Things I Keep In My Purse

Since the birth of my first child, our diaper bag has evolved more than anything from the Jurassic period. It was an over-the-shoulder, then it was a backpack. It’s held every sized diaper under the rainbow. It held one sippy cup, then two sippy cups, and now: a communal water bottle. There was a frequently-used nursing cover, then a never-used nursing cover. There was one extra outfit. Then two. Then THREE. Oh, my lucky stars! Our diaper bag (read: recycled backpack) has been trusty – going with the flow with our frequent mind changes and additions to the family. It’s valiantly held the things we don’t dare do without.

But the truly crucial items? They go in my purse. At the ready. Just air and seconds between need and fulfill. Things that I pull out 73 times a day. Ain’t nobody got time for accessing the diaper bag that many times.

I’ve learned, mostly from rough experience after rough experience, what those crucial items are and what goes in the purse. No matter what.

(1) Hand Sanitizer (this is an obvious one, but oh so necessary)

Stuck at the beach without a sink? Rushing off somewhere with questionable hands? Hand sanitizer to the rescue! It may not be your #1 choice, but it sure is easy. This is my pick, and it lasts FOREVER. YES.

(2) A Washcloth

This one I learned in Japan. Everyone, mom or not, carries small washcloths in their purses! This is mostly because the public restrooms aren’t equipped with paper towels (before you bug-eye me, there’s also ZERO litter!). I started this habit pre-kid and oh, it has served me in motherhood. A washcloth is GREAT for a quick hand drying in the bathroom, especially for little ones who fear the hand dryer! It’s excellent for unexpected messes, like the water dribble down the pew at church we experienced the other day. It’s wonderful for wiping faces. And you know, it’s a GREAT barrier for my canister of iced coffee, which is a necessary addition to life but sweats all over the place. The saving graces are endless, and I’m sure I’ll find more.

(3) A Box of Raisins

Snacks. Oh, snacks! How you save us in trying times! I can never repay thee. You are sustenance and you are entertainment. You preoccupy an otherwise grumpy 18-month-old. You maintain blood sugar. AND you come in a fun box. Oh, how I love thee, box of raisins. Thank you for all you do.

(4) A Sandwich Bag

I’m beginning to believe my children produce garbage. Sure, there’s garbage from the granola bar I handed them. But suddenly, they find a broken rubber band in their pocket and an old sucker under the van seat. All that nonsense needs to go away and go away fast. It’s super helpful when I can just throw it in a sandwich bag and throw THAT away when we get home. One and done – goodbye, trash!

Anything I’m missing? What are the small necessities you keep in your purse, mama?

How does Marabou support women?

We live in culture where “bouncing back” is more valued than proper rest. As admirable as it may be for a sports star to get back on the field, the same rules don’t apply to postpartum recovery. The traditional resting period has been stolen from women through pressure to get back to their job or simply through lack of presence.

Grandmas, sisters and best friends who otherwise would have been there to help a woman transition into motherhood often live too far away to be of any help. Household chores and caring for older children inevitably fall on the mom. But she just delivered a new life! She needs rest.

Marabou Services is a unique gift registry which provides services instead of stuff. Most mom’s get too many onesies, too many baby blankets and not enough helping hands. Break out of a destructive cultural norm and start a Marabou registry today.

Start a Marabou Gift Registry!

With a Marabou registry you can sing up for any service which will benefit you or someone you know during the postpartum recovery period.

Postpartum doulas for a first time mom

House cleanings for moms of multiples

Childcare for moms with older children!

Once your registry is created, add it to any other registry or post it to your Facebook and ask friends and family contribute to your postpartum service, rather than buying you more stuff.

More and more moms find they have to figure out postpartum alone. Is it any wonder why PMDs are on the rise? Or women are embittered by the journey of motherhood? We can change that by giving the gift of peace.

Today is National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day, so I asked a friend of mine to write something for us. She has been beautifully vulnerable and real about her experience with miscarriage before, so I knew she was the one to walk us through this day. However her piece falls on you, I hope it helps you navigate your own loss and the losses of those closest to you. Here are Madde’s words:

After months of hoping and waiting, we finally breathed a sigh of relief.

A dark line.

The planning started straight away. The baby would be due in the winter, so just old enough to be sitting up at the playground by summertime. Our older two would be boldly over the cusp of being able to “hand mommy a diaper” and “keep an eye on the baby while I start a load of laundry.”

Perfect.

But that’s not the story I have to tell. Instead, a blurring series of ultrasounds and appointments and the words “no heartbeat.” We suddenly came to know the pain of crossing out already scheduled prenatal appointments on the wall calendar. Of having to mentally shift our minds to not plan around a long lost due date.

I was supposed to carry. Not miss. This is not how it was supposed to end.

Grief knows no boundaries. I’ve learned it to be an unruly wave that washes over me when I least expect it. Time can pale it, but it doesn’t abide by rules. Easy fixes needn’t apply. Months later, washing dishes, I choked down sobs that seemed to rise from nowhere. Drying my eyes on the sleeve of my shoulder, so the kids wouldn’t see as they whizzed in and out of the room.

One finger at a time, I tried to loosen my grip on a deeply rooted dream. Day after day, filled with a hundred griefs. A thousand deaths to myself as I gathered how to mourn a baby that will never be. A baby I never held.

I looked into the eyes of my two breathtakingly operative children. I squeezed their strong, visible trunks. Tiny, invisible cells that had divided over and over to becomes these sanguine and sturdy frames that could stand in front of me, gloriously alive. I breathed them in. Pressed my lips to their skulls. Each radiant smile from them reminded me what I was also missing. A most holy paradox. I had carried both life and death inside my inmost being.

“Look mom!” She excitedly shot her fanned palm into the air. A single raspberry on the tip of each finger. “One raspberry for each member of our family!” Five. It’s been months since we lost our baby, but to the kids, time doesn’t heal in the same way. We would gently explain again. I hugged my stomach, like pressing on a bruise, reminding myself that yes, the pain is still there.

Losing kids they say, is the hardest trial to bear. And now we’ve been there. And the world is a different color. A scarier, less trustworthy color. Miscarriage is a silent sorrow in a loud, loud world. But it doesn’t need to be carried alone.

So I offer some humble advice.

If you’ve been through this pain, you can shed light on it. Talk about it. Speak volumes on a silent subject. In my experience, if there’s one thing that can help a grieving mother, it’s solidarity.

For those of you who don’t know this pain, chances are you know someone who does. Grieving parents, more than anything, want their baby back. But since that’s impossible, you can give them many other things to help carry their grief with them. A good starting point is acknowledging their loss. Saying something, even if it’s the wrong thing, is better than not saying anything at all.

Don’t be afraid to bring it up. You’re not reminding me of it. It’s already on my mind. I’m already thinking about it, especially in the weeks and months afterward. And it’s nice to have someone think about it with me. To help me lift the load.

For me, it is helpful to remember that what seems like the worst is not the end. It is the way through. Through to a different place than you expected for yourself. But it can still be good.