Why is it always November I feel compelled to write? The words have come back, sifting into my moments again, their poetry lulling me back to the page. I thought I abandoned you, blog. Left you cold. But now I have nowhere to put these sentences but here. So here I am.
Two months ago I had another baby. Baby Number Two. Baby Drew. It took months to find his name inside of me. I kept asking him, asking him to tell me. I didn't want a D name. I always thought it was perhaps part lazy/part tacky to name your children with the same letter. I swore I would never. But that was his name. He swore it to me up and down. Whispering always. Every other name felt like a croak in my throat.
And so his name is Drew and I am madly madly in love with him.
Dave said the greatest thing the other day, that he didn't know how to explain it, but he swore that Drew had a good heart. Perhaps you can see it in his little baby smile, he crunches up and his whole body squeeeeesssss.
It's true what they say about second babies: you just don't worry like the first one. I am relishing every single moment of his little babyness. It goes so fast. I know people say that and it's really annoying and I'm not saying that like 'fucking look or you're going to miss something'! I'm saying that like 'i'm desperately trying to remember every tiny thing so I don't forget every tiny thing about you, even though I know better.'
I birthed Drew like a fucking warrior. All natural. Me & him & god. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced. Absolutely mind-blowing. If I have another, I wouldn't have it any other way. To feel every part of that was humbling and empowering and I'm unbelievably proud.
I want another baby. I haven't told Dave this. I'm pretty sure he won't read this, especially when I forget to tell him that I picked up my blog again atleast until this post is buried. I knew right after having Drew. No question. This family needs One More. He would freak if he knew how absolutely my bones know this.
November in San Diego is so dark. I love to see the ocean in the fall, when she is left to her own cold, heavy heaving. When the summer has flitted away, the lightness of the tourists lifted. At night she labors like a sheet of lead rolling up and down the beach. I am thankful that I feel like sharing that.
Showing posts with label The Mommy Files. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Mommy Files. Show all posts
Monday, November 19, 2012
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
I Once Saw a Psychic Who Told Me I'd Have 2 Kids
When I was in college, living in Tempe, Arizona, the summers blew air like ovens--stagnant and too much to bear.
I lived with a bunch of girls--best gal pals--who lived together & worked together & schooled together. We rode bright beachcruiser bikes to classes. We lit tealights in the stairwell of our walk-up. We cocktail waitressed at the bar on the downtown main street--a bar with live music & art & we took shots with the manager to ignite the nights. If it all sounds carefree & light & bohemian, it's Because It Was.
Just a hop over the fence behind our rental with its 2 beds & 2 baths was the local taco shop and a head shop and a liquor store. Just a skip from that was Mrs. Rita's house. It was a clapboard 1950's home on the main drag that we'd pad by everytime we went to the food co-op or the Irish pub. Mrs. Rita was (is) a psychic, a very well known one for the simple fact that she owned that little bungalow on the main main drag.
Her house was quaint and decorated with that diamond-shaped sign in the lawn that said says her name and her psychic services in bright blue cursive. The curtains were always drawn. A few cars always littered the driveway. And I never saw a single person coming or going in my decade of living there. But Mrs. Rita is kind of a local celebrity, since any person frequenting the center of town would pass by that diamond-shaped sign every time.
I like psychics, as people, being that they are typically asymmetrically interesting in their thoughts and their ways. However, now I don't suppose I like going to them anymore. Age & superstitions & changing ideas about destiny have eased out this particular curiosity over time. I used to think it was fun & interesting. Now, for the very reason that I can't stand violence in movies anymore, I can't stand listening to a perhaps future: I'm simply too sensitive. I can't risk a mind full of images.
Or maybe it has to do with Mrs. Rita. Because after I went to her, I could never shake the feeling that she was right.
My brother and I decided to make the journey across the street and tap on her door because we had a sense of adventure and curious minds and we half-believed we'd get some real insight into our lives. At the door, a young Mexican girl, no older than 18, asked us what we wanted. We replied, and held out the bills in our hands. She asked my brother to follow her, and she sent me into a dusty old room with a tattered wingback chair in the center and soon there appeared Mrs. Rita.
For forty dollars she sleepily told me that I would live a lovely life and that I would find what I was looking for and she didn't think any great tragedy would befall me. She told me specific things too, without me telling her a thing, like I would love three men in my life. At that time, I had already truly madly deeply loved two, and hadn't met the third yet. And she was right, soon after, I met and fell in love with David--my magnus opus--and I'll never love another.
The thing she told me that bothers me is that I would only have two children. One boy. And one girl. The boy would be the older one, and after having Dax, that's true too. And here I am, butted up against the reality of the amount of children I will have and I'm thinking my next will be a girl and then there will be no more and the reason I think this most is Because Mrs. Rita Said So.
My brother got some abrupted Tarot card reading from the young girl and doesn't remember a thing, but for me, it's been at least a decade and I can't shake it. Part of me wants to have more than two children, just to prove her wrong. To tell myself that even if a psychic gets some things right they don't get all things right and just because it stuck in my brain for so long, that it doesn't make it so. But I suppose it's silly to make decisions about one's life just to make a point.
I don't know how many children I'm going to have (ps two or three are the choices). I grew up as the middle misfit child of three. I liked the set-up: two people to talk to (in case I needed a second opinion). I think multiple siblings help people know that the world can go a whole bunch of different ways. Almost no one agrees, even those people you love most in the world, and I think that's a good thing to know about. On the other hand though, I simply might not have the energy for three. Plain & simple.
Most people will tell ya that you'll know when you're done, you'll get this 'all finished' feeling in your gut that lets you know. I guess I won't know until I have that second baby. I think I want three, but according to Mrs. Rita, it ain't gunna happen. We'll see, Mrs. Rita, we'll see.
I lived with a bunch of girls--best gal pals--who lived together & worked together & schooled together. We rode bright beachcruiser bikes to classes. We lit tealights in the stairwell of our walk-up. We cocktail waitressed at the bar on the downtown main street--a bar with live music & art & we took shots with the manager to ignite the nights. If it all sounds carefree & light & bohemian, it's Because It Was.
Just a hop over the fence behind our rental with its 2 beds & 2 baths was the local taco shop and a head shop and a liquor store. Just a skip from that was Mrs. Rita's house. It was a clapboard 1950's home on the main drag that we'd pad by everytime we went to the food co-op or the Irish pub. Mrs. Rita was (is) a psychic, a very well known one for the simple fact that she owned that little bungalow on the main main drag.
Her house was quaint and decorated with that diamond-shaped sign in the lawn that said says her name and her psychic services in bright blue cursive. The curtains were always drawn. A few cars always littered the driveway. And I never saw a single person coming or going in my decade of living there. But Mrs. Rita is kind of a local celebrity, since any person frequenting the center of town would pass by that diamond-shaped sign every time.
I like psychics, as people, being that they are typically asymmetrically interesting in their thoughts and their ways. However, now I don't suppose I like going to them anymore. Age & superstitions & changing ideas about destiny have eased out this particular curiosity over time. I used to think it was fun & interesting. Now, for the very reason that I can't stand violence in movies anymore, I can't stand listening to a perhaps future: I'm simply too sensitive. I can't risk a mind full of images.
Or maybe it has to do with Mrs. Rita. Because after I went to her, I could never shake the feeling that she was right.
My brother and I decided to make the journey across the street and tap on her door because we had a sense of adventure and curious minds and we half-believed we'd get some real insight into our lives. At the door, a young Mexican girl, no older than 18, asked us what we wanted. We replied, and held out the bills in our hands. She asked my brother to follow her, and she sent me into a dusty old room with a tattered wingback chair in the center and soon there appeared Mrs. Rita.
For forty dollars she sleepily told me that I would live a lovely life and that I would find what I was looking for and she didn't think any great tragedy would befall me. She told me specific things too, without me telling her a thing, like I would love three men in my life. At that time, I had already truly madly deeply loved two, and hadn't met the third yet. And she was right, soon after, I met and fell in love with David--my magnus opus--and I'll never love another.
The thing she told me that bothers me is that I would only have two children. One boy. And one girl. The boy would be the older one, and after having Dax, that's true too. And here I am, butted up against the reality of the amount of children I will have and I'm thinking my next will be a girl and then there will be no more and the reason I think this most is Because Mrs. Rita Said So.
My brother got some abrupted Tarot card reading from the young girl and doesn't remember a thing, but for me, it's been at least a decade and I can't shake it. Part of me wants to have more than two children, just to prove her wrong. To tell myself that even if a psychic gets some things right they don't get all things right and just because it stuck in my brain for so long, that it doesn't make it so. But I suppose it's silly to make decisions about one's life just to make a point.
I don't know how many children I'm going to have (ps two or three are the choices). I grew up as the middle misfit child of three. I liked the set-up: two people to talk to (in case I needed a second opinion). I think multiple siblings help people know that the world can go a whole bunch of different ways. Almost no one agrees, even those people you love most in the world, and I think that's a good thing to know about. On the other hand though, I simply might not have the energy for three. Plain & simple.
Most people will tell ya that you'll know when you're done, you'll get this 'all finished' feeling in your gut that lets you know. I guess I won't know until I have that second baby. I think I want three, but according to Mrs. Rita, it ain't gunna happen. We'll see, Mrs. Rita, we'll see.
Monday, September 12, 2011
From the Trenches
Things change every day as a parent. Being a parent requires extreme flexibility. It requires quickness and sharpness of mind. It requires creativity. Being a parent, especially of young children, teaches you how to be a Buddha.
One of the main teachings of zee jolly-bellied Buddha is that attachment leads to suffering. This is so true in the parental trenches. If you are attached to a particular outcome or if you become accustomed to the way your child acts in situations, when that changes, it will lead to pain (read: insanity).
In that sense, Dax must make me a better person every day as the patience grows and grows. I have to let go of my vision of things, the way the ego WANTS things to go, and just let them BE. Parenting a baby and remaining sane requires that mentality.
If I'm saying, 'Dax will go down for a nap now and sleep for like two hours.' I try to erase it immediately and say, 'He might not nap, and if that is the case, that will be ok.' Otherwise, the mind goes berserk.
In some ways, having a baby requires you to plan MORE. But on the flip side, having a baby also requires you to plan LESS.
To adapt to the new mommyhood and keep the sanity, here's a few things done around here to maintain the Buddha brain (i.e. not lose the mind, cultivating peace instead):
1) We listen to Pandora all day long when Dax is awake and we're at home. Listening to music adds magic to the moments. It helps one use the adult brain and think adult thoughts and feel adult things. It adds background to the smiles and laughs and goings-abouts of Dax.
2) Traded cars with my husband so that we can leave every day if need be. Not sure how thrilled Dave is to be driving my no-AC little old purple pickup across San Diego county every day (p.s. I love you babe), but it sure beats the craziness that ensues if Dax and I sit home all day .
3) I sign up for my mom's groups meetups that intrigue me & agree to lots of other plans that do the same, EVEN if they are during Dax's naptimes or make his nighttime schedule a little off. I don't know how, but 92% of the time it works out just fine. I don't do it all the time, but I find that a little faith goes a long way.
4) Quit worrying about what to do about Dax in the sleep department. The kid is gunna sleep just fine someday. Right now, he's happy as ever, so what the heck does it matter? Let's just gunna ride this out and not bang the head against a brick wall for the next year or so. See how Buddha that is? Non-attachment to solutions? Check.
5) Learned to clean as the day goes. Well, gotten better. Dax is friggin messy. And this house induces hives if a couple days go by without a clutter-clean, a kitchen floor sweep, a wet mop on the tile. It gets messier, quicker. And I suck at cleaning, so this is a revelation. It's become...more habitual. Out of necessity, of course.
6) Aiming to go to bed at a decent hours, letting go of the need for solitude. I suck as a parent when tired. That must override the ridiculous need to browse the net till midnight. However, sometimes the numbness of the web is necessary. And that's ok too.
There's prolly a thousand more examples. What about you? What things help you let go and flow within the mommy moments?
One of the main teachings of zee jolly-bellied Buddha is that attachment leads to suffering. This is so true in the parental trenches. If you are attached to a particular outcome or if you become accustomed to the way your child acts in situations, when that changes, it will lead to pain (read: insanity).
In that sense, Dax must make me a better person every day as the patience grows and grows. I have to let go of my vision of things, the way the ego WANTS things to go, and just let them BE. Parenting a baby and remaining sane requires that mentality.
If I'm saying, 'Dax will go down for a nap now and sleep for like two hours.' I try to erase it immediately and say, 'He might not nap, and if that is the case, that will be ok.' Otherwise, the mind goes berserk.
In some ways, having a baby requires you to plan MORE. But on the flip side, having a baby also requires you to plan LESS.
To adapt to the new mommyhood and keep the sanity, here's a few things done around here to maintain the Buddha brain (i.e. not lose the mind, cultivating peace instead):
1) We listen to Pandora all day long when Dax is awake and we're at home. Listening to music adds magic to the moments. It helps one use the adult brain and think adult thoughts and feel adult things. It adds background to the smiles and laughs and goings-abouts of Dax.
2) Traded cars with my husband so that we can leave every day if need be. Not sure how thrilled Dave is to be driving my no-AC little old purple pickup across San Diego county every day (p.s. I love you babe), but it sure beats the craziness that ensues if Dax and I sit home all day .
3) I sign up for my mom's groups meetups that intrigue me & agree to lots of other plans that do the same, EVEN if they are during Dax's naptimes or make his nighttime schedule a little off. I don't know how, but 92% of the time it works out just fine. I don't do it all the time, but I find that a little faith goes a long way.
4) Quit worrying about what to do about Dax in the sleep department. The kid is gunna sleep just fine someday. Right now, he's happy as ever, so what the heck does it matter? Let's just gunna ride this out and not bang the head against a brick wall for the next year or so. See how Buddha that is? Non-attachment to solutions? Check.
5) Learned to clean as the day goes. Well, gotten better. Dax is friggin messy. And this house induces hives if a couple days go by without a clutter-clean, a kitchen floor sweep, a wet mop on the tile. It gets messier, quicker. And I suck at cleaning, so this is a revelation. It's become...more habitual. Out of necessity, of course.
6) Aiming to go to bed at a decent hours, letting go of the need for solitude. I suck as a parent when tired. That must override the ridiculous need to browse the net till midnight. However, sometimes the numbness of the web is necessary. And that's ok too.
There's prolly a thousand more examples. What about you? What things help you let go and flow within the mommy moments?
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| inquiring minds want to know... |
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Breakdown in the House of Danger
This house is a minefield. It is NOT, I repeat, NOT baby-friendly. If we were looking again for a rental. I would not choose this house. I would use my big-girl brain and say, "Tile, marble, lots of steps, fireplaces? Naw....sounds like a lot of sharp corners and hard surfaces. Not a place for a baby. Let's move on babe," I would say to my lover. He would laugh and smile at me knowingly, and we would drive as fast as we could away into the San Diego sunset without another thought.
Instead, our pre-baby selves couldn't see these things, and only saw 'nice big tub, large windows, lots of light.' We put our deposit down based on "good vibes." Granted, I love this house, its windows, its vibes, being surrounded by hills and pretty landscape. I've painted it and moved furniture around to make itmine ours. But lately, I want to move into a two-bedroom apartment made out of foam. I want it to be furnished with inflatable coffee tables. I want the drawers and the cupboards to be fashioned out of bubble wrap.
Dax is insane. My precious little sweetie pie is officially the most active little 11-month-old on the entire planet. He has no sense of caution. He goes for things with all his might, as fast as he can, determined, without care for the fact that he has not the balance nor the strength yet to support his will. This causes lots of little scrapes, and owies, and oh my god, that cry! In playgroups, well-meaning mamas have observed that Dax is:
"very physical."
"really adventurous."
"All-Boy."
"Quite a handful."
Not only does he love to runcrawl all over the hard kitchen tile, it leaves his little baby knees red and tender. Yet he refuses to be deterred. Try to stop him, and he'll SCREAM bloody murder and kick his legs as if to say, "Mooommmmmm, I want to GOOOOOOO there PLZZZZ don't get in my wayyyyy!!!! So I let him back down again and figure if his knees really hurt, he wouldn't runcrawl on the tile right?!
And he WANTS. Like really really really WANTS things. For example, I am getting ready and have to do something simple like brush my hair, and Dax sees this from afar and sprintcrawls to me with a crazed look of determination indicating that he would like to see that brush RIGHT NOW!!! And then he starts to claw at my knee, and pull himself up, whine, and pound incessantly on my thigh.
As he starts to cry, I'm wishing my hair wasn't so darn long and I'm thinking "I can't just give this kid everything he whines about." So I hide the comb, and when I do, he sees where I put it and precedes to full on break down into a mental case on the floor. And my hair still isn't brushed. And it's not even noon yet.
This continues all day long for absolutely everything I touch. Of course, sometimes I just give him the things he's aching for because it's easier, and they're safe so whatever. And sometimes I don't. And I never really know if what I'm doing is the right thing or the wrong thing and I think about that all day.
What a willful child. Not sure where he got that from.
The other day, the worst thing happened and it scared me so bad that yesterday I was having little mini-panic attacks. Dax was playing in a drawer--the designated "safe drawer"--that I've left open so that he can explore, but removed all dangerous things. So there he was standing next to the drawer and then he took a step towards me, but lost his balance (because he forgot that he does not yet know how to walk at all). And he fell. Face forward. Onto the corner of the drawer. The right side of his face. The tender bone by his eye. Hit the corner of that drawer so hard. On impact, it made my entire body ZAP with pain.
After his face hit, he fell to the floor and screamed. Louder than I've ever heard him scream. He hit that drawer right on the corner with his face. Harder than I've ever seen him hit anything. And oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my f**king gosh. Scoop up the boy and try to calm down that SCREAM. He hurt so bad he was kicking me because he didn't know what else to do. It took atleast 10 minutes before it passed.
I called everybody and sent pictures and shook with tears & guilt, while everyone assured me these things will happen. He got a nice big shiner on his eye and I'm pretty sure passerbyers are calling CPS on me.
Now the whole house looks like DANGER to me. Everything, even the walls, that are just sitting there. My little baby boy loves to climb things and throw himself into things and fall down on sharp things and it's freaking me out.
I'm not quite sure how my mom did it. I broke everything as a kid--my leg, my collar bone (both of them on separate occasions), and my teeth (more than a few times I broke my face on steel handlebars and hills of frozen ice). My bro and sis? Sustained almost no injuries, and definitely no broken bones. Did my son inherit my risky, broken-bone prone playstyle? So far, it sure seems so...sigh...it's gunna be a long road to college.
Instead, our pre-baby selves couldn't see these things, and only saw 'nice big tub, large windows, lots of light.' We put our deposit down based on "good vibes." Granted, I love this house, its windows, its vibes, being surrounded by hills and pretty landscape. I've painted it and moved furniture around to make it
Dax is insane. My precious little sweetie pie is officially the most active little 11-month-old on the entire planet. He has no sense of caution. He goes for things with all his might, as fast as he can, determined, without care for the fact that he has not the balance nor the strength yet to support his will. This causes lots of little scrapes, and owies, and oh my god, that cry! In playgroups, well-meaning mamas have observed that Dax is:
"very physical."
"really adventurous."
"All-Boy."
"Quite a handful."
 |
| Dax runcrawling in play area |
And he WANTS. Like really really really WANTS things. For example, I am getting ready and have to do something simple like brush my hair, and Dax sees this from afar and sprintcrawls to me with a crazed look of determination indicating that he would like to see that brush RIGHT NOW!!! And then he starts to claw at my knee, and pull himself up, whine, and pound incessantly on my thigh.
As he starts to cry, I'm wishing my hair wasn't so darn long and I'm thinking "I can't just give this kid everything he whines about." So I hide the comb, and when I do, he sees where I put it and precedes to full on break down into a mental case on the floor. And my hair still isn't brushed. And it's not even noon yet.
This continues all day long for absolutely everything I touch. Of course, sometimes I just give him the things he's aching for because it's easier, and they're safe so whatever. And sometimes I don't. And I never really know if what I'm doing is the right thing or the wrong thing and I think about that all day.
 |
| Dax with brush |
The other day, the worst thing happened and it scared me so bad that yesterday I was having little mini-panic attacks. Dax was playing in a drawer--the designated "safe drawer"--that I've left open so that he can explore, but removed all dangerous things. So there he was standing next to the drawer and then he took a step towards me, but lost his balance (because he forgot that he does not yet know how to walk at all). And he fell. Face forward. Onto the corner of the drawer. The right side of his face. The tender bone by his eye. Hit the corner of that drawer so hard. On impact, it made my entire body ZAP with pain.
After his face hit, he fell to the floor and screamed. Louder than I've ever heard him scream. He hit that drawer right on the corner with his face. Harder than I've ever seen him hit anything. And oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my f**king gosh. Scoop up the boy and try to calm down that SCREAM. He hurt so bad he was kicking me because he didn't know what else to do. It took atleast 10 minutes before it passed.
I called everybody and sent pictures and shook with tears & guilt, while everyone assured me these things will happen. He got a nice big shiner on his eye and I'm pretty sure passerbyers are calling CPS on me.
Now the whole house looks like DANGER to me. Everything, even the walls, that are just sitting there. My little baby boy loves to climb things and throw himself into things and fall down on sharp things and it's freaking me out.
 |
| Dax's first shiner |
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Get a Hold of Yourself
Sometimes I feel incredibly selfish, like I can only see my thoughts and no others. I think I need to volunteer more or go to church or meditate on the subject of gratitude, because I have it so good in this life. When ill thoughts creep against my brain, I want to tear my brain out. I want to punish myself for my mopey thoughts.
Sometimes I feel like such a lesser being than others. How do other people do it? When I feel all maxed out about my baby I think of two things: 1) I have a healthy baby who is living. Key words: healthy. living. How dare I feel sorry for myself when I don't get 'me' time? And
2) I think about the Mormons who have like 8 kids and seem to love and care for them all and take them camping and read to them all while still feeling chirpy. God must love them more, because I get a little whiney with just my one kid. They must be God's BFF because they can have 8 kids and still have the stillness to be nice to people. Which them makes me think I should convert to Mormonism or atleast go to church because perhaps I'm being punished for not being Godly enough.
Either of these thoughts work to simply make me feel bad about myself.
Obviously that is not helpful.
I looked at Dax today and tried to remember a time when there was no Dax, and I couldn't do it. He has filled my whole world. I love him so much it hurts, but lately I have to admit that I've felt like I'm never going to be alone again.
Staying home with Dax is EXACTLY what I want to be doing, but sometimes I feel all chained up and sometimes resentful--like when I watch Dax all day and then I cook dinner and then after dinner I'm still cleaning up. It's 8:30 at night and I'm thinking 'why am I still in this f**king kitchen?' How did this happen TO ME? Then I see my thoughts and feel like an old bitter housewife and then I want to buck up for feeling like that--how ungrateful of me--my life is beautiful!
How do I create an inner attitude that is more continually joyful?
I keep hearing that quote in my head about the true character of a person is not measured when things are going right, but the true character of a person is measured when things are difficult. I feel like I'm failing this test--my true character feels weak right now. Why does it feel like everything has to be perfect for the free spirit to fly?
Monday, July 18, 2011
And then i could conceive again...
And as I sat here in the middle of my house, staring at my laughing, crawling, smiling, bubbly little baby--I could obsess. Obsess about
what next?
this might have meant that when I saw other little tiny babies that just got born into the world that I might have thought
i want another one
but none of this mattered because breastfeeding became nature's way of stopping all kinds of conception. It worked so well that we never used a single method of protection for all of ten months and
that's a fact
not to say that you should do this too. I just happen to possess a rather flippant way of dealing with serious things. YET you absolutely could do this too but I caution you to follow the hard and fast rules of this method (LAM) and I bet you it will work, but these are whole other things. the point is
i saw red
oodles of it and because I've been obsessing about making babies but being unable to do so, I started jumping all around the house and squealing about my newfound luck. But as the novelty wore off I got hit with the feeling that was very clear:
i'm not ready to have another baby yet
and so I told my hubs we had to go back to those precautionary ways, as of which haven't been in play for over two years.
and the beat goes on...
what next?
this might have meant that when I saw other little tiny babies that just got born into the world that I might have thought
i want another one
but none of this mattered because breastfeeding became nature's way of stopping all kinds of conception. It worked so well that we never used a single method of protection for all of ten months and
that's a fact
not to say that you should do this too. I just happen to possess a rather flippant way of dealing with serious things. YET you absolutely could do this too but I caution you to follow the hard and fast rules of this method (LAM) and I bet you it will work, but these are whole other things. the point is
i saw red
oodles of it and because I've been obsessing about making babies but being unable to do so, I started jumping all around the house and squealing about my newfound luck. But as the novelty wore off I got hit with the feeling that was very clear:
i'm not ready to have another baby yet
and so I told my hubs we had to go back to those precautionary ways, as of which haven't been in play for over two years.
and the beat goes on...
Friday, May 27, 2011
And Then I Lost It
My little baby angel is a very privileged young chap, who, upon the occasion of his baby shower got copious amounts of gifts before anyone had even met him and discerned him to be a likable fellow.
On this joyous occasion, the darling guy received no fewer than a dozen blankets from relatives far and wide--many of them gorgeous and handmade with love. Some of these, due to their particular breathability and size, ended up as sheets for his car seat, where he slept for longer than recommended. Some of them serve as a colorful rectangles on the floor underneath him as he plays. Even the scratchy ones are used as decor, folded and slung over the crib as accent pieces when visitors stop by.
Yet, as with most babies, one particular blanket has emerged as his go-to blanket. The one that is just the right size. The one that is just the right weight. The one that is just the right fabric. The one that, when placed on the little guy when he's tired and nursing, he will slowly knead the fabric with his fingers, and shortly thereafter, his eyes gently roll back into an easy slumber.
The Chosen One is a well-known brand, tiddliwinks, sold at most local Targets. While it was not quilted or crocheted by my favorite people, the purchaser was my husband's oldest bestie and delivered to us just days after the birth of our son by the oldest bestie himself. And therefore, Very Special Indeed.
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| four-day-old Dax with Dave's BFF DaRell (& giftor of The Chosen Blanket) |
Perhaps it is fitting that this blanket is The One, because this blanket was the only blanket purchased for us by A Man, and therefore the deep navy blue color and stitched sports balls and inlaid "Champ" insignia did, in fact, stand out considerably from the lighter, more precious blankets gifted to us by the entire female side of our relational brood. Dax must have known: This is a boy blanket.
And so it was, from his baby newborn days and through his entire eight months of existence, wherever Dax went, this blanket followed close behind. Made of a soft, buttery micro fleece, this medium-sized blanket has a nice weight and warmth to it that Dax loves. When he's anxious and active, this blanket will almost always calm him, as witnessed by an audible sigh and a ceasing of the ceaseless kicking of limbs.
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| Dax and his blanket at eight days old |
So it was without fanfare that when my husband and I trekked to the open air baseball stadium in Downtown San Diego last Saturday night to watch our Padres play the Seattle Mariners, we packed Dax's favorite blanket, to ward off the light coastal wind wafting in from the nearby harbor.
Dax thoroughly enjoyed his first baseball game. He was passed from lap to lap, reveling in the company of a handful of our relatives who kept him giggling and cuddled. During the duration of the game, the soft blanket covered my knees.
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| Saturday night at the Padres game |
As we left the stands, a few hours later, I strung the blanket over my purse and held the handles. We headed to the car. It was warm enough that my son's favorite blanket went unneeded almost the entire evening.
And that was The Last Time I Saw It.
As we approached the parking garage, I realized the blanket no longer occupied the space near my elbow. Frantic, we retraced our steps back to the stadium. No dark mass of navy blue blanket lay crumpled on the sidewalk in that entire 1/4 mile.
I called up to my family, still in the stands. Was it there? No.
I begged the ticket person to let me re-enter the gates so I could skip up the stairs and the elevator where we walked.
Nothing.
I went to Lost & Found, where I filled out a report that read something like this..."my son's favorite blanket. navy blue. micro fleece. sporty "champ" embroidered. the only thing he's every loved, please help me..."
As I treaded back down the steps to the exit gates, I felt like a complete failure. Shoulders slumped, I met the eyes of my husband holding our son, now favorite blanketless, and shook my head No. Dave said maybe they'll find it and call us later and then we headed back in the direction of the car. With each step I could feel the hot tears well up in my throat.
And Then I Lost It.
In a pitch so high it was barely audible, with chunky tears dropping from my cheeks, the words started streaming out, "I'm the worst mother ever I can't believe I lost his FAVORITE blanket it's like the only material thing that he's attached to so far and he uses it every time he naps he NEEDS it and I LOST it I can't believe I would do such a thing why didn't I tie it to the purse omg he's had that blanket since he was an itty bitty newborn and it has all his beautiful baby energy on it and I was gunna save it forever and he was going to have it forever and it would be his favorite thing and now it's GONE..."
Poor Dave. Instantly realizing the severity of my mommy meltdown, he sprung into action, "Baby, baby, hey hey it's ok, it's ok, don't worry, no worries, baby hey..." I paused to breathe. And then more tears and then he said, "First off, you are the best mother ever." And then, altruistically, he mentioned that maybe some downtown San Diego homeless guy had it (tons of homeless rove the area), and maybe he needed it more than us.
But that made things way worse because then I imagined the preciousness of my son's beautiful blanket that contained all his beautiful baby energy on it; I imagined it in the smelly toothless face of some greasy bum who had just snorted lines of crystal meth and smeared his dirty crystal meth dust on my son's most favorite thing.
I wailed louder, now eyeing every thieving bum in my vision.
Luckily, Dave kept after it, assuring me that we could get him a new one right away. And then he said some things that for some reason kind of made me feel better: He assured me that we would lose plenty of his favorite things over the duration of his existence and that that was just par for the parental course. This was our first time and it was hard, but don't be so hard on yourself because it's not the end of the world and we have a long string of lovely lost things in our future.
And so eventually I calmed. In the car, it was quiet and Dave told me that even though he hated so see me sad, he found it charming that I was so upset. I smiled a little and loved him for that.
When I woke in the morning, Dave told me that he found the exact same blanket online and purchased it and that it would be here in a few days. I thanked him. The stadium called me the next day and told me they didn't find it; No good Samaritan carried it to their counter.
A few days later, the navy blue "Champ" blanket, an exact replica of My Son's Favorite Thing arrived, wrapped in a silky ribbon. And as I slipped it around his little body before his nap, he sighed gratefully and visibly calmed.
I felt a little deviant. I got a glimpse of us, as parents, in the future when Dax's favorite little hypothetical turtle dies, that us, unable to tell him about the loss, would purchase a replacement turtle--slipping it into the tank after midnight without a word.
I feel so sad I lost that blanket, like kicked in the stomach sad. But I am grateful, we got a new one that does the exact same trick. This mama road is going to be rife with all sorts of fun...
Sigh...
Sigh...
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
As a new mother, I can tell you...
As a new mother, I can tell you...
I have reached the highest JOYS I have ever felt. These are folded into the small moments--like the way he shakes his hands into the air and sqeeeeeessssss.....these are the moments I feel my eyes light up like wildfire. I feel full and complete and whole. In these moments I can see forever and my blessings stacked up like Christmas.
As a new mother, I can tell you...
I have reached the lowest LOWS I have ever felt. Some days I feel so frustrated and sad and mostly, I want to be alone. I want nothing more than to curl up all day with nothing but my own thoughts and a book and a bath. There are moments when I want him to sleep because he hasn't slept all day and he's fussy and I'm tired and I think in frustrated anger 'can't i just get one friggin second?!' I've had moments of mom bitterness, which I swore I'd never do, where I think, 'Can't anyone else do this?! For God's sake, why does it always have to be ME?" In this selfishness, I am ashamed.
As a new mother, I can tell you...
My relationship has changed. We are trying (struggling) to maintain to maintain normalcy....back how it was....you know, in the decade of our togetherness before baby? We are trying to keep it there. Safe and sound. But I have to tell you, our relationship has irrevocably changed. For the better? Sometimes. For the worse? Sometimes. The biggest pain is how much I miss him.
As a new mother I can tell you...
I wouldn't change this for the world. But I am struggling to re-define myself here. I can feel it. It is a slow stretch. It is Growing Up. It is Letting Go. Being a parent forces me to Look at Me. Who do I want Dax to be? Then I need to be that person myself. The responsibility has made me a better person.
As a new mother I can tell you...
I have no idea what I am doing. AND I know EXACTLY what I am doing.
As a new mother I can tell you...
It's raining outside. I love the world all damp and grey. I can hear the garbage truck bumble down the road. The baby is sleeping. All things are as they lay...
Friday, April 22, 2011
How To Make Your Own Baby Food
First, buy this book: Baby Love: Healthy, Easy, Delicious Meals for Your Baby and Toddler
Then, follow all of their recipes :-).
No seriously. Delicious basic purees for six months and up. Apple, pear, carrot, butternut squash, pea and more. At 8 months, the recipes get a little more creative, helping your wee one's palate evolve. I love the simple, pretty instructions. You can make a few weeks worth of food in about two hours.
Making food this way is great for baby because jarred food is cooked at such a high temperature it loses a lot of the nutrients baby's need, plus it takes added preservatives to get jarred food to keep on the shelf for one to two years (what?!).
Most of all, we did a blind taste test of simple mashed bananas and Earth's Best Organic Bananas in a jar and I about died: the jarred had this really weird aftertaste and a chalky foreign texture. Side by side it was clear the superior tasting product: Fresh is Best!
Here's a mildly tweaked rendition of their Basic Apple Recipe.
1) Get five organic apples. If you live somewhere without organic as an option, then make sure to peel them first.
2) Cut each apple in half. Scoop out the steams and seeds.
3) Cut each apple half into six equal-ish slices.
4) Place apple slices in large pot with 8 ounces of purified water. Turn heat on high and cover. Cook for 8 minutes, stirring once.
5) Pour apple slices and water into blender.
6) Blend until smooth.
7) Pour into ice cube trays and allow to cool.
8) Wrap trays and place in freezer overnight.
9) Unwrap and put 'cubed' apples into quart bags. Label bags with contents and date (frozen cubes last three months in the freezer).
10) To serve, warm 2-3 cubes on the stove over low heat.
(Note: I put my cubes in a glass jar. Then, I place that jar in a pot of water that I warm. The reason? I'm pretty sure my pans are cheap and old and leech awful things, like aluminum or lead or titanium, into the food I just took all this time to specially prepare. So until I get the green to purchase safer, newer pots, I opt for caution. Plus, then I use that jar as his serving jar!)
11) Feed your fresh and tasty food to your rad little angel.
The End.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A Mother's Lament and/or A Spiritual Journey
The words felt like big chunky things stuck in my throat. So when I dislodged them, they fell so hard out of me, they broke a dam. Tears rushed my eys.
"I feel so desperate," my head hung down in the yellow light of the kitchen, "I feel so desperate for time alone." The whispered words raw against the darkness framed in the windows. I could barely look at you.
"I'm running on empty. I feel so out of gas that even when someone takes him. I'm so far below 'E' that it doesn't even change it. I still feel so in need."
The truth made me feel ashamed.
I went to the bookstore the other day. I used to browse for hours, a kind of lazy meditation. This time I whizzed passed the random sections that used to amuse me, in lieu of what I came for: Reprieve via the Parenting Section. I have no time for languid browsing. Another thought: To mourn this is a waste of time.
The past is the past. It IS a compilation of memory and our feelings about those memories. It no longer exists.
The future is an illusion. F**k the future. I can not sit around waiting for my babies to grow up before I start living again.
I choose to live in The Now.
But how? My spirit is limping.
I imagine myself posting quotes on my mirror (and I'm paraphrasing here because I don't feel like googling these exact quotes so here's my approximations):
"the measure of a man is not how he does during the good times, but how he reacts during the challenging ones"
"think not of all the ways something can not be, but instead think of all the ways that it might be"
"think not that something is a hindrance or a problem, but instead as a challenge."
I do not tack these on my mirror though. Instead
I buy a book called "Buddhism for Mothers of Young Children." I'm thinking (praying) a little spirituality might keep me steady. I read it in the bath. I cancelled all my Real Housewives shows on my DVR. I am looking for the time. I played Pandora all day today and felt better, a soft guitar makes pouring the fresh pureed carrots into the blue ice cube trays seem poetic and light. I try to rearrange my thinking: Every moment is a moment for me.
Dax holds me in The Present. He requires me to be there almost every second. It's exhausting. It's exhilerating. It simply IS. And it IS NOT changing. I've never been in a tough place that I didn't want To Leave. This parenthood thing. This is different. I don't want out. (Obviously).
But...if I am to come out of this thing buoyant and glowing...
How can I stand the standing still? The most precious pain of The Present?
"I feel so desperate," my head hung down in the yellow light of the kitchen, "I feel so desperate for time alone." The whispered words raw against the darkness framed in the windows. I could barely look at you.
"I'm running on empty. I feel so out of gas that even when someone takes him. I'm so far below 'E' that it doesn't even change it. I still feel so in need."
The truth made me feel ashamed.
I went to the bookstore the other day. I used to browse for hours, a kind of lazy meditation. This time I whizzed passed the random sections that used to amuse me, in lieu of what I came for: Reprieve via the Parenting Section. I have no time for languid browsing. Another thought: To mourn this is a waste of time.
The past is the past. It IS a compilation of memory and our feelings about those memories. It no longer exists.
The future is an illusion. F**k the future. I can not sit around waiting for my babies to grow up before I start living again.
I choose to live in The Now.
But how? My spirit is limping.
I imagine myself posting quotes on my mirror (and I'm paraphrasing here because I don't feel like googling these exact quotes so here's my approximations):
"the measure of a man is not how he does during the good times, but how he reacts during the challenging ones"
"think not of all the ways something can not be, but instead think of all the ways that it might be"
"think not that something is a hindrance or a problem, but instead as a challenge."
I do not tack these on my mirror though. Instead
I buy a book called "Buddhism for Mothers of Young Children." I'm thinking (praying) a little spirituality might keep me steady. I read it in the bath. I cancelled all my Real Housewives shows on my DVR. I am looking for the time. I played Pandora all day today and felt better, a soft guitar makes pouring the fresh pureed carrots into the blue ice cube trays seem poetic and light. I try to rearrange my thinking: Every moment is a moment for me.
Dax holds me in The Present. He requires me to be there almost every second. It's exhausting. It's exhilerating. It simply IS. And it IS NOT changing. I've never been in a tough place that I didn't want To Leave. This parenthood thing. This is different. I don't want out. (Obviously).
But...if I am to come out of this thing buoyant and glowing...
How can I stand the standing still? The most precious pain of The Present?
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Little Girls Too
So, my sister is pregnant. She has one little beautiful girl who is two years old--a spunky little perfect soul named Nova. We just found out recently that she is building another little baby girl in her belly--another perfect little pretty soul as yet unnamed.
I have to admit, I'm feeling a little baby frenzied. I am attracted to the dream of family. For the majority of my life, I've wanted a big family. In my 6th grade autobiography, I dedicated an entire page to my future five children. Of course, I do not want five children. But I often think I want a solid three.
I went through a period of time in my teens and early twenties where I wanted no kids. This probably spurred by my fear of anything resembling commitment, as opposed to my real life thoughts. My real life thoughts love the dream of family. I feel like since Dax has been born, I've ran headlong into "PURPOSE." A Purposeful Life. It's clear, for the time being, what I'm supposed to be doing.
And now my sister's little girl baby makes me twinge with jealousy. I love my little boy, but the dreams of the little frills of a girl tug my heartstrings.
It just gets silly worse when, here I am, planning her baby shower and perusing pink invites and, oh my golly gosh, aren't these so friggin' dainty cute???
(PS Try Paper Culture- You'll love it! Get $5 off your first purchase with code: ECOMOD)
Or this....
Or how bout THIS?
I have to admit, I'm feeling a little baby frenzied. I am attracted to the dream of family. For the majority of my life, I've wanted a big family. In my 6th grade autobiography, I dedicated an entire page to my future five children. Of course, I do not want five children. But I often think I want a solid three.
I went through a period of time in my teens and early twenties where I wanted no kids. This probably spurred by my fear of anything resembling commitment, as opposed to my real life thoughts. My real life thoughts love the dream of family. I feel like since Dax has been born, I've ran headlong into "PURPOSE." A Purposeful Life. It's clear, for the time being, what I'm supposed to be doing.
And now my sister's little girl baby makes me twinge with jealousy. I love my little boy, but the dreams of the little frills of a girl tug my heartstrings.
It just gets silly worse when, here I am, planning her baby shower and perusing pink invites and, oh my golly gosh, aren't these so friggin' dainty cute???
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| from paperculture.com |
Or this....
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| from shutterfly.com |
Or how bout THIS?
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| from tinyprints.com |
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sigh. Parenthood. And Tears Too.
I feel like we're hitting a wall lately. I totally felt like we were kind of getting everything under control, but the last few days I feel like Dax has regressed so much in the sleep department. I can barely get 10 minutes to myself. At night, he wakes up like a newborn. What is going on?
We did go cold turkey on the car seat, but I really did feel like he was ready for that. Now, today, I am not so sure. He is waking up right now in his crib. You know, from his 10 minute nap. He must be all sorts of rested. Ugh.
Days like today I feel like parenthood blows. I am so tired I want to ram my face into a wall.
For the last couple months, I have been nursing him to sleep and then putting him down. It's been wonderful, fantastic, and easy. However, lately I feel like he is waking up between every sleep cycle to nurse back down. I can't keep doing this. I am going crazy.
Here's me trying to count my blessings: Dax is healthy and adorable and I love my husband and am happy I can stay home and my family is so good to us too. I heart San Diego.
Anyone have any perspective to offer me? I feel thisclose to tears...
When does this get easier? Ever? Never? Does everyone go through this? I am mad at myself for feeling so out of control blah today.
The End. Ugh.
We did go cold turkey on the car seat, but I really did feel like he was ready for that. Now, today, I am not so sure. He is waking up right now in his crib. You know, from his 10 minute nap. He must be all sorts of rested. Ugh.
Days like today I feel like parenthood blows. I am so tired I want to ram my face into a wall.
For the last couple months, I have been nursing him to sleep and then putting him down. It's been wonderful, fantastic, and easy. However, lately I feel like he is waking up between every sleep cycle to nurse back down. I can't keep doing this. I am going crazy.
Here's me trying to count my blessings: Dax is healthy and adorable and I love my husband and am happy I can stay home and my family is so good to us too. I heart San Diego.
Anyone have any perspective to offer me? I feel thisclose to tears...
When does this get easier? Ever? Never? Does everyone go through this? I am mad at myself for feeling so out of control blah today.
The End. Ugh.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Unsolicited Advice Sounds Like Criticism
Dax is progressing on his napping. By progressing, I mean, he's alone in a room and able to sleep for longer stretches of time. The term "progressing" obviously suggests room for improvement. He is still in his car seat; he sucks at sleeping without it. I hate to keep saying this because, frankly, it's embarrassing. The seat is shored up, and I watch him like a hawk on the monitor so he's safe, but still.
The question I ask myself is: Do I really care? Or do I care because I know other people pooh-pooh me? Do I care because I know others are thinking, "What is she doing?!"
When I talk to moms (real moms, not articles on what babies should be doing), there's these kind of hushed confessions. Like my friend whose three-year-old still sleeps with them in their bed. Or my other friend who admitted: they used the car seat for what others would consider "too long." Or how about my relatives whose boy slept in the swing for months? These are the things we say under our breath, and then we look up, trying to ignore any look of judgement in another's eyes.
I hustled into my mom's group meeting a week or so ago, apologizing for being late because Dax was sleeping, on his back, and I didn't want to rouse him. A woman there with two kids told me with a sad frown that she finally had to let her baby "cry-it-out" at 8 months. She told me her and her brother got a bottle of wine and sat on the porch as her baby wailed. But it worked; he sleeps great now. She looked at me a little guiltily.
When people tell me these types of things, I try to erase any judgement from my face and thoughts. Because first off, do I think your baby is going to be scarred for life because you let him cry before bed? No. I don't. (Unless they're less than 3 months old, then that's debatable). Plus, my baby is so young still, and although I have never let him cry himself to sleep, perhaps I'll feel differently at 8 months. I have no idea. For now, I simply can not. I just physically can't.
My feeling is: If you're not beating your child or abandoning or neglecting or abusing your child and you love your baby and it's pretty obvious, then hey, whatever you're doing is probably great and fine and perfect for you and your family.
I kind of wish people would grant the same respect back though.
Because when you have a baby, omg, EVERYONE has an opinion. Truly, it's INSANE.
If you're one of those people that is in the peanut gallery to parents everywhere, please please heed these words: Unsolicited advice oftentimes comes off like CRITICISM. We are all guilty of this sometimes, so focus up.
How do you know if you're doing this? This is a great way to check... After you say things, do you feel like the response you get is one of defensiveness? Does your co-conversationalist seem a bit frazzled, and immediately start to explain WHY they do what THEY do? This happens because your "advice" sounds like this: Here's the right way to do it. You don't do this. So you are obviously doing it wrong.
Do you often feel like "you are only trying to help"? Of course you are. Stop It. We ALL do what we do because we think it's better than what others do. Don't you think I have a couple opinions on what you could be doing better? Of course I do. Do you want me to share? I didn't think so.
Another point: You might THINK they are asking for your advice when they are whining about some kind of parental speed bump. But listen to me: They are not asking for your advice unless they specifically say, "What do you think? What would you do? Any thoughts for me?" Something along those lines. If they don't say those things, then they are simply venting. Let them.
As a parent navigating the ways of baby-raising, there are a MILLION ways to do things that result in all-growed-up & decent human beings. There is no one road map to an awesome human being. The paths are infinite.
The bottom line is that as a parent, all each of us have is our instincts. And when you are raising your little ones, those instincts are pretty dialed in to your particular tyke if you give a good listen. So when people give you that unsolicited advice, it is the worst kind of advice because it's about your kids. You know them better than anyone else and they are the most important thing in the entire world to you. Naturally, you feel pretty strongly about what you do and why you do it. So that advice just pisses you off because a) you know you're doing it right by your kid and b) holy shit, what if you aren't?
Ok ok don't get worked up...
I'm not saying all advice is bad. We need to share. There's two ways to do this without offending:
1) Wait until you are asked for advice. Then share it in a supportive, loving way. But don't get all offended if the person doesn't follow it exactly. The person is doing what they feel works for them, sometimes it's what you advised. Sometimes not. Don't take it personally.
2) Share YOUR experiences using "I" statements. People love to hear what other people did. And sometimes it helps. Say "I used to put my baby in a carrier to get them to stop being fussy," NOT "You should put your baby in a carrier to get them to stop fussing." See the difference?
Is some of this post unsolicited? Ha ha. Oh well, you get the f**king point right? Let me raise my baby!!!
The question I ask myself is: Do I really care? Or do I care because I know other people pooh-pooh me? Do I care because I know others are thinking, "What is she doing?!"
When I talk to moms (real moms, not articles on what babies should be doing), there's these kind of hushed confessions. Like my friend whose three-year-old still sleeps with them in their bed. Or my other friend who admitted: they used the car seat for what others would consider "too long." Or how about my relatives whose boy slept in the swing for months? These are the things we say under our breath, and then we look up, trying to ignore any look of judgement in another's eyes.
I hustled into my mom's group meeting a week or so ago, apologizing for being late because Dax was sleeping, on his back, and I didn't want to rouse him. A woman there with two kids told me with a sad frown that she finally had to let her baby "cry-it-out" at 8 months. She told me her and her brother got a bottle of wine and sat on the porch as her baby wailed. But it worked; he sleeps great now. She looked at me a little guiltily.
When people tell me these types of things, I try to erase any judgement from my face and thoughts. Because first off, do I think your baby is going to be scarred for life because you let him cry before bed? No. I don't. (Unless they're less than 3 months old, then that's debatable). Plus, my baby is so young still, and although I have never let him cry himself to sleep, perhaps I'll feel differently at 8 months. I have no idea. For now, I simply can not. I just physically can't.
My feeling is: If you're not beating your child or abandoning or neglecting or abusing your child and you love your baby and it's pretty obvious, then hey, whatever you're doing is probably great and fine and perfect for you and your family.
I kind of wish people would grant the same respect back though.
Because when you have a baby, omg, EVERYONE has an opinion. Truly, it's INSANE.
If you're one of those people that is in the peanut gallery to parents everywhere, please please heed these words: Unsolicited advice oftentimes comes off like CRITICISM. We are all guilty of this sometimes, so focus up.
How do you know if you're doing this? This is a great way to check... After you say things, do you feel like the response you get is one of defensiveness? Does your co-conversationalist seem a bit frazzled, and immediately start to explain WHY they do what THEY do? This happens because your "advice" sounds like this: Here's the right way to do it. You don't do this. So you are obviously doing it wrong.
Do you often feel like "you are only trying to help"? Of course you are. Stop It. We ALL do what we do because we think it's better than what others do. Don't you think I have a couple opinions on what you could be doing better? Of course I do. Do you want me to share? I didn't think so.
Another point: You might THINK they are asking for your advice when they are whining about some kind of parental speed bump. But listen to me: They are not asking for your advice unless they specifically say, "What do you think? What would you do? Any thoughts for me?" Something along those lines. If they don't say those things, then they are simply venting. Let them.
As a parent navigating the ways of baby-raising, there are a MILLION ways to do things that result in all-growed-up & decent human beings. There is no one road map to an awesome human being. The paths are infinite.
The bottom line is that as a parent, all each of us have is our instincts. And when you are raising your little ones, those instincts are pretty dialed in to your particular tyke if you give a good listen. So when people give you that unsolicited advice, it is the worst kind of advice because it's about your kids. You know them better than anyone else and they are the most important thing in the entire world to you. Naturally, you feel pretty strongly about what you do and why you do it. So that advice just pisses you off because a) you know you're doing it right by your kid and b) holy shit, what if you aren't?
Ok ok don't get worked up...
I'm not saying all advice is bad. We need to share. There's two ways to do this without offending:
1) Wait until you are asked for advice. Then share it in a supportive, loving way. But don't get all offended if the person doesn't follow it exactly. The person is doing what they feel works for them, sometimes it's what you advised. Sometimes not. Don't take it personally.
2) Share YOUR experiences using "I" statements. People love to hear what other people did. And sometimes it helps. Say "I used to put my baby in a carrier to get them to stop being fussy," NOT "You should put your baby in a carrier to get them to stop fussing." See the difference?
Is some of this post unsolicited? Ha ha. Oh well, you get the f**king point right? Let me raise my baby!!!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
In Between Dreams
Maybe it's now that the dust has cleared. The frantic pace of protecting a newborn baby, to usher it into heart-i-ness. Maybe it's the stillness of my days. Maybe I'm thinking too much.
But I feel weird. There is no greater abrupt change to your being than Birth. No. I spoke too soon. Death mirrors it. Death changes you too. Abruptly. I've been too blessed to know great tragedy. But the light of birth changes you too. Abruptly.
Babies come like trains. You can hear its horn. See its light from months away. You kind of sit on the tracks, waiting. You cower under your arms. In the 9th month, your bulbous body feels the full-formed body under your skin. You know its coming...but what will the impact feel like? How long it will take to put back the pieces into a whole new whole? You vacillate between fear and exceptional joy.
Then, IT HITS. Labor. Birth. Light. Love.
It doesn't just 'start a whole new chapter.' No. It closes the book on that last life. Opens a brand new one. It's that different.
I feel kind of murky now. The old easy life is still fresh in the mind. But fading as memories do. The ego is re-defining, I can feel that. I'm learning to discard the old wants and desires. They are more habit than anything. Impractical. I can't stay up later, I have to get up...in the middle of the night....and in the early morning...I need my sleep...
I think that's where the weirdness lies: In between dreams. I'm riding inside the train now, but in the back caboose. I'm reacting to my life in lag time. As the train barrels forward, I am feeling the need to change cars, to start stumbling towards the front of the train. I want a better view. I want to see where this is going, as opposed to where it's been.
Anyone else feel like this as their baby rounds the five month marker? Like they are coming out from under a rock, seeing the world with brand new eyes?
But I feel weird. There is no greater abrupt change to your being than Birth. No. I spoke too soon. Death mirrors it. Death changes you too. Abruptly. I've been too blessed to know great tragedy. But the light of birth changes you too. Abruptly.
Babies come like trains. You can hear its horn. See its light from months away. You kind of sit on the tracks, waiting. You cower under your arms. In the 9th month, your bulbous body feels the full-formed body under your skin. You know its coming...but what will the impact feel like? How long it will take to put back the pieces into a whole new whole? You vacillate between fear and exceptional joy.
Then, IT HITS. Labor. Birth. Light. Love.
It doesn't just 'start a whole new chapter.' No. It closes the book on that last life. Opens a brand new one. It's that different.
I feel kind of murky now. The old easy life is still fresh in the mind. But fading as memories do. The ego is re-defining, I can feel that. I'm learning to discard the old wants and desires. They are more habit than anything. Impractical. I can't stay up later, I have to get up...in the middle of the night....and in the early morning...I need my sleep...
I think that's where the weirdness lies: In between dreams. I'm riding inside the train now, but in the back caboose. I'm reacting to my life in lag time. As the train barrels forward, I am feeling the need to change cars, to start stumbling towards the front of the train. I want a better view. I want to see where this is going, as opposed to where it's been.
Anyone else feel like this as their baby rounds the five month marker? Like they are coming out from under a rock, seeing the world with brand new eyes?
Monday, February 21, 2011
Mommy Guilt, Already?
Dax is napping right now. In an effort to get him out of his stroller and into his crib, I've now placed the car seat IN the crib. How ridiculous is this? Someone please tell me this isn't my fault. (Please don't comment if you think that it is.)
I feel out of control. When someone asks me what Dax's nap schedule is like I honestly can't really answer it. It changes daily. Someone please tell me this isn't my fault. (Please don't comment if you think that it is.)
Dax is almost five months old. He's huge. Bigger than the 10 month old & the 8 month old & the 12 month old at the mom's group I joined. One pound less than the 14 month old. Someone please tell me this isn't my fault. (Please don't comment if you think that it is.)
Dax likes to be around a ton of people. He likes chaos. I don't. I like it quiet. I like a select group of people; good company or no company is my motto. Someone please tell me I'm not going to screw him up for life if I don't run around all day looking for things to do. (Please don't comment if you think that it will).
Sometimes when I've had a long tiring day with him, I put him in the sling and walk around the living room and watch reality television I've saved on the DVR. Sometimes he watches too. Someone please tell me I'm not going be the cause of a future case of ADHD or some kind of skewed personality disorder that thinks all people are rich and glamorous and snobby. (Please don't comment if you think that it will.)
With love,
My Conscience Darcy
P.S. If I don't get any comments, I'm probably going to lock myself in the closet.
I feel out of control. When someone asks me what Dax's nap schedule is like I honestly can't really answer it. It changes daily. Someone please tell me this isn't my fault. (Please don't comment if you think that it is.)
Dax is almost five months old. He's huge. Bigger than the 10 month old & the 8 month old & the 12 month old at the mom's group I joined. One pound less than the 14 month old. Someone please tell me this isn't my fault. (Please don't comment if you think that it is.)
Dax likes to be around a ton of people. He likes chaos. I don't. I like it quiet. I like a select group of people; good company or no company is my motto. Someone please tell me I'm not going to screw him up for life if I don't run around all day looking for things to do. (Please don't comment if you think that it will).
Sometimes when I've had a long tiring day with him, I put him in the sling and walk around the living room and watch reality television I've saved on the DVR. Sometimes he watches too. Someone please tell me I'm not going be the cause of a future case of ADHD or some kind of skewed personality disorder that thinks all people are rich and glamorous and snobby. (Please don't comment if you think that it will.)
With love,
P.S. If I don't get any comments, I'm probably going to lock myself in the closet.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Oh the Places You Will Go
I was walking yesterday with Dax snug against my chest in the sling. We trekked the neighborhood on our way to the UPS store to ship cloth diapers to another crunchy mama on the East Coast. I felt empowered, each step sure and easy. Dax is quiet against me. His little legs dangling; his navy blue sunhat shielding his face from the light Southern California sun.
We zip past the full bushes of begonias. Blotches of hot pink blooms flash against the saturated green leaves. It's quiet. The sound of my feet tapping the pavement soothes him. He's sucking his pacifier. I wonder if I should have insisted he take it. He'd gone four months, why introduce it now? I brush it off. Because. Because he needs me so much. I relish the break.
The other day my mom asked me if I felt alone. With just me and Dax here. My husband working those long days. Yes. I thought. I think I do sometimes. Is being alone a bad thing? Aren't we all? All alone?
I wouldn't have this any other way. I wouldn't change things.
When Dave told me, all those years ago--we were 22 or 23 or something tender like that--he told me that he thought it's great for mothers to stay-at-home & raise their babies. He told me he wanted something like that too. He meant me. To raise our babies. I shot back, "You're with the wrong girl."
I couldn't imagine a life like that. My identity wrapped up in this little being. I wanted no part of it. I had things to do. Fantastical dreams to wrestle to the ground.
I chased my career in my twenties. Into the ground. It lead me absolutely Nowhere. Disappointed and disheartened. I tried with everything to find What I Was Looking For. And the honest truth is, it wasn't there. The direction I was headed? I simply did not care.
I grew up. I worked anyway. I gave up that Need to Be. It was a relief.
And then it came time. Almost a decade after I scoffed at Dave in the passenger seat of my little pickup, I'm here--in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday with a baby strapped to my chest trekking through our peaceful suburban neighborhood.
I take a breath. Turn the corner and Know
This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
We zip past the full bushes of begonias. Blotches of hot pink blooms flash against the saturated green leaves. It's quiet. The sound of my feet tapping the pavement soothes him. He's sucking his pacifier. I wonder if I should have insisted he take it. He'd gone four months, why introduce it now? I brush it off. Because. Because he needs me so much. I relish the break.
The other day my mom asked me if I felt alone. With just me and Dax here. My husband working those long days. Yes. I thought. I think I do sometimes. Is being alone a bad thing? Aren't we all? All alone?
I wouldn't have this any other way. I wouldn't change things.
When Dave told me, all those years ago--we were 22 or 23 or something tender like that--he told me that he thought it's great for mothers to stay-at-home & raise their babies. He told me he wanted something like that too. He meant me. To raise our babies. I shot back, "You're with the wrong girl."
I couldn't imagine a life like that. My identity wrapped up in this little being. I wanted no part of it. I had things to do. Fantastical dreams to wrestle to the ground.
I chased my career in my twenties. Into the ground. It lead me absolutely Nowhere. Disappointed and disheartened. I tried with everything to find What I Was Looking For. And the honest truth is, it wasn't there. The direction I was headed? I simply did not care.
I grew up. I worked anyway. I gave up that Need to Be. It was a relief.
And then it came time. Almost a decade after I scoffed at Dave in the passenger seat of my little pickup, I'm here--in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday with a baby strapped to my chest trekking through our peaceful suburban neighborhood.
I take a breath. Turn the corner and Know
This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
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