how i've missed you, little blog of mine

today i am all about the random thoughts.... so random, in fact, that i have barely been able to put together a coherent facebook status update. truly sad.

for example, on my way to work today, i observed a man kind of yelling at some guys who were stocking some items (produce maybe?) from a truck. i immediately thought, "hello, crazy" until i passed by the man in question and got a whiff. he smelled FANTASTIC. really, really nice, and i am generally not a huge fan of cologne, but this was spicy, woodsy, fresh-soapy all rolled into one. my friend rebecca pointed out to me that with the mentally incapacitated, hygiene is one of the first things to go, so perhaps i misjudged him.

random thought #2 is that i think i need to break up with the professional. it seems that lately when i find myself performing the juggling act of meeting my own needs, meeting my child's needs and taking care of business, this somehow ends up being put into question at therapy.

to whom am i comparing myself?
am i running away? can i not just enjoy my time with max?
do i come up with distractions? why?

and you know what? i'm a little done with that. is this truly helpful to me? when bdub was out of town last week, the boy and the biscuit and i high-tailed our butts up to beacon to hang with karadean and her boys. and no, i didn't want to be alone in my apartment with my 17 month old all day long for two days.

and we had a great time, and it meant a lot to my bff-since-9th-grade that we came up, despite the dog puking all over the back seat, and despite us needing to leave by 3:30 so we could beat the traffic.

so what am i running from? does it really matter? maybe i am running towards open arms that love me and want me and the boy and our dog who puked all over their brand new slate floors to sit down and stay awhile. i don't know why they would want us, because we are a bit of a sorry lot sometimes, and we cry and fuss and make a mess.....but i'll take it.

the photo below was taken by my dear friend, kelly jones. she is cool loveliness, very real and clearly a woman of many talents. this image knocks my socks off, takes my breath away, and rocks my world, all at once:

the mommy makeover, revisited

my brain, upon exiting the shower today:

"you know, the idea of a combination tummy tuck/breast lift/lipo value pack doesn't sound so bad right about now.

of course, i should really work out first, and save the big guns for anything that doesn't go back to normal after diet and exercise...like my boobs. i really used to love my boobs. now they just look like utters or feed bags, swingin' around. so sad.

and how unfair-- why couldn't it be that after breast feeding, one's boobs become truly extraordinary, even better than before? a mark and badge of honor of the strong work they did? why instead must they sag?"

and then my bod says to my brain:

"what's so great about 'before', anyway?"

and my brain comes up with a million and one girlish reasons...and i think of my sweet boy, and me. fifteen months later.

everything that seemed so fab about "before" kind of fades away in the wake of this new motherhood, this new family....and i realize that everything about "before" is still there, and can still happen, with some minor tweaks. and i let go.

my bod-- she's a smart old bird.

wait a minute-- strike that-- reverse it

ah, isn't it funny how the ego interferes in our lives? in my last post, i closed with this "realization":

"teaching him all of it--what to do and what not to do-- from walking to eating to pulling on the cat's tail. no small task. and i am ready."

how quickly i forget what he teaches me. the pure light which we all really desire to achieve is within him. it is within all of us, of course, but the jaded years of cynicism, the difficult lessons, the fear-- they take a toll.

he teaches me to throw my head against the back of the sofa, let out a laugh, smile until my face hurts, give a round of applause. are there any greater lessons to learn?



*a special thanks to karen maezen miller and her blog, cheerio road-- where would i be without you?

my wild thing is ONE

he is ONE. one revolution around the sun.

here is a flickr set of the month by month development of this person, my child....birth to year one. pupa to chrysalis.

i feel like i am at a high point. the only thoughts that creep into the deeper, scary parts are the thoughts of regression. of going backwards after we have come so far. what if something were to happen? if he slips away and this groove upon my torso where he lays becomes just an empty ditch on my body, unfilled, concave?

these thoughts are few and far between. this is a good thing, because they can be paralyzing. more than this, i celebrate the days with him, and the evenings holding him close, rocking him, his eyes getting heavy, putting him down. watching him sleep. walking into his room in the dark mornings to him smiling and bouncing, gripping onto the rail of his crib. ready-- READY-- to face another day and seek more adventure.

teaching him all of it--what to do and what not to do-- from walking to eating to pulling on the cat's tail. no small task. and i am ready.

good reads

i am on a reading kick. first anne lamott's operating instructions, which blew my head off, and now the mother trip by ariel gore.

ladies, where have you been all my life, or at least for the last ten months of it? in fairness, my sweet beezie sent me both of these pre-max, but as i said before in a lame attempt at an excuse, i have been a little preoccupied reading up on the sleep books, the development books, and the occasional bad mystery/thriller/courtroom drama fluff thrown in for the sake of escapism (i'm looking at you, jodi picoult) .

but oh, ariel gore. you SPEAK to me. i mean, the first page of the book contains this quote (and only this quote) smack dab in the middle:

"One must have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star."
-FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

i know that ariel is the voice of the new mamas, the old mamas, the mamas who are finally standing up and saying, "this is crazy."

but really, a dancing star? who is more a dancing star if not master maximillian wolfeinelli? this i ask you.

oh ladies, thank you for coming into my life. anne and ariel and each and every one of you.

more will be revealed...

cryptic title, isn't it?

i have decided to adopt this way of thinking, give it a good home in my psyche. pre-max, my sister gave me a copy of anne lamott's operating instructions, which between sleep books and preggo books and no-need-to-panic-and-call-the-doctor type books i hadn't gotten around to reading.

silly me.

of course, it would have pretty much rendered this blog obsolete, because sweet annie says in her hilarious and infectious voice everything i have been feeling over this last year, but much more eloquently. one of her yummy morsels of wisdom comes from her AA friends (the author is a former addict herself), who remind her that "more will be revealed". how true these words are in the context of, well, everything, but especially so when one is dealing with addiction and loved ones.

what are lies? what is the truth? my husband has spent so much of the last twelve months or so trying to sift through all of this-- trying to catch her in her lies, to trap the rat and make it speak the truth. and in time, over and over again, more is revealed....more ends tied up so that confusing behavior, requests for money, excuses, failures, crises, twisted blame-- all are revealed and more will be to come.

my poor husband. how much he gives and gives until he just can't take care of this phantom whisper of a real person any more. yet he forgives and he tries again. and again.

max is turning one in less than a month. i can't believe it. i mostly can't believe that i am sitting here thinking, "where has the time gone?" when the days i have spent have at times felt like a small eternity. yet this little larvae of a person is crawling around me at the speed of light, laughing until he can hardly breathe, taking it all in and then some. my sister told me once that you can't expect it to be easy, having your heart running around outside of your body.

september song

it's a rainy september 12 and it was a rainy september 11. fitting-- i always feel funny when september 11 is a beautiful day in new york.

max is a little man of many teeth (five and counting), a crawler, a drummer, a smiler, a hugger, a CLIMBER. we are starting to deal with the heart-wrenching and all too frequent occurrences of head bumps, falls, and overall dangerous behavior (like standing in the tub, slipping, and busting tiny rosebud lips on ceramic soap holders). yet he soldiers on and lives to explore another day.

i am learning as he learns. it is my job to teach him everything. i am learning that i need to let go. that a great mom is a flexible mom, and that i have no choice to be otherwise if i want to be happy. i am learning that love does not always equal happiness, and that is ok. love can equal loneliness and isolation, but you love those little ones so much that you just do it. you do it all anyway and somehow it just makes sense.


(my boys swimmin' this summer:)

i never knew love like this before...

despite the positive title, this is not an easy post to make. the wolfeinellis are wading through a lot of muck these days, and while so many areas of our lives have improved DRASTICALLY (like, where we live, for example: our biggest issue is having to talk with the older people on our block when we;'re in a hurry), other things have unfortunately taken some pretty sad turns.

brian's dad suffered three ruptured brain aneurysms, and while he is (thankfully) recovering, it has been quite the ordeal for the wolfe's. this ordeal has been piggybacked by ANOTHER ordeal, which for the sake of privacy i don't feel comfortable elaborating on. i will say that addiction is a selfish beeyatch. it destroys, it lies, and it keeps coming back for more. it is trying to pick away at my husband. to occupy his thoughts, to constantly fill his head with lies, to exhaust him, to deplete his resources. it is so sad. so very sad. it is really hurting the wolfeinellis, and i really fear that we don't have the resources to deal with it.

however, we are dealing with it so far. we are trying to do our best most of the time. i am failing at that some of the time....i think it is easier for me to step away and try to encircle my family, shield them. i can't hide my anger when i feel unable to do this successfully.

max is almost ten months. he is a light. he has four teeth with more on the way. he clings to me when i pick him up, and gives me little pats on the shoulder as if to say, "it's alright mama. breathe. i love you." he is the happiest baby on the block. he wakes up and (usually) goes to bed with a smile on his face. he snuggles up to me in the morning and nurses, i think more for my sake than for his. he has thigh chub. his eyes are a kaleidoscope of greens, coppers, grays. he has more exuberance, joy, and life force than any being i can ever recall knowing or sharing in their company.

it's a new dawn, a new day, a new life for me...

...and i'm feeling....good?

yeah. maybe i am. it's about f@&#ing time.

my boy is six months old. whatta guy. here is a brief list of his likes and dislikes:

max morgan wolfe likes:
cuddles
being "surprised" (with a "boo!" or rolling one's "r"'s, or "motorboating")
the biscuit
bouncing
sucking face (literally)
music
beats
infant tylenol
putting anything and everything in his mouth


dislikes:
teething
bedtime
the inability to control his own body temperature (thus, his latest nickname "sweaty head")

and that's about it as far as the "dislikes" go. this guy is happy as a clam 99.9% of the time.

lucky, lucky, LUCKY me. for reals. and i will stop now thus i nauseate the reader with my crushing, sloppy, sickly sweet love for this little person.

five something months

and i still don't recognize this person. not max-- max is max, an adorable creature who is wholly himself, replete with his own distinct giggle, voice, dimples, and tiny little fingernails that can pinch and scratch the living hell out of you.

i am talking about me. i don't know where i got the idea that growing a whole other person would not leave any physical, mental, or emotional scars. i look at my doughy belly, my saggy boobs spouting off (and i used to really love my boobs. really), and i don't recognize myself. i don't know why i thought something magical would happen to me at six weeks out, three months out...like i would be able to have sex and exercise all the time, and therefore would turn into some work-out crazed body-building nympho with a never-ending supply of energy (and milk, for that matter).

it's frustrating. not even so much to me, as to the people around me, i'm sure. like bdub. i find us in this cycle of bad day--then good day--then rolling with the "good day" which turns into, "so now that you're feeling better, let's go do something completely anxiety-producing to 'get you out there'"--which turns into "i feel pushed"--must retreat--i wish i didn't have to retreat--i feel bad about that--bad day...you get the idea (i hope).

i feel like i don't have any reserves left...of patience, of emotional stability, of sleep. i am tapped out, and i am afraid that anyone except for those who are the absolute closest people to me do not understand this. after all, it's been five months, and so what the hell is my problem, anyway?

favorite things: new mama edition

in the same vein as last year's favorite things post (ala oprah), i give you the new mama edition! these are a few of my favorite things which i could not have lived without during the first few months of new motherhood, many of which i never would have suspected would become so indispensable.

the happiest baby on the block dvd (harvey karp)



ah yes, the five s's: swaddle, side, suck, swing, shhh. it's hard to know what to do as a new parent of a screaming babe! at the first viewing of this dvd, bdub started to cry. he felt so empowered. best of all, the techniques work! i think an amazing baby gift would be a copy of this dvd, a swaddle blanket (see next item) and a couple of pacifiers (see item after next).


the miracle blanket



organic cotton. no snaps, pins, velcro, nothing. simply the best (though i also really like the stretchy swaddle blankets, too). as an aside, doesn't the baby in the above photo look just like max?


soothies pacifiers



accept no imitations. these do tend to take some getting used to, appearance-wise. since you can see into the baby's little mouth, bdub claims that they kind of look like something out of a marilyn manson video when in use.


sophie the giraffe




the french classic. here is what ecobabygear.com has to say about sophie:

"Sophie the Giraffe, full of discoveries and activities to awaken baby’s senses!

Sight: The dark and contrasting spots all over Sophie the Giraffe’s body provide visual stimulation and make her easily recognizable to baby. She soon becomes a familiar and reassuring objet.

Hearing: Her squeaker keeps baby amused, stimulates his hearings, and helps him to understand the link between cause and effect.

Taste: Sophie the Giraffe is very flexible and has lots of parts for baby to chew (ears, horns, legs). She is perfect for soothing baby’s sore gums when teething and is completely safe. Made of 100% natural rubber and food paint.

Touch: Sophie the Giraffe is perfect for baby’s small hands. She is very light and her long legs and neck are easy for baby to grip. She is very soft to touch, just like baby’s mummy, stimulating soothing physiological and emotional responses.

Smell: The singular scent of natural rubber (from Hevea tree) makes Sophie the Giraffe very special and easy for your child to identify amid all his other toys. "


cotton zip up pajamas



so great when it's the 3 am diaper change and you don't have to fasten a million snaps. surprisingly hard to find, especially in cotton (we avoid fleece; as our friend mags warned, "nowlze, it's a pressure cooker.")


jj cole pacifier pod



such a simple thing: a little purse for your pacifiers! just the right size to hold two. keeps 'em clean and velcro's to any bag.


clip-on mobile



this has also been a lifesaver. clips to the shelves that hang over the changing table for diaper changing distraction. clips to the side of the crib, to the car seat, to wherever! max loves this thing and rarely fusses when he has his diaper changed.


mustela products



i got tons of this stuff as shower gifts, and i will use every last drop of it all. the foam shampoo for cradle cap is fantastic. the diaper cream is super-concentrated, and the lotion is heavenly. the entire line smells incredible: light, yet blends well with that perfect, natural baby head smell.


bebe au lait nursing cover



i resisted buying this for a long time. i mean, i should be able to nurse wherever, whenever, right?! other peoples' comfort be damned! that may be all well and good in theory, but there are certain times and places where popping out my 40 DD's (yes, that's what i am rockin' these days, lord help me) is less than ideal. like in therapy. or when i go to hear bdub play at church. church and boobs just don't mix. the bebe au lait is a necessary evil, and i am always happy to have it when i need it.


american apparel hoodies and onesies



finding plain, unadultered clothing in solid colors is nearly impossible. thank god for american apparel. great colors, nice cotton, sweatshop-free. plus, max and his dad can match! cute!


diapers.com



several friends recommended diapers.com to me, and young grasshopper that i am, i have passed on the rec. to other new moms. diapers.com rules. they have free shipping over $49, their diapers arrive in two days or less, and they are WAY cheaper than anywhere else. they don't just sell diapers, either. they sell EVERYTHING. in fact, i'd bet you could probably find every item of my favorite things on that website! you also get credit when you recommend people, so if any of you dear readers decide to order from them, tell 'em nowlze sent you.

THIS is it

finally, i can put into words what it is i am missing....the missing piece that has been plaguing me, even as i emerge lil' bit by lil' bit from my fragile bluebird-like shell.

i miss being carefree. even in my pre-babe bleak days of depression, i still was never a worrier. maybe i was ho-hum, but i was still ho-hum on the fancy-free side of things, if that makes any sense. i guess what i am trying to say is that my dreary days were more "fuck it" than "omg, i am totally worried about the state of things and therefore depressed".

but here i am, worried about the state of things. aside from a constant, nagging worry that i may be screwing up a fresh as snow little person who is thus far perfection, i am finding myself to be worried about the other stuff: the small stuff and the big stuff. regretting decisions made. wishing i had behaved differently. rationalizing. tangentializing (if that's even a word...). wishing away feelings, wishing away parts of my self. swamped with anxiety (ok...so maybe not swamped for the most part any more. but more often than not, feeling a little too overwhelmed to truly enjoy the moment).

and even when i am less-than-worried, i still can't seem to get a grip enough to be that carefree girl. and i loved that girl. i loved holding hands in the city, popping into this store or that cafe, hopping on and off of the train, not a care in the world. i long to be that girl again, with stroller and babe in tow this time, but i can't seem to get a foothold on that feeling again. what's missing? why is everything a minefield? an obstacle? something not to be dealt with (because i feel, maybe, that if i have to "deal" with one more thing i will just lose it, for real)?

what is the cure for this? time? i ask the mamas out there: do you ever feel truly carefree?

small victory II

the zen buddhists believe (or so i have been told) that one cannot multitask; that multitasking is, in effect, just trying to do several things at once and not giving your full attention to any of them...thus, doing them all badly. i tend to agree.

however, this morning i was forced to let out the biscuit and take care of baby simultaneously. baby who skipped his mid-morning nap. uncomfortable baby, red-faced crying baby who for some reason i chose to dress in a sweater vest and cords, complete with belt (??).

step one was to stick crying baby in crib, slip on my boots, and fetch the biscuit, who was collared and leashed. red-faced baby was changed out of ridiculous get-up and slung to mama in his pouch. i tried several futile attempts to select an item of outerwear that would be able to zip over both myself and the pouch of slung baby, but to no avail. i then unslung screaming babe, stuck a hoodie on him as gingerly as i could, re-slung baby, grabbed the essentials (umbrella, keys, cell phone) and headed out the door.

the biscuit skipped through the slushy puddles, the baby hushed himself, and all seemed right with the world. that is, until the biscuit had to go #2. i let him into our mess of a front yard (his pooping domain), where he walked around quite a bit before finding a suitable spot. and then, one of the worst possible scenarios occurred: the biscuit had a hanger-on. (how can i put this delicately? sometimes the biscuit ingests too many of my stray hairs--by accident, of course-- and tends to have some poops that literally hang on by a thread). by the grace of god, i had a plastic bag in my pocket.

the boy and i entered the yard, nearly slipped several times, and bent down to break the biscuit free of his hairy predicament. baby clung closely to me, closer than the hairs clung to the biscuit: i set him free and once again, all is well in wolfeinelli land. i am considering penning a letter to the makers of the kangaroo korner adjustable fleece pouch, letting them know how well their product performed under the pressure of these adverse conditions.

intoxicating...

i realized just now as i was rocking him that i would do every second of this again for one more whiff of that baby head smell.

i have told my friend deej, purveyor of the bubble roome line of bath and body products, that if he could bottle that smell and capture its likeness in a soap or body butter, he'd be a gajillionaire. in fact, i am shocked that demeter hasn't added the scent to its fragrance library.

so this is christmas--i hope you had fun

a big realization yesterday--

prompted by my last blog post, which left me feeling confused and with the dilemma as to whether or not i should take it down. i spoke with bdub about it and he asked me some very important questions:

why did you write it?
will it help someone else?
will it hurt anyone's feelings?

i wrote it to purge, to examine, to be honest.

i think it could help someone else, because it seems that new motherhood is supposed to be met with all sunshine and lollipops, and while max is my sunshine (especially these days), a lot of what surrounds me feels very gray. i don't think i am alone in that. i know it helps me when i get encouragement from others that they went or are going through the same thing.

it might hurt somebody's feelings.

then we talked about personal responsibility, and how it really bothers me when people don't take responsibility for themselves. and what i realized is that if i have felt isolated, then a large part of that is on my shoulders, whether i am in a place emotionally to deal with it or not. yes, i am fragile. yes, i am emotional and i am harboring a lot of anger (and i don't know what is prompting that or where it is coming from). but i am the only person who can take responsibility for it.

a part of doing that was admitting to myself that what i am feeling is not situational. bdub is here, and not at gigs (and i won't be on my own with max for a long night in the near future). it is christmas and we are together. i love this boy, i love my husband. so why am i still crying? why is the celine dion christmas album blasting in front of the stop and shop and the poster of obama in a boxing ring knocking out john mccain that i pass on flatbush avenue bringing me to tears? (god, i have such a love-hate relationship with my neighborhood).

we talked in the car and we agreed that i don't have to go on medication if i don't want to (and i really, really don't want to), unless i truly believe that it would do me and max more good than harm. we are taking positive steps by seeing The Professional who is closely observing me and who really cares. bdub is here to catch me when i fall.

so off we went to deanie's for a holiday party, and i didn't know how to feel. deanie is my one true friend up here. seriously. and of my true, deep, would cut off my pinky for them friends, i think i have about five or six total (one is deanie, one is my husband, one is my sister, you get the idea...). the last thing on earth i wanted to do was fall apart and continue the trend for the day (blubbering heap in the corner) in a semi-public arena.

to my surprise, i reconnected with so many great peeps, some of them new parents, some of them more seasoned, some of them grandparents. one was right there with me (or a month ahead anyway, which was a treat to see). two were expecting their second babies. they told me things like:

"the first months with my daughter were the hardest thing i have ever gone through in my life." (katie, mother of stella, age 2)

"i feel like it took us about nine months to really get into a groove." (aaron, father to esme, almost 3)

"honey, the wistfulness will pass." (christine, mother to owen samuel danger, age 13 weeks and lucy)

"i don't remember a thing, just getting her up in the morning and taking her to art classes." (ted on his 30-something daughter julie, grandfather to matias, age 2) and in response, "yeah, that's because you didn't have to do anything." (his wife, cynthia)


and all of the young parents said the same thing to me, echoing their refrain:

"it gets easier, it gets easier, it gets easier...."

and i woke up this morning (despite another night of insomnia...i just wanted to hold max but i settled for being held by bdub), actually believing them.

"it gets easier." (noelle, mother to max, age 9.5 weeks)

on motherhood...the first two months

(author's note: despite my musings below, the worst is over for your misanthropic friend. no more lonely nights until at least the second week of january! we even have new year's eve off and the lovely mags --aka the TRUE baby whisperer-- swooping in to catch us all. and furthermore, the help i have had from the women who care about me has been a gift for my soul and i am grateful. we are blessed...but in the name of keeping it real, read below.)



this motherhood business is hard. i am over being too ashamed or embarrassed or afraid to admit that. in fact, i don't know how anyone does this. i look at other women i know, some of them who seem fragile as glass or like they could be knocked over with a feather, and they have all done this and seem happier and stronger for it, which just makes me wonder more, "then what the hell is wrong with me?"

the people who care about me, even The Professional whom i go to for guidance at $150 a pop, seem to think it is really important --critical, even-- that i ask for help and communicate what i need. since my head has been a-whirl with so many thoughts ("time to feed, time to diaper, time to take out the dog, time to pump, time to sleep, can't sleep") and so much rumination (last week the light bulb gleamed brightly as i discovered that i have been stringing together events, oversights, wrongs, misgivings...ruminating to such a degree that i have been creating my own narrative, or so sayeth The Professional...so at this point, i must even question, "what is real? was this how this really went down?"), asking for help hasn't been easy.

i ask for help in my nowlze way: "so, like, if you wanted to stop over or something...i mean, if you'll be around...feel free. of course, no big deal if you can't. it's cool. but if you just wanted to hang out or whatever, we'll be here...." not surprisingly, my method has proven ineffective. what i really need is this:

-consistent, reliable, no strings attached help when i need it, usually between the hours of four and ten, wherein i can make specific requests and not feel bad about it, ideally, from my husband who would --could?-- ideally work less at night for much, much more money (and for the sake of realness, he is a peach when he's around..it's that being around part and need to make a living that get in the way)

more specifically, i need:

-to pee

-to let out my dog

-to take a nap

-companionship

-to feel like myself

-to be invited to things i would have been invited to pre-baby, even if there is no way in hell i will be able to attend

-some healthy food, chock full of vitamin b and omega 3's and iron (which the midwife reminds me is low, and that i really need to be getting if i am breastfeeding, along with an extra 500 calories a day MORE than i ate when i was pregnant)...and which last i checked are not contained within the wheat thins, panda black licorice, macaroni and cheese in the blue box or even the four day's worth of defrosted lasagna that i have been shoveling down.

-a glass of water (supposedly 8 ounces at every feeding session--ha!), the remote, my phone, the computer, and a comfy pillow within my reach when i sit down to breast feed

-conversation free of problem solving about how i am not sleeping, the drama in west virginia, other moms who are doing great or have overcome unimaginable obstacles, like having twins, or how antidepressants are nothing to be ashamed of and that maybe i am just a little bit low in the seratonin department and that they won't affect my breast feeding

-an apartment next door for my mom

-another car, or even a reliable car service

-spring time

-to feel normal again, upbeat, positive, loving towards everyone in my life and not just max

-to be told, by anyone in my life, "i am coming over and picking you up and wrapping you up in my little wing. we are going to get you out of your house and take you to my house where you will eat and rest. when you have had enough, i am taking you home. i won't take "no" for an answer. and don't worry about the fucking car seat-- i will deal with it. and we will be traveling by car and i won't pressure you to take the subway since i know you aren't ready for that yet.

or, we can stay at your place and i will not look at you funny or get all quiet or act like it is not annoying when max cries. it's annoying. i will leave you alone or i will take him, whatever you want. and when you're in the bedroom with him, i will chill or do your dishes or take out the biscuit or make you some tea...but i won't abandon you. i will stay, even if i just sleep in the next room. you can shut the door, but you are not alone. "

24/7 realness

one of the most fascinating attributes of my son, max (now age 8 weeks, 4 days) is his propensity for complete and utter realness. an 8 1/2 week old does not know how to be fake, he cannot yet be coerced into pleasing us, he doesn't do stuff just to be cute.

i am finding, then, that the adorable coos that come right after he sneezes, the dimpled smiles that greet me in the morning, the velvet painted child's eyes that hold my gaze in love and wonderment....they've hooked me with their sincerity, grace, and truth. i'm done.

on motherhood

as i lie with babe beside me in his bassinet, i pray for sleep...for it to wash over me. for now i sleep with one eye open, ear to the cradle, brain prattling off the SIDS checklist, trying to reassure me that he is safe (no loose bedding, on his back, plenty of air circulation)... and as i ponder this loss--the loss of sleep and the fear of ultimate loss-- i think of my more selfish loss, too.

it is amazing how pregnancy prepares us for this sacrificial loss. i feel like for the better part of a year my body has been training me for loss. and here he is. and with every wave of emotion that rushes over me, every intense morsel of lovey goodness, the tide seems to take a little piece of the old me back with it. the girl (and yes, even a thirty-four i would still tend to view myself as a warped seventeen year old, a little reckless, a girl who would hoard love) without so many cares, whose life she had designed as such that she could go out on a figurative school night without fearing how she would feel in the morning...

love is funny this way. try as i might, i find it impossible to focus on the now, without looking to the past, to what i could have been until now, to how i could have loved my own mother more (as she made her way to the terminal i could think only of her sacrifice, and of the hundreds of times i had disappointed her or not loved her back). i think of the future: will he ever need me as much as he needs me now? will he ever know this love i have for him? should he?