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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)