Baby Bobble Head

I don't think I've mentioned this here yet, but babyjama is walking. It was three weeks ago today that she took her first tenuous steps, and now she's off and running. I never really paid much attention to how funny babies look when they're learning to walk, but I have to keep from laughing every time I see that ginormous melon of a head (which seems entirely too large for her feet) coming down the hall toward me.

The most entertaining (and scary) part is watching her "steer" herself. She seems to point her head in whatever direction that she wants to go, and it's all her chubby little legs can do to keep up. We've had a few near misses with her running into the wall head first, and some bullseye hits with her ramming herself full speed into couches and chairs. I guess the age of bruises has begun. Just today she ran head first into an overstuffed recliner. There seriously have to be only two or three places that you could hurt yourself on that chair, but she has the purple bruise on her forehead to prove that it can be done.

In fact, She's an expert at the art of getting hurt on seemingly innocuous objects. Just yesterday I turned around for a second to put some dishes in the sink and heard her bang into the trashcan. I figured that that was the source of the hurt cry, but a few hours later, I was inspecting her fingers a little more closely and found that somehow the mishap with the trashcan had cut her finger. I have no clue how that happened.

But to get back to the walking thing, it's ridiculous to watch this little tiny thing walk around like she thinks she's a big person, and the only thing that cracks me up more is when she then opens her mouth and says something. "Stop" is the latest new word, but the way she says "Hi" blows me away. She sounds like a little girl when she says it, but I always need a double take because she looks much too tiny to be so grown up. Papajama says that she'll always look much too little to us. I know he's right.

Anybody else need a double take when they look at their kids these days?

Another green post, but of a different kind

I'm green with envy. I've been getting very involved with one of my Mom's groups over the past few months, and we've been taking turns meeting at each other's houses. Yesterday we met at a Mom's house close by, and I have to say that her house is freaking immaculate. Her sofas have beautifully simple pillows on them, with matching covers on the seats in her dining room. The whole house has shiny, spotless, wood floors, except for the kitchen that has cool toned ceramic tile. Even the nursery is just so with it's car motif and colorful storage baskets.

I know that she's a busy mom. She has a 3 year old, is about to pop with her second, takes care of the house, volunteers, and works part time from home. But their house is nicely landscaped, with flowers in all shades of purple lining the steps up to their front door. Even their deck on the back of the house is clean. You could actually sit on their patio furniture without cleaning it off first. What's up with that?

When people come to my house I clean up, but let's face it, some stuff gets shoved into a room and that door stays closed. That's my secret to not letting people see my mess. It's not terribly clever, but it works in a pinch.

So as she was standing in her kitchen, making iced tea and setting out snacks for everyone, I asked her. How do you do it? How do you get your house to look like this and do all of the things that you do? She told me that her son helps out a lot, and that her husband helps around the house too. I wanted to grill her some more and ask just how many hours a week she spends on her hands and knees scrubbing that floor, but everyone else arrived. I will be keeping my eye on her though...Seriously I want to know. Has she given up sleep? Does the TV never go on? Does she not cook? Does she live in some kind of time warp where she has endless time during the day? Maybe she'd let me job shadow...Hey, it doesn't hurt to ask.

The green thumb of death

It's been a long time since I updated you on the status of our garden. To be perfectly honest, that's because the garden was not doing so well. You see, we planted the seeds in a layer of woodchips, and the wood chips started breaking down, using too much nitrogen.....yada yada yada, you don't care about this part do you?

So the plants started growing, and then turned yellow and shriveled and died. It was very depressing. Our entire backyard was overgrown with all sorts of grass and weeds, and the only brown piece of turf was our "garden". Yep that's embarrassing. So a couple of weekends ago, we fertilized. Yes, we're still organic gardeners, because we used completely organic fertilizer made from an extremely stinky substance made from fish feces. It's an especially stinky substance when your dog decides to roll in it, and you can't get that stench out of your carpet...but that's a story for another time.

We have since replanted, and our hot summer crops seem to be doing well. We're growing tomatillo tomatoes (the green tomatoes in green salsa), regular tomatoes, green beans, cucumbers, and zucchinis. One of my greatest joys these days is going out to water the garden. We have a soaker hose buried out there, but I can't help but like to go out and spray the garden with the misting nozzle. It's so cool to see the soil drink up the water, and see the leaves perk up and stretch out as they receive all the nutrients that they need. The tomatillos are blooming now, and have a few lanterns on them. I'm dreaming of the cool and tangy salsa that I'll be making in the next couple of weeks.

It's such a relief to see something flourishing like this. A few months ago, I started raising red wiggler worms since we didn't have enough kitchen waste for a compost pile. The worms flourished for a few weeks, and then I fed them something with salt in it, and they all died (who knew that worms didn't like salt? Apparently everyone but me.) Next we had the early disaster with the garden, and most recently I killed a petunia plant in less than a week. I was feeling a bit like the thumb of death rather than like a green thumb, so it feels good to have something going well.

Speaking of the thumb of death, my computer is on the fritz. Hopefully I'll be able to get it fixed soon, but until then, no pictures of the garden to share.

The uncoolness of gawky

Recent happenings in my life have reminded me of some painful times in my pre-teen and early teen years. When I was in eighth grade I got a summer job working at a children's camp as a "junior guide". It was probably one of the funnest (I know that's not a word) times of my life. The very first day I met the girl who would become my best friend for the next couple of years. She was a wiry tomboy type with long fiery red hair. We hit it off immediately, and decided then and there that we would tent together for the summer. The nights were filled with us talking and laughing among the sounds of the New Mexico mountains. We hiked together and found new trails. We complained about our rigid bosses. Compared our budding bodies. Shared and traded clothes. Snuck into the kitchen for midnight snacks. And discussed the possibilities for budding romances. Seriously, it was heaven.

It was sad when we parted ways at the end of camp, but we vowed to keep in touch by writing letters. She was much better at the letter writing than I was, but we kept up as best we could. You see, she was attending the 3ho boarding school in India, and I was being schooled at home. Two summers later, my family's situation had completely changed, and my sister and I had the opportunity to attend the boarding school ourselves. For me, the decision to go was very much influenced by the fact that I would be reunited with my red-headed friend. We hadn't been writing as often as we'd liked, but I knew that wouldn't matter once we were reunited.

I still remember running into her at the LAX airport, and feeling shy. We were about to fly overseas in a group of around 50 kids ranging in age from 8-17. I'd never been outside the United States, and I'd never been away from my parents for so long, in fact, before flying into LA that afternoon, I'd never even been on a plane. My friend seemed like a pro. She knew everyone. She was talking to and hugging everyone. I just felt like a doofus...My clothes were all wrong, I felt gawky and awkward, I wanted to go home. I told myself everything would be better when I got settled in. Maybe Red and I would even be able to room together...After all, when we stopped in Malaysia, she and I shared a hotel room.

A couple of weeks into the school year, I noticed that I was continually seeking out her company, and every few minutes I could hear myself ask her what was wrong, if she were mad at me, etc. This was usually met by eye rolling and that sniff/snort that teenagers have perfected over the past few centuries. My hopes of rooming together had been dashed early on, but we were in adjacent rooms...and that seemed good. However, Red seemed to have found another friend. They laughed and ran and played together (which to me seemed completely immature since we were now in HIGH SCHOOL). They would yell back for me to come along, but never actually included me in their games. It was below my dignity to screech and run and carry on like that anyway (at least that's what I told my third wheel self).

I felt like such a chump. How could I have expected to retain best friend status after all that time that we'd spent apart? I quit chasing her then. It was too painful to hang around but never be part of the jokes. I made new friends. I hung out with my roommates and my sister. Other people started to think I was funny. It was at that point that Red came around. At the time I was just relieved to have her back, but now that I think about it, I think that me being "uncool" had something to do with her not wanting to hang out with me. She and I remained friends for a few more years...but it was from afar. It's not possible to replicate a perfect summer friendship.

These days I feel like a third wheel again. This time it's not quite as simple to stop the chasing cycle. Because these relationships are of a long term nature, I feel an obligation to keep the relationships friendly. That is partly easy because the people that I'm interacting with are genuinely fun people. The strange thing is that right when I feel like things are going great, a wall goes up unexpectedly. I keep accidentally slamming into that wall, and it's making me a little jumpy and a little crazy. Criticisms come out as compliments, jokes have mean little snares in them, looks have many meanings, and comments about my daughter are sometimes barbed, but said in a sing-song voice. It's the covert warfare of women. It's damaging, it's ruthless, but subtle.

I don't want to be labeled as the destroyer of the relationship, but I fiercely want to protect myself and my family. It is not in my nature to be friendly but not truly be friends. In my life I have those who are close to me, those who are not, and those that I don't know well enough to fit into either camp. I feel disoriented in these current relationships, because one moment I feel as though we have reached true friendship level, and the next I feel like an annoying tag-along...or worse. My normal advice to someone, including myself would be to talk it out. However, just as in the case of my childhood friend, bringing the issues into the open just brings about denial.
I mostly feel out of my element, and that's what reminds me of my adolescence. I feel weird, and shy. It's a painful regression for me since I think of myself as so beyond that point. So here I am, sitting here waiting for a genuinely friendly smile, but I don't expect it because I'm gawky and uncool.

Look at me! Look at me!

Yes my friends, this post is partially a shameless plug for you to go check out my Green Mama Interview. About a month ago, one of my Work it, Mom! friends (Meg a.k.a. earthmama) e-mailed and asked if I would be willing to do an interview about what our family does to be green to post on her website. Excitedly, I agreed right away. Woo Hoo! Someone thinks I'm cool like that!...Yes those were pretty much my exact thoughts. So in the glory of the moment I lost sight of the fact that I think of myself as pretty ordinary.

Anyway, so when I sat down to write, the whole thing seemed a little intimidating. The cursor just blinked behind the question "How do you practice conservation at home?" "We recycle dot dot dot". So after feeling lame for a while...I made up a complete lie...just kidding, it just took me a while to remember all the things that we do. At first that made me feel kind of upset (afterall I am the founder of the "Greenies" group at Work it, Mom!), but then I realized that it was hard for me to think of all the things that we do to help the environment that are just second nature. Phew, for a second I thought I was going to actually have to DO something.

The whole experience led me to really check out Meg's website, The Earth Friendly Shoppe. I had been to her uber-cool environmentally friendly website before, but hadn't had time to really peruse it. I'm really excited about the stainless steel water bottles that she sells, and the bar soaps, not to mention the absolutely posh purses (I drooled a little). Anyway, I've got it filed away for my next gift giving event (even if that event is me). I hope you'll go check her out, and while you're there, go read my interview.

Lemon with a dash of salt

Today is the day. My baby is a one year old, and I can't believe she's gotten so big so fast. Her grandparents are coming for a visit from out of town for her small family birthday party tomorrow, so this morning we were doing some cleaning and listening to music. Since we almost always listen to papajama's music, I thought it would be a nice change to put on some Julieta Venegas. She's a mexican artist who I was introduced to when I studied abroad in Guadalajara during college. So I put on her "Limon y sal" album (see title of post).

Babyjama and I twirled around the living room, my still damp hair flowing out behind me and her shrieking with delight. At that moment, the chorus of the song hit me in a way that it never has before. The words are something along the lines of:

No voy a llorar y decir
que no merezco esto
porque es probable que
lo merezco...

Roughly translated that's "I'm not going to cry and say that I don't deserve this, because in all probability, this is exactly what I deserve, but it's not what I want." Okay, the song is about a woman leaving her lover. Not exactly pertinent to me feeling torn between the happiness of babyjama coming into the world, and sadness about it not going down the way I wanted it to. However, this is what I'm taking away from the whole thing. I continue to feel self pity, and try and separate the event as if there's one part happiness, one part sadness. The truth is that the whole experience was a jumble. Completely tied up together not in a neat little package, but in raw emotion...some of which I don't want to allow in. I want to leave the bad and only feel the good. Except that trying to shake off those depressing feelings of worthlessness makes me dwell on them more. It erases the whole picture, and all I have left is insolent, futile anger, sadness, fear.

Yesterday, Papa-G and I had a conversation, and he was telling me about a recent incident with their bank. Long story short, the bank had acted inappropriately, the situation ended with personal information being leaked to my father's estranged family. He told me that when this happened he was furious, and kept dwelling on those feelings of anger. He then said that he went into himself and just allowed himself to "turn the page". Something is getting worked out with the bank to make sure nothing like this happens again, but Papa-G doesn't think that would have been possible if he hadn't turned the page.

So there I was, dancing with babyjama, happy and carefree. As the song played, I started taking the chorus to heart. No voy a llorar y decir que no merezco esto--I'm not going to cry and say that I don't deserve this. That idea hurt at first. How could I deserve this pain, and then I took another look at the whole jumbled picture, and realized that the amount of pain in relationship to the amount of joy has been miniscule. Porque, es probable que lo merezco--because in all probability, this is exactly what I deserve. I earned and deserve every bit of that pain, but I also earned and deserve every bit of the happiness that has come with it.

I often go back to an interview that I saw with Jamie Lee Curtis. She said about parenthood "Nothing could ever be this worthwhile without being this hard". I don't think it would be possible to enjoy the fruits of parenthood as much if there weren't glaring obstacles in the way.

Papajama asked me this morning if I would be willing to retell the story of babyjama's birth to her every year the way his mom had done with him. I said that absolutely I would. I am proud of her birth. It's an epic tale, and it has the happiest ending imaginable. I definitely won't be leaving out the hard parts though...afterall, the reason it was so hard was because we wanted the absolute best start for our precious girl, and sometimes that's not easy to come by.

Happy Birthday little girl!

Plans? Ha! Get a Life...

...that's what I feel like the universe is telling me today. I had the best laid plans to work dilligently in the morning, straighten up the house for this afternoon, and have some time to relax this evening.

This is what's actually happening. This morning there is no such thing as a morning nap, so this also means that there is no such thing as morning working. I try to be flexible, so I figure I can follow babyjama around the house, and tidy up around her. We are having fun, her chewing on great literature, and me making the bed, and putting together loads of laundry. Then comes the eye rubbing and the tell-tale falling down that means that a nap is impending. So we snuggle up in our crisp new sheets. Just as the eyelids begin to sink down for the last time, I catch a whiff. All mothers know that smell. It means that it's time for a diaper change that just can't wait (when she had time to fill her britches without me noticing is beyond me).

So two loads of laundry and one diaper change later, she is back to wild playing while I scrub my hands and under my fingernails (I really should rethink the length of my nails). Only this time there is no chewable literature to be found, and the alternative is to quickly dump out the dog water 5 times before Mama can stop her (Mama must not be very smart to keep putting it down there).

So now, 3 more loads of laundry later, we're back to where we began...only this time babyjama is naked, as all of her clothes are in the wash. Babyjama is now determined to prove to me that she has no idea what a nap is and does not want to find out. After much playing, and crying about where the retractable measuring tape goes when it retracts, she's finally ready to lay down in Mama's lap.

So here we are back in the office, nursing in the recliner. She's almost asleep when the sound of shattering glass breaks the silence...That would be all mamajama's fault as she was the one who accidentally nudged papajama's sailboat off of the trunk with her elbow.

Again, we're back to where we started...

Bittersweet

Friday will be the anniversary of one of the happiest, scariest, saddest days of my life. In the run-up to this anniversary, life is going on around me, and I'm a lot nostalgic, and a little preoccupied. The anniversary that I'm speaking of is the date of my child's birth, but it was also the day of my c-section, and the day that she was wisked up to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit).

Everyday this week, I wake up, and the house smells the same as it did that week. Something about the smell of the trees in full leaf, the humidity, and our musty basement mingles together, and it reminds me of the last week of my pregnancy and the first few days of babyjama's life. Don't get me wrong, there's unbelievable happiness as papajama and I recount those events to babyjama each morning. "Good morning sweetie, one year ago today was the day that we learned that you might be breach".

And as I write this post, this is the exact time that we were hearing that news. My care provider had been worried about my blood pressure for weeks, and on this particular night she told me that if she didn't strip my membranes then we would need to make other plans (beyond the lovely water birth that I had envisioned). With what felt like her entire arm reaching in to separate the amniotic sac from my cervix, she uttered the words that I didn't want to hear "This feels like a butt". Of course we confirmed this news the next day, and quickly put a plan of action into place.

But the truth was that the damage was done. In hindsight, I can think of a thousand things that I could have done differently, that may or may not have changed the outcome, but nonetheless this week is a constant reminder. Tonight I was having a conversation with my parents about the subject, and Papa-G abruptly had to leave the room. Mama-G and I had a moment where I could tell that the memory of the fear was not so distant for her either. Her baby was cut open a year ago Friday. She then chose to acompany me back to my room while my husband and father accompanied the then nameless and helpless babyjama to her chamber of tubes and wires. She told me that as she waited for news during my surgery, that she kept saying "Why is this happening to my baby?"

We are non-medical people. All of my sisters and I were born at home. The hospital was the scary place for us. None of us had ever had major surgery, in fact it was my very first time in a hospital as a patient. There is no way for me to put into words the trauma that it was for this to be our experience. I'm not trying to be overly dramatic. We were very calm outwardly, and honestly it was a matter of being in crisis mode...stay placid to insure that you are able to deal with the next problem.

When I saw babyjama for the first time, she was being held out to me by some faceless nurse. She was winking and sticking her tongue out. I had been waiting so long for that moment, but I'd never pictured it that way. I had pictured getting to cuddle her immediately, knowing that I HAD DONE IT. I've heard that many women feel invincible after their birth, like superwoman. That is what I had wanted, how I wanted my daughter to see me for the first time. But there I was instead, at my most vulnerable, naked, organs exposed, shaved, with sterile people around me discussing what they would do for dinner, and congratulating each other.

They say that when a baby is born so is a mother, but they never had a c-section. By the time they finished stitching me up, babyjama was already on her way to the NICU. They wheeled me, my empty belly, and my shaking body back to my room. The minutes ticked into hours as I asked every over and over to be taken to see her. "Soon" was the answer. Always "soon". Never "now". Finally, I was taken to be at her side. I held her and kissed her and nursed her. Everything was going to be just fine, but wait "You're doing it wrong...you need to leave...get some sleep...we'll let you know how she is".

How is it possible to rest when your second heart, the heart that began it's beating inside you is not within reach? How will she get better without the sound of my heart? Why am I not good enough? Why don't I work? Why don't they get it? The looks I receive tell me I'm silly, naive, and just maybe had a little too much of those drugs.

You may be saying that it all worked out. You may be thinking that I'm a whiner, with no business feeling sorry for herself. You wouldn't be the first to think (or say) so. I allowed details of the birth story to be posted on ParentDish. I thought it would be therapeutic. It was not.

Maybe there is something naive about me. I wanted to have that huge superwoman surge at the end. As the days go by, more and more of them make me feel super, but every battle has been hard fought. I was hoping to start out with a boost of confidence after hours of labour, but instead I had to pool all my strength after babyjama's emergence, because the mother bear in me took some time to emerge herself. There is obviously a happy ending to this tale, but there were some sad parts too, and I'm giving myself permission to feel both the joy and the pain.

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Hot-Pocketitis?

I'm in a rather Zen place today...Well in between my manic sessions of checking my e-mail that is. I'm glad to say that I seem to have recovered quite well since my last post. Anyway, the Zenness, seems to be telling me to take one thing at a time, and it will all work out. That's rather convenient since I just applied for a writing gig at about.com (which also explains the manic e-mail checking). The idea just fell in my lap. I happened to come across the guide site of Linda Lowen, and left a comment. Hours later I found myself feverishly searching for a sample good enough to get my foot in the door to be accepted into their training program (thanks for the help Linda). Think what you like about the fullness of my plate, but I'm sticking with, it was meant to be.

Our otherwise domestic blissfulness is being interrupted by a not so pleasant experience at the moment. Papajama has what we're calling Hot-Pocketitis + vomiting, which apparently got to our uber-sensitive pup, since he's been retching everywhere too. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you need to go watch this YouTube clip. Anyway, he's home from summer school for the day(papajama, not the dog), sprawled out on the couch (well as sprawled out as you can be on a love seat). But, thanks to all the excitement last night, I'm kicking things into overdrive. I've almost completed my to do list for the day.

Work it, Mom!-- check
stinky putrid laundry-- check
refresh e-mail 50 more times-- check
babyjama naps-- check
babyjama bath-- check
blog-- check
shower for self-- status pending
shop for much needed food-- check
tidy livingroom for guests tomorrow-- requires immediate attention

There you have it, somehow it's all working out...see told you I was Zen.

Second guessing, and third guessing...

...You get the picture. I've been struggling with something rather personal the past few days, and what a great way to deal with it...I'll let the entire internet in on it. The thing is, that I've been worried that I'm trying to do too much. A couple weeks ago, I told you that I had a plugged duct in my breast, and the first line that basically every source says in treating such a thing is "This may be the first sign that you're doing too much." Granted, this was at a time when the sky seemed to be falling. We had graduations, and operations, and work, and all sorts of things going on. So after resting and trying out different treatments, I and my breast healed right up.

But the "you may be doing to much" thing stuck in my head. I'm a homemaker who works part time at home. The thing is though that I want to have it all. I want to have a really cozy home, with great meals, tons of quality time with babyjama, a successful and fulfilling part time job/business, money for extras, plus have time for the organizations that I belong to. Last week it got to the point that I felt like a deer in the headlights. Babyjama was napping, and I felt like I had absolutely no idea how to prioritize. Should I work on the mountain of laundry? Or maybe the dishes? What about that e-mail that needs to go out? What about my weekly responsibilities for Work it, Mom!? What about the reading that I need to complete for one of my organizations? What about the blog? How about a nap (afterall you haven't slept much lately)? What about working on some bids for some new translation projects? And I only have 45 minutes? It felt like trying to save the world in less than an hour. At this point, I can't even tell you what I worked on during that nap, but the whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth.

What am I supposed to cut out? I feel really strongly about being right here for babyjama in these early years. Day care is absolutely not even a consideration for me. Maybe that's snobbish for me, but a very good friend and mentor tells me often that "We parent the best way we know how for the time we're in." I can't imagine anyone else giving babyjama the kind of care that I give to her (even though I have worked in two different, and wonderful day care settings).

So with that off the table, we could cut out housework. I guess this is plausible that my husband and I could work on housework together in the evenings and on weekends (that's mostly what we do right now), but sometimes I get so sick and tired of that being our "quality" time together in the evenings. That's when I start saying things like, "leave the dishes, let's just hang out, and I'll do them tomorrow"...which leads us back to the original scenario.

I suppose that I could cut down on working. Also somewhat plausible. I really do enjoy what I do. Also, another benefit of working even part time is that I don't have a long gap in my resume, plus I am making some wonderful business contacts and friends (let's not forget about friends). Plus there's the money...the money is pretty nice...not that I make a lot, but it's good to have that extra wiggle room every month, and I don't know how I could possibly find anything more flexible...it really is amazing.

My organization involvement...I really want to take this off the negotiation table too. I absolutely love the Mom's organization that I belong to. It's absolutely the highlight of my week. It's something that I do just for me, because it expands my mind, and I get to help others. I would be so so so sad to give it up, but I guess if I had to I could.

Blogging? but it doesn't take up that much time...really. I spend very short amounts of time on here a day...if I even blog once a day...I really don't want to give up something that I get so much satisfaction out of, but I guess it could be on the chopping block if it really came down to it...but man that would suck.

So there you have it, that's the dilemma that came up this past week. Oh and the kicker is...my plugged duct is back...that's right. So this looks like an issue that I can't just put on the back burner and forget about (wouldn't that be nice?). I'll let you know what I come up with...unless I decide to just ignore the whole thing until the right side of my torso explodes.