Pet Peeve

Ok, I am all for putting positive energy out into the world and I really do believe in that, but today I have to say that it's been one too many cold and rainy days and I am annoyed. So I am writing about my pet peeve and it's really a twofer-- one for Sadie and one for Simon. Simon: Guess what? Babies fuss and cry. He's 9 weeks old and everything in the world is all new to him. Everything. And he gets tired very easily and that makes him cry. My pet peeve is people trying to explain his cries with a pathology: "Hmmmm. Sounds like colic." Or "Hmmmm. Seems like the breast feeding isn't working." Breast feeding not workin? Excuse me? He's 90% for his age in weight. I am telling you that it's working and I have the body parts to prove it. And, please, don't EVER EVER tell a new mother that you think her child has colic unless you KNOW WHAT COLIC IS. A fussy period is not colic unless it lasts for 4 hours per day. Simon hasn't cried a total of 4 hours in his life. Listen, you can insult my mothering but don't throw around labels like "colic." It's just cruel. Sadie: Guess what else? Everything that Sadie goes through from now is is NOT because she has a new little brother. I am so sick of comments that Sadie's bowel function or her temper is all about having Simon in her life. I don't think that's insightful, sensitive, or true. There's plenty that Sadie had to adjust to with having Simon into our lives (including MORE joy, more family, and more connection), but it's just not the case that her every move is motivated by sibling issues. STOP TELLING ME IT'S ABOUT HER LITTLE BROTHER. Can you tell it's a cold, gray day in March here? I refuse to do a weather rant, but I am holding to the promise that as soon as my therapist dies, I am moving to San Diego.

Lil Buddha

The pediatrician says that Simon is 13 lbs and 12 oz, which is 90% for weight and his height is over 24 inches, which is "off the charts." Um, thank you breast milk for building my giant son. I am grateful he is healthy and thriving. To help myself deal with the sleep deprivation and the panic I feel about it, I read about colic and how parents cope with that. Now, Simon does NOT have colic, thank the Good Lord, but it helped me get this period of little sleep into perspective. The other thing that helps is looking at those adorable cheeks in the middle of the night. I could not deny the owner of those cheeks a single thing. This attitude will probably prove very troublesome down the road, especially if he figures that out! I am spending some time this weekend with friends doing a vision about how I want my life to look now that we have both Sadie and Simon. I am excited to articulate my heart's desires, and a little afraid of what might come up. Having two kids is a wonderful and rich blessing that I don't know how to take in along with a job as a lawyer, having a marriage and friends and getting exercise and sleep. How do you do this? That's the question we will tackle this weekend.

Ending on a high note

There is a great visual to accompany this post, but unfortunately, when you are playing solo mom to two kids under 2, it's hard to take great snaps. Here's the visual: my dinner plate consisting of grilled salmon, grilled asparagus, mashed potatoes and a tomato caper sauce. This is the kind of dinner that Jeff whips up for us all the time, but Jeff's out of town, which usually means mama eats spagetti sauce and 3 bowls of cereal with ice cream. Not tonight. For one night only I was THAT MOM. You know, the one who runs around all day with her children and casually stops at whole foods to pick up a nice piece of fish to grill while feeding her children delicious, organic snacks. Her. Me. Although, to be honest, I was really more focused on my dinner than the kids. Simon got his standard Left Boob/Right Boob combo and Sadie got canned kidney beans, mango, cheddar puffs, and tomatoes, all of which she stuffed into a bottle of saline solution for my contacts. (And, that's why MY DINNER was more important.) Because we had a rough start to the morning, made more difficult because I inexplicably insisted on pumping while both Sadie and Simon were up. I am not saying my children are high needs, but every now and then Simon needs help holding up his head and Sadie had pooped and I haven't taught her to change her diaper. Yet. I was fried. I ended up yelling at everyone, mostly myself. The morning segment did not go well because I didn't take care of myself and I tried to do too much. Tonight, we took a different approach. I got Simon down for a nap around 7 p.m. and put Sadie and her beans and her empty bottle in her high chair. Then, I got to sauteeing and grilling and chilling. While we waited for this all to come together, I showed Sadie how to dance with her shoulders. We are listening to Michael Jackson's "Bad," which is a good song for some shoulder action. So much of motherhood is so damn controversial and political these days-- it makes me sick what we are doing to ourselves as mothers. I don't care what you do with your breastmilk or your formula or your 9-5 hours. The only thing I think every house should have is music. Screw breast feeding and the family bed. The question is do you have Sly and Family Stone? Will your child know how to groove when he/she gets to Wiggle Worms? Music makes me feel like I am having fun, even if I am not. So, the moral of the day is the following: take care of yourself and every now and then choose salmon over chex mix and chocolate ice cream. And set your life to music and move your shoulders to the beat.

What smells?

Today I made myself very proud by realizing that I can tell when Simon has pooped in his diaper within about 3.5 minutes of him pooping. I used to brag that it didn't smell, and now that it does, I brag that I can smell it practically instantly. There really are no bounds to the joys of motherhood.

As for Simon himself, he is getting very smiley indeed, even to his less-attractive-than-his-father mother. He still only turns his head to the right, which I am sure is something I should be addressing with little exercises at home, but like the Vitamin D, sometimes I just don't get to it.

I weighed Simon unofficially at the gym this morning and he was 14.5 lbs. Tomorrow is a pediatrician visit so we'll get the official weight that will be recorded in the baby book. I always thought that if a baby got to 12 lbs he/she would sleep through the night. Apparently, that's not true. Simon is still up about 3 times and after 3 or 4 he doesn't sleep so much as kersnuffle. That's the word for all those LOUD ASS infant noises our precious beloved son makes just as I am starting to get back to sleep. I am not kidding you about how loud a kersnuffle is. He sounds like a pug, a breed whose nose is so smushed up that it cannot breathe properly.

And, let's me just marvel at the size of the boogers I pull out of his nose in the morning. I think those account for about .5 lbs of his total weight. They are big and I am almost tempted to save some for the baby book, but even I have to exercise some scrapbooking restraint. It's hard though, because some of those morning boogers are something special and I am not just saying that because I am his mom.

The sweetest time of the day was this evening when Jeff took a business call while Sadie, Simon and I hung out in Simon's room. Sadie experimented with walking around in my flip flops-- I can't say that was exactly a success, but we have all summer to practice. Simon gamely laid on the floor taking it all in and sharing with us some of his more operatic cooes and gurgles. He was pretty fussy all day today, so of course the guessing begins: was it something I ate? did I not hold him enough today? does he have gas? does he know my secret "bad mother" thoughts? is he over tired? was I forcing him to nap when he wasn't tired? is he overstimulated? did we run around too much this morning? should I not have gotten the long-overdue pedicure? I took him to the gym and put him beside me while I got on the stationary bike. He tolerated that for 34 minutes, which was long enough for mommy to sweat and get an endorphine rush. I was operating on the principle that when mama's happy, everyone is happy. Working out makes mama happy.

I write this to remind myself that even the mellowist babies have bad days. Simon was oochie and uncomfortable seeming all day. It doesn't mean I have no breast milk or that I should stop eating all foods except kobe beef. Maybe Simon just needs a little extra patience and compassion today. Just like I may need those tomorrow. Actually, when do I not need extra patience and compassion.

We'll just keep breathing and practicing patience and compassion. They should come in handy when Jeff does an overnight this week and I am solo with the kiddos. If you hear the shrieks and brays of a madwoman, you should know it might be me.

So there is only love and maybe a dash of hysteria.

Cheeky

Look at those adorable cheeks! I am surprised I didn't have to pay extra on my Southwest flight for those. I think I see a dimple on his right cheek, though, admittedly it's hard to tell because his cheeks are so....well....voluminous.

Simon has rounded (no pun intended) the corner into 9 weeks of life. I have 7 weeks of maternity leave left, which only strikes a minor panic through my heart. I have no idea what is going to happen over these next 7 weeks. I am hoping for more bonding with Simon and more sleeping and smiling from him. I am praying for clarity about my job situation and about how to take steps forward to live the life I want to live, which includes inspiration, balance, fulfilling work, joy, flexibility, creativity, compassion and connection. Does that sound like a legal job to you?

But I digress.

We had a great weekend with Simon and we are enjoying his new sounds. His coos have morphed into a little baby language and I sometimes think he's trying to talk to me. I kiss those lovable cheeks about 100 times per day and that never gets old. Someday he's going to be a lean machine like his daddy, but til then, I get to enjoy every ounce of baby fat.

Here's to another weekend as a mother of two. We met some more neighbors today, which, according to Oprah's special on happiness is a great way to increase joy because people who know their neighbors feel safer and more connected. It was nice to meet some wonderful people in our complex because we had just fled Mapplewood Park after feeling a little intimated by a group of high school girls who were calling each other "hookers."

The continued and variegated joys of urban life.

Why We Swaddle

Our pediatrican told us that swaddling should be used until Simon is about 2 months old. Guess what? He's still swaddled and here's why: He's a spaz. Maybe other babies are not so spastic, but Simon is and I want to sleep. We swaddled Sadie for well over 2 months, and there's no way in hell I am not swaddling while Simon still flails around waving his arms and legs as if he's got a hip hop soundtrack in his head and he must move his limbs to the beat of the bass. I love him dearly just as he is but I will for sure appreciate it when his nervous system matures and he doesn't have to twitch and twist all day and night. I updated Simon's baby book today, which is something I am a little compulsive about. The new entries for today are his consistent social smiles and one instance of laughter on March 18th. And, speaking of social smiles, it has come to my attention that Simon smiles at Jeff exponentially more than he smiles at me. Now, I am not saying I am resentful, but sometimes a mom wants to say to her beloved newborn son, "hey, I am the one who carried your ass around all winter in my body and I am the one who is going to have mom boobs from feeding you all this breast milk, so could I trouble you to smile at ME?" Of course I am only kidding. Wait, no I am not. So, Jeff has heard my complaints that Simon smiles more for him than for me and has tried to assuage my competitiveness by saying that it's only Jeff's shiny head that Simon is smiling at since it reflects the light. I tried to buy that excuse and it almost worked until I heard about a study when listening to the radio earlier this week. The esteemed and learned DJ's Eric and Kathy reported about a study that babies smile and gaze more often at the parent who is better looking. WHAT? Nevermind that reporting that study on the Eric and Kathy show between the bathroom humor and blow job jokes is jarring enough, but there is a study that speaks to my exact moment of parenting? Fine. Jeff's better looking. Says who? Who the hell did this study and why? Did my tax dollars go towards funding that study? And, finally, isn't "good looking" a pretty subjective concept? For example, I think Bradley Cooper is hot, but I have a friend who thinks he's smarmy. I NEVER WILL see what women and gay men see in that Robert Patinson vampire dude, but the ladies love him. Are you telling me that Jeff is so far and away better looking than I am that even Simon who can only see about 3 feet can discern that? I think I have learned a valuable lesson: I should listen to books on tape in the the morning.

Simon Crosses The Border: Visits Texas

Little Man Simon was my traveling companion to Texas this week. The purpose of the trip was to help my parents while they watched my sister's two kids: Patrick is 3 and Thomas is 18 months old. They are very adorable little boys, and they are also a handful. My parents have made a bit of a situation with the boys by indulging just about every whim that either of them has ever had. It's pretty funny to watch Patrick boss my parents around all day long, but it was also somewhat scary and heartbreaking to see how tired my parents are after being ultra-permissive grandparents all day long. I really don't like to see that my parents are losing steam at an appropriate pace for 60-year-olds. I want them to be energetic and 30-something forever.

Anyway, my parents sounded like they could use reinforcements, so Simon and I hopped on Southwest Airlines and swooped in. I am not sure we were that much help to my parents, but I did use the iPhone to distract the boys at several critical junctures to avoid altercations over a train set.

I do what I can.

Simon was a great traveler. His very first blow out EVER from his diaper occurred 30 minutes before we left for the airport. I was grateful that didn't happen after we left for the airport. And, speaking of airport, Mommy and Simon took the blue line train to O'Hare and as soon as I stepped off the train, I realized we were supposed to be at Midway Airport. I was shocked that I made that mistake. More shocking is that Jeff-- Mr. Logistics himself-- didn't realize our mistake. We are definitely still skating close to survival mode. Jeff and I laughed at ourselves and then somehow managed to get me and Simon to Midway in time for the flight. With about 3 minutes to spare.

Unbelievable.

Sleep deprivation is a very harsh mistress.

Once in Dallas, I got the thrill of a lifetime when my best friend from high school and I were able to meet up at her daughter's soccer game. I can't tell you how happy I was to be able to take Simon to Caruth Park and meet Stephanie's two kids and her husband. I had not seen her since her wedding in the summer of 1999. So many times I came to Dallas wishing to connect with her and meet her children, but I didn't reach out. Lots of people say that are bad at keeping in touch. I say it all the time, and it's historically been true for me.

When there are things about myself I wish I could change (like I wish I could embrace Excel spreadsheets), the top of the list is this character defect about staying in touch. I don't like that I have let fears keep me from experiencing connection with people like Stephanie. We had such a nice visit, and her daughter scored the winning goal of the soccer game, which added to the sense of euphoria swirling around the afternoon. Driving back from the park to my parents' house I was struck with a wave of grief for all I had missed. Specifically with Stephanie. And sadly there are other connections broken because I couldn't take in the possibility that no one needed me to be married or have children or have a dazzling career or a perfect brownie recipe or a size 4 skinny jean. Those were voices in my head that told me I couldn't connect (or reconnect) until some magical time in the future when I would be bulletproof from any feelings of shame or any worry about whether or not I was right in the world. I kept telling myself I could get in touch as soon as I was married or felt more confident or understood myself better or never felt shame. When I was fixed I would have the relationships I always wanted.

I am sad to report that 2 decades went by.

It's bittersweet to report that I wasn't broken in the first place. I had some pretty ill-founded ideas about people and what they wanted from me. Worse than being ill-founded, they were persistent ideas that seemed smart, insightful, obvious and true as I walked the planet thinking about them. I am grateful I began to question these ideas before any more decades went by, but for such a smart lady, it took a while to learn that no one gives a shit what size my jeans are (except for me) and no one was repulsed by me when I was single and not yet a mother.

I actually treasure the grief that I felt driving from Caruth Park back to my parents house. The grief is proof that I had done something different; that I had taken different actions. After reading the Girls From Ames this summer and having a real Come to Jesus with myself about people I loved and missed and wanted to connect with, I was able to ask a mutual friend about how to get in touch with Stephanie. I emailed her this summer and felt happy to be in touch. It was not about having arrived at any specific place in my life, but rather, it was about being done waiting and being ready to offer and receive love. Had I not shown up at this visit, I would have never felt the grief at all. I would have just continued to live in the numb place of "I wish I could connect with my dear high school friend Stephanie," and motored on with a story in my head about how I am "not good at keeping in touch."

Happy as hell to report that I am giving that story the finger. The. Finger.

My hope for Sadie and Simon is that I can raise them to accept love and friendship and to trust their inner lights and to follow the laughter and love from one day to the next so that they can build unbroken lines of friendship no matter what happens along the way. I just hope they can gave the grace to let themselves off the hook and they can examine the stories they tell themselves so they don't have to lose time hiding out waiting to be perfect to show up for love that was there all along.

My hope for myself is that I continue to let the love of other people wash over me even when I am messy, and my brows need some waxing and my hair needs some washing; when I am irrational or lost or pathetic or big and shiny and happy and giddy and in awe of my own blessings. My hope is to show up as myself, with all my ambivalence and my talent and my joy and my sorrows and my yearnings.

My mantra for April is "there is only love." So far it's working, except for that guy who cut me off on Ashland. For that guy there was love and a little bit of rage that he would try to cut off a nice lady like me in a mini-van.

There is only love.