Hallmark Truths

The baby is sleeping. The house mutters the sounds of evening. My husband's slightly dirty feet are propped tiredly on the couch. The dogs wander aimlessly and settle in heaps of quiet. I sip my wine.

Peace.

Peace?

The dishwasher is half loaded. The family room is strewn with dog bones, train tracks, tiny loafers, and a miniature radio flyer. A giant teddy bear slumps in defeat next to some building blocks and a soccer ball. Tissues that were used to wipe a tiny nose sit in a discarded pile screaming to be thrown away.

I wonder if I should get up. Clean something. Straighten something. Have a meaningful conversation with my husband for the first time all day. Pet my dogs who are brushed aside in importance by a ball of running, laughing, demanding toddler. I contemplate opening a second bottle of wine. The dregs of the week-old bottle on the kitchen counter aren't quite satisfying enough.

I picture a Hallmark aisle of greeting cards. My imaginary hands open a pastel card. Italic letters say, "My Life is Full." I have no idea where this image comes from. What kind of greeting card would this be? But the cheesy, sappy words float through my head all day long.

I sit in my backyard, watching the leaves in the sunlight. My eyes are eased by the brilliant green grass and the patches of lavendar across stone. I take a sip of my coffee. Then I jump up, remembering. I chase this little being across the grass. Rescuing him from a million life-threatening "almosts." I corral the dogs in their puppyhood. I try to be creative with my son, when I really just want to read a book without interruption. I think, My Life is Full.

It's dinner time. I try to feed him healthy, delicious food and fail miserably and give him graham crackers and cheese. I eat my own food without tasting it and remember three hour meals where each bite is savored and discussed. I am amazed by his tiny hand balancing food on a tiny spoon. I catch my husband's eye. We don't really talk to each other. After the meal, I rinse the tray and think about dirty dishes. My Life is Full.

Bedtime. Little hands. Little mouth. Touching. Sucking. Entwined with me. I am mixed with overwhelming love and a burst of tenderness and the desire to escape into a moment of separation. I sing, I soothe him. I sit in the darkness and touch his hair. I want to scream in exasperation at the unfairness of mothers whose babies go to sleep without an hour long ordeal. He sleeps. I sit with him for a few more minutes. Just because. My Life is Full.

And now here I sit. I think I will open up that new bottle of wine. There is a tiny shovel sitting next to me, incongruous on the living room carpet, speckled with bits of sand. The room smells thick. That soccer ball, the one next to the teddy bear? He kicked it around the house today while we followed in amazement. And so, I am tired. But. My mental greeting card got it right. My Life is So Goddamn Full.

The "Art" of Weaning

Nursing. Breastfeeding. Feeding your baby from your body.

We got off to a rocky start. I cried. I hated it. I dreaded it. I didn't think I'd make it. But I got through it. (For those of you still in those difficult first weeks, I wrote a post about the things that helped me in the beginning). After I made it through the first six weeks, I set my goal at a year. But inwardly I knew I'd be ok with going only six months. At six months, I laughed at the idea of stopping right when we had a beautiful rhythm and I was in love with the ease and simplicity of breastfeeding (as a stay at home mom...to those of you who pump, I applaud you!). So I confirmed that I would breastfeed for a year. Then I would take a year off to "have my body back," before planning the second pregnancy.

Great. Wonderful. Now here we are. I have a one-year-old who still nurses day and night. It's time...right?

I'm going back to work for just two days a week. Whether I want to think about it or not, even those two days a week bring up the clear question of weaning. Weaning your baby is such a complicated thing. The meaning it has for each mother is intimate and unique to her. In fact, I'd go as far as to say it's private and should not be questioned. The why behind your choice to wean belongs to you. So, then, why do I not know my own feelings on this?

I used to crave the moment when I would have my "body back to myself." I always used that phrase. Like there was some part of my body I had given up. I don't feel that way anymore. Instead I feel that when I wean I am giving up a part of my body that is connected to him. A shared part of me.

But the coincidence of this with me going back to work is symbolic. Because being a stay at home mom has changed me. When I wrote a post about the Old Me, there was some wistfulness and yearning for that person. Have I simply buried her? Does she deserve a voice in this too? If I wean him, will I have a whiff of the old freedom that came with being a separate individual?

As always, I am a "middle ground" kinda girl. My plan in this is to night-wean sometime in the next month (yes, we co-sleep and he still nurses through the night) and to continue following his lead during the day. Already he is decreasing his day nursing to the point that my breasts are full and painful by the end of the day. He usually nurses before nap and before bedtime and maybe once in the late afternoon. Am I okay with that amount for another...six months? Another year? Maybe.

But then I think about our trip planned to Paso and Napa this January and I wonder, "Do I want to do that trip as a nursing mom? Where I weigh every drop of wine against my analytical, guilty conscience? Or do I want to do that trip as a separated person?"

I know at this stage that whatever choice I make will be okay for him. Is it good for him to continue getting breastmilk in the second year? Sure. But is it necessary? No, not really. He'll be fine physically and emotionally if I wean him. So then, this decision is not a rational one, but a relational, emotional decision. It's about me. It's about him. It's about us.

As I re-read this post all I see are rational, analytical words. Wasted words. Because I'm no closer to knowing what I want. So. I guess we will just see where this next stage takes us. And slowly, oh so slowly, begin to separate.

Any advice? Thoughts? When did you wean? What is your nursing goal? What will be your goal?

Here We Are, One Year Later

We made it to one year.

For the past 365 days I have been thinking about his First Year of life. I have thought in terms of weeks, months and This Year. But I haven't thought beyond today. I just wanted to get this far. Because, honestly, when he was born, getting through this first year seemed insurmountable. I couldn't imagine being an accomplished mother to this walking, laughing, joking, one-year-old toddler boy.

But here we are.

This post could be about Owen and all the marvelous things he can do. Because he is - marvelous. And he does a lot of amazing things. But that's not what this post is about.

Or it could be about his party and all of the adorable and creative touches I put into it. And it was - beautiful and perfect. I am so proud of him and the party and all that it symbolized. But that's not what this post is about either.

This post even could be about me and how I've changed as a woman and a mother and a human being. Because I have - he has changed me in so many deep and intrinsic ways. But this post is not even about that.

Instead this post is about those first few moments of his life. Because the way he was brought into this world was so traumatic, so intense, that I can feel the memory gripping my muscles as I write this. I spent today telling him how loved he is and how excited I was to meet him one year ago. And then I nursed my baby to sleep and kissed him good night and whispered Happy Birthday. Thirty minutes later, at 8:39, was the exact moment of his birth one year ago. And I felt myself rushed back to that moment. The moments before when I was absolutely sure I was going to die. The doctors and nurses yelling, my husband crying, me feeling oddly detached and just a strange acceptance. And then...the doctor cutting me, his heartbeat dropping, the unbearable pain of the vacuum being forced in...and then the amazing, shocking feeling of him sliding out of me.

I had no idea.

I had no idea.

I want to go back and shake myself and say, Savor this. Take this all in. Look at him. Hold in. No, don't put him down even for an instant. Enjoy these first few days with him. Just the three of you, alone in that hospital room. That quiet sanctuary where you spent the first few moments with him. Because I didn't understand. I was overwhelmed, traumatized, literally in shock and shaking from the the trauma of his birth. And that makes me angry with myself for not fully savoring every second of the resounding emotion of his newborn-ness. I miss it. I want to go back and relive it.

But how could I know? How could I know that this little tiny, beautiful baby with those deep eyes would become... everything? How could I know what a year with him would do to me? How could I understand in a hospital room filled with bright lights what motherhood really is? I just...didn't know.

And so here I am, at the anniversary of his birth, remembering. Paying homage to that moment. Being grateful for the blood and the pain and the emotion that was put forth so he could come out of me and into this world. Because I didn't get it then. I didn't understand.

But now I do.

A Day In Our Life

I've wanted to do one of these for awhile. Not sure why, because I don't know if anyone else really cares about the minute details of my day, but I always enjoy reading about others', so I decided it would be fun to try it out. I chose a day when we were home all day, nothing special planned, so you could get a sense of what it's like in the glamorous life of staying home with Owen. So here goes:

6:38 - The puppies downstairs wake up all three of us an hour before Owen usually gets up. In desperation, I tried to nurse Owen back to sleep. Failure. I lie in bed while Owen plays with the cat, in complete denial that I need to get up.

7:01 - I give up. Get out of bed.

7:10 - After getting myself dressed, I carry Owen downstairs to his room and change his diaper. He screams and fights me. I give him one of the letters from his name train, which he throws on the ground. This must be why his train now only says "Ow." I put his pjs back on over his clean diaper. Then I realize we have a playdate at our house today, so the house needs to be clean. Damn.

7:14 - I plop myself onto the couch in the playroom while Owen "plays Xbox" and I check FB. I'm probably winning some Lazy Mother of the Year Award here, but I figure he's up an hour early, so what the hell.

7:36 - I peel myself off the couch and give Owen some breakfast in his high chair while I frantically clean the kitchen.

7:47- Owen is done with his blueberry waffles and bananas, so I give him a fruit puree pouch so I can quickly finish up the kitchen. Again, really Desperate Parenting here. Owen, who isn't hungry any more and doesn't like pouches, makes modern art on his high chair tray.

8:01 - I start in on folding the three loads of laundry dumped all over the couch. Owen plays happily by himself. I am repeatedly interrupted to rescue the 8 week old puppy from the 4 month old puppy. The cat cries incessantly for no reason at all.

8:13 - I give River (the bigger puppy) a bone that smells awfully like a dead animal to keep her from tormenting tiny puppy and stop stealing all of Owen's toys. I give Owen a quick hug, then contemplate giving up on the damn laundry. Cat still crying for no reason.

8:16 - I am distracted by sheer adorableness as Owen tries to catch sunbeams on the wood floor.

8:20 - Owen is fussy and bored. Probably because he got up too damn early! I ask him if he wants to fold laundry. He declines by arching his back and falling to the floor.

8:21 - B comes out and gives me the tiny puppy (Red) in exchange for taking Owen. I take Red outside to go potty, then finish laundry super quick while B has O. I briefly feel excited, then discouraged when I realize I now have to put all of the folded laundry away.

8:26 - I bring the puppy in from outside. Immediately River starts harassing him. I am ravenously hungry, so I make B and I some breakfast while he plays with Owen in the office.

8:40 - I take Owen into his nursery to play while I eat my toast. Owen immediately steals some of mommy's toast. I watch him pull a piece out of his mouth, look at it, then put it back in. I wish this were acceptable behavior for adults.

8:44 - my mom calls on the phone.

8:50 - 2nd poopy diaper of the day. I finally get the baby dressed. He cries whole time in extreme protest.

8:57- I step in puppy poop on the floor and then almost fall on water River spilled from her water dish while going to clean up the poop. I drop Owen with B for a second so I can run to the bathroom. I realize this downstairs bathroom is out of toilet paper. I hear Owen fussing through the door. Grrr...woke up too early!

9:10 - We go play in the playroom. Exciting games like, "Let's take the necklace on and off over and over again!" Owen and River then play nicely together with a cat toy. I am amazed to see that Owen can correctly point to "Mickey's eyes" and "Mickey's nose" at least 80% of the time. He is a genius!

9:41 - I decide to give up on our one-nap schedule and take Owen up for an early "first nap" because he is so fussy.

9:54 - After a brief nursing session, Owen seems completely revived by breastmilk and boobtime. Give up on naptime. Back to playroom. The puppies are playing nicely together for once.

10:11 - The highlight of my day...my sister arrives with Starbucks! No pic. I drank it.

10:30 - The dog trainer from the Invisible Fence company shows up to train River on "How Not To Be Shocked By the Invisible Fence."

11:15 - I contact my business partner and make final decisions about our logo and business cards. Yay!

11:30 The mail arrives. I unpack one of Owen's birthday presents. He notices, points, and says "Ooooo!!" I crumble, and give him his present a month early. I cry watching him play with such a grown up toy. A toy that is for his 1st birthday. A toy I picked out for him and he is now obsessed with.

11:50 - Ok, damnit, it's nap time. I have to wrestle the toy away from him. All out tantrum ensues.

12:00 - I turn on soft music, get in bed with him, and read him stories while we cuddle. The tantrum moment turned into a sweet moment. He is asleep ten minutes later.

1:27 - I waste the whole nap time on relaxing things like eating lunch, playing on my phone, and reading my book. I feel happy and content and the cat sits and purrs on my feet. In other words, I get nothing done.

2:00 - Owen wakes up. I put him in his highchair and feed him lunch while I frantically (again) finish cleaning.

2:30 - Mom friend and her baby arrive for playdate.

4:09 - Guests leave and Owen goes to socialize with his daddy and auntie in the office.

4:28 - Snack time.

4:54 - It's cooled off enough to go outside. Owen, River and I go out and enjoy the backyard. We play with the water table, play with sticks, and all around get dirty. I vacillate between feeling so happy my son is playing in nature and being on alert for all possible dangers (snakes! sharp rocks! little rocks to eat!).

5:26 - Our furniture gets delivered from Ethan Allen!

5:57 - Owen briefly nurses. He's really ready to drop feedings.

6:10 - I start chopping garlic for dinner.

6:15 - B comes out and asks if I want to go on a walk. We load up baby and puppies for a short neighborhood walk.

6:42 - Back to chopping veggies.

7:10 - Dinner time. Owen avoids everything but fruit. As usual.

7:36 - B takes Owen for a bath. The pets are fed, dinner is put away, I have nothing to do but relax.

8:03 - I nurse Owen in his nursery.

8:15 - He's asleep.

8:29 - The best part of my evening. I have a big glass of wine, Grey's Anatomy, a bag of candy corn, puppy in lap, and a husband to cuddle with. Heaven.

10:00 - I get into bed to put this blog post together.

10:41 - Good night!

Just A Kid

Before I had a baby I had all sorts of thoughts about parenthood that I would never say out loud. Things like, "Oh well, she's just a stay at home mom..." or "He's just a kid, nothing special..." I didn't mean anything hurtful, I just didn't put a whole lot of stock into pictures of other people's kids or the importance of "little things," like a toddler learning how to run. No big deal if your children just learned how to do a cute little dance....'Cus you know, he's "just a kid."

I knew I would love my child and I knew I would love being a mom. But I had NO idea how much it would take my silly, stupid little thoughts and crush them into a million pieces. There is no such thing as "just a kid." Because for every kid, there is a mom. A mom who loves the curve of his neck. A mom who watches him sleep. A mom who devours every little thought he has. He cannot possibly be "just a kid." He is so much more. His eyelashes tell her stories. His smiles gift her his happiness. His tiny hands paint beauty into her tired face. His nonchalance as he plops into her lap teaches her contented stillness.

This is not "just a kid." At least, not to her.

Slow Learner Mom

A few months back, my Dad said something to me that I just couldn't get out of my head.

"You know, you've really become comfortable in your role as a mother. In the beginning, I wasn't sure, but now I see how comfortable you are in that role."

I realize he meant this as a kind observation, but my analytical, negative mind just couldn't avoid noting the connotation that, in the beginning, he wasn't sure. So I asked my sister: what did she think? She said, "Well, you know, the beginning is hard for everyone..." Hmm. That sounds like an elusive way of saying I was a hot mess. I asked my husband, who said, "Well you always knew the baby-stage would be hard for you. I just think it was harder on you than on me. But now you're doing awesome."

Wait. What? So did everyone think I was a complete failure during the first months of my baby's life?

I think back on those first six weeks. To say they were "a blur" sounds cliche, but it's true. I don't remember what I thought, what I did, what I wore, what the baby wore, what the weather was like...it was a blur. I had just had an extremely traumatic birth and then was struggling intensely with breastfeeding. I was in tears more often than not and was doing my best to suddenly be a mom. Was I doing the best job I could do? If I'm honest, no...not really. I was just getting through it. I was holding him. I was changing him. I was talking to him. I was nursing him through bleeding nipples. So, yeah, I kept him alive. And I loved him. I loved him because he was our baby and he was a miracle and his little eyes pierced into my soul. But was I doing the BEST JOB I could do? Was I cooing over him in amazement every second? Was I overwhelmed with happiness from everything that he did? Was I delighting in hold him every single second?

Deep breath. I'm going to be totally honest. The answer to these questions is No. In the first six weeks, I was just getting through. Getting through by the skin of my teeth. Nursing him with my teeth gritted in pain and then passing him off to sleep in his swing so I could...I don't know, breathe? Try to process what had just happened to my life? And typing these words makes me want to instantly delete them because doesn't that mean I'm not a Good Mother? But I'm not going to delete them. It's what I felt. I look back on his newborn pictures and I am amazed by him and I melt in love and adoration, but deep down, there is a guilty feeling because...I hardly remember those days. Like I said, it's a goddamn blur.

After the first six weeks, it got better. The pain of breastfeeding subsided. The trauma of the birth faded somewhat. And I fell more and more in love with him. Now I did cherish every second of holding of him. I stroked his head in amazement while he napped on my chest. All of that new-baby-stuff that for the first six weeks didn't happen as much as it should have in the first six weeks because I was a catatonic invalid.

But was I a Good Mother in the first six months? Well the truth is, back then, I was still resenting the role somewhat. I had decided to be a stay at home mom. I was lonely. I hated housecleaning. I hated not getting dressed in real clothes or not having the time to take a shower. I felt jealous of people who could have "time to themselves." So even though I was completely in love with my baby and I was giving him everything he needed and more, I still couldn't wear the Mother Role with ease.

After those first six months, the shoe fit. Now, a month away from one year, the shoe is like a second skin. So ask me now if I'm a Good Mother? The answer is HELL YES.

But in the beginning? Truth be told? I was just doing the goddamn best I could. I think what my family was gently trying to say is, the role didn't come as easily to me as it does to some. I wasn't able to jump in selflessly. Instead I blearily had to find my way around and then figure out how to be this new person without feeling angry about the things I was giving up. And don't get me wrong. I wasn't resenting my baby. I wasn't doing anything wrong and he wasn't lacking in any way. In fact, if you were watching from the outside, you would say I was doing it all right. But, that little elusive thing that my family all noticed was...I think I just had a bit of a slower learning curve than some.

So, to all you Slow Learner Mom's out there - It's ok. Do the best you can. Love your babies. Love yourself. Give them what they need. And ask for what you need too. Figure out how to be the Mom you are. And don't hate yourself if it doesn't come to you immediately.

Introducing the New to the Old

Out of the blue...here is a random post from me to you:

We went to Los Angeles last week and stayed the night. We stayed only a few blocks from our old house. We've been gone six months now and I was shaken by that brush with the Old Me. Before we moved to San Diego, I was still straddling two worlds. I was reeling from the shift to mommyhood and the introduction of this entirely new being into our world. BUT I was prepared to go back to work and try to integrate. Instead, we up and moved and I completely left the Old Me behind. When we drove into LA, I didn't expect to miss her so much.

The Old Me worked hard - 60+ hours a week - and loved it. She was a Psychologist. That was first and foremost in her identity. Followed closely by Wife. She lived mostly for herself, then husband, then family, then friends. That order. She was "put together." Each morning she would slide into her Range Rover, check her makeup, hair and outfit in the mirror, throw her expensive bag on the (clean!) seat beside her, flip on NPR, sip her coffee and take off for her hour commute to work. Once arrived at work, she would slide into her "Doctor" role and feel happy with where she was in life. On the evenings and weekends she would enjoy good wine and expensive restaurants. Peppered throughout...fun vacations and gorgeous hotels. But oh my god, it was a lot of work. Literally. Work, work, work, GASP for air, more work. FUN, fun, fun and then more work. I felt like I was waiting. I was always dreaming about what Life Would Be in the future. Planning and dreaming about something else.

I didn't expect to miss some of this. But I did. I missed feeling pretty and put together. I missed being a therapist/teacher/mentor/doctor. I miss helping my clients and their families. I missed long dinners and enjoying bottles of wine. Or hours spent talking with friends. I guess, to be honest, I missed life being about Me.

I also missed the excitement. The hoping and waiting and planning. I remember when we lived at our house in Venice that I spent most of the time there either being excited about my job or being excited about getting pregnant or being excited about Baby coming. Always living in the possibilities of the future. Planning my career. Planning how to become a mother. Planning the nursery. Planning, dreaming, waiting... It was exciting!

But now? The New Me is (obviously) different. The New Me lives for Baby, Husband, Me, family, and sometimes friends. The New Me slides into the same Range Rover that is covered now in a layer of dirt from the dusty roads we live on. I drop my new bag (anniversary gift) that is a slightly less expensive purse/diaper bag onto a seat littered with diapers, puffs, and old coffee lids. I am usually heading to a playdate, grocery store, or park. I have nowhere specific to be. I don't check myself in the mirror because...why would I? I am not a doctor/teacher/mentor to students, but I am a mommy/teacher/guide to my son. I have finally figured out how to wear this role with no awkwardness, resentment, or frustration. My sidekick comes with me in life and he keeps me grounded in the Now.

I don't plan anymore. I am living my dreams. Literally. We bought a house. A beautiful, Spanish-style home with dark floors, white walls, and Mexican tile touches. We have two acres of land, fencing for horses in my future, beautiful oak trees, a wonderful neighborhood and a beautiful pool surrounded by palm trees. We have our cat, a new German Shepherd Puppy, and another puppy on the way. We take our family for walks in the evening when the heat melts into warmth and I don't worry or stress. I just live this moment.

So yes. I am happy. I am settled. I am content. I am no longer living in a desperate race to work hard and get ahead and get to the next step. But that doesn't mean I don't miss it sometimes. That doesn't mean I don't miss having my hair styled and my eyebrows waxed and my toenails painted and....well, the Old Me. But I know that the Old Me was really just rushing to meet New Me. So, Hello New Me. Introduce yourself to the world.

And how do I know she's around to stay? Well because, as Owen approaches one year (Ahhh!), I am working to integrate in small bits of the Old Me that I miss. I have started horseback riding again and now know that I will own my own horses when the time is right. I have found a business partner, rented a space in a medical complex, and am going to open my own small therapy and assessment practice part time. They say that we shouldn't rush the return from postpartum. With all the pressure to "bounce back in six weeks," I think we forget that this is not just about a physical recovery or even an adjustment to motherhood. I believe it will take me a year to completely figure out who I want to be now. Who I can be within the realm of this new life. And also, it has taken me almost a year and a bit of retrospection to appreciate all that the New Me has to offer. I guess sometimes you need a brush with the Old just to say Hello.

And that's my update. Hope you all are well!