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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.