My baby thoroughly enjoys being.... a baby. He gives me a big grin each and every morning when he wakes up, as if to say, "Hello world! What do you have for me to play with today?!" He 'gets' over a grudge within sixty to ninety seconds and loves the new flavors and tastes of baby food by often throwing his hands up and onto my new shirt. Just purchased, of course.
He loves being a baby, but if I think about it, I suppose all babies are like this. What's not to love about being a baby, or more to the point, what's to fear about the world, what's to harbor resentment towards, whats to feel jelous or defeated about when you're under a foot tall and only know comfort, the word "dada" or "mama" and you're schedule is sleep, eat, poop, sleep? That's right. Nothing to fear and everything to love.
Recently, I have made a new promise to myself. As a woman, wife, and mother whose do-list seems to get longer and longer, I have forgotton some things, like taking time to enjoy, relish, delight in life's little pleasures and quirks. So, I pledge to learn from my wise little son who has already figured out so many things. Teach me, I think to myself as I watch him smile first thing in the morning, as I watch him discover tastes and textures with delight, as I watch him sleep peacefully without the worry of what tomorrow will bring.
Teach me, I think. My new role is learning from him all of the things I knew at one point, lost along the way and will re-learn as the great circle of life goes. Again and again.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Separation Anxiety
One thing my baby boy is teaching me? That life-- and he in it-- is unpredictable.
A month ago, we finally mastered the art to him sleeping through the night, or I should say, he mastered it with our help - but I was a foolish mother to think all our problems were solved. Quickly, the teething came, and now my newest challenge of the week: his newfound seperation anxiety.
Life is truly never dull.
At eight months, he's formed a trust with me - and we together have a bond. I don't blame him for crying when I leave his immediate sight. Sometimes as I go through my day I can feel a similar sense of urgency to know what and how my day is going to go, who will be in it, when my husband is coming home, when I'll be able to see my mom again. I suppose the difference between my son and I is... it's no longer acceptable by most people's standards for me to cry about it. If only we as mom's were given that break to let it all go, to cry when we need to, to be held when we need it.
Some of us stop caring about whats acceptable and throw a fit when we need someone to take care of us, simply because it catches us with us: the constant giving to our family and often lacking anytime left for ourselves. Our husbands patiently hold us and tell us tomorrow will be better, a tomorrow that will rejuvinate us and propel us into action, and always does.
While it's 'always something', and it's not always easy, it makes life one hell of a ride and worth it for all the bumps and ups and downs along the way.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
I must, I must.
It's been a while, I know. What can I say? Being a new mother (and yes, I still consider myself a newbie although some will say that once your baby passes the four month mark, you are no longer an amateur at this) still makes me dizzy, still fills my mind up with questions I long the answers for, and I still at times doubt my comptency at being the best mother I can be for my son.
I am challenged by the balance act. How do I balance all the aspects of motherhood while keeping my sanity?
Most days, I accomplish two out of three. On Monday, I excelled at being an attentive and loving wife and mother, then went to work in the evening but by bedtime, I drifted to sleep feeling emotionally depleted. On Tuesday, I cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner for my family with skill and creativity, did the laundry and mopped the floors, and even found time to write in my journal. Unfortunatly, I failed to give me son a bath. Not on purpose of course, but the act escaped me.
Encorporating all that goes into each day in my NEW life as a mother, I am still left dumbfounded and mesmerized by the many details and tasks I must complete. I must do the laundry. I must make his baby food myself and use eco-friendly diapers. I must run two miles a day to lose that baby weight. I must, I must.
We women are great at giving ourselves impossible expectations.
Here's what I"m starting to wonder. Maybe instead of the impossible 'musts', maybe we need to start a new one. 'I must' ask my husband for help on the days I'm worn out. 'I must' give myself a break here and there. 'I must' take me as I am because if the laundry sits in the hamper for an extra day or two or we order takeout because I'm too tired to cook a meal, that's ok.
'I must' do it all? No. It can wait.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The New Superhero
After we give birth, and create an entire life from deep inside us, I have to wonder: if nothing else, aren't we as mothers the new superhero? We may not wear capes or fly from atop skyscrapers, but we do have a special power unlike any other.
For a period of time, our bodies are not our own. Our hormones surge, we crave pickles and chocolate and sardines. Our stomachs grow, our feet swell and we wonder how much longer it will take for our baby to arrive.
The day comes with a long labor of pushing, sweating and swearing, and we meet our child that we created and begin to cry. We feel him in our arms, and say hello.
We love him more than we previously thought was humanly possible.
We come full circle as women. We wake up several times a night and at three in the morning can still smile at our baby's smile, we worry that he'll be taken care 'the right way' in our absence, and we pinch his cheeks when we swore we'd never be that kind of mother. We can't help ourselves. We do it all for the purpose of another life, and still find time to be wives, girlfriends, and professional chefs, writers, executives, journalists, PR reps. We work harder and with less sleep, and wondered why we ever needed sleep before.
Then we remember. Superheros don't need sleep.
For a period of time, our bodies are not our own. Our hormones surge, we crave pickles and chocolate and sardines. Our stomachs grow, our feet swell and we wonder how much longer it will take for our baby to arrive.
The day comes with a long labor of pushing, sweating and swearing, and we meet our child that we created and begin to cry. We feel him in our arms, and say hello.
We love him more than we previously thought was humanly possible.
We come full circle as women. We wake up several times a night and at three in the morning can still smile at our baby's smile, we worry that he'll be taken care 'the right way' in our absence, and we pinch his cheeks when we swore we'd never be that kind of mother. We can't help ourselves. We do it all for the purpose of another life, and still find time to be wives, girlfriends, and professional chefs, writers, executives, journalists, PR reps. We work harder and with less sleep, and wondered why we ever needed sleep before.
Then we remember. Superheros don't need sleep.
The List, Part 1.
As a new mother, these are the things I know for sure.
There comes a point when you're so sleep deprived, it turns into a battle of the wills. It begins to feel like a state of mind, so to turn your day into one where you're awake, aware and ready to face the challenges that come into play, turn your mind around and do what you need to: have that cup of coffee in the afternoon, jog half a mile to boost up the endorphins, have a cat nap when your baby goes down.
I know more about poop than I ever anticipated to. Sadly, it's true. I have experienced poop (and streams of pee) on my arm, neck, elbow. I have wiped poop off of the baby room walls and sighed deeply. I have wondered if this intimate of a relationship with poop is healthy. That I don't know, but for my life and his - it's necessary.
Life is meant to be lived in the moment. Whether I am dodging my son's 'fountain of pee', washing his clothes yet again (!), and feeling his neck nuzzle in the crevese of mine, life with him is meant to be lived in the moment. No past, no future. Just today, and all the joys it brings me.
Be on the lookout for future additions to this list. I have a feeling as I go on this journey of motherhood, my knowlege and experience of life will grow too.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sleep Deprivation
Just when I think I can't be any more sleep deprived, my son keeps up for a longer time frame in the night, and I wake up with my hair tossled and think: NOW I know sleep deprivation! Just when I think I can't exist on any LESS sleep than I've been getting, I prove myself wrong.
It also makes me think why I ever needed sleep before I became a mom.
As soon as we wake up for the day -- or should I say --- as soon as Miles tells me it's time to wake up for the day -- I put on a big pot of coffee, and no I don't feel guilty about what my daily coffee intake is doing to me. Any mom knows that coffee is a survival mechanism and so is an occassional red velvet cupcake after lunch to keep you happy and doing just a little something for yourself.
I've learned many things about my son so far, and one of them being that just when he's ready for his morning nap, my coffee has kicked in. Sigh. So I do something for myself. I read. I write. I do cardio in my living room and just when I'v exhausted all of my energy, my son lets me sleep for 45 minutes. Just the perfect cat nap, and the next day we do it all over again.
Most of all, I've learned that motherhood is not for the weak.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
The Happy Pee
In an effort to help bring home some extra money, I decided to go back to work at Starbucks a couple evenings a week. The other night was my first time away from my son for a six hour time period.
During this time, I experienced guilt, anxiety, freedom, a social independence, and went through every possible scenario of what could possibly happen to him in my absence. I didn't want to go there - as he was safe in my husband's care - but my imagination dominated the sane part of me and I began to anxiously crave holding my son.
Six hours after leaving him, I was reunited. I picked him up and placed him on the changing table, took his diaper off and bowed down to his smiling face, and said:
"Your mommy missed you! Did you miss me?"
Not realizing he was naked, he then proceeded (with a huge smile on his face) to spray me with a long fountain of pee. It got on my arm, his face, my stomach, his ankles. It got everywhere and then some, and I began to laugh. And squeel.
My son obviously has a sense of humor, and luckily so do I.
During this time, I experienced guilt, anxiety, freedom, a social independence, and went through every possible scenario of what could possibly happen to him in my absence. I didn't want to go there - as he was safe in my husband's care - but my imagination dominated the sane part of me and I began to anxiously crave holding my son.
Six hours after leaving him, I was reunited. I picked him up and placed him on the changing table, took his diaper off and bowed down to his smiling face, and said:
"Your mommy missed you! Did you miss me?"
Not realizing he was naked, he then proceeded (with a huge smile on his face) to spray me with a long fountain of pee. It got on my arm, his face, my stomach, his ankles. It got everywhere and then some, and I began to laugh. And squeel.
My son obviously has a sense of humor, and luckily so do I.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
For women who 'do it all'........
Can we have it all?
In the last week, I have started working two part time jobs. One is career related and the other is to bring home some extra money.I am learning to balance being a full time mother and a career woman and have experienced being sleep deprived on a whole new level, so I have to ask myself: Can I do it all or do I need to let something go?
Like many women out there, I want it all and I want it now.
After giving 'it all' to my son these past four months, I want to be able to afford the luxurious haircuts, pedicures and occassional massage for myself. I want my career as a writer to take off in between the day's diaper changes and singing lullebye's. I want time to cook dinner from scratch, fold the laundry and keep up with the dishes, and at bedtime still have the energy to read a good book. I am beginning to understand the frustration with the woman who wants it all.
I want it all, and I want to do it perfectly all the time. I also know deep down that something must go.
Maybe tomorrow I'll know how to tune down the expectations I put on myself, maybe tomorrow the balancing act will feel less challenging, maybe tomorrow I can give myself a break or two.
Maybe, tomorrow.
In the last week, I have started working two part time jobs. One is career related and the other is to bring home some extra money.I am learning to balance being a full time mother and a career woman and have experienced being sleep deprived on a whole new level, so I have to ask myself: Can I do it all or do I need to let something go?
Like many women out there, I want it all and I want it now.
After giving 'it all' to my son these past four months, I want to be able to afford the luxurious haircuts, pedicures and occassional massage for myself. I want my career as a writer to take off in between the day's diaper changes and singing lullebye's. I want time to cook dinner from scratch, fold the laundry and keep up with the dishes, and at bedtime still have the energy to read a good book. I am beginning to understand the frustration with the woman who wants it all.
I want it all, and I want to do it perfectly all the time. I also know deep down that something must go.
Maybe tomorrow I'll know how to tune down the expectations I put on myself, maybe tomorrow the balancing act will feel less challenging, maybe tomorrow I can give myself a break or two.
Maybe, tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Vaccinations
I believe my son getting his shots is harder on me than it is on him.
At his two month checkup, they gave him four shots, and I turned my head while squinting my eyes and telling him, 'it's ok,' Due to the vaccination, he got his first fever that night and I felt like a wretched mother.
On Friday, he has his next doctor's visit, complete with a new vaccination. I have already rescheduled it twice, for the fear of anticipating my son's pain. Is the pain really that bad, or is it in my head? It got me to thinking, and I realize that more than anything, more than how bad those shots must really feel, I'm just wanting to shelter him from pain - any pain that comes into his life.
I guess that's what mother's do.
As a new mother, I realize I am fighting my maternal insincts that make me want to scream out to the doctor DONT HURT MY BABY!!! Insead, I must sit there and trust modern medicane, the Texas health department and my son's tough-guy mentality that even at four months old, he'll be alright.
I need to remember that he's the one teaching me about life. Although I can't protect him from the vaccinations, I can watch him seize the moment, and after a good cry, watch him have a good laugh.
At his two month checkup, they gave him four shots, and I turned my head while squinting my eyes and telling him, 'it's ok,' Due to the vaccination, he got his first fever that night and I felt like a wretched mother.
On Friday, he has his next doctor's visit, complete with a new vaccination. I have already rescheduled it twice, for the fear of anticipating my son's pain. Is the pain really that bad, or is it in my head? It got me to thinking, and I realize that more than anything, more than how bad those shots must really feel, I'm just wanting to shelter him from pain - any pain that comes into his life.
I guess that's what mother's do.
As a new mother, I realize I am fighting my maternal insincts that make me want to scream out to the doctor DONT HURT MY BABY!!! Insead, I must sit there and trust modern medicane, the Texas health department and my son's tough-guy mentality that even at four months old, he'll be alright.
I need to remember that he's the one teaching me about life. Although I can't protect him from the vaccinations, I can watch him seize the moment, and after a good cry, watch him have a good laugh.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Pee Factor
"When we approach children with the awareness that they are our teachers, we become more present ourselves."
Often I go to www.dailyom.com - a website geared with daily affirmations, spiritual thoughts and helpful advice that helps me start my day on a positive note. Today I began to think about the 'little teacher' in my life. I think about the lesson's he has taught me: patience, letting go of control and finding humor in the moment - even when he pees on both of us during an uncordinated diaper change!
Mostly, I think how I am the student and my classroom is watching my child open himself up to the world, the observations I see through his eyes, and the lessons I learn from his innocent spirit.
A few days ago as I was changing Miles, and in between diapers, he peed all over his face. Had I peed on my face, that would be a deal breaker for the day, but because he has no reason to dwell on the moment-on any given moment for that matter - he looked up and me and gave a big grin. I laughed, he mimicked my laughter, and watched me steadily as I wiped away the dripping pee from his face. Why stress when you have a handy washcloth, a fresh diaper and a great sense of humor?
I am reminded that to enjoy life and it's lessons, I must live in the moment, even if that means enduring the occassional pee.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Peter Pan Syndrome
Acting silly. Sometimes I find this escapes my daily activities until I look to my son and am reminded how much I'm missing out on my own inner-child, laughing and acting like the carefree character of Peter Pan.
When we become 'grown-ups' do we become 'too good' for the fun to come out? We become focused on our work. We set deadlines for ourselves, our goals, our responsibilities. We want that body, that income, that relationship until we realize we are missing something important, signifigant, something we let go a long time ago. So, we look forward to events like Halloween when we're allowed to dress up and act silly. Then we wonder why we don't have more days like this.
I envy every moment of my son's life because unlike me - as much as I don't want to admit it - he is gleefull, silly -- and can find humor in a piece of gum, the crinkly sound of a peice of paper or the fan spinning overhead. Why can't we stay like this?
Sometimes I think Peter Pan had it right. Although he wasn't so much the model of responsibility, he was in tune with his childlike ways, and promised to be a boy forever. At one point, he looks to Wendy and says, Come with me where you'll never have to worry about grown up things again."
The truth for me is, I love being an adult, and the perks it gives me. I love my independence and my financial freedom. I love having a car that works and no longer driving a beat up, end-of-its-life 1985 Toyota Hatchback. I love no longer having to sneak out of the bedroom to see my friends when I'm grounded, or that sense of impatience because I want to be 'grown up'. I'm here, and I love where I am. But, I would also love to balance out my life a bit and remember that not every moment of my grown-up life needs to be serious. I can allow the sillyness in. I can be Peter Pan when I want to.
When we become 'grown-ups' do we become 'too good' for the fun to come out? We become focused on our work. We set deadlines for ourselves, our goals, our responsibilities. We want that body, that income, that relationship until we realize we are missing something important, signifigant, something we let go a long time ago. So, we look forward to events like Halloween when we're allowed to dress up and act silly. Then we wonder why we don't have more days like this.
I envy every moment of my son's life because unlike me - as much as I don't want to admit it - he is gleefull, silly -- and can find humor in a piece of gum, the crinkly sound of a peice of paper or the fan spinning overhead. Why can't we stay like this?
Sometimes I think Peter Pan had it right. Although he wasn't so much the model of responsibility, he was in tune with his childlike ways, and promised to be a boy forever. At one point, he looks to Wendy and says, Come with me where you'll never have to worry about grown up things again."
The truth for me is, I love being an adult, and the perks it gives me. I love my independence and my financial freedom. I love having a car that works and no longer driving a beat up, end-of-its-life 1985 Toyota Hatchback. I love no longer having to sneak out of the bedroom to see my friends when I'm grounded, or that sense of impatience because I want to be 'grown up'. I'm here, and I love where I am. But, I would also love to balance out my life a bit and remember that not every moment of my grown-up life needs to be serious. I can allow the sillyness in. I can be Peter Pan when I want to.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
To Pee or Not To Pee
"When we approach children with the awareness that they are our teachers, we become more present ourselves."
Often I go to www.dailyom.com - a website geared with daily affirmations, spiritual thoughts and helpful advice that helps me start my day on a positive note. Today I began to think about the 'little teacher' in my life. I think about the lesson's he has taught me: patience, letting go of control and finding humor in the moment - even when he pees on both of us during an uncordinated diaper change!
Mostly, I think how I am the student and my classroom is watching my child open himself up to the world, the observations I see through his eyes, and the lessons I learn from his innocent spirit.
A few days ago as I was changing Miles, and in between diapers, he peed all over his face. Had I peed on my face, that would be a deal breaker for the day, but because he has no reason to dwell on the moment-on any given moment for that matter - he looked up and me and gave a big grin. I laughed, he mimicked my laughter, and watched me steadily as I wiped away the dripping pee from his face. Why stress when you have a handy washcloth, a fresh diaper and a great sense of humor?
I am reminded that to enjoy life and it's lessons, I must live in the moment, even if that means enduring the occassional pee.
The Golden Question
A good friend of mine who has 'baby fever' recently asked me if I think she'll be a good mother.
Other than the fact that I think she will be, motherhood - at least in my experience - has been a process of trial and error, of learning and most of all - trusting those maternal instincts that kick in as soon as we hold our baby in our arms for the first time.
I believe - that believing in ourselves - is the biggest trick to it all.
With that final 'push' at shortly past midnight on December 23rd, and the doctor showed me my son for the first time, I cried uncontrollably. Then, I laughed which resembled Jack Nicholson's famous cackle - and then I cried some more. My emotions were one of hysterics and intense as if love from the core was running through my body and out on the other side. It is true what the others say: you don't know unconditional love until you have a child.
So to answer my friend's question. Yes, she'll be a great mother because like the women before her and the soon-to-be mothers of the world, we will all be the great mothers we hope to be and then some. We will rely on our instincts for those moments we don't know WHAT to do, we'll lean on a community of women to help us along the way, and we'll believe whole-heartedly in ourselves and turn inward for the answers.
Male Bonding
There are few men I know who have a solid group of male friends and I wonder, does that contribute to their longevity? I believe it plays a crucial role in their happiness at least.
Living a happy life means someone to share it with. A fufulling marriage is one thing, but outside of that who do you rely on for support, laughter, the occasional cocktail over endless chatter? A good friend.
My husband is one of the only men I know to have a solid group of male companionship. Since the sixth grade, he's had a group of best friends who he still talks to on a weekly basis. Scattered throughout Texas now, they make it an priority to be there for one another - whether that means talking or texting on the phone, planning their annual golf trip, or meeting in the middle of the state for their 'male getaways'. They have found support in one another which I believe has filled in the gaps of their lives. They are friends in the truest sense of the word.
I hope my husband will pass on the importance of male bonding to our son. Last night I watched my husband demonstrate to him the importance of The Lakers, how great Kobe Bryant was playing and that unfair call from the referee. Our son watched in amazement - already at just three months old -- and listened to his father passionatly speak about his team who was alrady becoming 'their' team. As much as I hope my son will have a core group of supportive friends in his life, I also know he is forming a friendship with the greatest friend he will have - his father. From here, his own possibilities are endless.
Living a happy life means someone to share it with. A fufulling marriage is one thing, but outside of that who do you rely on for support, laughter, the occasional cocktail over endless chatter? A good friend.
My husband is one of the only men I know to have a solid group of male companionship. Since the sixth grade, he's had a group of best friends who he still talks to on a weekly basis. Scattered throughout Texas now, they make it an priority to be there for one another - whether that means talking or texting on the phone, planning their annual golf trip, or meeting in the middle of the state for their 'male getaways'. They have found support in one another which I believe has filled in the gaps of their lives. They are friends in the truest sense of the word.
I hope my husband will pass on the importance of male bonding to our son. Last night I watched my husband demonstrate to him the importance of The Lakers, how great Kobe Bryant was playing and that unfair call from the referee. Our son watched in amazement - already at just three months old -- and listened to his father passionatly speak about his team who was alrady becoming 'their' team. As much as I hope my son will have a core group of supportive friends in his life, I also know he is forming a friendship with the greatest friend he will have - his father. From here, his own possibilities are endless.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Raising a Gentleman
Yesterday I took Miles to Starbucks. Being the coffee connoisseur that I am, he is learning early to patiently wait for me to finish my cup of coffee.
A older couple in their eighties came in and asked an employee for "David, please." A few minutes later a young man came out from behind the counter and gave the man a big hug, and gave the woman a gentle one. He looked to be in his mid twenties, and called them gramps and grandma. Waiting for the coffee to kick in and jolt me awake, I watched them interact and began to think about how many men I know who possess a signifigant amount of manners, how many who lack them and those that had them but let them go somewhere down the road.
Don't get me wrong. Many women I know have no manners at all. Spending a couple of years working at various retail industries I know firsthand how rude and inconsiderate people can be no matter what your gender is. But, in my family and close circle of friends I am surrounded by the best. We never forget a 'thank you', 'you're welcome', holding the door open for the elderly and sending thank you notes after a present is given. I've been raised by a showstopping, over-the-top group of etiquette believers. And, I fully intend on passing it along.
While I sipped my coffee, I watched the young man talk to his grandparents, gently, fondly, sweetly. They asked him how his honeymoon to Australia was. They asked him what he was planning for his anniversary. His grandfather interupted him in a stern tone to say, "You must always court your wife you know." The young man shook his head and said "Yes, sir,' as if to gulp down his years of wisdom, extracting what he could for his own marriage. He then went over to his grandmother, who was having some difficulty getting up from her seat, and he took her hand. He told her her hairstyle looked beautiful.
I looked down at my son who is only three months old. It got me thinking. How do you raise a man in this age when manners and etiquette seem to be disappearing? How do you raise a gentleman?
The message starts now, I tell myself.
I commit to raising my son with an awareness for people and the good of the planet, to always consider another person's position of hardship before thinking of his own, to tap into his skills and passions before expectations, and to always hold the door open for strangers and friends alike.
I believe in raising a gentleman who will continue the tradition of chivalry and respect. I expect nothing less. Starting now.
A older couple in their eighties came in and asked an employee for "David, please." A few minutes later a young man came out from behind the counter and gave the man a big hug, and gave the woman a gentle one. He looked to be in his mid twenties, and called them gramps and grandma. Waiting for the coffee to kick in and jolt me awake, I watched them interact and began to think about how many men I know who possess a signifigant amount of manners, how many who lack them and those that had them but let them go somewhere down the road.
Don't get me wrong. Many women I know have no manners at all. Spending a couple of years working at various retail industries I know firsthand how rude and inconsiderate people can be no matter what your gender is. But, in my family and close circle of friends I am surrounded by the best. We never forget a 'thank you', 'you're welcome', holding the door open for the elderly and sending thank you notes after a present is given. I've been raised by a showstopping, over-the-top group of etiquette believers. And, I fully intend on passing it along.
While I sipped my coffee, I watched the young man talk to his grandparents, gently, fondly, sweetly. They asked him how his honeymoon to Australia was. They asked him what he was planning for his anniversary. His grandfather interupted him in a stern tone to say, "You must always court your wife you know." The young man shook his head and said "Yes, sir,' as if to gulp down his years of wisdom, extracting what he could for his own marriage. He then went over to his grandmother, who was having some difficulty getting up from her seat, and he took her hand. He told her her hairstyle looked beautiful.
I looked down at my son who is only three months old. It got me thinking. How do you raise a man in this age when manners and etiquette seem to be disappearing? How do you raise a gentleman?
The message starts now, I tell myself.
I commit to raising my son with an awareness for people and the good of the planet, to always consider another person's position of hardship before thinking of his own, to tap into his skills and passions before expectations, and to always hold the door open for strangers and friends alike.
I believe in raising a gentleman who will continue the tradition of chivalry and respect. I expect nothing less. Starting now.
Lost in London
Although many women seem to have the curse of a bad sense of direction, I believe mine to be the worst.
I have travelled internationally and locally, seeing the beaches of San Diego, the castles in Edinbough, Scotland; the Vatican, Spanish Steps and Sistine Chapel of Rome; the view from atop of the Eifel Tower; Madison Square Garden, the subway and the Empire State building of New York; pub hopping, visiting Shakespeare's home in England, and wine tasting throughout the picturesque Tuscan countryside.
I also got to know many of these wonderful places by losing my way, becoming impressively lost and finding myself again. I was a chronic-disoriented-traveller who quickly learned to rely on the kindness of strangers for help. I have met strangers who sympatheized with my angst; I met others who could care less to help me find my way. I have spent countless hours of my life getting catagorically lost and finding my way again.
Once, I got lost in London an hour after I arrived. As soon as I got to my hotel room, I enthusiastically threw my bag on the bed (including my itenerary with our hotel's name and address on it) and set out to explore the world. Four hours later after several pub stops and fish and chips tastings later, I searched my pockets for the itenerary, and realized the hotel's information was in the hotel room. Where was I? Where was the hotel?
I panicked and began to cry in front of an tired, unsmpathetic bellhop.
What's the name of your hotel he asked. Had the cat got my tongue? I had no idea. What street is in on, he asked me and began to chuckle. Don't know that either I told him. The tears began to drop onto my cheeks as he shrugged his shoulders at me.
It's one thing to get lost in your car on the freeway half an hour from home. It's quite another to be disoriented and scrambling to find your way in another country. I walked in circles and for hours that afternoon. Long story short? I met both helpful strangers and unsympathetic bellhops that day, but the reason I finally stumbled back to old hotel of mine in the end? MY instincts. No matter what country I've been in or how lost I've gotten myself -- my instincts have gotten me back to where I need to be.
Instincts, and that helpful itenerary you stick in your pocket from now on -- just in case you get lost again. Trust me, I wouldn't put it past myself.
I have travelled internationally and locally, seeing the beaches of San Diego, the castles in Edinbough, Scotland; the Vatican, Spanish Steps and Sistine Chapel of Rome; the view from atop of the Eifel Tower; Madison Square Garden, the subway and the Empire State building of New York; pub hopping, visiting Shakespeare's home in England, and wine tasting throughout the picturesque Tuscan countryside.
I also got to know many of these wonderful places by losing my way, becoming impressively lost and finding myself again. I was a chronic-disoriented-traveller who quickly learned to rely on the kindness of strangers for help. I have met strangers who sympatheized with my angst; I met others who could care less to help me find my way. I have spent countless hours of my life getting catagorically lost and finding my way again.
Once, I got lost in London an hour after I arrived. As soon as I got to my hotel room, I enthusiastically threw my bag on the bed (including my itenerary with our hotel's name and address on it) and set out to explore the world. Four hours later after several pub stops and fish and chips tastings later, I searched my pockets for the itenerary, and realized the hotel's information was in the hotel room. Where was I? Where was the hotel?
I panicked and began to cry in front of an tired, unsmpathetic bellhop.
What's the name of your hotel he asked. Had the cat got my tongue? I had no idea. What street is in on, he asked me and began to chuckle. Don't know that either I told him. The tears began to drop onto my cheeks as he shrugged his shoulders at me.
It's one thing to get lost in your car on the freeway half an hour from home. It's quite another to be disoriented and scrambling to find your way in another country. I walked in circles and for hours that afternoon. Long story short? I met both helpful strangers and unsympathetic bellhops that day, but the reason I finally stumbled back to old hotel of mine in the end? MY instincts. No matter what country I've been in or how lost I've gotten myself -- my instincts have gotten me back to where I need to be.
Instincts, and that helpful itenerary you stick in your pocket from now on -- just in case you get lost again. Trust me, I wouldn't put it past myself.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Generational Gap
During my early twenties, I had the privilage to travel extensively.
Although I often travelled with friends, one of my most cherished memories was the trip I took with my grandmother. A fiercly independent woman even during her retirement years, she became a role model for me and the way I want to live my life: with adventure, travel and a curious mind.
At 20, she took me to Europe. We explored England, France, Scotland and Belgium.Some of my friends at the time (and hers) wondered if we would - or could - enjoy our time together, especially considering the generational gap. She was in her 70's and I in my 20's. What would we talk about on those long train rides? Won't we want to do and see different things? What could we really enjoy doing together for two weeks like that? Everything. Wouldn't we rather go with someone closer to our own age? Absolutly not.
We walked the day out in Brussels; we studied the Mona Lisa in the Louvre; we travelled to Shakespeare's home in Bathe and listened to the flute players in the street; we ate croissantes and espresso while idolizing the view of the Eiffel tower. We laughed so hard at times we were crying. And, as I remember she contained more energy for life at seventy something than I did in my youthful twenties. I admired then - and still do now -- her energy that often carries mine.
In June, my son will meet his great-grandmother for the first time. One day I will tell him the stories of our travels together, so that he may live through the adventures of ours. That way, the generational gap won't ever mean much, at least not when it comes to travel, love, and a curious mind.
Although I often travelled with friends, one of my most cherished memories was the trip I took with my grandmother. A fiercly independent woman even during her retirement years, she became a role model for me and the way I want to live my life: with adventure, travel and a curious mind.
At 20, she took me to Europe. We explored England, France, Scotland and Belgium.Some of my friends at the time (and hers) wondered if we would - or could - enjoy our time together, especially considering the generational gap. She was in her 70's and I in my 20's. What would we talk about on those long train rides? Won't we want to do and see different things? What could we really enjoy doing together for two weeks like that? Everything. Wouldn't we rather go with someone closer to our own age? Absolutly not.
We walked the day out in Brussels; we studied the Mona Lisa in the Louvre; we travelled to Shakespeare's home in Bathe and listened to the flute players in the street; we ate croissantes and espresso while idolizing the view of the Eiffel tower. We laughed so hard at times we were crying. And, as I remember she contained more energy for life at seventy something than I did in my youthful twenties. I admired then - and still do now -- her energy that often carries mine.
In June, my son will meet his great-grandmother for the first time. One day I will tell him the stories of our travels together, so that he may live through the adventures of ours. That way, the generational gap won't ever mean much, at least not when it comes to travel, love, and a curious mind.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
My son began to teeth last night.
At not quite four months, he was ahead of schedule, or at least this is what my First Year Of Life book tells me. My parenting books pile up on the countertop: What To Expect During Their First Year, Your Baby, Your Life and So This is What It's Like?, stare at me from across the room. I breathe in, I sigh. I refer to them on a weekly basis and compare notes. Am I feeding him as I should? Is he getting enough tummy time? Is he progressing physically, emotionally, mentally. I attach my self- worth to their harsh opinions and advice.
I am convinced the universe was testing my strength as a mother.
Last night our dinner got cold. It was 7:02pm, and I was feeling proud of myself for having the energy -- in my sleep deprived state -- to go to the supermarket, buy some fresh garlic, tomatoes and pasta and create a new dish for dinner. Although to some making a new dish is nothing out of the ordinary, Miles appreciated it. He looked up at me and smiled as if to say GREAT JOB. Whether he smiled out of appreciation or support or just passing gas, it didn't matter. He was proud of me. I was proud of myself, dammit. Something besides baked chicken or speghetti. Way to go.
I cooked the pasta, browned and seasoned the meat and added my own touch (extra mozzarella cheese) before popping it into the oven. Just when the cheese began to bubble up in a sinful way, my son began to scream.
I thought he just aching for some cheese like I was.
After picking him up and quietly shhhhhing in his ear (which usually does the trick) his screams begun to elevate and turn into squeels, a piercing sound of irritability I had never heard from him before.
I held onto him tight. I caressed him. I rubbed his back. I sang him a sweet little lullabye only to be shunned by his violent arms and legs kicking me in protest. Ten long minutes later (was it only ten?) my husband returned from the drugstore with the teething ointment and I couldn't apply it fast enough.
My day as a 'good mother', a mother who knew exactly what to do -- when to burp, feed and change him -- rapidly turned into a hectic, holding-in-the-tears, I-want-to-cry-like-my-baby's-doin' mother. I was not as perfect as I wanted to be. What did my parenting book say about that?
Tonight I heated up the leftovers and we ate in peace. No crying, no teething but a perfect threesome for dinner. Right on track. Tonight I didn't refer to my baby books for an answer. Tonight my baby's peaceful state of being was the only answer I need.
At not quite four months, he was ahead of schedule, or at least this is what my First Year Of Life book tells me. My parenting books pile up on the countertop: What To Expect During Their First Year, Your Baby, Your Life and So This is What It's Like?, stare at me from across the room. I breathe in, I sigh. I refer to them on a weekly basis and compare notes. Am I feeding him as I should? Is he getting enough tummy time? Is he progressing physically, emotionally, mentally. I attach my self- worth to their harsh opinions and advice.
I am convinced the universe was testing my strength as a mother.
Last night our dinner got cold. It was 7:02pm, and I was feeling proud of myself for having the energy -- in my sleep deprived state -- to go to the supermarket, buy some fresh garlic, tomatoes and pasta and create a new dish for dinner. Although to some making a new dish is nothing out of the ordinary, Miles appreciated it. He looked up at me and smiled as if to say GREAT JOB. Whether he smiled out of appreciation or support or just passing gas, it didn't matter. He was proud of me. I was proud of myself, dammit. Something besides baked chicken or speghetti. Way to go.
I cooked the pasta, browned and seasoned the meat and added my own touch (extra mozzarella cheese) before popping it into the oven. Just when the cheese began to bubble up in a sinful way, my son began to scream.
I thought he just aching for some cheese like I was.
After picking him up and quietly shhhhhing in his ear (which usually does the trick) his screams begun to elevate and turn into squeels, a piercing sound of irritability I had never heard from him before.
I held onto him tight. I caressed him. I rubbed his back. I sang him a sweet little lullabye only to be shunned by his violent arms and legs kicking me in protest. Ten long minutes later (was it only ten?) my husband returned from the drugstore with the teething ointment and I couldn't apply it fast enough.
My day as a 'good mother', a mother who knew exactly what to do -- when to burp, feed and change him -- rapidly turned into a hectic, holding-in-the-tears, I-want-to-cry-like-my-baby's-doin' mother. I was not as perfect as I wanted to be. What did my parenting book say about that?
Tonight I heated up the leftovers and we ate in peace. No crying, no teething but a perfect threesome for dinner. Right on track. Tonight I didn't refer to my baby books for an answer. Tonight my baby's peaceful state of being was the only answer I need.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A Conversation About Comfort Food
My son believes in the finer things in life: napping, being held when he cries, and holding onto his comfort blanket to sooth his distress.
A certain someone in my life admitted that the comfort foods in her life must stop. I agreed in sympthathy. My comfort food intake has been going on for twelve months. Now, I can't blame my ravishing appetite on the pregnancy hormones or the fact that I'm feeding another life. I can't blame my post-pregnancy hormones for my sweet tooth on the fact that breastfeeding uses up to 1,000 calories a day so I deserve that box of Oreos. I am no longer pregnant and I no longer breastfeed. No more excuses.
I too have been guilty of late night runs to Jack-in-the-Box for fries and a vanilla shake; McDonald's for their wonderful hot fudge sundaes, and downing a box of cookies without thinking twice about it. I soooooo get it. Comfort food for us women who do it all. Enough said.
Those women who 'do it all' --- and indulge in the cookies, sundaes, vanilla shakes, cupcakes and red velvet cakes --- convince ourselves that a good dessert will make our daily stressors go away, and that the hard day in front of us will be easier to manage. We tell ourselves this decadent chocolate cupcake is what we deserve, until of course that day turns into the next 30 or 60. We go about our responsibilities -- taking on the raising of children, finances, cooking and cleaning. We become super-mom, and want some comfort, a quick fix, a resolution that we're doing it good enough. We need something that will release us from our humongous responsiblities: the devilish cupcake; the sinful eclair, the tempting Krispy Kreme donut with extra glaze.
We look at our babies or remember the time when we were a baby ourself and idolize how comforting a simple blanket or pacifer was to once fix our distress. Sometimes, we wish it was that easy now to be comforted, safe, peaceful in our heart and mind.
We hold our babies tight and give them all the warm comfort they deserve and not be means of food, but love. We tell them that they are appreciated and perfect just as they are. And, instead of reaching for that dessert tonight, we try to tell ourselves the same thing.
A certain someone in my life admitted that the comfort foods in her life must stop. I agreed in sympthathy. My comfort food intake has been going on for twelve months. Now, I can't blame my ravishing appetite on the pregnancy hormones or the fact that I'm feeding another life. I can't blame my post-pregnancy hormones for my sweet tooth on the fact that breastfeeding uses up to 1,000 calories a day so I deserve that box of Oreos. I am no longer pregnant and I no longer breastfeed. No more excuses.
I too have been guilty of late night runs to Jack-in-the-Box for fries and a vanilla shake; McDonald's for their wonderful hot fudge sundaes, and downing a box of cookies without thinking twice about it. I soooooo get it. Comfort food for us women who do it all. Enough said.
Those women who 'do it all' --- and indulge in the cookies, sundaes, vanilla shakes, cupcakes and red velvet cakes --- convince ourselves that a good dessert will make our daily stressors go away, and that the hard day in front of us will be easier to manage. We tell ourselves this decadent chocolate cupcake is what we deserve, until of course that day turns into the next 30 or 60. We go about our responsibilities -- taking on the raising of children, finances, cooking and cleaning. We become super-mom, and want some comfort, a quick fix, a resolution that we're doing it good enough. We need something that will release us from our humongous responsiblities: the devilish cupcake; the sinful eclair, the tempting Krispy Kreme donut with extra glaze.
We look at our babies or remember the time when we were a baby ourself and idolize how comforting a simple blanket or pacifer was to once fix our distress. Sometimes, we wish it was that easy now to be comforted, safe, peaceful in our heart and mind.
We hold our babies tight and give them all the warm comfort they deserve and not be means of food, but love. We tell them that they are appreciated and perfect just as they are. And, instead of reaching for that dessert tonight, we try to tell ourselves the same thing.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Long Live our Girlfriends!
Every woman needs a good girlfriend or two.
I believe it’s crucial for our development, our mental stability, and it’s necessary in order for us to be the best wife, mother, driven career woman and successful multi-taskers that we are. As sweet as our husbands or boyfriends may be, we need the camaraderie of another female, one that appreciates gabbing for hours over coffee with a decadent chocolate éclair; one that convinces you to buy yet another pair of black heels (and yes, this pair is totally different than all the others you already own); one that can sympathesize with those hormonal changes during that time of the month, because she’s going through the same thing. We depend on our girlfriends to motivate us when we’re down, be our cheerleaders when we need a ‘boost’ and love us unconditionally through it all.
A good girlfriend or two is required --- for our sanity as women.
My grandmother has been friends with her Alpha Omega sorority group since college. They’ve been best friends for fifty years -- and been present – physically and emotionally -- for the most important and influential moments of one another’s lives. They’ve made it a priority to be there for one another – through thick and thin – and I believe their bond of closeness, laughter and companionship has contributed greatly to my grandmother’s wonderfully long and happy life.
What did cave women do during the dark ages? How did they emotionally survive while their husbands were out all day killing their dinner? What about the ladies of the Victorian age? Did they bore themselves to death while they waited around for a proper suitor? No. They formed a bond with their siblings; they created a sisterhood with the ladies of the same village or town – and instantly, a commonality begins.
Whatever time period we are from, we find a way to be there for other women. It takes the form of quilting bees, support groups; cardio classes, weaving circles. Whether we spend our time laughing together, crying together or both at the same time it really doesn’t matter. We are emotional creatures who follow our instincts to bond.
Here’s to the women we lean on for support in our lives. And to the great friend we are to someone else.
Long live our girlfriends!
I believe it’s crucial for our development, our mental stability, and it’s necessary in order for us to be the best wife, mother, driven career woman and successful multi-taskers that we are. As sweet as our husbands or boyfriends may be, we need the camaraderie of another female, one that appreciates gabbing for hours over coffee with a decadent chocolate éclair; one that convinces you to buy yet another pair of black heels (and yes, this pair is totally different than all the others you already own); one that can sympathesize with those hormonal changes during that time of the month, because she’s going through the same thing. We depend on our girlfriends to motivate us when we’re down, be our cheerleaders when we need a ‘boost’ and love us unconditionally through it all.
A good girlfriend or two is required --- for our sanity as women.
My grandmother has been friends with her Alpha Omega sorority group since college. They’ve been best friends for fifty years -- and been present – physically and emotionally -- for the most important and influential moments of one another’s lives. They’ve made it a priority to be there for one another – through thick and thin – and I believe their bond of closeness, laughter and companionship has contributed greatly to my grandmother’s wonderfully long and happy life.
What did cave women do during the dark ages? How did they emotionally survive while their husbands were out all day killing their dinner? What about the ladies of the Victorian age? Did they bore themselves to death while they waited around for a proper suitor? No. They formed a bond with their siblings; they created a sisterhood with the ladies of the same village or town – and instantly, a commonality begins.
Whatever time period we are from, we find a way to be there for other women. It takes the form of quilting bees, support groups; cardio classes, weaving circles. Whether we spend our time laughing together, crying together or both at the same time it really doesn’t matter. We are emotional creatures who follow our instincts to bond.
Here’s to the women we lean on for support in our lives. And to the great friend we are to someone else.
Long live our girlfriends!
Monday, April 5, 2010
The Bassinet
Before my son was born, my mom bought him a bassinet. Considering he screams every time I place him in it, I'm glad she didn't spend a fortune on that investment. Instead, my beloved cat Bandit sleeps in it, a place he has developed as 'his domain', and guards it ferociously.
I knew I would experience some nights of interrupted sleep. After all, I heard of the classic sleepless nights a newborn is prone to. Experienced mothers told me there would be frequent bottle feedings and diaper changings but I at least pictured when he did sleep, he would sleep in his bassinet. By the time we brought him home from the hospital, I placed the bassinet next to my side of the bed. That way, I could easily feed him when he cried. I pictured in my mind the perfect setup: crisp white bassinet sheets to match, and easy accessability. I just didn't expect him to cry each time we placed him in it. Still, three months after his birth when I attempt another try at it, he screams, hollers and shouts for me.
I lose the battle each and every time.
This is one of the many lessons I have learned as a mother. No matter how much sense it makes for my son to sleep in the very place I have picked out for him, he will often find another. What I often think is 'right', my son will insist is wrong. We pick our battles as mothers, and give up when the fight isn't worth fighting for.
And eventually with some luck, we find a use for the thing he will not use. Luckily in my case, I have a cat named Bandit.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The Little Teacher
A year ago I found out I was pregnant. Like all mothers before me have felt since before becoming a mom, my life has never been the same.
Sometimes I look at my son and am shocked by the look he gives back. So innocent, so smart already. So full of wonder and full of life. Sometimes as we look right into each other’s eyes, I feel like they are full of the lesson's I'm meant to learn.
When I think about how much my son has to learn about the world,and so many steps he needs to take before he becomes a man – he needs to learn how to crawl, walk, learn the English language, gain mobility, learn to read and write, etc… often the way he looks up at me with those 'knowing' eyes puts a halt to my thinking. True, he is a just an infant who does not have those basic skills yet, but it is foolish to think I ‘know’ more than him. He may have just been born, but those piercing eyes of his tell me another story. His eyes seem to stare back at me as if they are desperatly trying to communicate something crucial, tell me what I must figure out, what lesson’s it's time that I learn.
I hope that I will never assume to 'know it all', but instead take my son for the man he is becoming and for what he's teaching me about the woman I'm meant to be.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Trust
The other day my three month old son took a picture with the Easter Bunny. I have to admit it was pretty darn cute: my son's expression, the oversized bunny costume and the look of purity on his face, as if the world had never been greater. As I watched the Easter Bunny hold him, I noticed the way my son was looking at him. It was a look of total and complete trust. He didn't cry or fuss and he certaintly didn't need his mom to pick him up. He was inviting this stranger to hold him as long as he wanted because of trust. And in turn, it got my thinking about my own relationship was trust. How it is now, how it was, and how it's changed over the years.
Children are wonderful to watch because they're taking in the world for the first time, and with an open heart. As a teenager and as a women in my early 20's, I was trusting -- to a fault --- I hadn't yet seen what can happen when you trust without caution and what can happen when someone takes advantage of your trust. I experienced a plethora of wild adventures with trust: betrayal, excitment, unpredictability, friends that lied, cheating boyfriends, and being taken advantage of on numerous occassions.
At 31 years of age my relationship with trust has changed quite a bit. I am now cautious, mindfull and hesitant when I meet someone. As much as I want to assume the best, I proceed with caution, and rely on my intuition, a tool I use to guide me on the right path. As a woman and in the times we live in it only makes sense.
As I watch my son look up at the Easter Bunny with all the trust his little heart can hold, it fills up my own life with hope, hope that the world can be a trusting place for us all. Not even so much for me but for my son. I hope that as my son turns into a man he will have that trusting look forever because he'll never have a reason not to.
Children are wonderful to watch because they're taking in the world for the first time, and with an open heart. As a teenager and as a women in my early 20's, I was trusting -- to a fault --- I hadn't yet seen what can happen when you trust without caution and what can happen when someone takes advantage of your trust. I experienced a plethora of wild adventures with trust: betrayal, excitment, unpredictability, friends that lied, cheating boyfriends, and being taken advantage of on numerous occassions.
At 31 years of age my relationship with trust has changed quite a bit. I am now cautious, mindfull and hesitant when I meet someone. As much as I want to assume the best, I proceed with caution, and rely on my intuition, a tool I use to guide me on the right path. As a woman and in the times we live in it only makes sense.
As I watch my son look up at the Easter Bunny with all the trust his little heart can hold, it fills up my own life with hope, hope that the world can be a trusting place for us all. Not even so much for me but for my son. I hope that as my son turns into a man he will have that trusting look forever because he'll never have a reason not to.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The 'Perfect' Woman
As a new mother, I feel the pressure to be perfect one hundred percent of the time.
In my last post, I talked about those mothers more experienced than me (who without meaning to) tell me what I'm doing wrong when I can't get my baby to sleep through the night, or when he's fussing and I just can't get him to quiet down as quickly as I'd like. I used to feel the pressure to be a good wife but now there's an additional pressure to be the perfect everything: wife, mother, cook, coupon-clipper, diaper changer and lullabye singer.
I think it's easy for us women -- no matter how strong and independent we may have been raised -- to feel guilty for the things we cannot control. There is a pressure to 'do it all' all the time -- to be the perfect woman, the perfect wife, and now the perfect mother. While we know that is not always possible, we feel guilty when we can't. At least, I do.
I am by no means a gourmet cook. In fact, there are only about five dishes I can make for my husband and I that we get excited about: beef fajitas, baked chicken, speghetti, chicken parmesean, and the latest one I recently mastered: my grandmother's famous lasagne. Not feeling good enough as a cook, I wandered the aisles of Walmart yesterday with my baby in tow, and thought: what the heck am I going to make for dinner this week?
I ended up buying catfish fillets, hushpuppies and the ingredients for a garden salad. Excited about my creativity, I told my husband about tomorrow nights planned dinner. To my dismay, he did not sound as excited as me. I told my three month old son, who just grinned and went about his way staring at the bright light overhead. I realized quickly that the pressure I put on myself is a wasted energy. The pressure to be perfect is only something I put on myself.
My husband often asks me, "Are you trying to do it all again?"
I guess I am.
I want a balanced meal for my family. I want us to consume the vegetables, wholegrains we're supposed to. I want us to watch our soda and sugar intake, but most of all I realize I want to feel good enough, I want to be worthy enough of love. And looking into my husband and my son's loving eyes, I can feel that anytime no matter what the dinner menu is.
In my last post, I talked about those mothers more experienced than me (who without meaning to) tell me what I'm doing wrong when I can't get my baby to sleep through the night, or when he's fussing and I just can't get him to quiet down as quickly as I'd like. I used to feel the pressure to be a good wife but now there's an additional pressure to be the perfect everything: wife, mother, cook, coupon-clipper, diaper changer and lullabye singer.
I think it's easy for us women -- no matter how strong and independent we may have been raised -- to feel guilty for the things we cannot control. There is a pressure to 'do it all' all the time -- to be the perfect woman, the perfect wife, and now the perfect mother. While we know that is not always possible, we feel guilty when we can't. At least, I do.
I am by no means a gourmet cook. In fact, there are only about five dishes I can make for my husband and I that we get excited about: beef fajitas, baked chicken, speghetti, chicken parmesean, and the latest one I recently mastered: my grandmother's famous lasagne. Not feeling good enough as a cook, I wandered the aisles of Walmart yesterday with my baby in tow, and thought: what the heck am I going to make for dinner this week?
I ended up buying catfish fillets, hushpuppies and the ingredients for a garden salad. Excited about my creativity, I told my husband about tomorrow nights planned dinner. To my dismay, he did not sound as excited as me. I told my three month old son, who just grinned and went about his way staring at the bright light overhead. I realized quickly that the pressure I put on myself is a wasted energy. The pressure to be perfect is only something I put on myself.
My husband often asks me, "Are you trying to do it all again?"
I guess I am.
I want a balanced meal for my family. I want us to consume the vegetables, wholegrains we're supposed to. I want us to watch our soda and sugar intake, but most of all I realize I want to feel good enough, I want to be worthy enough of love. And looking into my husband and my son's loving eyes, I can feel that anytime no matter what the dinner menu is.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sleeping, uninterrupted
For the first time my son slept through the night. Round the clock.
It took us three months to get here, to a place of uninterrupted sleep, and although every mother and baby eventually get to this point, I feel like a statue should be created in my honor, or at least a congratulations from mother's everywhere. Heck, I must have done something right.
I was wondering if the stories I heard were true about that six week old baby sleeping through the night. Since mine hadnt at that point, I considered it a new mom myth. When I was pregnant, it was difficult to sleep even then: the tremor-like feelings from deep inside my belly, and having to sleep on my back at all times. But this morning I had reached the top of the mountain. I had made it to the other side. I had become an honorary golden mother, the one who gets her child to sleep so that she can sleep.
This morning I woke up feeling like a brand new woman. Still a new mother trying to figure out 'the game', but a brand new woman.
Older, more experienced mothers have told me in recent months (and over and over again) the remedies to get their new baby to sleep all night. They told me what I'm doing wrong, what I may be doing wrong, what I'm undoubtedly doing wrong. As I listened to them preach their new mom sermons to me while looking overly exhausted, they told me I need to get that haircut, fix my husband a romantic dinner over candlelight and put some makeup on, all by 6pm, all while still taking full time care of a three month old. I think they forgot what this part of their life was really like.
I began to realize their way does not have to be my way.
I began to find ways to do things while taking care of my newborn. I found a way to type emails to family members one-handed, while holding Miles in the other. I found out that to be able to brush my teeth and wash my face, I can turn the fan on overhead, the fan that my son seems completely entertained by and fold the laundry. I can take a shower while at the same time humming an Otis Redding favorite and my son will smile.
Above all, I have learned that only my son and I can come up with a routine that works for us. No matter what another mother tells me (that may have more experience, I realize that)I now know that noone can tell me what I'm doing wrong. We're on our own time schedule and we'll hatch when we're ready. We'll sleep through the night when it's time, and we'll get those things done we need to, even if it's one handed. It's just me and him, my baby boy and I, and I think we're doing just fine.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Dreaming
I'm starting to think my son is my good luck charm. Things are starting to happen for me in a way they never were before, and I look at him and wonder if it is all a mere coincidence. But then again, I don't really believe in coincidences.
On the Oprah show the other day, she was telling her guest Jessica Simpson that once you face a challenge, the universe will often pop up to 'test you' and see if you've truly learned the lesson you were meant to learn. I believe I am tested quite often for the woman that I'm meant to become.
I look at my son now and believe in meaning behind all things, be it big or small, and what may seem at first glance to be insignifigant actually holds much meaning for the scope of our lives, for the path we walk, for the direction we end up taking.
I don't know what obstacles are ahead of me but I do know since having Miles three months ago, dreams I have always dreamed for myself are slowly, patiently, and purposfully coming true before my very eyes. Maybe my son is a good luck charm, or maybe since he came into the picture, I feel a responsibility to be the best version of myself that I can be. To reach for the stars. To imagine the impossible. Maybe it's a little of both.
For myself and for my son I am beginning to catch those dreams after letting them go for far too long. I used to go to sleep at night and dream up things I want for myself. Now I believe I am awake and living the dreams outloud, one dream at a time.
Onward, for the dreamers in all of us.....
Raising a 'Gentleman'
Yesterday I took Miles to Starbucks. Being the coffee connoisseur that I am, he is learning early to patiently wait for me to finish my cup of coffee.
A older couple in their eighties came in and asked an employee for "David, please." A few minutes later a young man came out from behind the counter and gave the man a big hug, and gave the woman a gentle one. He looked to be in his mid twenties, and called them gramps and grandma. Waiting for the coffee to kick in and jolt me awake, I watched them interact and began to think about how many men I know who possess a signifigant amount of manners, how many who lack them and those that had them but let them go somewhere down the road.
Don't get me wrong. Many women I know have no manners at all. Spending a couple of years working at various retail industries I know firsthand how rude and inconsiderate people can be no matter what your gender is. But, in my family and close circle of friends I am surrounded by the best. We never forget a 'thank you', 'you're welcome', holding the door open for the elderly and sending thank you notes after a present is given. I've been raised by a showstopping, over-the-top group of etiquette believers. And, I fully intend on passing it along.
While I sipped my coffee, I watched the young man talk to his grandparents, gently, fondly, sweetly. They asked him how his honeymoon to Australia was. They asked him what he was planning for his anniversary. His grandfather interupted him in a stern tone to say, "You must always court your wife you know." The young man shook his head and said "Yes, sir,' as if to gulp down his years of wisdom, extracting what he could for his own marriage. He then went over to his grandmother, who was having some difficulty getting up from her seat, and he took her hand. He told her her hairstyle looked beautiful.
I looked down at my son who is only three months old. It got me thinking. How do you raise a man in this age when manners and etiquette seem to be disappearing? How do you raise a gentleman?
The message starts now, I tell myself.
I commit to raising my son with an awareness for people and the good of the planet, to always consider another person's position of hardship before thinking of his own, to tap into his skills and passions before expectations, and to always hold the door open for strangers and friends alike.
I believe in raising a gentleman who will continue the tradition of chivalry and respect. I expect nothing less. Starting now.
A older couple in their eighties came in and asked an employee for "David, please." A few minutes later a young man came out from behind the counter and gave the man a big hug, and gave the woman a gentle one. He looked to be in his mid twenties, and called them gramps and grandma. Waiting for the coffee to kick in and jolt me awake, I watched them interact and began to think about how many men I know who possess a signifigant amount of manners, how many who lack them and those that had them but let them go somewhere down the road.
Don't get me wrong. Many women I know have no manners at all. Spending a couple of years working at various retail industries I know firsthand how rude and inconsiderate people can be no matter what your gender is. But, in my family and close circle of friends I am surrounded by the best. We never forget a 'thank you', 'you're welcome', holding the door open for the elderly and sending thank you notes after a present is given. I've been raised by a showstopping, over-the-top group of etiquette believers. And, I fully intend on passing it along.
While I sipped my coffee, I watched the young man talk to his grandparents, gently, fondly, sweetly. They asked him how his honeymoon to Australia was. They asked him what he was planning for his anniversary. His grandfather interupted him in a stern tone to say, "You must always court your wife you know." The young man shook his head and said "Yes, sir,' as if to gulp down his years of wisdom, extracting what he could for his own marriage. He then went over to his grandmother, who was having some difficulty getting up from her seat, and he took her hand. He told her her hairstyle looked beautiful.
I looked down at my son who is only three months old. It got me thinking. How do you raise a man in this age when manners and etiquette seem to be disappearing? How do you raise a gentleman?
The message starts now, I tell myself.
I commit to raising my son with an awareness for people and the good of the planet, to always consider another person's position of hardship before thinking of his own, to tap into his skills and passions before expectations, and to always hold the door open for strangers and friends alike.
I believe in raising a gentleman who will continue the tradition of chivalry and respect. I expect nothing less. Starting now.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Mothers
Motherhood. In all it's glory, we know what we know because of our own mothers.
I think of motherhood like a torch being passed down throughout the generations. Great-grandmother to grandmother. Grandmother to Mother to at last, me, us, the new mothers of the current generation. When my son was born I was inheriting more than my first born. I was inheriting the wisdom of a great lineage of women whose intuition and inner knowing guide me on how to care for my child.
Although these women don't literally hand us the recipe for maternal intuition on a crinkled, folded up peice of paper, we inherit the knowledge of their lives and become great mothers by watching, seeing, doing. We successfully change a diaper on the first try, feed our baby before they become destressed and tend to our child's high fever with love, calmness, devotion. We are, as our mother's before us were, wisdom holders. The secret to motherhood is passed down, until it reaches us. No matter what self-doubts may at times challenge us, at the very core of our being is the mother that knows what to do.
My own mother was --- and is to this day --- unconditional in her love for me, in her patience as I learn the lessons I'm meant to learn, humorous (her high pitched laugh is and will always be contagious) and gracious, even throughout the darkest times of her life, and mine.
She passed along the torch to me, and now I know that becoming a mother to my baby means I already love him uncontionally, I allow him to live the lessons he is meant to live, and if I am lucky, perhaps one day I will inherit that wonderfully infectious laughter of hers.
I think of motherhood like a torch being passed down throughout the generations. Great-grandmother to grandmother. Grandmother to Mother to at last, me, us, the new mothers of the current generation. When my son was born I was inheriting more than my first born. I was inheriting the wisdom of a great lineage of women whose intuition and inner knowing guide me on how to care for my child.
Although these women don't literally hand us the recipe for maternal intuition on a crinkled, folded up peice of paper, we inherit the knowledge of their lives and become great mothers by watching, seeing, doing. We successfully change a diaper on the first try, feed our baby before they become destressed and tend to our child's high fever with love, calmness, devotion. We are, as our mother's before us were, wisdom holders. The secret to motherhood is passed down, until it reaches us. No matter what self-doubts may at times challenge us, at the very core of our being is the mother that knows what to do.
My own mother was --- and is to this day --- unconditional in her love for me, in her patience as I learn the lessons I'm meant to learn, humorous (her high pitched laugh is and will always be contagious) and gracious, even throughout the darkest times of her life, and mine.
She passed along the torch to me, and now I know that becoming a mother to my baby means I already love him uncontionally, I allow him to live the lessons he is meant to live, and if I am lucky, perhaps one day I will inherit that wonderfully infectious laughter of hers.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Weight Issues
Let's be honest here, ladies. Contrary to what the super-model-mom's may tell us, the weight gain from your pregnancy does not magically disappear the moment you leave the hospital. It is a process of no longer giving in to each hormonal craving anymore. It's about disipline and hard work and some sort of cardio. Really it's about having control over your body again. Sigh.
I saw myself in the mirror the other day and it wasn't the prettiest sight, and that I believe was the day I snapped myself out of my own indulgent midnight cravings and self created denial. The baby weight has to come off.
Looking in the mirror can be somewhat of a frightening experience a couple of months after nine months of pregnancy, the stress of a long labor and the anxiety of being a brand new mom. Thinking back to the past twelve months.... I ate because of my raging hormones, I ate out of sadness, bordom, anxiety. I ate during the moments I would laugh one minute and cry the next, all while holding onto a Taco Bell burrito in one hand and a Reese's cup in the other. I ate the occassional snickers bar or M & M's fix, and more often than I should have. Now I can say it. I was a pregnant woman who just ate too damn much.
A month ago I began the losing weight process while staring at pictures of Heidi Klum, Gisele Bundchen and that Kardashian sister. All who also endured nine months of pregnancy just like me, but now there a size 4 again, and I'm....not. I now realize this is not a great start to my weight loss. Tearing out pictures of their perfect physique is not a realistic goal for the average mother.
I'm not nieve to the fact that the difference between me and supermodels is my career doesn't depend on me fitting into my skinny jeans again and looking flawless six weeks after giving birth. They have a full time trainer, nutritialist, stylist. I don't. I have bad hair days and poor lighting and they don't. So when it comes down to it, I am rational. Until that new US Weekly comes out and I am reminded all over again, that I must, must lose the baby weight.
Something though is different now, now that I'm a mother.
It's not just about fitting into those skinny jeans or being able to resist that red velvet cupcake anymore. The biggest difference now that I am a mom is that being healthy is no longer an option. Why? Because my son's health depends on it.
I realize that as my son grows up he won't care about his mother looking like a supermodel but rather a mother who can run with him in the park, a mother who can play basketball with him when his father is at work, a mother who will help him be the best he can be athletically, mentally and physically. For me, it's no longer about having a perfect body but by demonstrating to him that respecting yourself starts with respecting your body.
No longer does getting my body in shape come with a reason of vanity. Now it's on a deeper level. It's teaching my growing son that to have a healthy life starts with the first person he sees in the morning, his mother, and the example that she sets for him.
Apple, anyone?
I saw myself in the mirror the other day and it wasn't the prettiest sight, and that I believe was the day I snapped myself out of my own indulgent midnight cravings and self created denial. The baby weight has to come off.
Looking in the mirror can be somewhat of a frightening experience a couple of months after nine months of pregnancy, the stress of a long labor and the anxiety of being a brand new mom. Thinking back to the past twelve months.... I ate because of my raging hormones, I ate out of sadness, bordom, anxiety. I ate during the moments I would laugh one minute and cry the next, all while holding onto a Taco Bell burrito in one hand and a Reese's cup in the other. I ate the occassional snickers bar or M & M's fix, and more often than I should have. Now I can say it. I was a pregnant woman who just ate too damn much.
A month ago I began the losing weight process while staring at pictures of Heidi Klum, Gisele Bundchen and that Kardashian sister. All who also endured nine months of pregnancy just like me, but now there a size 4 again, and I'm....not. I now realize this is not a great start to my weight loss. Tearing out pictures of their perfect physique is not a realistic goal for the average mother.
I'm not nieve to the fact that the difference between me and supermodels is my career doesn't depend on me fitting into my skinny jeans again and looking flawless six weeks after giving birth. They have a full time trainer, nutritialist, stylist. I don't. I have bad hair days and poor lighting and they don't. So when it comes down to it, I am rational. Until that new US Weekly comes out and I am reminded all over again, that I must, must lose the baby weight.
Something though is different now, now that I'm a mother.
It's not just about fitting into those skinny jeans or being able to resist that red velvet cupcake anymore. The biggest difference now that I am a mom is that being healthy is no longer an option. Why? Because my son's health depends on it.
I realize that as my son grows up he won't care about his mother looking like a supermodel but rather a mother who can run with him in the park, a mother who can play basketball with him when his father is at work, a mother who will help him be the best he can be athletically, mentally and physically. For me, it's no longer about having a perfect body but by demonstrating to him that respecting yourself starts with respecting your body.
No longer does getting my body in shape come with a reason of vanity. Now it's on a deeper level. It's teaching my growing son that to have a healthy life starts with the first person he sees in the morning, his mother, and the example that she sets for him.
Apple, anyone?
Monday, March 22, 2010
Today
With motherhood, comes a level of unconditional love that until now, I didn't think existed.
My own mother used to tease me, and sometimes still does about how grumpy I used to wake up. As a teenager, I could sleep for ten hours, and then take up to two naps in any given afternoon. She would wake me up by saying "wake up sleepy head" or "hi missy!" in an exhuberant, high energy tone. I would mumble something back to her and role over and go back to bed. She would mock at how miserable I sounded! I have always been a hard sleeper, and one who dreamt of wild things: meeting Madonna in person, flying with eagles, exploring foreign lands in a hot air balloon. During my deep sleep, these dreams brought me to a level of a creative life I was always meant to live. It was there I met people I always wanted to meet, saw things my imagination could only take me to and I never wanted to wake from them.
Now I am a light sleeper and wake up frequently throughout the night, tending to my son's diaper changing, feedings and my personal favorite, the occasional laugh. In the morning, when he wakes me up for the day, I smile at him so that he will smile. I change and feed him so that he will start the day clean and well fed. I am no longer able to mumble something in a grumpy tone and turn over and go back to sleep. No matter what I want, my needs go to him now, for the sake and well being of him. I am what I like to call The Perfect Morning Mother in Training.
I am what I like to call a mother who is changing all her ways, a mother who is doing the things she thought she could never do, a mother who is patient like she never thought she could be, a mother who sees the big picture and gives up the small stuff, a mother who has learned how to make her son smile no matter how early it may be, a mother who has let those wild dreams that she loves so much from her deep sleep go.
May we take in each opportunity to become a mother of patience, perseverence and unconditonal love. May we dream of where it can take us.
My own mother used to tease me, and sometimes still does about how grumpy I used to wake up. As a teenager, I could sleep for ten hours, and then take up to two naps in any given afternoon. She would wake me up by saying "wake up sleepy head" or "hi missy!" in an exhuberant, high energy tone. I would mumble something back to her and role over and go back to bed. She would mock at how miserable I sounded! I have always been a hard sleeper, and one who dreamt of wild things: meeting Madonna in person, flying with eagles, exploring foreign lands in a hot air balloon. During my deep sleep, these dreams brought me to a level of a creative life I was always meant to live. It was there I met people I always wanted to meet, saw things my imagination could only take me to and I never wanted to wake from them.
Now I am a light sleeper and wake up frequently throughout the night, tending to my son's diaper changing, feedings and my personal favorite, the occasional laugh. In the morning, when he wakes me up for the day, I smile at him so that he will smile. I change and feed him so that he will start the day clean and well fed. I am no longer able to mumble something in a grumpy tone and turn over and go back to sleep. No matter what I want, my needs go to him now, for the sake and well being of him. I am what I like to call The Perfect Morning Mother in Training.
I am what I like to call a mother who is changing all her ways, a mother who is doing the things she thought she could never do, a mother who is patient like she never thought she could be, a mother who sees the big picture and gives up the small stuff, a mother who has learned how to make her son smile no matter how early it may be, a mother who has let those wild dreams that she loves so much from her deep sleep go.
May we take in each opportunity to become a mother of patience, perseverence and unconditonal love. May we dream of where it can take us.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Over the Rainbow.....
Today because of a lullabye, I began to think about the dreams I have for myself. Or had. Or both and all in between.
When I was a teenager, my days were often filled with dramatic daydreams of a wild life: being a best selling published author; living on a beach in Hawaii and eating off of my mango and avacado trees; deep sea diving in the Great Barrior Reef, and loving without fearing anyone or anything. Today, at age 31 (and counting) I have done some of those, and forgotten about others. I swam in the Great Barrior Reef, travelled to Florence, England, and Italy, met and married the love of my life and did it all without fearing so much that it hindered my ability to love. But, now I need to continue in the direction of my dreams and do what I love without censorship, but bravery. I must as I did as a child, follow the rainbow.
Are your dreams coming true? If they're not, are you doing anything to help them along the way make their way to you? I am slowly waking up to my dreams, to my purpose, to living life by being the truest form of myself that I can be, and now that I am a mother I believe that my son is helping me with these self-realizations. As if he's a little warrior guiding me along the path, through the forest, to the golden pot of gold.
This morning was a good morning. Since my husband was still out of town it was just Miles and I. He woke up smiling at me as if I could honestly do no wrong, as if I was the most lovable person in the world. He played on his stomach, lying on top of his favorite blue patchwork blanket, stretching from the long night's sleep and working hard at strengthening his neck muscles. I put on a strong cup of coffee. Only French Roast, only the best to keep me going all morning long. By the late morning I had smiled at my son's gleeful face more times than I could count because his face was truly a face that beat out being sleep deprived, being stressed about other things racing through my mind.
The afternoon only got better.
He went through bottles and bottles of milk for lunch and I didn't even seem to notice that my own stomach was growling with hunger. Forget lunch for myself I thought because today he was an extra amount of joy, the center of my entire world.
Then, the magic of the day came. It came all at once and exploding like fireworks in front of my sleep deprived eyes.
Becoming bored of the same old lullabyes to sing (and I'm pretty sure he was too) I sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. A favorite from my childhood I thought it would be a nice change of pace from Itsy-Bitsy Spider and Row, Row, Row your Boat. It was and more. He smiled and squeeled when I sang about the blue birds, the lemondrops, the chimney tops. He ate up every word and convinced me to take a closer look at the song.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, way above the chimney tops...
I started to think about my dreams. The dreams I had already lived out, the dreams I have abandoned, the dreams I've forgotten about or ignored intentionally, the dreams that seem way too big to catch. I began to think about the things that stop me before I even start and how I don't want that part of myself to take over my life anymore. I thought about how big I want my life to really be, and most importantly how I want my son to see me as he grows up and becomes a man in his own rite. My dreams.
Somewhere over the rainbow I thought. I began to wonder how much time in my life had already passed while I was busy with relationships, jobs, mindless chatter, worries and insecurities.
I had forgotten all about the rainbow. The dream. The possibilities of a limitless life but I'll be looking out for it from now on.
My three month old son smiled with each blissful moment that passed as I mouth the words, again and again. One more time. And again. I could see into his eyes the complete bliss, the wonderment, the spark. Once again I feel like my son is living life the way it's meant to be lived - out loud. For being on this earth for such a short period of time, he is already re-teaching me to live each moment with happiness, seek out the magic in everyday and to always, always follow the rainbow.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I...
When I was a teenager, my days were often filled with dramatic daydreams of a wild life: being a best selling published author; living on a beach in Hawaii and eating off of my mango and avacado trees; deep sea diving in the Great Barrior Reef, and loving without fearing anyone or anything. Today, at age 31 (and counting) I have done some of those, and forgotten about others. I swam in the Great Barrior Reef, travelled to Florence, England, and Italy, met and married the love of my life and did it all without fearing so much that it hindered my ability to love. But, now I need to continue in the direction of my dreams and do what I love without censorship, but bravery. I must as I did as a child, follow the rainbow.
Are your dreams coming true? If they're not, are you doing anything to help them along the way make their way to you? I am slowly waking up to my dreams, to my purpose, to living life by being the truest form of myself that I can be, and now that I am a mother I believe that my son is helping me with these self-realizations. As if he's a little warrior guiding me along the path, through the forest, to the golden pot of gold.
This morning was a good morning. Since my husband was still out of town it was just Miles and I. He woke up smiling at me as if I could honestly do no wrong, as if I was the most lovable person in the world. He played on his stomach, lying on top of his favorite blue patchwork blanket, stretching from the long night's sleep and working hard at strengthening his neck muscles. I put on a strong cup of coffee. Only French Roast, only the best to keep me going all morning long. By the late morning I had smiled at my son's gleeful face more times than I could count because his face was truly a face that beat out being sleep deprived, being stressed about other things racing through my mind.
The afternoon only got better.
He went through bottles and bottles of milk for lunch and I didn't even seem to notice that my own stomach was growling with hunger. Forget lunch for myself I thought because today he was an extra amount of joy, the center of my entire world.
Then, the magic of the day came. It came all at once and exploding like fireworks in front of my sleep deprived eyes.
Becoming bored of the same old lullabyes to sing (and I'm pretty sure he was too) I sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. A favorite from my childhood I thought it would be a nice change of pace from Itsy-Bitsy Spider and Row, Row, Row your Boat. It was and more. He smiled and squeeled when I sang about the blue birds, the lemondrops, the chimney tops. He ate up every word and convinced me to take a closer look at the song.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, way above the chimney tops...
I started to think about my dreams. The dreams I had already lived out, the dreams I have abandoned, the dreams I've forgotten about or ignored intentionally, the dreams that seem way too big to catch. I began to think about the things that stop me before I even start and how I don't want that part of myself to take over my life anymore. I thought about how big I want my life to really be, and most importantly how I want my son to see me as he grows up and becomes a man in his own rite. My dreams.
Somewhere over the rainbow I thought. I began to wonder how much time in my life had already passed while I was busy with relationships, jobs, mindless chatter, worries and insecurities.
I had forgotten all about the rainbow. The dream. The possibilities of a limitless life but I'll be looking out for it from now on.
My three month old son smiled with each blissful moment that passed as I mouth the words, again and again. One more time. And again. I could see into his eyes the complete bliss, the wonderment, the spark. Once again I feel like my son is living life the way it's meant to be lived - out loud. For being on this earth for such a short period of time, he is already re-teaching me to live each moment with happiness, seek out the magic in everyday and to always, always follow the rainbow.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I...
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Today's Thoughts
Last night motherhood kicked me in the, well in several places actually and all at once. I woke up every hour with Miles, who demanded to be changed, then fed, then changed two more times before he fell asleep at 5:12am. But there is no fighting it, and no fighting his needs. He is a baby on the run who knows what he wants, and all he knows is he needs it now. There is no yesterday, no tomorrow. Only now, and in last night's case, there is only right now.
Currently motherhood for me means patience, massive amounts of caffine, giving into my M&M cravings when I get just too stressed out, and allowing people to help although I'd rather do it myself. Motherhood is about giving into my husband's ways of changing diapers when I'm just too tired to do it myself, and letting him hold Miles his way. It's about releasing my need for control. It's about letting go and watching, listening, learning.
It's about singing lullabye's to him even though I think my voice is awful. To my surprise, even when I sing Row Row Row your Boat, or sometimes my lastest rendition of Tomorrow, Tomorrow from the musical Annie, he smiles. Miles doesn't care if I'm out of tune or not. What unconditonal love that is.
I guess my thought for the day is that motherhood is a learning process, and a human process of learning, forgiving, letting go of previous habits, living in the moment and being good to myself. If I can remember that everyday then I'm bound to teach it to him along the way. After all, he's the one teaching it to me right now.
Currently motherhood for me means patience, massive amounts of caffine, giving into my M&M cravings when I get just too stressed out, and allowing people to help although I'd rather do it myself. Motherhood is about giving into my husband's ways of changing diapers when I'm just too tired to do it myself, and letting him hold Miles his way. It's about releasing my need for control. It's about letting go and watching, listening, learning.
It's about singing lullabye's to him even though I think my voice is awful. To my surprise, even when I sing Row Row Row your Boat, or sometimes my lastest rendition of Tomorrow, Tomorrow from the musical Annie, he smiles. Miles doesn't care if I'm out of tune or not. What unconditonal love that is.
I guess my thought for the day is that motherhood is a learning process, and a human process of learning, forgiving, letting go of previous habits, living in the moment and being good to myself. If I can remember that everyday then I'm bound to teach it to him along the way. After all, he's the one teaching it to me right now.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Living in the Moment
My husband and I weren't seeing eye to eye yesterday. A classic 'women are from mars, men are from venus' situation, I wondered how we would ever see each other's point of view clearly and how we could stop talking long enough to listen. I'll admit it. I can hold a grudge. Not for long, I mean not more than a six hour time period but long enough. Long enough to realize I'm not always living life in the moment.
My son Miles is almost three months old and already I envy how quickly his frown can turn into a smile or how a fussy state of mind can become a laugh in no time at all. These days he is smiling constantly, trying to crawl and showing a wide array of emotion: happiness, sadness, glee, frustration, content, tiredness, alertness. What he doesn't posess is a awareness of past and future. All he knows is the present moment. All he knows is now.
Today he cried miserably because of a dirty diaper. While he was yelling I thought, oh no. For the next several minutes my patience will be tested. He'll cry and shout and frantically bat his arms and legs in the air, showing me how upset he's become. So this time instead of being stressed and changing him in silence I decided to distract him with my best rendition of 'the itsy-bitsy spider'. Within seconds his frown turned into a smile and his teary cheeks dried up like magic. If he could produce words, I'm sure he would have joined in singing with me.
'...down came the rain and washed the spider out, up came the sun and dried it all away and the itsy-bitsy spider went up the spout again.' Once again I am reminded that he doesn't live in the past. Something so simple as singing a song in a cheerful and soothing tone can turn it all around. I wish for my son that he always has the ability and perspective of living in the moment.
As for me? I wish that as a mother, I will be alert enough to always see my son for who he is,and use every challenge as an opportunity to remember to live in the moment, with him, with motherhood, with myself.
My son Miles is almost three months old and already I envy how quickly his frown can turn into a smile or how a fussy state of mind can become a laugh in no time at all. These days he is smiling constantly, trying to crawl and showing a wide array of emotion: happiness, sadness, glee, frustration, content, tiredness, alertness. What he doesn't posess is a awareness of past and future. All he knows is the present moment. All he knows is now.
Today he cried miserably because of a dirty diaper. While he was yelling I thought, oh no. For the next several minutes my patience will be tested. He'll cry and shout and frantically bat his arms and legs in the air, showing me how upset he's become. So this time instead of being stressed and changing him in silence I decided to distract him with my best rendition of 'the itsy-bitsy spider'. Within seconds his frown turned into a smile and his teary cheeks dried up like magic. If he could produce words, I'm sure he would have joined in singing with me.
'...down came the rain and washed the spider out, up came the sun and dried it all away and the itsy-bitsy spider went up the spout again.' Once again I am reminded that he doesn't live in the past. Something so simple as singing a song in a cheerful and soothing tone can turn it all around. I wish for my son that he always has the ability and perspective of living in the moment.
As for me? I wish that as a mother, I will be alert enough to always see my son for who he is,and use every challenge as an opportunity to remember to live in the moment, with him, with motherhood, with myself.
The Beginning
I am a first time, brand new mother to a two and a half month old baby boy named Miles and chronicling every single minute of it. Becoming a mother was quite terrifing actually, for quite a while. I won't be bashful or shameful in admitting that. As soon as my husband and I walked into our apartment on Christmas Day with our brand new baby in tow, I looked at him and said, "now what?" I am flabbergasted that a man and woman, who until this moment in their lives have just had to worry about each other can now figure out how to take care of a tiny little life. Like many of us out there, I had a past that involved accidentally killed many plants (and even the occasional bunch of roses) and was very unsure of my abilities to care for a child. How would I survive without the nurses, my doctor, my mother's constant sage advice? But, as these two and a half months have already proved, I am doing it, I am amazed I am doing it, and on some days I actually excel at doing it.
My son was born on December 23rd, and the next day it began to snow. In Texas. And, it continued to snow as I shared the vision of a newly white city to my two day old son. I rocked him to sleep that night, the first calmness I felt since before I gave birth. It was that first experience of calmness that comes with motherhood that made me realize I can't let one of these moments pass my baby and I by.
I began to write in my journal about everything he was teaching me, and frankly I just couldn't stop. It was intoxicating watching my baby open his eyes for the first time, grabbing onto my fingers, laughing that first laugh. There was countless ways on a day to day basis that I learn about my baby, from my baby, and that I will undoubtably learn about the wonders of the world because of my baby. Whether it's staying in the moment no matter what life is handing him, or honoring himself by staying true to his emotions, my son seems to know quite a lot for being here such a short time. There's no doubt about it. My ears, eyes and heart need to stay open and alert every day with him because he's going to be the one teaching me about life, not the other way around.
Stay tuned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
