A Nobody

I want to write. But maybe more honestly, I want to matter. I feel like mattering means I have to be heard, and therein lies the desire to write.   My conundrum is so often what to write about. I have written numerous essays and articles- published and unpublished that I was extremely proud of, that I felt like meant something and made a difference. Here is one of the most poignant.   But for all the other prose...or lack of it....      

When you have nothing to write, does it mean you have nothing to share that matters?  I battle myself, recognizing a talent that is mostly dormant and arguably atrophying. How do I force it? How do I create habit, hoping to evolve it into meaningful content.

I feel like I am wasting away. I thought, at one time in my life, that I had a very specific calling. That I was put on earth to accomplish a meaningful, lofty, and worthwhile endeavor. Like an elusive dream you can't quite recollect, however, I never could quite grasp what that calling looked like.  What exactly am I here for?   It's not just this. I know it isn't. What I have is--by any standards--a great life. But I'm supposed to do more. I'm meant for more. I was created for something different. Will it be found through prose on paper or is that simply an outlet to describe something wholly new?  Will I ever find it?

The world beckons

 

There is very little like watching my 7 mo. old boy mesmerized by the world around him. It beckons and pulls, pushing him to challenge the very limits of his tiny body and demand more from his burgeoning mind. He's ready to take it by storm.

I Need A Manual

How in heaven's name did new mom's know what to do before the omniscient Google search?    I guess back then they had grandmothers and aunts and older sisters and midwives always at arms reach, which -- for the record -- I would give my left foot to have near me. But in lieu of that, I guess I am grateful for technological advances that shoot back applicable responses to my inquiry of "How much should my baby be eating?" and "Can I give my baby a hunk of apple?"    (The answer to the last question is yes, btw).  

Lately, Forrest is the most spastic nurser ever, and I've been worried he isn't getting enough breast milk. At 6 mo old, I know he should be getting the vast majority of his nutrients from me still and really only trying out these solid foods as "practice."  Well, he clearly thinks he's completely ready for a cheeseburger, fries, and large milkshake, and acts like nursing is a colossal inconvenience at best.    After all, it requires him to be still, which he detests.   He'll take approximately two swallows and then arch and twist until I sit him up and he can confirm the world is still as he left it.  Then its back down for two more swallows and repeat. 75 times. If I hold him real tight and try to keep his focus right in front of his face by waving my fingers or getting him to grasp my thumb, I may get 4 swallows for my efforts.  But that is interspersed with him beating the side of his body with his fist like a gorilla in heat.   Seriously, this kid.  

So for all the google responses that came back to me with something like: your child will let you know when he's had enough. And don't try to fit in that extra bit or one last swallow, because then you'll be promoting unhealthy eating habits and he'll probably grow up to be morbidly obese.... (ok, I added that last part, but it's all being said between the lines)   Have they taken into account the 10-second nurser that Forrest has become?   And if I let him "be done" when he wants to be, that he would get probably like 2 ounces of milk all day?

All that being said, this was a highly helpful site that did answer some of my questions: wholesomebabyfood.momtastic.com. But I still am a little worried that at 6 mo., Forrest is much more interested in food than milk.  How do I convince him that lying back, relaxing, and snuggling against his momma to nurse is not such a terrible thing?   At this rate, I'll be lucky to even get a high five in a year.... and I thought little boys loved snuggling their mommas....  

My baby is 6 months old

I can't believe it. Six months has literally flown by. Everyone says it does, but like so many other things in life, I really have to experience it myself before I believe them.  Well. It's true.   What stands out to me about the past half a year are as follows:

• Non-medicated LABOR.  Enough said.
• Scrunched up little legs while sleeping on your chest.   He never does that anymore. :(
• Pleading, pitiful prayers for just 10 more minutes of sleep
• Realizing I was actually looking forward to those quiet, peaceful nightly feedings, where I would just stare at him in awe and feel like my heart might break in two 
• His first milk-coma smiles I swore were real
• Poop. So much poop.
• The first time he threw his arm around my neck
• Little webbed toes
• His absolute lack of feeling any obligation to smile back at you 
• The tremble in his bottom lip just before he sticks it out
• The look on his face when he sees me peak over the crib
• Nighttime dancing squats
• Traveling by myself cross-country with a 4-mo old
• Nuzzling his neck
• His smell, which if I could bottle it up and sell it, I would make millions

Finslippy

So I don't do very often what good bloggers must do: read other blogs.  The realistic side of of me says that I don't have enough free time to just veg out on the couch and read other people's crazy rants (I only want people to do that to my blog), but then the other side of me just plain forgets that there are other really interesting/mildly special people out there writing kind of like I am.       Then, every once in a while, I randomly read all through my blog list (you should check it out too, cuz some are pretty amazing mildly special people talking about life) and then I get rejuvenated and think, yes!  I can do this too.    ("this" being blogging... Maybe that was obvious... Ok)

At any rate, Finslippy is a cool little blog simply because Alice Bradley makes me laugh and I feel like in another life we would have been BFF's over chai tea. Or maybe sushi. And I feel like she may raise her little one a little like we are going to -- basically just trying to not let him fall off the bed. Again.  (I cringed as I wrote that because its a true story. agh)  (Is cringed the past tense of cringe? It looks weird)

At any rate...again... I liked this part of her post a few weeks ago:

Okay, so: first mistake, one big basket. My second mistake was that I put all my work hours toward work that didn’t really speak to my talents. My corporate assignments could be completed by any reasonably smart person; they didn’t need my specific strengths. I was (gasp!) expendable. Which got me thinking, okay, where can I be invaluable? (Or more valuable?) And that led me back to this blog. This is a valuable platform for me. It gets me work. Also, and more importantly, I enjoy it. It’s what I do. It’s important to do what you love, if you have that luxury. I know many people don’t, and I certainly don’t always, but I do here. So: I am recommitting to the blog for selfish reasons, but I hope you don’t mind that. (Wait, does anyone blog for selfless reasons?) 

So maybe I'll try to do more of this blogging thing.  I like it, and I think it gives me a platform to practice writing and sharing stories: two things I love.  My audience (all 3 of you) may have to go through some real growing pains with me and for that I apologize profusely in advance.  But stick with me, and maybe I'll get it together and actually make sense sometimes.   And there is always that off chance this blog could help get me work.   Though I won't hold my breath for that one.

Making The Choice

Some say today's women can have it all: thriving kids, successful career, healthy marriage, clean house, a close circle of friends and still manage to get a pedicure every once in a while.   I'm only 5 months into this thing called motherhood, but I have to say, I call bullshit.   There are only 24 hours in the day, and even though 8 hours of sleep is a long-lost memory, I don't know how these superwomen do it all.  

If you can, (some of my best friends seem to be doing a hell of a good job at it) I give you props and then some.  But I am throwing in the towel on being able to "have it all" and with my stomach in knots, am saying goodbye to what once looked like a very promising career.  Today is my last day on the job.

For the past 3 months I've only worked part time, which I felt like I could balance well and still maintain my sanity.  What I didn't account for was having to pay a sitter more than I would end up making and being stuck in a position that did nothing to satisfy my aspirations but was all that made sense for the "part-time person."  I guess I'm young enough and naïve enough to not be ok with mediocre.  I only want great.    And I think my full time career could have been that. It could have been great.   But what I have now in Forrest is amazing, and if I can't do both, I wholeheartedly choose him.   It's just, well... I feel like a little part of me is dying today and if I start crying right here at my desk on my last day of my "career," I hope the world understands.  I've worked on my profession for over a decade, and I only worked on creating Forrest for 9 months.

I bet some people think I'm an awful woman right now...

There's a song out there with the lyrics, "In the blink of an eye; Seems like minutes as the years fly by... Afraid to stop because you can't stop time."   I know that Forrest will grow up so fast, and when it's all said and done, I don't think I will ever regret leaving a promising full time career behind to be present with him every day.  I am trading in business development meetings for play dates, pencil skirts for spit-up soaked t-shirts, and challenging DoD solicitations for Mother Goose and Curious George.  I am trading in a comfortable income and some nice discretionary spending for a real tightening of the proverbial belt. But I really feel like I'm doing the right thing. I want to be with him -- to be wholly present and to be... his.     It's just . . . I feel like I'm going through an identity crisis.

Today is my last day on the job.   And tomorrow I may cry a little for what is past, but then I will scoop my beautiful little boy up and cuddle him as if my life depends on it.  Because it might.

   

Thoughts from a traveling Mommy

Forrest and I just got home from an 8 day trip to San Diego and Tucson. I was beyond haggard by the time we landed back in Raleigh (and may have even shed a tear when I heard Bo's voice on the phone) BUT, it was a liberating adventure I'm so glad I did.  Here are my lessons learned for the next time:

• Traveling with an infant by yourself is challenging but doable. My independence concern is somewhat assuaged.
• What I thought was packing light definitely wasn't. For the next week long trip, we each only get 4 outfits and 3 pairs of shoes. (Well, ok, I get 5 outfits.)
• Forrest's toys need to be heavily rationed. Consider rationing diapers.
• Breast feeding still continues to be the easiest answer for hungry cries. The fact that sometimes it ends up happening in the middle of the outlet mall or in seat 8F next to the 25 yr. old navy Seaman who's never even held a baby, just has to be a part of life and not something to get self-conscious about.
• Its a great learning experience to have said Seaman hold Forrest for part of the flight. An added benefit is there is no room for him to drop the baby.
• Turns out, Forrest values socializing more than nap time... He can be so incredibly good with so little sleep until finally, he's not.
• Little baby ears seem to acclimate better and better with each flight. When they seem to be struggling, nurse. Those that may raise an eyebrow at you normally for nursing in such close proximity to total strangers, would much rather suffer through sitting next to a nursing mother than a screaming infant. Promise.
• When you are wobbling down the gangplank with overflowing bags, spastic child in arms, BOB stroller and car seat to break down and gate check at the bottom and someone offers to help-- for the love of God, accept.
• If you ever see similar situations in the future, for the love of all things holy, offer help.
• Unless you have the whole row to yourself, DO NOT sit in the window seat. When faced with their options, whoever is in the aisle will trade you.
• The flight stewardesses will love holding your baby while you go to the bathroom. Just make sure they aren't busy when you ask.
• Be absolutely sure you have enough diapers and extra clothes to recover from at least 3 massive blow-outs... in a row...
• And lastly, take lots of pictures and revel in every moment -- even those that were ugly on so many levels.  Each is a memory you will forever cherish.

 

TGIF

I was supposed to go to a girls' coffee/fellowship thing this morning. I was actually really looking forward to it all week and would have absolutely gotten my butt out of bed on my day off if Bo hadn't kept me up with our DIY Home Renovations (see last post) till after midnight and Forrest hadn't gotten me up approximately every 2 hours after that.   Finally at 7:30 am, I threw in the towel, brought him into our bed (I know, I know, I'm not supposed to do that) and admitted to myself I wasn't going to get up for coffee and fellowship like I probably should have.    

We had a glorious lazy morning in bed with our son (Bo didn't have to work today either - PURE gloriousness!) and then I made cottage cheese pancakes and now I sit here wondering what else I could possibly blog about than this relaxing, sun-filtered, hot-latte-in-hand Friday morning.  I realize no one else may care about my Friday morning, but this is my blog after all and it does say "a journal...of sorts."    So I don't even apologize.    Ok, fine... I do kinda feel bad.  Sorry to all those dutifully slaving away at "real" work right now.   I wish you could be here with me. I would even make you a latte.

My chunky monkey is snoozing away in his swing (remember, he hardly slept last night either), so I should take advantage of the glorious morning and get some weeding done. I keep holding my breath that maybe, just maybe, spring has arrived.  But then invariably we get a frost the next morning, so this is me not holding my breath any more.   Maybe my forced nonchalance will aid in holding the long tentacles of Winter at bay.

DIY Home Renovation

So our house has never been a "fixer upper," but for whatever reason construction projects have been a huge part of our home-owning experience since the beginning.  Maybe its because we have too much vision or maybe its a mark of Bo's OCD. Whatever the case, if we don't have 17 different on-going projects all in various stages of completion it's an off month.  Our current crisis looks something like this.... ok...exactly like this.

Once completed, the projects (so far) have all turned out beautifully ... ok, there have been a few exceptions- like our homemade mantel that never would stop dripping sap and a screened in porch that could double as a set in The Conjuring.   Still, by and large, we've been very proud of our mostly DIY home renovations.   In the midst of the madness it can be pretty overwhelming (our current mindset) but I guess even a crack of light at the end of the tunnel gives us enough oomph to push through.    Since I have no banister or railing on either my staircase or 12 foot tall balcony and no friends will come visit me until I do, we should get back to work.   Hopefully, I'll soon be able to post the "after" pictures.

Oh, and yes, that is a baby swing overlooking the "stain the railing" project. Forrest is becoming quite the supervisor.  

A picture's worth a 1000 words

It's my 3 mo birthday, and if daddy wants to feed me frozen snicker bar than who am I to refuse?   

(.... hehehehe...shhhh....I just had frozen snicker bar)

For heaven's sake, when will they figure out I will NEVER enjoy tummy time. These cheeks are way too heavy to hold up!

She sits on my lap, but won't let me kiss her!!!

....Random aside just cuz its pretty -- Derby, on an evening swim

Bath time AND I found my toes -- what could be better!?!?

Oh golly, mom, are you going to use this at my high school graduation?

Small sips of air

Small Sips of Air.... my yoga instructor's voice makes it sound soothing and easy even in a stifling bikram room where the latest contortion has my body screaming for relief and my eyes burning with the salty sweat pouring from my forehead. I close my eyes and focus and breathe. Small sips of air, and my mind clings to it like a mantra. ...Small sips of air....

But it's outside that room that maybe I need the most practice. Small sips... it's something I don't do very well. I gulp. It's why I hate ice in my drinks. I sprint, and I speed. I floor it when the light is yellow and hold back road rage when a car is slow.  I lunge. I grasp. I overcommit and overextend.  I don't do sips very well.  But I think there is something to be said for intentionally slowing everything down and taking small sips instead of 7-eleven gulps.

I thought life would ease up a bit with the arrival of Forrest.  (easy does it, all you loudly guffawing mothers). I knew I would only work part time and my additional time at home was sure to be just the picture of relaxation. Instead, I feel like a tightly wound top -- and my kid isn't even crawling.  I succumb so easily to this culture that teaches you to never be satisfied, to always strive for more, to commit to more activities, to make more money, to get more stuff. There is no time or energy for small sips. And none of the above is bad -- in fact, it can all be good. And believe me, apathy or laziness is definitely not the antidote.  

But I find my breath catching in my throat to gaze at my baby's perfect pouty lips the moment he stops nursing when they are still damp and slightly puckered and realize it's the first time I've really drank him in all day.   My breath catches when the afternoon rolls on by and I'm more worried about meeting a deadline, my to-do list for tomorrow, or the fact that I haven't worked out yet, than making my little boy giggle.    When I just stop and sit and be.... I feel guilty. Why is that?  I worry that I'm not progressing more in my career. I worry that the house projects may not give us equal return when we sell. I think I should be taking a few college classes.  I should be writing more. I should be gardening more. I should get out and start traveling again. I should, I need, I should, I need. Small sips are hard when life just keeps spinning and spinning.  But how much do we miss out on in our never-ending thirst for more?  Perhaps it is one of life's greatest ironies that small sips give us the most return.  I pray I take more small sips. I pray I don't value these huge gulps so much. I want to be the best I can be and live to my potential; but I don't want to look to the future so much I lose sight of the present. I want to rest in today, and be ok with missing out on things. I want to not get everything done, to not accomplish that next step or succeed in that next opportunity. I want to go against my own rigidly developed grain. For once, I want to sip small sips.

Oh Boy

So at the very real risk of being reported to CPS and having every other much more knowledgeable and safety conscious parent judge me, I am posting this video of Forrest's newest trick. ...Done in literally the span of 30 seconds while I stepped out of the room to move along a load of laundry. And I admit it... So maybe I immediately grabbed the camera rather than my son... but I swear I'm a pretty competent parent.   Still, it's probably a good thing this blog will only be read by my nearest and dearest.

So we obviously think Forrest is advanced. I mean, I guess every parent probably thinks their child is special, but seriously -- this kid.  He's something else. He's not even 3 months old yet and I feel like the next time I turn around he'll probably be doing a cartwheel and asking for an advance on his allowance.   He's rolling over with some regularity although his absolute refusal to do so in front of the camera is a point of ongoing consternation for me.   He laughs all the time and scrunches his little chin into his chest, peeking out at you under his amazing eyelashes. His newest thing is putting his arm around your neck or over your shoulder. He nestles right into your neck and you literally feel like you might melt into a puddle of ecstasy. The other day he slung his arm around my neck, leaned back and, I swear, winked at me. I almost died.

On another note, I've gotten one week back at work under my belt.  Besides the fact that I'm wearing heels again, I don't have too much else positive to say about it.  I'll give it some time, but I'm really torn.

Airplane wings and weddings

We are just getting home from a quick weekend trip to MI for Bo's sister Katie's wedding.  It was a lovely, Valentine's Day affair. Small and simple, but with all the love, family, and friends that make such events unforgettable and oh so special. It also made for Forrest's first airplane ride.  I have to say, he looked the part in his little aviator jacket, but had more than a few choice words to shriek while experiencing pressure change for the first time.   I think we had every single surrounding person lamenting with us and exchanging advice that was "sure to work" as we struggled to help him pop his ears or whatever his little body needed to do.   Poor thing.  The second flight I nursed him the whole 40 minutes and we barely heard a peep.  I think there is a certain amount of grace though for the heart-wrenching newborn cry.  A toddler's bellows may not elicit quite so many kind-hearted grimaces. I'm sure we'll find out in another couple years. 

Walking around the airport, we took turns holding the little man in the front pack. It was all I could do to hide the twinkle and little giggle every time Bo took him. Don't tell Bo I said this, but he positively strutted every time he was holding Forrest. It may have just been the 12 lbs strapped to his front and the sudden change in center of gravity, but I swear his chest puffed out, his gate changed, and I almost expected a plume of peacock feathers to suddenly spread out behind him.   

On Saturday, Forrest gave the bride a run for her money in the attention-getting department.  Next wedding I may have to lock him in a closet or something so he doesn't steal all the oohs and aahhs. It is fun, though, to see him interact and engage with people so much more than even a few weeks ago. He loves his older cousins a
nd they all can't wait "until he does stuff" as 4 yr. old Logan says.  I was never really that close with my cousins growing up -- for both distance and age factors.  Bo, however, has over 20 first and second cousins that he grew up with and spent nearly every summer at the lake with.  I hope and pray that Forrest gets to experience that kind of camaraderie and extended family adventures. They are for sure friendships and memories that are priceless.  

The Real World Beckons

So I'm headed back to work next week.  One moment I'm looking forward to getting out of the house and putting on real clothes, and the next moment I'm fighting this panicky desperation at the thought of being away from Forrest so long.   Granted, it's only 20 hours and 3 days a week.  It can't be that bad right?   We'll see if perhaps I have more patience for work place drama than before...

So now there are all these pumping and working mom aspects I need to know.  How much milk does Forrest need for a 7-8 hour day away from me? How does my care provider not overfeed him (or underfeed him for that matter...If only he could talk, this would all be so much easier.) Am I going to need to keep increasing the amount of milk I leave with her as he gets bigger? What if I can't pump enough to keep up?  Luckily, i stumbled across WorkandPump.com which helped answer many of these. What the heck did moms (ok, people in general) do before the internet?

Sleep Deprived Musings

Forrest found his hands today. He hasn't quite figured out the idea of sucking on a finger, but he was fascinated by his balled up fists-- his little tongue flicking all around them like a crazed lizard. Lately, he's been desperately trying to gauge his eyes out, so I have to say I'm thankful for the lizard-like licking.  

He's starting to get more curious about the world around him. Granted it's a world that is about a 5 ft bubble, but it is growing. He absolutely loves his floor mobile - for about 15 minutes, then he's totally over it. Ceiling fans could be his favorite . . . well, besides my boobs. Those he goes bat crazy for.  He acts like a crack addict gone too long without a fix. And then sometimes in the middle, if he loses the latch - which is quite often, he starts this panicky, desperate squealing. I think in another life he may have experienced starvation.

Bo came up with the name Forrest, and though we hadn't agreed on any of the other 47 million names proposed, this one sounded right.  (I had to vehemently shoot down Wyatt White).  We agreed though, that if Forrest ended up being special needs at all, we'd have to change his name.  Little guy can own any Gump jokes otherwise. Although his vast array of tongue tricks made me wonder for a while, I think we're in the clear.

... Later ...
Just did what seems like my 15th load of laundry today. I've come to a startling revelation. Forrest has been wearing loads and loads of the most adorable little outfits. Just looking at the clothes sends my heart pitter patter and he's not even in them.  Bo has quite the array of very hip, good looking threads. My clothes, however, consist entirely of pajama bottoms, nursing tops, leggings and work out clothes - in which I very rarely do any actual working out.

Hi. I'm 10 weeks old.

February 2, 2013

Forrest is 10 weeks old today. He already fits into his 6mo. clothes and it feels so odd to be watching him grow and mature before my very eyes. Sometimes I want to mush his little head and legs together - a ghastly, halfhearted attempt to keep him tiny and fresh and new. Then other days I can't wait until he crawls and runs.  I have visions of his cheeky grin looking back at me as he races to the school bus with some adorable backpack on that will inevitably cover the majority of his body.  

I never knew how in love with him I would be. I mean, they tell you. But how can you describe the constricting, seething mass of pulsing blood in your heart that threatens to explode all over the place if you loved anything even just one iota more?  It hurts. This kind of love actually hurts. And it feels so good at the same time that I'm sur e I may never stop crying or smiling for pure joy.    

And to think I didn't know if I wanted him.   Forrest was a surprise. It could have come at a much worse time. We'd been married for 5 and a half years. We were stable financially, physically, emotionally. I just didn't think I wanted it yet. Didn't think i was selfless enough yet. Didn't want to have to give anything up yet.   I look around at our once neat as a pin house, now cluttered with any number of garishly bright and indefatigably loud baby contraptions, and smile so happily.  For all the fear and uncertainty, anxiety and frustration my heart has never felt so full or so happy.      With his little webbed toes, crazy baby acne, nonexistent eyebrows, and amazing mullet, he is so undeniably perfect.  He is the most gorgeous miniature human. And we made him. He is ours. He is real.

An Evolution

It has been a while since I've posted anything on here. Looking back I was pretty focused on deeper, insightful themes. Life evolves, however, and the eye of my current storm involves decidedly more swings, swaddles, and spit-up. Perhaps blogging about life as a new mother and the fantastically deep discoveries of a newborn is too sharp a deviation from this blogs original theme. I guess we'll see, though. My life has undeniably shifted with the birth of Forrest Kane White. (November 25, 2013) Perhaps this new stream of consciousness will be for little more than grandparents and girlfriends. Regardless, this blog will just have to keep up with life as we now know it.