My best friend Doris and I have girls two months apart, her daughter Agnes being older than Mabel. After J's and my inaugural "baby- in- tow" restaurant outing (somewhere around Mabel's four- week birthday), I was telling Doris that it went well but that I was nervous the whole time she would wake up and scream and we'd have to leave Chili's immediately, ditching our Enchiladas in a panic. She commiserated, and suggested that having a baby out in public is like a ticking time- bomb. I loved the analogy then and still do.
There are many instances in which a baby or toddler serves as your own little bomb, so fickle in her decision to freak out or fuss. When babies are newborns, I think the fear of a bomb explosion is worse because newborns tend to wail when they are dissatisfied. Mabel was and is a pretty textbook kid in her conduct: whines when overtired, cries when really, really dissatisfied or sleepy, for the most part is calm and content. 90 percent of the time, Mabel is quiet in the car, either sleeping or day- dreaming. And out in public places, she stares at other patrons and at the store's wares. Unless I take Mabel to the store at 5pm-- the toddler's witching hour-- she's quiet as mouse and makes good company.
I typically pick Mabel up from day care around 4, and yesterday I was full of energy. We needed a bunch of crap from Target, and I figured there was no time like the present. Mabel and I drove over to the store, about 15 minutes away, and I plopped her into the store cart. For the first twenty minutes or so, she stared agape at all the Valentine's Day decor and at passers by. I'll admit I was going about my shopping in a leisurely way-- remembering I wanted one thing at one end of the store and then sauntering back to the other. It was nearly 5:00 when Mabel began her little whines. The sound is something like "ehhh", repeated in around 3 second intervals. After a few, the "ehhh" becomes "ehhhhhh." Oh, man, run and get Similac and Valentine's Day cards. Run, I told myself. I had thrown a few t- shirts in the cart for Mabel already, so I grabbed a colorful one and put it in her lap to play with. In sifting through boxes of Valentines based on kids' shows I had never heard of (Mabel needs Valentines to give out at day care), I took my eyes off her for a second, and didn't realize she was sucking on a little corner of the shirt and the price tag. Oh, well-- what's done is done. She had already drunk all the water in her Sippy, and since we had come directly from day care, I didn't have any reinforcements in the form of a bottle or another Sippy (her original had now hit the Target floor). Now I was really in the desperate place: Well, the Sippy that's touched the Target cart AND floor is probably worse to put a mouth to than this tag. And, yes, I let her continue to chew at the tag. I allowed my child to eat paper.
Racing through the aisles for shampoo and paper- towels, I put up with a few more choruses of "ehhhhh" but was impressed that I had, for the most part, squelched the fussiness. Now we would just need to pay. By the time we got up to the cashier and started emptying our stuff onto the belt, Mabel was really doing some good work on that t- shirt. When I had to give the cashier the shirt, the lady said, "Ummm, do you know how much this was? The tag is gone." I lifted Mabel up and found the tag in two halves under her legs.
Me: "Here you go, sorry they are both wet, but the SKU is there."
Her: "Let me see if the gun will read it..... Um, the bar code is too wet and the tag is too split."
Me (mortified):"That's okay,, you know what, we don't need the t- shirt. Sorry about all this."
Her (so kindly and patiently):"Let me punch the numbers in."
(More "ehhhhhhhhhhh". Mabel wants OUT of her seat.)
Her: "I can't read the last digit. Can you?"
Me: "Maybe a 5??"
Her: "Let me try that."
(It worked.)
I started flinging our purchases into bags to help the cashier. We paid (I should also add for the sake of the story that my total was 381 bucks, and that's because when you bring a baby to a store, you just throw everything you might want into the cart and tell yourself you can return stuff later... and then you don't). We got into the car, and I cleaned off the dirty Sippy with a sanitizing wipe and gave it back to Mabel. She took a few tugs off that thing and passed out.
I can't really express in this blog that feeling that comes on when the ticking time bomb creeps up-- when the whines begin. This sort of nervousness also is brought on when we take Mabel on long car rides and we have to stop for gas. Please don't wake up, please don't wake up. Once you've got them calm/ asleep, you can't risk their waking and riling. The anxiety when you fear the bomb is profound. Tick, tick, tick...
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Time for a Snapshot
Yup, it's that time again that I want to post a snapshot of Mabel's doings. It's going to be quick, because I am utterly swamped with grading. But I was afraid if I didn't do it while thinking of it, I'd forget to do a snapshot any time soon.
Mabel is desperate to walk. She can stand momentarily without holding onto anything, and a couple of times she has taken a step from one thing (say a couch corner) to something else (a table). She can race up the stairs (we only allow this when we are behind her-- otherwise the stairs are gated), and she wears this shit- eating grin of achievement when she gets to the top. It's fun to see her be proud of herself. And speaking of being proud, she also is so when she walks behind her carriage or train, which she now pushes all around the first floor. Her walk while doing so is straddled and awkward; I love it. Mabel makes a lot of sounds now and babbles like crazy. She says both "mama" and "dada" but without association. In fact, most things are either "dada" or "ba." When she DOES call her bottle a "ba" or "baba" I wonder if it's purposeful, similarly to how I wonder if her saying "mama" twice now when I have arrived at day care is coincidental or intentional. Mabel waves hi and bye, and T (day care provider) told me yesterday that Mabel says "bahh bahh" a lot when waving "bye bye" to kids. So far, we aren't counting any of these as first words; we feel we need a little more context for these to be REAL words, but we like that she is making all the fun sounds and syllables.
Mabel laughs hard when her doll Abby Kadabby "talks." She also enjoys flopping down on her stuffed Penelope dog. Mabel's heartiest laughs come when J does this whole tickle monster routine with her. They both are down on all- fours, and they chase each other while shrieking in excitement, and eventually, when J catches up with her and tickles her, she roars giggling. In fact, now when J's key goes in the door, Mabel looks at me inquisitively as if to say, "Is it him?? The tickle monster?" When he enters the room, she goes nuts. Mabel is still loving cell phones and remote controls, and she is dying to play with the ipad but has not been allowed. Dolls and toys are played with for a few minutes usually, but eventually Mabel wants to attack tupperware and other safe kitchenware we let her play with. She has many toys, yet the simple house stuff is what entertains her most... go figure! My favorite skill of hers is the high- 5. If you say, "Mabel, gimme 5!" she will reach up and give you the daintiest and lightest but proudest high- 5 you can imagine. She's even good with low- 5. That girl knows her 5's!
Mabel is desperate to walk. She can stand momentarily without holding onto anything, and a couple of times she has taken a step from one thing (say a couch corner) to something else (a table). She can race up the stairs (we only allow this when we are behind her-- otherwise the stairs are gated), and she wears this shit- eating grin of achievement when she gets to the top. It's fun to see her be proud of herself. And speaking of being proud, she also is so when she walks behind her carriage or train, which she now pushes all around the first floor. Her walk while doing so is straddled and awkward; I love it. Mabel makes a lot of sounds now and babbles like crazy. She says both "mama" and "dada" but without association. In fact, most things are either "dada" or "ba." When she DOES call her bottle a "ba" or "baba" I wonder if it's purposeful, similarly to how I wonder if her saying "mama" twice now when I have arrived at day care is coincidental or intentional. Mabel waves hi and bye, and T (day care provider) told me yesterday that Mabel says "bahh bahh" a lot when waving "bye bye" to kids. So far, we aren't counting any of these as first words; we feel we need a little more context for these to be REAL words, but we like that she is making all the fun sounds and syllables.
Mabel laughs hard when her doll Abby Kadabby "talks." She also enjoys flopping down on her stuffed Penelope dog. Mabel's heartiest laughs come when J does this whole tickle monster routine with her. They both are down on all- fours, and they chase each other while shrieking in excitement, and eventually, when J catches up with her and tickles her, she roars giggling. In fact, now when J's key goes in the door, Mabel looks at me inquisitively as if to say, "Is it him?? The tickle monster?" When he enters the room, she goes nuts. Mabel is still loving cell phones and remote controls, and she is dying to play with the ipad but has not been allowed. Dolls and toys are played with for a few minutes usually, but eventually Mabel wants to attack tupperware and other safe kitchenware we let her play with. She has many toys, yet the simple house stuff is what entertains her most... go figure! My favorite skill of hers is the high- 5. If you say, "Mabel, gimme 5!" she will reach up and give you the daintiest and lightest but proudest high- 5 you can imagine. She's even good with low- 5. That girl knows her 5's!
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
What kind of mom?
I saw a post on a website yesterday that jarred me. It was titled, "What kind of mom are you?" and there was an accompanying quiz to take so you could figure out some handy- dandy word to describe your maternal habits. I felt it stupid right when I glimpsed it, but later I found myself thinking about the concept. Are there really kinds of moms? Am I a kind, one particular type that can be described succinctly?
As you know from early posts, I'm a worrier. Even at 11 months into this game, I still check on Mabel all the time when she's sleeping. I still get nerved up that a cough means an illness, and I still worry that I am doing everything wrong. I have this almost visceral fear that no matter what choice I make, I am messing up Mabel's future somehow. That if I am a teeny bit under a full scoop of formula I will build up in her some horrid disease. That if I don't react to her whines the right way she will be emotionally inept. That if I don't wash her clothes in the right detergent she will have a permanent skin condition. It's probably about my self- esteem, and I probably belong on the couch of a shrink's office, but I have nearly convinced myself I am an inept mom.
I suppose it's because I've never been in charge of a life before. Does every mom go through some level of this "I suck" feeling? Do moms tend to feel more or less confident when they have more kids? Is there any relief?
So even though I know I am a worried mom, I still don't know what "type" of mom I am. I know what I don't want to be. I don't want to be a helicopter mother (seen wayyyy too many of those on my job), and I don't want to be an uninvolved, figure- it- out- yourself parent either. I want to be protective but to a degree that allows for independence. I worry that I can do that. What if I become more and more worried, to the point I want to quarantine Mabel??
I also know that I don't want to be impatient, and I don't want to yell a lot. My parents were awesome in many, many ways while we were growing up-- they were constantly supportive of our endeavors, and they loved us with more heart than I can describe here. But they were also coming off of a generation of old- school, Irish- tempered households. My dad yelled a lot, and got exasperated a lot, and my mom did too. I don't fault them-- they didn't know any other way. And we learned to be respectful of our elders, and to work hard, and to be humble, among other crucial lessons. But I have to wonder if I would have ended up less a Nervous Nellie if they had been calmer. I put a lot of pressure on myself for fear of letting them down (which is funny, because my dad asked only that we always try our best, and said the effort grade was more important than the actual grade. I think I ended up translating that to mean that if I were working hard, I WOULD do well. Maybe I had that perfectionistic way in my hard- wiring. Anyway, I digress...). But I feel myself getting impatient around the house all the time: when the bottle brush won't get all the formula off, when Mabel tips a basket of laundry over, when she changes the channel with the remote and I can't figure out how to fix it. I have to really try-- and calming words from J help too-- not to get unreasonably ticked off sometimes. Argh- the curse of the Irish temper! Temperamental is NOT the kind of mom I want to be.
If I want not to be impatient and angry and tight- assed, then it would logically follow that the kind of mother I want to be is calm and more roll- with- the - punches- esque. I need to have these traits at work too, and in my interactions with J and my parents and everyone else.
While I am not ready to label myself as a kind of mother, at least I have figured out what I don't want to be-- what might be detrimental to Mabel's well- being. She's worth it to me to try-- to try real hard. I hope that no matter what happens, I turn out to be the kind of mom that Mabel needs. She won't be a perfect mother, and she will screw up and act impatient and get nervous and pick at the skin on her thumbs when she's really anxious. But dear goodness, please, please don't let her neuroses eff up that sweet little baby girl.
As you know from early posts, I'm a worrier. Even at 11 months into this game, I still check on Mabel all the time when she's sleeping. I still get nerved up that a cough means an illness, and I still worry that I am doing everything wrong. I have this almost visceral fear that no matter what choice I make, I am messing up Mabel's future somehow. That if I am a teeny bit under a full scoop of formula I will build up in her some horrid disease. That if I don't react to her whines the right way she will be emotionally inept. That if I don't wash her clothes in the right detergent she will have a permanent skin condition. It's probably about my self- esteem, and I probably belong on the couch of a shrink's office, but I have nearly convinced myself I am an inept mom.
I suppose it's because I've never been in charge of a life before. Does every mom go through some level of this "I suck" feeling? Do moms tend to feel more or less confident when they have more kids? Is there any relief?
So even though I know I am a worried mom, I still don't know what "type" of mom I am. I know what I don't want to be. I don't want to be a helicopter mother (seen wayyyy too many of those on my job), and I don't want to be an uninvolved, figure- it- out- yourself parent either. I want to be protective but to a degree that allows for independence. I worry that I can do that. What if I become more and more worried, to the point I want to quarantine Mabel??
I also know that I don't want to be impatient, and I don't want to yell a lot. My parents were awesome in many, many ways while we were growing up-- they were constantly supportive of our endeavors, and they loved us with more heart than I can describe here. But they were also coming off of a generation of old- school, Irish- tempered households. My dad yelled a lot, and got exasperated a lot, and my mom did too. I don't fault them-- they didn't know any other way. And we learned to be respectful of our elders, and to work hard, and to be humble, among other crucial lessons. But I have to wonder if I would have ended up less a Nervous Nellie if they had been calmer. I put a lot of pressure on myself for fear of letting them down (which is funny, because my dad asked only that we always try our best, and said the effort grade was more important than the actual grade. I think I ended up translating that to mean that if I were working hard, I WOULD do well. Maybe I had that perfectionistic way in my hard- wiring. Anyway, I digress...). But I feel myself getting impatient around the house all the time: when the bottle brush won't get all the formula off, when Mabel tips a basket of laundry over, when she changes the channel with the remote and I can't figure out how to fix it. I have to really try-- and calming words from J help too-- not to get unreasonably ticked off sometimes. Argh- the curse of the Irish temper! Temperamental is NOT the kind of mom I want to be.
If I want not to be impatient and angry and tight- assed, then it would logically follow that the kind of mother I want to be is calm and more roll- with- the - punches- esque. I need to have these traits at work too, and in my interactions with J and my parents and everyone else.
While I am not ready to label myself as a kind of mother, at least I have figured out what I don't want to be-- what might be detrimental to Mabel's well- being. She's worth it to me to try-- to try real hard. I hope that no matter what happens, I turn out to be the kind of mom that Mabel needs. She won't be a perfect mother, and she will screw up and act impatient and get nervous and pick at the skin on her thumbs when she's really anxious. But dear goodness, please, please don't let her neuroses eff up that sweet little baby girl.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Memories (or not...)
I scared myself the other day when I realized I don't remember my pregnancy very well, nor Mabel's first few months with us. I hope I don't have amnesia. And I hope that when I got electrocuted by a faulty vacuum cleaner cord last month that it didn't mess with my brain. Maybe, just maybe, Mother Nature makes us not remember so that we will decide to get pregnant again and thus keep the human race going.
Now when I say I don't remember, I don't mean that I don't recall ANYTHING. Of course I remember giving birth (I explained it in some detail in my last post, actually). And I can remember coming home, and Mabel drinking out of those teeny newborn bottles. I also recall writing all her feedings down and how they were about 2.5 hours apart. And I have memories of the baby swing, and that vibrating bouncy chair, and some of her really cute outfits.
But a lot of the details are gone. And yes, that probably means I should have started blogging earlier and when I did start, I should have written more. I don't really remember how I felt every day. And I wish I could still hear-- without looking at videos-- what her coos and even cries sounded like back then. I truly don't remember. I wish I knew what shows I watched when I was doing an in- the- middle- of- the- night feeding, and what little systems J and I used to get things done effectively (I do remember we would take turns making a bunch of bottles at once and storing them, but that's really it). I wish I knew how often she napped and for how long, as those details are sketchy at best, scrawled in a notebook I found the other day.
As for pregnancy, I think: sciatica, heartburn, and 1st- trimester- nausea. I remember being huddled over the toilet praying that I could throw up because the nausea was so constant for a while. And I remember J and I buying the economy- size Tums because we both had heartburn, and mine came on anytime I lay on my back. Even if there were other bad parts to pregnancy, they've been washed away somehow. I'm sure I felt tired a lot or maybe even had aches and pains, but I really don't know now. And I wish I could recall how those first few kicks felt-- the first time I ever felt a baby move inside me.
In terms of post- partum stuff, I do remember bleeding for 5 weeks (sorry, but it's true), but I really have no memory of to what extent that bothered me. I don't know what clothes I wore to keep me comfy post- birth (yoga pants? maternity clothes?). And I have no idea when my body started going back to normal (and no, I have not yet lost all the weight). But at some point, I lost a good deal of it, yet I don't know when. I had that "linea negra" thing down my belly for a while, but I'm not sure when it went away finally. And I don't know when my scary pregnant lady boobs started to go back to some semblance of what they once were.
While a lot of this lack of memory makes me sad, I guess it's good I don't remember all the gruesome stuff. Maybe people are right that some force makes you forget-- maybe it's all evolutionary. It's just such a weird phenomenon how fast pregnancy seems to have gone by in retrospect (in the moment, it's not flying). And the same goes for a baby's growth-- how did Mabel go from this really teeny, completely dependent, little sack of newborn chub to a toddler? And why can't I recall every step of the journey? Guess I should stop being a control freak and let Ma Nature do her thang.
Now when I say I don't remember, I don't mean that I don't recall ANYTHING. Of course I remember giving birth (I explained it in some detail in my last post, actually). And I can remember coming home, and Mabel drinking out of those teeny newborn bottles. I also recall writing all her feedings down and how they were about 2.5 hours apart. And I have memories of the baby swing, and that vibrating bouncy chair, and some of her really cute outfits.
But a lot of the details are gone. And yes, that probably means I should have started blogging earlier and when I did start, I should have written more. I don't really remember how I felt every day. And I wish I could still hear-- without looking at videos-- what her coos and even cries sounded like back then. I truly don't remember. I wish I knew what shows I watched when I was doing an in- the- middle- of- the- night feeding, and what little systems J and I used to get things done effectively (I do remember we would take turns making a bunch of bottles at once and storing them, but that's really it). I wish I knew how often she napped and for how long, as those details are sketchy at best, scrawled in a notebook I found the other day.
As for pregnancy, I think: sciatica, heartburn, and 1st- trimester- nausea. I remember being huddled over the toilet praying that I could throw up because the nausea was so constant for a while. And I remember J and I buying the economy- size Tums because we both had heartburn, and mine came on anytime I lay on my back. Even if there were other bad parts to pregnancy, they've been washed away somehow. I'm sure I felt tired a lot or maybe even had aches and pains, but I really don't know now. And I wish I could recall how those first few kicks felt-- the first time I ever felt a baby move inside me.
In terms of post- partum stuff, I do remember bleeding for 5 weeks (sorry, but it's true), but I really have no memory of to what extent that bothered me. I don't know what clothes I wore to keep me comfy post- birth (yoga pants? maternity clothes?). And I have no idea when my body started going back to normal (and no, I have not yet lost all the weight). But at some point, I lost a good deal of it, yet I don't know when. I had that "linea negra" thing down my belly for a while, but I'm not sure when it went away finally. And I don't know when my scary pregnant lady boobs started to go back to some semblance of what they once were.
While a lot of this lack of memory makes me sad, I guess it's good I don't remember all the gruesome stuff. Maybe people are right that some force makes you forget-- maybe it's all evolutionary. It's just such a weird phenomenon how fast pregnancy seems to have gone by in retrospect (in the moment, it's not flying). And the same goes for a baby's growth-- how did Mabel go from this really teeny, completely dependent, little sack of newborn chub to a toddler? And why can't I recall every step of the journey? Guess I should stop being a control freak and let Ma Nature do her thang.
Friday, January 4, 2013
2012 in Review
It's a new year. People have been saying, 'Happy New Year!' for days now-- as we pass in the halls, as I pay for my gas, as I leave the bank. And I always say it back. Such a simple sentiment, and one that we reiterate with the change of every year, but this year, I seem to mean it-- and feel it-- more. Maybe it's a host of crappy shit that went on in the world this year. Maybe it's because that in my personal life 2012 WAS happy, and I wish that same happiness for all people, and in a more global sense. At any rate, it is indeed a new year, and with the change of the calendar comes a very refreshing albeit trite sense of a clean slate.
I'm not dumb enough to make resolutions anymore. I've gone that route too many times already and always let myself down. Plus, my resolutions always seem generic and I'm not sure how to make them not so. Thus, I won't resolve to do anything specific, but I will be hopeful that 2013 brings us peace, and some joy and fun and spirit and laughter.
2012 was a biggie for J and me. We got hitched, bought a house, and-- most importantly-- welcomed Mabel. It's fun to think back on my pregnancy, especially because we were all so convinced Mabel was a boy. For a Type- A person, deciding not to find out the gender of our baby was a toughie for me at first, but retrospectively, it was the best decision we could have made. There was something so utterly fantastic about hearing the sex of the baby for the first time after she had made her debut. It made the moment of birth that much more exciting. I'd do it that way again in a second.
So, yup, it was a year of lots of events. Lots of stuff packed into one calendar year. I have to admit though that I am relieved a lot is behind us. Planning the wedding had enjoyable parts to it, but I just wanted the day to arrive, and to eat, drink, and dance. And anybody sane will tell you that a home purchase is most fun when it is done with. Those sorts of "mile- markers" are cool ones, but I think I will use this blog post to do a little review of Mabel's events in 2012.
Mabel was born on Feb 22, at 5:19AM. She was supposed to join us on Feb 15 but had other plans. On Monday, Feb 20, I was induced with Cervadil, and the induction didn't work. The following morning, I received a second type of induction, and, again, NADA. I was terrified that the docs would make me keep waiting and that J and I would be hospital- bound for days and days. But, nope! Good old Dr. L to the rescue (part of why I adore her even more now!). She broke my water-- literally with a wooden stick-- at 4pm-ish on Feb 21, and BOOM, I was in real labor. About 12 hours later (after two Epi- dural doses, an anti- nausea med, and lots of boredom and anxiety), I reached 10 centimeters dilation, and after an hour of pushing and eating popsicles, Mabel was with us. Labor was funny (not in a hee- haw, knee- slapper way) because it was so, so opposite to how I had pictured it. It may have been because I got to 10cm in the wee hours of the day, but my push period was super- quiet. Only J, our awesome nurse Linda, and I were even in the room. Linda held one of my legs and J the other. When the pushes really hurt, I remember growing exasperated and yelling at poor J. I couldn't take my pain out on sweet Linda. :) J had to bear the brunt of my wrath, when I criticized how he was holding my leg, and how he needed to stop talking about the "tools" in the room because it was making me sicker. Ah, the joys! Well, Mabel was certainly worth it all.
We stayed in the hospital until that Friday, the 24th. We left on a cold but not biting day, and that ride home from the hospital to our place was so anxiety- provoking. "Omg, we have a baby now... a human. Please God, don't let us eff this up."
And here we are 10.5 months later. Mabel has mastered many things over time, from rolling over, to sitting up, to military- scooting, to crawling, to standing, to walking while holding onto things for assistance. She now opens all cabinets and drawers-- well, she tries, but is thwarted by our baby proofers. She eats foods that range from lasagna to broccoli. Mabel dances when music comes on-- she bops her head back and forth, and sometimes swings her head wildly, really craning her neck-- it's adorable. She takes baths in the real tub, and loves playing with her rubber duckies. Some of her favorite toys are the Elmo guitar, her Penelope dog, her baby carriage walker, and-- perhaps her prized item-- an old remote control from which we took the batteries. She will travel all over the house with her remote, careful not to lose sight of it. Mabel is into almost all 12- month clothing, and now knows how to remove headbands from her head. :( She sleeps about 12 hours per night, and when she wakes in the morning, she stands up and hangs out quietly for a while before whining for us. My favorite move of Mabel's is her fall- asleep- in- the- highchair move on very tired days. That girl can pass right out while sitting up. She loves dogs, especially Cammy-- not sure the feeling is mutual as he usually gets annoyed with her fur- pulling antics, and who can blame him. She giggles heartily when she pounces on him, and we are trying to instill the "pat not pull" mantra to get her to be a little more gentle with him. Mabel celebrated her first Christmas this year, and everybody was so generous with her. She has still only two teeth-- front bottom-- and her hair is ever so slowly starting to look more girlish, coming down over her ears a bit. Favorite sounds include "da" and "ennn"-- still waiting on the "ma"! I have a feeling she will be saying even the dog's name before "ma".
Been a fun ride with the gal so far. It's crazy to me how much babies' brains absorb, and how much they observe and take in and use. What an edifying experience for her mom! Happy 2013 to all--- and may you find your "happy" in whatever that means to you.
I'm not dumb enough to make resolutions anymore. I've gone that route too many times already and always let myself down. Plus, my resolutions always seem generic and I'm not sure how to make them not so. Thus, I won't resolve to do anything specific, but I will be hopeful that 2013 brings us peace, and some joy and fun and spirit and laughter.
2012 was a biggie for J and me. We got hitched, bought a house, and-- most importantly-- welcomed Mabel. It's fun to think back on my pregnancy, especially because we were all so convinced Mabel was a boy. For a Type- A person, deciding not to find out the gender of our baby was a toughie for me at first, but retrospectively, it was the best decision we could have made. There was something so utterly fantastic about hearing the sex of the baby for the first time after she had made her debut. It made the moment of birth that much more exciting. I'd do it that way again in a second.
So, yup, it was a year of lots of events. Lots of stuff packed into one calendar year. I have to admit though that I am relieved a lot is behind us. Planning the wedding had enjoyable parts to it, but I just wanted the day to arrive, and to eat, drink, and dance. And anybody sane will tell you that a home purchase is most fun when it is done with. Those sorts of "mile- markers" are cool ones, but I think I will use this blog post to do a little review of Mabel's events in 2012.
Mabel was born on Feb 22, at 5:19AM. She was supposed to join us on Feb 15 but had other plans. On Monday, Feb 20, I was induced with Cervadil, and the induction didn't work. The following morning, I received a second type of induction, and, again, NADA. I was terrified that the docs would make me keep waiting and that J and I would be hospital- bound for days and days. But, nope! Good old Dr. L to the rescue (part of why I adore her even more now!). She broke my water-- literally with a wooden stick-- at 4pm-ish on Feb 21, and BOOM, I was in real labor. About 12 hours later (after two Epi- dural doses, an anti- nausea med, and lots of boredom and anxiety), I reached 10 centimeters dilation, and after an hour of pushing and eating popsicles, Mabel was with us. Labor was funny (not in a hee- haw, knee- slapper way) because it was so, so opposite to how I had pictured it. It may have been because I got to 10cm in the wee hours of the day, but my push period was super- quiet. Only J, our awesome nurse Linda, and I were even in the room. Linda held one of my legs and J the other. When the pushes really hurt, I remember growing exasperated and yelling at poor J. I couldn't take my pain out on sweet Linda. :) J had to bear the brunt of my wrath, when I criticized how he was holding my leg, and how he needed to stop talking about the "tools" in the room because it was making me sicker. Ah, the joys! Well, Mabel was certainly worth it all.
We stayed in the hospital until that Friday, the 24th. We left on a cold but not biting day, and that ride home from the hospital to our place was so anxiety- provoking. "Omg, we have a baby now... a human. Please God, don't let us eff this up."
And here we are 10.5 months later. Mabel has mastered many things over time, from rolling over, to sitting up, to military- scooting, to crawling, to standing, to walking while holding onto things for assistance. She now opens all cabinets and drawers-- well, she tries, but is thwarted by our baby proofers. She eats foods that range from lasagna to broccoli. Mabel dances when music comes on-- she bops her head back and forth, and sometimes swings her head wildly, really craning her neck-- it's adorable. She takes baths in the real tub, and loves playing with her rubber duckies. Some of her favorite toys are the Elmo guitar, her Penelope dog, her baby carriage walker, and-- perhaps her prized item-- an old remote control from which we took the batteries. She will travel all over the house with her remote, careful not to lose sight of it. Mabel is into almost all 12- month clothing, and now knows how to remove headbands from her head. :( She sleeps about 12 hours per night, and when she wakes in the morning, she stands up and hangs out quietly for a while before whining for us. My favorite move of Mabel's is her fall- asleep- in- the- highchair move on very tired days. That girl can pass right out while sitting up. She loves dogs, especially Cammy-- not sure the feeling is mutual as he usually gets annoyed with her fur- pulling antics, and who can blame him. She giggles heartily when she pounces on him, and we are trying to instill the "pat not pull" mantra to get her to be a little more gentle with him. Mabel celebrated her first Christmas this year, and everybody was so generous with her. She has still only two teeth-- front bottom-- and her hair is ever so slowly starting to look more girlish, coming down over her ears a bit. Favorite sounds include "da" and "ennn"-- still waiting on the "ma"! I have a feeling she will be saying even the dog's name before "ma".
Been a fun ride with the gal so far. It's crazy to me how much babies' brains absorb, and how much they observe and take in and use. What an edifying experience for her mom! Happy 2013 to all--- and may you find your "happy" in whatever that means to you.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Human Sunrises
I've been thinking about writing a post for a few days now but have come up with a bunch of excuses. I know, though, deep down that the real reason is because I feel inclined to write something about the Connecticut tragedy of last Friday, yet I am frightened to even go there. I decided I need to get past that fright, because writing about it will be therapeutic. And there's a lot I've thought about as a "rookie mom" as all of this has been unwinding. Being a mother has put a new black and dreary spin on things as I hear and see the images of grief- stricken parents. I feel tightness in my chest, tears in my eyes, horror in my heart for these people. They've lived the unimaginable, the unthinkable. And why do people say that-- that it's "unimaginable" when, actually, we all could imagine something like this happening? It's got to be because when we start to imagine it, we become so jolted, so crippled in fear, so overcome with anxiety that we have to stop giving it the remotest bit of attention. Yet, in the wake of what occurred, I find myself still giving it a lot of my attention and I'm not totally sure why.
This morning on the drive to work I heard an NPR interview with the mom of a little boy who was killed on Friday. She described the horror of Friday and her subsequent current grief. She said her surviving children are already in counseling because she's too broken to help them right now. The outpouring of words of comfort and acts of kindness has helped, she said, during this interview that took place at the site of the town's vigil. But her voice cracked, and her words were very drawn- out, almost in monotone. This was the shell of a woman, I could tell. She said she frantically arrived at the scene on Friday and found her two daughters (one of whom is a twin sister to the boy who passed) in the company of some local emergency workers. She looked for her son but was already throwing up, over and over again, she said, because she knew he was dead. She just knew. It was intuition. And her life would never be the same.
I've been walking this fine line for days now--- the line of too much media exposure to this tragedy. I know myself by now, and I know that seeing and hearing specifics means I will ruminate on them, reflect on them, even dream of them at night. I will cry for the kids whose faces I've now seen in pictures. I'll picture their empty bedrooms, and their bikes in the garage. I'll hear the voices of their siblings ask when they're coming home, and the parents saying over and over that they're not. I'll envision the dads and moms sitting up in the cold, dark night bawling their eyes out so hard that they're choking. But I can't help but think and picture and envision. To imagine the unimaginable. I guess maybe it seems unfair that I should get to turn the TV off when these parents can't turn anything off. They have to suffer, so avoiding things feels irresponsible. I feel I should learn about what happened, and learn of these kids' legacies because it's what's right to do-- to be part of this big entwined world we are a part of called the human condition. Why should I get to go on my merry way? I found myself cursing out radio stations that were playing music and telling jokes as usual yesterday morning. They seemed so irreverent. But then I realized maybe I am the one who is irreverent in not understanding that people all grieve differently, and for a lot of people, they can't function unless they turn it off. Imagining the unimaginable is simply too much. While I am somehow finding some help and aid and comfort in hearing and seeing things, a lot of people need to compartmentalize and move on.
Perhaps part of my need to see and hear more and more is because I am a teacher AND a mom; there are two ways in which I can imagine the unimaginable. Two reasons for which I can do the whole "what if" thing. Two huge parts of my life that cause me to want to piece all this together and figure out what the world means and what it's all coming to. Two realms I feel I am supposed to protect. Two arenas that are precious. I'm not one of those people, as I've referenced in previous posts, who thinks that moms or parents are special as compared to the rest of the population. Being a mom was a decision and it's a responsibility and it perhaps further connects me to some possible fears and griefs. But I'm not going to sit here and type that only parents can understand the magnitude of what happened on Friday. That is preposterous. Anyone with family or even one friend he or she cares about can conceive of the horror and terror that would ensue in a massive loss like this. So I'm not saying momhood makes me special. Or that being a teacher makes me somehow more connected to what happened either. But it's made my imagination of the unimaginable more sharp, more keen, more scary. It's made my inner peace more shaken. My daily life less mundane and more terrifying. My feeling of any iota of control much, much less.
In discussing the tragedy with my students, a few of them told me they didn't understand how school could become a place to fear. And how the world could be so unsafe, and so sad. They wanted to know when they would start to feel better and how. And one young lady talked about Alice Walker's gorgeous essay "Human Sunrise." She later sent me a link to the text, and here's the part I absolutely adore:
"We are rising all over the globe now, in this most terrible of times for Earthlings and for our Home planet. People everywhere are moving, joining each other, plotting and planning how we may protect and provide for the challenges of the Age. Still, there are, and will be, days of incredible depression and distress as we encounter the hard truths of the suffering of the Earth and her Creatures. There are abominations occurring on our planet that I’m convinced would have been unimaginable in the Buddha’s lifetime. They are unimaginable even in my own lifetime – and I have actually encountered some of them. The horrible genocide, the incessant war and war mongering, the dropping of bombs on the poor; the starving, deliberately, of children. The greed. The mutilation, cannibalism and enslavement forced on people who are at the mercy of weaponry and force wielded by people they’ve never even seen.
And I say to that: When it is all too much; when the news is so bad meditation itself feels useless, and a single life feels too small a stone to offer on the altar of Peace, find a Human Sunrise. Find those people who are committed to changing our scary reality. Human sunrises are happening all over the earth, at every moment. People gathering, people working to change the intolerable, people coming in their robes and sandals or in their rags and bare feet, and they are singing, or not, and they are chanting, or not. But they are working to bring peace, light, compassion, to the infinitely frightening downhill slide of Human life."
And so I am trying to decide to imagine human sunrises now as I ruminate on, reflect on, and sometimes even obsess over what has happened. Countering the bad with human sunrise thoughts won't fix everything. As a teacher, as a mom, as a human, I feel spiritless, weak, and alone when I think about the horrors of our world that only seem to worsen. But I know that if I don't try-- if I don't continue to teach my students in the best ways I can, and if I don't continue to show Mabel the beauty and greatness of the world-- then not only have I failed myself, then I've failed the human sunrises, and the people who have left the world too soon.
This morning on the drive to work I heard an NPR interview with the mom of a little boy who was killed on Friday. She described the horror of Friday and her subsequent current grief. She said her surviving children are already in counseling because she's too broken to help them right now. The outpouring of words of comfort and acts of kindness has helped, she said, during this interview that took place at the site of the town's vigil. But her voice cracked, and her words were very drawn- out, almost in monotone. This was the shell of a woman, I could tell. She said she frantically arrived at the scene on Friday and found her two daughters (one of whom is a twin sister to the boy who passed) in the company of some local emergency workers. She looked for her son but was already throwing up, over and over again, she said, because she knew he was dead. She just knew. It was intuition. And her life would never be the same.
I've been walking this fine line for days now--- the line of too much media exposure to this tragedy. I know myself by now, and I know that seeing and hearing specifics means I will ruminate on them, reflect on them, even dream of them at night. I will cry for the kids whose faces I've now seen in pictures. I'll picture their empty bedrooms, and their bikes in the garage. I'll hear the voices of their siblings ask when they're coming home, and the parents saying over and over that they're not. I'll envision the dads and moms sitting up in the cold, dark night bawling their eyes out so hard that they're choking. But I can't help but think and picture and envision. To imagine the unimaginable. I guess maybe it seems unfair that I should get to turn the TV off when these parents can't turn anything off. They have to suffer, so avoiding things feels irresponsible. I feel I should learn about what happened, and learn of these kids' legacies because it's what's right to do-- to be part of this big entwined world we are a part of called the human condition. Why should I get to go on my merry way? I found myself cursing out radio stations that were playing music and telling jokes as usual yesterday morning. They seemed so irreverent. But then I realized maybe I am the one who is irreverent in not understanding that people all grieve differently, and for a lot of people, they can't function unless they turn it off. Imagining the unimaginable is simply too much. While I am somehow finding some help and aid and comfort in hearing and seeing things, a lot of people need to compartmentalize and move on.
Perhaps part of my need to see and hear more and more is because I am a teacher AND a mom; there are two ways in which I can imagine the unimaginable. Two reasons for which I can do the whole "what if" thing. Two huge parts of my life that cause me to want to piece all this together and figure out what the world means and what it's all coming to. Two realms I feel I am supposed to protect. Two arenas that are precious. I'm not one of those people, as I've referenced in previous posts, who thinks that moms or parents are special as compared to the rest of the population. Being a mom was a decision and it's a responsibility and it perhaps further connects me to some possible fears and griefs. But I'm not going to sit here and type that only parents can understand the magnitude of what happened on Friday. That is preposterous. Anyone with family or even one friend he or she cares about can conceive of the horror and terror that would ensue in a massive loss like this. So I'm not saying momhood makes me special. Or that being a teacher makes me somehow more connected to what happened either. But it's made my imagination of the unimaginable more sharp, more keen, more scary. It's made my inner peace more shaken. My daily life less mundane and more terrifying. My feeling of any iota of control much, much less.
In discussing the tragedy with my students, a few of them told me they didn't understand how school could become a place to fear. And how the world could be so unsafe, and so sad. They wanted to know when they would start to feel better and how. And one young lady talked about Alice Walker's gorgeous essay "Human Sunrise." She later sent me a link to the text, and here's the part I absolutely adore:
"We are rising all over the globe now, in this most terrible of times for Earthlings and for our Home planet. People everywhere are moving, joining each other, plotting and planning how we may protect and provide for the challenges of the Age. Still, there are, and will be, days of incredible depression and distress as we encounter the hard truths of the suffering of the Earth and her Creatures. There are abominations occurring on our planet that I’m convinced would have been unimaginable in the Buddha’s lifetime. They are unimaginable even in my own lifetime – and I have actually encountered some of them. The horrible genocide, the incessant war and war mongering, the dropping of bombs on the poor; the starving, deliberately, of children. The greed. The mutilation, cannibalism and enslavement forced on people who are at the mercy of weaponry and force wielded by people they’ve never even seen.
And I say to that: When it is all too much; when the news is so bad meditation itself feels useless, and a single life feels too small a stone to offer on the altar of Peace, find a Human Sunrise. Find those people who are committed to changing our scary reality. Human sunrises are happening all over the earth, at every moment. People gathering, people working to change the intolerable, people coming in their robes and sandals or in their rags and bare feet, and they are singing, or not, and they are chanting, or not. But they are working to bring peace, light, compassion, to the infinitely frightening downhill slide of Human life."
And so I am trying to decide to imagine human sunrises now as I ruminate on, reflect on, and sometimes even obsess over what has happened. Countering the bad with human sunrise thoughts won't fix everything. As a teacher, as a mom, as a human, I feel spiritless, weak, and alone when I think about the horrors of our world that only seem to worsen. But I know that if I don't try-- if I don't continue to teach my students in the best ways I can, and if I don't continue to show Mabel the beauty and greatness of the world-- then not only have I failed myself, then I've failed the human sunrises, and the people who have left the world too soon.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Old... or Not?
I'm feeling old lately. I don't mean to be whiny; in fact, I haven't even decided yet whether feeling old is a bad thing. So for now, it's just a fact. One might suggest this post has been spurred by the fact that I turn 34 this month. But I don't think 34 is old at all-- when I hear of my friends turning 34 or even older, it doesn't even faze me. And my feeling old seems not to do with the number so much as it does have to do with a feeling.
I was a single girl, living on my own and supporting myself fully for a few years after I got divorced from my first marriage until I moved in with J in August of 2011. During that time, I got used to my own ways-- plopping my bag right smack in the middle of the living room floor after work, reclining on the couch, and making dinner when I felt like it. When I had a lot of work to do, I would drink unhealthy amounts of coffee so I could stay up later. I'd go sit at the Coolidge Corner Panera often, comfortably recumbent in the chair next to the fireplace, and grade papers while listening to my iPOD. On the walk home, I might stop in at one of the local shops and browse. On the weekends (and sometimes during the week), I would enjoy cocktails with friends and sometimes spend massive amounts of money on meals out at fantastic restaurants. Even though doctors counsel people to sleep about the same amount each night, my sleep "pattern" (or lack thereof) was all over the place-- 4 hours one night, 12 hours the next. I didn't have anyone to answer to. And when J and I were first dating, he lived in CT and I lived here. I was truly on my own, and sometimes my habits and inclinations were unhealthy, but I lived the way I wanted to and I wasn't hurting anyone else.
Since we've had Mabel, everything has become, by the very nature of parenthood, scheduled. We feed Mabel on a schedule, and her early morning wake- ups entail scheduled sleep for us too. (This is where I am agape again at how teen parents do all this....) We plan activities in ways that will enable naps, or at least allow for something akin to a nap. If we go out alone, we are chained to the schedules of willing babysitters. While my words might be painting a bleak picture, neither J nor I really minds this way of life. I'm just trying to draw the distinction between now and back in my single days.
So, have the patterns and routines and schedules made me feel older? Knowing that I can't really drink when I go out, unless I want to hate myself the next day when we are up early entertaining the little one, has made dinners and other adventures out with friends vastly different. I still go--and I will ALWAYS make at least SOME time for me, my friends, and some laughs. But living way out in the burbs-- a good 50 minutes from the city-- has made trips out with city- dwelling buddies more sparse. Still, even this "scheduledness" doesn't seem to key into why I feel old. Or not completely anyway.
I think my newfound feeling has more to do with being less adventurous, less risk- taking. I'm nervous to eat poorly and get clogged up arteries. I spend less money on whimsical things because I know the dough should go to home improvements and stuff for Mabel. Even when Mabel isn't in the car, I still tend to drive like a nana. I don't ever stay up late anymore-- ever. I fear too much what the next day will be like for me. J and I make dinner by 6pm every night. No more lazy, do- it- when- you- feel- like- it around our house.
I know that motherhood has changed me, because if J and I didn't have Mabel, we would probably still be driving over to JP Lick's for ice- cream at 10:30pm on a work night. And if I hadn't met J, I would probably still be walking over to "The Coolidge" for a Monday night movie showing of "The Kids Are All Right," complete with my diet coke and buttery popcorn for one. I'd be spending money on cabs and glasses of wine, because, well, why wouldn't I continue to enjoy life? But it's weird how life changes without even making a real decision. I never actively said, "No more caffeine at night." Or "you need to be a safer driver." It all just happened.
J and I joke a lot about how lame and super- duper boring we have become. (One recent Sat night he went to bed at 6:45pm- no joke.) It's easy to sort of "blame" the baby. But Mabel never made a set of ground rules for us either. All of this evolution of sorts just occurred. I'm not going to close this entry with a sappy sentiment like, "I wouldn't have it any other way!" or "Parenthood is worth it all!", because of course it is. Duh. Mabel is the most awesome, fabulous, fantastic, wicked cool thing to ever be bestowed on me-- goes without saying. She has made my life more fun, goofy, and special all at the same time. And right there lies the irony-- while my life might seem less fun, and I may feel older, I'm actually more in the thick of daily fun than I ever have been before. People often says babies change you. Yes, they do. But they don't have to change who you are. Deep down, I am the same caffeine- swigging, last- minute- grocery- buying gal I always was; I just am in a stage where I have decided to make my life easier by making some changes. Mabel didn't force unfair change upon me; I guess I must have decided how parenting needed to be for me, and we decided as a couple how it needed to be for J and me. I guess if we are old farts, then we are still a couple of fun ones-- just on hiatus from our original modes of fun and into a new territory for a while.
I was a single girl, living on my own and supporting myself fully for a few years after I got divorced from my first marriage until I moved in with J in August of 2011. During that time, I got used to my own ways-- plopping my bag right smack in the middle of the living room floor after work, reclining on the couch, and making dinner when I felt like it. When I had a lot of work to do, I would drink unhealthy amounts of coffee so I could stay up later. I'd go sit at the Coolidge Corner Panera often, comfortably recumbent in the chair next to the fireplace, and grade papers while listening to my iPOD. On the walk home, I might stop in at one of the local shops and browse. On the weekends (and sometimes during the week), I would enjoy cocktails with friends and sometimes spend massive amounts of money on meals out at fantastic restaurants. Even though doctors counsel people to sleep about the same amount each night, my sleep "pattern" (or lack thereof) was all over the place-- 4 hours one night, 12 hours the next. I didn't have anyone to answer to. And when J and I were first dating, he lived in CT and I lived here. I was truly on my own, and sometimes my habits and inclinations were unhealthy, but I lived the way I wanted to and I wasn't hurting anyone else.
Since we've had Mabel, everything has become, by the very nature of parenthood, scheduled. We feed Mabel on a schedule, and her early morning wake- ups entail scheduled sleep for us too. (This is where I am agape again at how teen parents do all this....) We plan activities in ways that will enable naps, or at least allow for something akin to a nap. If we go out alone, we are chained to the schedules of willing babysitters. While my words might be painting a bleak picture, neither J nor I really minds this way of life. I'm just trying to draw the distinction between now and back in my single days.
So, have the patterns and routines and schedules made me feel older? Knowing that I can't really drink when I go out, unless I want to hate myself the next day when we are up early entertaining the little one, has made dinners and other adventures out with friends vastly different. I still go--and I will ALWAYS make at least SOME time for me, my friends, and some laughs. But living way out in the burbs-- a good 50 minutes from the city-- has made trips out with city- dwelling buddies more sparse. Still, even this "scheduledness" doesn't seem to key into why I feel old. Or not completely anyway.
I think my newfound feeling has more to do with being less adventurous, less risk- taking. I'm nervous to eat poorly and get clogged up arteries. I spend less money on whimsical things because I know the dough should go to home improvements and stuff for Mabel. Even when Mabel isn't in the car, I still tend to drive like a nana. I don't ever stay up late anymore-- ever. I fear too much what the next day will be like for me. J and I make dinner by 6pm every night. No more lazy, do- it- when- you- feel- like- it around our house.
I know that motherhood has changed me, because if J and I didn't have Mabel, we would probably still be driving over to JP Lick's for ice- cream at 10:30pm on a work night. And if I hadn't met J, I would probably still be walking over to "The Coolidge" for a Monday night movie showing of "The Kids Are All Right," complete with my diet coke and buttery popcorn for one. I'd be spending money on cabs and glasses of wine, because, well, why wouldn't I continue to enjoy life? But it's weird how life changes without even making a real decision. I never actively said, "No more caffeine at night." Or "you need to be a safer driver." It all just happened.
J and I joke a lot about how lame and super- duper boring we have become. (One recent Sat night he went to bed at 6:45pm- no joke.) It's easy to sort of "blame" the baby. But Mabel never made a set of ground rules for us either. All of this evolution of sorts just occurred. I'm not going to close this entry with a sappy sentiment like, "I wouldn't have it any other way!" or "Parenthood is worth it all!", because of course it is. Duh. Mabel is the most awesome, fabulous, fantastic, wicked cool thing to ever be bestowed on me-- goes without saying. She has made my life more fun, goofy, and special all at the same time. And right there lies the irony-- while my life might seem less fun, and I may feel older, I'm actually more in the thick of daily fun than I ever have been before. People often says babies change you. Yes, they do. But they don't have to change who you are. Deep down, I am the same caffeine- swigging, last- minute- grocery- buying gal I always was; I just am in a stage where I have decided to make my life easier by making some changes. Mabel didn't force unfair change upon me; I guess I must have decided how parenting needed to be for me, and we decided as a couple how it needed to be for J and me. I guess if we are old farts, then we are still a couple of fun ones-- just on hiatus from our original modes of fun and into a new territory for a while.
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