I’m moderating the feed over on Childhood Unplugged this week, sharing images of motherhood. Feel free to join in by hashtagging your images with #cu_motherhood. Also want to take a moment to give love to all the women out there – both the ones that are mothers and those that long to be. There is so much surrounding conception and pregnancy and birth and life that is out of our control and while it is important to celebrate those that have children here on Earth, it’s also nice to acknowledge those who’s children live in dreams or heaven or in another form all together. I imagine this last weekend was difficult for many and I hate for their pain to be buried, or unheard.
Motherhood
‘the child must know that she is a miracle, that since the beginning of the world there hasn’t been, and until the end of the world there will not be, another child like her.’ – pablo casals
The Ma Books
…When I became a mother, I felt much of the same connection to a bigger whole. All mothers know the same agonies and achievements, the same triumphs and tears. No matter where we are from, we are bonded by our role in raising children…
You can read my full post over on The Ma Books, along with some awesome images from photographer Ken Heyman.
Life
A cut above his right eye, evidence of a new walker.
Over-sized birthday card for the newly one year old.
A shirt that’s much too small for an ever-growing boy.
Weights, in preparation for back surgery.
Sarah scratching her neck, a reminder to order flea medicine.
And shoes on the little one’s feet, because he adamantly insists.
What’s a snapshot of your life look like today?
The Double Edge Sword
Motherhood: Making the double edge sword sharper than ever before. Motherhood is funny in that way, isn’t it? I feel like I’ve encountered scenario after scenario since becoming a mom where the conclusion is the same: I can’t win.
Take Breastfeeding, for example. I dedicated myself to a year and I bitched and moaned the majority of the 365 days and you know what happened on Van’s first birthday? I felt guilty for wanting to quit. All along I’ve anxiously awaited my freedom only to be on freedom’s doorstep with a trickle of tears running down my cheeks, mourning the loss of my baby and our bond. I feel far from the celebratory state I imagined I would be in and then that makes me sad too.
Oh you little weaning monster, you really are an emotional jerk, aren’t you? (side note: thank you for all the sweet comments on yesterday’s post. Your words mean more than you’ll ever know)
The other day at work we were using leeches on a patient’s wound. The purpose being that leeches suck blood and increase blood flow. I know, gross, but bear with me while I share my epiphany. One of the leeches wasn’t sucking and the shift prior decided to tape the leech to the wound. The pharmacist laughed when I told him this because he said taping the leech wouldn’t make it suck. I said, “sounds like breastfeeding”.
Toward the end of Hooper and I’s breastfeeding relationship, I wanted to tape him to my breast. He was growing less and less interested and it was becoming such a chore to feed him. Nowadays I want to tape him to his chair to eat, but that’s besides the point. My milk supply diminished because Hooper weaned himself, not because my body failed to produce. And that was my epiphany. I blamed my body for a long time, you see, when in actuality Hooper was getting exactly what he needed and wanted.
I had a moment of clarity today and decided I’m going to stop beating myself up over wanting to wean. It sucks that I have to make the conscious decision to throw myself a bone and pat myself on the back. I hate that it doesn’t come naturally; that I need a moment of clarity in order to feel proud instead of guilty. I’m making a commitment not to feel guilty because commitments don’t come naturally and neither does not feeling guilty. It’s that double edge sword thing. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. But the truth is, I’m ready to quit.
Throwing myself a my-ta-tas-are-my-own-again party doesn’t have the same appeal as it did a few months ago. Nevertheless, I completed my goal of a year of breastfeeding (and then some) and I have a cranky waddler pulling at my clothing to congratulate me. But, as is with all things, this too shall pass. I feel back to my normal self today, just a few days afterI wrote yesterday’s dark and depressed post. Thank goodness.
Portraits of my children
“Nothing you become will disappoint me; I have no preconception that I’d like to see you be or do. I have no desire to forsee you, only to discover you. You can’t disappoint me” -Mary Haskell
Eye On the Prize
I couldn’t wait for Hooper to crawl. We’d do little exercises to help him gain strength and put things in front of him to try to build his desire. Crawling is nothing but something to brag about for a first time mom. You have all the time in the world to dote on them and follow them around to make sure they aren’t getting into something they shouldn’t be. Go figure why first borns are typically the overachievers and pleasers.
With Van, I gave thanks for everyday he stayed put on his bottom. When he started to show desire, I’d put him on his back and hand him a toy. Crawling, for a second time mom, is a nuisance.
Here’s a recap of the past few days in the life of Van:
-He broke our full length mirror and cut his finger in the process. I bought a new one the same day (because, hello, a full length mirror can be life altering) and he almost broke it again the next day. The definition of an idiot, by the way, is someone who does the same thing more than once but expects a different outcome. And with that said, my chin has dropped down to my chest.
-He put a pebble of dog food in his mouth that I had to fish out and then he threw a fit about it (And let me just say, I’m glad Sarah isn’t old and crotchety yet because she’s gotten an excessive amount of abuse from this newly mobile creature).
-He got a hold of a glass jar of food and mimicked his brother who “accidentally” dropped one on the floor. Glass everywhere, again.
-He pulled the potted plant down on the floor and then tried to eat the dirt that spilled everywhere. This happened while I was washing the dishes, during which time I had relocated him four times away from the plants only to discover he was, in fact, more determined than me because somewhere between washing, drying, and putting away he used his new found super-speed to get there faster than me. Reminds me of this oldie but goodie post of when Hooper started getting into shit.
-He discovered the trashcan in the bathroom has a flip top and that he likes it and everything inside it.
I knew crawling would mean more work for me, hence my dedication to prolonging it. Boy does my back hurt. On the flip side, it is awfully cute to watch him scoot around. He’s adopted his own scoot, where his right leg stays tucked in (like in the butterfly position – see pic above) and he pushes with his left leg. He’s able to entertain himself for longer and he’s also napping longer now that he’s exerting more energy. Oh ya, and he’s pretty happy with himself too. So, as is with everything in motherhood, there’s good with the bad.
Mama's Corner
Wearing: A vintage dress, these sandals, Dooney & Burke vintage purse.
Searching for acceptence. My postpartum body is foreign to me and I struggle on a daily basis to accept it for what it is. I remember Melissa saying it felt like someone put her body back together using an Ikea manual and I couldn’t agree with this analogy more.
Counting down the days. I know, from past experience, that I’ll miss it when I’m done but today I cannot wait to be done breastfeeding. I miss the freedom.
Listening to Johnny Cash, “I’ve Been Everywhere”, while daydreaming about a roadtrip to Palm Springs in the relatively near future with this girl.
Waiting to win the lotto so I can buy this dress.
Smitten with this photography project. It’s the highlight of every Tuesday.
Tidbits of Motherhood
In this moment, can you ignore the fact my mouth was open (my mouth was always open) and that my hair looks like it was cut underneath a lopsided bowel and concentrate on all that is fantastic about this photo? Like the carpet. In particular the color. Burnt orange carpet? Yes, please. Wall to wall sliding glass windows? Yes, sir, I’d like some of those too. And that beautiful potted plant… What I wouldn’t do to pour some water on you. I won’t even mention the plaid tweed sofa cuz that would be too much.
The point of the photo is the baby in my arms. I always had a baby in my arms. Babies always facinated me. Becoming a mother was an easy transition and felt very natural. That’s not to say I haven’t learned things I didn’t anticapate learning, because I’ve learned a ton and none of it was anticipated. When I was a child pretending to care for a child, I knew nothing of what it actually entailed. Now I know a lot. Reality has a way of slapping the nasty truth in your face. So today I’m starting a little segment sharing tidbits I’ve learned as a mom. I’m encouraging everyone to share tidbits you too have learned as a mother in the comments below. If you are not a mother, feel free to share tidbits you’ve learned in watching others take on the role of motherhood. At the end of this little segment, I will compile your responses into a separate post: Tidbits of Motherhood: What You Had To Say. Here we go…
The five minutes of shut eye I get while lying on the table to have my eyebrows tweezed is my new version of a nap. I wish I were being sarcastic.
When I’m running errands by myself, I insist on turning the music up very loud. It matters not what’s playing, just that it’s load. The radio has blessed me with “My Sharona” twice and each time, I glanced upward to the mom gods and whispered “thank you”.
As much as I hate my role as the boss of the family, there is no two ways around it, I am the boss. Ho hum.
I no longer have my own car. This is not to say we don’t have two cars. We live in southern California. We practically have to have two cars. But, because of our members and their special munchkin seats, we are constantly swapping vehicles. I adjust the rear view mirror every time I get in the car and it never feels quite right.
We’ve adopted and named our own kind of parenting. It’s called humor parenting. And it works by conjuring up ridiculous ways to assign motherly and fatherly tasks. Like if Hoop has a shitty diaper, we both put our hands up, side by side, and simultaneously ask for a high five. Whoever he high-fives first has to change his shit.
When Willy has to wait in the car while I finish getting ready, I no longer make excuses. I’m a mom. And therefore I’m entitled to try on as many different outfits on my new mom figure as I want.
Your turn.
I’m Not the Boss
This post is old. If it had hair, it’d be gray. It’s been sitting in my draft folder while I fumbled around with the idea of posting it or keeping it for myself. I don’t care to air out Willy and I’s dirty laundry. The more I’ve thought about it, however, the feelings presented have more to do with motherhood than anything else. In any case, Willy and I have moved on from where we were when I wrote this. I’m sure many of you can relate and that is why I have decided to share this post with you. Here we go…
Both of my parents owned their own business. Because of this, I knew from a young age that I never wanted my own business. That’s because I never want to be boss. I like the idea of clocking in and clocking out and leaving work both figuratively and literally.
What I didn’t realize when I became a mom is that I also became a boss. Becoming a mom is by far my greatest accomplishment. I rarely talk about the downsides of motherhood because truth be told, there aren’t many.
Except that I have become the boss.
I loathe that role.
And it happened by default. I realized it following this conversation the other morning:
Me: “Maybe you could set an alarm to wake up before 10am to help me out on Saturday and Sunday mornings”.
Willy: “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
I’ll save you the details of the hissy fit that followed and say that I answered with, “Because I’m not your boss”. Somehow it’s become my duty as a mom to manage our lives. That’s the role of a boss after all, right?
And by boss I mean I’m the nagger, the organizer, and the sleep deprived over-worked worker. I’m the one that goes to bed at night still thinking about my business.
And by business I mean my household. I run over things that need to be done the next day and how to do them most efficiently. I multi-task, because you know, I’m a mother.
I love my role as mom. I hate my role as boss. Yet it’s my role as mom that gave birth to my role as boss.
I’m sure I’m not the first mom to feel this way. My gut tells me this is all too common. So I turn to ya’ll. I want to hear your thoughts. And advice.
A Penny for Your Thoughts…
I love to blog. Partly because I love to write. Partly because I love to photograph. Partly because I love the idea of documenting Hooper and Van’s lives from the beginning. And partly because I love the community and support it brings. It’s because of the latter that I share what I’m about to share with you. I’m encouraging as much conversation and comments with this post as possible, for the sake of a dear friend. This friend has allowed me to share a personal struggle of hers: to join the journey of motherhood, or not.
For me, the decision to have children was very innate. I carried dolls around with me through my entire childhood and enjoyed playing house more than anything else. I never imagined my life without children. But I think it’s unfair to assume that everyone who enters motherhood does so without question if it was the right path for them. Anyway, here is what my friend had to say. Please comment below with your personal journey, advice, or opinion.
You asked why I’m afraid to have kids. Um, hello, why would I NOT be afraid to have kids? First of all, there’s Down’s Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, and a number of other potential catastrophes to consider. Plus, would the world even be nice for my kid in a decade or so? Pollution, global warming, wars, financial collapse… need I go on? Even aside from those global issues, there are issues with me (I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true). There’s the fact that I’m pretty impatient. And I don’t have the best stress-tolerance. And I like to be selfish with my time. And I have a tendency to be resentful when I can’t be selfish with my time. And I’m a control freak who feels lost without organization. I’m pretty sure children make life pretty disorganized.
What if my kid is an asshole? All kids these days seem like ungrateful heathens with ADHD. And they’re sexting like mad! What about the time I want to spend with my husband? You know, sharing a bottle of wine, having spontaneous sex, trying new recipes, visiting fancy restaurants, going to middle-of-the-week baseball games. I’m possessive of that time with him. And I’m possessive of my time with wine. And beer. What if I hate my post-baby body? What if looking in the mirror makes me cry? What if sex never feels the same again?
Truthfully, I’m really fulfilled by pets. Can’t I just get some dogs? All they need is a walk and some food, which is totally manageable. Kids can talk, which makes their potential for annoyance way higher. Kids have tantrums! My kids are going to want to eat Kraft mac-and-cheese and hot dogs. I’m not down with that. A son could grow up to be like many lazy men I’ve dated who are perpetually broke and dependent on their parents for money, well into their thirties, when their hair has started receding. A daughter could grow up dressing like a ho at 12 and calling me a bitch on a regular basis. Ew, and I’m going to have to help with homework. Once I finished school, I swore I’d never do homework again. I have nightmares of being back in school and having a report due. Seriously. Nightmares.
What about gene pools? I have some crazy relatives. And I’m a little crazy myself, evidently. I don’t really like other people’s children. I’m not that social, and you have to be with kids so they have activities and friends and whatever. Ugh, I hate that word — “activities.” I would totally fall behind with my DVR. We all know how much I love TV. It would probably take me a freaking year to read a book. Forget having time to write or do yoga or catch up on celebrity gossip. And forget about having time with friends. Goodbye pedicures and weekend hikes and martini-fueled girl time.
Don’t kids cost a lot of money? They break a bone, they need braces, they want to sign up for soccer, they want to go to an ivy league college (my children are going to be brilliant, even if they are assholes). I prefer my life to be without financial concerns and pressures. I like knowing that I could lose my job and it would be just me who is affected. I’m not responsible for, you know, OTHER LIVES. Plus, financial stress means marital stress. I would definitely fight with my husband more if we had kids. How could I not? There is way more at stake. And he’d be in support of Kraft mac-and-cheese and hot dogs. I can see that being a huge argument.
I don’t do well without sufficient sleep. Period.
And, lastly, there are so many non-kid-friendly adventures to be had. Adventures in the wilderness. Adventures in countries where English isn’t spoken and food is of mysterious origin. Adventures that cost money, money that others would place in college funds.
The crux of it is that the pros of having a kid seem very vague to me. Yes, it sounds amazing to create a life with someone you love, but what if my worst fears as expressed in the previous paragraphs become realities? Then is it really that amazing? Maybe having a kid would help me get out of myself, let go a little bit, experience love in a whole new way, create a stronger sense of family. These things all seem very abstract though. I’m not good with abstract.
Am I alone with all these worries? Do I need to up my dose of anti-anxiety meds? Help!
Moments in Motherhood.
The other day I was watching Hooper play with my mom. He was running in circles and giggling. I asked my mom, “What was I like at this age?”. Of course she had a general answer that summed up my personality for much of childhood, but the rest of her answer is what resonated. She said, “Honestly, I don’t remember. I know you look at him now and think you’ll never forget these moments, but you do”. I felt my heart sink into my abdominal cavity. Then I felt a strong urge to grab a video camera and begin recording, only to never stop and have the final result be one long video of my little love’s life. And then I realized that wasn’t practical for many reasons. Then reality set in. Being a mother is about appreciating moments in time, being part of moments in time, and laughing, loving, and cherishing all that is precious in those moments. Because the moments pass. And new moments take their place. And time keeps moving onward.
I look at Hooper’s little face today and try my best to fool myself into believing that I will never forget those cheeks, that grin, or the sound of that giggle. But, alas, the cheeks will change, the grin will grow, and the giggle will deepen and surely life will still be beautiful.
Mommy Confessions
Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy