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 I have written numerous essays and articles- published and unpublished that I was extremely proud of, that I felt like meant something and made a difference.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.