Back In Action…

So I’ve come to terms with the fact that (at least for now) I will not be a famous blogger. Here are the reasons why:

1. I am horrible at writing every day week.
2. Although I make my friends laugh hysterically, I am not a clever writer nor do I have the time patience to develop this particular skill set.
3. I hate proof-reading.
4. I am by far one of the most easily distracted person on the face of this planet. Maybe even the next two down. Perhaps the only person more distractable is on Pluto. Which isn’t a planet. So check out my newest blog A Mother’s Loss.
5. I have a baby.
6. I am writing thinking about a M.Ed. thesis.
7. I am perhaps also one of the world’s greatest procrastinator (see #5)

And since I will not be in the running for next year’s bloggie, I guess I could just write in this blog for myself.  Because, the one time I journaled on a regular basis, I found real happiness and grew more than I can remember doing at one time.

So there.

Now with all that said, wanna know the best workout?  Vacuuming your entire house with a baby on your hip because obviously that vacuum she’s never had a problem with before?  The scariest motherfucker EVER.

Back In Action…

So I’ve come to terms with the fact that (at least for now) I will not be a famous blogger. Here are the reasons why:

1. I am horrible at writing every day week.
2. Although I make my friends laugh hysterically, I am not a clever writer nor do I have the time patience to develop this particular skill set.
3. I hate proof-reading.
4. I am by far one of the most easily distracted person on the face of this planet. Maybe even the next two down. Perhaps the only person more distractable is on Pluto. Which isn’t a planet. So check out my newest blog A Mother’s Loss.
5. I have a baby.
6. I am writing thinking about a M.Ed. thesis.
7. I am perhaps also one of the world’s greatest procrastinator (see #5)

And since I will not be in the running for next year’s bloggie, I guess I could just write in this blog for myself.  Because, the one time I journaled on a regular basis, I found real happiness and grew more than I can remember doing at one time.

So there.

Now with all that said, wanna know the best workout?  Vacuuming your entire house with a baby on your hip because obviously that vacuum she’s never had a problem with before?  The scariest motherfucker EVER.

A Big Ol’ Slice of Humble Pie

I had my first Mommy-Meltdown on Friday.

The Bee refused to take a nap, but was exhausted. I would just get her to sleep and five minutes later she would wake up crying. And cry. And cry and cry. And once she was that worked up, there was no end to the crying. For the first time in the six months she has been on this world, I had to put her down and walk outside for five minutes.

My job is to work with families and show that a new way of doing things. My advice is often pretty common sense stuff and I usually feel guilty for taking any money at all, let alone my hourly rate. And yet, I realize that often my clients don’t see the way out specifically because they are in so deeply. All they need is a fresh pair of eyes.

I’d forgotten that fundamental part of my professional life. In the last two weeks I have become increasingly impatient and worried. I wake up every morning wondering if this will be a good day. I go to sleep every night wondering if she will finally make it through the night again. I spend my days with a worry line between my eyes and my shoulder hitched up high.

I left my crying daughter in her crib so I could walk outside and wonder if I had made a monumental mistake in having a child because this, this is just too hard. I’m not a good enough mother to do this day in and day out. And what if my sweet and easy going baby is permanently replaced with this screaming monster who is attached to my hip. What if all my theories about raising a confident child amounts to a child who is too scared to ever be alone? What if I never get to go to the movies? Get my hair done? Work with my evening clients again?

When I began fantasizing about a life other than my own I decided a change of scenery was more important that sticking it out. Because being there for her at this point was only making it worse. I wasn’t comforting her at this point, I was wanting to be anywhere but here with her. And knowing that broke my heart.

I called my mother in tears and told her I needed a break. And even if the Bee cried while I was gone for just two hours she would be with someone who loved her, who would comfort her and hold her through her tears. And that is all I could do for her lately. Hold her when she cried and tell her I love her.

Of course the Bee fell asleep at 6:00pm and as soon as my mom walked in the door I was out. I called Mike to put our name into the restaraunt and for god’s sake order me a drink. A strong one. The whole way there I just yelled for the pure release of screaming.

And we had an awesome night. We talked about work, our party, our friends, made plans for vacation this year. For the first time in weeks we really connected. We had a moment of our lives before the Bee. Before our lives revolved around diaper services and the merits of one baby food over another. It was heavenly.

We got back about an hour after the baby woke up. She was sitting in my mom’s arms, cuddling her and happy. When I got home she looked up at me, smiled and help up her arms. And instead of resenting it, I craved it. I put her head under my chin and felt peaceful again.

Since then, the Bee has had a fine time. She spent the whole day with my mom on Saturday while we prepared for the party. My mom stayed close enough that I could come quickly if need be, but I never did.

This whole time I’ve been saying that I needed to stick this one out because the Bee needed her mama. That when she was upset only I could fix it. I got annoyed with my mom for even suggesting she could do it just as well as I could.
And the truth? The truth is that the Bee does need her mama. And no one can do it the way that I do. But what is also absolutely true is that it was my own vanity that caused my frustration. Because even though no one can do it the way that I do, doesn’t mean that their way isn’t just as good. I realized that the last two weeks was much more about me needing the Bee than the Bee needing me.

Spicin’ Things Up

So, we have this Halloween party every year. It started out as a ‘House Haunting’ (his choice, not mine) to break in the new digs so to speak. Mike had big plans for this party though…I’m pretty sure the evite for that party said ‘First Annual’.

I guess this party wasn’t so bad the first go round. We had a lot of people, everyone dressed up, hooray. Plus, I was still in my credential program at the time which meant Mike had to handle getting ready. Not a bad deal. But, in subsequent years I just lose more and more enthusiasm for the annual party.

I hate having to clean everything before hand. I hated it when we had a house keeper and I certainly hate it now that we don’t (Carmen, if you’re reading – I really really miss you. Formerly, you were one of the highlights of my week.) I hate the clean up after the party even more. It seems so wrong to spend so much energy making your house look nice only to trash it and then have to make it look nice the next day. I hate that Mike has an entire garage filled with decorations that he won’t put away until March. Yeah, on the whole I really hate this party.

Last year I was in my first trimester and so not only could I not drink, even looking at other people’s drinks made me vomit. This year I have a six month old that hasn’t given me a break in two weeks. I miss pooping in peace people. Not to mention that the old party – getting a wee bit boring. Same people, same activities, same music. At this point I look around at a bunch of adults dressed like Zelda holding fruit punch in skull cups and it borders on the absurd.

I suppose I could help out and try to spice things up a bit. But that’s like trying to spice up a boring sex life. You go to the local porn shack, maybe buy a few toys, rent a few videos. At home you lights some candles, dust off that sexy nighty. But after all that effort, you still have the same old sex, the same old way. At best you have a cheap approximation.

I’m all for sex shops and toys. My motto as a feminist is that every liberated woman needs to own at least one vibrator. And although most pornos are pure comedy, every now and then they can get things going. But when you have to buy the toys instead of wanting to? Honey, just throw in the towel and move on.

How to Provoke a Worried Mother

Be a dog that is by nature extremely loud. Jump on the bed as the baby is starting to fall asleep. Jump off the bed. Jump back on. Jump back off. Open the blinds with your snout. Repeat.

The hardest part…

I’m having a hard time believing it is now November. When I first found out I was pregnant, the year went by so slowly. I looked in the mirror every day hoping to find some proof that I was indeed pregnant.

Once I found that proof, I watched the mirror checking for stretch marks, an outy belly button, any further proof that my body was no longer my own. First the time slowly passed while I waited to really be pregnant, and then the time inched along as I waited to get this baby out!
As soon as the Bee was born, though, our lives went into overdrive. She’s almost six months old now and I honestly don’t know how May turned into November so quickly. Every time she does something new I wonder where the months before that went and I feel so glad I’ve written things down, taken pictures, catalogued her life as fully as possible because this precious gift of time is going faster than I can keep up with and soon it’s going to be gone.

It’s continuing to be a rough time for Ella and me. She is caught up in missing me, maybe? Not feeling as well? Who knows. I just know that I am gone for twenty minutes and she completely falls apart. I’m torn up worrying about her – did someone hurt her? Why is she so suddenly unsure of my return?

I took her to the doctor today because she isn’t sleeping through the night anymore and this morning she was having a hard time with nursing. She got a clean bill of health, but even her pediatrician is a bit concerned with her separation anxiety and sleeping issues. I never come to that office with anything but the happiest of stories about her. So although I’m glad her throat and ears are OK, I am still worried about what is going on in her mind right now.

This weekend we got together with some new friends. On the way back from lunch Brandy and I were chatting in the back seat while Carl and Mike were bonding in the front. Brandy asked me that the hardest transition was after Ella’s birth. And I really had a hard time answering that question.

I mean, the first month is hard. You’re tired, so tired it hurts more than you can imagine. And everything does hurt. You’re stitched from your hoo-haw to you butt, and the stool softeners they give you to ease your way back into pooping are a joke. You’re bleeding so much still that you just shove the hospital grade bed protectors into the net panties they give you at the hospital. You’re hips haven’t come together yet after pushing an 8.5 pound baby through them. You’re breasts ache more than you thought possible – both from your baby sucking on your nipples as if she was a shark and from you milk coming in. Going from a C to a DDDDD in one night is not a pleasant feeling. If you even breath on your breasts you break down in sobs.

But even that first month isn’t so bad and it goes by so quickly. When I was sitting on the nursing pillow to relieve the pressure of my elephantitic hemorhoids at 3:30AM I would look down at her and cry from joy.

So at the time Brandy asked, I think I said that I missed having no restraints on my time. I missed being able to read a book or write in my blog or knit all day long. But even as I said it I knew that wasn’t all that hard either.

As I put my normally happy girl into her carseat crying, I could feel my brows were furrowed. My shoulders have been in knots since last week and I have to remind myself all the time to lower them, take deep breaths. I’m exhausted from expending energy and I can’t even tell you what energy I am expending.

I just got the Bee down for a hopefully very long nap. As I got up from the bed beside her I looked at her peaceful face and instead of feeling peace as well I felt worry. I know her better than I know myself. I know that in the morning she makes the quietest coos and touches my face to wake me up. I know that when she’s tired she arches her back and holds her breath. I know that when she’s really, really, happy she squeels and burries her head into my chest.

And right now I know something is wrong. And I don’t know what it is. And I don’t know how to fix it.

The hardest part of being a mom? Loving someone so much your life depends on it and not being able to fix it when they cry.

The Bermuda Triangle

I think I am coming to the conclusion that perhaps my house must be messy at least in half the space we own. Right before the Bee was born, I spent a great deal of time cleaning everything. I was told I was nesting, but I think really I was just bored out of my mind at home. But I digress.

In order to prepare for the baby’s arrival the following was done:

1. Put together all the furniture we bought at IKEA three months before.

2. Remove all old furniture from our room and put it…somewhere else.

3. Convert my office (sob) into the guest room.

4. Covert the guest room into a nursery.

5. Remove all furniture from living room to make room for new furniture.  Put old furniture…somewhere else.

6. Install new washer and dryer and remove old ones. Put…somewhere.

As I was finishing one room, I found that everything just moved into the next. So the result was I would have one pristine bedroom, but the office would be a maze of bookshelves, bags of clothing, and old furniture.

Eventually this all sorted itself out as we had the amazingly smart idea to move it all into the garage. And have a garage sale. We would totally put up cute fliers. It would be just like Clean Sweep. And then we could use the proceeds to buy a storage unit for the living room from IKEA (see item #1.) We will just wait until it gets a little warmer (this was mid March in the Bay Area. People don’t go garage sale shopping in the fog!)

In retrospect I can see how fraught with problems that plan was. For one thing, we seemed to neglect to take into consideration that when it was a little warmer, I would be a little in labor. Strike one.

We then neglected to note that after I was a little in labor – we’d have a little baby. A be a little tired. Strike two.
And finally, most importantly, we neglected to note that when it was a little warmer, we would still be hopelessly lazy. Strike three and now it’s October 31st. And we still have everything in our garage.

On the positive side, we at least have built in to our yearly routine two events that force us to become moderately organized and clean. A Halloween party and a St. Patrick’s Day dinner.

So, being the only half of this marriage with any ability to clean, organize and give things away with any sense of urgency I called Salvation Army to come take away an apartment’s worth of furniture, kitchen goods, clothing etc.

We had to sort the mess into one tidy area (so they took the washer, but not the skiis for example) last night. And it was like Christmas. We found some wedding presents we didn’t even remember getting – good ones too! We found camping gear that just last month we wished we’d had.

The bad news – although I can now see the floor of my garage again, and sometime in the next 27 hour window of appointment possibility I will be able to even park a car if I so desired, all the shit we found – right back in the house. On the table, on the chairs, in the kitchen…

What’s in a Name?

I may never be able to do anything alone again. That brief glimmer of solitude last week – totally god showing his/her sense of humor again. It was just a brief taste of what could be that was snatched from my outstretched finger tips. Smoke on the wind.

I suppose I could view last Friday as a gift. A calm before the storm. One last day alone. Fuck that, though. People who believe that are the same people who are satisfied with one piece of dark chocolate. Me on the other hand, I want it all. Besides, those sayings in the Dove chocolates are just so entertaining. I must read them all.

With this mentality, Friday was like a drunks small sip of whiskey. It shatters all the resolve you’ve built around you. In that one brief moment – it’s gone. Only, I don’t get to have a raving binge fest. I get a crying baby who suddenly has realized that Mama is an actual person and not actually attached to its back. So, all the sudden, when Mama isn’t there, baby is really, really pissed.

It’s terrible really, and I do honestly believe there must be something else going on besides the Mama Mama’s. Bee is not a fussy baby and she is not prone to crying fits, but for two nights running I have had to leave my client’s house to rescue her from my mother-in-law’s house.

Janet and Lisa are awesome with the Bee and I feel so blessed she has so many friends and family members nearby who can take such good care of her when I am not around.  But, the Bee has been having none of it and about half an hour after I leave goes into hysterics.

(You couldn’t tell there was a pause there.  And that pause?  That was me getting Bee back to sleep a second time during what should be her long nap, but isn’t.)

Last night, after listening to her cry for such a long time  I was losing my mind.  I was so stressed my milk wouldn’t let down and Bee was so stressed she wouldn’t maintain a latch long enough to help.  I needed a break and handed her off to Mike.
I tried to go upstairs, but the crying followed me.  I tried to turn on the fan, but I could hear her over it.  I went back downstairs and as soon as she saw me, the Bee started leaning over Mike’s arms and reaching her arms towards me.  She needed her Mama.

And the enormity of being her Mama struck me just then.  Something is wrong (and given the amount of drool coming out of her itty bitty mouth I’m going with teething…the never ending teething) and she just needs me and at that moment no substitutions will suffice.

So, it doesn’t matter that the awful terrible crying is a screw driver going straight into my brain.  It doesn’t matter that I’m so upset I can’t give her milk.  All my theories about showing her that it’s important to take care of yourself are thrown out the window.

Because my biggest theory of all – showing her that she’s loved.  And what that baby knows is love is that when she needs me, I’ve always got my arms open.  It means sacking it up, taking some Tylenol, doing some deep breathing and getting that milk down.

Nonetheless – it’s been a hard two days and I smell, my hair is frightening and my clothes all have milk stains on them.  And I am truly frightened that this Mama Mama thing will never end.

It’s the Little Things

I joined the gym a week or so ago. I had been going to a kick boxing class at a local martial arts studio. It was awesome – no matter how bad a mood I was in, I could go and kick the shit out of some bags and come home frustration free. There were some problems though. It was from about 7-9 two days a week and then at 10 on Saturdays. I missed having at least one or two nights at home since I have clients in the evenings the other two nights. Plus, after a long day with clients and the Bee it was extraordinarily difficult to muster the energy to even get in the car, not to mention kicking my legs for three minutes straight. And don’t even get me started on waking up for something on Saturday. I’m blessed with a baby that let’s us sleep. I’m not letting such a gift from the heavens go to waste.

So, basically about half my $85 a month went towards sitting on the couch watching Netflix. A point that was not lost on my frugal husband. Never mind that he has yet to sell the 17″ Powerbook he promised to sell when he bought his new 15″ Macbook Pro. Wasting money on an exercise class – bad. Wasting money on an almost brand new Mac – just fine.

Anyway, rather than fight what is clearly not working for me, I decided to work with what did – the mornings. So, my beloved YMCA and I are having another tryst. I’ve been going too! Lots. And I don’t have to drag myself – I want to go. So much that I’ve gone every day for the last 5 days.

Yesterday Mike and I played Raquetball together and it was a blast! I’m a wee bit competitive and Mike doesn’t play anything he can’t win at. This means that we don’t have a whole lot of physical activities we do together. We hike together, backpack, and he skiis while I board. We’ve tried tennis, but he’s about a 1000% better than me and splices the ball and whatnot. I lose miserably and sorely.

But we had so much fun at Raquetball. We didn’t even know the rules and borrowed equipment. It meant we didn’t keep score and we were pretty evenly matched. We reserved the court for Thursday already. I’m really pleased we have a new activity we can do together.

And the Bee went to daycare again and did just fine. The little girls played mommy to her and the daycare worker asked me to rub her belly so she can make one as easy as the Bee.

We had sushi after (with Bee sleeping in my arms) and then came home and watched two of our favorite shows. It was a simple night, but one of the best I can remember having in a long time. I feel so happy to have my family.

Poll – What’s on Your To-Do List?

Parenthood has had one major impact on my life.  I am not sure if becoming a mother made it almost impossible for me to complete just about anything or if becoming a mother just added so many mundane tasks to my day that completing anything at all becomes a major feat.  The bottom line though is that instead of watching a to-do list get smaller, it just keeps getting bigger.  Every. Single. Day.   Were I to believe in god and heaven and all that jazz, I would totally go to a place where I saw my to-do list completely finished right before going to sleep every night.

Here’s  my to-do list for today:

1. Clean the house (which to be fair I kind of did – I put the dishes away and straightened up the living room)

2. Wash and put away the laundry.

3. Buy Halloween costume.

4. Go to Target for stuff around the house.

5. Wake up and go to Yoga.

6. Don’t eat Oreos.

7. View research study video tapes.

8. Post homework to campus.

9. Knit.

10. Watch a movie.

Do you see that?  I only kind-of-sort-of did one single thing I wanted to do.

It’s been a big weekend.  It’s only Saturday night and I am exhausted in the way Sunday night usually brings.  I’m even too tired to get off the couch and put in a DVD.  I would go to bed, but I’d only have to wake up at 3AM to pump because I would be so engorged.  And waking up to pump at 3AM just hurts people.  it hurts in a special kind of way.

Both days we met up with people we haven’t seen in quite a long time.  None of these people had seen us since Ella was born.  None of these people had children of their own, but were considering having children.  This meant that we were subjected to their ’should we have children’ interview questions.  Namely – how tired are you?  When did she start sleeping through the night and how much did your life change?

I guess our lives have changed a lot, but not in the huge ways people imagine.  Bee is a mellow baby who has always been a good sleeper.  We got to sleep about 6-7 hours at a time starting at about month one.  By month 4 she slept through the night.  She is a happy girl and we take her just about anywhere.

It’s mainly the small things that change.  If I leave the house is a question that is weighed against the likelihood of enjoyment vs. the energy expended to pack, carry and put Bee and her paraphernalia into the car.  I hadn’t realized how much I missed having some alone time until I had some on Friday and my back is in a constant state of dull ache.

All that is balanced by how happy I am every morning when I walk into Bee’s room and she smiles up from her crib.  Or how special I feel when she turns around on my lap just to make sure I’m still there.  There is something truly special about having someone in the world who is always happy to see you.  I’m gonna live that shit up until middle school.

I guess that hardest part about being a mom is doing the stuff that is hard.  I hate taking Bee to get shots.  I know it’s in her best interests, but she always looks at my with what I think is confusion.  I am her pillar of strength and safety and I am letting these people hurt her leg? Repeatedly?  What the fuck?!

We aren’t cry it out parents (or at least I’m not, and therefore Mike isn’t either), but sometimes parenthood is loving your kid through the tears even when it’s confusing.