Family

Who is Meighan? She’s just Momma now.

Leave a comment

The Lost Identity of Motherhood—and the Journey to Find Myself Again

I used to wonder what happened to moms after they had children. Where did they go? It was almost symbolic: they seemed to slowly disappear from their own photos, replaced by baby pictures, and for some reason, that used to straight piss me off. I’d find myself wondering: How could someone get so completely lost in motherhood?

Now, I get it. I really do.

There is a loss of identity when you become a mom. At least, that’s been my experience. You become consumed by things you never thought you’d care so much about—milk intake, nap timings, diaper changes, meal plans, teething remedies. The list goes on and on. And somewhere along the way, you forget yourself a bit. You forget how to talk about anything other than the endless cycle of mothering. The things that used to bring you joy—your hobbies, your passions, your interests—fall to the wayside. Slowly, your world becomes smaller, and your conversation more limited. Let’s be honest, it can get a little… dull.

But then, you find other moms. Women who, before motherhood, you might not have connected with. But now, you’re all in the same boat—rattling around in this lost property box together. And in some way, it’s comforting. You’re not alone in this strange, beautiful chaos.

I know deep down that I’ve gone AWOL since becoming a mom. I’ve almost forgotten that there’s a world out there, separate from motherhood, that I can still be a part of.

So, I’m slowly reclaiming my “me-ness” again. It’s a work in progress, but it’s happening. And when I do, I notice something beautiful: Ady enjoys it more, too. It feels more authentic. Now, instead of just playing “Ms. Moni” on repeat, we have little dance parties to the music I love. I’ve even started taking the time to look half-human again in the mornings—putting my old face back on. These small changes, as trivial as they may seem, are helping me reconnect with myself, and I’m pretty sure they’re good for all of us.

Motherhood is a balancing act. You’re helping this tiny human develop their identity, but it’s just as important not to forget your own. It’s okay to be both: a mom and a person, with interests, dreams, and a self that existed long before motherhood.

And every little step I take to reclaim that feels like a victory. Here’s to becoming Meighan again, instead of just Momma.

The duck that’ll never die…

1 Comment

The Story of Quacky: A Christmas Duck Full of Memories

Let me tell you a story about a duck. Not just any duck—this is a special duck. A duck that has been part of our family since 1994. It’s a plush, quacking Christmas duck by House of Lloyd. But, trust me, it’s not the brand or the fact that it’s 29 years old that makes it special. Let me tell you what makes it really special.

This duck, affectionately named Quacky (he’s Daffy Duck’s cousin in my childlike imagination), has been a Christmas tradition for me and many of my cousins since it was first purchased by my Grandmom all those years ago. Every Christmas, Grandmom’s house would transform into a holiday wonderland—bright lights, twinkling garland, the delicious smell of treats, and of course, Quacky sitting on the couch, waiting for us to make him sing Christmas carols.

Even as an adult, I’d visit Grandmom’s during the holidays, and there he’d be, sitting on the couch just as he had been for years. I’d laugh, give him a hug, and make him quack the silliest Christmas songs. No matter how old I got, Quacky was always there to remind me of the magic of Christmas.

But here’s the twist. You see, this isn’t just a stuffed duck. It’s a treasure trove of memories. It’s joy. It’s love. It’s a piece of Christmas that connects me to the past, and more than that, to my Grandmom, who I knew would smile every time she saw us play with Quacky.

About five years ago, Grandmom asked if I wanted to take Quacky home to keep for Christmas. Without hesitation, I said, “Yes!” A stuffed animal? Yes, I know. It’s silly, but Quacky was full of so much joy, and it felt like a piece of my Grandmom I could hold onto.

Flash forward to this year—the first Christmas without Grandmom. I couldn’t wait to share Quacky with my daughter. She’s obsessed with ducks—she quacks all the time, and I knew she’d love Quacky just as much as I did. It was going to be magical.

But then, something unexpected happened. This year, when we put the batteries in Quacky—after nearly three decades of holiday quacking—the duck went silent.

Nothing. No Christmas carols. Just silence.

It’s hard to explain to anyone who doesn’t know how important Quacky is, but for me, it felt like a small piece of the world had gone quiet. This was the first Christmas I was spending without my Grandmom, and it felt like Quacky had given his last quack with her.

I tried to find another one. I found one on eBay, but the price was steep, and I couldn’t guarantee it would even work. And as much as I thought about buying another one, I realized that the true value of Quacky isn’t in the sound he makes. It’s in the memories he holds.

After tears, heartbreak, and a few moments of questioning whether I should “retire” Quacky for good, I made a decision. We’re keeping him. Even though he no longer quacks, Quacky is still full of memories. He’s still special, and I’m going to share him with my daughter. She won’t know the joy of hearing his carols, but we can still make him quack. We can be the voice of Quacky, just like my Grandmom did for me.

In a way, this silent duck is a reminder that love and memories don’t have to sound a certain way to be felt. Even when someone is no longer here with us, we can keep their voice alive by telling stories, laughing, and remembering the special moments we shared.

Quacky may be silent, but his spirit is alive. And so is my Grandmom’s. I’ll tell my daughter about her. I’ll keep the memories of her alive. And every Christmas, Quacky will be there, in our home, a symbol of the love, joy, and tradition that still lives on.

To say I’ve cried over a stuffed duck might sound silly to some, but if you truly understand the meaning of what this little duck represents, then you know why I’ve shed those tears. It’s not just a duck—it’s everything it carries: the laughter, the love, the memories of a woman who shaped so much of my childhood and my life.

So, here’s to Quacky, the duck that will never die. He’s more than just a plush toy; he’s a living memory. And I hope, when you look up at the stars this holiday season, you’ll think of my Grandmom. Tell her we miss her and that we’re okay. Even Quacky is okay.

And as you’re going about your holiday season, don’t forget to reach out to your loved ones. If someone is no longer with you this year, honor their memory. Speak their name out loud. Keep their love alive, because they would want you to.

Happy Holidays to all of you. 🦆❤️

November hurts

Leave a comment

We had plans to go see some family the weekend before Halloween. We were taking Bean to see her great grandmothers in north Texas. On Friday, I decided that waiting until next weekend was a bad idea. Call it intuition, call it a hunch, call it whatever you want.

I marched into hubman’s office and told him we needed to pack up and leave today. This was Friday, October 20th. He didn’t ask questions. He just finished up his work for the day and we were on the road.

On Saturday, October 21st, we walked in to surprise Grandmom Grace. She had no idea we were coming to see her and to see the smile on her face when we walked in was absolutely the best thing ever.

Grandmom held our sweet Ady, gave her lots of hugs and kisses and told her she’s just beautiful. We ate lunch with Grandmom and visited for a few hours before Ady got cranky and decided it was nap time.

It was the hug. The hug when we said “see ya later” just hit different. I told Grandmom that we’d be back for her birthday, but somehow I knew… I knew in my heart that we wouldn’t be having a party this year. Though teary eyes and with a heavy heart I hugged her a bit tighter. I kissed her cheek and tried not to let her see my face as I walked away. Hearing her talk about how precious our daughter is melted my heart.

Later that week, Grandmom ended up in the hospital. She fought like the dickens and eventually went to rehab to get stronger.

Unfortunately, getting stronger and going back home to be her feisty self wasn’t how this story ends.

We lost my precious Grandmom Grace on Thursday, November 16th. Knowing that she got to know our Ady is the only thing I wanted. I wanted her to hold her, talk to her, love her, AND SHE DID. Ady will always know her Grandmom Grace. She’ll hear stories and we’ll share memories with her as much as much as we possibly can.

As I sit here at 4am typing this, tomorrow we are going to Grandmom’s visitation and Monday we’ll have her service to say our final goodbyes. Almost to the day, we lost another precious grandmother, Nonnie 6 years ago. November hurts.

I hope one day Ady knows how incredibly special she was to her. Grandmom thought Ady was the best little princess in the entire world.

I’d like to think that Ady and the rest of the family didn’t lose Grandmom, we just gained one of the best angels there ever was to have wings.

Welcome home, Grandmom. Please watch over us because this world is cruel and we need all the help we can get from our angels. I love you. Ady loves you. You’ll NEVER be forgotten.

View Grandmom’s obituary here.

I’m not sure I have anymore words for right now. My heart hurts. I’ve lost my best friend. So for now, I’ll leave you with some unsolicited advice: Call your grandparents. Call your parents. Call your siblings and your cousins. Go see them if you can. Hug them tight. TELL THEM YOU LOVE THEM! You never know when that will be the last time.

Hopfully my next post will be a bit more cheerful. For now, I’m going to flip my pillow over and try to fall asleep so that I’m not a complete zombie when I see my family tomorrow.

I LOVE YOU ALL. SERIOUSLY.