Infinite present

One of the things that I marvel about in parenting is the pace at which our children develop. “It goes by so fast!” parents of older children often exclaim as they mourn for the days of chubby babies, the newborn smell, and quiet snuggles. “The days drag on and on…” admit the parents of colicky babies, tantruming toddlers, and obstinate preschoolers. Both are true, as Glennon Doyle famously writes about in a blog post for Momastery. What I am referring to here, though is something different, something about the fixed way in which we know our children.

I find that I seem to get comfortable with them, so comfortable indeed, that I only seem to know them for who they are today. When I get startled, however, is when I look back in time, at photos and especially at videos, about the creatures they once were.

Even six months prior; I think wow, that was you!! And you’ve grown, and I haven’t even realized it! Of course I have, on the more cognitive level, but viscerally I feel like my children are somehow going to be who they are, in this moment, eternally.

This is actually a comfort to me, I think, through the throes of parenting, for many reasons, which is that we can hang on to the present versions of ourselves and of our children, but we reflecting upon our pasts often can teach us new things about ourselves. Parenting is only one of many transient things in life; indeed all things in life are transient.  Our children grow, and they become more and more independent, until one day they go and live on their own.  That is both wonderful and heart-breaking. The other side of this, though, is that we are also going through our own phases. I once did many, many things that I no longer do simply because as a parent there is no longer time, money, energy, and sometimes (but not often) interest, but many of these activities once formed part of my identity and helped me live as freely as possible.  I am talking about many activities, including but not limited to adventure sports, regular writing, going out to hip and trendy bars, traveling, crafting, all sorts of things.  

OK once in a while (like once a year) I might board a kayak or go for a bike ride, I’m writing a blog post now of course, I go out with my husband maybe once a month and girlfriends at about the same interval, we travel to visit family with our kids, and I will about once a month touch some knitting (never complete anything anymore), but not with the same kind of commitment or reckless abandon of all other duties to pursue said hobby. This adventuresome spirit is something I hope to impart on my own children, but I’m still navigating the early years of parenting and still figuring out how to work a full time job, breastfeed a baby, cook, clean, grocery shop and manage our lives, all with a fully committed co-parent. Whatever “free time” I find myself in I usually want to spend reading a novel or binge-watching one of the many awesome shows out there now.

So, all this is to say, however, that as much as I sometimes mourn for the past of children’s lives, and certainly my own, to have had these experiences, even if I can’t always replicate them now, gives me a feeling of wistful warmth that is almost as good as the feeling of excited anticipation of awaiting something fun (like a day spent hiking or a spa trip or a date night). People often talk about living in the present.  What a wonderful objective, and one that I also strive for, especially when confronted by a present worth remembering. But in the off moments, the ones that I spend alone or waiting it out, oh how I relish memories of my babies, or of a younger me doing things that I thought were cool at the time but even cooler now in retrospect. In the off moments, I sometime like to imagine what it will be like to revisit these adventures again, this time with a deeper hunger and ability to savor the privilege and honor the sacrifice it took to make those moments happen.

It all matters - the present, the memories, and the dreams of what’s to come. And it doesn't take terabytes, just a few simple snapshots, to catapult you back.

Rage monsters

I wrote this message to a dear friend after reading the following blog post on parental rage, that taboo topic that is such a big and normal part of parenting that so many of us struggle with. I'm including my message here because I want to share aspects of my own emotional journey through motherhood.

 

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Hi Friend,

So, you know how some people post status updates on Facebook like, "hey, I made it to my 5am spin class!" or some other super-awesome thing they did that most people would recognize as being an accomplishment?

I so wish I could post this:

"Hey Facebook! You know what I did this morning? I let love win!!

I held my SHIT together while I... carried my totally bundled/well-protected-from-the-cold 3 yo in from the car parked a whopping 30 feet from the front door of daycare while pushing a carseat stroller carrying similarly bundled 4 month old WHILE said 3yo was screaming (no: caterwauling), hitting me in the FACE and under the concerned stare of about 10 other parents.

You hear me, Facebook? I held my SHIT TOGETHER. I didn't yell, didn't cry, didn't grit my teeth, didn't drop my 3 yo and make her walk or die of hypothermia on the sidewalk, didn't say something snarky to her, didn't cry myself or... [beat] hit her back! 

And this is AFTER I woke up to feed a fussy/hungry baby at 12, 2, 4, and 6, AFTER I endured a 7am meltdown from aforementioned 3 yo because I wasn't Daddy, AFTER I showered/blow-dried, and put lots of make up and heels on because it's picture day at work, AFTER I packed the car with about 5 bags, AFTER I tended to 3 requests for different breakfasts, AFTER I remote-start warmed the car in preparation for a freezing-cold-related meltdown, AFTER we watched an episode of Doc McStuffins so as not to disrupt the morning too much (even though it makes me so late), AFTER I nursed an infant again at 8, AFTER I  made myself coffee only to let it chill on the counter, AFTER I packed second breakfast for school, AFTER I got two little people dressed in cold-weather, semi-reasonable looking outfits, AFTER I strapped a baby who hates car seats into a car seat, AFTER I tried the "frozen bubble experiment" with the 3yo in the courtyard before getting into school.

BOOM."

None of that shite matters... what matters is, why I am NOT crying at my desk this morning, is that I accepted the tantrum, and I didn't blame her for it. I took an extra 10 minutes with her and helped her calm down, read her a book, helped her remember that she is okay, she is safe, and she is loved.

I know this sounds obnoxious, even sanctimonious, but it's only coming from a sacred place of recognition. These kind of moments are the HARDEST MOMENTS OF MY LIFE. Because that's when I encounter the RAGE MONSTER, the monster that makes me forget that I love this tiny human, this sweet, sensitive, old-soul who was placed under my charge. I feel the venom, and I want to spit. I hear the blood pounding in my head and I want to SCREAM. I feel the tremors, and I want to shake something, or even someone. I may never get it let that far, but I don't want this rage monster in my neighborhood, let alone inside my body. And the monster sometimes comes just a little too close to taking over, leaving me terrified and deeply ashamed. 

But not today, Friend, not today. Today, love won.

 

There's no greater accomplishment I have ever experienced then letting love take over. 

 

I don't think I can make the rage monster disappear, but I will continue to fight it. This will be my fight - perhaps the hardest fight I encounter as a parent. I will fight.  I will fight for love.

 

And that will be greater than any work success, any hard work-out, and even greater than anything I produce, manage, or even create.

In love, understanding, and solidarity,
E

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Things I've learned from Little, the Sequel

1. OK: labor/delivery was still hard.  I sort of thought it wouldn’t be, given that it wasn’t my first rodeo. It was. Contractions still hurt, recovery is still hard. My expectations were probably higher than they should have been (“I’m a pro! I’ve got this!”), but I’ve heard that oxytocin helps you forget the pain, so maybe that’s why? And no rest for the wicked or post-partum mommy of >1, either.  Still… after 2 weeks, significant improvement, after 4, even more, after 6, walks felt normal, now at 10, runs feel normal.  When I can find the time! Even with all the recovery woes, I am still so grateful to hold my baby in my arms rather than on top of my bladder. Pregnancy, I’m out.

2. Breastfeeding was easier second time around, but it was still hard in the beginning. It does not surprise me at all that people give it up for so many, many reasons.  I shed tears the second time around too, still had to have my husband pinch me while my baby latched. Thankfully all nerve endings were once again destroyed and it no longer hurts. My breast could be on fire and I might not know.

3. Exiting the house with >1 children: timing is everything. There are magical windows of time that open and close like an old Nintendo video game obstacle course before someone needs to be fed, someone needs to use the potty, goes potty, or throws a tantrum. I continue to devise all sorts of systems to make this go more smoothly, but in the game keeps changing. Still, battle on, innner Warrior, keep those sticker charts and car treat bribes and quiet threats coming, because love and school drop-off are worth fighting for!

4. Babies are physically exhausting: if you nurse them, they literally suck the energy out of your body, and of course they are designed to wake up every few hours. Yet they got nothin’ on two and three year olds… still physically exhausting- to be read in a loud whine: (“mommy, CARRY me,” “NO, NOT THIS SIPPY THE OTHER PINK SIPPY!!”) AND mentally exhausting. Play with me! Play with me! Play with me! Taken together, I cultivate an hour or two of kid-free time, just so I can hit the reset/reboot button- for everyone’s benefit.

5. I inhabit the same house and bed as my husband, but typically can’t get past one or two phrases of conversation:

“So, I was talking to my mom on the phone, and ...no, G, you already had a snack and we’re going to have dinner in 5 minutes.”

“Oh and we need to pay those utility bills; I left them right on the… sure, yes, you can go down to the basement but mommy can’t because she’s cooking dinner.”

“So how did that conversation with your boss…Whoa! Poop-splosion! OK you do the diaper change I’ll ferry the seat-cover up to the washing machine… again…”

6. Although I heard about it and imagined it would be true, there is nothing I have ever encountered so heart-filling than being with arms’ reach of all three of my family members. So far I have only one picture of the four of us, and it’s a selfie at that, but we’re all resting in our bed, and my heart had exploded.

A month in moments

I will remember this month, the first month of your life, not as a linear narrative, but in the moments and glimpses of our new life together.

The astringent smell of hand sanitizer and the honeyed smell of baby shampoo, the homey smells of bacon and blueberry pancakes, simmered orange peels and cinnamon sticks. 

The impossibly tiny curl of your newborn feet and the velvety smoothness of your little bald head.

The soft silhouette of your little swaddled form, nestled close to my body, two little dark eyes blinking through the night up at me as I nurse you in bed, next to my heart.

The sweet sounds of your sister, using Quiet Voices, to ask me if you are sleeping, and to ask permission to give you the gentlest of hugs. The equally sweet sounds of your grunts and soft breathing in your bassinet next to us, these past 30 nights.

This sweet, fleeting time has already marked so much growth for our family. You came to us as predicted, just 50 minutes into your due date, and you have already joined us on our many small adventures.  Our daily walks to Big Sister’s school, the park, and around the neighborhood.  Your mama’s adjustment to being a new mama again; her cries as she relearned how to nurse, held fervent whispered discussions with your daddy about your care, and figuring out how to hold you just right so that you would feel most secure. The many  visits of our blessed friends, eager to lay eyes on yours and feel your weight in their arms. 

I wonder if these parts of your new life will become part of you, somewhere deep within the reaches of your soul, if not remembered consciously, at least integrated into your being, so that you feel comforted by those homey smells and the sounds of your sweet sister’s voice in all the months and years to come. 

Re-entry...

...to the blogging world.... I want back! Am I allowed?  Am I welcome?  Will I commit?  

These are questions that have plagued me, not exactly leading me back to the keyboard, but that I’ve been ruminating on as I’ve gone some SEVEN MONTHS with no words, not a peep from me. I can name several reasons, even more excuses, for this blogging abstinence, but none of them feel completely honest.  I could say that at first, I was enjoying homecoming, and then next, I got pregnant (yay! but oh, the fatigue...), then there was what I now refer to as The Dark Ages (more commonly known as “terrible twos”), and then I was just busier and busier with work.  All true. But I’ve been living without expression. Lots of inhales, no exhales. No outlet, no production of anything truly my own. The most I’ve been able to muster have been Facebook status updates, which hardly count. Having stepped away from it, things I now know about blogging:

1. Even if I have an audience of one (i.e. me and me alone), blogging helps me feel understood, less alone.

2. Blogging is not the same as journaling. For many reasons, the primary being the “stage” of it (at least potential for public viewing), the access to it, the ease and convenience of storing thoughts on the web, the risk of it, and the physical process of it (typing vs. the more traditional pen-on-leatherbound-journal).

3. Blogging is a practice. A practice in many senses of the word: doing more of it makes the process easier, more fluid; it can be something you return to in some interval, and the ritual of doing so makes it feel healing; and it can become a part of a rhythm of the lived daily (or at least weekly) experience.

4. Though blogging may be viewed as being trendy, it really is a very old form of expression (writing) with a modern twist (web publishing) that has the potential to make us more reflective and thoughtful and as well as create connections among us in new ways.

5. I admire bloggers who continue to show up at their keyboards. The ones I follow continue to surprise and teach me things.

I want to be someone who continues to show up. Here, in this space. So, I return. 


I usually do.

One to grow on

The Dixie Chicks knew what was UP.

And I’m not referring to their bold and brave choice to speak their minds and confront political small-mindedness (although amen and high fives to that). What I’m talking about is the need for, oh yes, sing it with me, 

 “w i d e  o p e n  s p a c e s ! ! !”

This is what a person needs, especially (always) on a Sunday, and particularly on her birthday. A person and her tiny human companion, that is.  Preferably with some good friends. Big and little ones. This special place, shared with me by dear friends, is the first place that G got a chance to RUN DOWN A HILL.

This place, this sacred place, is a farm quite near me, maybe 20 minutes, and it is spectacular and it is empty of crowds, chaos, and busyness.  It lives up to its promise (i.e. there are farm animals), but even better, there is 

S P A C E.  

And freedom and room to run up and down hills safely and without being chased by your mama.  The restorative power of that green space literally made me weep.  It conjured up words in me like “majesty” and “pastoral” and “bucolic” and made me want to use them all in a sentence. I would have never left if duty (i.e. naptime) hadn’t called, and next time I might even try to get G to sleep on a quilt on top of all that green.

Interesting, too, that G is going through a “green” phase, so when I ask her what the color is of something, she inevitably answers “green!” regardless of whether it’s blue, orange, or purple.  Maybe she was trying to tell me something, something like, “Mama, take me where there’s green open space and where I can run!!!”

When I worked at a counselor at the a summer camp in the Sierras (another story for another time, but let’s file that one under “Lair” AKA “The Most Fun Time of My Life”), we had a place that was about a 15 minute drive or an hour-long killer mountain bike up a windy road that overlooked a view of the mountains so intensely beautiful and ever-reaching, that the only name that could be used to describe the overlook was “therapy.”

That’s what this place is, and exactly what I needed to welcome my 34th year. 

I needed that, and I also got a bbq with these beautiful, kind, funny, and dear women, holding me up, refilling my glass, caring about my child, listening to my long-winded stories, and passing time with me. Despite the countless birthday parties they throw and attend for all of the kids in their lives, they busted out decorations, grilled burgers, and got me a delicious birthday cake and presents. They accept and even welcome their role as my deployment-survival-team, hopping to it with company, cheese, wine, and festivity, and rushing to my aid when power outages, broken water heaters and car engines abound. Buddies on my birthday, friends for life.

My takeaway lesson for this year:

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We need both wide open space and close comforting hugs. We need them, almost at the same time, and that's the beauty and the grief. Our toddlers need the snuggles and they also need to try it themselves; they need to fall down but they also need to be caught. Embracing this tension is part of what I think growth is, and it's why I think growth hurts, whether it be our bones stretching taller or our relationships exploring new boundaries. This I ponder as I boldly accept another candle on my cake and ring around my tree.  

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Bracing for impact

is how I approach many of parenthood’s transitions (and they are endless!). I’ve always struggled with most of my own transitions in life, whether they be daily (waking up, going to bed, pulling myself away from a fun time), or milestones (changing jobs, moving away from friends and family). So it’s no surprise that I get nervous for major transitions that my daughter continues to encounter... although I don’t quite think “nervous” cuts it. Palms get sweaty and I often find myself squeezing my eyes shut as though I’m about to land, head first, onto Planet Tantrum.

Maybe it’s protective, to a point... most of the time the anticipation of the transition is worse than the actual event, so it winds up being not that bad. So I should be “bracing” per se, as much as I should be letting the change “wash” over me, accepting the new.  That’s part of the constant challenge in parenthood (er, LIFE), right?  Letting go and making way for new experiences, new times.

I write this as we are going through our own little transition: G is moving up rooms at daycare.  This is really the first daycare move I’ve really wondered and worried about her understanding; we actually swithed daycare centers twice before this, but she’s been at this new place since she was 11 months old. Now she’s 20 months old, so it’s been a long time coming. And by “move” I mean that she graduated to an adjacent room, separated only by a half wall and a saloon door. And the kids all play together, and she already knows all the slightly older kids in her new “class” and of course she knows all of the teachers.  But it still feels so big, when she’s oh so small, and the universe is shifting in a systematic way for her.

Maybe I’m protectively “bracing for impact” because it seems like the noble thing to do, to over-empathize for my little one’s emotional experiences.  As I write this I know how overstated it sounds, and let me assure any readers that I do not dwell on this day in day out, but I do think it’s remarkable how much we live through and for our littles (and not-so-littles). True as the day is long.

I’ll update when we make it through this!