Obscenely expensive blueberries are not immune to the laws of gravity.
Progesterone will not fix everything and it may make you fat.
In an unofficial study conducted by a certain pollyannaish writer who frequently orders said beverage, it was found that "macchiato" is only a loosely defined term. In practice, "macchiato" can be translated as "cappuccino", "latte", or an orgiastic concoction of caramel, milk, whip cream and espresso.
"PTA Mom" is not a job for everyone.
The United Stated of America is populated with a horrifyingly large number of citizens who believe in "voting with our middle finger" and that supporting a racist, misogynist, narcissist with no political experience whatsoever for President is perfectly acceptable.
Some people really dig gray hair on a woman.
You cannot use a car's turn signals in the city of San Francisco but in case of an emergency, they can be engaged ONLY as the car is already turning. I think this is a law.
Mopping the floor is an acceptable alternative to writing.
Valentine's is a fabulous, creative holiday that has been around since before Hallmark, it can be enjoyed with anybody, not just lovers, and those who embrace it are warm, sensual hot-house flowers.
Children who were previously responding fabulously to therapies for a couple of years may regress. In a new, much more mature way. This will surprise you and pain your heart.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
37 Weeks
I never write anymore.
Why is that? Because I have become a mother and I work and I have let things like sleep and quality time and laundry become all too time consuming.
But I expect to get my life back some day.
Some day. But now I am 37 weeks pregnant and am waiting for the second, no, third (sorry G), light of my life to come my way and its time to write now, even if just for a little, before the next tidal wave hits.
Motherhood is awesome. Anyone who is interested has read this a million times. Also, thanks to all the new mommy lit and mommy blogs, we all know it's also hard and exhausting and not what we thought it would be. And those of us who waited a looong time and who got pretty established in what most people think are interesting cities with interesting lives and thought we were ready and could master anything got a good wake up call when the kid/s finally came. Not to say we didn't like it, not to sat that we don't appreciate that its probably a little healthier to be more concerned with the state of our next citizen's health and development than our pedicure status or fashion statement but we still look in the mirror and face a "me" who is a lot different than we thought "me" would be in our pre-mommy fantasies and no matter how positively you look at it, change is always, well, strange.
And now, just as we sleep through the night and get up at a reasonable hour (anytime after 6am) and actually can manage nap times and feel comfortable going out with our little sensitive Pea-pie knowing she is less likely to melt-down after too much stimulus, we're about to rock that world again. And it makes me realize: this Mom thing is not going away. I am not going back to going out four multiple-martini nights a week, nor am I going to be trancing at Burning Man this year nor for any time in the near future, and, well, I'm never going to be that person I was before my children were born again.
I so look forward to meeting our new little boy and seeing what he looks like and if he is really so big as my belly indicates he might be. I am a little sad that my beautiful daughter, my first born, my cranky, moody, brilliant-bright little dove, is about to learn the lesson of a life time which is: you are not the center of the universe.
One thing people never tell you about the sensitive/fussy/colicky/spirited (there are many labels depending on the expert) is that you will bond with them more strongly than with any other child. By nature, they demand your attention and that attention breeds an atunement and intimacy that is hard to replicate with the type of baby who stays in his bouncy seat in the middle of the living room for an hour just looking around. Because if he's fine, then you are free to chat with a friend or get on Facebook or wash the dishes but you are not interacting with that child as you do with those that demand it all the time.
So then what happens when you have a second? Where does that time come from and how do I spread the love? It's an unknown and really fucking scary because frankly, when Pea is having a tantrum or melting down, it's exhausting. And I wonder - if I have another SI baby, or another sensitive baby, or just a neuro-typical baby boy who sleeps horribly, well, I'm fucked.
BUT TRY NOT TO WORRY!!.
That's what I tell myself.
Ha.
You'll love this child equally but differently.
I tell myself that too. But will I? The flurry of shyness and fragility and curiosity that is Pea owns me. Am I big enough, is my heart big enough, to make room for more? And if yes, will this sweet as yet personality-less little bundle of milk and smooch be okay while his sister storms?
I pray so. But for now, I'm trying to be brave, I'm thinking positive, and I can't wait to meet our new little family member.
Why is that? Because I have become a mother and I work and I have let things like sleep and quality time and laundry become all too time consuming.
But I expect to get my life back some day.
Some day. But now I am 37 weeks pregnant and am waiting for the second, no, third (sorry G), light of my life to come my way and its time to write now, even if just for a little, before the next tidal wave hits.
Motherhood is awesome. Anyone who is interested has read this a million times. Also, thanks to all the new mommy lit and mommy blogs, we all know it's also hard and exhausting and not what we thought it would be. And those of us who waited a looong time and who got pretty established in what most people think are interesting cities with interesting lives and thought we were ready and could master anything got a good wake up call when the kid/s finally came. Not to say we didn't like it, not to sat that we don't appreciate that its probably a little healthier to be more concerned with the state of our next citizen's health and development than our pedicure status or fashion statement but we still look in the mirror and face a "me" who is a lot different than we thought "me" would be in our pre-mommy fantasies and no matter how positively you look at it, change is always, well, strange.
And now, just as we sleep through the night and get up at a reasonable hour (anytime after 6am) and actually can manage nap times and feel comfortable going out with our little sensitive Pea-pie knowing she is less likely to melt-down after too much stimulus, we're about to rock that world again. And it makes me realize: this Mom thing is not going away. I am not going back to going out four multiple-martini nights a week, nor am I going to be trancing at Burning Man this year nor for any time in the near future, and, well, I'm never going to be that person I was before my children were born again.
I so look forward to meeting our new little boy and seeing what he looks like and if he is really so big as my belly indicates he might be. I am a little sad that my beautiful daughter, my first born, my cranky, moody, brilliant-bright little dove, is about to learn the lesson of a life time which is: you are not the center of the universe.
One thing people never tell you about the sensitive/fussy/colicky/spirited (there are many labels depending on the expert) is that you will bond with them more strongly than with any other child. By nature, they demand your attention and that attention breeds an atunement and intimacy that is hard to replicate with the type of baby who stays in his bouncy seat in the middle of the living room for an hour just looking around. Because if he's fine, then you are free to chat with a friend or get on Facebook or wash the dishes but you are not interacting with that child as you do with those that demand it all the time.
So then what happens when you have a second? Where does that time come from and how do I spread the love? It's an unknown and really fucking scary because frankly, when Pea is having a tantrum or melting down, it's exhausting. And I wonder - if I have another SI baby, or another sensitive baby, or just a neuro-typical baby boy who sleeps horribly, well, I'm fucked.
BUT TRY NOT TO WORRY!!.
That's what I tell myself.
Ha.
You'll love this child equally but differently.
I tell myself that too. But will I? The flurry of shyness and fragility and curiosity that is Pea owns me. Am I big enough, is my heart big enough, to make room for more? And if yes, will this sweet as yet personality-less little bundle of milk and smooch be okay while his sister storms?
I pray so. But for now, I'm trying to be brave, I'm thinking positive, and I can't wait to meet our new little family member.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Happy Mama's Day!
I just looked back at my last post and saw that it had been seven months since I wrote last. And that, my friends, is why there is a day especially for the tired, the loving, the over-scheduled...the mothers.
Ms. Pea is now nine months and 3weeks old or 42 weeks and some odd days - she been around as long as she was a little mini-monkey hanging upside down in Mama's love den, punching every-so-often just so I knew she was there. And it's been a long haul. I still have issues to work on with my mother but I've become so much more compassionate and RESPECTFUL of my mother which has made me appreciate ALL mothers. And what a perfect day to actually put it to pen.
To all the Mothers who endlessly hummed, bounced and shhshed through colic, who nursed 'til they thought their breasts might just as well be filled with silicon as they'd become nothing more than milky pacifiers, and who spent hours shopping and peeling and steaming and pureeing up delicious concoctions only to be met with a closed mouth or a new interest in spitting out...Happy Mother's Day. To the women who learned to nurse while sleeping, standing, walking, slinging, and cases of mastitis -- and all those who just couldn't nurse...Happy Mother's Day. To all the Mothers who've cursed out SUVs running stop signs while mid-crosswalk with a stroller, who carried children on hips with bags of groceries in hand while no one held the door, who haven't had a night without a wake up in too many years to count...Happy Mother's Day. And to all those mothers who are years ahead of me or in different world of parenting, you who parent without partners, who have teenagers sneaking out at night, who have children who learn differently, or children who want to learn but live in circumstances and surroundings that make learning challenging, or, god forbid, who are ill...Happy Mother's Day.
Ms. Pea was a challenge today. She was up all night and early morning and her first nap ended before the hour had finished. She screamed all the way home from brunch and then refused her afternoon nap. Tired and frustrated after trying to get her to sleep, I finally laid her down in her crib and closed the door. After 4 minutes of crying, she started talking - and then laughing. My love, my star, my sun around whom I orbit, began to babble and giggle and squeak and scold Doggie, DouDou, Cookie and Froggy for 45 minutes while I sat on the couch with her Daddy slowly relaxing and breathing again. This Mother's Day sucked, there's no denying it. But I am a Mother now to the fabulous, terrible, complex and beautiful Ms. Pea. Despite her spirit, because of her spirit, she is by far my most praiseworthy poem, my most perfect print, my most interesting story.
So to Ms. Pea and Daddy G. - thank you for hiring me for the most difficult and most satisfying job around. I love you.
Ms. Pea is now nine months and 3weeks old or 42 weeks and some odd days - she been around as long as she was a little mini-monkey hanging upside down in Mama's love den, punching every-so-often just so I knew she was there. And it's been a long haul. I still have issues to work on with my mother but I've become so much more compassionate and RESPECTFUL of my mother which has made me appreciate ALL mothers. And what a perfect day to actually put it to pen.
To all the Mothers who endlessly hummed, bounced and shhshed through colic, who nursed 'til they thought their breasts might just as well be filled with silicon as they'd become nothing more than milky pacifiers, and who spent hours shopping and peeling and steaming and pureeing up delicious concoctions only to be met with a closed mouth or a new interest in spitting out...Happy Mother's Day. To the women who learned to nurse while sleeping, standing, walking, slinging, and cases of mastitis -- and all those who just couldn't nurse...Happy Mother's Day. To all the Mothers who've cursed out SUVs running stop signs while mid-crosswalk with a stroller, who carried children on hips with bags of groceries in hand while no one held the door, who haven't had a night without a wake up in too many years to count...Happy Mother's Day. And to all those mothers who are years ahead of me or in different world of parenting, you who parent without partners, who have teenagers sneaking out at night, who have children who learn differently, or children who want to learn but live in circumstances and surroundings that make learning challenging, or, god forbid, who are ill...Happy Mother's Day.
Ms. Pea was a challenge today. She was up all night and early morning and her first nap ended before the hour had finished. She screamed all the way home from brunch and then refused her afternoon nap. Tired and frustrated after trying to get her to sleep, I finally laid her down in her crib and closed the door. After 4 minutes of crying, she started talking - and then laughing. My love, my star, my sun around whom I orbit, began to babble and giggle and squeak and scold Doggie, DouDou, Cookie and Froggy for 45 minutes while I sat on the couch with her Daddy slowly relaxing and breathing again. This Mother's Day sucked, there's no denying it. But I am a Mother now to the fabulous, terrible, complex and beautiful Ms. Pea. Despite her spirit, because of her spirit, she is by far my most praiseworthy poem, my most perfect print, my most interesting story.
So to Ms. Pea and Daddy G. - thank you for hiring me for the most difficult and most satisfying job around. I love you.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Anti-Attachment Parenting: Bonding in 12 Weeks or Less
I know I'm not the first woman to have a baby and I know I'm not the first woman to leave a baby at home to return to work. But damn, this country makes me feel that family is just so inconsequential. Ms. Pea, tiny, sensitive, only three-months-in-this-world Ms. Pea, just cried herself to sleep after two hours of being inconsolable. Why, you ask? Because I came home from work for the third time in her life. Because she saw me, smiled, and then remembered that Mommy had left her alone. All day. When she went down, it was my turn to cry.
And I'm one of the lucky ones. Her father is staying home with her another three months. And I can afford a good breast pump. And we have insurance. And it will be tough but we will scrape up enough for child care. So what do other women feel like, the ones who can't afford to stay home at all? Or single moms who don't have partners? I know, I should feel blessed. But sorry...I just don't.
It's not right what this country ignores. It's not. Mr. Bush vetoes children's health care, and his administration has done nothing to further FMLA or nursing rights. Because that would mean compromising business. No, we can't have that.
And we wonder how all those Northern European countries snuck up and passed us for the right to be in the standard of living top-five.
Maybe, Mr. Bush, we'd be on top of the world again if we spent a little bit more time and resources on education, health care, and starting our young citizens out right, and a little less time on war, torture, and keeping your friends well-funded and in power.
In the mean time, I'm going to spend the evening running the numbers on our budget. Again. And I'll write another email to my congress person. And when precious Ms. Pea wakes up, I'll be sure to give her an extra helping of lovin' with her booby.
And I'm one of the lucky ones. Her father is staying home with her another three months. And I can afford a good breast pump. And we have insurance. And it will be tough but we will scrape up enough for child care. So what do other women feel like, the ones who can't afford to stay home at all? Or single moms who don't have partners? I know, I should feel blessed. But sorry...I just don't.
It's not right what this country ignores. It's not. Mr. Bush vetoes children's health care, and his administration has done nothing to further FMLA or nursing rights. Because that would mean compromising business. No, we can't have that.
And we wonder how all those Northern European countries snuck up and passed us for the right to be in the standard of living top-five.
Maybe, Mr. Bush, we'd be on top of the world again if we spent a little bit more time and resources on education, health care, and starting our young citizens out right, and a little less time on war, torture, and keeping your friends well-funded and in power.
In the mean time, I'm going to spend the evening running the numbers on our budget. Again. And I'll write another email to my congress person. And when precious Ms. Pea wakes up, I'll be sure to give her an extra helping of lovin' with her booby.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Next Stop, Hades
Is anyone else concerned that Muni hired Satan to record the overhead announcement at the Folsom Street N-Judah stop?
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