Blow it up

My friend Wendy is wise.  She said to me one day that all kids are perfect and learning how to be in the world.

I do my best to let my kid be herself.  Loud, overbearing, exuberant.  These are all words that I own, that give me anxiety.  These qualities say to me, "Be embarrassed, care about what others might think about your parenting, get that girl to stop drawing attention to herself".  They aren't what my kid is.  She is perfect.

How freaking cool is it that she can scream with excitement in a small coffee shop and care not about others' opinions.  How freaking cool is it that she will insert herself into a stranger's family to seek out their similarly sized child and then steal that child away to frolic about, as if she'd known them her whole life.  How freaking cool is my kid?

So why would I want to bring down the numbness, the separateness of my adulthood onto her?  What a lame thing to do.  By all accounts I am the one whose life is dull and lackluster, while her's is wild with vibrant colors and freedom to just "be".  Why would an unbiased observer say to me, "Yes, Mrs. O'Hagan, your child is clearly in need of a dose of your life.  The one where she dies a little.  Yes, that's my opinion."  Well, that just wouldn't happen.  Quite the opposite would be true.  That person would beg me, implore to my humanity that I see her for who she is: the most incredible person walking the earth.  And they would ask me, why- why am I so willing to snuff out that inspiring beam of unfiltered light, when I could learn so much from it?

I could only answer with the sad realization that I have crossed over.  I am that boring adult who I didn't understand as a kid.  I am fully in the embrace of rules, politeness, manners and all other form of tippy-toeing.  And it sucks.  Those qualities have added nothing to the quality of my life.  They may have inspired others to think kind thoughts about me, or perhaps to not have thought about me at all as I made no impression of myself.  At this rate, I'll go to my grave with people saying how nice I was and that may be it.  I won't have stood for anything.  I won't have lived 'out loud' as they say.  And for whom am I muting myself?

The moral of the story is that my kid is PERFECT.  I hope she never learns to fit into this social structure and instead blows it up with her amazing self.

Some perspective

Being a mom is not the same as not.  (Duh, right?)

It was weird, in the beginning, hearing my own voice loud and purposeful, waxing about how Ferdinand is content to sit just quietly and how Max's misbehavior sends him on an egoistic journey.  Now, it's odd for me to hear others' voices reading aloud to my daughter.  I get anxious for my turn, as creating a scene with inflection and drama have become something I look forward to.

Gross things have happened.  Why, only hours ago, burbling and rumbling from my infant's bottom resulted in a costume change for the both of us.  My pre-mom days never had me consider how sticky infant poop is.  And, well...never mind.

My body is free reign.  A baby on a boob, a toddler in an armpit and a chunk of my butt in my husband's palm.  I don't take the time to hide myself at home, because it's just too much work.  And besides, why create body issues in my daughters so soon?  I do clothe myself, I'm not that "free".

Our bed is truly full of love.  By 6 a.m. there are no less than 5 bodies, breathing peacefully, resting side-by-side.  I never thought this would be something I loved.  It sounds quite annoying to 20 year old me.  However, being squished by two people who grew in my belly and who I couldn't love more if I tried, well that's pretty freaking awesome.

Unraveling my clenched up fists

There is a lot of relief that come with letting go.  I suppose that's why every self-help/inspirational-quote book isn't complete without a shout out to the 'letting go' factor.  I find, however, that it is indeed one of those things that cannot be understood on faith or because it was once explained to you.  No, sir.  If you're interested in all that 'letting go' has to offer, then you must do just that.

Today I noticed a cinching in my chest paired with a tensing in my shoulder blades.  The day's activities would include certain family members who are known for their critical eye.  Perhaps they have been overbearing with their opinions in the past and it's possible that I've found myself fumbling for justification of my parenting style.  Or did it just seem that way?

Today I experimented with confidence.  I chose to hear critiques as merely conversation.  I chose to answer questions as they were, not as I heard them.  I let go of my need to defend our choices.  Of course, I am not so good at this quite yet.  I bumbled around with it and lost sight of it completely at times.  Overall however, it was wonderful.  Freeing.

I've also become quite good at letting go of how I assume others see my child's behavior and how that reflects on me.  It's good fun if you can do it.  I've grasped that not only do I not particularly care what others are thinking (who are you anyways?), it really doesn't matter.  It's an invisible transaction that leaves me feeling less about myself, and who needs that?  Not I.

It's all about letting go people.

She's a professional on the topic:

Extreme Effort

I was looking at a new baby's photo on facebook.  I was noticing all the comments, the well wishes and blessings.  One small, chubby, new face that everyone had waited and longed to finally see.

I remember finally seeing Luci's face, knowing that everyone would, in minutes, see her online too.  I felt a bit lost in those moments.  There are photos of me holding her for the first time, cord still attached and my face is emotionless.  Truth be told, it was also how I felt.  The effort of the previous hours had taken all of my everything.  Going through labor, this time, was more intense and gargantuan than I can begin to explain.  I was loud.  I said, "get her out of me".  I heard myself, in a strange removed sort of way, and thought, "What a drama queen".  And there was no other way for it to be.  The pain and effort had to release somehow, and my method of choice was vocal.  My husband would later tell me that he felt like he was in a war zone and I was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.  Yeah, that's pretty much how I felt too.  I was glad for the precious baby in my arms and I was depleted in way that left no effort to smile or to even feel joy.

So now, when I see those fresh, new baby pictures I see an exhausted new mom too.  Someone who might have felt like she was never going to get through it, until that glorious moment when she did.  

It didn't take me long to recover from my disconnect.  About an hour I think.  I have a tendency to look beyond the new baby lately, and am compelled to reach out to the Mom.  So much focus is on the new baby, the new baby will be fine, the new Mom might need some extra love though.

It's gone

My cousin was married a few weeks ago.  This meant that I got to spend time with my favorite people: the Joris clan.  I adore them.
Of course this trip was a bit crazy, weddings don't generally allow for a lot of extra down time with the bride and her family.  It was magically infused with the kind of love that you have no doubts about, it was perfection and beauty and I am so, so thrilled for and proud of my cousin.
One of the realities of 'coming home' to my family is that my grandpa isn't there.  I saw him last Thanksgiving.  He was in a bed, set up in the living room, pale and mostly in a daze or sleeping.  There were a few times when he woke up that I got to talk to him.  He remembered that I was pregnant, he asked about the baby.  One time he was out on the back porch in his wheel chair, getting some air and sun.  Rosanna was running about, eating mandarins and sharing them with Grandpa.  He was smiling.  In that moment, it was like he never left.
My Dad was the one who called to tell us that Grandpa had passed.  What a strange conversation to be in.  I wasn't shocked.  I wasn't caught of guard, I suspected that was why he was calling.  Still, I was hit with a huge and heavy sadness.
My Grandma just sold their house.  That's hard for me to believe too.  I was bathed in her kitchen sink as a baby and I bathed my baby there too.  I ran around the back porch with bare feet slapping the cool gray cement.  I helped collect chicken eggs.  I slunk around the perimeter of the house in the dark with my Grandma and a thick stick, shining a flashlight into corners and squashing black widows to death when we found them.  No doubt squealing a bit each time.  I avoided the crazy white cat who was my friend one moment and wanted me for dinner then next.  I searched through strawberry vines and picked out bright red treasures.  I snuggled and hung on the neck of a big golden dog who was as tall as I was.  All of this happened, of course, over years and years.
It's all a part of a bigger unit.  The house, the yard, my Grandparents.  One cozy, familiar package.  It's almost confusing when I consider what no longer exists for me to refuge to.  I feel pain in my throat and a snake squeezing my heart.
Growing up is lame.

"Good night, Mom"

"I love you, good night baby."

"I love you too, good night Mom."

That "Mom" is me.  Is it weird that I am still caught off guard by "Mom" used in reference to myself?  It's been 3 years, 2 of those with verbal affirmation from the child herself that yes, I am "Mom".
As a kiddo I saw my Mom as having it all figured out.  I didn't doubt her motives and I assumed that it was all just second nature to her.  It may have been.  I certainly don't feel that way.  I feel like every day is another parenting challenge met and then, after she's in bed, I sit and question all the Ro-related choices I made and criticize myself into vowing that tomorrow I'll do better.

I know I'm not alone.  I imagine it's the nature of motherhood.  There's that word again, "mother".  It carries so much weight.  Heavy, hefty, loaded and smothering weight.  Aren't I just a child myself?  No?  I sure don't see myself as a 'grown up'.  But aren't grown-ups the only sort of people who can raise kids (I just snorted a little)?

I might need to take a philosophy class to sort it all out, this is getting intense.

One a Day in May

Another  blogger made a list of thing to blog about.  Specifically one for each day in May.  If you wanna play too, here's her site:
http://fatmumslim.com.au/hey-its-may-photo-a-day-come-and-play/

Day 1: I BOUGHT THIS!

Yeah, so that's my second born.  You could say we bought her, she cost upward of $700 dollars.  I suppose what we actually bought was an experience and peace of mind.  I got tests, appointments and all the staff I could possibly need to birth and then hang out at a fairly comfortable hospital.  All things considered, she was as screaming deal.