Let's hear it for the girls!

The newest member of the baby niece clan was born this week. Kate Michelle (all nine pounds three ounces of her) made her way into this world on December 18th. Seeing the change in dynamic of my brother's family has brought a newfound awareness to the need for balance. Quite literally as I was holding the newborn Kate AND my own toddler, while trying to get the pacifier back into the baby's mouth. I wasn't successful. Then there is trying to balance your attentions between the baby and the one who was there first, although most of the time Rachel is proud to play the role of older sister, her own baby doll in tow. There is also the sense of balancing out the family-mom, dad, two kids. And let's not forget, trying to restore inner balance following the birth of a baby. Some of us are still struggling with that one, a year and a half later. The best balancing acts are those with adequate support systems and it is vital that as friends and family we recognize this during times of transition for those we care about. I am incredibly proud of my brother and sister in law and am honored to be along on their journey through parenthood.

Congratulations to the best parents Baby Kate (and Rachel) could ask for.

Enough is Enough

I have some confessions to make. My blog posts aren't creative enough. I do not post enough. I am not patient enough with my son. My house is not clean enough or decorated enough for the holidays. The meals I cook are not exciting enough. I do not walk my dogs enough. I do not call my friends or family enough. When they call me, I do not call them back quick enough. I do not practice yoga enough. I do not meditate near enough. I do not contribute enough- to my relationships, my household, our finances. I do not play with my son enough. I do not give in enough. I do not sleep enough. I do not read enough or journal enough.

Enough. Really, enough already.

Who is setting these expectations? Although, I suspect I am not drowning alone in my sea of inadequacies, I am pretty sure they are self imposed. Why is it we are always striving for something so far out of reach? Why is "what is" never good enough? My husband has this thing he says when things don't necessarily go as planned- "it is what it is". I typically get really angry when he says this- things should be different! I am fairly certain he is not coming from a place of zen acceptance (or maybe he is and I am short changing him as well) but he is right. Once we can acknowledge our circumstances for what they are we can stop spending so much time agonizing over why they should be different, especially in matters of self acceptance.

I am certainly not suggesting that we close ourselves off to opportunities for growth. In fact, I believe that acceptance lends itself to growth because it allows us to be truly present and aware of who we are at our cores. But spending time worrying about "not being enough" is really just ruminating over the past and the only power we have over the past is the ability it has to impact our present . Instead of thinking "I always yell at my son" rephrase it to "I have yelled at my son... in the past". This gives us the power to make a change if we feel it is appropriate, instead of defining the future by choices we have previously made. How about "it was what it was"?

I am off to practice what I preach. I don't do that enough.

Thanksgiving

Here is my gratuitous post on gratitude on this holiday founded on family, food and tradition. We so often become consumed with the responsibilities of the day that it is easy to lose sight of what matters. Which is basically a metaphor for the rest of the year isn't it? Maybe the sentiment of gratitude is in the hustle and bustle, the food that doesn't cook as quickly as you planned, the family member that ALWAYS gets on your nerves. I have a way of setting up expectations for holidays and special events that never fail to let me down. Nothing ever goes as planned, but that is the beauty of the journey of life. There is a lesson to be learned around the corner with each step along the path. Appreciating the moments in life for what they are is the essence of gratitude, not extraordinary gestures of sentiment. This Thanksgiving, join me in accepting what is- and let's be thankful just for that.

Happy Thanksgiving.

"Mothering Out Loud"

When I became a mom I found a voice I didn't know I had as well as a community of women with voices just as loud. It is fascinating the culture that exists in the virtual world (blog in point) of women with something to say, especially mothers. I can't tell you how many hours I've tallied during naptime looking in the online window of other mom's day to day lives and yelling out "it's not just me!" or "I hear ya, sister!" all with an anonymous voice. The blogs, websites, online magazines devoted to moms and mom's issues are in abundance- there is literally something for every mom, every mothering style, every mothering issue. So many times I have read a favorite blog and felt so validated that another perceivably "together" mom could be speaking my language and feeling just as isolated and alone. Yet here we are, together anonymously. Imagine a world where the strength of these online voices could transcend the world wide web.
Moms would really rule the world.

Some of my daily "conversations" include- Superhero Journal, Mojo Mom, Cheerio Road, Giving birth with Confidence, Jumping Monkeys (also a hilarious, smart podcast) and Mother Verse/Mothering Out Loud blog

To hear what else I have to say, check out Mother Verse for my contribution to their daily blog.

The sisterhood of motherhood

I became an aunt for the second time. My niece, Sophia, celebrates her two week birthday today. When my first niece was born, I was six months into my pregnancy so her arrival brought along feelings of joy and anticipation for my own experience of birth and motherhood. My sister-in-law was also a good sounding board, being one step ahead of me in the arena of trying to figure it all out. This new baby is my sister's daughter and I am consumed with feelings of nostalgia and empathy. Being able to share my experience with her, the joys and challenges has strengthened a bond that had been somewhat weakened by finding our own way on life's journey. Those of you with sisters know what a wonderfully complicated relationship we share. Second only to mothers and daughters, I suppose. But when someone close to you has a baby, especially when you are a mother yourself, things change. Babies have a way of separating out what is important and what is left just falls away. Lives are changed, relationships formed through the birth of a baby. Husband and wives become moms and dads. Moms and Dads become grandparents. Brothers and sisters become aunts and uncles. We as women may birth the baby, but unto that new life is born a family and the ripple effect is profound.

Congratulations Jami, I love you. Welcome to the club.

The Decent

I cannot get the image out of my head. Flashes of his red and blue shirt, his arms reaching out for something to grab on to. His head hitting the bottom of the last step. This could have been bad, really bad. His false sense of security, as well as mine, were the only things broken. The intense fear of motherhood again rearing its ugly head.

I have said since giving birth that the experience of having a child brought a new intensity to emotions I did not know existed and a perspective beyond what I thought would be verses what is. Life is so fragile and everyday we are reminded of that by someone else's experience. A seventeen year old killed getting off of the bus, a toddler forgotten in the haste of doing too much with too little. But a sense of relief lingers there as well. My family is safe, we are all well. That won't happen to us.

I cannot describe the terror that overcame me as I watched my son tumble down the stairs while I screamed for my husband to catch him. These are the same stairs we have been saying for a week we need to gate off as the boy's confidence overshadows his ability. All it took was a turned head and a misstep for my whole world to flash before my eyes. I made a promise to myself that I would not take his safety for granted anymore. And I put up a gate.

Sacrifice, of sorts

Of all the things I have sacrificed for motherhood, I miss my hair the most. I know this may seem a bit self absorbed, but indulge me for a moment. I have always had "good hair". Frequently strangers would comment- "I love your haircut!" I must have given my old stylist at least a half dozen referrals in a three month period. Then I got pregnant. It started innocently enough, a little wave developed. Just enough that I could run my fingers through it when I dried it and it looked fun and care-free. People would still comment- oh your hair looks so pretty! Has it always been curly? I'd smile, run my hand over my belly and say "no, it's the baby"! Now the baby is almost 15 months old and my hair is a curly mess. The thing is , it got CURLIER post-partum. No longer nice beach waves but full on curls. Not having had a lifetime of naturally curly hair to master styling techniques and existing on borrowed time for showers and hair prep has left me with lumps of air dried curls lying on my head in defeat. And let me tell you- no one is stopping me at the grocery store with this coif. But in most most self indulgent moments, I really do miss my hair....

Pruning Our Life's Journey

I was listening to a podcast today by one of my favorite bloggers when she said something that resonated so clearly with me I had an Oprah "Ah-ha" moment. This particular wise woman was speaking of motherhood but used the metaphor of pruning a tree in reference to the growth that occurs during life's more difficult times. I thought about the lilac bush in my backyard and how it almost brought tears to my eyes when my Dad trimmed it (or butchered as I thought at the time) back in the summer we moved into our house. It looked so bare, so exposed as though I would never again see or smell a beautiful purple bloom transcend from its branches as one of the first promises of Spring. My Dad reassured me that the bush was in a transition phase and each year would bring fuller, more bountiful growth to the bush that was a huge selling point for the house. So I trusted him, and waited for Spring.

Some of the struggles in my life took me to places of raw vulnerability similar to that of a freshly pruned tree. In these dark places it is so difficult to see the beauty on the other side, the gift that having the courage and strength to strip yourself down to the core branches brings. If we allow ourselves the opportunity for growth, the bare, naked limbs can and will produce an abundance of green leaves and fresh lilac blossoms.

My Dad was right; the following Spring the lilacs bloomed and each year I sit in great anticipation of the fresh and simple beauty the bush brings. Sadly, this year, the lilacs did not bloom. The cold, frigid weather of early Spring stunted the first blossoms growth. As I reflect back on one of the most arduous transitions in my life, I look forward to the promises and growth of the upcoming seasons leading once again to the gift of lilacs given by Spring.

Letting Go

I am learning my first lesson in letting go. Along with my son's first birthday came the first steps in weaning although not quite intentionally. It started when Dad put him to bed without his pre-bedtime routine nursing session. Strange thing happened- no fuss and HE SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT! Now those of you with good memories will remember a post earlier this year where I waxed nostalgic for the early days of frequent night nursings as they were constant reminders of the baby's well being. Those reminders became less and less endearing as he approached his first year. So back to the weaning. We gave up the evening nursing and he did start sleeping better at night, just not consistently. He did however become less interested in nursing during the day so we slowly phased out the other three daily sessions and four weeks later, completely weaned. We did have a few rough days, especially while the whole family shared a nasty respiratory virus, but all in all the nursing relationship ended for us the same way it started- lovingly, instinctually and with ease. And he's slept through the night ever since.

For me this is symbolic of my own growth as well. During the most difficult times over the past year, breastfeeding was my crutch. Not necessarily to calm the baby down, but to reassure me that I was doing something right when everything else around me seemed so out of control. As we both became more comfortable in our daily routine, that reassurance was less important, but I must admit that there is a void of sorts now in that same routine. I almost feel an uncertainty in regards to my physical significance after spending the better part of two years providing nourishment for another human being. It doesn't help that my body hasn't fully accepted the transition even though it has been almost three weeks.

Liam and I continue to bond through many other delightful interactions and he has replaced the comfort of nursing with his blankie. I feel very proud of the first 13 months we spend together and will treasure the moments of tranquility that breastfeeding provided for us.

My First Year

Yesterday was my son's first birthday. Please excuse the teardrops on the keyboard. It is amazing the transformation that takes place for babies within these first 365 days. He learned to hold his head up, roll over, sit up, crawl, stand and walk around furniture. He also developed a gorgeous smile with six teeth. He learned to laugh, to be mischievous, that he doesn't like cucumbers but loves pretty much everything else- on most days. He likes to be sang to, danced with, taken on walks and playing with water bottles. He REALLY liked his birthday cupcake!
A major transformation took place for me as well over the past 12 months. I became a mother. I gave birth on April 30, 2006 but it took a while to settle into my new identity, to feel comfortable and confident in it. I've become so much more aware of life's blessings and its struggles. I found out what real joy feels like, as well as real fear and sadness. When you have a child, everything becomes intensified exponentially. Simple things like preparing a meal to more complicated things like articulating your feeling to your partner become so much more difficult. This first year has been about creating a balance, a rhythm in which to move through each day. It has also been a lesson in surrender and serenity, both of which can be fleeting. Most importantly, the past year has been an incredible gift. The days were sometimes long, the year was short but the memories will last forever.

The Feminine Mistake?

My feathers have been ruffled a bit of late due to the release and subsequent media coverage of Leslie Bennetts' book "The Feminine Mistake" which portrays a woman's choice to switch gears professionally to care for children as financial suicide. I have so many issues and thoughts about this premise that I am unsure where to begin. I do need to preface my rant with the fact that I have not read the book, but plan to. I have, however, seen interviews with Ms. Bennett and read many points of view on the matter. Ms. Bennett claims that stay at home moms are essentially subscribing to the "prince charming" or "white knight" fairy tale of being a kept woman and will never fully overcome the road block in their career path. She also suggests that this choice naively puts faith in your partner's commitment to you and the family you have created together, also perpetuating fear with concerns about your husband's imminent death or job loss. Granted, the later two situations would be devastating in so many ways but I can't imaging my working would lessen the blow to our family that either loss would have. And I just can't help but wonder how healthy it is to live your life in fear of divorce- has the commitment of marriage become so passe that the idea of one actually withstanding the test of time so foreign? In a society which has become much more conservatively based over the last few years and somewhat obsessively focused on what constitutes a "family"- I find it interesting that we aren't more supportive or even tolerant of women who make the personal sacrifice to cultivate our future generations. Our views are so skewed on this matter- as evident by my sister's recent proposal for me to care for her child (due in the fall) in effort to provide me with the opportunity to "have a little money of my own". The "kept woman" factor I suppose. I personally do not see this issue as a woman's burden- I see it as an issue to be addressed within the infrastructure of our society's workplace. We should be doing more to reintegrate women back into the professional world following our commitment to raising a family. After all, who is a better multitasker than a mom? Ms. Bennetts claims that 37% of a woman's financial earnings are lost after three years out of the workplace- but what about the earnings of an employed mom that are sucked into high priced child care? This issue is definitely bigger than stay at home verses employed moms. This is an issue that needs to be addressed among our elected officials and through legislation that supports families within an administration which claims to put children and families first. How about a little respect and support for all mothers, all families, who do their best every day to raise children to the best of our abilities?

Resistance is Futile

I am recovering from Post Partum Depression. I have been struggling with PPD for about seven months but spent five months telling myself I was just sleep deprived. Being of the mindset that everything happens for a reason and there is a lesson to be learned in all of our experiences, I feel that the most difficult period of my life came with a purpose; to reteach me those lessons and how to implement them on my new journey. This is what I know to be true....

RESISTANCE IS FUTILE
Being fully present in the moment is the most effective coping skill available to you. The more you resist what is happening, the worse it becomes. Accept each moment for what it is and move on. In other words, this too shall pass.
A MOMENT IS A MOMENT IN TIME
What you experience at breakfast does not define your day, or even the rest of the morning. You can move beyond a difficult situation and start fresh minute by minute. That is the gift of time.
DON'T FORGET TO BREATHE
Our breath is the connection of our mind, body and spirit to the outside world. When we hold our breath, it interferes with our ability to fully engage in life, literally.

This post is dedicated to my incredible husband- who reminded me daily that my truth was not lost.

Becoming Your Mother

Motherhood is full of fears- fears of inadequacy, fears of failure, fears of what you cannot control such as illness or outside influences. But the biggest fear of all is the fear of becoming your mother. The vast continuum in which the dynamics of mother/daughter relations flow is complex at best, but even the healthiest of those relationships hold examples of child rearing that we as daughters do not wish to channel as mothers to our own children. For some, including myself, the fear of mothering your own child as you were mothered can be debilitating. Knowing the effects that an angry, unpredictable and sometimes unstable environment can have on a child, you tell yourself you WILL NOT do that to your own child. But the unknown of parenting rears it's ugly head and in the moment you recognize pieces of a past you fought hard to overcome. The truth is those moments are when you have the greatest opportunity to become the best mother you can be. Acknowledge them, accept them and then redefine them. Find the lesson to be learned during those moments, for that awareness creates for us the ability to evolve through our experiences and accept what works and discard the rest. It is at our most vulnerable when we can see the effects that our childhoods has had on us, but it is also at our most vulnerable that we find our inner strength to transcend the past. Try defining your experiences instead of letting your experiences define you. Then you can begin to embrace the similarities to your own upbringing and revel in the differences in the way you care for your child today. How liberating would that be! This is what "practicing" motherhood is all about. Thanks Stephanie....

Reality Check

My sister recently announced that she is newly pregnant. Being hip deep in the throws of new motherhood myself, my reaction was a mix of excitement, shock and empathy. I remember the thrill of that positive pregnancy test. I also remember the anxiety that went along with it and continued throughout my pregnancy and into many current moments of caring for my son. I've noticed a similar reaction when I see a pregnant couple who appears to be diving into parenthood for the first time- boy are you in for the surprise of your lives! I remember when we were in that space of anticipation- dreamily awaiting the arrival of a new baby and all of the joy he or she would bring, existing in a constant state of denial of all of the "horror" stories we heard from veteran parents. "Your life is over as you know it" or "You will never have a good night's sleep again". Not to mention the explosive effect babies have on your relationship. Come on, babies bring you closer together, right? No, none of this would happen to us. We were prepared for a baby, committed to each other- in a much better place to start a family than all of these other people before us. Fast forward to nine months post partum and a whole new perspective is born. Pun intended. Now when I hear of a new birth my first thought is how is mom doing. A friend is pregnant and my advice is throw out all your expectations- it will be nothing like you think. The good times are great and the bad times are worse. But she of course looks at me like the tired, stressed out new mom I am and tells herself it won't be like that for her. But it will be, and she will be a better woman(as well as mother and partner)for it. At least that is what I tell myself in the midst of a breaking point. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. And nothing will challenge your very existence like becoming a mother.

Thinking Outside of the Crib

Hats off to my sister in law who spent an hour and a half in a parked car while my niece took a nap. Why you ask? Because of the aforementioned mantra- you do what you gotta do. The baby falls asleep on the way to the grocery store and waking her up will mean a miserable time will be had by all, as well as the demise of any further attempts at an afternoon nap. So my brilliant sister in law kicks back with a couple of mags, makes a few calls and relishes in the quiet sounds of sweet slumber. Again, brilliant. This is what motherhood should teach us, learning to go with the flow, improvise, work with the tools available to you in the present moment. Having been on the other side of this nap conundrum, I've made other choices which have resulted in an afternoon of replaying the same old tape of "I am trapped by this baby and cannot do anything because his needs are more important than mine". Not a fun place to be really. But it happens, all too often because we get stuck in a rut, unable to navigate the twist and turns of the daily rituals of child rearing. Through hearing about Lisa's experience I've discovered an incredible opportunity. In a pinch, a well stocked car makes a fabulous makeshift nursery AND sacred space for mom. Let's face it- if I am home while the baby naps I just want to do the dishes or sweep up the weeks worth of dog hair that has formed a blanket over everything in the house. Now all it takes is a mini road trip and a vacant parking place and an afternoon of relaxation is mine. Who knew? Apparently Lisa....

Fantasy Mothers

I recently read a book of short stories in which one of them the main female character accidentally enters an alternate reality where her husband and six month old daughter do not exist. The story included the woman's struggles with transitioning to motherhood which included some symptoms of Post Partum Depression or PPD to those of us who are familiar with the illness. The rights to this story have been sold for a movie deal where the author explains, regretfully, that the character is no longer a mother because the production company did not feel it was appropriate for the woman to essentially "wish" away her child's existence. My thought is this- there must not be any mothers working for that movie studio. Because if there were, I would assume the thoughts and feelings that go along with the enormity of caring for a new baby would obviously and painfully resonate with them. This sort of glorification (without any real sense of support for us, I might add) of mothers that society imposes on us is nothing short of absurd. The responsibility of raising a child is so overwhelming, there are no words to describe it, let alone communicate it to anyone who has not been there herself. It is only NATURAL, albeit scary, to have visions of packing a suitcase and leaving in the middle of the night sans family. Women carry an extraordinary burden in this life. From the moment of conception, our lives are forever changed and a piece of who we perceived ourselves to be is lost. Now this is not to suggest that we do not gain something incredible in the process, but that takes some time to find in the midst of hormones, nursing sessions, diaper changes and the restructuring of our entire existence. I think a little time to grieve our childless selves is not to much to ask for. So, when you are feeling like the day is never going to end and there is no relief in sight, call a friend who is also a mom. Ask her where her fantasy escape destination is. You may be surprised to learn how similar the locations are for the two of you. We are not alone.

Functional Tissues

My family and I have had a recent debate over the severity of grossness that is wiping your baby's nose with your shirtsleeve or whatever other article of clothing is handy. My childless sister claims that nothing could be more disgusting and you should always be prepared, especially if your child has a pre-exisitng condition which would warrant said preparedness. I came to my brother's defense,(whose act of questionable hygiene sparked this heated discussion), citing my most recent validation mantra "you do what you've gotta do", simultaneously acknowledging the situation's gross factor. My sister spent many years in daycare prior to her career as an elementary school teacher, so she does have some experience with snotty noses and other less than pleasant tasks of caring for children. I had to trump that with the previously hated but now embraced mantra of "it's different when it is your own". Now prior to becoming a mother, I felt nothing could be more insulting than to advise an otherwise educated, self sufficient person that they couldn't possibly understand or empathize with what it is like to care for or tend to another human being. Well, it turns out you can't- at least when that human being is your own child and their nose has been running like a drippy faucet all morning and although you have tissues in every room in the house, snot is milliseconds from getting into their mouth and what is available as a functional resource? Your shirtsleeve. Now don't get me wrong- this is coming from a person who cannot clean up dog vomit without gagging and I absolutely HATE to have anything sticky or slimey on my hands. Becoming a mother has taught me to surrender to the grossness of it all. I mean changing diapers is not a pretty job and somtimes, I get stuff on my hands- eww! But, you do what you've gottta do- because you know that you are the vessel by which your baby's well being travels. Even if it is through a river of snot.

TGIF

Remember the old times- when the week's end would come and 5 o'clock would roll around? The sensation of letting go and tossing the weight the last five day's worth of responsibility and daily grind off of your tired, weary shoulders welcoming you to the weekend. Yeah- kiss that good-buy. Here's the thing, babies do not give you time off. For some reason, they do not realize that Friday nights are for celebratory dinners chased with a cold beer. They do not comprehend that Saturday mornings are for sleeping in followed by leisurely breakfasts of pancakes and coffee, WHILE you look at the paper. But somehow, you believe you can still retain portions of your old life- a baby cannot present that much of a barrier, right?

Cut to scene at local bar and grill:

Carry baby and all of needed gear to table. Try to place beer order while waitress oohs and ahhs over baby and you try to attach clip-on high chair to table. Feed baby while waiting for food order- baby eats much better and faster than you anticipated so you occupy him with Goldfish crackers. Wait, I haven't touched my beer yet. Where is our food anyway, we are wasting our window of opportunity! Scarf down chicken sandwich and realize beer has gotten warm. Baby starts to fuss- he can have buffalo chips can't he? Uh, oh- he is passed point of no return, time to pack it up. Still have half a beer- guzzle it down (it was $5.50 after all). Head home to prepare for bedtime routine....

THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY!

Sleeping through the night

I am not sure why this is a coveted phenomenon- I am not particularly a fan. At eight months, Liam's status quo is to wake up once, usually around 5am, nurse and go back to sleep for a couple of hours. Occasionally, however, he will sleep the entire 12 hours uninterrupted- for him. I generally wake up and toss and turn waiting for him to stir. Then come the crazy thoughts- is he okay, is his leg caught in the crib, is he suffocating in his blanket, is he even in there anymore? Neurotic, I realize but 12 hours is a long time to go without hearing a peep from your baby. I've started getting nostalgic for the first nights when every few hours he would call out "mom, dad- I am here, I need you." That wasn't that long ago after all, so I don't think it is unreasonable for me to get unnerved during an entire night of silence. If only I had the luxury of twelve hours of sleep- I am pretty sure the last time that happened, I was eight months old.

Nursing the Mother

In efforts to prepare Liam for someone other than momma putting him to bed (daddy perhaps), I took nursing out of the bedtime routine. Guess who is having a difficult time with the transition? Liam is perfectly happy with PJ's, "The Going to Bed Book", daily gratitudes and then off to Never Neverland. I, however, miss that quiet time, the last contact of the day, where all of the stressors we've endured together throughout our daily rituals dissolve into those last moments. It was kind of like our silent acknowledgement that we had survived another day together- in spite of the crying, yelling and sometimes throwing of objects that had occurred. Or better yet, a celebration that we'd made it through in absence of such theatrics. Nursing has been one of my favorite parts of motherhood, but also one of the most difficult daily hurdles to overcome. The enormity of it cannot be explained but to those who have been through it. To provide sustenance for another human being, a human being that you created, is an incredible accomplishment, and responsibility. I guess I am getting a glimpse into how difficult it will be for me to relinquish that responsibility. The only constant is change, I am quickly learning, especially while becoming a mother.