. As the world tried to determine what was coming and who was essential, I made the call that the three of us were about as “unessential” as they come. So, for over five weeks we have stayed home. We have baked and watched a lot of Frozen 2 and Blaze and The Monster Machines. We have gone on walks and played with chalk. We sing the ABC’s and have competed in about 500 games of Candy Land. 

I am not a nurse or a pharmacist. I am not a doctor or a grocery store employee. I am not at redesigning ventilators or developing vaccines or even making meals for the many kids on the school lunch program. But still, when I really get to think about everything and all that is going on— or not going on— in the world or I even just get frustrated because my life is run by two tiny drunk dictators masquerading as my toddlers, I wonder, “What the heck is even going on? How is this my life?”

This is a collective experience of frustration, loss, disruption, and grief. But, also very personal based on perspectives and experience. And, if you life looks a little like mine right now, maybe you are feeling that sting of shame for feeling frustration or down or for just wondering, “What the heck is even going on? How is this my life?”

What we are doing is so ordinary. Board games, baking and movies. So very ordinary.

But, maybe we are actually doing something extraordinary. 

Maybe in the ordinary of our life, it’s flattening the curve. Maybe it’s freeing up space and resources in a hospital. Maybe it’s just loving on those in our homes with togetherness, making art or music and another batch of chocolate chip cookies.

And maybe in these simple, everyday actions we all learn that it is in fact the ordinary things that makes life extraordinary.

On one of the many FaceTime calls with my parents recently, my dad and Theo chatted. It wasn’t about anything in particular. Maybe about the letter we discussed that day in his “home school” or the Kristof song in Frozen Two. As they talked I heard my dad gush, “Theo, you are so special.”

And then, realizing, he very quickly followed it up with, “But, so ordinary!”

I smiled.

Yes. Thank you, Dad.

This is exactly the self awareness I want my kids to grow up with. I want them to know they are special, worthy, lovable, and extraordinary; but, also no different than anyone else. So ordinary.

And, like extraordinary, ordinary children, my extraordinary experiences– even those of struggle– are very ordinary.

So are yours.

Struggle, hardship and sadness is a universal experience. When you are in it, it feels extraordinary. But, it doesn’t make you special.

I am not special because of the hard roads I have walked. You are not special because of the extraordinary things you have experienced.

But, that doesn’t make them invalid experiences. They happened. They were hard. But, the expectation of how things should be or facing life’s curve balls is so normal.

In this time of challenge, this is so clear. Hardships, setbacks and sadness are something we will all experience in this time. So it does no good to compare and also no good to live into the extreme of the experience. What is better is to recognize the challenge in our own life and each others lives. To help where we can and send out lots of love and grace.

To share more of what is good… and to also share what is hard. And, to celebrate and sit with that.

Because if we want that full, extraordinary life of joy and love for ourselves and our neighbors, we all have to sign on for the hard and ugly too.

Everyone does. It’s just how it works. It’s so ordinary.