The always inspirational Shanna Germain shared an “is in love with” post on Facebook, which inspired me to write the following:
Kristina Wright is in love with: her pretty pink pedicure (polish name: Naked); the lush sensuality of Pablo Neruda’s poetry; the freedom that having a fabulous babysitter brings; the starting-to-bloom azaleas and other spring blossoms; the promise of a happy, creative spring; and the sense of returning self...
Not a bad list, is it? The pedicure is my first since September, when my belly was already huge and baby was still three months from being born. Much needed, it heralds the beginning of spring and warmer days. As I was enjoying this little bit of pampering, I was thinking how it was just like that last pedicure, except my beach-ball stomach is gone and I’m now somebody’s mother. Weird. Wonderful. Weird. I do love that I picked a polish called Naked.
Pablo Neruda has been on my mind lately, since Neve Black shared her passion for him on her blog. I’ve blogged before about my love for Nerdua’s poetry… lush and sensual. Ohhh… I do love Pablo Neruda. I haven’t seen the movie Neve recommends-- Il Postino-- but I think I must. This poem seems particularly fitting for spring:
Ode To Enchanted Light
Under the trees light
has dropped from the top of the sky,
light
like a green
latticework of branches,
shining
on every leaf,
drifting down like clean
white sand.A cicada sends
its sawing song
high into the empty air.The world is
a glass overflowing
with water.
Oh… how can you not love Neruda?
Speaking of spring… the azaleas are beginning to bloom and that always makes me smile. The blossoms are fleeting… like spring in the south… and to be enjoyed for the brief time they are here.
Spring brings renewal in mind and spirit and a returning sense of my own identity in the midst of motherhood. I’m writing again and it’s like I’m just now discovering what it is to be a writer. I’m finding myself pulled in new directions creatively, driven to reach farther that I ever have. It’s nice to feel the pieces falling into place, in a way that is more natural than anything I could have imagined. I still feel a twinge when I leave Patrick with the babysitter he adores, but it’s not a bad feeling anymore, it’s a reminder that I am somebody’s mother. I can still leave and be me… alone… for a time, just like always. I am still me… I am now Mama. Everything is the same… and everything is different.
It’s a grand adventure, this parenthood thing. No one told me about that part. I heard the rainbows and flowers part, but I never heard about the adventure of seeing the world and life through new eyes. It isn’t all rainbows and flowers-- sometimes it’s hard as hell and I still have to do it (and get up tomorrow and do it again), but that’s what an adventure is. It’s twists and turns and not knowing what’s going to happen next and crazy-making moments and moments of quiet, intense perfection. A grand adventure.
I’m in love with a life overflowing… and this smiley, goofy little face.
It is raining the proverbial cats and dogs right now, but there are flowers blooming in the yard and the grass has turned green and despite the fact that the whole world looks gray and grim at the moment, spring is here. I’m so ready for the season and I feel like I have been waiting so long for it to arrive. The holidays were a strange mix of emotions and exhaustion, leaning more heavily toward sadness and depression than I would have liked. But now… oh!… even this dreary weather can’t take my spring away!
Jay will be home in less than six weeks and I’m already thinking about the party I want to have when he gets back, but I’m not sure one party is going to do my happiness justice. I want to cook and bake and eat and play with babies and lounge in the sunshine and talk and laugh with friends. I want to open the windows and listen to the birds sing and joke with old friends and make playdates with new friends. I want to bake cupcakes and decorate them with spring colors. I want to make pitchers of strawberry lemonade, as sweet as the days to come. I want to plant flowers in the yard and in pots on the deck and buy bunches of flowers for the house so I’m always surrounded with spring colors and scents. I want to buy Patrick an adorable romper to wear. I want to stay outside until the fireflies light up the night and I want to sleep with the windows open on sheets that smell like spring.
Four months ago, I wasn’t sure how I’d survive winter alone with a newborn. I thought for sure I’d lose my mind. I did better than I thought I would-- and it got surprisingly easier than anyone even told me it would-- but I’m so glad winter is behind me. That blur of cold, dark, tiring days has made me appreciate this spring so much more.
I’m utterly wiped out this week. I think it’s a combination of not having babysitting for a week, sick puppy issues. trying to get a bunch of work done, which kept me up until 1 AM more nights than not, and what might be Patrick’s four-month growth spurt. All of that combined has me feeling not only tired, but a bit sick. Blah.
Despite not having a babysitter for the first 2 months of Patrick’s life, I seriously missed Ashleigh last week. It’s amazing how much of a difference those 20 or so hours each week make to my mental well-being. Though she’s been back since Wednesday, I’m still feeling a bit out of sorts. Short on patience, a little snappish, just plain tired of the endless routine.
I was moving right along and doing just fine until Saturday night when Henry suddenly got sick. I thought it was the end of the road for the fourteen year old dog because his symptoms came on suddenly and seemed rather dire-- hardly walking, staggering and falling when he tried, vomiting, refusing to eat. Of course, it was the weekend and my vet was closed, but thankfully I’m friends with my vet after years of monthly (and often more) visits. I called her and we decided to watch and wait until Monday, unless he got worse. Thankfully, he stayed the same and the verdict on Monday morning was an inner ear infection. Once I knew that, it explained the balance and vomiting issues. He’s still not himself after almost a week-- which has added a host of chores to my daily routine, including carrying him downstairs, guiding him outside and doling out several meds that he refuses to take-- but he’s definitely feeling more like himself. Poor puppy.
The work has been a bit of a saving grace, even if it keeps me up too late and causes me to lose sleep. I got the galleys of Fairy Tale Lust proofread and returned, I wrote that long story last week and wrote and pitched another anthology idea earlier this week. There are a bunch of April 1 anthology deadlines and I’m working on those. The writing keeps me going when other things don’t, so I can’t complain too much about the lost sleep. I wish I could nap during the day. It might make life a bit easier.
And as we approach the four-month mark, Patrick is being a little more vocal and demanding. I’ve read that in addition to a growth spurt, 4 months also marks a period of “sleep regression” where babies who were previously sleeping through the night might go back to sleeping only 3-4 hours. That hasn’t happened yet (and I wouldn’t mind at all if Patrick skips this particular milestone), but he has been having a bit more difficulty going to sleep. The only “cure” seems to be for him to babble loudly, almost bordering on a yell, until he finally puts himself to sleep. It’s amusing, but it also jangles my nerves because I don’t like loud noise. It’s only been going on for a couple of days, so hopefully it’ll pass quickly and he won’t also start waking up in the middle of the night again. I can’t imagine how much more tired I can get.
Next week should be better. I have a full week (20 hours) of babysitting, which will certainly put me back on track mentally. Henry is recovering slowly but steadily and should be back to his normal self by this time next week. Patrick has his four-month appointment with the pediatrician on Thursday, so I can find out if this rash/eczema he’s experiencing requires something stronger than OTC cream, which doesn’t seem to be working, and also get some reassurance that this growth spurt, or whatever it is, is normal. The writing deadlines will be nagging at me through the week, but maybe I’ll manage to write a new story or two. And on Friday, Sheri is coming for a quick weekend visit! I know she’s mostly coming to see Patrick, but just having her around through the weekend to hang out and play-- and help me with Patrick-- will be wonderful.
So, the goal for the weekend is to try to squeeze in a nap or two to get back some of my energy, do as much writing as possible and cuddle with the baby, when he isn’t busy serenading me with baby yells.
Motherhood has, in a strange sense, fostered a newfound generosity of spirit in me. Let me explain.
Taking care of an infant is exhausting, repetitive, often unrewarding work. Patrick is a good baby, a happy baby, but there’s virtually nothing he can do for himself. And so, I do it all for him. I am happy that he rarely cries because it means he is content with his current lot in life. His needs are met-- and I meet them. It is easy to love him, because he is my own child, but I also respect him because he is so helpless and yet still tries so hard to accomplish things. Reaching out for toys, soothing himself with his fingers, seeking me out even when it means having to roll on his side, making his tongue work so he can communicate in his own way-- he does these things despite the great amount of effort it takes sometimes to accomplish them. And because he works so hard and I can see the effort it takes, it doesn’t bother me to change his diaper for the second time in ten minutes (at least he didn’t pee on me) or to change my shirt for the third time in one day (at least he didn’t spit up in my hair). See? I see how hard he is trying and it makes my spirit more generous-- and gentle. And it’s so easy to be this way because, even on days like yesterday when I was tired and not feeling well and maybe didn’t engage him as much as I should have during play time, he still forgives me and offers me a smile when he wakes up from his naps. Every time, without fail. Maybe that’s a bad baby memory or maybe his spirit is generous.
You would think I’d have nothing left to give anyone else after putting all of my generosity (or “work") into a baby. Truth is, I didn’t have it to give in those early weeks. I barely had it to give to him. But I found some untapped well of patience and understanding inside me because, well, I had to-- and it doesn’t just extend to Patrick anymore. As my confidence in my abilities has grown, so too has my sense of generosity and forgiveness. Patrick has softened me in some ways, ways I didn’t really know I had become hardened. More than one person has commented that I seem very “calm” and that motherhood suits me. I laugh it off and interpret whatever calm vibe I’m sending as pure exhaustion, but I sense what they mean. Even when everything is chaos and my brain is racing in six directions at once, there is a calm at my center that wasn’t there before. An ability to let go and forgive and reach out and be kind. Because we’re all trying, aren’t we? Patrick’s efforts are so obvious to me because he’s a baby, but I find myself looking around and seeing that others are trying, too. Even if their efforts aren’t as transparent, even if their work (and suffering) is going on beneath the surface. We’re all reaching, soothing, seeking and communicating in our own way.
And I know this sounds all gooey and Zen (and I did enjoy Momma Zen so much that I sent a copy to another new mom friend who I thought would appreciate it), but that’s what motherhood has done for me. I’m not one of the “my child is my life” mommies-- I think I will always identify as a writer, first and foremost, over mother, or wife-- but I’m discovering unexpected emotional growth because of motherhood. My goal is not to change my identity to become only “Patrick’s Mother” but to help him grow his own individual identity and give him wings. We all need encouragement with that, I think. Whether we’re three months old or forty three years old, it feels good to have someone understand us and accept us for who we are.
I still need more sleep, more time to write and more help with baby. But I’m finding it easier these days to reach out, to soothe, to attempt to connect, to try to communicate-- and, when all else fails, to forgive and offer a smile.
Now that I have a part-time babysitter for Patrick, I am finding it frustrating trying to figure out how to best utilize the free time I have. And by “free” I mean, baby-free, since I’m very much paying for this time. (And after two months of non-stop, 24/7 baby care with maybe 10 hours away from him total, it is money very much well-spent.) Ideally, I would spend every single minute of my babysitting time writing. But that doesn’t allow for those other things I need to do which are better done without a baby in tow. Errands are so much easier when I can run in and out alone instead of having to heft baby and carseat (or snap baby and carseat into the stroller frame, since baby is now weighing close to 14 pounds and the carseat isn’t light, either). Even when Patrick is sleeping or awake and quiet, it makes for a longer trip that’s harder on my back.
So far, a balance between errands and writing seems to be working out, though I yearn for more time for both. I’d like to squeeze in a little adult social time, too, but that’s secondary to the things that must be done. Today’s five-hour block of babysitting time included picking up prescriptions at Target, a trip to Old Navy and writing. Five hours should be enough time for all of that, but… the wait at the Target pharmacy was 20 minutes. I spent half an hour in Old Navy (I’m in desperate need of some cool-weather clothing, but I seemed to have missed the end-of-season bargains because all that was left was crap) and walked out with two baby outfits and a pair of yoga pants for myself (to inspire me to do Pilates). I then went to Barnes & Noble, figuring a change of writing venue would be nice, but everyone seemed to have the same idea because the bookstore cafe was packed. I gave up on that idea and headed to my usual Starbucks, where I am now. I wrote some e-mail (writing related, mostly), chatted with Jay via Skype and have been writing (and blogging) since noon. I need to leave in ten minutes to be home by 3.
Half of my time today has been spent on writing stuff, the other half on errands and driving time. The driving time is annoying, but that’s life in the suburbs. I could stay home for my five hours and spend the entire time writing, but I already try to squeeze in some writing time at home while Patrick naps and I like being able to leave the house (alone). Plus, I think hearing him fuss or cry would be distracting (and likely send me downstairs to make sure things were okay-- not because the babysitter can’t handle it, but because I’d feel bad). I might still spend some days at home-- especially close to deadline times-- but I don’t want that to be the norm. So, it seems that grouping my errands together might be the best way to maximize my time. Perhaps dedicating one block of babysitting a week to errands would make me less frustrated because I could spend all of my time (less driving time) writing on the other days.
The other problem I need to work through-- and I’m trying!-- is actually leaving the house when the babysitter arrives. I have been spending 20-30 minutes (45 on Monday) chatting with her and/or finishing getting ready and gathering my stuff. Ideally, I would be ready to walk out the door when she arrived, but that’s not always possible with Patrick’s schedule. This morning, however, there really was no excuse. Patrick was napping and I was packing up my laptop when the babysitter arrived at 10, but I still didn’t walk out the door until 10:25. Oops. I will get better, though.
It’s lovely to have the time to write and run errands and know that Patrick is being well cared for and will be a happy (or napping) baby when I get home. To be honest, it’s still difficult to be away from him and I don’t think having more babysitting hours would make me happier. I would just miss him more. Instead, I just need to make sure I’m making the most of the hours I have.
On that note, I’m out of here and headed home.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Chocolate. Mmm… chocolate. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
