Arguably my favorite place in the whole wide world

There is nothing like a hot shower to calm the frazzled, harried, worked-to-the-core and bone-weary nerves of a mommy who has had a very bad day and is at the end of a very long rope.

Hot showers have been my best remedy for practically everything I've dealt with physically since becoming a mom, especially since I'm breastfeeding and can't take meds like most people do. Colds and sore throats and sinus problems, post-partum maladies, headaches, general aches and pains, plugged ducts or milk blisters....you name it, a hot shower seems to make it better.
 
I LOVE HOT SHOWERS.
 
I love to stand under the water and read magazines. (No, they don't get super wet. It's all in having the shower head at the right height.)
 
I love to lean up against the wall and close my eyes and listen to the drops of water cascade like a waterfall.
 
I love to feel the heat begin to slowly relax my shoulders and make its way down my back and my legs.
 
I can't imagine what I would do to wind down after a harrowing night like we had tonight without a shower. I don't medicate with alcohol. I don't take Tylenol PM. I don't do drugs, I don't smoke. Thank God for hot showers is all I can say. They are my solace and my place to re-center.
 
There are all sorts of things I can do in the shower, you see. I can pray. I can cry. I can sing songs (even of my own making). I can read (yes, I am a champion at this. I even know what kind of paper will hold up in the shower, and have been known to even read library books there....shhhhh). I can do simple yoga, I can sit a spell, I can have full-on conversations (even angry ones, mind you) with hypothetical people in hypothetical situations. I can plan my next scrapbook. I could probably even crochet, but I haven't tried that one yet and I think I'll leave that one unknown for the foreseeable future.
 
I'm sure there are environmentally conscious people out there who would be aghast at this. I, too, care about our environment and I don't normally take long showers. In fact, you'd be quite proud of my unshaven legs and rarely-washed hair.
 
Some days, though, when there isn't anything left in me to give, I am so thankful that our water is "free" and that our water heater is large enough to outlast my leg muscles and glad that Eden finally slept long enough tonight to let me read most of Newsweek and clear my thoughts a bit in a nice hot shower.
 
Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. I needed it.

Why the tears are threatening to overflow

I've been thinking a lot about loss lately.

I think it started with Haiti.

I think it continued as I was listening to someone I care about lament a bathroom remodeling project over the phone while I was watching coverage of mass grave burials in Haiti. They were using skip loaders to move the bodies.

The juxtaposition between my current life (problems/complaints/desires/status) and theirs in Haiti struck me, and has stayed with me.

I think it continued when our copy of Newsweek came in the mail and I saw a picture of a very young girl in a pile of bodies outside a morgue in Haiti awaiting burial. She was just one of many people. But she was young, and I have a young daughter, and I cannot imagine. I just cannot imagine.

I think it continued this afternoon when I came across a blog of a mother who gave birth to a premature and stillborn daughter on January 8, just a few short weeks ago. Her Christmas blogs were all about babies and hope and anticipation. Her most recent ones are heart-wrenchingly honest. Brutal to read. And I cannot imagine.

Well, maybe I can imagine.

And I think it continues as I mull over the possibility of what I would do "if."

My God, my God, do not let it ever be.

But it was for my mother.

And for me. And us, her children.

We are -- I am -- so sheltered in our world of plenty. Our insulated world of plenty and goodness and prosperity and even excess. But bad things still happen to good people, and while it is difficult and painful and unthinkable and harsh, I'm not sure it's entirely morbid or even unproductive to think about what I would do.

If.

I think I would feel like I could never survive it. Having been through it once I don't think I could do it again. I think I would never be able to raise my head off my pillow again, that my heart would never heal, that my world would shatter beyond repair.

But I know that time heals. I know that He brings peace. I know that all things -- even unimaginable, horrific things -- are temporary and can be overcome. Still my heart is full and my old scars ache for those who are experiencing these things fresh and real and oh-so-overwhelmingly today.

So I pray.

Nursing my toddler

Nate's Aunt Becky once mentioned a class she taught called "Nursing Babies With Teeth and Shoes." I think that perfectly describes what it feels like to nurse a toddler.

Nursing Eden has been, hands-down, one of the best things I have ever done in my life. Get my master's degree, buy a house, nurse my baby into toddler-hood....these are all things I'm proud of.

It's not to say that nursing a toddler isn't hard at times. I was with a group of very dear friends this past weekend and it came up that I was still nursing. There was a length of silence, and then someone asked, "So, how long are you going to nurse?" To which I just said, "Until she doesn't want to any more." They also wanted to know how many times a day I nursed. Just the nighttime nursing, right? Because that's normal to not want to give that one up, right? "Hmm, no, still 4 to 6 times a day if I'm working, and 8 to 10 if I'm not." Another little silence.

Now, to their credit, that's all they said. I know they don't share a majority of my parenting philosophies with me, but they do care about me. I could tell, though, that they were holding their comments for my benefit.

It's just odd to me that breastfeeding a small child is so unnatural in our society.

On the other hand, I am finding "extended" nursing parents all the time in places I would never expect. Like yesterday, at the Food Bank, where I and 180 of my closest work friends showed up on MLK, Jr. day to volunteer for pay. (Thank you, KP!) One of the department administrators and I started chatting and he and his wife have a 6-year-old girl who nursed until she was almost three. It's refreshing to find people who are on the same track as we are.

I think breastfeeding in public helps to normalize it, but I think talking unashamedly about it does, too.

My friend HoboMama recently posted on this same topic here. She has a beautiful photo of a woman weaving a basket, who also happens to have a toddler on his knees holding her breast in both hands while he stops in the middle of his day to take a drink. It is precious.

Nursing an infant is full of slurpy-milky-wonderfulness. Closeness. Sleepiness. Warm nurturing goodness.

Nursing a toddler is more like being a lighthouse in the middle of a whirlwind storm. (And least in our house it is.) Play play play. Throw balls. "Sweep" the floor. "Ma-Ma-Mil?" Yes, honey. Slurp. Slurp. Read books. Run. Elmo. Snack. Dance, dance, dance!! "Ma-Ma-Mil?" Yes, sweetie. Ma-Ma sniffs her hair and kisses her forehead just in time before she pulls off (slurrrrrp, smack!) and she's off running again.

The only time it's really what I'd call a "nursing session" is in the dark part of the day when we're either getting ready for sleep, sleeping, or waking up. It's the nighttime and waking up moments I treasure so, because they have a hint of the baby days in them that just melts my mommy-heart and does me a world of good after a long day away at the office.

In these sweet, quiet moments she will still rest her hand on my face, or on my heart. She will still gaze up at me with those big, deep eyes as if to say, "thank you, mama, for holding me." She will still nestle into me -- even more so now that her world is growing bigger every day. It grounds us, sets us up for the day.

I worry that our catch-as-catch can routine will make my milk dry up.

I worry that she'll inadvertantly (or on purpose - eegh!) bite me again. (She's only done that once so far, and I think my yelp and subsequent 30 minute nursing break made her realize that's not a good way to get mama milk.)

I worry that an upcoming business trip or my upcoming scrapbooking retreat will be enough days apart that she'll decide she's done for good.

Eh, worry aside. Every day is a gift. A wonderful gift wherein I am amazed by the fact that we are still nursing, and that I love it so much.

The best party EVER! (And I forgot my camera!)

We went to Leonard Patton's graduation party tonight -- Eden's first real adult party! And she thought it was the BEST PARTY EVER!!

 

Balloons ......... Music ........... Dancing .................. Cake

 

And I forgot the camera. No pictures of her clapping & hollering for the band after each song. Of kissing Leonard on the cheek. Licking extraordinarily good icing off the plate (with a nice dollop of it on her cute little button nose.)

 

Of the twirling, OH! the twirling! And dancing, and kicking, and boogie-woogie-ing, and the running back and forth across the dance floor in front of the band!

 

I hope some of our other more mindful (and child-free) friends will post some of their photos to Facebook so I can add them here.

 

She'll be sleeping soundly tonight, that's for sure. Visions of sugar plums and twirling and dancing in her head....

 

...and the balloons!!!!....

My personal struggle: Part 2 - Resolution

I was going to apologize for such a downer post last time, but I'm not going to. It's normal to have a bad day now and again, and I think our society places far too much value on being happy all the time. Instead, I would like to thank you for hanging in there with me as I go through this journey!

 

It was my morning cup of coffee that changed my whole perspective.

 

I've been going through this inner turmoil of sorts for awhile now. Itchy to find my next challenge. Worried that I'm not currently climbing any great corporate ladders. Realizing that time with Eden is my most precious commodity, and realizing that the cost of these other endeavors will ultimately lead to leaving her more.

 

Somehow, I had this grandiose picture in my head of what our lives would look like: I'd be making a six figure salary within the next 10 years. Nate would only have to work if he wanted to. We'd send Eden to a private school. We'd buy a house and rent out the condo. I'd be the best at what I do and a lot of people would hold me in high esteem.

 

But my heart was pained because, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fit Eden into that picture. Not the way I wanted to. Not the way I want to be her mom. Not any way that seemed best for her.

 

Yesterday, I took a mug of coffee in the car with me on my way to work.

 

Coffee in a mug makes a car smell a certain way, much different than coffee in a travel mug. Don't you think? I do. And I was instantly taken back 20 years to fifth grade, when my dad would drive me to school, he sipping coffee from his wide-base ceramic travel mug, and me sitting next to him on the pickup's bench seat and thinking what an important man he must be, all dressed up in his suit and tie.

 

He died when I was 11, and a lot of people seemed to notice. He got a big obit in the paper. A ton of people sent my mom cards. Former President Jimmy Carter sent my mom a signed note of his condolences.

 

But my father was not a big man. He worked hard to make enough money for us to get by, but we certainly weren't rich. He worked mediocre construction jobs then put himself through training to be a mediocre real estate appraiser. Not that he was mediocre, but he just held middle-of the-road, commonplace jobs. He was no CEO. He didn't have a staff of hundreds, or even twenty.

 

What my dad did do, was give. He gave every chance he got. He gave of his time, his talent, and his treasure, to the church, to his community, to his friends, and to his family. Right before he died he spent a week managing operations for a Jimmy Carter Habitat for Humanity rebuild project just across the border in Tijuana, Mexico.

 

One whiff of that coffee and it struck me: I've already made it.

 

I have a great relationship with my husband. We have a wonderful daughter. I have a good job with excellent benefits and I enjoy the work I do. We have a small but very comfortable home in a condo complex with wonderful neighbors. We don't have a lot, but we have enough to save some and enough to give some away. When Nate graduates this Spring we will both have master's degrees. And, most likely, if we are smart about our money we will be able to finagle sending Eden to private school. Compared to the vast majority of our planet, we are rich beyond belief.

 

I realized that this is it. Or, that this is enough. That if I just do this for the rest of my life, that is okay. I don't need to run a company or hold an office to make a difference in the world. I can do that by volunteering, by giving, by looking out for small opportunities to make someone's life better today. In fact, I'd posit that someone in my position actually has a greater capacity to truly change the world than someone whose time is all wrapped up in the politics of running a company. (No offense to any executives out there. Not having walked in your shoes, I could be completely wrong.) Who knows, maybe those other things will come along some day, but if they do they will have to be the right fit. And if they are, then it is meant to be.

 

I feel sorta disgusted with myself that I let my vision get so far off track of who I really am. But, I can tell you, I felt worlds better unlocking my office this morning, at peace with myself and my lot and looking forward to discovering my next opportunity to make the world a better place. Oddly enough, I felt important again.

 

I think my dad would be proud of that.

My personal struggle

I feel OH SO GUILTY today. We just got back from a long weekend up in Big Bear with Nate's family (more on that later) and I took an extra day off to rest. Do laundry. Be alone.

I need this. Oh, how I need this. But I feel so guilty. Lazy. Why am I burning a vacation day just to be with myself?

Vacation days should be gathered and saved up like precious gold (or, perhaps "like drops of pumped breastmilk" would be the more appropriate metaphor). Right? Because working mamas like myself only get to see their precious babies 3 hours or so a day, and usually not the best hours, either. Because people at work need me and I have responsibilities to carry out and, really, by the end of my 4 or so hours alone today I won't have accomplished much relaxing anyway, right? Vacation days should not be squandered this way. So why am I doing this?

I should just relax and enjoy the day because I am human and need some time to myself, or so they say. "You have to take care of yourself so you can take care of everyone else." Or so they say. Why, then, do I still feel so guilty? Why did I send Eden off to Grandma's while Daddy went to work? Why didn't I take her and whisk her away to the zoo for a fun-filled mommy-and-daughter day? Why didn't I put the chores on hold and spend the day at the beach laughing at the seagulls together and learning what sand is like? Why am I sitting here on the couch pining away when I could be doing laundry, scrapbooking, or cleaning out my closet?
 
(No fair making fun of that last option. I like cleaning things out.)
 
I'm trying to be a good mommy. Heck, I'm trying to be the best mommy I can be. But let's be honest, here. I have NOT been trying to be the best MOLLY I can be. Not even trying to be the best wife I can be. I feel like I'm using up all my energy on the mommy thing. And work? Well. Work is on auto-pilot right now. I could do my job in my sleep. Which is great for the organization. Not so great for my ego, or my career, or any sense of personal accomplishment on the corporate front. Work is boring and time-consuming and blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.
 
I feel like I'm floating along in la-la-land, with no direction, no purpose, and barely enough energy to get me through the measley few hours I get to spend with a tired child every evening. Sometimes I try and convince myself that achievement and drive is for people in their 20s and now that I'm 30 I should be happy to slow down and enjoy the day-to-day a little more. I tell myself that raising a wonderful, happy, balanced little girl to be a productive member of society is one of the greatest accomplishments I could hope for.
 
But I still feel bored, direction-less, and unproductive.
 
Isn't that terrible?
 
Don't get me wrong; I wouldn't change the mommy thing for the world. I just don't see how all the other pieces are supposed to fit together and I feel like I'm running out of time to figure it out.

And I can't wait for Eden to come home.

Love, Mommy

No one loves you as much as I

I know it's hard to understand

Like the worker bees protect their Queen

Like a shepherd loves his lambs

Like the ocean kisses sandy shores and never skips a beat

Like peas and pods, like moon and stars

You mean so much to me

Bigger than the earth and sky

Deeper than the sea

Farther than a star's light shines

I love you, my baby

When you grow and leave my arms

As you come of age

I'll still love you most of all

Now, forever;

Always.