The Odd Broad

Job well done

A friend of mine is on maternity leave with her newborn and I get the feeling she's wrestling with a lot of bad advice, of the unsolicited variety.  (What's that I say?  People are giving a new mommy opinionated, adament advice?  Surprise, surprise!)  I've been trying to tell her to go easy on herself, to ignore the chatter, to remember that she's her baby's number one girl, that she's the only one with the mama milk, which makes her very, very powerful.  I told her, as my sister told me not too long ago, you have the power to calm your baby, just by being you.  

I think sometimes it's nice just to be told you're doing a good job.  It's amazing what those simple words can do for morale!  On the rare occassions I've been told this by someone lately, I've felt like jumping for joy.  But the thing is, if we sit around waiting to hear this, we could be waiting forever.  So we've got to learn to tell ourselves.  (And each other.)  Last night Hubby and I were enjoying a rare moment alone together, sitting on the couch watching House Hunters, when I patted his hand and told him he was doing a really good job.  The appreciation I heard in his voice made me feel sort of ashamed.  Have I not been telling him that enough?  Yikes.  

When I'm feeling like I need a little validation, I usually turn to Dr. Sears (not the doc from The Doctors, but his dad, William, and his mother, Martha).  But when I try and dig for advice on my family's individual situation, I haven't been able to find much out there.  Hubby is a stay at home dad, and I'm the main breadwinner.  But it's a bit more complicated than that, because in addition to the 53 or so hours per week he's watching our little W, he's also working an additional 40 hours at another job.  So when the books and websites say things like, a working mother needs rest, support from her husband, a lie-in on the weekends, it doesn't really apply to me.  Hubby already does the majority of the cooking and all of the household shopping.  Sure, I clean and do what I can, but once I'm home it's after 6 o'clock, and I can either cook dinner or visit with the baby during the brief window before his bedtime.  (And let's face it, I choose the latter.) I also get lunch breaks and social interactions at work; Hubby works from home and on the weekends there's nobody else in the office. As exhausted as I get, I can't help but feel like he has it a million times tougher than me.

But conversely, when I let Hubs sleep in on Saturdays and Sundays, there's still a teeny tiny voice in my head that whispers, What about me?  Hmmm?  I work really hard, too.  Am I never to sleep in?  And if I put my foot down and demand this, aren't I being insensitive to Hubby?  When I do get the rare opportunity to have a snooze, I usually feel too guilty to enjoy it anyways.  (That same voice says, You're never home, do you really want to be sleeping while your baby plays with Dada?  He sees him all the time!)  

As much as I desire to swap roles with Hubby, I'm not sure I'd have the energy it requires to go to work every evening after watching our baby all day.  I honestly don't know how he does it.  (Last night, for example, when we had our brief cuddle on the living room couch, he was only taking a break because he was literally falling asleep at his computer!)  Most nights he works until 2am.  He's such an excellent man, and he's doing so much for our family.  And for my part, when I'm home, I'm home: my baby and I are joined at the hip, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  I'm the one who parents him at night, who nurses him or tends to him when he wakes up.  There's never been a night where I haven't put him to bed.  Every spare minute when I'm not working is dedicated to my son.  (So why do I sometimes still feel so inadequate?)

I know more and more fathers are staying home with their children while the mommies go to work.  There are several in our neighborhood, in fact.  I suppose I just wish there were a little more guidance out there as to how to navigate this delicate situation.  (Whose turn is it to empty the diswasher tonight?  Should I feel bad for never cooking? Who gets to sleep an extra hour on Sunday?)  My problem isn't that I need Hubby to do more; I'm not sure it's possible for him to do any more than he already does!  But every day I battle the guilt that I'm not contributing enough, which is downright silly, because without my job we wouldn't survive.  

I suspect this is a modern, middle class dilemma, and probably far more common than I think.  But all the same, I don't know anybody who is in the exact same boat.  But they've got to be out there.  "Oh, your husband is a stay at home Dad?!" people exclaim, all smiles.  "Well, yes, but he also works full time," I feel compelled to explain.  "And I work long hours," I want to add.  "And there's really nobody around who can lend a hand, since everyone else we know is busy, too!"  My parents both work and Hubby's are across the country. 

I guess I'm just looking to commiserate.  I love that Hubby is home with our son, and I'm immensely grateful we've been able to swing it.  But let's face it- I wish I had more time to spend with our baby.  Even an hour more a day would be amazing.  I'm trying to remove my imaginary blinders, to invite a new situation to present itself, to envision a future in which I'm home more.  

I think my deepest fear is that we'll be in this holding pattern forever.  Hubby really loves being home with our son, but I can tell he's longing to make his way in his chosen field, too.  And as for me, it's as if I'm resisting accepting the situation, because if I do, won't it mean that I'm okay with being away from my baby?  Silly, I know.  In December, a psychic told me our situation would change by the summer.  That Hubby and me would be able to reverse roles.  Fingers crossed.  xoxo

My Aquarius turns one!

My darling baby boy's first birthday has come and gone.  How that can even be possible is beyond me, but there you have it.  The party turned out to be a smashing success, despite coinciding with the first substantial snowfall we've had so far this year.  Naturally, the unpredictability of the weather sent me into full on pre-party panic mode: Should we cancel?  What about all that chilli, cheese, dip, (fill in the ______, add several expletives)?!?! Ahhhhhh!  In the end we decided to proceed with the festivities, and I'm really glad we did.

Our motiff was Whimsical Cookie Monster First Birthday, and I loved it so much I've yet to take it down.  (In my defense, William has been sick, and now I'm sick, and Hubby had surgery on his mouth and was out of commission for a few days himself, so the apartment is a real pigsty.  But a festive pigsty.)  Truth be told, I'm not really sure anyone gave a rat's ass about the party decor; save for myself and Hubby, my mom, and of course, the guest of honor himself.  (W was delighted with my handiwork, it makes him laugh, which is all I really care about anyways!)

No, I did not pay $40 on etsy for this banner...I made it myself, y'all!  It took me about an hour to hang, while the baby was napping, and that evening Hubby made the unfortunate decision of noting that perhaps the letters had been hung too close together.  (As you can imagine, I replied to his suggestion in a gentle, loving manner.)

There were lots of W's, 1's, and "Happy Birthday's" dangling from every doorway and bookshelf I could manage to hang a mini clothesline on.  Incidentally, I love that there are stores like Michael's where I can questions like, "Can you tell me which aisle the mini clothes pins are on?"  It is impossible for me to spend less than thirty minutes in that store.

The shelf with Kittie's ashes on it got decorated as well, because I'm creepy and I'd like to stay that way:

I don't know why the image below is importing rotated like this, but I don't have time to email Typepad to find out.  (Please humor me and turn your head, if you don't mind, to achieve full dangly effect):

And seriously, would you just look at this effing awesome cake my Godmother made?  She didn't even use a Cookie Monster cake mold, it was a teddy bear one!  We kept Cookie on our counter for far too many days before finally parting ways.

The other night on 30 Rock, Alec Baldwin's character said something like, "Being a parent is like wearing your heart on the outside of your body."  And it's true.  I've caught myself over the past couple of days just looking at my boy, watching him, my heart feeling like it could actually burst.  It's already filled to capacity with love for him, and yet every day I love him a little bit more.  It hurts to love someone that much, but I've also never felt so alive.  Does that sound strange?  I'm not the same person I was a year ago, not even a little.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.  xoxo

She's a maniac

My sweet William's first birthday is fast approaching and I've decided it might be nice to do some Aaahts n' Crafts to mark the occasion. (Who am I kidding? I'm crafting. Crafting as fast as I can! Crafting my life away!) Hope nobody at work notices. Pictures to follow. xoxo

The Gift

There are few pleasures in life I find more warm and fuzzy than waking up to my smiling baby.  On the weekends, mornings with him are just brilliant, when the day is new and stretched out before us and I don't have to think about work for even a second.  But weekday mornings are a different story altogether.  Inevitably, I always end up rushing to get myself out the door in true hot mess fashion (ie: wet hair, no makeup...pretty girl).  I'm careful to tiptoe around so I don't wake the baby, and if I do, Hubby has implored me not to engage him.  I respect his wishes, him being the primary caretaker and all (in addition to working nights and weekends), but it's never easy to just walk away.

On a good morning, I'll get myself smoothly out the door after watching half an episode of "Cheers" while pumping some breastmilk.  On a *not* so good morning, I'll accidentally wake my son up while closing my sock drawer, or stepping on Sophie the giraffe's squeaky head.  If he spots me, naturally he'll want to come to me, and when I have to go, he'll cry.  Leaving for work while my son is crying for me is not one of my favorite things.  In the spirit of full disclosure, and at the risk of sounding completely melodramatic, it breaks my heart, and makes me feel as if a little part of me is dying inside. What's that Sondheim song that always used to give me a belly ache?  Every day a little death...

On a shitty day, I worry that I'm taking up residence in Bittersville.  Sure, I know tons of mothers do it these days, but I find that it doesn't make it any easier.  Especially when I don't really have anyone to talk to about it.  I'm smiley by nature, too, so nobody at work would ever suspect I was struggling unless they asked. 

I call my mother every morning as soon as I shut my front door.  She expects these calls, will even wait to take her morning shower until she hears from me, but on mornings when my baby is crying for me, I'm not always the most sunny conversationalist.  I pretty much suck.  "That's okay," she assures me, "I want you to vent to me."  

Aside from dumping my karmic frustrations on my supportive mother, I'm careful not to allow myself too much time to dwell on these things.  I try to count my blessings, and if I can just get myself to turn my face toward the sun (literally and figuratively speaking), I can usually keep my chin up.  And a morning like today helps.  I'd turned on the video monitor (we are sleep sharing these days, ie: William sleeps in our bed) and as I was pumping, I saw my baby's head pop up on the screen, his eyes as big as half dollars.  He was awake!   And he was practicing blowing raspberries.  And I watched as he patted Hubby's face, grabbed the scruff on his chin, stuck a skinny finger up his Dada's nose, blew raspberries into his face...

It was a weekday and I was getting to watch my baby wake up.   The fact that this was exactly what I'd been wishing for was not lost on me.  This was a little gift, and I had to recognize it as such.  I even got to snuggle him for a bit before leaving for work, and today he didn't cry when I left, at least not while I was within earshot.

I walk the line between being fiercely optimistic that some cosmic shift is about to happen that would allow me to be home more with my baby, and stifling a nagging fear that maybe I'm just deluding myself.  That maybe I'll always spend more hours at work than at home.  That sort of self-defeating talk usually pops into my brain when I'm experiencing fatigue, whether it be psychic or physical.  When my emotional defenses are down, havoc ensues.  Also, last month we came very close to being able to swap roles, Hubby and me, but our hopes morphed into a giant setback, though we tried to spin it otherwise.  Another time.  Que sera.

For the most part, I continue to barrel through, my faith propelling me forward, beckoning me to open my heart and turn my frown upside down.  What else can I do, really?   I count my blessings, the million ordinary, extraordinary, miraculous, so-cute-that-they're-heartbreaking blessings that season my life these days.   My goal is to find the balance to be open to receiving what I'm yearning for in my heart of hearts, and in the meantime to remain grateful for the life we're living now.  For our jobs, for my extended family, for my amazing Hubby, for our spectacular little son.  Still, I've got to believe there is something better out there for us.  Leaving that baby every day to come to work is a daily struggle.  But mornings like today certainly help.  xoxo

Catching up

Happy New Year to you, Dear Reader!  I'm sitting here on my lunch hour, typing to you on my brand new MacBook (hooray!), which will hopefully facilitate my sincere wish to start posting more regularly in 2012.  If the world doesn't end, that is.  (Cue Debbie Downer trumpet sound: Womp-Womp.)

The long and short of it is that finding time to post regularly in Odd Broad Land has been a real challenge.  (My earmarked copy of Dr. Wayne Dyer's "Excuses, Begone!" just popped into my mind's eye, and it is judging me.)  But balancing my mommy duties with working long days in corporate America leaves me with little extra time to write.  A classic quote from my uncle Jim comes to mind, which goes something like, "Kimberly," (that's my aunt) "I don't have time to wipe my ass, let alone fill in the blank!"  (In my case, post on my blog).  

Hopefully my new laptop will change all that.  Not that we can really afford such a large purchase right now, but the truth is I never really buy myself anything big, as Hubby pointed out, and expressing myself through writing makes me less of a crazy raving lunatic happy.

In the minutes and hours and days that I've spent at home not writing, I've been doing a million other things.  Watching my William double fist his binkies, grow tooth after tooth, crawl, stand, shake-shake-shake his little shaky toys, bang away on his baby piano, and use absolutely anything he can find as a walker.  I've been crawling after him on my hands and knees, making him howl with laughter; playing peek-a-boo, singing him song after song after song, trying not to cry as I listen to the adorable little crunch sound his teeth make when he eats his veggie crunchies.  Everything delights this child, and I love seeing the world through his eyes.  My love for him is the most powerful, natural feeling I've ever experienced.

Basically, I'm trying very hard to be present in the moment, because he's growing so fast and it's easy to feel like I'm missing everything, being away from him all day.  Some days I cry about it and worry that I'm getting a serious chip on my shoulder.  And some days I'm okay.  (Set the scene: have I splept at all the night before?)  Always I hold out hope that there will come a day when I will be able to spend more time with my beloved little pal.  I will never give up on that beautiful dream becoming a reality.  (Dr. Wayne wouldn't want me to, either.)

And that's where I am, really.  I'm hanging in there by day, playing and reading Sandra Boynton books by evening, always being careful to remember to be grateful for all that I have.  Because there's a lot to be grateful for. 

Boston could not be any colder this week!  Hope the weather is a bit warmer where you are.  Time for me to head back upstairs.  xoxo

Giving Thanks

This Thanksgiving, my gratitude was palpable.  My son has brought more joy into my life than I ever thought possible.  The love he inspires in me has been so life-changing, I can scarcely begin to articulate it.  But I'm going to keep trying.  I've been writing to him in a journal ever since I realized I was pregnant, before I even knew that he was a he.  How is it that my sweet baby will be a year old in two short months? 

He's waking up.  That's my cue.  xoxo

Having a moment

Sunday morning.  Hubby is at work and it's just my baby and me, sitting in the comfy red chair in our front room.  It's raining pretty steadily, so the windows are cracked only a little, just enough for us to feel a slight breeze on our faces.  It smells like saltwater.

I love this apartment.  It's such a shame we're going to have to move.

I talk to William about the sounds the rain makes.  Drip, drip, drop!  He smiles.  I watch him watch the rain collect on the windowpane.  His eyes are so impossibly blue in this light, and I wonder what he thinks about the rain.  And that's when one of those moments happen, one of those feelings, the kind I've been experiencing so frequently since my baby was born.  This is really my life now, he's actally my son.  My wish was answered, somebody was listening.  These thoughts sneak up on me; even after all these months they continue to take me by surprise.  And suddenly my brain swirls with so many thoughts...

Sandcastles we'll build together, and stomp on.  All the Harry Potter books to be read.  Forts to be built.  Treasure hunts we'll go on.  Muppet movies just waiting for us to watch them.  Easter baskets and Santa Claus and carrots for Rudolph...

All the rainy days when we'll stay inside and just hang out together.  I look at Will and mentally wrap this moment up carefully, like a delicate package, and file it away for tomorrow morning when it will be time for me to go to work.  Don't think about that now, Debbie Downer, I tell myself, we still have all day...

For so long I felt as if my life was on hold, like that song I knew a long time ago, that showtune...how did it go again?  Tell me why...you get me to fly like a fish to the bait, then tell me to wait...well, I'm waiting...waiting for life to begin...

I never feel that way anymore.  It's the craziest thing.  I've got to be the happiest girl in the 617 area code.  No matter what hurdles I still have to jump, life is so very sweet.  And I continue to realize this, again and again, day after day, moment by moment...just sitting with my baby, listening to the rain on a Sunday morning.

The lunch date

I walked into work this morning in a kind of reverie, a love haze, if you will. I was thinking about my baby.

He'd been sleeping in bed with Hubby and me the night before, and I'd spent a good deal of the early morning just watching him, in all his glorious baby perfection.  I watch as he rolls onto his side and curls his little fists up to his chest, resting them under his chin.  It's exactly the same way I sleep.  I wonder what he dreams about.

I'm truly in awe of this little soul.  How is it possible he is six months old tomorrow?

My morning passes quickly.  My work days fly by fast since I've been back full time, which is probably a blessing.  Hubby stays home with William during the day and works nights and weekends.  It's true we're often two sleepy ships passing each other in the night, each one working when the other is not, but this situation was literally an answer to my prayers.  (Seriously, Mary is my homegirl.)

Hubby calls me around 11:00 am.  "Do you think it would be okay if I dropped Will off with you on your lunch hour?"  My heart does a happy little dance.  Of course it's okay.

W is sleeping when they arrive.  Hubby pulls him out of his carseat and places him carefully into his stroller.  He gives me a quick smooch and he's off to pick something up at work. When my baby opens his enormous blue eyes, it's my face he sees.

"Hi, my baby boy!"  I say, and watch as his face breaks into one of his giant, million dollar grins.  We walk down Newbury Street into the Public Garden, where I point out birdies, ducks, swans, doggies, and give him a close-up look at the Make Way For Ducklings statues. 

Later, as we wait for Hubby to return, I pull W out of his stroller and hold him close.  It's always windy by Copley Square, so I snuggle him even closer and breathe in his sweet baby smell.  I start to quietly sing:

Why are there so many songs about rainbows

and what's on the other side?

Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,

and rainbows have nothing to hide.

So we've been told, and some choose to believe it-

I know they're wrong, wait and see.

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,

The lovers, the dreamers and me.

We're standing outside, surrounded by the sounds of buses, taxis and cars.  There are plenty of business types swirling about, smoking or talking on cell phones, but as far as I'm concerned there is nobody around but my baby and me.  Time stands still for a moment and I realize I'm perfectly happy.  I'm happy deep down to the bottom of my Payless flats.

All of us under its spell...

We know that it's probably magic...

I don't care who hears me singing.  I don't even care that I have to head back into work in a few minutes.  Something inside my heart shifts, and for some reason I know everything is really going to be okay.  I won't always have to be away from William for 10 hour stretches, we won't always be in debt up to our eyebrows, or live in such a crappy neighborhood.  Our future is only as bright as I can envision it.   And our present is pretty magnificent as it is.

I'm going to teach William to believe in the power of his dreams.  He's my dream come true, so it's the least I can do for him. 

What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing?

And what do we think we might see?

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,

The lovers, the dreamers, and me...

xoxo

 

Thanks Mom

I had a revelation the other day, a sort of A-Ha! moment, and I called my mother to tell her.  I'm always calling to tell her about something or other.  I've even had dreams in which I've needed to reach her, to tell her some story.  (Sissy thinks we have co-dependency issues, but that's neither here nor there.) 

"So Ma," I begin, "I think I just realized something.  The way I feel about William, is that the way you feel about...me?"

"Well, ya!  Of course."  She seemed amused at my discovery.

"Still?  You still love me that much?  Like, in the crazy way that I love him?"

"Yeah!  I mean, some of that overwhelming awe sort of fades a little, but yes, the way you feel about Will is exactly how I feel about you, of course." 

And suddenly I saw things so clearly.  All of the times she pushed me, or challenged me, or called me on something when I was acting like an asshole or not living up to my potential...all of those times when I'd wake her up in the middle of the night to come and sleep in my bed, when she was probably exhausted from being on her feet at work all day...every rehearsal she schlepped me to, every voice lesson she sat through, the time she drove Hubby and me to New York to get us our first apartment when nobody would rent to us, and the day she moved us in, a few weeks later, even though she was probably terrified to leave me there...

I finally really get why she did it.  I finally get why she still does all the things she does.  When I think she's being a pain in the ass, or has no right to act like such a buttinski, in reality she's just doing it because she feels compelled to.  Because she loves me as fiercely and deeply as I love my baby boy, regardless of how old I've gotten.  It's as simple and as complicated as that.

"Oh.  Thanks, Mama." I tell her.

It's funny the things William is helping me to discover.  I have a feeling he's going to teach me a lot more than I'll ever teach him.

Soyfully yours

In addition to having been abstaining from dairy for the past several months, my bambino's pediatrician recently suggested I go off soy. 

"Oh, I don't even eat soy," I explained to her, "Maybe one time last month I ate a soy yogurt, but that's pretty much it."

How naive I was.  Soy is in everything!  Did you know this, Dear Reader?  I didn't, until I began reading the labels of foods I certainly never suspected would contain it.  Amazingly, soy can be an ingredient in anything from bread, to crackers, to cereals, to marinara sauce, to salad dressing, to chewing gum! 

It's a little dist-soy-bing.

Incidentally, have you ever attempted to purchase bread that doesn't contain soy or dairy?  It ain't an easy task.  Just for shits and giggles, try finding one that doesn't contain high fructose corn syrup.  That'll be fifteen minutes of your life you'll never get back.

Yes, I'm the crazy lady next to you at Stop & Shop who's checking all the labels, shaking her head and muttering filthy obscenities under her breath.  (It's me!  How's my hair?)

Happily, my baby's tummy troubles have greatly subsided since I've given up soy, so I'm going to definitely keep avoiding it, along with anything made from cow's milk.  Physically, I feel fantastic, and aside from those annoying "you poor thing" (or "what the hell is wrong with you?!") looks I get when someone hears I'm not eating soy or dairy, I really don't consider it too huge a sacrifice.  The fact that I'm doing it for my little sweetie pie also takes the sting out of it.  Heck, I'm a working mom; being able to provide my babe with mama milk while I'm gone all day is sacred to me. 

Sure, it's a definite challenge to find products I can actually eat, but Trader Joe's and Whole Foods have some nice options for dairy and soy free stuff.  Larabars are great, and Trader Joe's makes a really tasty chocolate ice cream made with coconut milk.  (Hubby thinks it tastes like a Mounds bar.  Of course...he hates Mounds bars.)  Udi's breads and bagels are pricey, but they're awfully convenient. 

Still, it's a little irritating that soy lecithin is used as a cheap filler in such a shockingly large amount of everyday food items.  Like, what gives?

I'm not usually one to speculate about conspiracy theories, but I can't help but wonder if big business and the government aren't somewhere sipping bubbly in a heart-shaped jacuzzi together when it comes to this rotater crop.  Seriously, the next time you go to the grocery store, check out some of the labels.  Or better yet, go look in your refrigerator and kitchen cabinets.  It might make for a fun drinking game: Drink until you find something that doesn't contain soy!

Can you find anything?  I think you may be surprised.