I've been thinking, lately, about my strange reluctance to blog about being a mother, or talk about it with non-parent friends, or even seem like I'm not overly "into" the whole having-a-kid-thing: "What, that guy? Oh yeah he just tags along. Can't get rid of him." And after yesterday's entry about not-giving-a-fuck-what-other-people-think, I realized it's time for me to knock it off.
I've always been so afraid of becoming one of those women for whom the role of Mother is everything they are, full stop. I have always found (and still do find) it hideously tedious to spend time with women who literally talk about nothing but their kids, just as I find it hideously tedious to spend time with anyone who only talks about one subject ever (::coughcrossfitforexamplecough::). And thus I've been playing the avoidance game, trying to, well, avoid being one of those mothers. I wanted to be one of the cool mothers I'd known- the ones who still had lives and dreams outside of their child's latest developmental milestones.
But this morning, as I was mulling the topic over yet again, I suddenly realized- how could I know they were "cool mothers" if they didn't talk about their kids at all? Otherwise they'd just be "cool", no modifier. So what I'm saying is that I'm going to stop pretending to the general public like Neeps isn't a huge and awesome part of my life right now- because he is. He's the biggest, scariest damn adventure I've ever embarked on, and it's disingenuous to behave otherwise. And yeah, right now he's taking up the majority of my brain-space, but that's not because I've lost my Self- it's because there's a steep-ass learning-curve on keeping a tiny human alive and happy. And the other parts of my brain are still furiously churning, figuring out how I can still do the other things I love, with or without him strapped to my chest. And if people aren't interested in hearing about him, it's on them to tune me out, not on me not to bring him up in the first place.
So yeah. It's gonna' be a little mommy-centric around here for a while, but I hope you'll stick around and see how things develop. It's going to be so cool.
1.04.2016
1.03.2016
Walking in a Winter Wonderland
We woke up this morning to snow- big fat flakes drifting down from the sky without a care in the world. I looked at them with envy- my life is full of Care right now- but also with anticipation. Neeps's first real snowfall!
Nathan headed off to church, and I began to gird my (and Neeps's) respective loins for a very cold walk around the neighborhood. This involved wool socks, careful layering, and a surge of gratitude for my brother who had given me a neck gaiter several years back. Never has it been more appreciated, since having a baby nestled against my chest more or less rules out any of my long and lovely scarves.
I had a surge of trepidation before starting out, however- was I being an irresponsible mother, by taking my child- my infant- out in the snow when it wasn't absolutely necessary? What if I slipped and fell? What if he suffocated beneath all those layers? What if he caught pneumonia and died? What if, what if?
And then I realized, it wasn't really me having those fears (well, maybe the slip-and-fall one, a little: I am notoriously clumsy)- I was hearing other people in my head. My fear was not that I'd do him harm, but that I'd suffer the dreaded Judgmental People Judging Me.
And then I realized that I don't actually give a fuck. Because you know what? I'm not an idiot, and I'm not taking unnecessary risks with my son. He was dressed appropriately, and I refuse to start his life out by setting an example of fearfulness. So I put up my hood and got on with it.
Nathan headed off to church, and I began to gird my (and Neeps's) respective loins for a very cold walk around the neighborhood. This involved wool socks, careful layering, and a surge of gratitude for my brother who had given me a neck gaiter several years back. Never has it been more appreciated, since having a baby nestled against my chest more or less rules out any of my long and lovely scarves.
I had a surge of trepidation before starting out, however- was I being an irresponsible mother, by taking my child- my infant- out in the snow when it wasn't absolutely necessary? What if I slipped and fell? What if he suffocated beneath all those layers? What if he caught pneumonia and died? What if, what if?
And then I realized, it wasn't really me having those fears (well, maybe the slip-and-fall one, a little: I am notoriously clumsy)- I was hearing other people in my head. My fear was not that I'd do him harm, but that I'd suffer the dreaded Judgmental People Judging Me.
And then I realized that I don't actually give a fuck. Because you know what? I'm not an idiot, and I'm not taking unnecessary risks with my son. He was dressed appropriately, and I refuse to start his life out by setting an example of fearfulness. So I put up my hood and got on with it.
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| Right before the afore-mentioned hood-raising |
1.02.2016
Life-Given Lemons
So as you may have inferred, we spent the New Year with Lara. Lara is a bit of a bad-ass when it comes to many things, but in this instance the bad-assery which most directly benefits me is her affinity for urban-homesteading. The day before we drove up, she and I were texting back and forth in anticipation, and she said, "I picked up 10lbs of lemons for us to ferment and make lemon custard." to which I replied:
Because, as I have mentioned before, I friggin' love lemon curd, and lemon custard is a kissing cousin to my beloved dessert.
The primary difference between a curd and a custard is the amount of zest/juice involved. When I make a small batch of curd for myself, I use about three tablespoons of zest, and a half cup of juice (to three eggs). Lara and I made a double batch of custard (because she likes to preserve things), and for that entire thing we only used two tablespoons of zest and four cups of juice (to twelve eggs, plus twelve additional yolks). Now sure, four cups of juice sounds like a lot...
but proportionately speaking, it's not as much as I use for curd.
In the end we had quite a haul, and I got to take home more than half of it, since she had still more lemons to play with after we'd left.
It wasn't just lemon custard she sent me home with, however: there were also seven giant jars of beef bone broth (good for what ails ya'!), spiced apple sauce, ginger-bourbon pears, berry preserves, a giant pumpkin, and two spaghetti squash. Basically what I'm saying is that we're spoiled.
As soon as we got home today, I couldn't help myself: I cracked open one of the jars of custard. And, um, there were no survivors...
I'm thinking I'd like to bake something with at least some of it, but I'm not sure what... we'll see what the future holds!
The primary difference between a curd and a custard is the amount of zest/juice involved. When I make a small batch of curd for myself, I use about three tablespoons of zest, and a half cup of juice (to three eggs). Lara and I made a double batch of custard (because she likes to preserve things), and for that entire thing we only used two tablespoons of zest and four cups of juice (to twelve eggs, plus twelve additional yolks). Now sure, four cups of juice sounds like a lot...
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| ...and it IS, especially when you're the one squeezing it... |
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| By the way, this is what the rinds of four cups' worth of lemon juice looks like. |
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| Lara cracking yolks... |
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| The glory! |
As soon as we got home today, I couldn't help myself: I cracked open one of the jars of custard. And, um, there were no survivors...
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| Neeps is disgusted by my lack of restraint. |
1.01.2016
Welcome to the New Year
What's that you say? It's an even-numbered year? Well we all know what that means- time for a new 365(/6) project!
Over the past three projects I've done writing, art, and i-photography. This year, in an attempt to work with the fact that I'm adjusting to a very new way of life, I'm keeping it broad- a post for every day of the year, be it words, images, or some combination thereof. "Combination Thereof" is what you're getting today, since I'm hearkening back to the "moments" aspect of 2014:
It's especially nice when I get around to making my Year Album, because for some reason these little out-of-context images are very powerful in terms of bringing me back to the moment I captured them in. In this instance it was our first hike of the year- 2.2 miles to start things off on the right foot.
I made several Resolutions for the year, but the first and easiest to make is that I want to do at least one Family Hike per month. To further this goal I signed up for the January Hike it Baby 30, with the goal of doing either 30 miles in 30 days, or else 30 minutes three times a week. I'm pretty excited about it, so expect to see at least one hiking entry a month on here. But now? Now there's some ice cream with brandied pears calling my name!
Happy New Year, ya'll. I hope it's more than you dare to dream it might be.
Over the past three projects I've done writing, art, and i-photography. This year, in an attempt to work with the fact that I'm adjusting to a very new way of life, I'm keeping it broad- a post for every day of the year, be it words, images, or some combination thereof. "Combination Thereof" is what you're getting today, since I'm hearkening back to the "moments" aspect of 2014:
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| Frostfell |
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| It was beautiful mix of frost and green. |
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| Frosty Family! |
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| Glowing Green! (Same hike, honest!) |
I made several Resolutions for the year, but the first and easiest to make is that I want to do at least one Family Hike per month. To further this goal I signed up for the January Hike it Baby 30, with the goal of doing either 30 miles in 30 days, or else 30 minutes three times a week. I'm pretty excited about it, so expect to see at least one hiking entry a month on here. But now? Now there's some ice cream with brandied pears calling my name!
Happy New Year, ya'll. I hope it's more than you dare to dream it might be.
12.11.2015
Touched
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a newborn babe in possession of a pair of chubby cheeks, must be in want of some smooching.
I'm a super-tactile kind of person: I love hugs, I love cuddles, I love just leaning against whichever loved one I'm sitting next to. And as you might imagine, having a tiny, snugly baby in the house is amazing for getting that physical-contact fix.
But it's also been getting me thinking.
Back when Neeps was in the womb, I used to occasionally get a little weirded out by the fact that I was so aware of so much of his existence (when he moved, when he slept, when he had the hiccups, etc etc) while he was so completely oblivious to mine. It made me feel a bit like a creepy spy, and led me to wonder if that's how God might feel. But of course I couldn't help my "spying"- it was my body he was drawing his own from, and in that way he was like an extension of myself. It was like feeling weird about knowing more about my lungs than they do about "me": ridiculous
Neep is on the outside, now, and while I might logically understand that he is not, in fact, one of my non-essential organs out on rumspringa, there's still a vague-yet-visceral sort of, "But he's mine, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh," feeling going on. Combine that with the fact that he is 100% helpless to feed himself, clothe himself, or even wipe his own anus, and you can see how the feeling of possession might persist.
I touch him for much of the day, every day. Skin to skin, my hands on his arms, legs, torso; my lips all over his face and ears and elbows and toes and belly. His chest pressed to mine, each warming the other; my arm cradling the straight line of his back; the soft curve of his skull nestled safely beneath the hard edge of my jaw. There is no part of him I'm not allowed to touch, just exactly as though he was my own body.
But that will change.
At some point, I will no longer have the right to touch him wherever, whenever, however I want. At some point, as he makes that mysterious journey from infant to adult, nibbling on his shoulder will move from welcome, to unwelcome, to just straight-up weird.
And so I redouble my present smooching and caressing, because I know I will mourn for these days when they're gone, and I don't want to waste a single snuggle-opportunity. Oh, I'm sure I'll be delighted by the trade-off of being able to discuss his thoughts and dreams, which is a sort of spiritual-cuddling, if you think about it the right way. But I do hope that sometimes he'll still let me wrap my arms around him as we sit on the couch together, watching Star Wars for the eighty-billionth time.
(although I understand if he draws the line at chin-sucking)
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| Or, in our household, it's a perfectly-rounded chin and some weird, sort-of-sucking action. |
I'm a super-tactile kind of person: I love hugs, I love cuddles, I love just leaning against whichever loved one I'm sitting next to. And as you might imagine, having a tiny, snugly baby in the house is amazing for getting that physical-contact fix.
But it's also been getting me thinking.
Back when Neeps was in the womb, I used to occasionally get a little weirded out by the fact that I was so aware of so much of his existence (when he moved, when he slept, when he had the hiccups, etc etc) while he was so completely oblivious to mine. It made me feel a bit like a creepy spy, and led me to wonder if that's how God might feel. But of course I couldn't help my "spying"- it was my body he was drawing his own from, and in that way he was like an extension of myself. It was like feeling weird about knowing more about my lungs than they do about "me": ridiculous
Neep is on the outside, now, and while I might logically understand that he is not, in fact, one of my non-essential organs out on rumspringa, there's still a vague-yet-visceral sort of, "But he's mine, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh," feeling going on. Combine that with the fact that he is 100% helpless to feed himself, clothe himself, or even wipe his own anus, and you can see how the feeling of possession might persist.
I touch him for much of the day, every day. Skin to skin, my hands on his arms, legs, torso; my lips all over his face and ears and elbows and toes and belly. His chest pressed to mine, each warming the other; my arm cradling the straight line of his back; the soft curve of his skull nestled safely beneath the hard edge of my jaw. There is no part of him I'm not allowed to touch, just exactly as though he was my own body.
But that will change.
At some point, I will no longer have the right to touch him wherever, whenever, however I want. At some point, as he makes that mysterious journey from infant to adult, nibbling on his shoulder will move from welcome, to unwelcome, to just straight-up weird.
And so I redouble my present smooching and caressing, because I know I will mourn for these days when they're gone, and I don't want to waste a single snuggle-opportunity. Oh, I'm sure I'll be delighted by the trade-off of being able to discuss his thoughts and dreams, which is a sort of spiritual-cuddling, if you think about it the right way. But I do hope that sometimes he'll still let me wrap my arms around him as we sit on the couch together, watching Star Wars for the eighty-billionth time.
(although I understand if he draws the line at chin-sucking)
12.06.2015
Meet Neeps
(I'm typing this while Neeps, my in-the-flesh-baby, has lunch. Thank goodness for nursing pillows, that's all I can say.)
So our new addition has been around for about a month now- I think maybe we're starting to get used to the insane-o concept that we're really, truly parents. Slowly but surely we're settling down out of the shrieking, "RED ALERT!" method of handling a newborn, into a nice, bio-hazard orange, with occasional flashes of hazmat-y yellow. Which is to say, we haven't killed or seriously maimed him yet, so maybe we don't actually need to spend our days (and nights) in a state of constant, low-grade panic.
Turns out Neeps is a pretty classic example of an easy-temperament baby, and thank the stars for that, because let me tell you, this shit is hard enough as it is without throwing inconsolable crying into the mix. And it doesn't hurt that he's cute as hell. Might as well call the human race done, ladies and gentlemen, because perfection has been reached.
I'm hoping to get back to writing more regularly as my life settles into its New Normal. Ditto for being active (which is currently restricted to gentle yoga and walking/hiking: but I should be cleared for climbing and cycling by the end of next week). I'm also trying to remember to be gentle with and forgiving of myself as I go through the growing-pains of this new life, and to not despair when I spend an entire day doing nothing but laundry and trying-not-to-cry. I know I'll get the hang of it eventually- probably just in time for everything to go tits-up again when I return to work. But then we'll just get the hang of it all over again, because that's how we do.
Onward to adventure!
So our new addition has been around for about a month now- I think maybe we're starting to get used to the insane-o concept that we're really, truly parents. Slowly but surely we're settling down out of the shrieking, "RED ALERT!" method of handling a newborn, into a nice, bio-hazard orange, with occasional flashes of hazmat-y yellow. Which is to say, we haven't killed or seriously maimed him yet, so maybe we don't actually need to spend our days (and nights) in a state of constant, low-grade panic.
Turns out Neeps is a pretty classic example of an easy-temperament baby, and thank the stars for that, because let me tell you, this shit is hard enough as it is without throwing inconsolable crying into the mix. And it doesn't hurt that he's cute as hell. Might as well call the human race done, ladies and gentlemen, because perfection has been reached.
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| Kwisatz Haderach, anyone? |
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| His secret is out. |
Onward to adventure!
11.01.2015
Holding Pattern
NaNo kicked off today, and believe it or not, I've decided to throw my literary hat into the ring once more. No, I don't expect to "win"- but not even trying would have been too depressing for words, given all the other bits of "me" I've had to put on hold the past nine months. And since I'm dusting off the keyboard to do pants my way through at least part of a novel, I thought hey! Why not try to re-kick-start the whole blogging thing while you're at it? Since, you know, it's been three months since my last entry. I mean, I know I didn't want my blog to devolve into nothing but, "Blah blah, breeding blah," but it seems like not blogging at all is probably worse.
So. Yeah. I'm gonna talk more about gestating a human. But look on the bright side- that part will be over soon (please dear Stars) and then I'll have funny-human-larva stories! Right? Right??
***
I really had no concept of how much of pregnancy is just... waiting around for things. Things like milestones, doctor's appointments, test results... and, you know, labor. I'm down to the final week-and-a-half before my due dates hits, and all this waiting? Is driving me insane.
(Let's not even mention the fact that I could theoretically go as many as two weeks past my due date. I might just scream.)
I am not a passive person. I am an active person. Some might say I am an aggressive person. So not being able to do anything to make this happen is just excruciating. Good for my character, I'm sure, but obnoxious nonetheless. This is definitely one of those "May I please rip the band-aid off now?" scenarios. The long peel is not for me!
::sigh::
So. Yeah. I'm gonna talk more about gestating a human. But look on the bright side- that part will be over soon (please dear Stars) and then I'll have funny-human-larva stories! Right? Right??
***
I really had no concept of how much of pregnancy is just... waiting around for things. Things like milestones, doctor's appointments, test results... and, you know, labor. I'm down to the final week-and-a-half before my due dates hits, and all this waiting? Is driving me insane.
(Let's not even mention the fact that I could theoretically go as many as two weeks past my due date. I might just scream.)
I am not a passive person. I am an active person. Some might say I am an aggressive person. So not being able to do anything to make this happen is just excruciating. Good for my character, I'm sure, but obnoxious nonetheless. This is definitely one of those "May I please rip the band-aid off now?" scenarios. The long peel is not for me!
::sigh::
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