When we came home from our family outing, Molly was smiling beautifully in her Kick-N-Play, so I took some perfect- Perfect! photos of her smile. Unfortunately, the setting was wrong on the shutter and they were all total shit. So these are the decent ones I took after I fixed the camera. I'm so pissed at the camera. None of these are as pretty as the ones I ruined. Ergh...C'est la vie.
We went to the local university by the river to play, and this time I took a camera too. I decided I needed to photograph the photographer- I was amused by the positions I find him in as he frames his shots.
This is what he photographed.
I was rocking Molly and I heard Joni Mitchell on a movie soundtrack and burst into tears. When I hear her or Bonnie Raitt it takes my breath away. The sound of their voices pulls my memories to the surface instantly and my mom's absence is right there like a tangible thing. The comfortable bliss I feel being with the baby makes becoming a mother without her guidance a little easier than I thought it would be, but I miss her so much. I never met my mom's father; he died when she was young, and I loved the stories she told me but I know I never felt I knew him the way she would have wanted me to. Now Molly will have my stories but they won't mean as much to her as they do to me. It's like that with Shane too. She was so sick when we started dating that she didn't want to meet him. It was all too intense for a new relationship, but he was so amazing and comforting and he said the most beautiful thing to me once. I was crying to him about his not knowing her, and he told me "I have the best part of her right here." It was so much what I needed to hear. I am so much like her- she worried alot, as I do obviously, but was incredibly easy-going and goofy at the same time. So much fun. I still feel such a closeness, and I know I'll feel she's with me as I watch Molly grow, and I hope so deeply that we can be as close as my mama and I were.
Shannon at PHAT Mommy is hosting "BlogHer in Spirit" roundtable discussions based on workshop topics. I'm stuck here on the east coast all poor and newbie-like, but felt her questions were well worth examining. These themes have been on my mind lately anyway as I've embarked on my mission to blog seriously and consistently, not to mention publicly.
Discussion Questions:
How do you decide what aspects of your identity you will reveal in your blog: culture, sexual orientation, political ideology, religion?
How do you feel about using your real name? Your childrens’ names?
If you blog about your race, religion, etc, - or even a personally difficult time of your life - do you feel it opens you (and your family) up to attack and/or do you feel it is a wonderful way to promote acceptance and diversity?
I've been journaling online sporadically for 6 or 7 years, and never had more than 2 or 3 readers at any given blog, until I joined LiveJournal and got involved in the parenting communities there. Since Molly was born I've felt an overwhelming need to document the feelings I'm flooded with as a new mother. I woke up one morning with the desire to share these experiences and I'm very much enjoying the creative expression as well.
The name for my journal popped unbidden into my head one evening as I was drifting to sleep. I loved it, but was concerned that using Molly's name was potentially dangerous. I eventually decided that using our real first names but excluding last names was comfortable enough. I'm still second-guessing that decision, but it stands.
The theme here is honesty, and courage maybe. How open are we going to be on our blogs? I've decided that openness is pretty much the point, and I've taken a fairly naked approach to my writings. I want to focus on my mothering experience, but of course life doesn't fit neatly into categories, and a thousand different things impact how I experience having a child. My religious beliefs, culture, and sexuality are of course part of that, so they're being addressed as they come up. I recently wrote an entry introducing my birth defect and am always unsure whether or not it's relevant and how to bring it up. My feelings now are that I have a unique perspective and that's always valuable to share and explore.
It's possible my location somewhat unique in this forum as well- I haven't looked hard, but I'm so far not finding any blogs written in my region. Appalachians are a peculiarly interesting little subculture in many ways, and that informs some of who I am as well. I do feel an obligation to represent Appalachians well any time I'm dealing with people who weren't raised here. We are, as a whole, poorly represented. Education is a huge problem here, with poor schools and low rates of higher education, so I'm fiercely proud of my education and intelligence. My experience living here runs from this pride to some frustration- many of the stereotypes are unfortunately true, and some of my interests and beliefs make me a little like an alien to a lot of my neighbors and family. Those sort of details are probably what makes it possible for me to enjoy reading a hundred different blogs about such a universal experience. I'm still amazed and thrilled that I'm part of this incredible group- mothers.
I am so guilty of this- an article in the Times, via Blogging Baby, describes moms who want help but don't want to relinquish control.
http://www.bloggingbaby.com/2006/07/28/moms-want-more-but-they-want-it-done-right/
While I couldn't ask for more help- Shane is awesome (!) and has Molly while I work- I am unfortunately the poster child for a controlling mother. I am trying to force this loose in my brain, but it is really hard to let go. I am making an honest effort to be more relaxed and let Shane do things his way, because I have apparently been a real bitch about it. It's very difficult for me to leave her all day and not know where she is & what she's doing every single minute. I also am convcinced that I'm the only person in the world who knows anything about babies, having read with rapt interest every book and website I could find on nursing and newborn care. Shane promises me he's doing fine with his intuitive, on-the-job-training approach. A conversation with a co-worker today confirms that I "know too much." I'm hoping as I get more used to working (and it is getting much easier) and being a mother in general, that I'll give the psychic umbilical cord a little more slack. I see my future self as a laid-back fun silly mama of a young child, but so far as the parent of an infant I am a freak.
My blogroll is growing exponentially each day. The bad news, I suppose, is that this is starting to qualify as an addiction. The flipside is it's replacing an even worse one- the evil, evil TV. My two favorite new discoveries are Left Coast Mama and TranceJen. Left Cost Mama is the grooviest because she assures me that I'm not a bad mom for using baby crack, and her name is Gwen- one of my favorite names. Jen is just fabulous, and is referencing her seizure problems with an honesty and matter-of-fact wry humor that touches me. I kept planning on introducing my birth defect in a similar no big deal way, and finding that it rarely comes up.
It's incredible how little this strange, strange body affects my life. My right arm is the length of my other elbow, and has a pincher-like weirdness at the end. It's quite functional and is pretty much a cosmetic issue. The pain in my ass right now is positioning Molly on my left breast for nursing. I found out after I got pregnant that it was most likely caused by Amniotic Band Syndrome, where a little strip of the amniotic sac breaks away and wraps around a limb. This is, of course, both extremely rare and not genetic.
I didn't know that when we conceived, though, and got pregnant before having the genetic tests done that I'd wanted. I was awake nights terrified that the baby would inherit this and having the most intense conflict about that worry. Did wanting desperately for her to be "normal" undermine my own sense of self? It brought up all the childhood memories of alienation that were buried and laid it all out for me to re-examine. When a friend's baby was born with this same condition and I looked into it, I realized ABS is the most likely explanation. Shortly after that, I had my first ultrasounsd with a nurse friend. She said "one hand's by her face, here, and the other is down her by her side." I cried when she said "other hand" and had her show me. At only 12 weeks or so, I could count ten fuzzy little suggestions of fingers if I looked very close- which, of course, I did- over and over. Interestingly enough, I was much more intent on looking and re-looking at the It's-A-Girl ultrasounds- I just couldn't believe I was having the girl I wanted, and was sure it was a mistake- not that a boy would've been a bad thing, just not my preference.
Well. On a much lighter note, I have invented wearing the baby ON a sling rather than in it. Her newborn Snugli is an evil cage to Molly, but if I sit her on top of it looking out, I can have a typing hand free:) Don't worry- paranoid me has the funky hand wrapped securely around the precious bundle. She's a happy Mollybird and is on the verge of finding her thumb. That means I'm on the verge of having a talk with the grandparents about how we feel this is a natural and preferable soother to a pacifier.
How to feel a tiny bit attractive, if you are me:
1. Wear prettiest panties- hideous grey nursing bra be damned. Convince myself that I'm wearing them to feel nice, not because every other pair is dirty and going commando in a thin skirt to the office is gross.
2. Decide my hair isn't too mom-ish after all and put a funky zigzag part in it.
How not to feel attractive:
1. Notice on the way out the door that my nursing pads show through my top.
2. Get thrown up on- high volume- in hair.
In happy sleep news- six solid hours- woohoo!
I'm really enjoying this creative outlet. It's relaxing to sit in my dark, cozy basement office and collect my thoughts, process my day, reflect back. The baby monitor's by my side, and the rhythm of Molly's swing is calming me as much as it is her right now.
My day started in the most sublime way. I was rocking and nursing Molly, my eyes closed in the dawn light, consciously focusing on the quiet, sweet moment. I opened my eyes lazily, and noticed that we were reflected in the glass on a photograph of my mother on the opposite wall. I've never noticed that before, and it filled me with such a strong, fierce love for the woman I hold in my heart and the tiny one I held in my arms. It wasn't a sadness for mom, it was just a comforting, real knowledge of my place in the world. I realized a few days back that the anniversary of her death had passed and I hadn't noticed. This is the fifth year since her passing. I think she'd be overjoyed that my day was so full of caring for my new daughter that I didn't feel any grief that day.
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I took Molly to work with me for a couple of hours this morning and she was sweet as pie. She was a wailing banshee afterwards, apparently, for her dad. He was frazzled when they picked me up. I can't stand the idea of her being fussy when I can't be there to comfort her. It makes working that much harder. But, since I spent much of my day on the phone with an extremely rude bill collector, we absolutely cannot afford for me to quit. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, maybe- just leaving her in the mornings. I hope we can get the business rolling along better, and bring in enough money for both of us to work from home soon.
Someone posted in Blogging Baby about hot moms. Most of us, per the comments, are thinking we are lukewarm at best. Shane for one is not getting the conjugal attention he'd like, but assures me I am still a sexy chica. Turning thirty and giving birth a month later has made me feel like I aged a decade in the past year. I'd like to think that I have, emotionally. The physical stuff is a mixed bag. I love my silver hairs, all goddessy and mature. The wrinkles, not so much, but they aren't bad really. What I'm thinking really needs help is my wardrobe. I've spent too many hours nursing Molly and watching the Style network and wishing for some trendy new clothes. Then I feel like a superficial shit for daydreaming about a makeover and watching crappy TV. The truth is, though, nursing in the beginning is constant and a little boring. Such a nasty habit, though. Shane and I don't want Molly watching TV until she is 3 or so. We are still indulging ourselves more than we should. I've instated a no-TV-until-8:00pm rule for myself this week.
My current parent-paranoia is about Molly's gadgets. We don't have alot of stupid baby equipment, but she has an automatic swing. It's been nicknamed baby crack. She loves this thing, and will go to sleep faster than rocking in a chair with me. I had imagined working on the house and at the computer with her in a sling, but she hates her sling usually. The swing lets us get things done. Why do I feel guilty about using it? Her other machine is a Kick and Play bouncy chair- and this toy I love. She can activate the lights and music herself already, which makes me think she is a genius. It's so cool to see her stimulated and aware and staring inquisitively at the colors and blinkies. She can entertain herself for a while in that, and at least it's not putting her to sleep. I just hate not being in contact with her. I have to go back to work tomorrow after a long weekend, and I want cuddle time. But I have logos and a website to finish, and a cousin's wedding invitations to design. At least I can stare at her while she's swinging.
We had a really good day. Shane and a friend moved in my grandma's old couch, which I've coveted for years, and moved out our stinky old couch. The dogs have been warned away under penalty of death, and Molly consented to throw up anywhere but the couch. It's yellow and green striped and goes well in our colorful living room, which is decorated in early Thrift-store and Art School. (I sometimes sit staring at the walls and daydreaming of decorating the house purposefully, with a little bit of actual money. For now, having a hand-me-down this beloved is heaven.)
Shane went on to the friend's place to chill, and Mollybird & I stayed at Grandma's to visit her and my aunt. The baby threw an unholy fit, but made me feel like the best mom ever by quieting down when she was handed back to me. We picked up Shane and went to Magic Island, a little park downtown which is actually a small penninsula on the Kanawha River. There was a nice enough sunset and a view of a bridge- my husband loves to photograph bridges. (He is so water, although he's an air sign. He was a white water rafting guide for years, and a lifeguard before that.)
It was so nice, strolling around with Molly on a perfect summer evening, Shane and I holding hands and pushing the stroller together. This stroller- we made fun of them when we were expecting. They're freakin' SUV's these days. Now, we load it up like a pack mule with diaper bag, camera bag, tripod, etc. It's pretty handy. I sat with the baby girl on a chunky stone bench under a gorgeous willow while Shane framed up the sunset. He got some beauteous shots of us also.
I love these quietly happy times, the very definition of the word contentment. Simple and easy, and I just forget to not be happy. I learn that lesson at least weekly, that I just have to shrug off the worry and it will go, but I let it creep back in. I've been trying to re-teach my brain to relax, and I think that my life's circumstances will make this easier now. I refuse to be anything less than all I can be, so that Molly has a strong and healthy woman to mother her. I could be too introspective and lament the fact that I should have found this motivation within, but if I find it in my daughter, at least I found it.
Speaking of strong, healthy women- "Big Molly", my little one's namesake, hasn't seen the baby yet. She was mine and Shane's art professor and just one of my favorite people in the world. We're inviting her family over next weekend, and I'm giddy. She's like a mom and a mentor and a big sister all in one, and I have a childlike desire to impress her. They've never been to our house, so I'll be cleaning like mad this week.
As soon as Shane uploads the photos I'll post our willow-y prettiness.
Brooke, on children's artistic impulses and the way they are being squashed by consumerism:
"I want Satchel to grab hold of his fat beeswax crayons that have a scent and vibrate with the work of the bees that made the wax. I want his pigment to be feathery one moment and a deep ravine of color the next. I want his art to tingle on his fingertips so that he knows his own strength of putting pigment on a page."
Gods- I just had to share that- that's why I read her. Eloquent, and the kind of mom I'd love to be. Also makes me itch to play with the chunk of pure beeswax I have buried in my studio supplies somewhere. I had great results last year with painting wax mixed with oils onto my sculptures. You can even collage with wax, and it smells like dirty honey when heated. Very sensual art experience.
I should be in bed with Molly, who's fast asleep, but I'm wide awake. It's kind of nice to be up late on a Saturday night and having a Saranac lager & surfing & writing my guts out. Feels like a temporary revisit to the land of the grown-ups.
Due to our constant state of poverty and my emerging photoshop prowess, it falls on me to create custom greeting cards for all family occasions. Today is Shane's Dad's 56th, and I came up with this image for him:
Inside text says "happy birthday from the three of us." There was, as per family tradition, ice cream cake. We had a house chock full of girl- Molly, her cousin Maddy (8 months) and her uncle's girfriend's baby Kaitlin (15 months.)
Monday will be Molly's lunar 2 month birthday. To me, a month is 28 days. Call me crazy. Will I still be counting that way when she turns a year old? Will there be a Calendar Birthday and a My-Mom's-a-Hippy-Dippy-Moon-Worshipper Birthday? I used to think it was confusing and ridiculous the way we count babies' ages in months- like saying 18 months rather than a year and a half, but having one so new I count in weeks gives me some perspective on the new mommy mode of timekeeping.
And speaking of things lunar, this is the first actual Me, Molly, & the Moon post. The earlier entries are pasted in from Green New Mama. I had second thoughts after impulsively starting the blog earlier this week, and as I have no readers yet, I decided to start anew with threemoons.blogspot.com. That'll give me the option to change the title later (I think) when Molly's old enough that it's creepy and pathetic to name my blog after my child.
Three moons is a nod to the triple Goddess, although you'll find precious little Wicca in this blog. No longer devout at all, I still hold an affinity for the symbol of the waxing, full, and waning moon. Also, it is tattooed on my ass. 
I used to be a serious witch, and was studying priestessly ways, but group dynamics were increasingly weird. There are some flaky fucking Wiccans around here, and my ties were severed with my group. I am a member of the Unitarian Universalist congregation, but haven't attended in a couple of years. I would love to get back in the habit of going, and want to raise Molly as a UU. I missed out on the community aspect of church-going as a child, and the UU principles are wonderful teachings for a youngling.
I've been tense all day. Truth be told, I've been tense for five years. Since my mother died I don't think I have had a completely relaxed moment. I've had great times- amazing, wonderful times. I've gotten married with a piercing golden sun shining on my loved ones. I have jumped from an airplane into a cool blue sky and floated down into a soft green field. I've held my newborn daughter in my arms and seen her first few smiles. Beneath these things, though, the fragility of such moments keeps me from being immersed in the moment. Since I lost mom I am so hyper-aware that all I hold can be taken away that I think a part of me is always waiting for the next tragedy. It's ridiculous to admit and sounds embarrassingly melodramatic.
Today I was feeling this so acutely. It was a sunny hot summer day and I was driving around town at lunch time with a CD I love (Dave Matthews, Some Devil) playing, and I thought, I should be ecstatic right now. I felt like I had a buoyant mood almost bubbling to the surface, but I was holding it down with my worry.
I shared this all with Shane, and he decided we needed an outing to free my good mood. We loaded up the Mollybird and the camera equipment and began driving aimlessly along the river. We stopped at a downtown parking garage with a view of the east end and he snapped a couple of shots of some church steeples- a Charleston cliche he's blogged about before. The we ledt and noticed the big cemetary that overlooks downtown. Neither of us has ever been, so we drove up there for a while. Shane was smitten with the view and the sunset, and I impressed myself for discovering a way to hold Molly in my shawl sling-like. (I had idyllic visions of babywearing in a gorgeous Maya Wrap, but Molly usually hates being worn.) It is very lovely up there and we'll definitely do back to shoot more. I imagine a few photos will make it onto his blog, Through the Lens.
I have a few minutes to myself this morning- rare, because my mornings are usually crazed. I wake up with Molly at 5:30 or 6, doze with her in and out until the last possible moment, around 7 or 7:15, then rush to shower, get breakfast down and lunch packed, nurse her until it's time to go and then pack up my purse, breastpump, cooler, & lunch, and race to work, usually at least 5 minutes late.Today I had to open up the clinic early so a speech therapist could see an early patient, and I overestimated how early to get up. Then Zowsy-Baby was too "zousy" to nurse well, and refused to wake up for me. (I had a doll as a child called, I guess, Drowsy Baby, who I called Zousy Baby, and Miss Molly just has the cutest Zowsy Babiness going on when she's sleepy.) I could just blog a nickname a day blog and have material for years. I seem to make a new name for her every day. Mollybird is her official mickname, but Boo, Peaches, Sweat Pea, and Munchkinhead all get lots of play too.
Speaking of Zowsy, I'm ecstatic that I get to sleep in with Molly tomorrow. Goddess willing she'll still be on her scheduleto really wake up at10 a.m. or later. Then I have an ultrasound to check for remains of my pesky placenta- which did not want to leave my body. If there's still some bits in there, I'll be treated to a D&C, a delightful ending (hopefully) to the nightmare of medical interventions that have been visited upon my reproductive organs. The entire process has been a constant reminder that things never go as planned. My lovely waterbirth at the birth center became an induced labor at the hospital, with a placenta removal that was traumatic as hell, which led to anemia, which led to delayed milk, which necessitated formula supplementation, etc.I just want it to be finished, so I can close up shop on my childbearing. (Yes, we are planning to have an only child.) It's all going so well now, barring the retained placental fragments. We are nursing beautifully, although I'm a little nervous having taken my last dose of Reglan yesterday that my supply will dwindle.
It's been frustrating at times, but she really does well. And I've finally begun to relax and enjoy the mutual comfort of nursing. Since going back to work, it's saved my sanity. Her feedings are our special time to catch up on contact and be quiet after a workday. Night time is nice too, and our little routine is working well. She'll sleep (with the help of her swing) from 9:30 or 10, and I'll be in bed with Shane. Then at 1:30 or 2 she'll get fussy and we'll snuggle up in the bed in her nursery and cosleep until the morning. I wish we had a king size bed and could sleep as a family, but our bed is much too small for the three of us to share safely. In the morning I usually crawl back in bed with Shane for a cuddle before I get up. Complicated juggling to make sure my two loves get their proper snuggle time. There are so many of these tiny negotiations as we adjust to being a family of three.
(originally posted 7.20.06 at greennewmama)
Meet Molly Shayne, the Center of the Universe. She's seven weeks and a day old today. This is from the first round of studio photos Shane took. My husband is a professional photographer, so I am a very lucky doting mom. The technological marvel is that she had a terrible case of baby acne when we took this. Props to Adobe Photoshop.
I can't have enough photos of her. I am struck with the need to remember all of her faces. She has so many. The very first photograph, minutes after her birth, shows Popeye face, also called Nursey face. There is Princess Pootey Pants face, which is scrunchy and bright red. There is Sleepy-on-the-Boob face, which is a little drunken looking, with eyes rolling back in her head. There is Travel Face, which is only seen by me riding in the back seat with her and the tilt of her head in the carseat from that angle highlights the shape of her eyebrows and makes her look fine and delicate. There is Rocking Chair face, which is my favorite- she pushes out her little head from the cradle of my arms and I can see the shape of her face and her tiny neck. It's like a turtle but cuter, and her eyes are big as the moon.
This time is so poignant and rare and precious it's almost painful. She's more mine now than she'll ever be again as she grows into her own person and looks outside her mother's embrace for comfort and nourishment. The separation anxiety I feel at times is overwhelming. I'm having a hellish time with work, and the two times we sat through a movie I was so distracted I couldn't properly appreciate Johnny Depp or Hugh Jackman. I'm trying to focus on the time I can be with her, and savor this short phase of our lives, this beautiful infancy of our new family.
*My friend Heather once told me she knew I was really drunk because I'd just ended a sentence with a preposition.
(originally posted 7.18.06 on greennewmama)
