…that people with mental illness are capable of living great lives. I’m posting so late tonight because I just returned from a trip to the city with all of my boys–my partner Joel, and our sons Brandon, and Logan. The boys rode the D train, or any train for that matter, for the first time. And then we attended their very first NHL hockey game, to see our beloved New York Rangers dominate the Edmonton Oilers 5 goals to 3. We crammed two big bodies and two little bodies into two little seats on the 200 level of Madison Square Garden. For all intents and purposes, this should have been a trigger night for me, sending me into a tailspin of anxiety. Instead, I was atypically calm, and more appreciative of this time with my family than apprehensive about what disastrous things could have happened.
Yes, Brandon was pretty squirmy, in typical toddler fashion, and Logan had to be worn in my baby carrier the entire time, and occasionally nursed. But all in all, both boys were amazingly well behaved, and Brandon even learned to sing the goal song while we were there (you know the one: GO-OH-OAl, GO-OH-OAL, GO-OH-OAL, HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY!). Would we do this again? Absolutely! But probably not for a while.
I am grateful, though, because today is a very special day. It marks six months of life for Logan, two important firsts for our babies, and rare time to be together as a family without an ounce of real stress. And then, as we entered the D train to make our way home, my best friend Katie walked out onto the platform from the exact car door that we were about to walk through. Universe, are you for real?! What a night of serendipitous events, and pure joy. Well, not too pure, since Brandon did projectile vomit all the chocolate milk he drank on the train ride home. Ehh, small price to pay for an awesome family memory!