On anger, and redemption

March, 2011 -- It started at Starbucks -- I met Nate and Eden there because Nate had a gig, so I swung by on my way home from work to pick up Eden. She didn't tell us about a poopy diaper, and when we were walking out of Starbucks she could hardly walk and started crying that her bottom hurt. We were at San Diego State University, which OF COURSE doesn't have diaper changing tables in the (somewhat dirty) bathrooms. We walked a little bit, Eden limping along in tow, until we found a bathroom with a big handicap stall. I laid down our packs on the floor and tried to make it as sanitary as possible.

She SCREAMED through that diaper change. Anyone who heard us must have thought I was abusing my daughter. And I forget what exactly she was doing at the sink afterward, but it made me so angry I hit the faucet and started. speaking. through. clenched. teeth. (Warning sign number one for next time.)

We made it home and had a very pleasant evening together, until it was time for bath. She asked for another five minutes, which is usually no problem, but tonight she was too tired to deal with it and wasted her whole five minutes crying about the bath that had to come afterward. And then I made her get in the bath with a diaper-rash bottom.

CRYing and SCREAMing, and I needed to get things ready for bed. I needed her to sit down and soak her bottom, and she was too tired to do anything but cry. I lost it. I walked in to our bedroom, may or may not have thrown our ironing board at the closet door, and screamed SHUT THE **** UP!!!!!!! at the top of my lungs to the ceiling.

Wow.

Meanwhile, Eden's calling, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" in fright from the bathroom and as much as I needed a minute to myself to calm down, I couldn't leave her in the bathroom alone. So I made a few ill-fated attempts to walk in and quiet her down, which ended up in a few more retreats to the bedroom to scream bloody murder and a stern "You. Need. To. STOP. CRYING." to Eden. (Which is stupid. She was tired and in pain.)

She actually handled it pretty well. I know she knew I was yelling and that I was upset. She was trying her best to calm herself. ("Mommy (hiccup) I (hiccup) stopped (hiccup) cryyyy----innnnnngggggg....[more crying].)

I breathed, "God, help me, I can NOT do this," and walked back in to the bathroom. Got down on my knees. Hugged her, wiped her face with a cloth and told her I was sorry. That it was wrong to yell, that Mommy was sorry, and I loved her very much, she was a very good girl and it was okay for her to cry if she needed to. That I was sorry her bottom hurt so much, and let's try and take care of it for you.

She fell asleep not even five minutes at my breast and that's when I cried. Cried because I selfishly wanted her to say she forgave me and understoond. Cried because I couldn't handle it. Cried because she hadn't done anything wrong. Cried because I remember so many, many days when I was a young teenager, and yelled the same way at my brother and sisters because they wouldn't do what I had asked...and I was supposed to be in charge...and I didn't know what else to do.

It's terrifying to realize how thin the line is between going off your rocker and behaving the way you should as a parent.
 
I wrote that out for my blog but never posted it....partly because it is embarassing, but mostly because it unnerved me, and I didn't want to dwell on it.
 
We've had a number of tantrums since that day. Not a ton -- Eden is very mild-tempered, good natured, and can often verbalize her way out of frustration -- but she is still a preschooler, and so there you go.
 
Tonight, however, was a doozy. Nate has been out of town for a week and it's been hard on Eden. She's handled it pretty well, but I can tell from the clingy drop-offs at preschool, the couple of potty accidents, sleeping and waking at night and the mentions she makes of it. Today is the last day, and we had a birthday party to go to. It was fun, but it was also hot, and we were both up a lot last night, so by the time we left the party to go over to another friend's house (so I could go get a haircut) I knew she was pretty taxed.
 
We got home by 5 but she barely made it to 6. She wanted to play school so badly, and I wanted to let her (too early for bed!) but she was just DONE and couldn't play without sobbing so I told her no more play tonight. We'll play tomorrow, my Peanut, but now it's bath time and then bed.
 
Running. Kicking. Writhing. Screaming at the top of her lungs.
Breath holding. Jaw clenching. Eyes wild, and full of tears.
Sobbing.
 
I totally get it. She's a miniature me.
 
I took a deep breath and realized this was going to take some effort. Then I never left her side. I never raised my voice. I told her Mommy Is In Charge Right Now and I am going to take good care of you.
 
I imagined myself inside her skin, emotions raging. Wanting to be in control but unable to muster it. Wanting someone to lead but unable to admit it. Needing space to work through it within myself, but needing Love nearby. I have been there, so many times, in her tiny shoes.
 
I started the water and she said, "NO! I NEED MORE TIME FOR CRYING!" So I continued to hold her and said that was fine, that we had some time for her to get ready [emotionally] for bath while the water got ready for her. She screamed and cried and raged in my arms, sometimes arching away but mostly raging into me, looking at my face, in my eyes. This time, I was okay. She found love.
 
No mommy milk, I say, until after bath. You are too tired. It will make you fall asleep and you need this bath before sleep [potty accidents + no bath = sore bottom]. She calmed in my arms and closed her eyes, so I knew it was now, or never. I'm sure the neighbors again thought I was abusing my child (DON'T! TOUCH! MY! BOTTOM!) but I kept myself in her skin. Lowered my voice. Worked quickly.
 
When we finally sat down, bathed and dressed and ready for mommy milk, I said, "I can see you are frustrated and so very angry." "I AM REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REAAAAALLLYYYY ANGRY!!!!" she says.
 
"I know." I say. "That is okay. It is okay to be angry."
 
And she calmed. She nursed to sleep, with ragged breaths and occasional outbursts. When the worst was over, I started whsipering to her how much I love her. How proud I am of her. Of her learning, of her imagination, of her kind heart, of her sillyness. How she is doing such a great job being three, and she is in just the right place. How much her whole family loves her. That we will take care of her. That we will help her when she doesn't know what to do. Everything is going to be all right.
 
As she caught her breath, I realized I have grown, too. I have more stamina. More balance. More perspective. More confidence that This, This is the right way for me to parent my daughter. I realize that I am no longer the same mommy who once had a Very Bad Day; I am a Mommy who gives herself permission to be imperfect, who chooses to follow her heart, and doesn't feel the need to apologize for either. I realized that this parenting thing is a journey, and shortcomings don't have to be the end of the world.  It's okay. It's gonna be okay.

There will be more bad days, I'm sure. But I'm okay with posting this now, because parenting is a sum of it's parts. And tonight felt like redemption.

I'm pretty sure this is normal...right?

Life is a balancing act.
Work vs. home
Healthy vs. quick
Home vs. school
Diapers vs. potty
Laundry vs. dishes
Family time vs. "me" time
And sleep vs. Everything Else

And questions:

Should I be encouraging weaning more strongly?
Am I smothering her?
Is she getting enough time with me?
Am I slipping at work?

And, oh, there's being married, too. Remember that boy you fell in love with in high school?

Which leads to the forgetting ---

Return library books
Pick up dry cleaning
Call [insert name here] on his/her birthday
Buy bread and milk
Get a smog test
Take my vitamins

Exercise?
Reading?
Cooking?
Learning?
Relaxing?
Planning?

Being?

Or, ... becoming?

Is "noisy-ness" a word? It should be.

I'm feeling so overwhelmed these days.

Overwhelmed by noise, I guess.

Not the loudness of life, so much as the quantity of things trying to get my attention.

Is there another word for that?

I need downtime. Maybe a whole month would be good.

The Lost Year

Here I am, at the end of the year. Sitting on my couch with a severe case of writer's block. I've typed and erased my first two sentences about six times. And I'm not quite sure, really, what this post is supposed to be about.

I don't really regret the lack of posts this past year. It's just sorta the way the year worked out. Maybe I spooked myself guest posting on other people's blogs. Maybe between work and home I had too much on my mind.

I've got things written down here and there about Eden's 2010, but I want to pick this method back up. She is growing up so fast and I don't want to miss anything. And it's nice to have it all in one spot, categorized and dated.

It occurred to me this morning, when I ran across a little yellow baby sock in my own sock drawer, that it is impossible for me to know ahead of time what things are going to become special memories and what the special moments are I won't want to forget. When you're in the thick of it, it's just where you are at, and you can't really appreciate the precious moments because you are in the moment. It's only after you've moved on to the next stage or phase that you can look back and realize how unique and special and precious that moment really was.

This is one reason why I am so glad I took others' advice in Eden's early months, and just tuned everything out and spent every possible waking moment with her. Sometimes, I would wonder, is this co-sleeping thing worth it? Do I really want to stay in her room while she falls asleep every night? Shouldn't I be taking more time for myself? The answer to all three questions is yes...but time with Eden wins out every time. I particularly remember the days when all she would want to do is nurse, and I would just let go of all the plans and thoughts I had about the day, and let it all go, and it was just Eden and me and nothing else in the world mattered in that moment. Nobody knows how many days have been planned for us on earth and, as much as I can, I want every moment to count. I think I've done a good job of that with Eden.

That said, Nathan and I both are looking forward to the increased independence that the next stages and years will bring. We realize that other drawbacks and challenges will come along with those changes. But that's one of the nice things about parenting. Nothing is permanent. Just when you feel like you can't change another diaper, they decide to use the toilet. Just when you think you can't play with the same toy one more day without jumping off a bridge, they move on to something else. It's sad, of course, to see favorite phases pass, but there is always something equally exciting and endearing coming along the bend right behind it. And new challenges to keep you on your toes.

I empathize, now, with the statement that parenting makes you a better person. I wondered about that at the beginning -- I realized that being a parent made me want to be a better person, but I didn't understand how I would have the time to work on anything. Now that we're past the baby stage and are starting to develop a rhythm as three individuals vs. two adults and a baby, I can see how our individual personalities are beginning to develop and play with and against each other. It's an interesting phenomenon. I remember being on the child side of this and would venture to say that, surprisingly, it's a little more disconcerting to be on the parent's side. When you are an adult you have a larger world view and are aware of all the consequences and repercussions of every little decision you make. When you are a kid, you are just living in the moment, and while individually life can be complicated, your general relationship with the world at large is quite simple.

Here is where I begin to wonder if I'm making any sense. If anyone will want to read this. If I really want to share my rambling thoughts with the world. Not sure which side of the fence I'll end up on with that, but for the time being I'll just keep moving forward and posting posts for me. To remember. And for Eden. Because I want her to know how much I love her, and how much I love being her mommy.

Pictures in My Mind

Yesterday was a rainy day. When I picked Eden up after work we had to use my big, oversized, sky-blue umbrella to keep us dry from Grandma's front door to the car at the end of the driveway. As soon as we stepped off the porch Eden's eyes lit up as she became still, listening to the sound of the raindrops falling on the umbrella. She sat, perched on my arm, eyes looking up into the umbrella's ribbing, fully aware and alive in the moment, drinking it all in.

The evening light was almost sparkly through the raindrops, and the late afternoon sun shining through the blue umbrella cast a pretty blue cast on Eden's skin, turning her eyes deep blue-green. It was like the world stopped spinning for a moment and it was just the two of us, underneath the umbrella, watching in wonderment (her, the rain; and I, her).

It reminded me of another cloudy day a little more than a year ago. The cool misty air. The porcelain skin. The newness, the wonderment.

The little tug on my heart that says, "I love you, Eden."

Later that evening, Eden, Daddy and I were all doing dishes together. Impromptu. Daddy was washing, Eden was next to him, "rinsing," and standing on her chair, and I was on the other end, drying and putting away. I glanced down and saw her little stocking feet every time she'd reach up on her tippy-toes for a dish, or to "help" Daddy. Those tiny little stocking feet, so eager to help, so eager to be involved.

The little tug on my heart said, "She's growing! Oh! She's growing up so fast!"

When Nate and I finally crawled into bed next to her she reached out for me and started to nurse. Half asleep still, she resembled baby-Eden more than toddler-Eden. Her chubby little hands, folded at the wrist, lay gently on either side of my breast, occasionally going pat-pat-pat. Her hair, slightly damp, was curled up in a million curls all over her little blonde head. And her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she quickly drifted back to sleep.

And my heart was nearly bursting, so in love with my baby.

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.

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.

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.

My little cocoon

I have NOT  been in a writing mood lately.

NOT been in a sharing mood lately.

And I have NOT been cracking a smile much at work lately.

Really, folks, I'm doing okay. I really am. (Really, really, Casey - I promise!) I've just been in my cocoon lately.

It's where I go when things get really busy, even if things are really good busy. I think my central nervous system just needs a little downtime so when things start whirling around in my "outer" world, I tend to retreat a little more into the "inner" me.

So, like I said, things are pretty busy. And in the spirit of writing lists (I think it's a family trait--although apparently there are a lot of people out there who like lists) I'll just share a few of them here:

• Work is crazy busy. It was crazy before we lost one to retirement and the other to...well....drama. Now it's C.R.A.Z.Y. busy.
• Tax season is coming up. (Sorry, it's on my mind.)
• It's the holidays. I LOVE CHRISTMAS!!!! Cookies, decorations, letters, presents, carols, parties, candles, lights, stories, hugs. And with The Peanut, to boot. It's certainly a very merry month around here.
• Nate is crazy busy. December is probably one of the busiest months of the year for a gigging musician. (I can probably sing back the entire score of "Carol of the Bells" in Transiberian Orchestra format for you right now, on the spot, licks and all.)
• Oh, and then there's life. Shopping. Cooking. Cleaning. Mending. Sorting. Tossing. Organizing. Playing. Bathing. Sleeping.

So, I called in to a meeting this morning from home, and now that the Peanut is off to Grandma's and Nate is off to teach I'm going to dig into the housecleaning with a vengence and get that part of life taken care of -- if just for awhile -- so that we can rest and relax in the precious few hours we get to ourselves this time of year.

Remembering that this, too, is just a season, and it won't last forever. So I had better enjoy it while it's here!

All of Fourteen Months

Forgot to post this one. She'll be 15 months next week. Oh, well. Better late than never!

"I swear," Nate says as he comes in the door at dinnertime after teaching, "I think she got older while we were gone today."

Well, yeah. She did. (We all did.) But - oh my goodness - she did!! Sometimes she seems to change so quickly she's an older baby in the short time it takes me to take a shower.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too much of a pushover. I ran across this online:

"By the time your child is six, you will have reached what one psychologist we talked to calls "planned detachment." Your child will check in for breakfast, be out the door, check in for lunch, and be gone again. You'll say "You're looking well, dear," you'll write a note to remind him of chores, and finally at dinner you'll get to talk some. After dinner some card playing, singing, or other family-oriented activity reconnects you with the individual who used to stick to you like Velcro."

Okay. I can deal with that. Just knowing I'll be in the shower missing her in six short years makes the 2-minute-quickies-so-I-don't-have-a-FULL-on-tantrum a little easier to deal with.  ;)

The same article also said this:

"The time between the ages of fourteen and eighteen months is very hard for mothers. The high-energy toddler wants to do everything, but he still needs mother involved "big time." Mothers of one-year-olds need to gear up for this marathon spurt of giving, because the tendency is to think "Ah, now he's one – I'll be able to ease off." You will eventually, but not yet. Hang in there through age eighteen months, then be alert for signs that your toddler is trying to make space between you."

Now, I know every baby is different (and I would like to add that "hard" does not necessarily = "unpleasant." Being a mommy is wonderful, but it is hard!) but I think this is a great description of where we're at. Me, looking forward to getting different things done more often, like dishes, ironing, and (gasp!) maybe an art project or two. Eden, getting into anything and everything but sticking really close to Mommy (the velcro analogy is spot-on). It's so helpful to read things like this because it reminds me that every moment is precious, so fleeting, and worth remembering.

I love being a mom

Actually, it would be more correct to say I love being Eden's mommy.

• I love going into her room when I hear her wake up and seeing her face light up that I am there.
• I love watching her little, long legs explore.
• I love seeing her run to greet me when I get home from work.
• I love the way her hair curls all over when it's wet.
• I love listening to her sleep.
• I love the million-and-one facial expressions she has for all the discoveries she makes throughout the day.
• I love listeing to her voice.
• I love it when she mumbles and sings into my breast while she is nursing.
• I love watching her hold things in her hands.
• I love seeing her figure things out.
• I love playing games with her.
• I love the way she rushes over and asks to be picked up every time she hears a bus drive by.
• I love the way she so firmly kicks off the covers at night.
• I love the color of her eyes.
• I love our special nursing times when all the world seems to melt away.
• I love going for walks together and experiencing dirt, flowers, wood chips, grass, cement and airplanes.
• I love it when she sits in my lap to read a book.
• I love watching her play the piano.
• I love going out to get the mail together.
• I love doing housework together - "folding" laundry, "mopping" the floor, "wiping" and "dusting" things off.

I just love everything about her, plain and simple.

...And she's off to the next thing...

It's almost quittin' time; I'm cleaning up my desk, signing off of email and getting ready to run over to Grandma J's to pick up the Peanut. I've always been good at juggling life, but it seems that either the balls are getting heavier or there are just more of them, lately. Not that it's bad, it just takes more effort.

To juggle.

Am I giving enough at work? How clean should my house be? Am I spending enough time with Eden? How about enough time with Nate? What is the least amount of "me" time I can fit in and still be sane (and kind) enough to be everything I need to be for everyone else?

How many more times can I wear this same pair of pants before washing them?

That sort of thing.

I love Saturdays!!

Nate worked today from 10 a.m. until 8:30 p.m. Well, so did I - except I just got to hang out with Eden and do errands and chores all day. These long days without a partner and without a break are really tiring, but they are also some of my favorite days.

This morning, Eden woke up after a short nap but still seemed tired, so I sat down to nurse her some more and then decided I was tired, so we went in on our bed and slept together for another 40 minutes or so. It was one of those super-sweet, peaceful, blissful naptimes that happen every once in awhile and which I love so much. Just Eden and me, cuddling and snoozing together.

She woke up as cute and happy as can be, and after a quick lunch we went on a marathon shopping trip. Oh, so nice to be in air-conditioned stores. We shopped around a bit more than usual, picking out a new pair of sunglasses for mommy, strolling through the toy aisle. I can't believe she lasted as long as she did. We were just having fun being together, being buddies.

Then home and more play before nap number two. Another short one, but she feel back to sleep again nursing, and this time I just let her nurse and sleep in my arms. She seemed to revert back to her baby self this afternoon. I don't know why; maybe she is teething. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she's just doing a lot of growing up these days and needed some time to just be a baby in her mama's arms. My nipples get a little sore after such long nursing sessions, but it seems like those long hours together re-ground us. I don't really mind--it is nice to share so much time with her on the weekends when I am gone so much from her during the week.

I don't think I could have survived going back to work without nursing.

And that's why I love Saturdays.

"Uh-oh" and a Love Letter to Eden

Dear Eden,

Yesterday was the first day I heard you use words (other than "Daddy," which you've been saying for months) in context and without prompting for the first time! You dropped something from your high chair and said, "uh-oh!" You also greeted Daddy when he walked in the room with a resounding, "Hi Da-da!"You've been talking at Grandma's house for awhile. I wonder why you don't talk around me? Maybe you figure I already know what you want? That is usually true. But not always.

This has been a really hard week for me to leave you and go to work! You've been sleeping a lot more. Are you growing? Maybe teething? Anyhow, you are asleep soon after I come home, and there is no time for play. I miss you. I am so glad -- SO, SO, SO glad -- that we are still nursing. I can't imagine what I would do if we stopped.

Every night when I am about to lay you in your crib to sleep, I hang on to you for a few extra minutes before I put you down. Sometimes the light is still on, and I can see your eyelashes brushing your cheeks. Sometimes the light is off, and I bury my nose in your soft hair and breathe in your wonderful baby smell. Your little hands that hold me so tight in the mornings when you know I'm leaving for work are relaxed on my breast at night, or curled up by your cheek. Your little legs fold up right around me and you like it when I pat-pat-pat your thigh. Sometimes you won't go to sleep without it!

You're going to get older and smarter and, one day, you might wonder, "why is silly 'ol Mom rubbing her nose in my hair?" Or, "why does Mom keep patting my leg?" I'm sorry, sweet Peanut, but I think these are habits that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, because you are my baby girl, and always will be, always, always, always.

I love you!

- Mommy

A Mommy-Daughter Day

Today started out perfect, because it started out 2 hours later than normal.

A-h-h-h-h-h-h. Sleep.

One of my most favorite things in all the world is waking up without an alarm, after a long, sound, sleep, with my baby and my boy sleeping soundly next to me. We didn't wake up until 8:30 today!!

Needless to say, we were all so very happy. Breakfast, showers, play, and off to work with Dad. I took one look at the house, decided my baby was much more important, and proceeded to lavish attention on her like only a mommy can. We spent the morning laughing, pretending, exploring, kissing, petting the kitties, reading, going to the store....and then....a nap for an hour and a half! I cleared off our bed and laid there and read until I fell asleep, and then when she woke up after an hour I brought her in our room and we laid there and nursed and snoozed for another half hour. Talk about weekend bliss.

It wasn't as hot today, thank goodness, but it hasn't cooled down at night yet so mid-day gets pretty stuffy in our house. (With no cooling overnight our house never seems to dip below 80.) So I buckled Eden in her stroller and we decided to go out. Before we left, I put in the big girl car seat, and Eden got her first ride in the car facing forward! Oh, you should have seen the smiles! And the looks of wonderment as she re-explored her surroundings from a different point of view. Our first stop was the drive-through car wash - another first - and she thought that was pretty cool, too.

We decided to avoid a little more of the afternoon heat in the house and go to the lake to walk around and chase the ducks, but somewhere along the way we lost one of her shoes. Forty-five minutes later, with momma in tears (new shoes! and no ducks!) we got back in the car and headed home...

Unfortunately, no nap on the way home. Maybe it was the new car seat? Maybe she was already on her second wind after all the lost-shoe-searching? Who knows. But no nap.

And the rest of the evening was a combination of playtime and fussy. We did hop in the bath together, which is always fun. She looks at me like a quizzical little bird, as if to say, "Mommy, what are you doing in here?" But we always have lots of fun. Tonight, though, she was just SO tired. And there are so many things she wants to do, but can't. Like put on her pants. Or understand that she has come to the last page in the book, and the reason she can't get that last "page" to turn is because it's glued to the back of the book. Oh, the sobs--like her little, sweet little heart would break. She wasn't angry, just heartbroken, so she just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into my shoulder until she finally sobbed herself to sleep.

Watching her cry was exhausting. But, in a way, it also seemed cleansing. She was crying because she hasn't figured out how to sort out her emotions yet. I, on the other hand, just tend to hold it all in and be the big adult until I just can't hold it back anymore. (Read, crying over a $10 shoe.) I felt a release of sorts, holding her and comforting her while she cried. I couldn't make it go away, but I could comfort her through it. What an incredible, emotional, almost spiritual experience.

I can't wait for tomorrow, to see her sun-shiney soul when she wakes up in the morning. I think, after all this sleep, it's back. :)

Has anyone seen my manual?

This past month has been especially hard for me. I haven't been sure why. Casey et al. would tell me it's because I'm busy. I will give you that I am busy, yes. But I am always busy. That's not new to Molly-Land.

No, I think it's deeper than that, much more internal. I think it probably has to do with the continuing adjustment to mommy-hood. The letting go of the old Molly and embracing of the newMolly.

For instance, the new Molly has to develop entirely new strategies for relaxation. Strategies that do not require long lengths of time and solitude. The new Molly must also discover new techniques for day-to-day activities that up until now have worked quite successfully but all of a sudden no longer make sense. Like taking out the trash. How to take out a large, heavy, dripping bag of trash with a squirmy ten-month-old?

It can certainly be done. I just have to figure out how. Has anyone seen my manual lying around?

Oh, wait, there isn't one.

Ah, well, learning is half the battle, eh?

I'm exhausted

I'm pooped. Weary. Tired. Done-in. I think I've officially reached the end of my rope.

Before you start in with any responses, let me just (gently) remind you that this is my blog, and probably the only place I can complain without getting any wierd looks. (Okay, I'll still get the looks, I just won't be able to see them.)

Nate finished a 16-day stint of working nights about a week ago. That means he was either playing or rehearsing every single evening of the week. Last weekend he was gone all weekend. Which means I'm on baby duty. Which means that, if I'm lucky, I get a 15 minute shower in the morning and a chance to go pee with the bathroom door shut.

Then Nate got sick.

Bad sick---wondered if it was strep throat sick. Which meant I was still on baby duty.

Three weeks of single parenting. (Now, to be fair, he was in the same predicament, too -- any time he was home I was at work. But this is my blog and if he wants to complain he'll have to start his own.) :)

Now, don't get me wrong. Being Eden's mommy is wonderful. Well, not so wonderful when you're on 24/7, and a milk machine too, and tired and worn down. But SHE is wonderful.

And work hasn't been a bowl of cherries, either. Too Much Work + Too Much Drama = Very Tired Introvert Trying To Get It All Done And Slowly Getting Discouraged.

But, really, it's not all that bad. There is light at the end of the tunnel. (They don't call me MollyAnna for nuthin'.) Nate is getting better. Eden is adorable, even when I'm connected to her all night. (In fact, if I wasn't, I would miss her terribly, and that would not be good, either.) It's spring break week, and as long as I don't get sick, too (scratchy throat, go away!) I might be able to enjoy a couple days off with the fam this week.

And go, Casey, go - she's a meeting-cancelling, list-making machine.

But today I'm.....just.....tired.

On Dependence

Tomorrow is Eden's six month check-up. Yay. More shots. More Tylenol. Whoopee.

 

So, I'm sitting here thinking about what her day might be like tomorrow. And I'm thinking about how she is not so completely dependent anymore. Well, no, that's not right. She still is completely dependent on us, for things like food, shelter, love. But she is quickly becoming more aware of her own self, and is standing on the threshold of independence in that sense.

 

Meaning, she can now express anger for simple things like us taking away a toy. Or skipping a normal part of a routine.

 

Meaning, she and I are beginning to interact in a negotiating/give-and-take sort of way now. (You can't have mommy's cell phone, but you can have yours.)

 

Meaning, she may not only be upset tomorrow because she feels crummy, but because I allowed someone to make her feel crummy.

 

Or, perhaps I am reading too much into it?

 

Anyhow, it's an exhilarating and somewhat daunting threshold to be standing on, for both her and me. She's on the verge of self-discovery. I'm realizing I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing.

 

That's okay, though, I suppose. It just means that we'll be doing the whole "discovery" thing together. And that Kid Number Two (and no, I'm NOT pregnant) will be all the better for the lessons Eden and I learn along the way.

The Lost Entry

I found this journal entry on my laptop. I had completely forgotten about it. I don't think I ever posted it...but, if I did, that only verifies that I have, indeed, completely lost my memory. Anyhow, it is such a sweet post, and takes me back to those wonderful, magical, oh-so-distant first weeks when I was a brand-new mommy and it was just me and my baby girl...

25 Sept. 2008
So, I was lying on the couch next to Eden tonight, watching her sleep. (She is such a cuddle-bug, and will fall asleep in a wink if I’m lying next to her or holding her, and will wake up just as fast if I leave her, if even for a moment. How does she know I am gone?)

Anyhow, I digress. I love cuddling with her while she sleeps. I love kissing the top of her head, drinking in the way she smells, how soft her hair, how tiny her hands. I was thinking about all the things those hands will do as the years go by…before I know it they will be constantly sticky with a thousand wonderfully sticky things as only a toddler can find. Then, they will be learning to write. Which means they’ll be traipsing off to school attached to a kindergartner who has all too soon flown the coop. Then, they’ll be scraped and banged up through elementary school—or covered with glue and glitter—and, I hope, occasionally around my neck when she comes home to land for a quick hug.

Then, off to high school, where she’ll all of a sudden want to hold someone else’s hand. Where will momma be then, when she is discovering her independence in someone else’s presence besides her mom’s? And one day those little hands will hold a key and unlock her own apartment door. And momma will no longer be a breath’s touch away.

Though I’ve only just begun, I have seen a glimpse of motherhood’s amazing journey. It has, of course, the overwhelming joy one would expect. But it’s also tinged with sadness, knowing that she is not my own, and that my entire goal is to prepare her to be apart from me.

Ahhhh. When she is twenty I’ll look back and say, “Where did the time go?” But tonight I will lie here beside my daughter. The trash and the dishes can wait. It’s okay that I don’t often change out of my pajamas. When given a choice (and I am SO glad I have the freedom to choose) I will stay beside my daughter and listen to her breathe. Because I love her. And, for this moment, we’re just a breath’s touch away.