Yesterday marked six weeks since I gave birth, and I cannot help but acknowledge that milestone with a profound sense of gratefulness that I do not have to go back to work today.
I remember hitting this point when TLG was small (back when he was still Neeps), and thinking, "How on earth could I be expected to leave him, when he's still so small and helpless?" Now, Little Brother is much less small than TLG was at this age (like, shockingly less small, who is feeding this child?), but still... how could I be expected to leave him? And yet that's exactly what my Mom (and countless other mothers) had/have to do. And it sucks. So I just really want to appreciate the fact that I have this freedom to keep my career on track and also spend the first few months of my child's life extra-bonding with him.
9.30.2019
9.26.2019
The Lady and the Milktiger
Once upon a time there was a Young Lady- twenty years young, to be exact- who was, for the first time in her life, going to live alone. She was an introvert, so this wasn't as daunting as it might have been, and anyway several of her best friends were living in the apartments across the hallway and directly beneath her- but still, it was going to be odd, to come home to an empty apartment every day, and so she decided to get a cat.
She went to the animal shelter with her grandfather, and when they got there a small, pale orange kitten yowled at them, and reached out and popped the Young Lady's grandfather on the head: they took to one another immediately. The Young Lady, however, diligently walked through the entire shelter and saw all the available cats and kittens, before coming back to the noisy one, who was still "talking" loudly to anyone who would listen.
It would be nice to have someone answer when I say hello, thought the Young Lady, and so she adopted the kitten, whom she dubbed "Milktiger Kink" for his stunted, kinked tail, and the fact that his markings made him look like nothing so much as a tiger cub who had been dipped in milk.
She called him Kink for short, and brought him home to the little one-bedroom apartment, where he did, indeed, fill it with noise.
Kink, as it turned out, was a bit of a hellspawn. An evil, demonic hellspawn that gave the Young Lady (and others) a number of scars over the course of his kitten-and-young-adulthood. But the Young Lady had claimed responsibility for his life, and that meant sticking with him, no matter how bloodthirsty and vicious he could be.
Fortunately for the Young Lady, Kink finally mellowed out around age seven. How much this had to do with her moving him 3000 miles cross-country so she could get married, the world may never know. But the fact remained that Kink eventually settled down into a perfectly reasonable, non-attack-cat, who shared his human with first a husband, then a second cat, then two rats, a dog, and eventually two small humans who could be a little hazy on the concept of "gentle"- and not a one of them was ever so much as bloodied.
And then one day, about eighteen years after he'd come into her life, the Lady noticed that Kink seemed to be... going blind.
And she knew that the Downward Spiral was beginning.
Or, rather, that it was Accelerating- after all, it had been nearly a year since they'd had to start giving him fluids, and changed his diet to support his kidneys.
So the Lady took Kink in for his annual check up, and the doctor confirmed what she'd feared: he had gone completely blind, his blood pressure was high, and his kidneys were failing.
There were things that could be done to extend his life, the doctor said- but the Lady chose not to do them. Instead the Lady chose to bring Kink home so he could have a few final days of cheese and tuna and goodbyes to family and old friends. And then, two weeks later, she took him back to the doctor for his Final Visit.
Because the Lady had claimed responsibility for his life, and that meant sticking with him, no matter how painful.
She went to the animal shelter with her grandfather, and when they got there a small, pale orange kitten yowled at them, and reached out and popped the Young Lady's grandfather on the head: they took to one another immediately. The Young Lady, however, diligently walked through the entire shelter and saw all the available cats and kittens, before coming back to the noisy one, who was still "talking" loudly to anyone who would listen.
It would be nice to have someone answer when I say hello, thought the Young Lady, and so she adopted the kitten, whom she dubbed "Milktiger Kink" for his stunted, kinked tail, and the fact that his markings made him look like nothing so much as a tiger cub who had been dipped in milk.
She called him Kink for short, and brought him home to the little one-bedroom apartment, where he did, indeed, fill it with noise.
Kink, as it turned out, was a bit of a hellspawn. An evil, demonic hellspawn that gave the Young Lady (and others) a number of scars over the course of his kitten-and-young-adulthood. But the Young Lady had claimed responsibility for his life, and that meant sticking with him, no matter how bloodthirsty and vicious he could be.
Fortunately for the Young Lady, Kink finally mellowed out around age seven. How much this had to do with her moving him 3000 miles cross-country so she could get married, the world may never know. But the fact remained that Kink eventually settled down into a perfectly reasonable, non-attack-cat, who shared his human with first a husband, then a second cat, then two rats, a dog, and eventually two small humans who could be a little hazy on the concept of "gentle"- and not a one of them was ever so much as bloodied.
And then one day, about eighteen years after he'd come into her life, the Lady noticed that Kink seemed to be... going blind.
And she knew that the Downward Spiral was beginning.
Or, rather, that it was Accelerating- after all, it had been nearly a year since they'd had to start giving him fluids, and changed his diet to support his kidneys.
So the Lady took Kink in for his annual check up, and the doctor confirmed what she'd feared: he had gone completely blind, his blood pressure was high, and his kidneys were failing.
There were things that could be done to extend his life, the doctor said- but the Lady chose not to do them. Instead the Lady chose to bring Kink home so he could have a few final days of cheese and tuna and goodbyes to family and old friends. And then, two weeks later, she took him back to the doctor for his Final Visit.
Because the Lady had claimed responsibility for his life, and that meant sticking with him, no matter how painful.
9.21.2019
Good With People
It's been way too long since I put any fiction up, so I thought I'd share this little bit I wrote back in May. It was a story seed that arose from a discussion about the sorts of people you'd want on your Team in case of Zombie Apocalypse (my Special Forces brother is 100% my Team Leader, so I'll be just fine), and after listing a variety of specializations (hunter, gardener, spinner, carpenter, etc), I was feeling like I'd more or less be dead weight. The only thing I might have going for me is, in the immortal words of Martin Blank, "a certain... moral flexibility". Which immediately got my writer's brain a'spinnin' about how White Collar Peeps might survive the Apocalypse, and I sat down and pounded out the following. And then left it there, because I didn't actually have an idea for a narrative, just the characters for what would essentially be a glorified fanfiction of myself (in which my stand-in is way more bad ass than me, and those inspired by others in my life are slightly less so, so as to make more room for my stand-in's bad-assery). I recently had a conversation that kicked off a tentative idea for what the point of the story might be (hence this was back on my mind again) so we'll see. I'd like to do NaNo again this year, all 50k words since I'm on Parental Leave, so maybe I'll use that time to dive deep on this one...
Anyway, enjoy this unearthed noodling, and hopefully there will be more fiction in the near future!
***
Anyway, enjoy this unearthed noodling, and hopefully there will be more fiction in the near future!
***
The Apocalypse happened about fifteen years ago, while my mother was pregnant with me. I don’t remember life Before, and my brother- four years older than me- doesn’t really, although occasionally he’ll surprise me by having a personal familiarity with something like “milkshake”.
We don’t live “near” anyone. No one does, these days. Well, some people do, people trying to rebuild the Cities, but Daddy says they’re short-memoried idiots. But there’s about a handful of us families that look in on one another, none closer than about five miles, and we all get together about once a month for trading and courting and that kind of thing. Mama says they’ve all been carefully vetted, they’re all the “right” kind of people, by which she means sensible folk. My brother says dryly that the Apocalypse did a pretty good job vetting our species in general, but talk like that always makes Mama angry.
“There were a lot of good people who died, a lot of smart people who just got unlucky,” she’ll say. “Not to mention the smart people who got lucky enough to survive, but were a hell of a lot worse for us than the dumb ones who died.”
Daddy says we were smart, and that’s why we made it through the Bad Years. Mama says we were smart, but also lucky. “Being smart just lets you take advantage of good luck when it comes along,” she says. “And good luck comes more often to those who don’t count on it.”
“Smart, and lucky, and ruthless,” Daddy will say, and kiss Mama. Mama says nothing. I know she considers being ruthless part of being smart. And I know she considers the biggest piece of luck having been married to Daddy. Daddy is the one who knew how to survive in a world suddenly stripped of modern technology. Sure, it was theoretical knowledge, knowledge he’d gleaned from a passionate interest in history, but between the two of them they turned theory into practice, and even refined it in places. And Daddy’s the surer shot when it comes to hunting anything on the move. Mama has said multiple times that we might have survived without him, but we never would have been so comfortable. Daddy always says we’d have done just fine.
“There’s no stopping your mother, boys,” he’ll say. “Once she puts her mind to a thing, it gets done.”
Daddy used to work with computers, before the Apocalypse. People would have problems with their computers, and he’d use his to fix them. He’s explained it to us a couple of times, but it’s sort of hard to understand. And Daddy says there’s really not much point in trying to understand, because we’re not likely to get computers back on any sort of a widespread scale anytime soon, and even if we did, they’ll be different.
Mama was something called a financial planner, which she says was even more worthless than what Daddy did. “I made a lot of money helping people prepare for retirement,” she says. “But when the Apocalypse made money obsolete, it became apparent that all I really did was tell stories.”
Mama is good at telling stories, tho’, and she’s a super-good planner, so I’m sure she was good at her job, even if there’s no such thing as “retirement” anymore.
Mama had a passing interest in history, but not like Daddy. She always liked art and literature and philosophy best, which she says are all very important things to individuals and societies, but not very good for building shelter or putting food in our bellies. She’s much better with people than Daddy is, tho’. Better at charming them, better at bargaining with them.
Better at killing them, when it needs to be done.
9.09.2019
It's Hard
So remember when I was all, "Why did I think having a newborn was 'boring torture'? This is fine!"
...I remember now.
See, once that initial New Baby Adrenaline is past (ie, once you've had 2+ weeks of no more than 2 hours of sleep at a whack) it starts to get really, really hard. I'm in that place right now.
It helps that I know it will pass- in fact I know it will pass in just another month or so, and while it will still be hard, it will be a different kind of hard, one considerably more well-rested (mostly). And it helps that when I posted about wanting sleep more than anything, several friends reached out just to say, "You've got this." And it helps when my husband reminds me that he is perfectly capable of cleaning the kitchen himself, and to take a freaking nap already.
...I remember now.
See, once that initial New Baby Adrenaline is past (ie, once you've had 2+ weeks of no more than 2 hours of sleep at a whack) it starts to get really, really hard. I'm in that place right now.
It helps that I know it will pass- in fact I know it will pass in just another month or so, and while it will still be hard, it will be a different kind of hard, one considerably more well-rested (mostly). And it helps that when I posted about wanting sleep more than anything, several friends reached out just to say, "You've got this." And it helps when my husband reminds me that he is perfectly capable of cleaning the kitchen himself, and to take a freaking nap already.
9.07.2019
The Golden Angel and the Dark
I am now the mother of two boys, both of whom, for the moment, are rather Angelic.
I know this is not a state of affairs that is likely to last for the next 12-18 years, so I figure I'd better enjoy it while I can.
You may recall that TLG was not originally on board with getting a Little Brother, but that we eventually brought him around. Well he has stayed around, and he is stoked as hell about LBB. He helps me with diapers, lets me know when I need to feed Little Brother (you know- in case I hadn't noticed the grousing infant) and bestows millions of kisses upon him. For his part, LBB is still kind of indifferent to TLG, although he did smile at an appropriately-timed moment in response to TLG tickling his feet, so who knows. Strangers things, Horatio.
When we got the anatomy scan of LBB the tech switched it over to 3D, so we got to see LBB's facial features- and we were pretty shocked by how much he looked like TLG. Once he made his Exterior Debut, however, two Main Differences jumped out immediately:
1) He has his father's dark hair
2) He has his mother's cleft chin
TLG was born with sort of medium-brown hair, and it shocked exactly no one when, after he rubbed that initial fuzz off, the new growth came in golden. Blond/e babies are fairly ubiquitous in both of our families (Nathan notwithstanding), so it was more or less expected that any child of ours would follow suit. LBB is the first grandchild on either side (that's one in fourteen, mind you) to come out with truly dark hair, and we're hopeful he'll grow up to be as black-maned as his father.
As for the chin- I'll admit, I was a bit wistful when TLG showed absolutely no evidence of my ancestral chin-dimple, and in fact I spent probably way too much time staring at the aspect in question, attempting to will an indentation into existence (and possibly also poking at it in an attempt to encourage one to develop... don't judge me...) So when I first saw LBB from not a crown-down angle (visibility is limited for that immediate, skin-to-skin contact) I literally let out a little gasp of delight and squeaked, "He has my chin!"
See, the beautiful thing about TLG is that he blends our familial features so perfectly that it's really hard to consistently say, "Oh he looks like so-and-so!" More often it's a certain expression he makes that has us going, "Oh yeah, he's related to Cousin _____ for sure." But with LBB it's like he's taken specific traits that are immediately identifiable as one or the other of us, and arranged them in the best possible way.
Other differences include:
-LBB has a wider mouth (but whenever he makes a moue it looks exactly like TLG's, especially in conjunction with their identical noses)
-LBB has a wider jawline, which right now codes as a rounder face
-LBB is built on longer/narrower proportions than TLG, and in fact he may end up being a throwback to my paternal grandfather, judging by his feet
Granted it's been all of three weeks since LBB emerged, so we'll see how it all pans out. But in the meantime- genetics, man. Some crazy stuff.
 |
| please disregard my inability to sketch baby heads. |
You may recall that TLG was not originally on board with getting a Little Brother, but that we eventually brought him around. Well he has stayed around, and he is stoked as hell about LBB. He helps me with diapers, lets me know when I need to feed Little Brother (you know- in case I hadn't noticed the grousing infant) and bestows millions of kisses upon him. For his part, LBB is still kind of indifferent to TLG, although he did smile at an appropriately-timed moment in response to TLG tickling his feet, so who knows. Strangers things, Horatio.
When we got the anatomy scan of LBB the tech switched it over to 3D, so we got to see LBB's facial features- and we were pretty shocked by how much he looked like TLG. Once he made his Exterior Debut, however, two Main Differences jumped out immediately:
1) He has his father's dark hair
2) He has his mother's cleft chin
TLG was born with sort of medium-brown hair, and it shocked exactly no one when, after he rubbed that initial fuzz off, the new growth came in golden. Blond/e babies are fairly ubiquitous in both of our families (Nathan notwithstanding), so it was more or less expected that any child of ours would follow suit. LBB is the first grandchild on either side (that's one in fourteen, mind you) to come out with truly dark hair, and we're hopeful he'll grow up to be as black-maned as his father.
As for the chin- I'll admit, I was a bit wistful when TLG showed absolutely no evidence of my ancestral chin-dimple, and in fact I spent probably way too much time staring at the aspect in question, attempting to will an indentation into existence (and possibly also poking at it in an attempt to encourage one to develop... don't judge me...) So when I first saw LBB from not a crown-down angle (visibility is limited for that immediate, skin-to-skin contact) I literally let out a little gasp of delight and squeaked, "He has my chin!"
See, the beautiful thing about TLG is that he blends our familial features so perfectly that it's really hard to consistently say, "Oh he looks like so-and-so!" More often it's a certain expression he makes that has us going, "Oh yeah, he's related to Cousin _____ for sure." But with LBB it's like he's taken specific traits that are immediately identifiable as one or the other of us, and arranged them in the best possible way.
Other differences include:
-LBB has a wider mouth (but whenever he makes a moue it looks exactly like TLG's, especially in conjunction with their identical noses)
-LBB has a wider jawline, which right now codes as a rounder face
-LBB is built on longer/narrower proportions than TLG, and in fact he may end up being a throwback to my paternal grandfather, judging by his feet
Granted it's been all of three weeks since LBB emerged, so we'll see how it all pans out. But in the meantime- genetics, man. Some crazy stuff.
9.04.2019
Baby Chewed
I have to admit, I'm pretty happy to have my body back.
Now, when I say "back", I don't mean it in the glossy-mag, "Get Your Pre-Baby Body Back!" way. That, as I have covered before, is more or less impossible, because bones. I just mean I'm happy to be able to take a full breath, eat a full meal, fully empty my bladder, and not be constantly running my belly into objects.
Also it's nice to see my ankles again.
Which is not to say I'm not eyeing by body with a mind towards getting it back into "fighting-trim", once I'm cleared for/feel up to exercise beyond gentle yoga and slowly meandering around the block. I've definitely been taking stock of New Changes, and working to restructure my mental image of myself to encompass said changes.
One of the New Changes is a fine display of new stretchmarks (or "tiger stripes", as I like to call them). I already had a decent collection on my breasts and hips from making it through Puberty (and carrying excess poundage through my early twenties), but (much to my surprise) the TLG pregnancy didn't really result in any new ones. This time around, however, I carried lower than I did with TLG, and as such I've acquired some new, raspberry-colored tiger stripes on my (still quite rounded) lower belly.
So I was staring at those in the mirror the other day, and at my not-perky-but-heavy-with-milk breasts, and the silver on display in the roots of my hair, and the phrase, "baby-chewed" kept going through my mind.
And I felt inordinately pleased.
You see, "baby-chewed" is not my phrase. It's a phrase used multiple times by Robert Heinlein when describing older mothers (including grandmothers and great-grandmothers). His characters describe them admiringly, as beautiful with their soft stomachs and pendulous breasts, as being very attractive and desirable, because their bodies have been lived in. These women are also very intelligent and accomplished, of course, because that's how Heinlein characters roll, and it's clearly stated that these inner qualities are a large part of their beauty.
(Heinlein also had a thing for redheads, which, uh, might also have had in influence on the more shallow end of my Personal Beauty Standards...)
This attitude regarding the beauty of a lived-in body (in spite of other, somewhat problematic aspects of his writings) was a very healthy one for a prepubescent girl to be exposed to, because it embedded itself into my psyche at an impressionable age, and left me feeling a lot more comfortable with/looking forward to Signs of Aging than our culture deems Appropriate for Women. For example, I remember being thrilled when I finally started getting crows' feet, a reaction which puzzled more than one person of my acquaintance. But I like having evidence of much I smile! And now I'm feeling pleased with my new tiger stripes silently proclaiming that this shell of mine has carried life multiple times.
Love the skin you're in, people- the more lived-in, the better.
Now, when I say "back", I don't mean it in the glossy-mag, "Get Your Pre-Baby Body Back!" way. That, as I have covered before, is more or less impossible, because bones. I just mean I'm happy to be able to take a full breath, eat a full meal, fully empty my bladder, and not be constantly running my belly into objects.
Also it's nice to see my ankles again.
Which is not to say I'm not eyeing by body with a mind towards getting it back into "fighting-trim", once I'm cleared for/feel up to exercise beyond gentle yoga and slowly meandering around the block. I've definitely been taking stock of New Changes, and working to restructure my mental image of myself to encompass said changes.
One of the New Changes is a fine display of new stretchmarks (or "tiger stripes", as I like to call them). I already had a decent collection on my breasts and hips from making it through Puberty (and carrying excess poundage through my early twenties), but (much to my surprise) the TLG pregnancy didn't really result in any new ones. This time around, however, I carried lower than I did with TLG, and as such I've acquired some new, raspberry-colored tiger stripes on my (still quite rounded) lower belly.
So I was staring at those in the mirror the other day, and at my not-perky-but-heavy-with-milk breasts, and the silver on display in the roots of my hair, and the phrase, "baby-chewed" kept going through my mind.
And I felt inordinately pleased.
You see, "baby-chewed" is not my phrase. It's a phrase used multiple times by Robert Heinlein when describing older mothers (including grandmothers and great-grandmothers). His characters describe them admiringly, as beautiful with their soft stomachs and pendulous breasts, as being very attractive and desirable, because their bodies have been lived in. These women are also very intelligent and accomplished, of course, because that's how Heinlein characters roll, and it's clearly stated that these inner qualities are a large part of their beauty.
(Heinlein also had a thing for redheads, which, uh, might also have had in influence on the more shallow end of my Personal Beauty Standards...)
This attitude regarding the beauty of a lived-in body (in spite of other, somewhat problematic aspects of his writings) was a very healthy one for a prepubescent girl to be exposed to, because it embedded itself into my psyche at an impressionable age, and left me feeling a lot more comfortable with/looking forward to Signs of Aging than our culture deems Appropriate for Women. For example, I remember being thrilled when I finally started getting crows' feet, a reaction which puzzled more than one person of my acquaintance. But I like having evidence of much I smile! And now I'm feeling pleased with my new tiger stripes silently proclaiming that this shell of mine has carried life multiple times.
Love the skin you're in, people- the more lived-in, the better.
9.03.2019
Tomorrow's To Dos
Back in the mid-80s, when my brother was born, my mother was working full time at a bank. She saved up all of her sick and vacation days, and managed to get take six whole weeks before she had to go back to work. Ah, the days before the Family and Medical Leave Act.
Not too long after I returned to work, my company realized that their Parental Leave Policy wasn't exactly in line with their espoused values re: maintaining a work/family balance, and changed it so that primary caregivers get sixteen weeks off- fully paid- to bond with a new child. At the time I was glad to see them make the change (if a bit rueful that they hadn't done it six months sooner), but now I'm absolutely ecstatic about it, because here I am, reaping the benefits.
Of course, the situation is slightly different this time around; in 2015 I was the Admin Guru, whereas now I'm the Financial Advisor, and therefore have a lot more flexibility with my job (in other words, I can work from home as need be). So even tho' I technically have four months wherein I'm not required to so much as look at the stock market, because I have a sub in place... realistically I don't have it in me to keep my fingers out of work for that long.
I'm nearly halfway through my third week of Parental Leave, and I've already dipped a toe back in (primarily just checking my email every other day). I must say, it's nice to be able to do it on my own terms, rather than because I have to. And honestly, I'm pretty physically/mentally/emotionally wiped out by about 1pm, so I'm not good for anything else just yet, anyway.
Unfortunately, my deeply-rooted psychological desire to Be Useful and Productive doesn't care that I'm still physically/mentally/emotionally recovering from Giving Birth*, and so in an attempt to keep myself sane, I've developed the following Coping Mechanism:
Every night, after writing in my journal, I make a short To Do List for the following day. Sometimes there's just one item on the List (Saturday: attend nephew's birthday party); today I had eight (one got added after I did something I decided I deserved credit for); but most days it's three-to-four easily-achievable items. So when I get up in the morning, at my Peak Energy for the day, I can tackle those tasks, and get the satisfaction of checking them off. And then if I get nothing else done that day, it's okay: because I finished my To Do List! And if I do get additional items done, well... I add them to the list and check them off and feel ultra accomplished.
I'm not sure how long I'll keep this going- maybe until I hit the six week mark. Maybe forever? It really is doing wonders for my mental health, which is especially important right now while I can't get in a good workout. We'll see. In the meantime, I'm going to wrap this entry up, so that I can check off the final item for today:
_X_ Blog
*(and Jerk Brain makes it difficult to accept "keeping infant alive" as An Accomplishment, although obviously it totally is)
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