Mother's first day in kindergarten.

I didn't expect it to be this difficult.

Sure - I was prepared, mentally, for him to cry when we left.
I was prepared to be nervous, to worry a little about how he would be doing.

But I didn't expect this:

Standing outside the wall of the kindergarten - hearing his distinct crying - screaming for me. And waiting. Waiting for him to calm down and my heart breaking as the seconds still slowly tick by and his cry becomes even louder.

Remembering they said that they all cry at first, for a few minutes - that they could even cry for 5-10 minutes, and counting the minutes as they tick by....
It's already been 10 minutes and he is still crying. 14 minutes and he is still crying.

I stand on my tip toes and try, really hard, to peer through the crack in the window - and I see him. Miserable, crying, one of the nannies holding him and trying to get him to calm down... and I feel like screaming: "That's not how! That's not how he likes to be calmed down...! Give him his blankie! Put on some music!"... And I feel like breaking the door down and running in to grab him, to let him know that it's all ok and that mommy is still here and will always be here.

But I don't.
I just stand there, the tears pouring uncontrollably down my cheeks, cringing with every scream of his, shaking as he cries, and telling myself:
"It's normal. It's ok. It will pass. It's only for one hour today".

And then I start berating myself:
I didn't prepare him well enough.
I didn't say goodbye when I left them room - I just disappeared.
I didn't explain to him that I'm coming back soon.
I didn't tell the nannies what he likes.
I didn't give him enough breakfast before we left today.
I didn't show him where they put his bottle of water.

I should go in. Now.

And just as I am mustering my courage to be that mom I always hated that over-worries and nags the teacher, just as I made the final decision to ring the doorbell and go back in, I hear... silence.
I stretch on tiptoes as high as I can and peer in and I see him... not crying. Holding his blankie and playing with a toy on the floor.

And I take in a deep, shaky breath, and let it slowly out, and wipe the tears from my face (although they are still streaming) and I slowly, insecurely walk towards the gate , leaving my Daniel alone, in kindergarten, for the very first time.

Birthday Post

I always use birthdays to ponder on the past year and make wishes for the upcoming one. As a child, I used to do it in frilly-pink-"secret"-diaries. Today, I do it here, on my would-be-frilly-pink-if-I-had-the-time-to-find-the-right-background-and-definitely-not-secret diary.

I'm 32 years old today. Do I feel 32? I don't know. How is 32 supposed to feel? Some days I feel much older than my years, other days I can't believe I'm past 20. But I am 32 and it's a fact.

If I had to summarize the past year in a single word - it would be, undoubtedly, the word: growth.

This was the year I had made some of the biggest mistakes of my life, but it's also the year I admitted them, and (for the most part) repented them. It's the year I started paying for some of those mistakes.

This was the year my priorities suddenly and startlingly changed, and the year when I woke up one morning knowing life will never be the same.

It's been a year of some difficult "lows":

• Nearly losing my leg after a bad herniated disc, suffering unbearable pain, and arduously working my way back to a functional person
• Saying some of the most painful things to some of the dearest people in my life
• Spending long sleepless nights with my son when he had high fever, painful ear infections, uncontrollable coughs
• Making a drunken spectacle of my self in Las Vegas and nearly losing my self-respect

But more importantly, it's been a year of incredible "highs":

• Discovering my inner-strength, my core beliefs and my true loves.
• Learning not to take my family, my husband, my health or my happiness for granted.
• Watching my son turn from baby to toddler and learning, through him, about what matters
• Teaching my body to walk when so many people said I couldn't
• Daring to admit my mistakes, daring to pay their price, and starting to let go of them
• Achieving important career goals - like producing the HP Software Universe Event while in bed/wheelchair...

It's been a roller coaster year. And (even though I believe I may say this every year) - this year had the highest peaks and scariest valleys, I wouldn't take anything back: because when I look in the mirror today, for what may be the first honest time in my life, I actually like who I see - who I've become.

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My wishes for my 33rd year:

• First and foremost I wish for health: for those I love, and for those who love me. And for myself.
• I wish for balance. In every aspect of my life - inner balance, matrimonial balance, work-life balance.
• I wish for tranquility without relinquishing challenges, and for calm islands in an ocean of raging fun.
• I wish for every day to be interesting and every night to be comforting.
• I wish to make a difference for the better in people's lives.
  and last but not least -
• I wish for my next birthday to be celebrated watching a live interview with Gilad Shalit on his 24th birthday speaking of his years in captivity and his wonderful recovery after having returned home.

I'm 32 years old today. Happy Birthday to me.

Mother of a two year old

**Beware - below is a sappy post. If you are adverse to sentimentalism - do not continue reading**

Tomorrow, I will have been a mother for two years: My baby boy is celebrating his second birthday. Everything I will write about motherhood in this post, has been written before. In fact, it has been written so many times it is practically cliche. And nevertheless, it still amazes me that it applies... to me.

Motherhood changes you. Everyone told me I'd change once I have a child, and my response was always that my priorities may change, but my inherent character would remain the same. I was wrong.

Two years later I am definitely not the same girl/woman I was before. It's not just my priorities that have changed -

• It's my ability to love. My son, of course, but not just him. My love for my son has in many ways opened and deepened my heart in general, towards so many other people in my life.
• It's the way I judge other people - the qualities I can now see in them that I never saw before. Qualities like patience, nurturing tendencies, pedagogy skills. Before all I saw and all I appreciated was business skills.
• It's my capability to sacrifice myself - my health, my career, even my marriage if that's what it took - for someone else. That is something I never would have believed possible

And in what could appear contradictory to the latter:

• It's my ability to put myself first. Understanding that someone in this world completely depends on me has given me the strength to take care of "me" without the guilt I would have suffered before.

Because "me" is not just "me" anymore. It's also "mom". A mother of a two year old.

A healthy, smart, wonderful, two year old that has turned my entire world upside down, for better and for worse.

This has been the year that my baby boy took his first step, said his first word, sang his first song, danced his first dance, rode his first "baby car", gave me the first intentional hug and kiss, threw his first tantrum...
I wonder what the next year holds.

Happy Birthday, my beloved Daniel.

My Everest Peak

I've been writing this post in my head for several days now, since Wednesday night.
The fact that it's taken me so long to sit down and actually write is not because I've been too busy (for a change), but because I've been mentally unable of thinking coherently....

Last Wednesday. HP Software Universe Israel 2009. The culmination of several months of dreaming, fighting, wanting, working, planning, pushing, writing, talking, begging, and making sure the big day is as perfect as it can be.
And it was.

I won't write about the event here today (I'm saving that for my "official' work blog), but I'll write about what it meant to me.

There are successes that everyone can see: the hundreds and hundreds of attendees, crowding the event hall. The executive attendance. The design of the banners, the signs, the demo booths.
Those can be seen, their cost and effort evaluated and appreciated.
And then - there are successes that no one can see. Like walking on stage, without a limp, on both feet - when only two months ago I wasn't sure if I'd walk.
Like being able to stand on stage, not once but twice, and being able to focus on the words echoing into the audience and not on an unbearable pain radiating down my thigh.
Like knowing - in absolute certainty - that no matter what happens during the event, if it succeeds or fails, I have done it right this time around. And I have learned from my previous mistakes, and I have grown.
I planned ahead.
I fought for what mattered and let go of the little things.
I asked for help when I needed it.
I was not alone in a battle, I was part of a troop.
I never doubted it... Or me.

A couple of months ago, a few days into my hospitalization and when it became clear my medical issue was not going to just disappear when I returned home - my manager had asked me to consider cancelling the event, or modifying it to "adjust it" to my condition.
I considered it for a few minuted. Then I said "nothing changes. Full steam ahead". that evening, I send an email from hospital bed (and this is a quote):

"...everything is under control. Moving full steam ahead. Updates tomorrow.Good
night from Sheba hospital...."

As soon I had sent the email, a sliver of doubt entered my mind. I hoped I hadn't committed to something I wouldn't be able to pull off. But I did.

For a couple of months all I did was work on the event, doctors, work on the event, physical therapy, work on the event, medication, work on the event event, hydro therapy...

The came Wednesday - and it made every trying moment worth it.

The many thank you letters and words of appreciation from colleagues, managers and customers are a wonderful shiny wrapper to the real gift of last week: the proof: to the world and to myself - that I. can. do. it. against all odds.

Restless musings

I didn't fall asleep until after 2 AM last night, and woke up at 5:15 today. I haven't been this restless in a long time. Whether the nagging pain in my hip is to blame, or the endless task list I have now, or the words that were spoken to me yesterday - I am not sure... but here I am - wide awake and typing, when I should be getting my much needed sleep.

It's been ages since I have blogged at sun-dawn. There's something inexplicably inspiring about the sounds of the world waking up - the bed creaking as my husband turns over in bed, the sound of the clock ticking loudly in the silence of our home, the mumblings of our baby boy in his sleep.... it all makes me want to write - even if I don't know exactly what it is I have to say.

Last night I had a heart-to-heart chat with a friend. He described me as trying to climb up a hill with a bagful of stones holding me back - always in "battle" mode. When I insisted on focusing on the victory of being able to climb - even if slowly - despite those so-called stones, he pointed out I could just as well just let go of the bag and get to the peak I am seeking much faster.

I know, perhaps the allegory is too vague for this blog without further explanation - which I am not ready to give just now - but for me, it was perfect. And maybe that's why I can't sleep.

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In other news, I am "officially" OK now - I've received the green light from the doc not to have the surgery on my spine. I am not completely out of the woods - I can't go back to gym or start dancing (yet!) for a couple of months, but it looks like the belief in my body's ability to heal itself paid off.

Now if only everything else in my life would do the same, I'd be well on my way to the peak.

On exhaustion and inspiration

It's exhausting - staying optimistic. It's exhausting to keep telling everyone that I'm not worried, that I'll be all right, that I'll get over it. Exhausting to keep smiling - even when I'm not in the mood - just to prove to everyone that I'm not torn by the situation.
Not that I'm lying - I truly am optimistic, and I'm not half as worried as I was when it began, and I am really, honestly not torn (at least not anymore).
But having to prove it to everyone, over and over again, is just ... well, exhausting.

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A dear friend I met last week called me "inspiring". I was flattered and filled with pride when he used that word. I never meant to be inspiring to anyone, just to be open and real.

So maybe, having to smile over and over again and tell everyone how I'm not worried, is worth it despite the exhaustion - because it makes me "inspiring" to someone.

The lifecycle of an ongoing emergency

There's a point in time when your pain, fear, or discomfort are just no longer... interesting.

When it starts, you are enveloped in attention. The shock, the confusion, and your own helplessness trigger the quick creation of a huge safety net that cushions the bad news, and the daily challenges.

As time goes by, the shock wears off, the fear becomes mere apprehension as you begin to study the repercussions of your condition, and your pain and discomfort... well, you start to get used to them (most of the time). You also become acutely aware of the discomfort your pain causes everyone else around you, and so - you hide it (at least when you can).

When more time goes by (in my case, a month - more or less), everyone is eager to put it behind them. You/They just can't stay in "crisis mode" for so long. It's not healthy, it's tiring, it's... well... boring. It's not a bad thing. Even you, Mrs-I-love-attention-I-am-a-drama-queen-look-at-me, have grown tired of being the center of attention - for all the wrong reasons.
There's other people too, who have needs and issues. Lives have to go back to normal. Everyone's .
And so - slowly but surely "crisis" becomes "distress" becomes "discomfort" becomes "routine".
As it should.

Except that in this "routine" you are still in as much pain, fear and discomfort as you were when it all started... only now everyone - including yourself - is just fed up with it.