comfy in my own skin

High highs and low lows. This is parenting. Or at least, this is parenting for me...so far. I am completely in love and full; at home with the mess and wiping boogers. Then I slowly start to pick at the fray and it all comes undone. It begins with an innocent question or comparison. Before I know it I feel like a mess. I question every decision, every step and it all feels insignificant. Somehow I talk myself into a place where everything I do isn't enough. It gets scary. I don't know how I resurface. I'm only glad that I do. I'm grateful too that I seem to find peace again quickly. And in the mean time while I wait me and the little boy go for very long walks. I'm the one with a distant look on her face. Not really taking anything in. I'm so grateful for this side. The place where I'm full and grateful. Where I allow myself grace. It does seem that every time I come through I become more present to myself. ...
I'm not sure how to end this post, except maybe to say that having a baby is a crazy adventure.
That seems like an understatement but it's all I've got.

a new milestone

The boy spits out whatever is in his mouth if I put my hand under it. I think this officially makes me a real mom. Exciting!

but wait there's more

Two posts? Oh yeah. I just couldn't resist.

Here's are a few fabulous things that I am enjoying the heck out of:

1. Being just ever so sore after going to my first yoga class since the boy was born.
2. Lean Mean Thirteen, the last Stephanie Plum novel (yes, yes it's completely predictable and mindless and I love it!)
3. I won the Maternal Is Political contest on Jen Lee's blog. I am looking forward to reading, sharing and passing it along!
4. Finally, cooler temperatures at night
5. This book, this book and this book

huh?

I'm going deaf. It may be psychological, actually. It seems to be specifically my husbands voice that I don't hear. Well, at least not very well. I'm lucky I married such a patient man because I must say, "huh" or "what" to him at least two dozen times a day. Since he's pointed this out to me, he's stopped repeating himself after I ask him what he's just said. We sit in an awkward silence for a few seconds...it turns out I do hear him. I just have an automatic reflex of asking him to repeat himself. After the silence and some time passes, I can usually put together what it is he's just said. It's actually about 50/50. The other half of the time I'm guessing, grasping at straws really. It makes for some great conversation though. Like this one:
In our bedroom. Getting ready for the day.
Husband: Honey, where are my jeans?

Me: Beans?

Me: huh?

Husband: shakes his head in disbelief

or this one...

Husband: Don't forget to take your car in tomorrow.

Me: pausing....thinking...and then, "What about the garbage?"

I try really hard folks. And the worst part is, it seems to happen mostly with my dear (again, very patient) hubby. What can I say? I'm glad he has a sense of humor.

out came the sun...

Sunday morning. The mister sleeps in while I get up with the boy. The boy who has been in the process of waking up for at least an hour before I finally get up with him. He kicks and rolls and babbles, nurses some between his sleeping parents. Until I give in to the fact that he is not going to fall back asleep. We rise, change what must be the world's heaviest diaper and I have a cup of coffee.

An hour of crawling and investigating. I try to write but can only get two sentences down before he's demanding my full attention. For a moment I feel trapped. Trapped in eternal parenthood. Trapped in no more sleeping in, no more cuddling with the mister because the little one is between us. I'm trapped in my thoughts that I cannot get onto paper - there's just not time or space for it. An overwhelming sense of self pity, sadness, terminal thinking - that this will last forever- sets in. I think that by choosing to have a child I've signed away any sense of sanity and enjoyment for myself. The little boy is all over the place and only happy in one spot for seconds before he's fussy and moving on to the next surprise.

I force myself to put down my journal and set aside for a moment the million things I would like to do. And I sit with him, just in front of where he's at. I watch him explore the mister's shoe. Then suddenly and for what seems to be no reason, he looks up from the laces he's been pulling at and smiles. The smile is clearly, undoubtedly just for me. Because I am there and watching and because he loves and trusts and feels safe and knows that I am there. And everything else falls away. I am captured by that smile and remember that I can withstand anything for this little one. A to do list and sense of self satisfaction in activities I enjoy...they suddenly seem so unimportant. Because my little boy has an uncanny way of being just right here in this very moment. And when I allow that, join that, when I can truly be there with him it is the most important and fulfilling moment. And it is always available.

it's a black fly in your chardonay

The old saying goes, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him what your plans are". Yep. If that's the case, someone is getting a pretty good laugh at my expense. For the last two weeks I have had plans; plans to go to lunch, plans to take a yoga class, plans to take a dance class, plans to stay with a friend. Canceled, canceled, canceled. Seriously? What is going on? Must be some crazy astrology thing. It's like my karma for everything I ever had to cancel on in my life has decided to come back and haunt me these last two weeks. A perfectly booked and well scheduled week - gone to pot. I just hope I've broken my streak. I'm off to make more plans and get some more inevitable grins from the heavens.

confessions of a blogger

I'm still trying to make sense of why I decided to blog. I'm still sorting and self judging, what I should share. Then I worry, even and especially as I write this that I sound whiny. No one likes to read whiny writing. I swear I'm not whiny in real life. I judge that this should look finished, complete. This should be a well put together project. My blog should have coherency. Then I feel like I'm at a total loss and start wondering why it is I want to blog.

Here's what has come to me lately about my reasons for blogging: To find my voice.

In my professional world I can put on a professional face. I can have an air that says, "Yep, I mostly know what I'm doing and what I don't know doesn't necessarily bother me. I have enough grace to grow and learn"It took me a long time (it felt especially long) to get to that place of confidence in my job.

In my personal life I'm all over the place but mostly, I'm a goof ball. An over analytical goof ball. As a mother, I'm starting to get the hang of it, on most days, for right now. But as an artist and as a writer, I feel like I am all over the place. I free write filling journals, often (always)starting a new journal before I've come to the end of the last one. I play with poetry and start stories (but sadly have never finished one). I talk myself in self debilitating circles. I think more about what I would like to create than actually taking the time to create. And now I have a baby. So I wonder, what exactly was I doing with all of my time before?

I think I see a blog as a way to help streamline this process. I am, in a way, forced to write. To finish. To think and to present something. Anything. I must admit that critical voice makes this, and everything for that matter, much more difficult. But I'm hoping it goes the way it did with my profession, one day the critical voice will feel smaller, manageable. One day I'll sit down to write, or create and the old voice will pop up and I will be able to say, "oh hi there, I hear you and thanks, but I'm gonna go ahead and create anyway. I think I've got this handled." I look forward to that blessed day. But I know the only way to get there is to keep writing for better or worse. So here I am. Open to learning and growing. Feeling like a beginner, even though I've done this all my life. Having judgments, and doing it anyway.

I hear ya sister

I was sitting here listening to crickets. Wondering what to write. Trying to figure out what was true in me right now. I couldn't come up with anything and then I checked out Mrs. Lucky's site and it all came to me. I found myself writing a longer than normal comment. So I went ahead and posted it here. Funny how we have the ability to inspire each other. To reach out with out intention and stir something in someone else.

Funny how your post hit me. I'm struggling with figuring out what's in me right now too. But I'm not visiting family so...sometimes I think I need to experience something and trust that the meaning of it will come later. That means, for me, trying to hold off on the self judgment and just give myself permission to be. Even if being in that moment means feeling crappy. So often I want to try and take the heartache or melancholy or whatever uncomfortable feeling I have and think my way to the end - right now. I forget that I'm in process. That I don't have to have the answer right now. That feeling bad now is okay, it is part of the wonder of it all. Wow, I just wrote a whole bunch. Really, what I wanted to tell you was hope. Hang in there. Hope and trust and hang in there and love yourself. You're awesome! And who would you be if family didn't drive you a little nuts?

where have I been?

I've written a number of posts in my head over the last two weeks. I have even started a few. But nothing has shown up here. I'm sorry I've not been able to post more. The little boy started crawling the day before yesterday! The last two weeks, heck yesterday, are just blurs of time, in which I know I've done something, but I couldn't really tell you exactly what. There hasn't been anything out of the ordinary, nothing extravagant. Just a constant hustle of life, which right now is mostly about parenting. Imagine a really large infant covered in dog hair and dirt discovering how exactly each piece of furniture could become potentially dangerous while his parents discover they never really got around to baby proofing the house. How by the way, do you baby proof kitchen chairs from falling over? And why is it that the most unstable furniture and the most questionable items, as far as safety goes, are the exact things that my little boy is the most attracted to? The little boy refuses to nap in conventional ways. He goes straight to sleep when we are in the car or on a walk. So we do a lot of walking and driving. It makes house hold chores and blogging difficult to do. Again, my apologies. I'm gonna get the hang of this though...eventually. Or the little boy's patterns will change. Whichever comes first.