Another lesson in the works

I woke up this morning, the promise of snow propelling my feet from under the covers like a kid who can't possibly get back to sleep now that school's canceled. I peeked out the window. Snow? No, just dust on the blinds. Trudging through the hall and into the light of the living room, I realized with great surprise that it DID snow. And why I'm not more excited, I don't know. I suppose I could take Bella out in it again before it melts, take photos of the fluffy trees, the slushy ground. Three months is a long time to remember having experienced something. But with happy seedlings ready to go into the garden, somehow I'm not feeling the snow love today.

~~~~

The library, we finally made it. Baby Story Time. Time to meet people. Time to make friends. Time to socialize, for Bella and for me.

Getting here has been next to impossible since a 10:30 start time requires us actually setting an alarm and waking up early. Most of the babies here have been up all morning and are ready to go down for a nap. Bella and I are still wiping sleep from our eyes as we rush through the door.

There are almost twenty babies here. Bella's never seen so many babies in her life, and she looks up at me like she thinks I might have brought her to the loony bin. Each mom settles in with a baby on her lap, the ones with twins have one on each knee. There I am, making mental comparisons and guesses about age. The baby next to us is the same age as Bella and she's walking. The baby across the room smiles more than Bella, is that possible? I resist the urge to tickle my sleepy baby to prove she smiles, too. That one reached for a bubble when not a single other one did. Ooh, that one's a bit... uhm, grouchy looking. Comparing isn't judging if you don't say it out loud, right? Bella just vegges on my lap, wondering why we are here and why none of the adults are paying attention to her. We don't know any adults with babies. She is THE baby.

The story teller makes her way around with name rhymes and puppets. The babies bounce on their mommies' knees with varying degrees of enthusiasm, the mommies sing and clap along as they get into it. What a pair we are, sitting there like someone slathered molasses all over our chair, staring out at our peers in awe. Suddenly I'm self conscious. We must look like ridiculous sticks in the mud in a room full of happiness swaying in the wind. I can't remember the words to Mary Had A Little Lamb. Bella hates it when I clap her hands for her so I'm clapping alone. How many times can they repeat the same tune? I suppose babies do love repetition. Do it for the babies. That's why we're all here, isn't it?

By the time we get to open play time, Bella and I have woken up and warmed to the group dynamic considerably. The babies dive in to a pile of books in the center of the circle and the moms do their best to seem genuine while chatting. Once again, Bella and I seem like vegetables in a room full of wild flowers. We've managed to slide off our chairs onto the floor and another mom hands us a book since we haven't yet reached for one ourselves.

I'm not shy, so to speak. But I'm awkward and I hate feeling like I'm back in high school on the outskirts of the in crowd. Yes, to a degree it's all perceived, but still I feel like I have nothing in common with so many of the people here.

(Starting with the fact that my daughter is not the center of their universe....)

We don't listen to children's songs. It's classic rock or classical guitar or the radio. Music is music, and I don't believe it has to be lame to be appealing. We're at the library to interact with babies, so let me confess that we also don't read that many books. It becomes a grabbing war and ends in me reading words from memory and Bella gnawing on the cover. She destroys books more quickly than our rabbit.

We don't have bouncy singalong clapping time. We go on hikes, Bella sits with me in the grass while I garden or we play catch with a ball. We buzz our lips like trumpeters, cluck our tongues at each other, and make sounds like dying balloons. I wanted to give Bella a chance to meet other babies and learn to play with people her own size, but it could not have been more obvious that in a group of people, Bella and I both would prefer to sit and observe, interrupted by the occasional hello.

I don't really care when your baby will start swimming lessons. I've given up worrying about who's walking, who's crawling, who's teething, and how old they are, at least in settings like this. I know they're leaping points we use to start conversations and keep ourselves from feeling alone, but in here we're not making connections, united by common woes. We're competing in the name of Best Mother, Best Baby. The conversations are designed to pit us against each other and I'm trying to be gentle this year, remember?

I stared at the mom who mentioned for the tenth time how huge her boy twin was (he was) as she basked in the responses of incredulity. I watched with a bit of envy as the baby next to us toddled over to the basket of books and navigated past all the squirmy blobs on the floor, book in hand, back to her mom. And then I felt bad for her as the other moms said with relief (and at full volume to assure everyone that their words were not incited by jealousy) Thank God mine's not that mobile. And suddenly, because her baby had achieved too much, Mom of Walking Baby had to bring out the Keeping Up With Big Brother defense. I quietly looked on moments later as the same moms put their heads back together and began a volley of She's standing on her own and ready to crawl and she's only x months and we hope she'll wait for our sakes, but, my, look how talented she is!

I've been there. Everyone's baby is the best. Every mom strives to make her baby look like the special-est in a group of twenty very special, uniquely deserving individuals. It's the world's worst competition and I've decided I'd rather watch than engage. I don't like hearing those things escape my mouth, and yet I know they will the moment I step within the circle. What mom can resist defending her child's individuality and lifetime achievements? I don't know where that leaves me in terms of mommy groups. What topics are left when we've exhausted the superficial details, but what's the point if I don't open my mouth the whole time? Did I mention I'm not a group person... I suppose we'll keep going, though, and see where it takes us.

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10

Hello sweet sweet Bella,

Isn't it funny how the change of seasons brings back memories with such pungency? Close your eyes for just a moment and you can transport yourself backward through time to this exact moment the last time the earth was in this position. Last year as the air warmed and spring began its customary teasing between winter days, my belly finally popped. Oh, people said, you really ARE pregnant. I had told them all along you were in there, kicking me in your tiny home, growing every moment, filling a dark, rainy winter with a warm glow that I could take everywhere.

You seemed so big, so perfect, so exactly who you ought to be when you came out. Now when I look back at those memories you are so tiny, so innocent, and so unknown. It's hard now to imagine you ever fit in there as you did, kicking around the way you still do today. You had flipped over early on, and wedged your little feet up under my rib cage, sometimes so hard you'd take my breath away and I'd push you back, requiring all my strength to move that tiny, impressive foot. Even then you hated being told what to do, and you'd just kick back all the harder.

I strapped you on the other day and realized that my coat no longer covers us both. Remember when you fit with room to spare? So, so big. You fit me in new ways now. When I pick you up, your legs wrap around my waist and you cling to me with such strength and intent, it's an indescribable feeling to know that I am still home to you. Your head now nestles onto my collar bone and my cheek rests on your soft hair. It's a new fit, and it's bound to go out of style as well, but I'm loving every moment of it.

~~~~

This was a yin-yang kind of month. One dotted with sick sleepless nights and certain lousy days, and still there was extra family time, warm weather, and gardening galore. It all evens out in the end and I'm sure we'll look back fondly on the happiness and gloss over the moments that seemed so dire in the thick of it.

It's obvious you inherited our family's esteemed sense of humor and it's so much fun to see it develop: your endless goofy faces (I'm making a point of catching them on film for you!), your little cackle, your sense of timing and imitation and your never ending study of our reactions. It has not been an easy month for us, and you are the light of our lives.

You're starting to take food, bit by little bit. Except that everything you eat goes down with a nummmmnaaaamnumnum growl, something you picked up after we started using yum!yum! to assure you these things we offer are actually edible and yummy. Now we seem to have a resident food pirate at each meal, and it cracks me up.

This month we sat on the edge of our seats waiting for you to crawl. Bit by bit you're getting mobile, and it's about darn time I baby proofed the place. You're already standing on your own, and your face lights up the moment you realize what you've done. Despite the surprise of turning around to find you feet from where I left you (and usually in some sort of mess), it's so exciting to watch you explore on your own whims, no one there to tell you how to play. I want to know what makes you tick, what interests you, where you'll go when you have no limits at all.

Ten months, here we are. So close to one year, I can feel it around every corner. And yet I still have such clear memories of our early days together. I smile to think how far we've come, and I'm baffled at the thought of the mysteries ahead of us. It's like looking up into the starry sky to feel that overwhelming sense of peacefulness and vertigo, all at once. That's you in a nutshell. My inner peace and unending vertigo.

Love,
mama

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bump in the road (part two)

This week at work was marred by strange flashbacks from two years ago. Different situation, same awkward conversations. Here I am. I look the same on the outside as I did yesterday, but inside I'm not the same.

Heading to work knowing that there's no great way to "break the news" to my manager, change my shifts, explain my foul mood. Reigning internal debates over who else to tell, who would be understanding, who would awkwardly shuffle their feet, who wouldn't notice a change in me if I just kept my mouth shut. Both situations characterized by invisible internal turmoil, the flip flop between needing to share and wanting to hide. I'd much rather let the rumor mill work its way around than to have to keep repeating myself and receiving the same reactions.

Oh, I'm so sorry. What now?
(Thank God it's not me.)

Suddenly (again) my life is filled with an undercurrent of uncertainty and helplessness. Unknowingly say the wrong thing and you might find me fighting back tears or the urge to punch someone. If I had to choose losing pregnancy to losing my main source of income, I'd pick my husband's lay off any day. But it still sucks.

~~~~

So many things change when you become a mother. And yet, so many things that you imagine will change actually stay the same. To the heartbreak of many, motherhood graces you with a fresh outlook on life but no sudden ability to alter the course of the universe.

I had visions in my head of what life would be like as a mother. A house, a backyard, pancakes for breakfast, wonderful outdoor adventures, reading books together in bed. As the list grows, however, I realize that it's rather material. Those things sure help you feel like a good mother, but they are not really the meaning of motherhood.

I had imagined that as as a mother I would suddenly be in control, at least of my own life. Debt (because I'm still young and I insist on learning all my lessons the hard way) would be swept away with the graceful appearance of our daughter. Work would never be too hard, days would never be too long, and we would never forget to enjoy each other and take a yearly vacation. And knowing the miracle that is any living child, even sitting up at night with a sick child would never seem overwhelming.

The economy, though I'm loathe to finally confess it, has hit us, has darkened my outlook on so many things and keeps me from feeling like a good accomplished mother. Nowhere in my motherly day dreams did the words unemployment, WIC, or welfare cross my mind. Not for me, not as a mother, no way. Sure, we've always just snuck by paycheck to paycheck and on the good graces of our loving extended family, but we'd always had a steady, stable kind of job. I always felt that we were lucky, but hard working, and somehow better than immune from having to lean on the government.

I suddenly feel humbled and on the brink of tears to realize that this might soon be our road. A new road, not a bad road, not a shameful road, just a different road. I'm certain Bella will never say, Remember those days when I was a baby and Daddy lost his job and you couldn't buy me all those things that I never wanted or needed anyways? I know she has no clue, and her smile refreshes me and carries me through to the next minute. But honestly, what a feeling to want to give her everything but not have the power. All things in time, but I've never been patient.

I think my parents must have made it look too easy, set the bar too high. Of course, no matter how much they may have told me (this very moment they're probably sitting, recalling specific conversations that I tuned out), I'm sure I'd still be learning it the hard way. I ought to be used to it by now.

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sigh. (part one)

As Isabelle and I were goofing in the tub last night, it occurred to me just how vulnerable and impressionable children are. Not that I hadn't already realized this, but it struck me with an unnerving force tonight. The girl hardly has any hair and doesn't go to the bathroom in diapers, so in nearly ten months of baths, this is the first time that we had used a whole bottle of bath wash. Of course, all bottles are destined to become toys.

I watched her fascination as the water bubbled up inside the bottle and saw her curiosity veer towards frustration as she tried to grasp the stream of water I was pouring. She thought she could grab it with her pincer grip, like the strands of yarn I pass her way (her knitting!) and could not quite fathom what was happening with this water string.

In that moment it struck me so hard. How can I possibly show her everything the world has to offer? What else is she missing out on simply because I have not yet thought to introduce her to it? What am I getting into, thinking I can unschool her successfully? Yes, she'll lead me at times and I'll lead her at times, but even in the scope of my tiny world there are already things that never even cross my mind to show her.

I'm not often without her, and when it's not me, it's Dave. On the occasions we're without her,she usually comes home with a new taste of food, a new favorite game. Sometimes she goes months without interacting with another baby. I can tell she inherently recognizes their similarities. When she hears a baby or a child across the room, she whips around to look for him. But she's an observer in the fullest sense of the word.

The baby we met at the library the other day (a full three days younger than Bella) ran circles around Isabelle, yammering and crawling and pulling on her toes. And Bella just watched, engaged and enthralled, but all from her little spot on the floor. Would she be crawling if she saw other babies who crawled? Would she be interacting if she met up with other babies more? What kinds of things am I inadvertently keeping from her, simply because they do not occur to me?

One day as a nanny I was watching a baby who was on the verge of walking, but protested because crawling was so much more efficient and he didn't need to depend on anyone to do it. We went to the park in the summer and his sister ran onto the black top. He crawled after her, but the second he got on the black top, he realized it was hot and started to cry. I boosted him to his feet and said, That's why we walk, silly, and I saw it click as he eagerly put one foot in front of the other and reached his sister. I remember the look of mingled heartbreak and awe on his mothers face when she walked in the door to find the three of us parading around on our two feet. Her words were, I leave for half an hour and when I come back you're walking?

It only takes an instant for babies to change. All they need is the exposure, but our life is fairly simple and adventures seem a bit infrequent. Bella is certainly teaching me to find something new everyday, or to look at it in a new way, and I hope I can pay her back by returning the favor.

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Hold Fast

Today is one of those clear, crisp beautiful winter days. The mountains are covered in snow, the valleys are hidden in fog, mist coming off the fields and rainbows painting my ceiling. And yet it's one of those days where my heart is in my throat and every minute is spent trying to think only about this minute and trust the others will follow because that's their job. So I hug my baby, hug my husband, send up a thank you to Who Knows Who that we are alive and healthy and happy (knock on wood) and reassure myself that's all that matters.

Yesterday was cold and harsh and raining snow and the sour stench of foreboding clung to everything. The reason yesterday was so foul arrived as promised, and with the anticipation gone I can breathe again. Today's here and I can handle this moment. But only this one. I've spent the last few weeks holding onto hope for friends, wondering who I am praying to, wondering how it makes a difference if it's in the cards already. Now I find myself wondering all those things for myself and the lack of answers is just as disconcerting.

I feel like you do moments after taking a spill. You just rest there for a moment, still and present. Trying to get back up means effort and having to face what might be damaged from the fall, and anyhow the perspective down here is refreshing.

~~~~

I got up early, freecycled and brought Bella to the library for story time, anything to fill my day and distract my thoughts. I tried out a few awkward pick up lines and managed to get another mom's phone number. Her baby was all over the place, blabbering cruising and crawling and I once again had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't ask Bella why she was content to just sit and observe. Chill, Shawna, she lives her own life at her own pace and someday she will crawl all over you in her own way.

Both of us hopeful about having found a like-minded mom, we parted ways with promises to connect again. Here I sit at home in a sunbeam, a baby snuggle nursing as I rock and type (talk about talent, maybe I could get a few rows done as well...). When she wakes up we'll plant seeds for our garden. We'll sit and dig our fingers into the earth and just be. I'm really looking forward to re-centering myself through the garden, showing Bella the ins and outs of nature. Each little seed is a promise. A promise to be here in the moment, communing with nature, a promise to hold out hope without knowing what is to come. Hope without expectations.

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Fricking Fate

I try not to be a superstitious person. I feel like there's not enough room in the universe for there to be spirits and fate and then throw in a little Murphy's Law because things just aren't exciting enough as is. But I've had too many nights like this to kick my superstitious habits.

Yes, it's 2am am I'm lying here with the snoring husband and the twitchy daughter who have both managed to fall back into their respective grumpy slumbers after yet another bedtime puke mishap. My foul self is too annoyed to sleep because I cockily assumed we were in the clear and decided it would be okay to go to bed with a towel at the ready instead of beneath us. I even did my best to make sure the first feeding of the night was not too large, to keep from upsetting that delicate little belly.

Alas, a second night feeding, a moment of Oh No There Goes The Gag Reflex Brace Yourself, a sponge bath, a fresh bout of tears on Bella's behalf, and a sour husband later, no one is safe- not even the comforter. Tomorrow, for everyone's sake (especially if I get around to washing the bed) we'll be sleeping again on a towel. At least until the puke-free days outnumber the pukey ones. Knock on wood.

~~~~

Seriously. While I'm transcribing this from my scrap of paper that I wrote last night, Bella gets a hold of the tiniest piece of paper imaginable and proceeds to expel it and her dinner all over the carpet. And THEN I picked up my computer which I had placed off my lap onto an ottoman to run to the rescue of the carpet daughter, and realized I had set it on a runaway chocolate chip. Now myself, the ottoman and the computer are covered in melted chocolate. Ahhh. I wonder if taking a shower at this hour would be too much temptation for fate. At least I don't plan to have any company any time soon who can't handle the smell of raising a child...

And now to end on a more peaceful note:

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Savoring: before the spewing

Dave had 9 - count'em 9 - days off in a row that ended early this morning when he got up at 3 something for work. And by some crazy act of synchronization Bella was cranky all last night. We hopped in the tub for some good clean fun and went to bed nice and early.

Not half an hour later beneath the fog of sleep I hear the old familiar splatter and gurgle gurgle of a back sleeper who has just vomited all over us in bed. Before I'm even awake I have her sitting up in bed coughing it out in her own half-sleep. I'm sure if I had been awake it would have looked like a fountain, such are the projectile vomiting skills this child has displayed since day one. Off to the bathroom to get a towel so we can sleep on something dry and pretend we're not a sticky mess as we get back to sleep. (Hey man, don't say ewww!, I need my sleep!)

And as it goes in the land of babies, we find ourselves repeating a similar scene just hours later. At least I was smart enough to prop her to sleep on her side this time. Of course, the force of her fire hose spew nearly flung me across the room, and let me tell you, waking up like that is not as refreshing as it sounds. Cue sunrise and I'm rationing her milk to prevent further mishaps (let's not even get into how grumpy that makes her) and for the first time I notice she's on fire. 101. Sheesh. Luckily, she doesn't seem to mind.

SO, without further ado, the real purpose for this post: Savoring Daddy's Vacation (or The Post With Too Many Photos Because Someone Else Held Bella All Week)

Savoring...
1. The way Bella's arms lift up ever so slightly as I approach, as if the gravitational field changes as I walk by.


2.Curling up around her at night, forehead to forehead, Dave right beside us.


3. Receiving the most wonderful care package ever from Bella's godmother, Jessie. The treats were gone the same day, but luckily Bella does not eat her toys as quickly as I do chocolate covered blueberries and maple candies.


4. Bella dancing with Daddy


5. Daddy naps. Oh those look so comfy.


6. Long mornings of lounging on the couch with Daddy.


7. Sunshine accompanying warm days.


8. Living somewhere that a sunny day is a blessing and you take it for all its worth.


9. Making homemade chocolate ice cream for the first time, with my blackberries no less!

10. My very own photo posted for the One Word Project on Shutter Sisters!

11. Awesome cousins who love and entertain Bella.


12. Sweet moments nursing my baby (and convincing my husband to take a photo, as well!)


13. Flying high on life.

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One Word

Well, I'm not one to apologize for a lack of blogging (it's my blog, right?) but boy I can't wait for these first weeks of February to be over so I can get back to my easy days of picture taking and writing and general leisurely enjoyment. This week hasn't been horrible since Dave took the week off, but between work hours we have been filling our days with family time for all it's worth. Next week we'll be back to the baby-passing grind.

I have, however, been keeping up with my daily photo challenge (feel free to follow me on my flickr side bar!), and my theme word for February is depth. Starting today, Shutter Sisters is hosting a One Word Challenge which will keep my photo juices flowing through this busy season and beyond.

Above is my first depth photo. Bella's god mother sent us a care package and this little toy was among the goodies. Bella kept holding it up to her face to stare through it, and though she never held it there long, I managed to snap a shot though the "window".



The remainder of our time was spent chewing on it.


And I had to add this shot in because she's leaning back casually, grinning. I can see a tiny glimpse of her coy toddler attitude to come peaking through that baby face.

Be sure to leave a comment if you're joining the one word project so I can follow along!

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