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.
9.04.2019
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)
8.25.2019
Second Thoughts
(or, rather Thoughts on a Second)
Well here we are, less than a week from my Official Due Date, and I've got an already-week-old newborn laying next to me on the bed.
(Turns out all that week 37 nesting wasn't jumping the gun, after all.)
I'll get around to Little Brother's Birth Story in the next month or so, but in the meantime I wanted to ruminate a bit on how The Second Time Is Different (At Least for Me).
First of all, let me assure you, Gentle Readers, that I absolutely do love Little Brother as much as I love TLG; I do not see him as a threat to TLG's resources; and basically everything everyone told me about how It Was All Going to Be Okay, was totally true.
So thank goodness for that!
Now that we have that out of the way, the main thing I've noticed is how much easier it is to enjoy the newborn stage. I'll admit: I was kind of dreading having a newborn again. I kept repeating the phrase, "Boring torture" to describe my recollection of the experience. Fortunately for me that's not really the case this time around- due to a combination of factors, I think. I'm just so much more chill, because I've been here, survived that- already learned all the diapering tricks, the nursing hacks, and how to recognize the all-importance Emergence of Patterns. So I can spend less time freaking out about The Right Way To Do Things, and more time just appreciating his ultra-soft-skin and long, mobile toes.
The other thing is that, in retrospect, I'm pretty sure I was suffering from Postpartum Anxiety with TLG. At the time Nathan and I were on High Alert for me to develop Postpartum Depression (given my history with depression in general it didn't seem like a stretch), but I didn't even know that PPA was a thing. I just thought all parents felt like I felt- that literally any time I didn't have eyes on my child he was probably dead and it was all my fault. I thought that all new parents would lay in bed, terrified to move because if they got up and checked then the baby would actually be dead, and not just... probably dead.
Yeah. I thought that malarkey was normal. That is not normal. And the fact that I thought it was normal just goes to show how screwed up my brain had gotten.
I do not feel that way now, thank all the stars. I think I now have actually normal levels of anxiety- I only check to see if he's breathing like once, maybe twice a day, instead of constantly. I can sleep at night (in two hour increments, sure, but I will take it) rather than having a hideous "my child died in his sleep" movies playing on permanent repeat in my brain.
It makes for a much more relaxing experience all-around.
Well here we are, less than a week from my Official Due Date, and I've got an already-week-old newborn laying next to me on the bed.
(Turns out all that week 37 nesting wasn't jumping the gun, after all.)
I'll get around to Little Brother's Birth Story in the next month or so, but in the meantime I wanted to ruminate a bit on how The Second Time Is Different (At Least for Me).
First of all, let me assure you, Gentle Readers, that I absolutely do love Little Brother as much as I love TLG; I do not see him as a threat to TLG's resources; and basically everything everyone told me about how It Was All Going to Be Okay, was totally true.
So thank goodness for that!
Now that we have that out of the way, the main thing I've noticed is how much easier it is to enjoy the newborn stage. I'll admit: I was kind of dreading having a newborn again. I kept repeating the phrase, "Boring torture" to describe my recollection of the experience. Fortunately for me that's not really the case this time around- due to a combination of factors, I think. I'm just so much more chill, because I've been here, survived that- already learned all the diapering tricks, the nursing hacks, and how to recognize the all-importance Emergence of Patterns. So I can spend less time freaking out about The Right Way To Do Things, and more time just appreciating his ultra-soft-skin and long, mobile toes.
The other thing is that, in retrospect, I'm pretty sure I was suffering from Postpartum Anxiety with TLG. At the time Nathan and I were on High Alert for me to develop Postpartum Depression (given my history with depression in general it didn't seem like a stretch), but I didn't even know that PPA was a thing. I just thought all parents felt like I felt- that literally any time I didn't have eyes on my child he was probably dead and it was all my fault. I thought that all new parents would lay in bed, terrified to move because if they got up and checked then the baby would actually be dead, and not just... probably dead.
Yeah. I thought that malarkey was normal. That is not normal. And the fact that I thought it was normal just goes to show how screwed up my brain had gotten.
I do not feel that way now, thank all the stars. I think I now have actually normal levels of anxiety- I only check to see if he's breathing like once, maybe twice a day, instead of constantly. I can sleep at night (in two hour increments, sure, but I will take it) rather than having a hideous "my child died in his sleep" movies playing on permanent repeat in my brain.
It makes for a much more relaxing experience all-around.
8.10.2019
Pride (Words for a Memorial Gathering)
(As always, this is what I wrote, but not necessarily what I said.)
***
When I was young child, I felt sorry for the kids who had two "Grandmas". How confusing it must be, to have the same name for two different people, always having to throw on a modifier to clarify who you were talking about. I took smug pride in my possession of an "Oma", obviously the superior arrangement- just as German was obviously the superior ancestry.
***
When I was young child, I felt sorry for the kids who had two "Grandmas". How confusing it must be, to have the same name for two different people, always having to throw on a modifier to clarify who you were talking about. I took smug pride in my possession of an "Oma", obviously the superior arrangement- just as German was obviously the superior ancestry.
Oma and I got along brilliantly when I was small: she taught me about important things like proper silverware etiquette, the best kind of bread to feed ducks, and how to behave in a sauna. She would spend hours cooking and baking with me, or watching the dramatic performances I dragged my little brother into, or swimming with me in pools and lakes. She would blow bubbles for me to chase, and we were special friends. Our relationship was a simple one, and easy. We loved one another.
As I got older, and began the transition into adulthood, it became apparent that I had a lot in common with Oma- and that commonality lead to, shall we say, friction. Both of us smart, both of us strong-willed, both of us so certain we were right. I struggled between wanting so badly for her to be proud of me, and not wanting to care at all what she thought. She would bait me, and I would overreact. Our relationship was a complex one, and not easy. We loved one another.
I got older still, undeniably a woman by anyone's measure. I brought Nathan into the family and I swear- I swear that was the best thing I ever did for my relationship with Oma. She adored him, and her adoration of him made her think better of my decision-making abilities. And I was more confident in my self and my life choices, less likely to take offense where none was intended, and more able to laugh things off. Our relationship became mature, and good. We loved one another.
And then, almost four years ago, I had my son, TLG. Oma was getting older, more physically fragile- she couldn't play with her youngest great-grandson in the garden as she had with me, but she could- and did- admire him as he wore her own son's handed-down lederhosen; could give him little cars to play with; could blow bubbles for him to chase. Their relationship was a simple one, and easy. They loved one another- and it enriched my love for her. I think seeing me as a mother enriched her love for me, as well. Our mutual respect deepened, and we were proud to be called similar.
The last time I saw Oma, she was in a garden, surrounded by people she loved, and who loved her. TLG was using Opa's cane as a wizard's staff, magically "turning" us into various animals. Opa became an elephant, Nathan a newt- but then TLG turned to Oma (better known to him as Ur-Uma), and said, "Poof! You're a lion!" and she smiled and laughed, tired from her recent medical ordeals, but delighted by his choice.
A lion, I thought. How appropriate. Not just because she was born under the sign of Leo, but because she was strong and fierce like a lioness, protecting and providing for her family, her pride. Queen of her surroundings by sheer force of will- and the ability to roar when necessary.
She is gone now, which adds some complexity back into our relationship, but the love remains as strong as ever.
As does the pride.
8.09.2019
Mini-Memorial
We are getting ready for bed, and I am explaining to TLG that tomorrow we are going to up to Olympia, to see Ur-Opa.
"I think he must be very sad," says TLG.
"Yes, he is," says Nathan.
"He will need a big hug," I add. "You can tell him you're sorry that Ur-Oma died, and that you love him. That might help him feel a little okay."
I go on to say that we will be dressed up nicely, because we will be going to a Memorial Service, where we will share memories and stories about Ur-Oma.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because that is what you do, when someone you love dies," I say. "You tell stories about them, and remember, and it helps with the sadness."
"Me too?" he asks.
"You can if you want to," I respond. "Do you have a story about Ur-Oma you'd like to share?"
"Yes," he says, with all the innate, unflappable confidence of a 3-year-old.
"What story would you like to share?"
He hesitates. "Um," he says, obviously thinking hard. "Ur-Oma died,"
"Yes she did," I say. "But did you want to share a memory about her?" His little brow furrows, and he continues to think.
"Hugs," he says at last.
"She gave you hugs?" I ask, just to clarify. "And you liked them?"
"Yes!" He beams up at me, pleased with his answer, and my comprehension. I smile at him, stroking his hair and thinking, it took me nearly two hours to write the tribute I plan on delivering tomorrow... but his is probably better.
"I think he must be very sad," says TLG.
"Yes, he is," says Nathan.
"He will need a big hug," I add. "You can tell him you're sorry that Ur-Oma died, and that you love him. That might help him feel a little okay."
I go on to say that we will be dressed up nicely, because we will be going to a Memorial Service, where we will share memories and stories about Ur-Oma.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because that is what you do, when someone you love dies," I say. "You tell stories about them, and remember, and it helps with the sadness."
"Me too?" he asks.
"You can if you want to," I respond. "Do you have a story about Ur-Oma you'd like to share?"
"Yes," he says, with all the innate, unflappable confidence of a 3-year-old.
"What story would you like to share?"
He hesitates. "Um," he says, obviously thinking hard. "Ur-Oma died,"
"Yes she did," I say. "But did you want to share a memory about her?" His little brow furrows, and he continues to think.
"Hugs," he says at last.
"She gave you hugs?" I ask, just to clarify. "And you liked them?"
"Yes!" He beams up at me, pleased with his answer, and my comprehension. I smile at him, stroking his hair and thinking, it took me nearly two hours to write the tribute I plan on delivering tomorrow... but his is probably better.
8.06.2019
Nesting With My (Big) Baby Bird
This weekend was devoted to capital-N Nesting. Like, I even wrote it on the calendar, you guys- that's how serious about it I was; no work appointments today, by golly- I have a car seat to clean and install!
I made a whole To Do List, which is not in and of itself particularly surprising (To Do Lists are How I Roll), but I did have some doubts about my ability to get all the way through it, given my Extremely Pregnant and Slightly Anemic State. But I did get through it, Gentle Readers- I did! Everything on the list got checked off! And what's more, I didn't do it alone- Nathan helped quite a bit, but (more importantly to this particular blog entry) TLG helped, too.
One of my main tasks was to wash all of the newborn-to-three-month-old-clothes that I'd saved from TLG's infancy (/since received in anticipation of Little Brother's arrival), and TLG stood right there with me, happily transferring all the tiny little outfits from the hamper into the washing machine, one after the other. And then he later transferred them into the dryer, and finally back into the clean-clothes hamper He is delighting in his impending role of Big Brother, and it makes me so, so happy to see him so happy. I can only hope the delight will survive Little Brother's actual arrival...
We are now 100% ready for Little Brother to arrive, at least from a purely pragmatic point of view: car seat installed, bassinet set up, clothes washed, diapers and wipes ready and waiting. Really, when it comes right down to it, everything else is gravy, and since TLG got himself born at just shy of 39 weeks, I felt getting The Essentials set up before the end of week 37 was just good sense (please no one laugh too hard if Little Brother decides not to make an appearance until after his official due date...). There are other things I'd like to get done before D-Day (that's D for Delivery, you know) but I'm not going to sweat it if I don't get around to them. (#parentingveteran, amiright?)
Now, in terms of emotional preparedness... that's another topic, entirely. I find it interesting that I seem to have greater affection for this unborn child than I did for TLG at the same stage, a feeling which I can only credit to TLG already expressing his pure and uncomplicated love for Little Brother. He hugs my belly, kisses it, giggles delightedly when he feels kicks or sees movement, and talks excitedly about how Little Brother will be born this month! I see his love, and of course I love what my child loves (hence my re-found ability to discuss dinosaurs at great length), so therefore I love this newest uterine pirate in a way I was incapable of fathoming during my pregnancy with TLG. Plus, you know... after two miscarriages I believe I was holding myself at a Bit of a Protective Reserve, whereas now I know it's entirely possible this baby will make it! Woo!
But even as I'm feeling all this warmth and affection for Little Brother, at the same time I also have very real concerns about my ability to love him as much as I love TLG, once Little Brother becomes a reality rather than an idea. Intellectually I understand that hormones will eventually kick in and I'll love him unreservedly, just as I did TLG, but my heart worries I'll only ever see him as a threat to TLG's resources, and never be able to bond properly.
I'm told this is a common (and entirely unfounded) concern.
Here's hoping.
I made a whole To Do List, which is not in and of itself particularly surprising (To Do Lists are How I Roll), but I did have some doubts about my ability to get all the way through it, given my Extremely Pregnant and Slightly Anemic State. But I did get through it, Gentle Readers- I did! Everything on the list got checked off! And what's more, I didn't do it alone- Nathan helped quite a bit, but (more importantly to this particular blog entry) TLG helped, too.
One of my main tasks was to wash all of the newborn-to-three-month-old-clothes that I'd saved from TLG's infancy (/since received in anticipation of Little Brother's arrival), and TLG stood right there with me, happily transferring all the tiny little outfits from the hamper into the washing machine, one after the other. And then he later transferred them into the dryer, and finally back into the clean-clothes hamper He is delighting in his impending role of Big Brother, and it makes me so, so happy to see him so happy. I can only hope the delight will survive Little Brother's actual arrival...
We are now 100% ready for Little Brother to arrive, at least from a purely pragmatic point of view: car seat installed, bassinet set up, clothes washed, diapers and wipes ready and waiting. Really, when it comes right down to it, everything else is gravy, and since TLG got himself born at just shy of 39 weeks, I felt getting The Essentials set up before the end of week 37 was just good sense (please no one laugh too hard if Little Brother decides not to make an appearance until after his official due date...). There are other things I'd like to get done before D-Day (that's D for Delivery, you know) but I'm not going to sweat it if I don't get around to them. (#parentingveteran, amiright?)
Now, in terms of emotional preparedness... that's another topic, entirely. I find it interesting that I seem to have greater affection for this unborn child than I did for TLG at the same stage, a feeling which I can only credit to TLG already expressing his pure and uncomplicated love for Little Brother. He hugs my belly, kisses it, giggles delightedly when he feels kicks or sees movement, and talks excitedly about how Little Brother will be born this month! I see his love, and of course I love what my child loves (hence my re-found ability to discuss dinosaurs at great length), so therefore I love this newest uterine pirate in a way I was incapable of fathoming during my pregnancy with TLG. Plus, you know... after two miscarriages I believe I was holding myself at a Bit of a Protective Reserve, whereas now I know it's entirely possible this baby will make it! Woo!
But even as I'm feeling all this warmth and affection for Little Brother, at the same time I also have very real concerns about my ability to love him as much as I love TLG, once Little Brother becomes a reality rather than an idea. Intellectually I understand that hormones will eventually kick in and I'll love him unreservedly, just as I did TLG, but my heart worries I'll only ever see him as a threat to TLG's resources, and never be able to bond properly.
I'm told this is a common (and entirely unfounded) concern.
Here's hoping.
7.21.2019
Listening to Sad Music So That I Can Cry
My Oma died today.
(Oma, of course, being the German word for Grandmother: in this instance my Mom's Mom.)
It wasn't a surprise at all- she'd had a stroke back in May, was hospitalized/in rehab for about six weeks, and we all knew that basically the goal was to get her well enough to come home to die.
And she did. So at least there's that.
I got the call while I was at the playground. Nathan and I had taken TLG and my best friend's son (whom we were babysitting this weekend) to run off some energy, and thank all the gods Nathan was literally standing right next to me when I got the call, able to put his arm around me and be a solid presence grounding me.
It was my mom, and her voice when she said hello- I knew. And I cracked a joke because that's how we roll, and we both laughed and cried and then I had to lock that shit down because I had two little boys I had just told I was taking for ice cream.
I'm proud of my ability to compartmentalize- it is extremely useful is emergency situations. But the problem is that it's a lot harder to unlock that emotional box than it is to lock it in the first place.
Even after we were back to our typical Family Unit of Three, with Nathan occupying TLG downstairs so that I could have some Alone Time upstairs... nothing. Numbness. And I feel like I can't talk about it with TLG until I can express honest emotion. Right now I'm too detached, too clinical. I a not a healthy model of grief.
Hence I'm now working on this blog entry, forcing myself to face and process things, and listening to sad music for good measure. Sometimes you just have to artificially jump start the emotions before they'll flow properly. Priming a pump, or something. I don't know. I don't have it in me to make elegant metaphors, at the moment.
And just like that, it's working.
(Oma, of course, being the German word for Grandmother: in this instance my Mom's Mom.)
It wasn't a surprise at all- she'd had a stroke back in May, was hospitalized/in rehab for about six weeks, and we all knew that basically the goal was to get her well enough to come home to die.
And she did. So at least there's that.
I got the call while I was at the playground. Nathan and I had taken TLG and my best friend's son (whom we were babysitting this weekend) to run off some energy, and thank all the gods Nathan was literally standing right next to me when I got the call, able to put his arm around me and be a solid presence grounding me.
It was my mom, and her voice when she said hello- I knew. And I cracked a joke because that's how we roll, and we both laughed and cried and then I had to lock that shit down because I had two little boys I had just told I was taking for ice cream.
I'm proud of my ability to compartmentalize- it is extremely useful is emergency situations. But the problem is that it's a lot harder to unlock that emotional box than it is to lock it in the first place.
Even after we were back to our typical Family Unit of Three, with Nathan occupying TLG downstairs so that I could have some Alone Time upstairs... nothing. Numbness. And I feel like I can't talk about it with TLG until I can express honest emotion. Right now I'm too detached, too clinical. I a not a healthy model of grief.
Hence I'm now working on this blog entry, forcing myself to face and process things, and listening to sad music for good measure. Sometimes you just have to artificially jump start the emotions before they'll flow properly. Priming a pump, or something. I don't know. I don't have it in me to make elegant metaphors, at the moment.
And just like that, it's working.
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