Where Happy Goes to Die

Now that I am a stay at home mom (kinda) I signed up Wyatt and I for "Mommy and Me" story time at 10am on Friday mornings. I thought that it would be good for me to meet some other Mommy's in my neighborhood. I don't know much about babies and like to hear about life experiences to gage my own by. Generally, I find it comforting to talk to people who have young children; knowing that I am in this boat with other people who have similar concerns. They are living this life like I am. Simply having kids is not enough. Time allows you to forget the details. It all gets glossed over into this blurry land of cuddling, sweet smells, and Johnson ads. That, although nice, is not reality.

I have been a really happy person lately. A type of person that I would usually loathe. Someone that seems to be constantly happy and optimistic. I wave to people when I am taking a walk with Wyatt. I even walked a little with an elderly couple just so we could chat about the weather. I let people cut ahead of me in line if they seem in a rush. My South Carolina driving has returned. I drive the speed limit, let people in front of me, never cut people off and don't tailgate. I smile at pedestrians if they catch my eye. I chat with people on line at the deli. It is absurd and a far cry from the silent, unsmiling, iPod infused Kate of my NYC days.

However, even at my happiest, nothing could have prepared me for story time. It wasn't so much the other moms as it was the leader. She definitely was on some kind of drugs. Drugs that I would be too frightened to take. She would lead us in singing a song and we would have to clap our hands, bounce our legs, and try to teach our babies these things or at lease keep them involved. But then she moved onto hugging, kissing and cuddling our babies. I am all for hugging and kissing. I adore Wyatt. It was the organized, cult, crazy hugging that got to me. I was smiling on the outside pretending that I was a super mom loving every minute but on the inside I was terrified.

The thing that scared me the most was all the other moms seemed to be enjoying themselves while I was in hell. Wyatt clearly picked up on my distress and refused to participate at all. He was more interested in was the fish tank than any of the kissing I was attempting to smother him with. At one point, he turned and looked me straight in the eye. A look that clearly said "Mom, please lets get the hell out of here." The only reason I really wanted to go was to chat with other moms. As soon as organized play was over, they all bundled up their kids and bolted. Were they as terrified as me? Did their babies diapers explode? Do moms not converse anymore? Is everyone too damn competitive? I am debating if I am going to go back next month. I am curious if it is always like that or was this a special start up class.  I guess we'll see.  (Those pictures are not of story time but of Wyatt's little friend, Baby Jack.  Aren't they so cute?!)

The Frog Prince

The Homecoming

Terry made his way back home on the 6th. We didn't know for sure when he was coming home and were on standby. I spoke with him on Saturday and he was still in Afghanistan then on Thursday received an email that he was in Chicago. I think that is pretty quick for flying out of a war torn country. Terry's family had a big welcome home celebration for him. When he walked through the door the first thing I thought was "Oh right. That is what that voice looks like." It is weird after talking on the phone for so long how the voice and the image can become detached.

In the last month of Terry's tour, we began fighting a lot. I think that most of this was due to the distance. Even the most stable of relationships will begin to falter when communication is limited to phone calls twice a month. We would fight and then I would have ample time either let the argument fester or forget about it. I would always try to forget about it and start fresh each conversation but sometimes that just wasn't realistic. Obviously, all of this put a strain on our relationship.

Saying that I was nervous about his homecoming is an understatement. Our relationship has morphed so much that it is barely recognizable to me. Sometimes Terry is barely recognizable to me. We used to have a friendship that I could tell him anything but now I second guess myself. Am I being to whiny? Will he take that the wrong way? How much information does he need to know? How involved do I want him in my personal life? Does that sound like I am lecturing? Every sentence seems analyzed and I find myself over thinking every little nuance.

For the most part, it seems to be going well. I am trying to hold no expectations for Terry while he is home. Obviously, I would like him to get to know Wyatt but I also understand that this time needs to be a stress free detox for him. I have to admit it is weird having him home. I have been self sufficient for the last seven months and trying to incorporate Terry into my routine is difficult. The hardest part for me is learning to trust Terry like I trust myself. We have until mid-October to figure things about before Terry leaves again (this time to Alabama) and then we will have to start adjusting all over again.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Wyatt is still not sleeping through the night. I don't really mind too much but some nights, if I go to bed late, it is taxing. I have perfected the art of walking to his crib with my eyes closed. Sometimes I won't even remember that I have played binky fetcher all night. Those are the good nights. During the bad nights, I might get up every hour, change Wyatt's outfit more than once, and have a walked a marathon in my room. I try not to change his diaper but sometimes it has to be done. Diapers only work so well. They are only good for a few hours before they start leaking. So, sometimes I suck it up and change him to avoid having to change the sheets.

Last night, was an example of the former. Wyatt was yelling in his crib, not crying just yelling. He cries when he is hungry. If he needs anything else it is more of a yell. Upon reaching his crib, I realize that he is soaking wet. Peed right through his Huggies, pajamas, and sheets. I picked him up, went to the changing table, turned on his airplanes so he would be entertained, and went to work. He is being rather noisy, a mix of crying and yelling. I am working as fast as I possibly can but amid all of this I suddenly realize that I have to pee. This often happens with me. I have a very small bladder and I seem to not notice that I have to go to the bathroom until it is an emergency. I try to criss-crossing my legs, not working. I try dancing a little while diapering. This only makes the diapering go slower and Wyatt louder. I get him diapered and changed but not buttoned and decide that I have to take him to the bathroom with me or else I will wet my pants and have to change myself.

Usually, when I am watching him during the day I put him in his excer-saucer to use the bathroom. He stays entertained and non-mobile at least for 5 minutes. Sometimes, I will bring toys in, put them on the bath mat, and sit him down. That works too. I decided that this the best option since he is not really awake. He has his binky in his mouth, sitting on the bath mat, clinging to the legs of my pajamas while I am sitting on the toilet. He starts whining. I try to hurry up. The whining turns into yelling, binky still in place. I have to take action before the entire house wakes up.

I survey the options. I can stand, pull up my pants, then pick up the baby. Or I could pick up the baby, stand, then pull up my pants. He is not sitting very well. He is all wobbly from sleep and I have to keep him propped between my legs so he doesn't fall over. I stand. He almost falls over and starts crying more. I pick him up. My pants have now fallen around my ankles. I bend my knees, grab the hem of my pants, and try wiggling them into place. Then I hear that tell tale sound of plastic on tile, the sound that is usually followed by screaming, the sound of the binky hitting the floor. Wyatt is full on crying and I am caught, literally, with my pants down. Now what? Do I reach for the binky to hopefully pacify the beastly cries? Do I pull up my pants? Do I wash my hands, get the binky, then pull up my pants? Do I go with my gut and just start screaming for help?

I decide that my pants should be my primary concern. Since he is already crying it doesn't matter if I upset him some more. Once my ass is covered, I pick up the binky and proceed directly to the sink. I wash my hands and then the binky and place the binky firmly in Wyatt's mouth. He grabs on and buries his head back in my shoulder. We are both back to sleep in another 15 minutes. Wyatt is so very traumatized that he sleeps until 8:30am. I am thinking that maybe adventures with the potty and bare assed mommy needs to happen every night.

Wrapped up in You

The Destruction of Wyatt T. Goose

This has been my first official week back at home with Wyatt. I had to go into the office on Tuesday and Thursday but other than that I have been enjoying my time at home with my little man. However, Wyatt has been exhibiting some strange behavior that I can only assume Rebecca has taught him while I have been hard at work. I was under the impression that Rebecca was the most amazing babysitter in the world but I am having my doubts now that I see what Wyatt has been doing during the day. The picture to the left is of Wyatt when I am at home with him. The image of perfection.

This is what I found:

He has been staying up all hours of the night partying and drinking. Which I have to say, probably runs in the family so I wasn't too surprised.

The gambling was a bit of a shock. He has set up an entire gambling network right out of his high chair, using up all my hard earned quarters, and stealing Grandpa's cigars. At least he had a good hand.

I could have done without the graffiti but was mildly impressed that he could spell his name. At least she has been teaching him something worth while.

This is what threw me over the edge. Internet Porn! Seriously, aren't we a little young for that?! Kids these days. Rebecca is going to get a stern talking to when she gets home this weekend.

Drill, Drill, Drill

When I first started this blog, I vowed to myself that I wouldn't discuss politics on it. However, the more I read about this coming election, the more frustrated, horrified, and the more motivated I become to make a change. I am going to start calling people who are not registered to vote. Seriously. This election is terrifying me. A friend of mine found this article written by Eve Ensler, a woman made famous by "The Vagina Monologues". She put into words what I have been feeling more concisely than I ever could.

I don’t like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.

But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story — connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.

I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country chose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.

Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God’s plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin’s view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, “It was a task from God.”

Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist’s baby or not.

She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes.

Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking. From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States. She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.

Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air. Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when war is declared in God’s name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.

I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S., but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move towards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.

If the Polar Bears don’t move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, “Drill Drill Drill.” I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.

Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?

Eve Ensler September 5, 2008

Ole' Blue Eyes

What's Under the Kilt?

Wyatt's baptism was on Sunday. I have been looking forward to this day since June with a mix of anticipated dread and overwhelming joy. I am happy to report that overwhelming joy won out. I was slightly panicked on Saturday with hurricanes Hanna and Ike coming our way but as luck (or more appropriately God) would have it Sunday was beautiful. The sky's rained sunshine on us and there was not a cloud in the sky, a gorgeous day for a Christening.

It took everything in my power not to burst out crying during the ceremony. Michael and Father Simon did an amazing job. I am sure is must have been a little disturbing for Michael. Preaching to his family. But, as always, he was eloquent, inspiring, and insightful. Michael always seems to know exactly the right thing to say, the right phrasing that makes situations seem slightly clearer and more easily understood. I guess that is why he is such a good preacher and a perfect choice for Godfather. He is already planning a trip to Sesame Place when Wyatt is 5. Rebecca, as Godmother, has already far surpassed her role as I have gushed about in several previous posts. Her gift was very clever. She wanted to get him something for now: a set of cowboy socks. For later: a Tiffany's cup and plate. And forever: Wyatt's very own share of Disney stock.

It was very symbolic for me, seeing our entire family standing around the baptismal font. I kept on thinking about all those faces who support us and will be there for us no matter what. It is a great feeling to be loved with such intensity and passion. We are very blessed to have a close family and I often take that for granted, automatically assuming that all families are closely woven like ours. My family means the world to me. They make up who I am, who I strive to be, and who I will become. They are my foundation, my past, present, and future. Seeing Wyatt being welcomed into the church, by my cousin, surrounded by our family and friends, embedded the image of him becoming part of this miraculous circle, entwined, and bonding us together. I am going to start crying again just thinking about it. Having Wyatt has made me so grateful for my families love and support. I hope that Wyatt grows to understand and cherish that love the way that I do.

Here is the outfit story: I have our traditional white christening gown that Nana made from a pattern she got at the Brooklyn Museum. Rebecca, Elizabeth, and I all wore that dress on our christening day when we were around 3 months. You have all seen the pictures and know that Wyatt is the size of a small horse. About once a month, I would try it on him to see if it would fit and slowly he outgrew all the pieces. The hat was first, then the shoes, then the sleeves, etc. The actual dress fit him, surprisingly, but the length was all wrong, too short to be a gown and too long to be a dress. It sat awkwardly just below his feet. I thought that tradition was more important and he would wear it no matter how awkward. Once Auntie De, my Godmother, the miracle worker, heard the story she was the sleuth on the case. She ordered, all the way from Scotland, a full Scottish kilt for Wyatt complete with the fur pouch (I think its called a sporran), the sock accessories, hat and bow tie. Nana's father came over from Scotland and Auntie De got the kilt in our family's tartan, the Henderson clan. Talk about heritage! Wyatt looked stunning and very much like a little Scottish lad.

7 Months

To my Bug,

I am counting the days down until I am with you all the time. My last day of work is on Friday and then we are going to paint the town red and hit up every park in town. I have a feeling thought that I am going to miss my ride home to you. On my ride home from work, I get so excited to see you. I have to remind myself to not speed and then try not to run to grab you into my arms. I love bounding into the house to see your face break into a smile 4 miles wide. You throw your arms out so that I can pick you up then you stuff your little face into my shoulder and grab a hand full of my hair. I might need to leave you every once and a while just so I can come home to you.

You have grown lots with your babbling repertoire. You have got "Da-da" down but will only say it when you want to. You will happily recite it all day resembling the way others say umm or like. You say Mum but only when you are upset or are about to start crying. You look all around at the mention of kitty cats and will stare at the sky if someone says birdie. You love cell phones, investigating them for about a minute before going directly into your mouth at which point I take it away. You slimed Lizzy's until it broke. She was not happy about that. You also are attracted to shiny things especially Aunt B's Tiffany's bracelet or my bean necklace. You are very inquisitive at anything that comes your way or crosses your path.

Recently, you have started objecting when people leave the room. You travel with a posse, never less than 4 people. The whole family is with you then there is only me and you don't like it. Not one bit. You want everyone to see your cuteness at every moment. When they leave they might miss a second or two of something adorable and you will not stand for it. You immediately start crying. It is a very interested new development and a great indication to me that we will NEVER be able to move out. You and I will always need our posse or else we will get bored or worse yet there will be no one to enjoy our overwhelming cuteness. Another fun game you have begun to play is one we call "Baby Snatchers". Aunt B started putting her hands up like claws, growling, and chasing you around the house. She will pop out from behind a chair or around a corner. "Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a stinky Wyatt Bug." You start squealing in delight immediately. She will scare you so much that you jump and then you start laughing. Sometimes you can't hold your weight, your knees buckling, from laughing so hard. It is truly hysterical to watch.

Sometimes I wonder what you are going to think when you finally get your hands on this blog. I wish that I had documentation like this from my childhood but maybe you will be more private person then I am. Will you enjoy reading about your beginning? Or be immensely embarrassed that I spoke so candidly about you? Will you have more questions for me than ever before? My hope is that you will learn more about me, as a person rather then your mother, and more about yourself. I hope that you will smile realizing how all encompassing my love is for you.

I love you everyday,

Mum

Inanimate Objects Revisited

Begin the Barren

Inexplicably, I am drying up. I have been worried for a while that my supply has been less than supple. About a month ago, I started noticing that I was pumping skimy bottles or it took me much longer to get the coveted 6 ounces. I made a conscience effort to allow Wyatt nurse longer hoping that it would up supply but it seems to have not worked. Last night, I resorted to a bottle when Wyatt cried after nursing, my shortage fears confirmed.

I have two possible suspects in the mystery of the drought. First, I have been under a lot of stress lately mostly regarding Lizzy but also in conjunction with Wyatts Christening and work. It seems that when I am under stress I have a hard time letting down. Letting down, for those that don't know, feels like pins and needles in your nipple and is responsible for the release of milk. Usually, I will pump for a bit (or Wyatt will do his thing) for a minute then I will let down and about 4 ounces will shoot out like a faucet. Lately, my mind will be all over the place and I can't let down. No matter how much I think about my baby (which is what the books tell you to do). On stressful days I am lucky if I get 3 ounces. The other possible culprit is my eating habits. You need a ridiculous amount of calories and fluids to maintain milk production. I have never been a big meal eater and am a constant snacker. When I was pregnant and the first few months of breast feeding, I was hungry all the time. Since going back to work, my appetite has waned. It is hard for me to pack on the carbs like I once did. I have been loosing weight which I also attribute to stress. I try to drink lots of milkshakes but somedays I can't handle it.

I am on the fence about this whole situation. I am a perfectionist and wanted to breast feed for the recommended one year although knew I probably wouldn't make it. He is almost 7 months so I did a pretty good job. I find it easier to breast feed. Its convenient and inexpensive. I don't have to worry about packing bottles or heating water. I can grab Wyatt and go. Midnight feedings go quickly. I feel like I have become a walking ad for pro breast feeders. I love feeling close to my baby and love being able to provide something so special.

On the other hand, I have been growing tried of pumping at work. I would like to be able to wear a normal bra without nursing pads. There is nothing sexier than leakage pads sticking out of a bra. Seriously, that is my life. Nuts are a staple in my diet and I have had to swear off of them because when I eat them Wyatt pukes buckets. I would like to have more than one drink without feeling like I am feeding him contaminated milk. And DAMN that new tooth. He bit me so hard last night I was bleeding and bled today again while pumping. I saw stars it hurt so much and now I am terrified that he is going to do it again.

However, the thought of drying up has got me feeling surprisingly empty. I have gotten used to having boobs with a purpose. They will go back to plain, push 'em up, non-functioning boobs. I think I also feel a touch of guilt that I didn't make it as long as I wanted to. I know that I am a success story, 7 months is nothing to feel guilty over. I guess I wanted it to be my choice to stop not my body's. Thankfully, I have a freezer full of milk that should last for a little bit longer and as long as the bitting stops I will forge ahead and supplement as necessary.

Deep Breaths

I am diving head first and not looking back. As reckless as it may seem and beyond all reason, I quit my job today. It is enthralling, liberating, and terrifying. I know that many people stay in jobs that they hate or even loathe for all of their lives because it provides financial stability and structured routine. I am not one of those people. I need to be challenged and inspired in my job. I need to feel that I am making a difference. That I am working to help someone other then myself. As I am sure you can tell, it is the one area in my life that I am overwhelmingly unhappy. I have been fantasizing about quiting for a very long time and am so overjoyed that this day has finally come.

Several things motivated me for this change. First and foremost, Rebecca has begun her adventure into MSW land. She has spoiled me this summer providing astounding care to Wyatt and enabling me to go to work without a worry in my heart. Wyatt adores Aunt B more than I can express in words. He lights up when she is in the room. He often looks to me for comfort but always to Rebecca for laughs and playtime. They are so in tune with one another and often seem like the only people together in a crowded room. I knew that Rebeccas time as "The Best Babysitter in the WORLD" was limited but the thought of daycare paralyzes me. I know it may sound silly but I am not ready. Daycare is great and Wyatt will go there eventually. I believe it does wonders for socialization but I want Wyatt to be able to communicate with his caregivers. Right now he gives his cues subtly and only the experience of being with him all the time will you understand his language. Once he is able to portray his needs in body language, words, or other forms of communication will I be pacified. At least I can admit that I am being over protective.

I am thrilled that I will be home with Wyatt. I miss getting to take him for walks during the day. I signed us up for a Mommy and Me reading time for 6-18 month olds at the library. I am excited to watch him grow in front of my eyes. I am sure that there will be some adjustment period for both of us but there is no where I would rather be than with him. I don't want to miss a minute. Hopefully, being home will allow me to feel less guilty about leaving him. There might be more opportunity for me to go out, to enjoy being 26 with friends.

As for the money part of quiting, that is what has me terrified. Currently, I am doing well with my part-time creative job in NJ and potential Walmart residuals. However, it is always Murphy's law that it goes well while I am working full time and once I have quit my phone will stop ringing. Lets pray that it is not the case. I am pretty frugal and thrifty and while living at home my expenses are limited. I am hoping that working part time and caring for Wyatt full time will give me an opportunity to take on other endeavors. Possibly writing some more, pitch some freelance articles, think about a masters degree, maybe volunteer at a shelter with Wyatt. The adventures are endless and the world is our oyster. Last day of work is around the 15th, counting the days.