HEELS

What do you do with a (nearly) 6 month-old baby all day when you are also supposed to be working? Riddle me THAT, Batman. (Batman has, so far, been useless in this respect).

Though Rowan is my second child, this is my first go-round with actually being a completely full-time mom. Cole was already in daycare by the time he was 4 months old, and I went back to work full-time when he was only 9 WEEKS old, all of which is really painful and hard to believe to this day. The point is that I only had to entertain him on nights and weekends, which I was more than happy to do, given that I had to work at all other times and he was a wonderful break from that.

But now, I am still working from home about 20 hours/week and Rowan is with me every second of every day, and I mean EVERY. I can barely put this chick down without her pitching a fit, and I love her to bits and don't want to overly distress her (figuring that being a teenage girl someday is going to be distressing enough for both of us). I can't get housework done, I can't get work-work done. I'd quit and just be free to be with her, but I can't afford to do that and have my house. She hates the swing, she hates the bed, she hates the floor, she hates sitting with me at the computer, she hates the bouncy-thing. I no longer have arms. I no longer have much of anything except this baby girl chewing on me all day and night.

I also haven't had a really good nights sleep in 6 months, which is, I'm sure, wreaking havoc with my perspective.

So what do YOU do? How do you entertain babies? Keep in mind that I can't really go anywhere because of the work thing, so taking walks and going to the store midday, and joining mother's groups are all right out.

(I'm fucked, aren't I?)

But as super-attached babies go, she is GLORIOUS. She is charming and lovely and sweet and full of beans. See? This proves it:

100% Beans.

She's 18 pounds of delicious beans, that one.

And she and her brother have formed a serious mutual-admiration society.

Me? I'm working when I can, am a brand-new member of the Arts Council Board, and have started working out, mostly at home and to the sound of screeching baby girl ("cause I'm not holding her, you see).

Life is not a box of chocolates. Life is a tightrope. It's a high-wire balancing act without a net.

Lately, balance has been the theme. The attempt to perch precariously on the edge of everything that must be done has left me so very tired, not to mention the fact that I still don't get more than 2 hours of sleep at a time.

I balance wanting to quit my job, but wanting financial stability. Wanting to let Cole be a quirky little human with his own needs and desires with raising a spoiled tyrant. Wanting to give him discipline with not wanting to crush his spirit. Wanting to give Rowan the comfort she wants with wanting to have some time for myself. Wanting to be free with loving my family with painful ferocity. Wanting to leave the US with wanting to be near family and have my support network. Wanting to keep up with my responsibilities with wanting to fulfill difficult dreams. Wanting financial stability and responsibility with Oooh! SHINY!

I feel as if,at times, I have an auto-immune disorder of life- my life is fighting itself.

Which is not to say that I have a bad life, in any important way. Yes, there are things I'd like to change, but they are mostly things that I think will improve with time. Overall, though, I have a pretty amazing life, what with the family I love, the nice home, the food in my refrigerator, the presents under the tree, the loving husband, the brilliant children, the supportive family. It's just that I feel that, personally, I'm merely sustaining, not thriving. It takes so much energy just to maintain that I am tapped for anything greater. I'd like to do more than just live- I want to enjoy.

So this blog isn't the only thing that has suffered. I'm not exactly... productive these days, even though I have great aspirations of being. There are many, many things I'd LIKE to be doing, but they don't really add to the stability of this family very much, so they are put aside. One day...

These days, my time spent online is either to post a quick update to my status on my facebook page (which I have because it has proved to be the most reliable way of keeping in touch with everyone), or to investigate New Zealand immigration. I'm serious. I want to move to NZ so bad that it's kind of all I've wanted to talk about lately. I restrain myself. Mostly.

I know how lucky I am. I mean, I did look at my babies today:




(PS- these were not actually taken today, but I can guarantee that the children pictured are just as cute (or cuter) now as they were then.)

Cole WILL be attending the Waldorf school next year. I had been waffling (Mmmmm... waffles), but events of this morning solidified my position. In fact, it only took three fingers and one word. What three fingers and one word could do what years of deliberation could not, you ask? I'll tell you! It was the pointer, pinkie, and thumb, held up while my not-quite-4-year-old said "Shocker."

Oh yes, he did.

And he told me where he learned it, too. Not surprisingly (for me, anyway), it was from his teacher's son (who is 4) who learned it from his teenage brother. She knew about it, but didn't know what it meant.

I know that I am overreacting to some extent, but I don't care. I had been teetering on the fence between public and private school for a long time, and I really needed a push in one direction or another. It is not only this that is making my decision, but this didn't help public school's chances, either.

I don't want my children to be sheltered forever, but I think that 4 is a little too young to know the Shocker. I realize that he doesn't actually understand what he's saying- if he did, he'd be in homeschool TODAY- but I also know that's it's only the beginning.

I also think that elementary school is WAY too young to be doing boring busy work. We have our whole adult lives for that! I want him to enjoy learning, and to be able to carry that joy of learning throughout his life, rather than having it beaten out of him before 4th grade. I want him to learn about myths and history and math and science, not just as subjects but as things that influence the world around us. I believe that the Waldorf education is an education in context, and that lessons make more sense and stick with kids longer than those taught in the public school model. I don't want my child learning for the next test, I want him learning for life. I don't want him to be another number or stat, I want him to be a CHILD.

I also want to be a part of the community, which I think I've written about before. I want to be with a self-selected group of parents that are willing to sacrifice to give their children the kind of education they think they should have. I want to be one of those involved parents who helps with Michaelmas and building the Haunted House and putting on the Auction. I think my children deserve to be in a place with parents like that.

I know there are downsides. Having gone to this Waldorf school, I am WELL aware of the downsides to this particular school and to the Waldorf education in general. For instance, I DO NOT believe in Anthroposophy, the guiding philosophy behind the Waldorf model, but I also know that there are major philosophical differences that I have with the Public school model, too, and this seems less harmful in the long run.

I believe that we can give Cole anything that is lacking in his Waldorf education, I don't believe that we can do the same with Public school. Further, I don't think that we can heal the damage caused by the Public school system.

I believe it's Waldorf for us.

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Also, THANK YOU all for your kind words of encouragement on my sugar problem. I have had a rough, but mostly successful, two weeks of trying to cut it out. The biggest problem is that I can't let myself have ANY sweets, no matter what the sweetener. Even agave kicks off the cravings. It's like (or so I've been told, not having ever been a smoker) when you're trying to quit smoking and you go out for a drink, except that you always used to smoke after having a drink, so now you want to smoke even though you weren't doing anything necessarily smoking-related. Does that make sense?

The thing that has worked the best is apples. Whenever I get a sweet craving at home, I eat one of the (incredibly lovely, delicious, organic and locally grown) apples I got at the Farmer's Market. It's satisfying enough and occupying enough that I usually can stop there. Special bonus: FIBER!

I am an addict. Have been for some time, but lately it has moved from controllable to life-running. Like, I have structured my days around it and been thinking about it constantly and been a bitch when I am coming down.

What's my addiction?

Sugar.

I'm not joking. It is an addiction. Perhaps not as life-ruining as alcohol or prescription drugs, but it is a problem for me nonetheless.

I was doing fairly well up until a couple of weeks after Rowan was born. I didn't crave it as much while I was pregnant for some reason. But, for whatever reason, be it sleep deprivation or hormones or breastfeeding, after about two weeks in, I was a slave to it. I literally think about dessert all day. Cookies, pies, cakes, cupcakes. I am mostly a fan of baked-goods, but I will take anything. Even worse, I get a pass by everyone around me- shit, they even SUPPORT my addiction- because I am breastfeeding and "You can eat ANYTHING when you're breastfeeding." Sure you can.

Except that I started to gain weight, and I saw my energy dropping, and I noticed that I was spending 15 minutes straight in front of the cookie jar shoveling handful after handful of animal crackers down my gob and not really even enjoying them. But they were organic! And low sugar! Yeah- doesn't mean so much when you eat 10 servings at a time. I was making excuses to stop and get turnovers every week and then getting them again at the farmer's market on the weekend. I was figuring out which paths from home to the grocery store would take me past a drive-through coffee place and wondering when the pumpkin-spice latte would be available. I was dreaming up reasons for me and Cole to go to the candy store for a treat "for him."

Last night, John caught me eating a half-roll of Necco wafers. As I had already expressed my concern over my problem, he asked if I should really be eating them. I told him that it was either that or I was going to bake cookies or start drinking heavily, and I thought this was probably better. I think he thought I was joking, but I was ABSOLUTELY serious.

Today, I have been making fucking TEA all day (decaf) just to do something when a craving comes. The only really sugary thing in the house is sorbet, and I don't get cravings for that. I have a headache, and HOW. I am feeling significantly more tired that I ought to. I'm also feeling lucky that Rowan and I didn't get thrush through all of this.

This week I should be receiving a bathing suit from Land's End (it was on sale!). When I do, Cole and I are going to go to the local gym and pay their exorbitant fee so that we can start swimming in the heated pool two times a week. It means learning to really swim before next summer for him, and a little bit of exercise and butt-kicking shame for me. Shame is a good motivator for me, at least to start. I need to start somewhere. I need to be healthy. I need to have energy for my kids. I need to be in good shape so that, when the kids are finally ready to leave the house, their father and I can still have fun together. I don't want to be old before my time because of poor health choices now. I am 30, but right now I feel like I'm 50, and an unhealthy 50 at that.

So laugh, if you feel you need to, at my little problem, but know that it really is a big problem for me. But also know that I intend to do something about it, and writing it down here is my start.

ETA: And what should I get in my mailbox today but the November issue of Bon Appetit with HOLIDAY DESSERT recipes, reminding me once again that the season of greatest temptation is upon us. Thanks a lot, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, you fuckers.

Right! Blogging! I have a blog!

heh...

So I guess this extended absence makes me a... oh what's the word... yes- hypocrite. I would be pissed if the blogs I read took this much time off. Like "where's my free entertainment, bitch? Where are the goddamn baby pictures?!"

But I am quite seriously a creature of habit, and it became my habit NOT to write and so I didn't. And then didn't some more.

And I am now back at work (though still at home with Rowan) and writing has an added element of guilt attached to it.

But I have to break out of my non-writing habit. I feel better when I write.

We are doing quite well these days. Rowan is 9 weeks old and over 14.5 pounds of chunky baby deliciousness. Her cheeks are so big that, when laid on her side when she's hungry, she attempts to nurse on them. It's a sight rather akin to watching someone trying to lick their own ear. She is also holding her head up pretty well now, except when she doesn't and ends up slamming her little nose (which is totally going to look like John's, by the way) into my collarbone, which HURTS, dontcha know.

Cole is starting to fit in nicely at his new pre-school and already has a best friend. He has the most awesome active imagination and frequently makes up songs and stories. His story the other day started "Once, long, long ago, in the future..." Awesome. He also declared, in the fine tradition of 3-year olds and engineers everywhere, that he is the RIGHTEST. Indeed.






(It literally took me a friggin WEEK to write this. When I started, the title was 8 Weeks.)

Today is my 30th birthday.

The day started out right with a 4 am baby fussing fit. Just when I had gotten her back to sleep, Cole woke up. I sent him to his father.

Then, while dropping Cole off at school, I suddenly became aware of a stronger then usual infant poop odor and realized, upon returning to my car, that Rowan had managed to poop copious amounts out of the leg opening of her diaper and down the front of my black shirt. For a better visual here, please understand that a breastfed infant's poop is bright golden-yellow and curdy. Delicious.

When I finally managed to get us both home, she had another fussing fit that ended with projectile spit-up in my ear. Then she pooped on me two more times.

But I did get an uninterrupted shower, a delicious apricot turnover, a hot cup of coffee, a nice lunch with my husband, and a lovely 1-hour massage with a hot-stone section thrown in as a birthday surprise from my masseuse, so my day has actually been quite lovely.

What can I say about being 30? Ummm... Well, I guess I thought I'd be smarter, but things are pretty good.

Because my typing has been mainly of the one-handed variety (because of baby-holding, nothing steamier!), I have been doing some updating on Facebook, but have been less enthused about taking the time to do anything here. But we're still here and still doing great. Breastfeeding is still about as perfect as I ever could have hoped, and Rowan has become our little pork pie. Seriously- this kid is SO chunky. I'm fairly convinced that she's over 10 pounds now. Every time I think about how big she's getting, I do a little cheer for the boobs and then start singing the song from Madagascar 2:



She even growls at me if she thinks I'm trying to take the precious boobs away. She's also not real fond of me putting her down. Ever. It makes housework interesting. Luckily, she seems to be increasingly okay with the sling.

And Cole, despite how much he clearly LOVES his "little sis," has been a challenge. He's looking for attention and he'll take it any way he can get it, even if it means being a horrible little shit to me and John. We're all still adjusting, and the fine tuning will take a while, no doubt. He's still finding his place at his new school, too. He's a little too fond of keeping tabs on everyone else's behavior, the little policeman, and it has made him a bit unpopular with certain kids at times. Yesterday, for example, he was trying to stop another boy from taking too much toilet paper and the other boy bit him on the back. It has only been 3 weeks, though, and I expect that in another 3 weeks he'll be far more settled, at home and at school.

Also a challenge has been my foot, the smallest toe of which I caught on the crib while trying to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth. It now seems that I did not break or dislocate it as I originally thought, but actually tore ligaments. It's turning a lovely, mottled blue/purple. So just as I was walking normally and comfortably again, I can no longer walk normally or comfortably.

That does contain some good news though, if you know how to interpret it correctly: 2 weeks after having Rowan I was walking normally and comfortably again! Perhaps that doesn't seem like much of a triumph, but considering that I was still not healed well a full 6 weeks after Cole, I am pumping my fist in victory to be this far along at 3 weeks post.