Now that my daughter is walking, trips to the playground or around the neighborhood are potentially a lot more exciting for her, because sometimes I let her out of the stroller to walk part of the way. It takes roughly 10 times as long, of course, because she stops to investigate every leaf, crack in the sidewalk, piece of litter, or ant that she sees in her path - and often stops dead in order to point at a dog or squirrel, or turns around and walks the other direction. But she loves it. She'll toddle down the sidewalk doing little shrieking giggles of joy that she can get places under her own power, and is being allowed to do so.
Then we get to the playground. When she was little, the only thing she could really do was sit in the swing while I pushed her. Now she can toddle around in the sandbox, pick up toys, climb the steps on the junglegym, even go down the slide on her belly. All of this stuff is so much fun for her. I stand around watching her with a stupid grin on my face, or sometimes try to make conversation with the other moms there.
The other kids are often a pain though. Part of the reason we go is for her to see some other people her age and get some socialization practice. But there are usually some kids just a little older than her, like 3-year-olds, who are stuck in the "Mine!" phase and aren't much fun to play with. When they see her coming, they immediately grab away all the toys and glare at her. If she does manage to get her hands on a little plastic shovel or something, she generally goes up to the closest other kid and holds it out. She assumes they'll take it and say "thank you" and then hand it back in a minute, the way we do when she gives us stuff. But the kids never hand it back, they just snatch the toy away. She stares at them, then looks up at me in bewilderment, plainly saying, Is that okay, what just happened? Or are you going to do something about it?
I always wonder - am I supposed to step in? Should I pull a toy away from someone else's kid, possibly making them scream or cry, in order to give it back to my kid? Because I'm a nonconfrontational sissy, I usually just smile encouragingly at her, as though nothing happened. Or I try to find something else to give her, but often the older kid immediately snatches that from her too. Grr. I want to kick sand in those kids' eyes.
Then there are the kids in the 5-7 year age range who are roughhousing, who are so busy chasing each other around the playground that they occasionally run right over her, knocking her down. Usually boys. But there was a girl last week who, in a fit of pique, threw a toy at my daughter's head. And there was a kid of unknown gender who threw open a gate, smacking it into her so that she fell to her knees. I rushed to pick her up and comfort her as she sobbed. The kid's mom was right there and I expected her to at least tell her kid "oh be careful honey," but she didn't.
I think I'm so used to being easygoing and letting other people call the shots in social interactions that I'm expecting, all the time, the other parents to do something about their little darlings' behavior. I know if my daughter took a toy away from some other baby, I would take it from her and hand it back. But the other parents never seem to step in. And I just feel weird about disciplining other people's kids. I'm scared that some kid will go running to his mom: "That lady took my shovel!" What's wrong with me, that I'm afraid of 3-year-olds? Where's my fierce mother instinct?
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Holidays
I was thinking of "home for the holidays" the other day, and I got an amazing rush of holiday nostalgia. Winter sun slanting in through the bay window in the living room. Music playing from the stereo, so lively and bright in the morning that no one wants to sleep in. The smell of bread and cookies baking. The cheerful, warm clatter of activity in the kitchen, my mom emanating a sense of comfort and peace as she bustles around. The knowledge of days off from school stretching ahead, and the prospect of family meals, presents, or other special activities. Most importantly, all of us being together. It seems like we need a special occasion to all join in a common pursuit. Normally my brother disappears into his room, my dad is watching TV so unavailable for conversation, and it ends up being my mom and me chatting in the kitchen - which is nice, but I like it when it's all of us.
I wonder if you ever manage to recreate that feeling of comfort in your second family - the one you build with your own spouse and children. So much of feeling happy at the holidays, for me, was basking in the sense of being cared for, of being a small cherished piece of the family unit. When I'm in charge of recreating that for my child, I can do it, I think - but will it feel as comforting for me?
Maybe I'll just enjoy it vicariously through her. I've noticed that many of the joys of parenthood come from living vicariously as your child discovers things. It sounds like it wouldn't be as good as experiencing things yourself, but actually I think it is. I get this huge glow of pride and happiness whenever she's happy.
I wonder if you ever manage to recreate that feeling of comfort in your second family - the one you build with your own spouse and children. So much of feeling happy at the holidays, for me, was basking in the sense of being cared for, of being a small cherished piece of the family unit. When I'm in charge of recreating that for my child, I can do it, I think - but will it feel as comforting for me?
Maybe I'll just enjoy it vicariously through her. I've noticed that many of the joys of parenthood come from living vicariously as your child discovers things. It sounds like it wouldn't be as good as experiencing things yourself, but actually I think it is. I get this huge glow of pride and happiness whenever she's happy.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Starvation
I just came across a picture online that breaks my heart. When I saw it, I almost started crying. It's a photo of a baby in the last throes of starvation, all heavy head and stick-thin legs, trying to crawl toward a United Nations food camp while a vulture watches in the background. The baby looks too young to even know how to crawl yet. According to the caption the camp was a kilometer away. I wish I was there so I could pick up that baby and carry it to the camp myself. Or adopt it. I can almost feel how its bony little body would feel in my arms, how I would be afraid of cracking a rib as I carried it.
How can photographers take pictures of things like that and then just walk away? (As this one did - he apparently left the scene immediately after taking the picture so no one knows what happened to the child.) I know their job is only to document misery, not to alleviate it, that they don't have the resources to save every starving child they see, that they can't save one and leave others behind... but still. How could he not have intervened this once to carry the child that 1-kilometer distance that meant the difference between life and death? I know it's not that he wasn't affected by the scene. This particular photographer committed suicide just a short time later, alluding in his suicide note to the overwhelming pain in the world. He's right about that. The capacity for suffering in this world seems to have no limit.
How can photographers take pictures of things like that and then just walk away? (As this one did - he apparently left the scene immediately after taking the picture so no one knows what happened to the child.) I know their job is only to document misery, not to alleviate it, that they don't have the resources to save every starving child they see, that they can't save one and leave others behind... but still. How could he not have intervened this once to carry the child that 1-kilometer distance that meant the difference between life and death? I know it's not that he wasn't affected by the scene. This particular photographer committed suicide just a short time later, alluding in his suicide note to the overwhelming pain in the world. He's right about that. The capacity for suffering in this world seems to have no limit.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Why I Don't Mind Paying Taxes
Baby on my hip, I walked cheerfully out of the bank, holding up my car keys and jingling them to amuse her. "Keys," I said cheerfully as I unlocked the car. I tossed them on the front seat to have my hands free for buckling her into her car seat. Then I kissed her on the forehead and slipped into what biologists term a fixed action pattern: locked the car doors, shut them firmly, and walked around to the driver's side, reaching into my pocket for my keys as I went. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no! There was my baby, grinning up at me from the back seat. There were the car keys, sprawled on the front seat. There were the four doors, firmly locked. Ahhhh!
As the first jolt of panic hit my heart, I ran around the car trying the doors anyway. Of course none of them opened. Then I ran back into the bank. There were tons of people standing around in the lobby waiting, but my stride got the attention of the employee at the main desk, who glanced up at me in alarm. "I just locked my baby and my keys in my car! Can I use your phone?" I blurted. The phone didn't have a long enough cord to reach the counter, but he was nice enough to dial the number for me and hand me the receiver.
Quickly, I told my husband what had happened. He has the only other key for the car. "Can you come meet me?" I asked. But how? We only have one car, and we live about a mile from the closest train station. He would have to catch a bus to the station, then it would be a 45 minute ride to the closest station to me, then he still would have no way to get to the bank. As we talked, I thought of the sun beating down into the car. Of course, I had parked in the sun. "There used to be a spare key hidden on the car," he remembered. It was in one of those magnetic boxes you stick under the front bumper. "I'll go look," I said, and hurriedly hung up.
A few minutes later, I was road tar and oil up to the elbow, and my hands were bleeding from brushing over the fragments of glass embedded under the bumper. I couldn't find the box, though. I think it probably fell off years ago.
Next I sized up the car windows and tried to decide which one to break. If I could smash the little one in the back, I could probably reach in and unlock the door. But I couldn't see anything in the parking lot that looked sturdy enough to smash a car window with. No rocks or chunks of asphalt or anything. I also felt anxious about putting a rock through a window when my daughter's car seat was right there - even if it's supposed to be safety glass.
I ran back into the bank. The bank guy winced slightly as he noticed the oil and grease all over my hands, but he dialed for me and handed me the receiver again. "I can't find it!" I told my husband. He advised me to call the police. So in a minute I found myself speaking to a 911 dispatch operator. "Is the baby in distress?" she asked. "Not yet," I said. In fact, the baby had fallen asleep at this point, but that didn't diminish my panic much.
It probably only took a few minutes for help to arrive, but it seemed like ages. I leaned over the back of the car and tried to block the sun with my body while I waited. Inside the car, I could see my daughter's face was red and there were droplets of sweat beaded on her brow. She flopped around uneasily in her sleep. Finally, in the distance, I heard a siren - gradually getting louder - oh my gosh, is that for me? I had expected a single cop car. Instead, there was a giant rescue squad ambulance van, about as big as a fire engine but without the ladder. It took up most of the parking lot. A couple of guys in their early twenties hopped out and came over to the car, and, with a nod of greeting at me, started working on the problem.
First they wedged a tool that looked like an ice scraper into the side of the door and levered it open as far as possible. Then they used a pump to crack it open even more. With a wire they tried to roll down the window or jiggle the lock mechanism open. Minutes passed. After a while one of them glanced at me and spoke for the first time, with a sheepish grin: "It usually doesn't take this long." At least now I know the car is hard to steal. It took multiple tries with different tools from their kit, and about 10 minutes of work, before the door suddenly popped open. "Yes!" one of them said.
Quickly I opened the back door and hauled the car seat out so my baby could get some air. I gushed some thanks to the rescue guys, who were all business ("all in a day's work, ma'am") as they headed back to their van. The bank customers who were standing around watching the scene dispersed. I drove to my parents' house, which was nearby, so I could call my husband back and reassure him.
Later that afternoon, I got a couple of spare keys made. Of course, this will probably never happen again. But if it does, I'll be ready. And in the meantime, yea for 911 and emergency rescue services!
As the first jolt of panic hit my heart, I ran around the car trying the doors anyway. Of course none of them opened. Then I ran back into the bank. There were tons of people standing around in the lobby waiting, but my stride got the attention of the employee at the main desk, who glanced up at me in alarm. "I just locked my baby and my keys in my car! Can I use your phone?" I blurted. The phone didn't have a long enough cord to reach the counter, but he was nice enough to dial the number for me and hand me the receiver.
Quickly, I told my husband what had happened. He has the only other key for the car. "Can you come meet me?" I asked. But how? We only have one car, and we live about a mile from the closest train station. He would have to catch a bus to the station, then it would be a 45 minute ride to the closest station to me, then he still would have no way to get to the bank. As we talked, I thought of the sun beating down into the car. Of course, I had parked in the sun. "There used to be a spare key hidden on the car," he remembered. It was in one of those magnetic boxes you stick under the front bumper. "I'll go look," I said, and hurriedly hung up.
A few minutes later, I was road tar and oil up to the elbow, and my hands were bleeding from brushing over the fragments of glass embedded under the bumper. I couldn't find the box, though. I think it probably fell off years ago.
Next I sized up the car windows and tried to decide which one to break. If I could smash the little one in the back, I could probably reach in and unlock the door. But I couldn't see anything in the parking lot that looked sturdy enough to smash a car window with. No rocks or chunks of asphalt or anything. I also felt anxious about putting a rock through a window when my daughter's car seat was right there - even if it's supposed to be safety glass.
I ran back into the bank. The bank guy winced slightly as he noticed the oil and grease all over my hands, but he dialed for me and handed me the receiver again. "I can't find it!" I told my husband. He advised me to call the police. So in a minute I found myself speaking to a 911 dispatch operator. "Is the baby in distress?" she asked. "Not yet," I said. In fact, the baby had fallen asleep at this point, but that didn't diminish my panic much.
It probably only took a few minutes for help to arrive, but it seemed like ages. I leaned over the back of the car and tried to block the sun with my body while I waited. Inside the car, I could see my daughter's face was red and there were droplets of sweat beaded on her brow. She flopped around uneasily in her sleep. Finally, in the distance, I heard a siren - gradually getting louder - oh my gosh, is that for me? I had expected a single cop car. Instead, there was a giant rescue squad ambulance van, about as big as a fire engine but without the ladder. It took up most of the parking lot. A couple of guys in their early twenties hopped out and came over to the car, and, with a nod of greeting at me, started working on the problem.
First they wedged a tool that looked like an ice scraper into the side of the door and levered it open as far as possible. Then they used a pump to crack it open even more. With a wire they tried to roll down the window or jiggle the lock mechanism open. Minutes passed. After a while one of them glanced at me and spoke for the first time, with a sheepish grin: "It usually doesn't take this long." At least now I know the car is hard to steal. It took multiple tries with different tools from their kit, and about 10 minutes of work, before the door suddenly popped open. "Yes!" one of them said.
Quickly I opened the back door and hauled the car seat out so my baby could get some air. I gushed some thanks to the rescue guys, who were all business ("all in a day's work, ma'am") as they headed back to their van. The bank customers who were standing around watching the scene dispersed. I drove to my parents' house, which was nearby, so I could call my husband back and reassure him.
Later that afternoon, I got a couple of spare keys made. Of course, this will probably never happen again. But if it does, I'll be ready. And in the meantime, yea for 911 and emergency rescue services!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Umbrella Angel
When I stepped out the front door, it wasn't raining. When I got on the bus, it wasn't raining. But on the way to work, the skies opened. By the time I arrived at my stop, it was a torrential downpour - water sluicing off the top of the bus down the windshield, wipers barely able to keep up - and I didn't have an umbrella. I scurried over to a nearby cafe and took shelter under their awning while I tried to figure out what to do next.
My office was three blocks away. First I thought I should just make a dash for it, but I saw a few people splashing along the sidewalk without umbrellas, and they were soaked to the skin. One guy was wearing a nice suit, plastered to his skin. I didn't have any dry clothes at the office that I could change into. I tried holding my backpack over my head and made a quick foray out, but the rain was so intense that after only a few steps I ran back. I wondered if I should just wait it out, but worried that it might be a while.
While I was standing there in an agony of indecision, a woman walked up to the cafe under a big umbrella. I barely glanced at her, but envisioned a perfect world in which she would just give me her umbrella. In this world she would say, "Hey honey, would you like my umbrella?"
Then she said it again, "Hey honey, would you like my umbrella?"
I turned and realized she was actually talking to me. She said, "You can bring it back later. I'll be here until six." She gestured at the cafe and I realized she was an employee there. I said, "Really?" I couldn't believe my luck. Here was a total stranger offering me salvation. I practically fell over myself thanking her. It was a good umbrella too, one of those great big ones that stretches out about two feet on all sides.
Walking toward my office, I felt flooded with gratitude. Whenever something happens to make me think that people aren't particularly nice - like that boy in the library - I get a reminder that indeed, most of them are, and that nice things happen far more frequently than not-nice things.
The office routine was petty, and my boss was in a foul, vengeful mood, as she has been for the past few months. But I felt like I was just floating above it. Nothing could touch me. I took the umbrella back at noon, and passed it over the counter to her along with a bunch of flowers. She's my umbrella angel.
My office was three blocks away. First I thought I should just make a dash for it, but I saw a few people splashing along the sidewalk without umbrellas, and they were soaked to the skin. One guy was wearing a nice suit, plastered to his skin. I didn't have any dry clothes at the office that I could change into. I tried holding my backpack over my head and made a quick foray out, but the rain was so intense that after only a few steps I ran back. I wondered if I should just wait it out, but worried that it might be a while.
While I was standing there in an agony of indecision, a woman walked up to the cafe under a big umbrella. I barely glanced at her, but envisioned a perfect world in which she would just give me her umbrella. In this world she would say, "Hey honey, would you like my umbrella?"
Then she said it again, "Hey honey, would you like my umbrella?"
I turned and realized she was actually talking to me. She said, "You can bring it back later. I'll be here until six." She gestured at the cafe and I realized she was an employee there. I said, "Really?" I couldn't believe my luck. Here was a total stranger offering me salvation. I practically fell over myself thanking her. It was a good umbrella too, one of those great big ones that stretches out about two feet on all sides.
Walking toward my office, I felt flooded with gratitude. Whenever something happens to make me think that people aren't particularly nice - like that boy in the library - I get a reminder that indeed, most of them are, and that nice things happen far more frequently than not-nice things.
The office routine was petty, and my boss was in a foul, vengeful mood, as she has been for the past few months. But I felt like I was just floating above it. Nothing could touch me. I took the umbrella back at noon, and passed it over the counter to her along with a bunch of flowers. She's my umbrella angel.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Recapturing the Innocence
The other night we went out to dinner. Usually I check to see if I'm wearing a clean shirt as we head out the door and that's it, but this time I felt like dressing up a little more. I put on a flirty little dress from my college days, and some makeup, and even a necklace. I felt like I was trying to be pretty for my husband to remind him what it was like when it was just the two of us out on a date.
Of course it ended up being our usual dinner out, tag-teaming, one of us eating while the other held the baby and tried to keep her from fussing. It was late and she was tired and fidgety. No romantic gazes across the table; we were too busy keeping water glasses out of her reach and snatching forks and knives from her fretful grasp. No stimulating conversation either; we talked about her nap schedule and how many Cheerios she'd eaten that day. As soon as the check came, we hustled out of there. That's life with a baby.
Next week we're going on vacation - without her. I'm going to miss her terribly. I won't be able to just let go and enjoy this trip as fully as I did our honeymoon (the last trip we went on) just because part of my heart will still be at home. But it will be good for us to get away and reconnect.
In a way this trip will be about recapturing that time when it was just the two of us. But I don't have any illusions about those days. People always sigh and say about their pre-kid life, "Oh, it was so great." In reality, I remember feeling pressured and anxious all the time, worried that he wouldn't want to marry me, that I was getting older, that we wouldn't be able to have children. Overall, despite the stress of everyday existence, I'm happier and more relaxed now than I was then.
Of course it ended up being our usual dinner out, tag-teaming, one of us eating while the other held the baby and tried to keep her from fussing. It was late and she was tired and fidgety. No romantic gazes across the table; we were too busy keeping water glasses out of her reach and snatching forks and knives from her fretful grasp. No stimulating conversation either; we talked about her nap schedule and how many Cheerios she'd eaten that day. As soon as the check came, we hustled out of there. That's life with a baby.
Next week we're going on vacation - without her. I'm going to miss her terribly. I won't be able to just let go and enjoy this trip as fully as I did our honeymoon (the last trip we went on) just because part of my heart will still be at home. But it will be good for us to get away and reconnect.
In a way this trip will be about recapturing that time when it was just the two of us. But I don't have any illusions about those days. People always sigh and say about their pre-kid life, "Oh, it was so great." In reality, I remember feeling pressured and anxious all the time, worried that he wouldn't want to marry me, that I was getting older, that we wouldn't be able to have children. Overall, despite the stress of everyday existence, I'm happier and more relaxed now than I was then.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Snub
Yesterday, in the library, my daughter took a shine to a 10-year-old boy who was picking out books. She toddled up to him (yes, she walks now!) and tried to catch his eye, giving him a winsome smile. He walked away, so she followed him. I went after her and found him crouched down pulling out another book from a low shelf, while she watched him. She was grinning - she likes kids, even big kids. I smiled at him too, kind of a "my baby likes you!" smile that I've shared with cashiers, old ladies on the street, and various other people she has flirted with. But the boy just looked back at me stone-faced and said, "Can you take him away."
The smile crumbled off my face as I said sure and picked her up. I wanted to snap at him, "It's a girl!" or "She wasn't bothering you, just looking," or "This is public space, you know." I know not everyone likes kids, and not everyone is going to think my kid is cute. I don't expect that. All the same, the rejection hurts. I felt glad that she's so little she didn't understand she was being rejected - all she knew was that I picked her up and took her away.
I guess it will be even harder when she's old enough to recognize rejection for what it is - when a preschool friend doesn't want to play with her, or the other girls in her class don't think she's cool, or when she's grown and a man she loves doesn't want her. I don't know how I'll help her deal with those things. All I can think to say is, "But *I* love you!" and sometimes Mom's love just isn't enough.
The smile crumbled off my face as I said sure and picked her up. I wanted to snap at him, "It's a girl!" or "She wasn't bothering you, just looking," or "This is public space, you know." I know not everyone likes kids, and not everyone is going to think my kid is cute. I don't expect that. All the same, the rejection hurts. I felt glad that she's so little she didn't understand she was being rejected - all she knew was that I picked her up and took her away.
I guess it will be even harder when she's old enough to recognize rejection for what it is - when a preschool friend doesn't want to play with her, or the other girls in her class don't think she's cool, or when she's grown and a man she loves doesn't want her. I don't know how I'll help her deal with those things. All I can think to say is, "But *I* love you!" and sometimes Mom's love just isn't enough.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Money Again
Recently I was reading about debt and savings. Just a couple of generations ago, most Americans lived within their means and even were able to sock away some savings every year. It must have been a great feeling of security to know that, even if your daily grind wasn't much fun, you were "making progress" all the time toward a better lifestyle and a comfortable retirement.
Now, it seems like everyone has thousands of dollars of credit card debt, and everyone is signing up for first-time-homeowner mortgages that are about 20 times my annual salary. I come across articles all the time about people who, after decades of hard work, had no savings to show for it and were plunged into bankruptcy by an unexpected illness or the loss of a job. And the housing market is swooping around like a rollercoaster. One couple we know bought a house a few years ago, then watched as the value of their house plunged to half of the mortgage they had committed to.
Whenever I read those articles, I eagerly check out the tips for saving money at the end - but it's always mundane things like brewing your coffee at home instead of going out every day, or trying to carpool instead of driving to work by yourself. I don't drink coffee and I ride the bus. And those things really don't save much money, anyway. I can't pat myself on the back for my coffee-free lifestyle or my lack of credit card debt because people who DO go to Starbucks every day generally earn a lot more than I do. And they have much greater earning power and potential for advancement. I feel like, even though I have a solid education and a good work ethic, I'm incapable of earning any more money than I do now. I can't envision a job I would be capable of landing and doing competently that would pay more than the one I have now. I had a lot of potential back when I was in school. It bothers me a bit that I seem to have maxed out now at such a low level.
Now, it seems like everyone has thousands of dollars of credit card debt, and everyone is signing up for first-time-homeowner mortgages that are about 20 times my annual salary. I come across articles all the time about people who, after decades of hard work, had no savings to show for it and were plunged into bankruptcy by an unexpected illness or the loss of a job. And the housing market is swooping around like a rollercoaster. One couple we know bought a house a few years ago, then watched as the value of their house plunged to half of the mortgage they had committed to.
Whenever I read those articles, I eagerly check out the tips for saving money at the end - but it's always mundane things like brewing your coffee at home instead of going out every day, or trying to carpool instead of driving to work by yourself. I don't drink coffee and I ride the bus. And those things really don't save much money, anyway. I can't pat myself on the back for my coffee-free lifestyle or my lack of credit card debt because people who DO go to Starbucks every day generally earn a lot more than I do. And they have much greater earning power and potential for advancement. I feel like, even though I have a solid education and a good work ethic, I'm incapable of earning any more money than I do now. I can't envision a job I would be capable of landing and doing competently that would pay more than the one I have now. I had a lot of potential back when I was in school. It bothers me a bit that I seem to have maxed out now at such a low level.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wasting Money
I've decided I can't be trusted with money. I have made some stupid decisions recently that I wish I could undo.
First, I forgot to buy more minutes for my cell phone before last year's minutes expired, so I couldn't roll them over. And it was a lot of minutes. No amount of begging and pleading with the phone company convinced them to give me my minutes back once I realized what had happened, two days after they had expired. Man! If only I had remembered in time! I just wasted the annual salary of a family in India, by letting that slip my mind.
I also got caught by one of those speed trap cameras. I was going 35 in a 30 mph zone and it cost me $40. There's the salary of a family in... uh.. Namibia.
I also seem to go on these spending sprees with food, mostly at farmers' markets where the produce is beautiful but the prices are high. Farmers' market food is a good thing to buy, but I don't need to buy as much of it as I do. My parents spent a weekend in New York and all they bought was a couple of bagels. They literally got by the whole weekend without buying anything else, because the hotel had a continental breakfast and they were "too tired" to bother going out to eat after a full day of activities. I am never too tired to eat. The amount of food that I buy and tote home and prepare for our family and eat, in huge heaping portions, is prodigious. We're only two people and an infant; there's no reason to go to the grocery store every few days or to spend several hours every evening puttering around in the kitchen. I bet I open and close the refrigerator 30 times a day. Good thing our utilities are included or I would be fretting about the electric bill too; as it is I only have to deal with the guilt of adding to climate change by wasting energy.
I also am not very savvy about investments. I just want to lock my money up for as long as possible, in some inaccessible location where I won't be tempted to spend it on organic rutabagas, speeding fines, or unused minutes. I think that really I should just gather up all my savings and give them to charity, before I fritter them all away.
First, I forgot to buy more minutes for my cell phone before last year's minutes expired, so I couldn't roll them over. And it was a lot of minutes. No amount of begging and pleading with the phone company convinced them to give me my minutes back once I realized what had happened, two days after they had expired. Man! If only I had remembered in time! I just wasted the annual salary of a family in India, by letting that slip my mind.
I also got caught by one of those speed trap cameras. I was going 35 in a 30 mph zone and it cost me $40. There's the salary of a family in... uh.. Namibia.
I also seem to go on these spending sprees with food, mostly at farmers' markets where the produce is beautiful but the prices are high. Farmers' market food is a good thing to buy, but I don't need to buy as much of it as I do. My parents spent a weekend in New York and all they bought was a couple of bagels. They literally got by the whole weekend without buying anything else, because the hotel had a continental breakfast and they were "too tired" to bother going out to eat after a full day of activities. I am never too tired to eat. The amount of food that I buy and tote home and prepare for our family and eat, in huge heaping portions, is prodigious. We're only two people and an infant; there's no reason to go to the grocery store every few days or to spend several hours every evening puttering around in the kitchen. I bet I open and close the refrigerator 30 times a day. Good thing our utilities are included or I would be fretting about the electric bill too; as it is I only have to deal with the guilt of adding to climate change by wasting energy.
I also am not very savvy about investments. I just want to lock my money up for as long as possible, in some inaccessible location where I won't be tempted to spend it on organic rutabagas, speeding fines, or unused minutes. I think that really I should just gather up all my savings and give them to charity, before I fritter them all away.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Invisible
I just Googled myself, as I do from time to time, and was pleased to find that I'm still invisible to the all-seeing Eye of Google (like the Eye of Sauron, sweeping across the landscape). I don't have a Facebook page, and I don't show up on any alumni sites or even on my company's website, except on one obscure page that you have to be searching for in order to find. Anyone looking for me would have to conclude that I just vanished into thin air after graduation. I like that. Privacy is safety. I feel like I shed a lot of spam and baggage associated with my old life when I got married and changed my name, and so far the new one is clean and unknown to the spammers and stalkers of the world. I wish my daughter was as invisible as I am. Her name pops up on a few pages, unfortunately.
It's hard to articulate why I want to be invisible. It just seems better that way - as though, in a deep cool forest, I was walking without a trace, leaving no footprints, slipping through life untrackably.
It's hard to articulate why I want to be invisible. It just seems better that way - as though, in a deep cool forest, I was walking without a trace, leaving no footprints, slipping through life untrackably.
Friday, August 08, 2008
The Worst Possible Outcome?
One of my coworkers just had a baby - well, his wife did. Last winter when I was talking with him about pregnancy and babies, he mentioned that they were going to have a natural childbirth. It's funny how emphatic some people are about it. He said, "We are going to go natural," and told me about the Bradley classes they were taking. Another coworker chimed in, "My wife went natural with all three of our kids. Women don't need epidurals and all that stuff. There's no reason more births shouldn't be natural."
I listened and nodded - indeed, during my pregnancy I was steeping myself in Ina May Gaskin's Spiritual Midwifery and a Bradley guide and many other resources that all said the same thing - , but when he said that I couldn't help thinking with a funny little shiver, what if labor goes differently from how you planned? How do you know it will all work out? It also seems odd for a man to be making those kinds of decisions for his wife. Since she's going to be experiencing the pain, it seems to me it should be entirely up to her. Of course, perhaps these guys were just repeating what their wives were saying, but it sounded to me like decisions they were imposing on their wives. And how can you ever require someone else's pain tolerance to live up to your preconceived ideal?
Anyway, after I had congratulated him and heard all about the new baby and gushed over the adorable pictures, I casually asked how labor and delivery went. He said, "It was, frankly, completely awful. She was stalled at 9 centimeters for hours and hours, we tried everything, but she just couldn't progress. So it was a C-section. The worst possible outcome. Very disappointing."
Again, I got a funny shiver in my spine, like he was disappointed not in the situation, but in her. I felt like saying, "I'm sure she did her best! How can you be disappointed, when she's given you this beautiful son?" I really felt for his poor wife. I think they were so thoroughly indoctrinated by the Bradley classes that they started thinking women who have C-sections are copping out, and no matter what I'm sure she feels his disappointment as a form of judgment on her.
I also wanted to say, "That's not the worst possible outcome! My goodness. The worst possible outcome is a dead baby. Or a brain-damaged baby. Or a dead wife." Birth is a scary, dramatic event where a lot of things can go wrong, very quickly, and the C-section he's regarding as a terrible stain on their record likely saved the lives of both his wife and child.
In the end I just made sympathetic noises and said, "But you have a wonderful healthy baby, and your wife is all right. And a few years down the line it really won't make any difference how it started." He said he guessed so.
It makes me feel glad, first of all, that I wasn't clinging so hard to any particular vision of how my labor and delivery would go that I would feel crushed afterward when the reality turned out different. And that my husband was so totally supportive of everything I wanted. And that I can look back on my own labor experience with such a happy, peaceful feeling.
I listened and nodded - indeed, during my pregnancy I was steeping myself in Ina May Gaskin's Spiritual Midwifery and a Bradley guide and many other resources that all said the same thing - , but when he said that I couldn't help thinking with a funny little shiver, what if labor goes differently from how you planned? How do you know it will all work out? It also seems odd for a man to be making those kinds of decisions for his wife. Since she's going to be experiencing the pain, it seems to me it should be entirely up to her. Of course, perhaps these guys were just repeating what their wives were saying, but it sounded to me like decisions they were imposing on their wives. And how can you ever require someone else's pain tolerance to live up to your preconceived ideal?
Anyway, after I had congratulated him and heard all about the new baby and gushed over the adorable pictures, I casually asked how labor and delivery went. He said, "It was, frankly, completely awful. She was stalled at 9 centimeters for hours and hours, we tried everything, but she just couldn't progress. So it was a C-section. The worst possible outcome. Very disappointing."
Again, I got a funny shiver in my spine, like he was disappointed not in the situation, but in her. I felt like saying, "I'm sure she did her best! How can you be disappointed, when she's given you this beautiful son?" I really felt for his poor wife. I think they were so thoroughly indoctrinated by the Bradley classes that they started thinking women who have C-sections are copping out, and no matter what I'm sure she feels his disappointment as a form of judgment on her.
I also wanted to say, "That's not the worst possible outcome! My goodness. The worst possible outcome is a dead baby. Or a brain-damaged baby. Or a dead wife." Birth is a scary, dramatic event where a lot of things can go wrong, very quickly, and the C-section he's regarding as a terrible stain on their record likely saved the lives of both his wife and child.
In the end I just made sympathetic noises and said, "But you have a wonderful healthy baby, and your wife is all right. And a few years down the line it really won't make any difference how it started." He said he guessed so.
It makes me feel glad, first of all, that I wasn't clinging so hard to any particular vision of how my labor and delivery would go that I would feel crushed afterward when the reality turned out different. And that my husband was so totally supportive of everything I wanted. And that I can look back on my own labor experience with such a happy, peaceful feeling.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Nice Things People Have Said
"What a cute baby!"
"She's adorable."
"You have a beautiful child."
Purrr. These are things that random strangers took the time to say to me as I was out walking around the neighborhood with my kid.
"Is she yours? Wow... you're so young."
Not really, but it sure is nice when people think that!
"You have body dysmorphia disorder. I think you look great."
- my husband, after listening to me bellyache about my belly
"She's adorable."
"You have a beautiful child."
Purrr. These are things that random strangers took the time to say to me as I was out walking around the neighborhood with my kid.
"Is she yours? Wow... you're so young."
Not really, but it sure is nice when people think that!
"You have body dysmorphia disorder. I think you look great."
- my husband, after listening to me bellyache about my belly
Friday, August 01, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Read This Book
I just finished reading an amazing book called The Diary of Ma Yan. It's the real diary of a thirteen-year-old girl living in a rural area in China, that was published after it fell into the hands of a journalist on a rare visit to the region. The area is so arid the government has declared it uninhabitable. About three million people still live there, scratching out a hand-to-mouth existence. Ma Yan describes her struggles to get an education, at a tiny school a 12-mile-walk from her home, and her deep admiration for her parents, whose ceaseless exhausting labor is barely enough to feed the family. She especially admires her mother, who has a serious medical condition that causes her such pain she occasionally sits down moaning in the middle of the wheat field she is harvesting - but the family can't afford to go to a doctor. No matter how hard the parents work, they are just one breath away from starvation. Ma Yan describes trying to concentrate on her studies when the only thing she has had to eat in the past 48 hours is a single bowl of rice.
I was awed and moved by this description. I felt like the discrepancy between this family's situation and our own - which until then I would have rated near the bottom among our circle of friends, since we are living in quite a small apartment with not even a separate bedroom for the baby - was extreme, nearly obscene. I looked around at all the evidence of wealth in our apartment, the Made-in-China baby toys, the fancy artisal organic cheese in the refrigerator that we are able to afford, the overflowing bookcases, the color TV and piles of CDs we hardly even have time to listen to. We have so much food that I complain about eating too much. It made me feel sick to think that I was munching away on blueberry tart while elsewhere in the world, young mothers my age are literally starving.
I can't imagine how all-consuming and horrific it must feel when your children are in real danger of illness and death, when your whole family is really just one catastrophe like an illness or a particularly bad drought away from destitution. It reminded me of the quote: "We all cultivate illusions of safety that could fall away in the knife edge of one second." (Barbara Kingsolver)
To assuage a bit of my guilt I called up one of those international aid agencies and pledged to sponsor a child in India. I have two other sponsored children, one in Brazil and one in Honduras. It isn't very much money and it only touches a few individual lives - when what we need to address the global disparity in wealth is huge sweeping reforms and changes to the global currents of trade. But I feel slightly better. Mainly I just wanted some family on the other side of the world to feel that they weren't suffering in utter loneliness.
I was awed and moved by this description. I felt like the discrepancy between this family's situation and our own - which until then I would have rated near the bottom among our circle of friends, since we are living in quite a small apartment with not even a separate bedroom for the baby - was extreme, nearly obscene. I looked around at all the evidence of wealth in our apartment, the Made-in-China baby toys, the fancy artisal organic cheese in the refrigerator that we are able to afford, the overflowing bookcases, the color TV and piles of CDs we hardly even have time to listen to. We have so much food that I complain about eating too much. It made me feel sick to think that I was munching away on blueberry tart while elsewhere in the world, young mothers my age are literally starving.
I can't imagine how all-consuming and horrific it must feel when your children are in real danger of illness and death, when your whole family is really just one catastrophe like an illness or a particularly bad drought away from destitution. It reminded me of the quote: "We all cultivate illusions of safety that could fall away in the knife edge of one second." (Barbara Kingsolver)
To assuage a bit of my guilt I called up one of those international aid agencies and pledged to sponsor a child in India. I have two other sponsored children, one in Brazil and one in Honduras. It isn't very much money and it only touches a few individual lives - when what we need to address the global disparity in wealth is huge sweeping reforms and changes to the global currents of trade. But I feel slightly better. Mainly I just wanted some family on the other side of the world to feel that they weren't suffering in utter loneliness.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Very Berry Good
Last week I went blueberry picking at a local farm and brought home six pounds of berries. They were sunwarmed and so ripe and plump they almost fell off the bush and into my bucket - and into my daughter's hands and mouth (I was wearing her in a harness on my front and she was reaching for the berries with both hands). Blueberries right off the bush are really different from the ones you get in the pint boxes at the store - much sweeter.
Now I need to do some serious situps to make up for my excesses. But blueberries are healthy, you say. Yes indeed they are, but as I found out when I got home and reached for my cookbook, the best ways to eat them - after right-off-the-bush - are: slathered with cream, baked in a tart, in a pie, in a cream cheese pie, rolled in sugar, etc. I made a blueberry jam crumble and a delicious blueberry jubilee tart that I have been noshing on all week.
So far I've been able to avoid bringing any more sugar into the house, though. I did all my baking using supplies on hand. This blog keeps me honest.
Now I need to do some serious situps to make up for my excesses. But blueberries are healthy, you say. Yes indeed they are, but as I found out when I got home and reached for my cookbook, the best ways to eat them - after right-off-the-bush - are: slathered with cream, baked in a tart, in a pie, in a cream cheese pie, rolled in sugar, etc. I made a blueberry jam crumble and a delicious blueberry jubilee tart that I have been noshing on all week.
So far I've been able to avoid bringing any more sugar into the house, though. I did all my baking using supplies on hand. This blog keeps me honest.
Friday, July 18, 2008
The Kiddie Years
There was a magician show just beginning in the children’s room at the library when I stopped by to return some books, so we stayed and watched it. It was so lame. The magician had to fill an hour, so he spent ages just warming up the crowd, getting the kids to chant his name, pretending not to be able to hear them until they yelled it, pretending to lose his magic box of tricks, getting everyone to sing the ABC song with him, asking the kids what their favorite colors were, etc. I can sympathize with the difficulty of entertaining 40 rambunctious toddlers and their associated nannies, mothers, and young siblings in laps. But the show was so lacking in content. Finally about 15 minutes in he did a trick where he pulled a scarf inside out and it changed color. Then he went back to having the kids chant his name.
My kid stared at him skeptically for a few minutes as the show was starting, then turned her back on him and spent the rest of the time looking at the baby sitting behind us. After 20 minutes I’d had enough as well, so we left.
Suddenly I felt acutely depressed – envisioning the years ahead of children’s theme birthday parties, sing-alongs, Disney stuff, Chuck E. Cheese outings, and so on that we will have to attend. You have to do these things with kids, right? I mean, she thought the magician was dumb. But soon enough I guess she’ll be into this stuff, and I'll just have to bear with it. I have to learn the stupid Head-Shoulders-Knees-and-Toes song and that other one about the cheese standing alone, and find out who Dora and Hannah Montana are, and take her to Jonas Brothers concerts, or she’ll think I’m so uncool she won’t even be talking to me by the time she’s a teenager.
Maybe she'll turn out to be a weird socially awkward bookish child like I was, more interested in books and horse camp than boys, and so completely out of sync with her peer group that she doesn’t even notice she’s out of sync with them. Then I can give her all the horse books I loved as a kid, and we can bond over them.
My kid stared at him skeptically for a few minutes as the show was starting, then turned her back on him and spent the rest of the time looking at the baby sitting behind us. After 20 minutes I’d had enough as well, so we left.
Suddenly I felt acutely depressed – envisioning the years ahead of children’s theme birthday parties, sing-alongs, Disney stuff, Chuck E. Cheese outings, and so on that we will have to attend. You have to do these things with kids, right? I mean, she thought the magician was dumb. But soon enough I guess she’ll be into this stuff, and I'll just have to bear with it. I have to learn the stupid Head-Shoulders-Knees-and-Toes song and that other one about the cheese standing alone, and find out who Dora and Hannah Montana are, and take her to Jonas Brothers concerts, or she’ll think I’m so uncool she won’t even be talking to me by the time she’s a teenager.
Maybe she'll turn out to be a weird socially awkward bookish child like I was, more interested in books and horse camp than boys, and so completely out of sync with her peer group that she doesn’t even notice she’s out of sync with them. Then I can give her all the horse books I loved as a kid, and we can bond over them.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Chocolate Rain
I went out with friends to a posh new restaurant specializing in chocolate. The menu has appetizers, salads, and five-course desserts all oriented around chocolate. It's amazing what variety there is - everything from chocolate vinagrette for the salads to grilled cheese topped with melted dark chocolate to chocolate-kahlua elixirs, and of course lots of desserts like fudge bars, white chocolate cheesecake, cream pie dusted with cocoa, and fruit plates decorated with curlicues of drizzled chocolate.
Most people order the themed five-courses, but in the spirit of restraint I just got a goat cheese and beet salad (yum) and the tiramisu. It was extremely good. One of my friends ordered the same thing but took some of the tiramisu home to her boyfriend, claiming that she was feeling ill from all the chocolate and couldn't finish it. I could definitely have eaten more chocolate. I can't really imagine having eaten so much chocolate that I couldn't eat a little more. I think I just have a higher tolerance for it because I habitually consume more. I'm like a smoker who can handle high levels of nicotine coursing through my system. She's thin as a rail and eats whole-wheat sandwiches with no mayo, carrot sticks, and small helpings of everything. Her body was probably like, "What IS this stuff?"
Most of the time I'm pretty happy with the way I look and with my food choices, but lately it has been more of a struggle. I feel myself descending into a newfound antagonism with food. I used to actually prefer healthy food. I never even liked chocolate very much until recently. But now, suddenly, I can't get enough of it. I crave fatty things like potato chips and cream and butter. I went into a Firehook Bakery last week and bought one of their giant chocolate espresso cookies. It seemed very unlike me, at least the old me, who I guess was like my chocolate-lightweight friend. The new me has a post-pregnancy belly bulge and a hummingbird's keenness for refined sugar. I even wander over to the kitchen at work sometimes just to see if there's any leftover food up for grabs.
I want to be better about all this stuff, embrace the no-mayo sandwiches and stop snacking all the time. I feel occasionally disgusted with myself when I look down at my paunch. Until recently I could justify the frequent eating with, "I have to keep making milk for the baby. Now's not the time to go on a diet." But now that she's a year old and is drinking formula and cow's milk in addition to breast milk, I could wean at any time.
What makes it hard is that I don't always feel strict with myself. Other times I look at myself and think I look fine, that there's no need to be extreme. Or, I simply feel unable to resist eating one more cookie.
Well, they say the first rule when you're in a hole is to stop digging. So here's my action plan. Starting now, I won't buy any more chocolate at the grocery store - even when the white chocolate bars that I love go on sale for $1 apiece and every cell in my body is urging me to stock up. No more ice cream or pound cake either. Or brownie mix.
I figure I can coast for a while on the cupboardful of sugar that I currently have. After that runs out, it will get hard. But I know that if you do a thing routinely, you start to enjoy it (which is the vicious cycle that has turned me into such a chocolate fiend), and if you can get out of the habit of it for a while, you stop enjoying it as much. So wish me luck - here I go!
Most people order the themed five-courses, but in the spirit of restraint I just got a goat cheese and beet salad (yum) and the tiramisu. It was extremely good. One of my friends ordered the same thing but took some of the tiramisu home to her boyfriend, claiming that she was feeling ill from all the chocolate and couldn't finish it. I could definitely have eaten more chocolate. I can't really imagine having eaten so much chocolate that I couldn't eat a little more. I think I just have a higher tolerance for it because I habitually consume more. I'm like a smoker who can handle high levels of nicotine coursing through my system. She's thin as a rail and eats whole-wheat sandwiches with no mayo, carrot sticks, and small helpings of everything. Her body was probably like, "What IS this stuff?"
Most of the time I'm pretty happy with the way I look and with my food choices, but lately it has been more of a struggle. I feel myself descending into a newfound antagonism with food. I used to actually prefer healthy food. I never even liked chocolate very much until recently. But now, suddenly, I can't get enough of it. I crave fatty things like potato chips and cream and butter. I went into a Firehook Bakery last week and bought one of their giant chocolate espresso cookies. It seemed very unlike me, at least the old me, who I guess was like my chocolate-lightweight friend. The new me has a post-pregnancy belly bulge and a hummingbird's keenness for refined sugar. I even wander over to the kitchen at work sometimes just to see if there's any leftover food up for grabs.
I want to be better about all this stuff, embrace the no-mayo sandwiches and stop snacking all the time. I feel occasionally disgusted with myself when I look down at my paunch. Until recently I could justify the frequent eating with, "I have to keep making milk for the baby. Now's not the time to go on a diet." But now that she's a year old and is drinking formula and cow's milk in addition to breast milk, I could wean at any time.
What makes it hard is that I don't always feel strict with myself. Other times I look at myself and think I look fine, that there's no need to be extreme. Or, I simply feel unable to resist eating one more cookie.
Well, they say the first rule when you're in a hole is to stop digging. So here's my action plan. Starting now, I won't buy any more chocolate at the grocery store - even when the white chocolate bars that I love go on sale for $1 apiece and every cell in my body is urging me to stock up. No more ice cream or pound cake either. Or brownie mix.
I figure I can coast for a while on the cupboardful of sugar that I currently have. After that runs out, it will get hard. But I know that if you do a thing routinely, you start to enjoy it (which is the vicious cycle that has turned me into such a chocolate fiend), and if you can get out of the habit of it for a while, you stop enjoying it as much. So wish me luck - here I go!
Saturday, July 05, 2008
The Shirt I Didn't Buy
There’s a thrift store across the street from where I live. It’s mostly old-lady clothes - saggy stirrup pants and garish blouses that smell like mothballs. But I still browse there occasionally; I've picked up some good deals from the children’s rack where most items are 10 or 25 cents.
I almost bought one toddler-size shirt not because it was cute but because it was just so awful. It had a picture of a pelican on it, and there was a flap of plastic attached to the shirt that was the top half of his beak, so you could lift it up and look inside his mouth. Inside, there were some shrimps hanging out at tables and drinking martinis, and there was a little stage with a jazz band (the performers were also shrimps). A banner across the top of the pelican’s beak proclaimed it to be “The See Food Lounge.” Hilarious! For 10 cents, I thought, I have to have this shirt. But oh my gosh it was ugly. In the end I didn’t think I could bring myself to put anything that ugly on my child. When I went back a couple weeks later, it was gone – so I guess someone else got a kick out of it.
I almost bought one toddler-size shirt not because it was cute but because it was just so awful. It had a picture of a pelican on it, and there was a flap of plastic attached to the shirt that was the top half of his beak, so you could lift it up and look inside his mouth. Inside, there were some shrimps hanging out at tables and drinking martinis, and there was a little stage with a jazz band (the performers were also shrimps). A banner across the top of the pelican’s beak proclaimed it to be “The See Food Lounge.” Hilarious! For 10 cents, I thought, I have to have this shirt. But oh my gosh it was ugly. In the end I didn’t think I could bring myself to put anything that ugly on my child. When I went back a couple weeks later, it was gone – so I guess someone else got a kick out of it.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Nature Deficit Disorder
I took the baby for a long walk yesterday. I felt the need to get out "in nature" - I was reading a book about camping in the Alaskan wilderness, and just wanted to be out somewhere quiet, in the cathedral-like gloom of a forest, with no one else around. The closest I could find was an old closed-off road that goes through a park. Technically pedestrians aren't supposed to go back there but it was the only woodland within walking distance of our apartment. So I headed down the road carrying the baby in the Snugli. Little birds flitted across the path in front of us. The wind shifted the trees overhead, making the patches of shadows dance. I thought about "the need to be versed in country things" and hoped that as we walked she might absorb some of the peacefulness of the setting and somewhere in her subconscious a love for solitude and nature might be sparked.
But five minutes into our walk there were things I couldn't tune out any more. Like the persistent honking of traffic from the highway next to us. And the regular pounding of hammers from a crew of roofers nearby, followed by the buzz of jackhammers from a construction site that we passed a little later. And the glimpses of houses on both sides through the trees. And the strong reek of raw sewage that apparently the city dumps directly into the creek (are they allowed to do that? really?). As the path dipped under an overpass, I saw a couple of orange construction cones and a sign that warned that this was a lead removal area, and that eating and drinking were forbidden. We kept walking, but we couldn't get away from it all. At all. I then began to worry that at this formative stage the baby might learn to associate woodland with the stink of sewage, and would grow up to hate nature.
Maybe we should move to the country. If we can find some place in the country with decent schools, liberal politics, and no confinement agriculture facilities nearby.
But five minutes into our walk there were things I couldn't tune out any more. Like the persistent honking of traffic from the highway next to us. And the regular pounding of hammers from a crew of roofers nearby, followed by the buzz of jackhammers from a construction site that we passed a little later. And the glimpses of houses on both sides through the trees. And the strong reek of raw sewage that apparently the city dumps directly into the creek (are they allowed to do that? really?). As the path dipped under an overpass, I saw a couple of orange construction cones and a sign that warned that this was a lead removal area, and that eating and drinking were forbidden. We kept walking, but we couldn't get away from it all. At all. I then began to worry that at this formative stage the baby might learn to associate woodland with the stink of sewage, and would grow up to hate nature.
Maybe we should move to the country. If we can find some place in the country with decent schools, liberal politics, and no confinement agriculture facilities nearby.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Guess What Book This Is
"Where's this bally Rush got to?" said Edmund a good deal later.
"I certainly thought we'd have struck it by now," said Peter. "But there's nothing to do but keep on." They both knew that the Dwarf was looking anxiously at them, but he said nothing.
And still they trudged on and their mail shirts began to feel very hot and heavy.
This is a shoe-in to guess because lots of people are reading this particular book right now. But it's a terrific book and deserves to be read a lot. I have probably read it a dozen times already and I still really enjoy it each time. I'm reading it out loud to the baby.
"I certainly thought we'd have struck it by now," said Peter. "But there's nothing to do but keep on." They both knew that the Dwarf was looking anxiously at them, but he said nothing.
And still they trudged on and their mail shirts began to feel very hot and heavy.
This is a shoe-in to guess because lots of people are reading this particular book right now. But it's a terrific book and deserves to be read a lot. I have probably read it a dozen times already and I still really enjoy it each time. I'm reading it out loud to the baby.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Happy Birthday!
Today is my daughter's first birthday!
I can't quite believe that she's really a year old. All day (actually yesterday and today) I was noticing the time and recalling exactly where I was, and what I was doing, a year ago.
3 pm yesterday - feeling the first cramps.
3:30 pm - realizing -omigosh!- those are contractions!
7 pm - walking around and around our apartment, breathing heavily.
10 pm - walking around and around, leaning over the sofa arm, groaning.
1 am - on the way to the hospital, feeling spacey and eager and a little nervous.
4 am - pacing the halls in the hospital in a stylish tentlike gown.
6 am - watching the sun rise, with my midwife at my side, and hearing her say something about how I'm still only in "early" labor. aaaah.
9 am - groaning, pacing, panting.
11 am - crouching in the tub. It doesn't help. Starting to feel panicky, like I can't keep ahead of the pain; asking for an epidural.
noon - blessed relief, lying in bed after the epidural. The room was dark, and my husband and I both dozed. I thought of how soon I'd have my baby in my arms, and my eyes filled with tears.
2:30 pm - time to push. Painful but exciting. I felt totally focused on the job at hand.
3 pm - the birth! seeing my beautiful baby for the first time, feeling how real she was as she wriggled on my chest, warm and wet and dark, all long limbs and big dark eyes. Feeling totally in love with her and with my husband.
5 pm - eating dinner with one hand while I held my baby with the other.
9 pm - surprise visit from my brother, after my parents and husband had gone home. In the warm, quiet room, we marveled together over the baby.
It was a wonderful birth day for her, and an experience I'll treasure always. Probably the best thing that's ever happened to me. I remember I held her in my arms and nursed her all night long, only putting her down briefly to go to the bathroom. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I felt that little surge of happiness that you get sometimes when something particularly good happens to you - but I felt that way for hours and hours on end.
And now she's a year old, a whole year of discoveries behind us. She's grown from a little 6-pound swaddled bundle whose only desire in life was to nurse, nurse, nurse...to a real little person who kicks and struggles and growls at me if I take too long getting her dressed - a person with ideas and a sense of humor, with my husband's ears and her grandmother's eyes and my dark hair. She's spirited and playful. We love her so much it hurts.
I can't quite believe that she's really a year old. All day (actually yesterday and today) I was noticing the time and recalling exactly where I was, and what I was doing, a year ago.
3 pm yesterday - feeling the first cramps.
3:30 pm - realizing -omigosh!- those are contractions!
7 pm - walking around and around our apartment, breathing heavily.
10 pm - walking around and around, leaning over the sofa arm, groaning.
1 am - on the way to the hospital, feeling spacey and eager and a little nervous.
4 am - pacing the halls in the hospital in a stylish tentlike gown.
6 am - watching the sun rise, with my midwife at my side, and hearing her say something about how I'm still only in "early" labor. aaaah.
9 am - groaning, pacing, panting.
11 am - crouching in the tub. It doesn't help. Starting to feel panicky, like I can't keep ahead of the pain; asking for an epidural.
noon - blessed relief, lying in bed after the epidural. The room was dark, and my husband and I both dozed. I thought of how soon I'd have my baby in my arms, and my eyes filled with tears.
2:30 pm - time to push. Painful but exciting. I felt totally focused on the job at hand.
3 pm - the birth! seeing my beautiful baby for the first time, feeling how real she was as she wriggled on my chest, warm and wet and dark, all long limbs and big dark eyes. Feeling totally in love with her and with my husband.
5 pm - eating dinner with one hand while I held my baby with the other.
9 pm - surprise visit from my brother, after my parents and husband had gone home. In the warm, quiet room, we marveled together over the baby.
It was a wonderful birth day for her, and an experience I'll treasure always. Probably the best thing that's ever happened to me. I remember I held her in my arms and nursed her all night long, only putting her down briefly to go to the bathroom. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I felt that little surge of happiness that you get sometimes when something particularly good happens to you - but I felt that way for hours and hours on end.
And now she's a year old, a whole year of discoveries behind us. She's grown from a little 6-pound swaddled bundle whose only desire in life was to nurse, nurse, nurse...to a real little person who kicks and struggles and growls at me if I take too long getting her dressed - a person with ideas and a sense of humor, with my husband's ears and her grandmother's eyes and my dark hair. She's spirited and playful. We love her so much it hurts.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Single Moms
I am in awe of single moms. How do they do it - really, how do the logistics work? I was fairly prepared for our lives to change when we had a baby; I knew you can't leave a baby alone ever, so I figured we'd do a lot of swapping off baby duty so we could both keep going to our jobs, doing the grocery shopping, taking showers, and all the other necessary things of life - that, or take her with us. And with the help of my amazing parents, it has worked out. I feel like my share of the work is a bit bigger just because I'm still nursing, so I have to drop what I'm doing every 3 hours and pump or nurse, then wash out bottles and pump parts. I'll be glad when that phase is over.
Anyway, my husband is on a ten-day business trip right now so I'm on my own with the baby. I still have to go to my job and I have a huge freelancing assignment that is eating up all my spare time. I'm a bit stressed about finishing it. I get the work done in 5 minutes here, 3 minutes there, hopping up constantly to attend to the baby's needs. She plays quietly for a few minutes at a time, but then wants to interact with me, or goes after some hazardous item in the apartment, so I really have to supervise her with one eye the whole time I'm working, and it slows me down to a snail's pace. I get most of it done at night after she's asleep. Since this job is so enormous, lately I've been staying up till ridiculous hours to get my daily quota done. I'm only getting a few hours of sleep a night. I usually have to eat (raisins, chips, or something) the entire time I'm working just to stay awake - otherwise I find myself nodding off as soon as I sit down. Not to gripe; it's an interesting assignment and I'll be glad of the money. I just wish I didn't have to do it on top of everything else. I wish I was only working at my office job. Or only taking care of the baby. Or only doing the freelance job. Having to do all three, with no backup (except for the aforementioned amazing parents), is rough.
So having had a taste of working single motherhood, I just don't understand how it's possible. How can you look after a baby if you have to work, which if you're single you must, in order to support yourself? I guess daycare is the answer, but I know my salary alone would barely cover the rent on our one-bedroom apartment, so I certainly wouldn't have any money left over for fripperies like food or daycare. Do you just go deeper and deeper into debt until the kid is old enough to go to school, when (finally!) there is a safe, free, supervised place where you can leave them all day and you can start to make some headway against the bills? And if you are alone and have no one to pass the baby off to, how do you manage things like dentist's appointments, job interviews, or even a movie with a friend, where you just can't bring a baby with you? I guess you just get more aggressive about finding babysitters (so far we have yet to leave her with anyone but my parents and, twice, with friends). But babysitters are expensive. From every angle, raising a child alone must be a Herculean task.
Anyway, my husband is on a ten-day business trip right now so I'm on my own with the baby. I still have to go to my job and I have a huge freelancing assignment that is eating up all my spare time. I'm a bit stressed about finishing it. I get the work done in 5 minutes here, 3 minutes there, hopping up constantly to attend to the baby's needs. She plays quietly for a few minutes at a time, but then wants to interact with me, or goes after some hazardous item in the apartment, so I really have to supervise her with one eye the whole time I'm working, and it slows me down to a snail's pace. I get most of it done at night after she's asleep. Since this job is so enormous, lately I've been staying up till ridiculous hours to get my daily quota done. I'm only getting a few hours of sleep a night. I usually have to eat (raisins, chips, or something) the entire time I'm working just to stay awake - otherwise I find myself nodding off as soon as I sit down. Not to gripe; it's an interesting assignment and I'll be glad of the money. I just wish I didn't have to do it on top of everything else. I wish I was only working at my office job. Or only taking care of the baby. Or only doing the freelance job. Having to do all three, with no backup (except for the aforementioned amazing parents), is rough.
So having had a taste of working single motherhood, I just don't understand how it's possible. How can you look after a baby if you have to work, which if you're single you must, in order to support yourself? I guess daycare is the answer, but I know my salary alone would barely cover the rent on our one-bedroom apartment, so I certainly wouldn't have any money left over for fripperies like food or daycare. Do you just go deeper and deeper into debt until the kid is old enough to go to school, when (finally!) there is a safe, free, supervised place where you can leave them all day and you can start to make some headway against the bills? And if you are alone and have no one to pass the baby off to, how do you manage things like dentist's appointments, job interviews, or even a movie with a friend, where you just can't bring a baby with you? I guess you just get more aggressive about finding babysitters (so far we have yet to leave her with anyone but my parents and, twice, with friends). But babysitters are expensive. From every angle, raising a child alone must be a Herculean task.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
A Handy Rhyme
Here's how to remember the difference:
Medicare is for people with no hair.
Medicaid is for people who don't get paid.
Or perhaps I'm the only one who gets those two mixed up.
In other news, I tried circus peanuts - the candy - for the first time in about 20 years today. I remember liking them as a kid, and I thought perhaps they would fall into the category of Things That You Know Are Bad For You But You're A Sucker For Them Anyway, like chicken nuggets and Reeses Pieces peanut butter cups. I'm happy to report that they are awful! I will have no trouble at all resisting them for the rest of my life. They are like plasticky pieces of styrofoam infused with chemical perfume. After I'd eaten one, the sickly-sweet plastic smell kept wafting out of the bag, until I had to get up and throw it away.
Medicare is for people with no hair.
Medicaid is for people who don't get paid.
Or perhaps I'm the only one who gets those two mixed up.
In other news, I tried circus peanuts - the candy - for the first time in about 20 years today. I remember liking them as a kid, and I thought perhaps they would fall into the category of Things That You Know Are Bad For You But You're A Sucker For Them Anyway, like chicken nuggets and Reeses Pieces peanut butter cups. I'm happy to report that they are awful! I will have no trouble at all resisting them for the rest of my life. They are like plasticky pieces of styrofoam infused with chemical perfume. After I'd eaten one, the sickly-sweet plastic smell kept wafting out of the bag, until I had to get up and throw it away.
Monday, May 19, 2008
I Wore Pajamas to Work
By mistake. My neighbor was getting rid of a big bag of clothes, so I rummaged through it and was pleased when I found a few things my size that I really liked - a few long-sleeved casual tops, a pair of drawstring pants I can wear for yoga, a white pullover, and even some shoes that fit. Everything looked like it was still new.
This morning I reached for the white pullover, which is long enough to go down over my hips and tight-fitting in the sleeves, and has little tiny nubbins all over it. It seemed like a perfect choice for a day that was unseasonably chilly, and it looked sharp with dark pants and dangly earrings. It wasn't until I got home that my husband took one look at me, laughed, and said, "You wore your pajamas to work!" I said, "What do you mean?" "Those are long johns," he said. "Of course they're not," I said. Then I went to look in the mirror. He's right, dang it.
Luckily no one at work looked at me funny or said anything. Maybe I got away with it?
This morning I reached for the white pullover, which is long enough to go down over my hips and tight-fitting in the sleeves, and has little tiny nubbins all over it. It seemed like a perfect choice for a day that was unseasonably chilly, and it looked sharp with dark pants and dangly earrings. It wasn't until I got home that my husband took one look at me, laughed, and said, "You wore your pajamas to work!" I said, "What do you mean?" "Those are long johns," he said. "Of course they're not," I said. Then I went to look in the mirror. He's right, dang it.
Luckily no one at work looked at me funny or said anything. Maybe I got away with it?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Watch Out for Farmers
Sometimes I really feel at odds with farmers. I am supposed to feel sympathy for them - farming is such a hard job, after all, and most small farmers have to work a second job in town just to keep ahead of the bills, and the loss of rural communities across America is so sad, etc. I guess I feel respect for the ones who are trying to do a good job - trying to farm organically or abide by humane standards in the way that they raise their animals.
But the vast majority don't seem to care much about things that are so critically important to me. Like the environment. They drench their fields in pesticides and rake over the ground with their tractors until the soil just crumbles and blows away. Or they stuff chickens into cages so small that any thinking person would hurt to look at them. They talk about vegetarians as though they're vampires - they talk, seriously and with great conviction, about how "vegans are out to get our kids". It's almost as though they get set, at some point, into a kind of antagonism with the earth and nature - bent on extracting whatever they can get from organisms that, they think, owe them a living. Even the occasional organic farmer that I meet has this weird worldview - what I think of as an exploitation complex - that the earth is here for us to use, by any means possible. One I met said he didn't believe animals could suffer - that what might appear to be suffering was really a misinterpretation on our part. I'd like to stick him in a farrowing crate, in a space so small he couldn't stand up or turn around, and misinterpret his cries for help.
But the vast majority don't seem to care much about things that are so critically important to me. Like the environment. They drench their fields in pesticides and rake over the ground with their tractors until the soil just crumbles and blows away. Or they stuff chickens into cages so small that any thinking person would hurt to look at them. They talk about vegetarians as though they're vampires - they talk, seriously and with great conviction, about how "vegans are out to get our kids". It's almost as though they get set, at some point, into a kind of antagonism with the earth and nature - bent on extracting whatever they can get from organisms that, they think, owe them a living. Even the occasional organic farmer that I meet has this weird worldview - what I think of as an exploitation complex - that the earth is here for us to use, by any means possible. One I met said he didn't believe animals could suffer - that what might appear to be suffering was really a misinterpretation on our part. I'd like to stick him in a farrowing crate, in a space so small he couldn't stand up or turn around, and misinterpret his cries for help.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
At the Same Time
Before now, I never knew it was possible to be simultaneously ribby and paunchy. Not that either is an extreme - I don't look like a starvation victim or anything, and I think I am safely out of the realm where anyone could mistake me for being pregnant. I just look like a normal thin person with a slightly poochy belly. I wonder if I will always have it, if it's one of the trade-offs involved in motherhood that everyone learns about and quietly gets resigned to. It's like having a few white hairs and simultaneously a few zits - two other things I didn't know you could have at the same time. Alas, you can.
I read recently about a mom who's expecting her 18th child. She's only 41 and is planning to have "as many children as God will give us." I think it's so unfair that some friends of mine have invested thousands of dollars and untold emotional energy trying to conceive a baby, and recently have had to come to terms with the fact that they cannot have children. They're only in their late twenties. And meanwhile this couple has so many - surely more than they "need" to feel fulfilled, and far more than this overburdened earth needs from a single couple. I loved being pregnant; I hope I get the chance to do it again someday. But oh my gosh. 18 times? That's just too many.
I read recently about a mom who's expecting her 18th child. She's only 41 and is planning to have "as many children as God will give us." I think it's so unfair that some friends of mine have invested thousands of dollars and untold emotional energy trying to conceive a baby, and recently have had to come to terms with the fact that they cannot have children. They're only in their late twenties. And meanwhile this couple has so many - surely more than they "need" to feel fulfilled, and far more than this overburdened earth needs from a single couple. I loved being pregnant; I hope I get the chance to do it again someday. But oh my gosh. 18 times? That's just too many.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Feeling Protective
Visiting a neighbor with a one-year-old baby:
I lifted my daughter out of her carseat and set her down on her feet by the sofa, where she could hold on (she's quite good at standing now). She gazed around looking slightly startled and concerned. Piers, the one-year-old, was obviously heftier than she was and much more mobile, toddling rings around his stroller and all over the living room, picking stuff up, and babbling happily to himself. He toddled over to her and clutched at her face, patted her shoulder, then grabbed again at her face and cheek. She looked concerned. I reached over to tactfully disengage Piers, but he slapped at her and hit her nose, and her face crumpled into tears. Piers toddled off cheerfully while I told her, "It's OK." I could feel her fear and hesitancy about the situation, and felt a rush of love. I wanted to protect her. But parenthood is all about putting your child into unsafe situations, repeatedly, so that they can grow and learn to be independent. I had to just sit there and watch as Piers approached again, though I wanted to sweep her up and take her away.
I lifted my daughter out of her carseat and set her down on her feet by the sofa, where she could hold on (she's quite good at standing now). She gazed around looking slightly startled and concerned. Piers, the one-year-old, was obviously heftier than she was and much more mobile, toddling rings around his stroller and all over the living room, picking stuff up, and babbling happily to himself. He toddled over to her and clutched at her face, patted her shoulder, then grabbed again at her face and cheek. She looked concerned. I reached over to tactfully disengage Piers, but he slapped at her and hit her nose, and her face crumpled into tears. Piers toddled off cheerfully while I told her, "It's OK." I could feel her fear and hesitancy about the situation, and felt a rush of love. I wanted to protect her. But parenthood is all about putting your child into unsafe situations, repeatedly, so that they can grow and learn to be independent. I had to just sit there and watch as Piers approached again, though I wanted to sweep her up and take her away.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Childbirth, From the Other Side
I just came across an old draft in my blog that I never posted. Here it is:
I read that we are most fearful of situations we can't control - that's why people are more scared of flying than they are of driving. I wonder if it will help me during labor to think that it is at least a situation I'm controlling, something my own body is doing - and surely it wouldn't do more than I could handle.
Now that I'm on the other side of that great hurdle, I still look back on it - often - with a glow of pride and excitement. I did it! It seemed so impossible and frightening beforehand, no matter how many empowering natural childbirth stories I read. In fact, just getting pregnant was something I wasn't sure I'd manage, since I knew people my age who were having fertility problems, and I never thought of my reproductive system as particularly robust (I didn't start my periods until I was 16). And before that, I was terrified I'd never find the right guy to spend my life with, and motherhood and family life would just be something I'd never experience. I'd always be on the outside, looking in. It's amazing to me that I've surmounted all those obstacles and achieved the ambitions that were most dear to me.
But back to childbirth. Having been through it, I still feel an awe and reverence for people who do it. It STILL seems bordering on impossible. I look down at my hips and wonder how a baby ever managed to fit through there - and how I had the strength to make it happen. I don't think it particularly helped during labor to imagine that this was something my body was doing to itself. Maybe if I had been scared, that thought would have reassured me. But I didn't find the experience scary. I felt a kind of floating, powerful calm the whole time. It was the same feeling I had the morning of my wedding day. I expected to be jangling with nerves, but instead I just felt - serene. It was almost like a runner's high, when you feel spaced out and gloriously clear at the same time, so that nothing can ruffle you. At no point during labor did I feel frantic or terrified. At the worst point, I just felt like I couldn't breathe - like the pain was an avalanche tumbling down a mountain and I couldn't keep ahead of it. Maybe my body knew I needed to put my energy toward the labor and not spend any on flipping out. Anyway, it was simultaneously worse pain than I expected, probably the worst pain of my life, and also an experience that I felt completely able to handle, and that I look back on as wonderful.
I read that we are most fearful of situations we can't control - that's why people are more scared of flying than they are of driving. I wonder if it will help me during labor to think that it is at least a situation I'm controlling, something my own body is doing - and surely it wouldn't do more than I could handle.
Now that I'm on the other side of that great hurdle, I still look back on it - often - with a glow of pride and excitement. I did it! It seemed so impossible and frightening beforehand, no matter how many empowering natural childbirth stories I read. In fact, just getting pregnant was something I wasn't sure I'd manage, since I knew people my age who were having fertility problems, and I never thought of my reproductive system as particularly robust (I didn't start my periods until I was 16). And before that, I was terrified I'd never find the right guy to spend my life with, and motherhood and family life would just be something I'd never experience. I'd always be on the outside, looking in. It's amazing to me that I've surmounted all those obstacles and achieved the ambitions that were most dear to me.
But back to childbirth. Having been through it, I still feel an awe and reverence for people who do it. It STILL seems bordering on impossible. I look down at my hips and wonder how a baby ever managed to fit through there - and how I had the strength to make it happen. I don't think it particularly helped during labor to imagine that this was something my body was doing to itself. Maybe if I had been scared, that thought would have reassured me. But I didn't find the experience scary. I felt a kind of floating, powerful calm the whole time. It was the same feeling I had the morning of my wedding day. I expected to be jangling with nerves, but instead I just felt - serene. It was almost like a runner's high, when you feel spaced out and gloriously clear at the same time, so that nothing can ruffle you. At no point during labor did I feel frantic or terrified. At the worst point, I just felt like I couldn't breathe - like the pain was an avalanche tumbling down a mountain and I couldn't keep ahead of it. Maybe my body knew I needed to put my energy toward the labor and not spend any on flipping out. Anyway, it was simultaneously worse pain than I expected, probably the worst pain of my life, and also an experience that I felt completely able to handle, and that I look back on as wonderful.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Living Wages
Here is a neat little table showing the states that people most want to live in, ranked from most to least (from http://www.nlihc.org/oor2002/table9.htm):
52 Massachusetts $21.14
51 California $19.69
50 District of Columbia $19.21
49 New Jersey $18.85
48 New York $18.24
47 Connecticut $17.03
46 Maryland $16.82
45 Hawaii $16.74
44 Alaska $16.19
43 Colorado $15.99
42 New Hampshire $15.77
41 Nevada $15.54
40 Illinois $15.48
39 Washington $14.77
38 Minnesota $14.64
37 Arizona $14.49
36 Virginia $14.48
35 Florida $13.98
34 Georgia $13.83
33 Delaware $13.79
32 Vermont $13.58
31 Rhode Island $13.21
30 Oregon $13.18
29 Texas $13.18
28 Utah $13.14
27 Michigan $12.96
26 Pennsylvania $12.90
25 Maine $12.37
24 Ohio $11.79
23 North Carolina $11.57
22 Wisconsin $11.46
21 New Mexico $11.12
20 Indiana $10.93
19 Missouri $10.80
18 Kansas $10.65
17 South Carolina $10.50
16 South Dakota $10.44
15 Tennessee $10.40
14 Louisiana $10.31
13 Nebraska $10.22
12 Wyoming $10.20
11 Montana $10.19
10 Iowa $9.96
9 Oklahoma $9.94
8 Idaho $9.87
7 North Dakota $9.83
6 Kentucky $9.56
5 Alabama $9.31
4 Mississippi $9.05
3 Arkansas $9.02
2 West Virginia $8.72
1 Puerto Rico $8.56
Actually, it's the wage that a full-time worker needs to earn in order to afford rent on a two-bedroom apartment in these states. But it seems to me that it also functions as a ranking of desirability. No surprise that the states with gorgeous scenery and vibrant city life (Massachusetts, California) top the list, and states that don't have quite so much to offer end up at the bottom (Mississippi, West Virginia). No offense to anyone who lives in these bottom states. You can think of it as your states not having been "discovered" yet, if you like.
52 Massachusetts $21.14
51 California $19.69
50 District of Columbia $19.21
49 New Jersey $18.85
48 New York $18.24
47 Connecticut $17.03
46 Maryland $16.82
45 Hawaii $16.74
44 Alaska $16.19
43 Colorado $15.99
42 New Hampshire $15.77
41 Nevada $15.54
40 Illinois $15.48
39 Washington $14.77
38 Minnesota $14.64
37 Arizona $14.49
36 Virginia $14.48
35 Florida $13.98
34 Georgia $13.83
33 Delaware $13.79
32 Vermont $13.58
31 Rhode Island $13.21
30 Oregon $13.18
29 Texas $13.18
28 Utah $13.14
27 Michigan $12.96
26 Pennsylvania $12.90
25 Maine $12.37
24 Ohio $11.79
23 North Carolina $11.57
22 Wisconsin $11.46
21 New Mexico $11.12
20 Indiana $10.93
19 Missouri $10.80
18 Kansas $10.65
17 South Carolina $10.50
16 South Dakota $10.44
15 Tennessee $10.40
14 Louisiana $10.31
13 Nebraska $10.22
12 Wyoming $10.20
11 Montana $10.19
10 Iowa $9.96
9 Oklahoma $9.94
8 Idaho $9.87
7 North Dakota $9.83
6 Kentucky $9.56
5 Alabama $9.31
4 Mississippi $9.05
3 Arkansas $9.02
2 West Virginia $8.72
1 Puerto Rico $8.56
Actually, it's the wage that a full-time worker needs to earn in order to afford rent on a two-bedroom apartment in these states. But it seems to me that it also functions as a ranking of desirability. No surprise that the states with gorgeous scenery and vibrant city life (Massachusetts, California) top the list, and states that don't have quite so much to offer end up at the bottom (Mississippi, West Virginia). No offense to anyone who lives in these bottom states. You can think of it as your states not having been "discovered" yet, if you like.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Things My Breast Pump Says to Me
The Belgian whooore - knows them aaalll
Atta giiiirl, atta girrrrl
Demo-craaat, Demo-craat
Yoga flirrt, yoga flirrt
Micro-chip, micro-chiip
You're gonna get paid, you're gonna get paid (or is it "laid"?!)
Amanda Byrnes, Amanda Byrnes
To write a poem, live in Poland
Gotta go sneeze
Atta giiiirl, atta girrrrl
Demo-craaat, Demo-craat
Yoga flirrt, yoga flirrt
Micro-chip, micro-chiip
You're gonna get paid, you're gonna get paid (or is it "laid"?!)
Amanda Byrnes, Amanda Byrnes
To write a poem, live in Poland
Gotta go sneeze
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Notes from the Trenches
It's been a couple weeks since my last freak-out post, and things are going all right. The baby is eating (nothing from a spoon! Spoons are evil!), mostly finger food that we prepare for her in little bite-size morsels, and formula if we mix it half-and-half with breast milk. Looks like I'd better keep up the breast-feeding for a while. I'd like to give it up - I'm tired of pumping and lugging my breast pump around and keeping track of how long it's been since I pumped or nursed last. It is a royal pain. I can't even stay overnight at my company retreat because I need to go home and nurse. But she won't take formula straight, so I have to keep going for a while. The important thing is that she seems healthy and energetic - despite being so underweight. She laughs, plays peekaboo, crawls and pulls herself up all over the place, loves going for walks, loves watching the guinea pigs. She's a joy.
Meanwhile I'm crashingly tired, all the time, and longing for a vacation. I'm still working half-time at the office, and working from home the rest of the week and lately, both days on the weekend - and it's so, so hard to do work from home with a baby. I never realized. I thought it would be, if not a cakewalk, at least something I could manage comfortably - just stick the baby in the playpen, pour myself a cup of tea, and sit down at the computer. I didn't count on the fact that I would have to stop what I was doing approximately every 5-7 minutes, more often if she's having a "high-maintenance" day, and tend to her needs. I have to focus like a hawk in those few minutes I get after she's been handed a new toy or some Cheerios, or is down for a nap. And I have to draw on reserves of patience and unflappability beyond what I ever thought I had, the whole time I'm trying to work and care for her simultaneously. I feel achingly envious of moms who don't have to work while they're home with their babies - who can devote all their energy to taking care of a house and child (a more than full-time job in itself, that really does take all the energy you can give to it!), or who have time to read or volunteer, or go out and meet other moms. There are moms groups in our neighborhood but I don't have time to find them. Sometimes when people call me and want to chat during that golden hour of her naptime every afternoon, I feel irrationally angry at them - don't they know how valuable that time is, how it's maybe my only opportunity to get my work done by the deadline unless I want to stay up until 2 am?
I keep telling myself that things will get better, this is just a crunch time. As soon as I'm done with the current project, I'll get a breather. Then I can finally do things like my taxes that have been piling up needing my attention. I'll have at least three or four days before the next project comes in. And in the larger scheme of things, this is just a hard time because she's so little and needs me so much. In a few years, I can sit her down with a book, or drop her off at a friend's house for a playdate, or send her to kindergarten. I'll look back on these early days and feel proud of myself for getting through it. :)
Meanwhile I'm crashingly tired, all the time, and longing for a vacation. I'm still working half-time at the office, and working from home the rest of the week and lately, both days on the weekend - and it's so, so hard to do work from home with a baby. I never realized. I thought it would be, if not a cakewalk, at least something I could manage comfortably - just stick the baby in the playpen, pour myself a cup of tea, and sit down at the computer. I didn't count on the fact that I would have to stop what I was doing approximately every 5-7 minutes, more often if she's having a "high-maintenance" day, and tend to her needs. I have to focus like a hawk in those few minutes I get after she's been handed a new toy or some Cheerios, or is down for a nap. And I have to draw on reserves of patience and unflappability beyond what I ever thought I had, the whole time I'm trying to work and care for her simultaneously. I feel achingly envious of moms who don't have to work while they're home with their babies - who can devote all their energy to taking care of a house and child (a more than full-time job in itself, that really does take all the energy you can give to it!), or who have time to read or volunteer, or go out and meet other moms. There are moms groups in our neighborhood but I don't have time to find them. Sometimes when people call me and want to chat during that golden hour of her naptime every afternoon, I feel irrationally angry at them - don't they know how valuable that time is, how it's maybe my only opportunity to get my work done by the deadline unless I want to stay up until 2 am?
I keep telling myself that things will get better, this is just a crunch time. As soon as I'm done with the current project, I'll get a breather. Then I can finally do things like my taxes that have been piling up needing my attention. I'll have at least three or four days before the next project comes in. And in the larger scheme of things, this is just a hard time because she's so little and needs me so much. In a few years, I can sit her down with a book, or drop her off at a friend's house for a playdate, or send her to kindergarten. I'll look back on these early days and feel proud of myself for getting through it. :)
Monday, March 24, 2008
Shrimpiest Baby on the Block
I've been worried recently that my kid wasn't getting enough to eat - my milk production doesn't seem to be any higher than when she was a newborn, and it's a battle getting baby food into her. She kicks and twists and cries when I try to spoon-feed her. Most of the food ends up in her hair or smeared across her face thanks to her shenanigans. I even buy her the good stuff - organic fruits and veggies - and warm it up so it's as appealing as it can be, and make "mmm!" noises and airplane swoops with the spoon. She fusses and cries the whole time, basically from the moment i lower her into her high chair, to the point an hour or so later when I finally give up and lift her out to put her to bed.
Her 9-month doctor's appointment last week confirmed that she's not eating enough. She weighed only 15 pounds and change - she's in the 5th percentile for her age. The doctor was gentle but firm with me, told me she's "severely underweight" and needs 24 oz. of milk a day, not 14 (my best guess at what she was getting), and three meals, not one. I'm frustrated and disappointed in myself for not being able to make enough milk for her. I nurse her every few hours when I'm home, and I pump while I'm at work, but the supply is chronically low these days. Sometimes I'm hooked up and pumping away for 10 minutes at a time, and there's just nothing coming out. I feel like I should be able to make enough for her, and I'm upset at myself for not being able to.
But there's time for self-flagellation later. My immediate concern was just getting more nutrition into her, so when I left the doctor's office I drove straight to the store to buy a canister of formula - the "liquid poison" that I've had it drilled into me (by books, La Leche League, other moms, and breast-feeding advocates in general) I should never use. I felt like a traitor to the cause as I bought the stuff. Then home to try it out - where the baby promptly refused it. She gagged and retched when I gave her a bottle of formula, and pushed it away from her even though I knew she was hungry.
So I opened a new jar of baby food instead - the peaches kind, that I know tastes good - and spent half an hour fighting to get it into her. She was bobbing and weaving the whole time she was in her high chair so I strapped her into her carseat. I had to pin her arms down so she couldn't swat the spoon away, and pinch her cheeks to get her mouth open, before I could get any food into her mouth. Then she still spat it out, crying furiously. I sat on the floor next to the carseat with my severely malnourished, screaming baby, feeling like a total failure as a mother. Back in the early days, when she was hitting all her milestones early and was a total delight, I loved motherhood so much. Now I feel like it's nothing but fighting, fighting, fighting - to get her to eat, to get her to hold still long enough for me to change her diaper or put her clothes on, to go to sleep at the proper times. I'm worried that lack of nutrition is going to hurt her development (maybe it already has - why isn't she babbling yet, like she is supposed to be doing? or pointing at things? or clapping her hands?). I feel like everyone is going to judge me for having this shrimpy baby - just as, involuntarily, and even unwillingly, I had judgmental thoughts about other mothers I know who made choices for their babies that I thought weren't optimal.
Well, now back to our regularly scheduled self-flagellation... Probably the reasons she's not getting enough milk are 1) I stopped the night feedings and forced her to start sleeping through the night. I think she was probably getting a significant portion of her calories at night. 2) I started jogging and doing sit-ups and trying to eat less, in hopes of reducing the belly bulge, but it also is probably reducing my milk production. I feel better about myself now that I'm sleeping more and exercising, but my baby is suffering for it, and that just makes me feel like a selfish monster. I'm putting my own wellbeing ahead of hers, which as a parent I should never do.
A friend of mine had her baby two days ago. I am so thrilled and happy for her. Yet even as I heard the news (from her dad, telling me that all went well and that she had a natural childbirth) and even as I said, "Oh, that's terrific! I'm so proud of her!" etc. I knew in the back of my mind that this was going to send me into a tailspin later. As it did - over the next few hours, as happy as I felt for my friend, and as glad as I am that she was able to do it, I still felt increasingly awful about having had an epidural when I had my own baby. I wanted to go natural and I set it up as this great thing in my mind. But when I was actually in labor, the pain was so through-the-roof horrifically intense that I felt desperate for relief. I was happy with my decision at first. The baby came out healthy and alert, I was able to deliver her in a state of relative calm (although it still hurt so much as she was coming out that I almost asked them to crank up the epidural), and there were no complications. But over time, as more people I know have babies and succeed in doing it naturally, I can't help feeling that it reflects on them as stronger and better than I am, mentally as well as physically, and I feel wretched for the decision I made. The very first choice I made in my career as a parent, and it was "wrong." Even though I know that if I had a chance to do it all over again, crouching over the edge of the bathtub in the throes of that one awful contraction I would ask again for an epidural, without a doubt. And if there's a next kid, chances are I'd ask for an epidural (i.e., FAIL) again. Outwardly I try to act like I'm confident about my decision and supportive of everyone else's, but internally I'm just frustrated with myself for being weak. My friend can go through life knowing that she did it, that she is strong and amazing, whereas I will always know that when push comes to shove, I'm a wimp. I hate that.
Perhaps things will be better in a couple of weeks. People keep telling me that babies change so fast, whatever is going on won't last long. And maybe by then I'll be able to stop obsessing about the stupid epidural (at least, until the next friend succeeds in going natural).
Her 9-month doctor's appointment last week confirmed that she's not eating enough. She weighed only 15 pounds and change - she's in the 5th percentile for her age. The doctor was gentle but firm with me, told me she's "severely underweight" and needs 24 oz. of milk a day, not 14 (my best guess at what she was getting), and three meals, not one. I'm frustrated and disappointed in myself for not being able to make enough milk for her. I nurse her every few hours when I'm home, and I pump while I'm at work, but the supply is chronically low these days. Sometimes I'm hooked up and pumping away for 10 minutes at a time, and there's just nothing coming out. I feel like I should be able to make enough for her, and I'm upset at myself for not being able to.
But there's time for self-flagellation later. My immediate concern was just getting more nutrition into her, so when I left the doctor's office I drove straight to the store to buy a canister of formula - the "liquid poison" that I've had it drilled into me (by books, La Leche League, other moms, and breast-feeding advocates in general) I should never use. I felt like a traitor to the cause as I bought the stuff. Then home to try it out - where the baby promptly refused it. She gagged and retched when I gave her a bottle of formula, and pushed it away from her even though I knew she was hungry.
So I opened a new jar of baby food instead - the peaches kind, that I know tastes good - and spent half an hour fighting to get it into her. She was bobbing and weaving the whole time she was in her high chair so I strapped her into her carseat. I had to pin her arms down so she couldn't swat the spoon away, and pinch her cheeks to get her mouth open, before I could get any food into her mouth. Then she still spat it out, crying furiously. I sat on the floor next to the carseat with my severely malnourished, screaming baby, feeling like a total failure as a mother. Back in the early days, when she was hitting all her milestones early and was a total delight, I loved motherhood so much. Now I feel like it's nothing but fighting, fighting, fighting - to get her to eat, to get her to hold still long enough for me to change her diaper or put her clothes on, to go to sleep at the proper times. I'm worried that lack of nutrition is going to hurt her development (maybe it already has - why isn't she babbling yet, like she is supposed to be doing? or pointing at things? or clapping her hands?). I feel like everyone is going to judge me for having this shrimpy baby - just as, involuntarily, and even unwillingly, I had judgmental thoughts about other mothers I know who made choices for their babies that I thought weren't optimal.
Well, now back to our regularly scheduled self-flagellation... Probably the reasons she's not getting enough milk are 1) I stopped the night feedings and forced her to start sleeping through the night. I think she was probably getting a significant portion of her calories at night. 2) I started jogging and doing sit-ups and trying to eat less, in hopes of reducing the belly bulge, but it also is probably reducing my milk production. I feel better about myself now that I'm sleeping more and exercising, but my baby is suffering for it, and that just makes me feel like a selfish monster. I'm putting my own wellbeing ahead of hers, which as a parent I should never do.
A friend of mine had her baby two days ago. I am so thrilled and happy for her. Yet even as I heard the news (from her dad, telling me that all went well and that she had a natural childbirth) and even as I said, "Oh, that's terrific! I'm so proud of her!" etc. I knew in the back of my mind that this was going to send me into a tailspin later. As it did - over the next few hours, as happy as I felt for my friend, and as glad as I am that she was able to do it, I still felt increasingly awful about having had an epidural when I had my own baby. I wanted to go natural and I set it up as this great thing in my mind. But when I was actually in labor, the pain was so through-the-roof horrifically intense that I felt desperate for relief. I was happy with my decision at first. The baby came out healthy and alert, I was able to deliver her in a state of relative calm (although it still hurt so much as she was coming out that I almost asked them to crank up the epidural), and there were no complications. But over time, as more people I know have babies and succeed in doing it naturally, I can't help feeling that it reflects on them as stronger and better than I am, mentally as well as physically, and I feel wretched for the decision I made. The very first choice I made in my career as a parent, and it was "wrong." Even though I know that if I had a chance to do it all over again, crouching over the edge of the bathtub in the throes of that one awful contraction I would ask again for an epidural, without a doubt. And if there's a next kid, chances are I'd ask for an epidural (i.e., FAIL) again. Outwardly I try to act like I'm confident about my decision and supportive of everyone else's, but internally I'm just frustrated with myself for being weak. My friend can go through life knowing that she did it, that she is strong and amazing, whereas I will always know that when push comes to shove, I'm a wimp. I hate that.
Perhaps things will be better in a couple of weeks. People keep telling me that babies change so fast, whatever is going on won't last long. And maybe by then I'll be able to stop obsessing about the stupid epidural (at least, until the next friend succeeds in going natural).
Friday, March 07, 2008
Willpower
I have been sorely lacking in willpower lately. When the baby naps, all these things that I want to do swim to the fore of my mind - I want to organize the pictures in the album, and pick up that novel I was working on writing two years ago, and get some exercise for Pete's sake before that belly bulge makes itself any more at home, and call the friends I've been neglecting, and watch the rest of the Thin Man movies, and buy sneakers, and maybe even grab my husband and remind him what it was like when we were first married. :)
But instead, I generally carpe opportunity to clean the apartment, which is nice and of course necessary, but never lasts. Or, often, I collapse on the sofa and take a nap. Or, if I can retain consciousness on the pit of sleepiness that is our sofa, I read a K.M. Peyton book and munch. My appetite, particularly for junk food, seems endless these days. I cannot get enough of brownies, potato chips, banana bread with chocolate chips, Girl Scout cookies, Heath candy bars, sugared dried mango slices, bread smeared with Nutella, cream top Brown Cow yogurt, apple crumble, Breyer's vanilla ice cream with the little shreds of vanilla bean in it, strawberries drizzled with honey, etc. It is ridiculous. Every day I wake up and grab my belly flab to see if it is still there, and feel miserable that of course it is, and vow to go on some kind of regimen involving dry toast, tea, and 12 hours in the gym each day. But I'm craving the Nutella before I even get my socks on in the morning. And no matter how bold my resolutions, I give in time and again. My willpower is all spongy like when your brake pads are shot, and the brakes just give under your foot, no matter how hard you stamp down.
Today was a good day though. I got up early and took care of the baby as usual, and the guinea pigs, and myself, in rotation until everyone was fed, clean, and happy for the time being. Then I left her cooing in her playpen and my husband asleep in bed, and went for a run around the track at the local high school. I haven't run since before we got married, I think. I wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it. It was incredibly hard - I wanted to quit over and over again - but I stuck it out, kept running the whole time, until I'd done 12 laps (3 miles). Afterwards I felt so glad. If I can bust out a 5K without even training, in just under half an hour, I can't be in that bad shape. I walked home through the crisp early morning, showered, ate a reasonably healthy breakfast, and started my freelancing job. By 2 pm I'd finished it (a couple days ahead of schedule, which meant I could relax all weekend). I took the baby for a walk, read a book to her, played with her, fed her, put her down for a nap. I baked bread. Then in the evening I worked on the novel, which is a long way from being readable but I'm so, so happy to be making progress on it again. I thought about it the whole time I was running, trying to solve some of the problems with the plot, and managed to work out some of the kinks.
Here's my theory. Being unhealthy (potato chips, relaxing on the couch) feels good. But being virtuous (laps, salad, writing) feels good too. And the longer I go on doing things that are good for me, the easier it is to resist the unhealthy habits. Of course, it's only been one day, but today, glowing from the exercise, I actually wanted to eat oatmeal and not chocolate chips for breakfast. I didn't feel like it was a tremendous effort to exercise my willpower, like I usually do. So I just have to keep it up.
But instead, I generally carpe opportunity to clean the apartment, which is nice and of course necessary, but never lasts. Or, often, I collapse on the sofa and take a nap. Or, if I can retain consciousness on the pit of sleepiness that is our sofa, I read a K.M. Peyton book and munch. My appetite, particularly for junk food, seems endless these days. I cannot get enough of brownies, potato chips, banana bread with chocolate chips, Girl Scout cookies, Heath candy bars, sugared dried mango slices, bread smeared with Nutella, cream top Brown Cow yogurt, apple crumble, Breyer's vanilla ice cream with the little shreds of vanilla bean in it, strawberries drizzled with honey, etc. It is ridiculous. Every day I wake up and grab my belly flab to see if it is still there, and feel miserable that of course it is, and vow to go on some kind of regimen involving dry toast, tea, and 12 hours in the gym each day. But I'm craving the Nutella before I even get my socks on in the morning. And no matter how bold my resolutions, I give in time and again. My willpower is all spongy like when your brake pads are shot, and the brakes just give under your foot, no matter how hard you stamp down.
Today was a good day though. I got up early and took care of the baby as usual, and the guinea pigs, and myself, in rotation until everyone was fed, clean, and happy for the time being. Then I left her cooing in her playpen and my husband asleep in bed, and went for a run around the track at the local high school. I haven't run since before we got married, I think. I wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it. It was incredibly hard - I wanted to quit over and over again - but I stuck it out, kept running the whole time, until I'd done 12 laps (3 miles). Afterwards I felt so glad. If I can bust out a 5K without even training, in just under half an hour, I can't be in that bad shape. I walked home through the crisp early morning, showered, ate a reasonably healthy breakfast, and started my freelancing job. By 2 pm I'd finished it (a couple days ahead of schedule, which meant I could relax all weekend). I took the baby for a walk, read a book to her, played with her, fed her, put her down for a nap. I baked bread. Then in the evening I worked on the novel, which is a long way from being readable but I'm so, so happy to be making progress on it again. I thought about it the whole time I was running, trying to solve some of the problems with the plot, and managed to work out some of the kinks.
Here's my theory. Being unhealthy (potato chips, relaxing on the couch) feels good. But being virtuous (laps, salad, writing) feels good too. And the longer I go on doing things that are good for me, the easier it is to resist the unhealthy habits. Of course, it's only been one day, but today, glowing from the exercise, I actually wanted to eat oatmeal and not chocolate chips for breakfast. I didn't feel like it was a tremendous effort to exercise my willpower, like I usually do. So I just have to keep it up.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Stomachs & Zzzzs
They say it takes nine months to gain the weight to make a baby, and nine months to get it all off. So I still have a month and a half to go. I am actually back to the weight I was pre-pregnancy. But I still have a belly bulge that I find unduly distressing. It's been a fixture for the past few months and doesn't show any signs of leaving, in spite of the ab tightenings I do throughout the day and situps when I think of it, so I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever be able to get rid of it. Plus, there is a dark vertical line down the center of my abdomen that appeared halfway through the pregnancy and has only slightly faded.
Back when I was a runner, I used to have a great stomach, flat as a pancake. Now there's a lot of extra skin there and it sags. When I wear tight jeans, it blops forward over the waistline. For the first time in my life I'm buying nonfat dairy products and feeling guilty about eating cookies. I'm thinking about all the skinny little tops I have in my closet, some of which I bought just before becoming pregnant so I've never even worn them - and maybe I never will be able to. And what will I wear to the pool this summer? If I wear my bikini, I feel like everyone will stare at me: "what's up with that line on her stomach?" And some women might be all smiley and ask me if I'm expecting.
Sleep, sleep, sleep. I'm losing heart just as the end is nearly in sight. Ever since June, I've been getting up every 2-3 hours all night long feeding the baby. Coupled with late nights freelancing (because that seems to be the only time I can get anything done), my window of opportunity to sleep has shrunk to just a few hours a night. It's not enough. My stay-at-home mom friend told me she goes to bed at 10, sleeps till 9:30 or 10 every morning - and her baby sleeps through the night. She looks rested, relaxed, and happy. I feel like I'm getting the crazy-lady bags-under-her-eyes look.
Last night I didn't finish my 'lancing until 1 am, went to bed, and slept till 5 am when the baby woke up. She is the only baby I know who still wakes up this often at this age. The books, pediatrician, and other moms all assure me that she's capable of going 12 hours without a feeding. So I have started feeding her a big meal with rice cereal and all the milk I can get her to take, just before midnight, then refusing to feed her again until morning. It means that she wakes up and screams her head off in the middle of the night because she's used to nursing ot get back to sleep. This is what I mean by the end being nearly in sight - if I can teach her to put herself back to sleep without being fed, we will all get more sleep. But right now is the toughest time because instead of just getting up to nurse her and going back to bed 20 minutes later three times a night, I'm now getting up to rock her and shush her and rub her back and do all the other things I can think of to comfort her short of nursing - then putting her back down and listening to her scream bloody murder for the next hour. Last night, she screamed from 5 am till 7 am. I should mention that because we live in such a shoebox, our bed is less than a foot away from her crib. My husband put in earplugs and went out to the living room to sleep on the couch, shutting the door rather hard behind him. I lay in bed for two hours listening to the screaming and trying to sleep. Finally it was 7 am, officially morning, and I could feed her - then had to head out the door and go to work.
Because I am so sleep-deprived, I have taken to falling asleep whenever I have an opportunity. I sleep on the half-hour bus ride to work in the morning, and on the way home - and I mean I really sleep, I dream during that time. Magically, I always wake up just before reaching my stop. I also sleep while I'm pumping milk at work, slouched over the pump with my hands holding the bottles. Sometimes I lie down on the floor with her and sing Christmas carols with my eyes shut to try to entertain her. This counts as a nap for me. I look forward to a day when I will actually feel rested with desperate eagerness.
I'm sorry for complaining. But I feel like I spend enough time being lit up with enthusiasm about her accomplishments (she is crawling! she is laughing! she is totally delightful.), and telling people, truthfully, how happy I am these days and how much I love being a mom. So this is my place to whine a little bit.
In other news, yesterday I heard about a mom who has four children under the age of 1. Yes, you read that right. She had twins, then another set of twins ten months later. I can't imagine what hell her daily life must be. Children are wonderful, they really are - but I have trouble understanding how mothers with just two children manage to have any time or energy for themselves. So I guess that puts my gripes in perspective.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Erin's Favorite Themes
I was thinking recently about themes that really appeal to me in literature, movies, etc. Our Netflix queue is just about empty - even when we searched their massive archives, we didn't turn up much that we wanted to watch. And at my last book club, none of the suggestions for the next book to read really sparked my interest. So what is it that I like, anyway?
- Coming of age stories. I love that complicated time between childhood and adulthood when everything is fresh and emotions run high. It was scary at the time, but now I can look back on it and enjoy dissecting it.
- Stories about people who are isolated in some way and not sure how to fix that, who in the end don't have to fix it because other people reach out to them and build social networks that involve them. I'm intrigued by the idea that all you have to do is exist, and others will bridge the gap. I don't think that's true in real life, but it's a plot device that I wish applied to my life.
- Revisionist history. Time travel stories where people get a second chance to live their lives and make different choices. I tuned into the Lexmas episode of Smallville on the basis of a 5-second trailer that suggested that theme, the only episode I've watched from that whole series. And I rented Sliding Doors, which otherwise looked unpromising. Neither was really great, but I still like the theme.
- Teenagers with supernatural powers. I must be interested in this, based on my eager watching of Buffy and Roswell.
- Stories about people who work hard and have a good sense of humor. That cuts out a lot of the classics, unfortunately.
- Lately, stories about pregnancy and birth. Not so much kids - everyone writes about their kids, but it's somehow not that appealing to read about other people's kids. I never think they're quite as cute as the authors do. I do like reading about pregnancy though, because then the future child is unknown and could be anyone, and it's easier to imagine myself in the story. And birth, because it's still so amazing to me that it works.
- Young adult fiction, because it's written taking the audience into consideration. I use that as the criterion for a lot of stuff. My husband laughs at me for it - like any cultural product is created in a vacuum without the audience in mind. But some of it is! Young adult fiction, for example, is written to inspire, entertain, or instruct, which makes it pleasant to read, whereas a lot of adult fiction is written to express some great unwieldy theme in post-modern culture.
- Books or movies with rich themes for discussion. They don't have to be unwieldy. Just rich.
- Coming of age stories. I love that complicated time between childhood and adulthood when everything is fresh and emotions run high. It was scary at the time, but now I can look back on it and enjoy dissecting it.
- Stories about people who are isolated in some way and not sure how to fix that, who in the end don't have to fix it because other people reach out to them and build social networks that involve them. I'm intrigued by the idea that all you have to do is exist, and others will bridge the gap. I don't think that's true in real life, but it's a plot device that I wish applied to my life.
- Revisionist history. Time travel stories where people get a second chance to live their lives and make different choices. I tuned into the Lexmas episode of Smallville on the basis of a 5-second trailer that suggested that theme, the only episode I've watched from that whole series. And I rented Sliding Doors, which otherwise looked unpromising. Neither was really great, but I still like the theme.
- Teenagers with supernatural powers. I must be interested in this, based on my eager watching of Buffy and Roswell.
- Stories about people who work hard and have a good sense of humor. That cuts out a lot of the classics, unfortunately.
- Lately, stories about pregnancy and birth. Not so much kids - everyone writes about their kids, but it's somehow not that appealing to read about other people's kids. I never think they're quite as cute as the authors do. I do like reading about pregnancy though, because then the future child is unknown and could be anyone, and it's easier to imagine myself in the story. And birth, because it's still so amazing to me that it works.
- Young adult fiction, because it's written taking the audience into consideration. I use that as the criterion for a lot of stuff. My husband laughs at me for it - like any cultural product is created in a vacuum without the audience in mind. But some of it is! Young adult fiction, for example, is written to inspire, entertain, or instruct, which makes it pleasant to read, whereas a lot of adult fiction is written to express some great unwieldy theme in post-modern culture.
- Books or movies with rich themes for discussion. They don't have to be unwieldy. Just rich.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Inevitable Comparisons
We used to be pretty much the only people our age that we knew with a baby – but we were just on the forefront of the wave. Everyone is pregnant. There are babies everywhere. I’m excited and happy for them all, partly because it’s such an amazing life event, partly because seeing friends with their new babies brings back the wonderful memories of our baby’s birth and first few weeks.
I think that choosing not to have children is a very noble choice and one that more people should make, given the population crisis and the disastrous impact on the environment of adding each new person. But now that I’ve had a child, I feel that people who choose not to are missing a kind of life joy that can never be replaced by the advantages of a childless life (more money, more pets, more toys, more time, more sleep). I feel fortunate that I am a parent. She brings us such happiness.
I wish that kind of simple, beatific joy was my only reaction to parenthood and to other people becoming parents. Instead, for some neurotic reason, I feel compelled to compare. All of us are trying to do everything right. But “everything right” is poorly defined, and the path so far has been fraught with compromises. I can’t help noticing what choices other people make and wondering if their babies will turn out “better” than ours.
The first compromise came before she was even born, when I cracked and asked for an epidural. I was so determined to do things naturally and not expose her to medication, but it was just too hard. When I hear about other mothers my age who had their babies naturally, I feel a sense of awe – natural childbirth is so much harder and more painful than I thought it would be, I can’t imagine how women did it throughout history – and I feel like they are indeed, a bit better than I am.
Then there’s breastfeeding. Only 15% of American women manage to breast-feed exclusively through the first six months, and I was going to be one of them. Instead, just shy of the five-month point, on a morning when she was crying with hunger and my milk supply was too low to satisfy her, we gave her rice cereal. Milk is still her only source of nutrition most days – but I’m not in the 15%. Other women I know have held out.
Then there’s playtime and social stimulation – is she getting the right kinds and enough? Am I spending enough time with her? Is she hitting the developmental milestones ahead of her peers? Am I reading to her enough? Is she getting exposed to enough different people? Is our apartment a safe enough environment, free from PFOA and lead paint and E. coli and bisphenol-A and all the other hazards? I just recently switched to using glass bottles (should've been using them all along, instead of plastic), and I’ve been trying to cut back on my meat and whole milk consumption to avoid dioxins (should’ve done that earlier; other mothers we know are vegan or vegetarian so their babies were healthier from the get-go).
It’s exhausting. I want the best for her, but I can see how impossible that is – for one thing, we can’t afford all organic clothing, food, and furniture. So I just have to hope that good genes and a strong set of kidneys will help her deal with all the toxins in her environment, and that by the time all our babies are 15 years old, the decisions we made when they were infants will be a wash.
I think that choosing not to have children is a very noble choice and one that more people should make, given the population crisis and the disastrous impact on the environment of adding each new person. But now that I’ve had a child, I feel that people who choose not to are missing a kind of life joy that can never be replaced by the advantages of a childless life (more money, more pets, more toys, more time, more sleep). I feel fortunate that I am a parent. She brings us such happiness.
I wish that kind of simple, beatific joy was my only reaction to parenthood and to other people becoming parents. Instead, for some neurotic reason, I feel compelled to compare. All of us are trying to do everything right. But “everything right” is poorly defined, and the path so far has been fraught with compromises. I can’t help noticing what choices other people make and wondering if their babies will turn out “better” than ours.
The first compromise came before she was even born, when I cracked and asked for an epidural. I was so determined to do things naturally and not expose her to medication, but it was just too hard. When I hear about other mothers my age who had their babies naturally, I feel a sense of awe – natural childbirth is so much harder and more painful than I thought it would be, I can’t imagine how women did it throughout history – and I feel like they are indeed, a bit better than I am.
Then there’s breastfeeding. Only 15% of American women manage to breast-feed exclusively through the first six months, and I was going to be one of them. Instead, just shy of the five-month point, on a morning when she was crying with hunger and my milk supply was too low to satisfy her, we gave her rice cereal. Milk is still her only source of nutrition most days – but I’m not in the 15%. Other women I know have held out.
Then there’s playtime and social stimulation – is she getting the right kinds and enough? Am I spending enough time with her? Is she hitting the developmental milestones ahead of her peers? Am I reading to her enough? Is she getting exposed to enough different people? Is our apartment a safe enough environment, free from PFOA and lead paint and E. coli and bisphenol-A and all the other hazards? I just recently switched to using glass bottles (should've been using them all along, instead of plastic), and I’ve been trying to cut back on my meat and whole milk consumption to avoid dioxins (should’ve done that earlier; other mothers we know are vegan or vegetarian so their babies were healthier from the get-go).
It’s exhausting. I want the best for her, but I can see how impossible that is – for one thing, we can’t afford all organic clothing, food, and furniture. So I just have to hope that good genes and a strong set of kidneys will help her deal with all the toxins in her environment, and that by the time all our babies are 15 years old, the decisions we made when they were infants will be a wash.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Seeing Further Ahead
With the baby on the sofa next to me, sucking her thumb and temporarily conked, I'm stealing a few minutes to write...
I remember when we first brought her home from the hospital, I really just lived moment-to-moment. My priorities were finding an opportunity to put her down long enough so I could go to the bathroom, or figuring out a lunch I could scarf down in the few minutes that she was asleep (she MUST have slept more than a few minutes a day, but it never seemed like it). As the days passed, I was able to see just a little further ahead - enough to plan for the next week, perhaps. Now I can see far enough to be thinking about our future as a family. Some things I've been kicking around in my noggin:
- That first magical, incredible day and night will never come again. Even if we have another baby, it won't be as magical. There's only one time you can bridge the gulf from couplehood to parenthood - and that time is over for us. The wonder of realizing that I had a child, that I was a mother, that the baby in my arms was my own, brought me such euphoria for the first hours after her birth. I'm sure the birth of a second child is also amazing and wonderful - but the high can't possibly be as high. I didn't sleep for nearly two days after her birth, because I was so entranced looking at her. And we have taken approximately 1.8 million pictures of her. I don't think we could keep that up the second time around. Even the milestones - omigosh, she's pushing herself up on her arms to *crawl*! - are not going to be as riveting when we've seen it all before. But oh well.
- Raising a baby is really hard work! I look at parents now with six-month-olds and think, wow, they have come through so much already. There are so many hazards to navigate (dealing with the crying the first few weeks springs to mind, not to mention the hours of walking her around the apartment that we had to do each day when she was a newborn, plus breastfeeding challenges, keeping up with the immunization schedule, and learning to get around town with a baby). And parents of older children - toddlers, grade schoolers - I look at them and realize what tremendous stores of energy they have expended, and what an accomplishment it is to have a healthy child of any age.
- On the plus side, a baby is the best toy ever. We used to dote on the guinea pigs, and play with them every evening. Now, we still love them, but they seem so... limited compared to the possibilities in a child. You never know what new noise she's going to come out with, and she's so interactive and fun. I feel a little guilty that we don't spend as much time on the pigs as we used to... but, they are pigs. Hopefully they haven't noticed.
- I am super-busy these days. I feel like there's always slightly more to do than I possibly can do in the time available. Between my two jobs, housework, and keeping in touch with friends and family, I don't really ever have time for myself. I miss being able to read for fun.
- Everyone says to make your relationship with your spouse your priority, even as you're swamped with other demands. I'm not sure we're doing that right now. We have such fun with her, playing with her and laughing together in the evenings. It feels warm and loving and whole. But we do talk pretty much exclusively about her. I wonder sometimes if we'll have nothing to say to each other when she's grown.
- Because of job temporariness and other factors, this year may be a year apart. Who knows where we'll live, and what we'll be doing, this time next year? (Perhaps we'll have a bigger apartment?) I'm anxious about having to find a different job and make my way in a new environment, perhaps far from my family. So right now I'm trying to just enjoy each day as it comes.
I remember when we first brought her home from the hospital, I really just lived moment-to-moment. My priorities were finding an opportunity to put her down long enough so I could go to the bathroom, or figuring out a lunch I could scarf down in the few minutes that she was asleep (she MUST have slept more than a few minutes a day, but it never seemed like it). As the days passed, I was able to see just a little further ahead - enough to plan for the next week, perhaps. Now I can see far enough to be thinking about our future as a family. Some things I've been kicking around in my noggin:
- That first magical, incredible day and night will never come again. Even if we have another baby, it won't be as magical. There's only one time you can bridge the gulf from couplehood to parenthood - and that time is over for us. The wonder of realizing that I had a child, that I was a mother, that the baby in my arms was my own, brought me such euphoria for the first hours after her birth. I'm sure the birth of a second child is also amazing and wonderful - but the high can't possibly be as high. I didn't sleep for nearly two days after her birth, because I was so entranced looking at her. And we have taken approximately 1.8 million pictures of her. I don't think we could keep that up the second time around. Even the milestones - omigosh, she's pushing herself up on her arms to *crawl*! - are not going to be as riveting when we've seen it all before. But oh well.
- Raising a baby is really hard work! I look at parents now with six-month-olds and think, wow, they have come through so much already. There are so many hazards to navigate (dealing with the crying the first few weeks springs to mind, not to mention the hours of walking her around the apartment that we had to do each day when she was a newborn, plus breastfeeding challenges, keeping up with the immunization schedule, and learning to get around town with a baby). And parents of older children - toddlers, grade schoolers - I look at them and realize what tremendous stores of energy they have expended, and what an accomplishment it is to have a healthy child of any age.
- On the plus side, a baby is the best toy ever. We used to dote on the guinea pigs, and play with them every evening. Now, we still love them, but they seem so... limited compared to the possibilities in a child. You never know what new noise she's going to come out with, and she's so interactive and fun. I feel a little guilty that we don't spend as much time on the pigs as we used to... but, they are pigs. Hopefully they haven't noticed.
- I am super-busy these days. I feel like there's always slightly more to do than I possibly can do in the time available. Between my two jobs, housework, and keeping in touch with friends and family, I don't really ever have time for myself. I miss being able to read for fun.
- Everyone says to make your relationship with your spouse your priority, even as you're swamped with other demands. I'm not sure we're doing that right now. We have such fun with her, playing with her and laughing together in the evenings. It feels warm and loving and whole. But we do talk pretty much exclusively about her. I wonder sometimes if we'll have nothing to say to each other when she's grown.
- Because of job temporariness and other factors, this year may be a year apart. Who knows where we'll live, and what we'll be doing, this time next year? (Perhaps we'll have a bigger apartment?) I'm anxious about having to find a different job and make my way in a new environment, perhaps far from my family. So right now I'm trying to just enjoy each day as it comes.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Four Months Old
One of the nicest things about babies, I think, is their sheer physicality - the delicious warm smell of their heads, the plumpness of the soles of their feet, their unselfconscious farts and burps and other noises. You can rub their bellies and get right up close to their faces and gaze at them for hours on end. You can't do that with adults, or even children that are just a little bit beyond babyhood - it's an invasion then. But babies welcome your attention and see nothing wrong with staring nose to nose. For them, bodies are full of possibility and occasionally frustrating in their limitations, but never embarrassing. Their breath is always sweet. They don't seem to have any body odor. Before I had one, I never knew how delightful they could be.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A Vacation From Awareness
Four days of maternity leave left - I have to go back to work next Monday. All summer I was conscious of how precious the time was, and of how I might never get that much time off again. My plan, if I recall, was to use this time to figure out a new direction for my life - find a career that really suits me, or something like that. Failing that, I was at least going to read a bunch of great books - all the classics that I somehow missed in school - and join mothers' groups, and go on outings to gardens and parks. I was going to finish my write-up of our honeymoon. And make clothes with my new sewing machine. And go to yoga classes. Oh well. I spent time instead playing with the baby on the bed, nibbling on her toes and kissing the top of her sweet-smelling head, having conversations with her ("goo!" "oh really?" "ahhh-laaa!" "you don't say..."), and walking with her around our neighborhood. It was time well spent. I just wish I had it all over again.
Having a baby has also, in a way, been a vacation from thinking about environmental issues, since that's what I do in my work. For sixteen weeks I haven't read the news or worried about the planet. I cranked the AC in the car (can't let the baby overheat!), bought inorganic bananas, and did copious laundry. I started feeling like since I wasn't thinking about them, the problems of overconsumption in an industrialized society had somehow mysteriously been solved, and everything was OK after all. I even felt subconsciously, in the midst of my joy, that I'd found the answer to happiness: It's having children and matching living room sets and a home in the suburbs, after all.
Now I realize that the decision about going back to work wasn't just spending time in the office vs. at home, but spending time worrying and struggling for a cause that may already be lost, vs. just relaxing and letting everything go. No wonder I wanted to stay home. Not that I have such a critically important job. I'm way down on the totem pole, just playing a minor role and one that someone else could fill if I left. But it's the principle of the thing. I had sixteen weeks off from awareness - now I've got to go pick it up again.
Having a baby has also, in a way, been a vacation from thinking about environmental issues, since that's what I do in my work. For sixteen weeks I haven't read the news or worried about the planet. I cranked the AC in the car (can't let the baby overheat!), bought inorganic bananas, and did copious laundry. I started feeling like since I wasn't thinking about them, the problems of overconsumption in an industrialized society had somehow mysteriously been solved, and everything was OK after all. I even felt subconsciously, in the midst of my joy, that I'd found the answer to happiness: It's having children and matching living room sets and a home in the suburbs, after all.
Now I realize that the decision about going back to work wasn't just spending time in the office vs. at home, but spending time worrying and struggling for a cause that may already be lost, vs. just relaxing and letting everything go. No wonder I wanted to stay home. Not that I have such a critically important job. I'm way down on the totem pole, just playing a minor role and one that someone else could fill if I left. But it's the principle of the thing. I had sixteen weeks off from awareness - now I've got to go pick it up again.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Crying It Out
First, a rapid-fire update:
The baby is ten weeks old! She's wonderful. In the mornings when she wakes up smiling and cooing, my husband and I lie in bed and play with her, and it's like some kind of idyllic vision of family life, like the Norman Rockwell version of a family (except that he would probably paint us wearing more clothes). It's the life I've wanted since I was first able to imagine leaving my parents' family and starting my own. It makes me dizzy with pride and joy to think that it's really true, and we built it ourselves.
I have four weeks of maternity leave left. It's rushing by so fast. I am lucky I was able to get so much time off - and my lovely, generous boss is letting me come back to work part-time instead of full-time, which is a big relief. I'm still not looking forward to going back to the office though. I would be so happy if I could just stay home indefinitely. Taking care of a home and a baby is what I want to spend my time doing. But going back to the office is the right thing to do, for complicated reasons.
Not everything at home is perfect, of course. The past week has been hard because we started putting her down in her cosleeper instead of letting her sleep in our bed with us. For the first nine weeks of her life, she slept cuddled up to my flank, knowing that I was right there to protect her. She could nurse whenever she wanted to, then drift peacefully back to sleep. But the pediatrician yelled at me for having her in bed with us ("bedsharing kills thousands of babies a year!"). I think we were doing it safely, but after that lecture I got scared.
So now she has to sleep alone, and she has to wake up all the way and cry in order to rouse me when she's hungry. It's hard on her. She starts crying as soon as we lower her into the cosleeper, and sometimes cries for up to an hour. And each time I feed her in the night, she cries when I put her back in the cosleeper. It wakes my husband up. I just managed to convince him to come in from the sofa where he spent the first six weeks of her life, and share the bed with me again. I promised him that I could keep her quiet enough at night that he would be able to sleep (he has sleep issues). Now, each time she squawks or whines at night, and he flops over uneasily in bed, I feel guilty. I'm afraid he will head back to the sofa.
So here I am between a rock and a hard place - trying to do what the books and the pediatrician recommend, but it robs all three of us of sleep and makes both of them frustrated and upset. And it's so hard listening to her cry in the evenings after we've put her down. I go in periodically to check on her, but my presence only seems to rev her up. Last night when I went in, she was lying on her side facing the wall of the cosleeper, eyes open, crying her heart out, and I felt such a stab of remorse for what we were doing to her. She looked so abandoned and miserable. I felt the tears spring up in my own eyes as I looked at her. This is a time in her life when she needs to feel safe and cared-for, and instead she may just be learning the hard lesson that sometimes no matter how hard she cries, no one will help her.
There are other times throughout the day that are good, of course - when she grins at us and appears to be a happy, well-adjusted baby. She gets lots of cuddling and attention from both of us. Perhaps I am just projecting my own issues onto her. I had a lot of sleep problems in my childhood too - I remember waking up after my parents had put me to bed, and feeling miserably lonely. Loneliness is worse for children, I think, because they don't have the emotional resources that adults do. They can't tell themselves, "It's ok, maybe you just had a weird dream - now go back to sleep." It feels like it's not ok at all. I remember not being able to fall back asleep until one of my parents had come in to reassure me. When I pick her up and say soothing words to her, and she gives a big shaky sigh and relaxes against me, her neck all sweaty from her crying jag, I hear my mother's voice coming out of my mouth, saying those same gentle reassuring words.
A quote I read recently: "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." (Elizabeth Stone) Before I had a baby, I would have thought that was sappy. It probably is. But now it also feels true.
The baby is ten weeks old! She's wonderful. In the mornings when she wakes up smiling and cooing, my husband and I lie in bed and play with her, and it's like some kind of idyllic vision of family life, like the Norman Rockwell version of a family (except that he would probably paint us wearing more clothes). It's the life I've wanted since I was first able to imagine leaving my parents' family and starting my own. It makes me dizzy with pride and joy to think that it's really true, and we built it ourselves.
I have four weeks of maternity leave left. It's rushing by so fast. I am lucky I was able to get so much time off - and my lovely, generous boss is letting me come back to work part-time instead of full-time, which is a big relief. I'm still not looking forward to going back to the office though. I would be so happy if I could just stay home indefinitely. Taking care of a home and a baby is what I want to spend my time doing. But going back to the office is the right thing to do, for complicated reasons.
Not everything at home is perfect, of course. The past week has been hard because we started putting her down in her cosleeper instead of letting her sleep in our bed with us. For the first nine weeks of her life, she slept cuddled up to my flank, knowing that I was right there to protect her. She could nurse whenever she wanted to, then drift peacefully back to sleep. But the pediatrician yelled at me for having her in bed with us ("bedsharing kills thousands of babies a year!"). I think we were doing it safely, but after that lecture I got scared.
So now she has to sleep alone, and she has to wake up all the way and cry in order to rouse me when she's hungry. It's hard on her. She starts crying as soon as we lower her into the cosleeper, and sometimes cries for up to an hour. And each time I feed her in the night, she cries when I put her back in the cosleeper. It wakes my husband up. I just managed to convince him to come in from the sofa where he spent the first six weeks of her life, and share the bed with me again. I promised him that I could keep her quiet enough at night that he would be able to sleep (he has sleep issues). Now, each time she squawks or whines at night, and he flops over uneasily in bed, I feel guilty. I'm afraid he will head back to the sofa.
So here I am between a rock and a hard place - trying to do what the books and the pediatrician recommend, but it robs all three of us of sleep and makes both of them frustrated and upset. And it's so hard listening to her cry in the evenings after we've put her down. I go in periodically to check on her, but my presence only seems to rev her up. Last night when I went in, she was lying on her side facing the wall of the cosleeper, eyes open, crying her heart out, and I felt such a stab of remorse for what we were doing to her. She looked so abandoned and miserable. I felt the tears spring up in my own eyes as I looked at her. This is a time in her life when she needs to feel safe and cared-for, and instead she may just be learning the hard lesson that sometimes no matter how hard she cries, no one will help her.
There are other times throughout the day that are good, of course - when she grins at us and appears to be a happy, well-adjusted baby. She gets lots of cuddling and attention from both of us. Perhaps I am just projecting my own issues onto her. I had a lot of sleep problems in my childhood too - I remember waking up after my parents had put me to bed, and feeling miserably lonely. Loneliness is worse for children, I think, because they don't have the emotional resources that adults do. They can't tell themselves, "It's ok, maybe you just had a weird dream - now go back to sleep." It feels like it's not ok at all. I remember not being able to fall back asleep until one of my parents had come in to reassure me. When I pick her up and say soothing words to her, and she gives a big shaky sigh and relaxes against me, her neck all sweaty from her crying jag, I hear my mother's voice coming out of my mouth, saying those same gentle reassuring words.
A quote I read recently: "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." (Elizabeth Stone) Before I had a baby, I would have thought that was sappy. It probably is. But now it also feels true.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Ramblings on Motherhood
The baby is almost a month old now (I'm being weird and not wanting to use her name here yet). Her existence, and the fact that I'm a mother, are still so amazing to me. I thought parenthood would change me fundamentally. But I feel like I'm pretty much the same person as I've always been. I move through the familiar contours of my life, noticing everything in its place the same as always - my books lined up on the shelf, my calendar hanging on the wall, the guinea pigs rustling around in their cage same as always - yet here's this astonishing, thrilling, totally different thing, this baby, asleep on our bed in the middle of the afternoon! Can she really be ours?? I wonder how long it will take for the shock to wear off and for it to feel natural that I have a baby, for me to be able to take her outside without feeling self-conscious, or say, "my daughter" without the words sounding alien in my ears.
The past month has been full of discoveries:
- My husband is great with babies. He's actually better at soothing her and entertaining her than I am. I love watching him play with her. He is so tender and nice with her, sometimes I even feel a mild little twinge of jealousy - wishing I was as good with her as he is, or wishing he would play with me as whole-heartedly and inventively as he does with her. I think I'm incredibly lucky to have found a guy who is such a good father.
- The sleep deprivation isn't that bad. I don't even feel particularly tired during the day. It seems like as long as I can get 2-3 hours of sleep several times in the course of a 24-hour period, I'm fine.
- That said, we've had a few nights that were pretty rough, when she was just crying and crying, and I felt pretty much at my wit's end. Before I had a kid, I had no idea what vast amounts of patience parenthood would require. I am a pretty patient person, I think, and I've had a lot of experience working with animals, which requires patience since they have their own ideas about things, and you can't tell them directly what you want them to do. But soothing a relentlessly squalling baby in the wee hours of the morning demands patience on a level above what I've ever needed before. It gives me a whole new insight into what my parents went through.
- Breast-feeding has been a really interesting experience. I wasn't sure I would be able to do it, but it's gone smoothly. She makes these adorable little snorting and grunting noises when she's rooting for my breast, like a little piglet. It's tremendously satisfying to be able to feed her that way, and to be a source of comfort to her in such a fundamental way.
- I really don't want to go back to work. I've used up five weeks of my maternity leave so far, and I have eleven left. I know it's going to fly past. Every day my mind is churning, trying to think of a way I could manage not to return to work. It's more about self-respect and career path than finances. We could manage, if I stayed home with her and took the occasional freelancing job. But I'm worried about what my husband might think of my (lack of) ambition if I just stopped working. I don't want him to feel that he's carrying my weight because he's working hard every day and I'm not. I don't want him to feel funny when people ask what I do and he has to answer, "She doesn't work; she's home with the baby." From time to time I remark that I don't want to go back to work, hoping he will say, "Maybe you shouldn't," but he's not saying it.
- I'm extraordinarily inefficient these days. It seems like one task or outing, along the lines of a grocery store run or a weeding session in the garden, is about as much as I can hope to accomplish per day. It takes ages for us to get ready to go anywhere. I have to start the process of getting myself and the baby clean, dressed, and fed hours ahead of time. And there's no routine whatsoever - I can't predict how often she'll want to feed or how long she'll sleep. Maybe that's just how it is with a newborn. Somehow I imagined I'd have time during my maternity leave to do all sorts of fulfilling, creative projects during the hours of downtime I'd have each day. Ha!
- I feel so protective of her. Sometimes I just sit and gaze at her as she's nursing, memorizing her every feature. I wonder how her life will turn out, and I worry about the bad things that might happen to her, and wish that I could keep her safe from them all. She's so precious to me.
The past month has been full of discoveries:
- My husband is great with babies. He's actually better at soothing her and entertaining her than I am. I love watching him play with her. He is so tender and nice with her, sometimes I even feel a mild little twinge of jealousy - wishing I was as good with her as he is, or wishing he would play with me as whole-heartedly and inventively as he does with her. I think I'm incredibly lucky to have found a guy who is such a good father.
- The sleep deprivation isn't that bad. I don't even feel particularly tired during the day. It seems like as long as I can get 2-3 hours of sleep several times in the course of a 24-hour period, I'm fine.
- That said, we've had a few nights that were pretty rough, when she was just crying and crying, and I felt pretty much at my wit's end. Before I had a kid, I had no idea what vast amounts of patience parenthood would require. I am a pretty patient person, I think, and I've had a lot of experience working with animals, which requires patience since they have their own ideas about things, and you can't tell them directly what you want them to do. But soothing a relentlessly squalling baby in the wee hours of the morning demands patience on a level above what I've ever needed before. It gives me a whole new insight into what my parents went through.
- Breast-feeding has been a really interesting experience. I wasn't sure I would be able to do it, but it's gone smoothly. She makes these adorable little snorting and grunting noises when she's rooting for my breast, like a little piglet. It's tremendously satisfying to be able to feed her that way, and to be a source of comfort to her in such a fundamental way.
- I really don't want to go back to work. I've used up five weeks of my maternity leave so far, and I have eleven left. I know it's going to fly past. Every day my mind is churning, trying to think of a way I could manage not to return to work. It's more about self-respect and career path than finances. We could manage, if I stayed home with her and took the occasional freelancing job. But I'm worried about what my husband might think of my (lack of) ambition if I just stopped working. I don't want him to feel that he's carrying my weight because he's working hard every day and I'm not. I don't want him to feel funny when people ask what I do and he has to answer, "She doesn't work; she's home with the baby." From time to time I remark that I don't want to go back to work, hoping he will say, "Maybe you shouldn't," but he's not saying it.
- I'm extraordinarily inefficient these days. It seems like one task or outing, along the lines of a grocery store run or a weeding session in the garden, is about as much as I can hope to accomplish per day. It takes ages for us to get ready to go anywhere. I have to start the process of getting myself and the baby clean, dressed, and fed hours ahead of time. And there's no routine whatsoever - I can't predict how often she'll want to feed or how long she'll sleep. Maybe that's just how it is with a newborn. Somehow I imagined I'd have time during my maternity leave to do all sorts of fulfilling, creative projects during the hours of downtime I'd have each day. Ha!
- I feel so protective of her. Sometimes I just sit and gaze at her as she's nursing, memorizing her every feature. I wonder how her life will turn out, and I worry about the bad things that might happen to her, and wish that I could keep her safe from them all. She's so precious to me.
Monday, June 25, 2007
BABY!
Our daughter was born on Sunday, June 17th!
She came out healthy, alert, and wide-eyed. I was on such a high after her birth that I stayed awake the whole first night nursing her and gazing at her in astonishment - just the two of us together all night getting to know one another. I haven't wanted to be parted from her ever since (nor have I slept much since!).
I thought I would enjoy motherhood, but I never expected to love her this fervently, to find myself settling into my new role so easily, or to whole-heartedly enjoy taking care of a little human so much. The whole thing is magical to me. I'm trying to absorb every aspect of the experience because I know it's fleeting - she changes so much even day by day - and I'm simultaneously enjoying it and mourning that it's so limited. She's only a week old and already I am dreading having to leave her and go back to work.
Perhaps it's just hormones talking again, but I feel like this is pretty much the happiest time in my life. I'm so glad my husband and I are sharing this time together.
She came out healthy, alert, and wide-eyed. I was on such a high after her birth that I stayed awake the whole first night nursing her and gazing at her in astonishment - just the two of us together all night getting to know one another. I haven't wanted to be parted from her ever since (nor have I slept much since!).
I thought I would enjoy motherhood, but I never expected to love her this fervently, to find myself settling into my new role so easily, or to whole-heartedly enjoy taking care of a little human so much. The whole thing is magical to me. I'm trying to absorb every aspect of the experience because I know it's fleeting - she changes so much even day by day - and I'm simultaneously enjoying it and mourning that it's so limited. She's only a week old and already I am dreading having to leave her and go back to work.
Perhaps it's just hormones talking again, but I feel like this is pretty much the happiest time in my life. I'm so glad my husband and I are sharing this time together.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Still Pregnant!
I'm a week overdue now. Still feeling good, peppy and in pretty high spirits. I hope the baby comes soon though.
At my last appointment with my midwife, I had my membranes swept to encourage labor to start. I was prepared for it to be pretty painful, and... it was definitely uncomfortable. But nothing I couldn't handle. She said I won't have a hard time with labor if I can get through a membrane sweep with so little fuss. I hope she's right!
At my last appointment with my midwife, I had my membranes swept to encourage labor to start. I was prepared for it to be pretty painful, and... it was definitely uncomfortable. But nothing I couldn't handle. She said I won't have a hard time with labor if I can get through a membrane sweep with so little fuss. I hope she's right!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
A Post That Is Not About Pregnancy
Today I'm thinking about money. Over the weekend we checked out an open house in our neighborhood - a small, 1950's era house with three little bedrooms, a nice kitchen, and a living room with a fireplace. It had dark wood door frames and glass doorknobs and a kind of creaky charm that reminded me of the house I grew up in. The real estate agent sized us up and told us it was "a great starter home." It was recently reduced in price ... to $740,000.
I felt a kind of reeling despair as we walked away from the house - not because I wanted that particular house so much, just because the expectation that at my stage of life I should be able to afford a mortgage like that is so far removed from the reality. Our combined paychecks would be less than the monthly payments (and that's assuming I go back to work full-time and find some magically free child-care). How can we ever "start"? We'll be tripping over piles of things in a one-bedroom apartment forever. Our child will grow up and go off to college and I'll still be easing open the closet door like there's a tiger in there, fearful of being buried under the avalanche of stuff that I know will leap out.
(I know. The second wolf is supposed to be on a diet. But he's cheating.)
Yesterday I tried to buck myself up a little - it's just real-estate agent talk, after all; it's his job to convince people the house is right for them. Then I read this article about money, which said that a typical college grad can expect to earn a starting salary of $40,000. I've been working ten years and my salary isn't close to that. My first job out of college paid $23,000 and I was glad to get it. I do the other thrifty things the article recommends, like not buying lattes. But I don't think that's going to be enough.
Life is about being happy, not rich, so it's silly to measure myself against this bar and feel frustrated that I fall short. I should just take it one day at a time and seek pleasure in the little things.
But lately (one last kvetch and then I'll stop, I promise!) all the little things have been chores. I've spent the last two weekends working, working, working. It's starting to feel like you can rotate the things, like you can stay home and freelance instead of being a cubicle drudge, or you can dig weeds in the garden instead of cleaning the kitchen floor, but still: all of life is things you don't want to do.
I felt a kind of reeling despair as we walked away from the house - not because I wanted that particular house so much, just because the expectation that at my stage of life I should be able to afford a mortgage like that is so far removed from the reality. Our combined paychecks would be less than the monthly payments (and that's assuming I go back to work full-time and find some magically free child-care). How can we ever "start"? We'll be tripping over piles of things in a one-bedroom apartment forever. Our child will grow up and go off to college and I'll still be easing open the closet door like there's a tiger in there, fearful of being buried under the avalanche of stuff that I know will leap out.
(I know. The second wolf is supposed to be on a diet. But he's cheating.)
Yesterday I tried to buck myself up a little - it's just real-estate agent talk, after all; it's his job to convince people the house is right for them. Then I read this article about money, which said that a typical college grad can expect to earn a starting salary of $40,000. I've been working ten years and my salary isn't close to that. My first job out of college paid $23,000 and I was glad to get it. I do the other thrifty things the article recommends, like not buying lattes. But I don't think that's going to be enough.
Life is about being happy, not rich, so it's silly to measure myself against this bar and feel frustrated that I fall short. I should just take it one day at a time and seek pleasure in the little things.
But lately (one last kvetch and then I'll stop, I promise!) all the little things have been chores. I've spent the last two weekends working, working, working. It's starting to feel like you can rotate the things, like you can stay home and freelance instead of being a cubicle drudge, or you can dig weeds in the garden instead of cleaning the kitchen floor, but still: all of life is things you don't want to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
