Hello, Blog

It has been a looooong time since I've last blogged.  I'm not sure why - I hate when people say they've been too busy to do something.  (If it means something to you, you'll make time for it.)  So I won't use that excuse.  But life does get in the way sometimes of even the best intentions.

Miles is growing and changing and becoming a sweet little boy, no longer the little baby I used to rock and cuddle and kiss. I still rock and cuddle and kiss on him - every chance I get.  But usually that's followed by him squirming away or getting distracted by someone or something else.  Now we bond by playing games and giggling, belly laughing at each other, and making messes.  It is so fun to be his mom, which innevitably gets me thinking about the possibility of having another. 

When I think about whether or not I'd like to give Miles a little brother or sister, the answer is yes! When I ask myself if I'm willing to go through the pregnancy and birth again, the answer is yes! But when I'm honest about wanting to go through the baby part again, I'm not sure.  I loved Miles from the second I knew he was inside me - and that love only intensifies every day, with each smile, toddle, nose crinkle, love pat and babble.  But what if we had another kid who was not as cool as Miles?  What if I loved him / her differently?  Those first six months are really, really hard. 

I know I don't have to decide now, or even next month.  But it makes me feel a little guilty, thinking about not giving him a sibling.  I know many people grow up just fine being an only child, but I also know how much I love and appreciate having a sister.  It's an option on the horizon, which is where I'll keep it for now...

Butterfly Effect

My freshman year of college my best friend Gina and I were lying aournd my dorm room on the bunk beds looking up tattoo parlors in the phone book.  Majestic Tattoo was close by, and I had remembered seeing its green neon sign, so we jumped in my '89 red Beretta and drove the few blocks.  I knew exactly what I wanted, so I had an easy time choosing an image from the parlor wall.  Meanwhile Gina looked and looked for one she liked well enough to live with forever.  I could hear the buzz of the tattoo gun from down the hall.  Extreme nervousness and excitement bubbled inside me as I wated my turn.

Soon a burly man in a black T shirt ushered me into a small room.  He had dirty gray hair and a bushy beard; he must've weighed 300 pounds or more.  The smell of rubbing alcohol and stale tobacco hung in the air.  The gun came to life and buzzed against my skin, which stung a lot more than I was expecting, especially as he rubbed the needle into my flesh to fill in the color, then wiped away the excess ink and blood.

Ten minutes and $40 later I had a blue and purple butterfly on my left hip.  Gina left with nothing.  I showed off my new tat at a party that very night, peeling back the sticky tape and guaze.  A few months later I finally showed it to my mom; we were bathing suit shopping so I sort of had no choice.  I was expecting a lecture, but she just rolled her eyes.  "That's forever, you know," she said.  And, as is often true with things moms say, she was right.  

It's still there, eighteen years later.  It's been faded by the sun and stretched by pregnancy, but that buttlerfly still spreads her wings on my hip as a reminder of a younger, more impulsive me.

Forging Ahead - a poem for my Columbia homies

Forging Ahead

In the middle of the state

In the middle of the country

In the middle of their lives

Five girls found

sun-drenched laughter, beer-soaked tears,

And a love for one another -

            sweet, strong and pure.

           

We started out nursing broken hearts –

healing though being

on the other end of the phone, across the table,

next to a pool,

on a dance floor.

Now look at us.

As we mourn the end of an era,

We revere the sisterhood that has been

forged through millions of little moments --

Kleenex, concerts and road trips,

countless tubs of popcorn,

boyfriends, breakups, and martinis.

Overwhelming journeys lie ahead for each girl…

Some on airplanes, some in their hearts.

We are saying good bye to parts of ourselves

Even as we welcome the new,

Although it seems impossible without

one another's hands to hold along the way.

It's time

to go be better

versions of ourselves.

Love You Forever

Years and years ago, before crow's feet began to make their first appearance, and when I still used to get carded for alcohol, I worked at Barnes & Noble in the kids' section.  There was this book, whose illustrations were particularly cheesy, that the other booksellers and I used to make a lot of fun of -- how sappy its prose was, how dorky the pictures were.  It was called "Love You Forever."  We scoffed at its sentimental message. The mother in the book continually rocks her son as he grows bigger and older, singing to him the words, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.  As long as you're living, my baby you'll be."  Then she grows older and is unable to rock him, so he rocks her and sings the same song. 

I know - barf! 

A few years later I had a friend who owned this book - a male friend in his 40s.  I laughed at him - why in the world do you have this sappy, crappy book? I asked.  He explained to a sheepish me that it reminded him of his mom, how when she got sick he had to take care of her.  I inwardly giggled at the badly done illustration of the middle aged man rocking his mother.  How silly, I thought!

After the birth of my son, a co-worker gave me this same book.  I snorted and put it on the shelf with his dozens of other books, thinking I would never read it. 

Then the other night, for some reason, I got this book out and read it aloud to Miles.  He was sitting in my lap, playing with an Elmo board book, probably not even listening as I read the lines - "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.  As long as you're living, my baby you'll be." 

Oh, how the tears welled up -- and spilled over.  Not even the cheesy illustrations could stop the bittersweet emotions from flowing. 

How different this book looks through the eyes of a mother.  

Finding Time For Me

When you're a mom, for some odd reason, it seems you feel ALL your time and energy - every ounce of what you have to give - must go to someone else.  Why is that?  Sometimes my day seems to be made of obligation, responsibility and worry -- and no one does that to me but myself.

Why do I forget about the girl who is begging for some attention? -- I'm talking about me here.
 
For instance, when I was pregnant, I used to go to Body Pump at the gym, walk the trail, and hit the treadmill on a regular basis.  I swear I was in better shape then than I am now.  I walked 3 miles every day the last week of my pregnancy, and that was in the heat of June!  These days I'm lucky to squeeze in a run once a week -- and the whole time I'm running, I'm thinking I SHOULD be home with my baby, or I ought to be picking up groceries, or I really should've used that time to grade a few papers.

I am looking forward to spring when we can go for family walks, and strap Miles in a trailer on the back of one of our bikes.  But until then, it's up to me to remember to take care of myself sometimes too.

Are you listening, Jodi?  Don't feel guilty for taking a walk!  Don't feel like your missing something because you are washing your hair today!  And for God's sake, get a pedicure already!

I have NOTHING to wear

If you've ever seen my closet, you know this is definitely not true.  But it feels true some mornings, like this morning for example.  I changed six times.  I even had a new shirt but decided I didn't like it after all.  So I was rushing around, changing bras, jeans, tops, boots... I had to rush out the door without lunch because I was 20 minutes behind schedule.  Since then I've been stewing.  Responding to emails and putting off grading a stack of papers.

Then I got the best text from my husband: "He ate his medicine.  He's getting sleepy.  I loved this morning."

It melted my heart, the simplicity of those words. 

Knowing my sweet man is home taking care of our son.  Knowing that our son is doing well even if I didn't have time to kiss him 39 times this morning, like I usually do.  Knowing that whatever I wound up wearing is not nearly as important as the fact that my husband treasured our morning, time we usually don't get together.   

These are good reminders for me, someone who often gets caught up in the material.  When I look back on these days, chances are I won't remember which sweater I was wearing or what brand of jeans I had on.  I'll remember the sweet simplicity of words like

I love you
&
You matter.



 

My Son

I remember nursing this now huge baby, his tiny feet crossed at the ankles, his toes the size of tic-tacs.  Everything was precious and smelled good - even his diapers were cute. 

Now he is picking up Cheerios and Gerber puffs and (usually) getting them in his mouth!  He is crawling and sitting and pulling up on everything in sight.  He comes home from daycare dirty and stinky.  It is adorable and so, so incredible that I had anything to do with how fabulous he is.
 
Robert and I were talking the other night about dreams... dream jobs, dream homes, etc. 
"What's your dream, baby?" he asked. 
I thought for just a half a second and answered, "I'm living it." 
I meant it.  And I was sort of realizing for the first time that being a mama is what I was made to do.  I enjoy all the other roles of my life -  wife, teacher, daughter, friend.  But Miles is my contribution back to the world.  I don't mean to say I ever felt something was missing before he came along, but I did sort of always feel like I was just okay at everything - not stellar. 

I'm a good writer, but not great. 
I'm a good teacher, but it isn't my life. 

But even on my worst mommy day, I know I'm always doing my best.  And that feels good.