Dear Daughter, 

This week your mama’s birthplace, and where you took your first breath, suffered an attack that I am selfishly grateful I do not have to explain because you are only 2Âœ years old. So I sat you in front of Mickey Mouse while we watched the news. I sat you in front of the “bright spot” of Orlando while we descended beneath darkness.

But one day, you will discover hate and hurt and violence through your own unfortunate experiences because in life it is inevitable to know pain. No amount of love I carry for you, no matter how broadly or tightly I wrap my arms around you, can protect you from the hard edges of life.

I hope you are never the victim of senseless tragedy. I hope you never have to learn about hate in such a violent, horrific manner. I know I cannot shield you from the ills of the world but I hope I can teach you to look for the helpers. And when given the opportunity, be a helper.

Do the right thing. Stand up for those around you. Stand up for yourself. Intervene when possible. Speak up and out. Surround yourself by good people as much as you can know they are indeed “good” people you trust.

Try to stay as aware as you can. Don’t bury your head in your phone in public places. Try not to bury your head in your thoughts in public. Sad as it is, daydream in safety. This is not enough to protect you but pay attention as much as you can. It matters. We need you.

Talk to me. I know I am your “mom” but I love you unconditionally. I always will.

I do not want to be your friend because I have a role in your life that is so much deeper and it is my job to guide and love and teach you and I will always, always be here for you. As long as I have a breath in my lungs, you can talk to me. And longer.

More than anything, be empathetic. It can be hard to feel pain and even tougher to act on those feelings but they may be the only glimmers of hope for some. I am an idealist and always have been, always plan to be.

More than anything, as difficult or exhausting as it is, I hope you will be too. Never let anyone stamp that out of your heart or spirit. We need you. 
In a culture, a generation that is referred to as “selfie,” narcissistic, selfish, I hope you will love yourself but never forget to love others, too. Selfish should not be permitted to define an entire group, nor should any other derogatory term or defining characteristic.

Be a leader. Rabble-rouse. Let your heart explode whenever possible but keep your spirit intact.

We need you.

Mama

Leandra Preston-Sidler is an associate lecturer in Women’s Studies at the șŁœÇֱȄ. She can be reached at Leandra.Preston-Sidler@ucf.edu.

The film was co-directed by faculty members Robert Cassanello, an associate professor of history, and Lisa Mills, an associate director of film, and narrated by actress Cheryl Hines. Cassanello and Mills won an Emmy last year for their documentary “The Committee.”

A discussion after the film will include the directors and other guests. The event is will be hosted by Women’s Studies, School of Visual Arts and Design, and the History Department.

No one told me it would be this hard. I don’t think it’s possible to prepare anyone for the dramatic and unimaginable life change that new parenthood brings. From labor to the first month of life with a newborn, some experiences cannot be summed up, articulated or overstated.

The moment I found out I was pregnant, I cried. Tears of joy laced with utter fear.

Google immediately became our best friend; my husband and I searched for everything “and pregnancy,” took childbirth classes, read books until we felt fluent in newborn parenting, and assumed the occasional warnings that folks shared could not possibly apply to us.

I thought waiting until I was older would protect me from the inability to deal with the stress of a baby—that being more established or mature would secure my sanity. I thought that perhaps all my years of teaching Women’s Studies might have provided extra insight or preparation. I could not have been more wrong.

Our culture romanticizes parenthood from an early age—the baby dolls I played with as a child did not wreak havoc on my home or make me cry uncontrollably. There were no hormones or marital strife to contend with. Financial concerns did not exist and I did not need anything to fulfill the lifeless glass eyes of the dolls who sat still until I moved them.

Our baby is a completely different story than those I crafted as a little girl. I thought babies slept more and ate less.

I imagined writing my dissertation and grading papers as I looked over my sleeping child in the cradle next to my desk or glancing at the video monitor as she breathed quietly in her crib upstairs. My husband would rock her as I cooked dinner (or vice versa) and we would stare lovingly at her as we prepared to drift off to sleep.

NaĂŻve is an understatement. I cannot even open a book, much less write a chapter or research. I am writing this with one hand, the baby in the other.

Some days I don’t even make it outside. One particularly rough day, my husband and I realized at 8 o’clock at night that we had done nothing but rock our crying baby. Emails go unanswered for days, visits promised to friends are passed up to avoid the trouble of dressing the baby and ourselves, and grocery shopping is a luxury left to our parents as they bring us bread, eggs and another pack of diapers.

Though mothers commonly shared horror stories of their painful labors during my pregnancy, I rarely heard about the overwhelming challenges of caring for a newborn. The pictures my parent friends post on Facebook do not tell the whole story because we do not typically share the misery of parenting with others; who wants to see a new mother crumbling underneath the stress of sleep deprivation and an inability to satisfy a crying infant? We do not talk about tears shed in the rare shower or the endless piles of laundry covered in sour milk and spit-up. Articles preach the benefits of breastfeeding but few emphasize the utter selflessness required and how little else can be accomplished when attached to a baby who must eat every two hours or all hell breaks loose.

With all that said, I feel guilty about complaining so publicly about the best experience of my life. I mean, this is the best experience of my life, right?

I also feel guilty telling my own truths about new parenthood, especially when I look at her sweet face. How can I complain when blessed with a beautiful, healthy baby? However, when I stumbled upon a blog post sharing the frustration of new parenthood while feeding the baby at 3 in the morning and tears burst forth, I realized that telling the truth about parenthood is the greatest service we can offer one another.

Everyone I vent to says it will get better, that figuring it all out is the hardest part. They also warn about wishing this time away; “It goes so fast,” they say. Paradoxically, this has been the fastest and longest month of my life. I know they are right. I don’t want to regret anything but can’t help looking forward to her sleeping through just one night.

Last week we took our 1-month-old baby to meet Santa Claus. We tried to time everything perfectly—when to wake and feed her so she would be open-eyed but not screaming. As we approached the elaborate setup, my misty-eyed husband said, “Can you believe we are taking our baby to meet Santa Claus?”

“I can’t—let me take a photo to post on Facebook.”

Momentarily, I was a parent reveling in the beauty of parenthood rather than crushed beneath it and I realized, even if a bit reluctantly, that these are the moments I will remember one day, these are the truths about parenthood I, too, will be most eager to share.

Leandra Preston-Sidler is an instructor in the șŁœÇֱȄ’s Women’s Studies. She can be reached at Leandra.Preston-Sidler@ucf.edu.

The university won two awards and Women’s Studies instructor Leandra Preston-Sidler won a third award.

UCF won the Campus-Community Partnership Award because of the College of Business Administration’s Cornerstone Project with Boys Town of Central Florida. Since 2005, more than 1,100 students in the Cornerstone Project have worked with Boys Town, said Amy Zeh, UCF’s program director of Service Learning. The project offers hands-on experience in professional-skills development and involves a semester-long service project addressing a need in the community.

The university also earned the Engaged Campus Award, which is given to honor an institution of higher education for advancing the purposes of education, improving community life and teaching students about civil and social responsibility. In 2011-2012, there were 9,786 șŁœÇֱȄ of Central of Florida students who participated in service-learning courses, Zeh said. They completed more than 210,000 service hours in projects with more than 350 partner organizations, saving community partners more than $4 million. Also, 145 faculty members across the campus implemented 55 academic courses in more than 300 classrooms involving service for 2011-2012.

Preston-Sidler won the Service-Learning Faculty Award for the state university sector. The award was given because of her dedication to working with nonprofit community partners to enhance student learning.

Florida Campus Compact said the award winners “are the folks who are in the trenches, forging sustainable campus-community partnerships that enhance the collegiate experience and help our students become stronger and more active citizens.”

The awards were presented Nov. 8 at the șŁœÇֱȄ of Tampa.

Students, photographers, poets, artists and fashion designers were invited to take an ordinary bra and turn it into a work of art. The top 500 entries are on exhibit in the Orlando Magic Gallery at 29 S. Orange Ave.

All proceeds will be shared between the UCF Women’s Studies Program scholarship fund and Keep a Breast Foundation.

CityArts Factory is open from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., Tuesdays through Saturdays.

Learn more at the .