Letter to an expecting mom…

So, I recently wrote this letter to a dear, very-pregnant, friend who bravely admitted her anxieties about becoming a mom, and a very passionate and lengthy response just gushed out of me. Although this may be due to who I select as friends, nearly all of my mom-friends would probably say that becoming a mom is the most intense and significant experience in their lives. I am including a slightly-doctored version of the letter here, which may or may not resonate with fellow moms (and dads) out there…

I have been thinking about you ALL DAY and frustrated about not being able to email you. I've been bullet pointing so many things, mentally composing drafts of responses to you in my head, only to (in my head) crumpling up and tossing them in the wastebasket and starting over. So much to say it's hard to know where to begin but here goes...(By the way, part of the reality with being a new mom is not being able to get time to get to the computer... how hard is that, to get to the computer, to write a little email? Sometimes, REALLY HARD... why I can't endorse a hand-held device (i.e. ONE hand) enough, for doing EVERYTHING... from ordering on Amazon, to surfing the net, to using GPS, to reading -yes, reading novels, to making reservations, to Facebook, to pictures, to baby apps, to music, to everything... an iPad, while lovely, actually sometimes seems TOO BIG). Okay, I digress, but channeling new mommy (plus Steve Job's recent passing) made me type that.

So, the last thing I would ever do, particularly because you are embarking (are already in) the land of everyone telling you what to do, what to buy, and worse, how to think and feel, is respond by saying something along the lines of "it'll all work itself out" or “you’re worrying too much." How dismissive! If any well-meaning person said that to you, I apologize, and they probably meant it in a good way or from a good place, but I really flinched, on more than a few occasions, from people telling me (after I spilled some of my mommy guts) about being "too hard on myself." What I mean here can’t even completely be verbalized, but what I want to say is everything you are feeling, I would venture, transcends "mommy anxiety." It is, in essence, you becoming a Mommy. Put another way, you are voicing a process that I would argue that everyone goes through, in their own way, and I think you are ahead of the game for your ability to recognize your feelings and communicate about them.

So much of what I'm recalling bridges the last-trimester to newborn time for us, and of course that is just the biggest divide ever, but I think the post-partum reflections are relevant now, too! Your little one is already very much here and real and your little one already, just a bit more “integrated" now.

I know and recall being nervous and scared about giving birth (who isn't??), but I took some solace in the fact that(a) everyone has a mommy, so (b) a whole lotta women did it too. It’s not about performing; you don't have to look pretty or be graceful or smart OR BE BRAVE about it. No one gets a grade. There are many ways to give birth, and the way that you do will almost completely be out of your control. The things you can control, you've done already (i.e. get prenatal care, be healthy in pregnancy, torture yourself with videos and books and conversations like these). When your baby comes into this world will largely be up to him.

On epidurals: if you are vacillating, then that is fine; it is your decision. But if you need anyone to give you "permission" or "endorsement," here it is...they may not always work 100%, but even a not-perfect epidural probably kicks the shit out of a "natural" birth. And there are incredible success stories (like mine); I had no pain post epidural until after Grace was born. I napped; it was fine. I was very very lucky, and I can say that, because I felt Pitocin-induced contractions for almost 3 hours before I got it. Survivable experience, no lasting trauma, but OMG that epidural was the best medicine I've ever gotten. If given the option, I would always get one.

Other pains? Yes, inevitable, but nothing that isn't temporary or that isn’t usually able to be alleviated, often pretty quickly. Lady-part pain? Yes. Nipple pain? Yes. Don't deviate from ibuprofen or Tylenol or both during that post-birth period (i.e take on a schedule, before you feel pain), and I found the nipple gel pads in the fridge to be amazing (put on in between nursing). Eat a lot of ice cream (if you aren't already). No joke, it helps. The hospital might give you these ice-pads; I loved them and highly recommend, along with dermaplast (numbing spray for downstairs). Not too much on your feet for weeks after; after too much standing time, I had to sit(literally, my pelvic bones hurt), but ALL THAT GOES AWAY. I promise. I also sat on Grace's boppy for a few weeks after (think: donut).Everyone says how important to sleep is, and they're right, and when they say "sleep when the baby sleeps" I always got annoyed because I’m a shitty sleeper, but they're right. If you can, do. I at least reclined.

Parenting... holy diapers what a big topic. I'll let you know what the answer is as soon as I figure it out. Only that I can say is you GOT IT IN THE BAG. For every 1 moment that you feel nervous or anxious or can’t figure out what to do, there will be 10 (or more like a 100)when you do figure it out and you do have a discovery (the three of you together) and you just nail it. You guys will have some moments where you are both tired and confused, or disagree about how to do something, but ultimately (and most of the time you will be conscious of this) you will becoming the absolute best versions of the team that you decided to form. This is the biggest adventure you could ever possibly go on, and you're doing it together! Ah I remember a time when I worried (hello hormones but it was also a real phase to be going through) that it took some time for Mike to be as "in love" with Gracie as I was (i.e. he loved her, but the cast-iron hold she had over his essence lagged a little in its formation than it did on mine). Now I joke (and have for at least 6 months) that Gracie has not one but two mommies. He cries like a little girl (sorry Mike, but it’s true) over her, because he is so deeply in love with her, and our parenting is thus 100% 50/50. Your partner will be the same way. Yes, you may have to shoulder more in the beginning if nursing, but then he can do more of all the other stuff (i.e. all when not at work) diapers, cooking, cleaning (but don't worry so much about cleaning and take it easy on cooking).

Talk ahead of time about... whatever you want to and whenever you want to! The most important part is being able to talk to each other; none of it is binding! It's that old head-fake (it's not the what you talk about or the what you agree upon; you're just practicing for after baby is here)! I recommend against making too many promises or declarations (like "We 100% won't... (fill in the blank: use a pacifier, let the baby sleep with us, give my kid candy, use disposable diapers, WHATEVER). It's all practice for making decisions for after he is here.

I wish the last trimester was a time where you really could relax, but how can you when you can (probably, at least this was me) barely breathe (or at least have to choose between breathing and eating), getup 6 times a night to pee, have heartburn, and have all this external pressure??

Things that helped the most:
1. having a few good fellow-mom confidantes that I could run everything by (just to make sure I wasn't crazy) and that would listen to me talk incessantly about my questions about whatever that week’s challenges were (nursing schedules, sleep schedules, food adventures, all of it). Do you have a tribe yet (or better yet, a few good one-on-ones; sometimes groups can get competitive)? Oh I hope, almost more than anything, that you have at least one mom-friend that you can say anything to. I am also here, too!!!

2. There are few good reads, and yes, there are many useful parenting manuals (I felt like we had to start somewhere, right? You don't just inherently know how to bake a soufflé, nor do you inherently know whatto do with a baby). I liked Baby Whisperer (Eat, Activity, Sleep,REPEAT) and Baby 411, but I still found myself googling my specific problem on that specific day at all hours of the night ALL THE TIME. Still do. What stayed with me even more was Rachel Cusk's A Life’s Work (read after, not now) and I loved this TED lecture:

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/rufus_griscom_alisa_volkman_let_s_talk_parenting_taboos.html

But don't read ahead; just focus on what your currently dealing with. Any more is overwhelming. I'm the world's dumbest person about potty-training because I am literally not ready to even begin conceiving of it, let alone read about it.

3. HELP, HELP, and MORE HELP. Never turn down any that is offered, at least in the first 6 months, whether it's a fellow mom-friend who offers to watch the baby for 3 hours while you sleep (or Facebook) or whatever, or casseroles, or whatever. Yes, those were imperative statements; wanted this email to not be preachy, but sorry, I guess I can’t help myself either!

4. A little beer and a little wine never hurt a nursing baby. Personal decision, up to you, but mama needs to unwind and stress is definitely way worse.

What else? Oh! That's right; it all frigging changes so fast that whatever challenge presents itself now will be replaced by another challenge in a month that makes the first challenge look easy...having said that, I think the first 6 months is hardest only because new mommies are by definition, new. So after a while you get used to the roller coaster, or marathon, and you just start enjoying both the up and down hills.... but, What the hell do I know? I'm just an anxious mommy, too! So please TELL ME when you figure it all out!

So much love,
Erin

Finding Community

Ever moved? Ever? Well, I think 90% of people I know and love have, and of those, probably another 90% have moved at least a 2 hours drive (although most at least a 2 hour flight) from whatever they considered their childhood home. Okay, my network is not a random sample, and technically I didn’t even count up all my friends and measure their geographic distance from point of origin. It just feels like 90%. And for even the remaining 10% (which may be an over-estimate), they’ve certainly been affected by an exodus of friends and family moving away from their hometown. What does it mean, all this relocating? All these moving companies and having to find new post offices and grocery stores and dry-

cleaners and hair stylists and mechanics and friends.

It means excitement, right? The new job, the new partner, the new adventure that beckoned, that said, “move here! It’s better over here, this new place!” It promises upward movement; new opportunity, growth. The experience of discovery, of donning new fashions, assuming new customs, trying new food. It means saying “hello” in a new way; of finding new challenges and seeing new views.

It also means saying goodbye, for however long, to old places, deep-rooted friendships, navigating effortlessly through familiar streets, to knowing how to order what’s not listed on the menu, to secret haunts and town traditions, to the predictable. To loved ones, to easy, face-to-face conversation or wordless activities. To people that you trust with your kids, that will cat-sit and water your plants and fetch your mail. To going to parties where you know more than one person, and they know you; to grapevines. To community.

Where has community gone, in this present time of ours? Where does it inevitably spring up? Online, social-networking? Sure, in some ways, and I would argue that these forums are a resource beyond just emotional support. But they can’t replace, can’t substitute for handshakes and hugs, for brownies that a neighbor brings by, for help shoveling out cars in the winter and sharing bbq in the summer. It does happen, again and again, that new ties form and relationships start and in my narrow academic/military experience, I’ve encountered incredible instances of spontaneous community-making. Even when that community consists of only two people, or two families. It happens, and it is such a beautiful thing to meet someone or some people and feel that you have known them your whole life.

But, I fear and feel that there’s an underlying loneliness to these times, too, and I think it’s one that most of us see, all too often. I’m not just talking about the protoypical lonely person; the older widow or widower image that we all assume must be lonely. I’m talking about the antisocialism we all encounter in our cars; the anonymity of the majority of our business transactions; the being in a crowded cafe, bus stop, or even cocktail party and feeling that lack of real connection. Is this the way of humans, or is this the way of the human globalized and networked and en masse?

The thing is, though, in these times (read always) there is always the chance to connect. There is always a back-story to every encounter. We notice, and we are noticed. There’s the neighbor who’s name I still don’t know who left baby pajamas and a toy on my doorstop after G was born. There’s my other neighbor (and now dear friend) who constantly brings us over brownies and adores watching our cat whenever we go out of town. There’s the friends who connect you with other friends until all of sudden your husband is playing in a random band with someone’s friend’s husband’s wife’s husband. There’s the UPS deliveryman that you never realized always delivered the endless Amazon packages at your door who finally meets you and asks about your baby and reveals that his wife was also pregnant, but that they lost their little boy. Who you realized, was waiting to make a connection with you, but you weren't home before when he dropped off all those boxes of diapers. Who was waiting to look you in the eye and wish your family well.

There are true souls out there, who want out companionship, who are hoping for connection, under all that busy-ness and stress. Don’t we all? I think community is as alive as it ever was, it just looks a little different than it may have in the past. It’s online, yes, but it’s also down the street. It’s in the churches and temples and at the few remaining mom-and-pops’, but it’s also at Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks and Target. It’s in the little attempts we make; the holding the door, the unbidden greeting, the smile, the briefest of looks of understanding.

It’s bringing that neighbor who you keep running into but won’t look you in the eye homemade cookies that your 3-year-old made and decorated; who couldn’t that melt?

It’s there; community always was and always will be.

Su, this is dedicated to you.

The "Other" Me

The blog is BACK… or so I attempt to promise, and therefore deliver. Where have I been? Besides living, I’ve been pretty busy being what I like to now dub the “E Triad”: wife & mom | researcher | “other” (which includes everything else, like “person who works out” and “person who shops for groceries” and “person who occasionally talks on phone to friends and family”). Also add to other: “person who blogs.” I’ve been neglecting my other, so to speak and letting my blog go fallow. But I have a lot to report, mostly on Gracie as well as other caffeine-inspired manic word-binges, so stay tuned…

In the meantime, let me pontificate on the need to be an “other.” Where oh where did extracurricular Erin go? I was just reflecting, today, on my abandonment of all things crafty. Not that I was ever talented as a crafster, but I did have a level of dash and daring when it came to the home arts; if you’re reading this, you may know about my epic wedding-favor jam-making expedition, or my many attempts at knitting baby hats and adult scarves. Or my PaperSource stationery kits.

Ah, memories. Don’t worry, I haven’t been so bold as to throw out the boxes of college and high school t-shirts I’ve saved for the some-day t-shirt quilt I intend to make, and yes, I still have drawers full of stickers, rubber stamps, and various kinds of glitter, even multiple shades of sealing wax. But these items are growing dusty, because there is no time, and I must admit, zero interest. I suppose I thought I would be a crafty mom. Yes, maybe there’s time, but maybe part of me just realized that it’s okay to totally veg out when watching TV; one doesn’t always have to be gluing something together. Or maybe I’m just too exhausted to care. Yes, I think creative outlets are so important, for everyone, but I don’t know that all of my former life craftiness was always so creative. Sometimes, it was just obsessive.

Or maybe I just have too much laundry to fold when Glee is on! Speaking of which, I have some serious couch-sitting to do…

Cheers!
~e

East coast west coast

Just as long at there's a coast! We just got back from a 10 day trip home to our families in California, followed by a weekend trip to Ocean City, MD. Okay, let's start with the left coast...

Left Coast:
California was so lovely; we got to see so many friends and family, some of whom met Grace for the first time, and I think we had In-n-out like 3 times, phenomenal sushi (as always) from Wasaa, great shopping in Fashion Island, and more importantly, some serious newfie riding (stay tuned for some pics). Though a bit chilly, our walk (picture here) on Big Corona was lovely. G welcomed the water rushing around her chubby little toes. No fear. I can't wait till she's bigger and I can totally geek out and take her tide-pooling, kelp-diving, and yes, whale-watching*. In our whirlwind week we saw so many wonderful friends, met some new little ones (hi Sabiha and Gavin!), and celebrated Grace's baptism at First United Methodist Church in North Hollywood. An entry on that to follow!

Right Coast:
So this was our first adventure with Mid Antlantic beaches, thanks to our incredibly generous and kind neighbors for lending us their beach condo in Ocean City. We only stayed one day and one night, fearing incredibly unpredictable DC metro traffic and in light of M's intense anesthesia oral boards studying. Ocean City (the other "OC" as I now call it) is fun. Fun with a capital "LV" if you know what other fungle I'm talking about. I felt myself reminiscing about Vegas throughout our brief stay, although I will say the similarity ends at the beachline. Well, sort of. It's interesting; there's a whole phenomenon of planes an boats dragging or displaying in some other way billboards. Yes! Billboards, advertising everything from crab buffet specials to pajamas to beer. The beach dropoff was a bit steep and the waves big enough that we couldn't take G into the water, but if left up to her she would have splashed right in. She had to settle for just her chubby little toes again. She also got to see a real live crab and eat sand!

So this is not meant to be a comparison or competition; both coasts have my vote any day. G agrees; she looked at me in both places as if to ask, "Mommy, why did you bring our sound machine to this place with all this sand and water?"


I bring a little beach into her room each night. Helps us all sleep and dream of vacations like the two we just had.

*For any wayward and clearly lost soul who happened on this blog that isn't super familiar with my past, I dabbled in both dolphin training and whale-watch guiding in my past (also teaching kids about tide pools, and of course, kelp). At this point in my life, M referred to me, in an endearing way, as a tour guide.

Boddler

So when does a little person transition from baby to toddler? I don’t know the answer to this, and lately I’m perplexed. G isn’t quite the warm little bundle (or bunson, as my sister calls her) that she used to be. She moves, she talks, she yanks on everything, she laughs and gets other people to laugh, and she has attitude! And emotion. I sometimes say that she’s just months away from being a teenager.

But she’s not wearing shoes or even eating finger foods yet, nor can she outscoot our cat. She’s still my “littles.”

So I’ve invented a new developmental phase, for those of us baffled parents who are in that venn diagram space between infant and toddler: boddler. Our little wobbly boddlers, with their jagged little fractions of teeth, adorable entonations, rapidly cycling emotional states, and drunken little movements. My friend Gigi calls these the “golden months,” and I must admit I get it. I get that we’re moments away from the treacherous power that comes with being able to walk, climb, and hoist.

Anyone out their with boddler stories to tell?

I know the phase is short and soon I’ll be quietly looking away while my full-fledged toddler has a a full-fledged tantrum in some extremely public place. Soon after, the power of speech will render volume testing and a litany of “why’s” (all absolutely developmentally necessarily and adorably precocious in their own ways). So G’s boddler phase will come and go quickly.

But she’ll always be my baby…

I think I'm going to fire my equipment manager/ safety inspector/ industrial hygenist... oh wait, that would be me.

I am exhausted... becoming a parent entails all sorts of equipment decisions and equipment maintenance. Yes, yes, as us newbies are repeatedly reminded by veterans (which is an extremely relative distinction), babies don't come with manuals. The problem is, every stinking contraption that comes with being a parent does have a manual, and if you were to stack them all cover to cover, you'd have an impressive tower of Manualese. A dusty, seldom if ever visited, library of Manualese. I am of the generation of wifi, as well, so along with recycling all of the boxes and Amazon boxes that my plastic fantastic world now comes in, out go most of the manuals and extraneous paperwork with the recycling (or we would be featured in the show Hoarders). Yes, I don't read all the manuals; fortunately, the exhaustion overcomes the guilt. But in my activity budget*, I fail to account for two things: (1) that in addition to counters and floors, the many pieces of "equipment" (think everything from toys to crib to diaper genie to high chair to car seat to... picture gotten?) need either maintenance (batteries, adjustment, linens changed) or cleaning, and (2) that my daughter is growing, all the time, and will need new things or have things sized for her.

Sometimes I think that if you were to follow all the rules, be babywise, expecting what you're supposed expect, and have the happiest baby on the block, you'd need a jobshare just to be a stay at home parent (i.e. two people staying at home!). So you can't, of course, and you cut corners where you can, some here, some there, and you learn to drown out the judgy judgsters (mostly in your head, but clearly not always!). I often say that becoming a parent has made me more empathic, rather than more judgmental, because I am now confronted with the hardest job I could ever imagine and some days it feels like I am either a pin ball or a cat toy and I know all other parents feel the way I do. I may not let G watch TV (go me) but I did let her fall out the stroller. I may have an organic mattress (!!), but it's likely that a toy or two of hers were made in China. Point is, if I'm mentally pointing the finger at someone else, they could point it right back at me. I'm not saying I don't have values or standards, of course I do, but I feel a whole lot warmer to everyone, young and old, parent and not, because most of the time, we're all just doing the best we can.

Tonight I finally figured out how to adjust the car seat straps (make them go through the next slit up!). Probably should have done that a few weeks ago; G has been looking a bit hunched. I guess my jobshare forgot. That's okay; no judgment.

*Tip of the hat to my old animal behavior days... how we measure animals in the wild in their time between behavior states. I secretly would love it if someone would, without my knowing, observe me in the wild and report back to me how I spend my time. I'm sure it would be shocking at first, then very dull.

Grace

"Grace, it’s a name for a girl… and a thought that, changed the world."

-U2





It’s so fitting that we named our daughter after a state of being that I so often aspire to and yet can’t quite reach. Whether I’m tripping over my feet, our cat, or my words, I am so far from that. Grace seems to know something, a secret, about the world that I hope she keeps and spills at the same time. She takes such pleasure, such joy out of all of her moments, and her bouts of sorrow are short (though often very dramatic). The U2 song I quoted above goes on to say, “Grace makes beauty, out of ugly things.” I love this simple image, because it is such a message of hope for a tired parent, a frustrating traffic jam, even an unpleasant interaction with another. If we could all just take pause and allow the ugly to happen and then just let it go, surrender and just let it wash over us and away, and then embody, just for a moment, grace… then the afterwards is just so sweet, and so beautiful.



This is what my daughter teaches me. All of the moments are special, even the tough ones, with grace in my heart and Grace in my arms.