a quandary

Yesterday we went to Shane's parents for a decadent breakfast-for-dinner meal, which was delicious but made me feel greasy. After dinner, his Dad asked us if it would be OK to have a naming/blessing ceremony for Molly at their LDS church. (I had already told them it would be fine to take her to church this coming Sunday.) I was extremely taken aback. I was afraid I reacted confrontationally, but Shane says I did fine. I grilled him a little bit on what would be said and done, and he satisfied me that this isn't dedicating her to the church and isn't a baptism or christening. I agreed to it, as did Shane, but I'm uncomfortable because I'm afraid this will be a first step in trying to persuade her to become a member as she's older, and I am not comfortable with Christian theology. I know admittedly very little about the Mormon church, but what I've observed is that women in the church have very little power. The blessing Dad-in-law wants to do is a circle of men, none of whom I'll know besides him, blessing Molly and giving her her name in a sort of formalized way.

Afterwards, I was talking through my worries with Shane, and I realized the biggest problem I have is that this will happen before the Unitarian church naming I've been very loosely daydreaming about. I wanted to include a variation on a Wiccan ritual called the five-fold kiss, which is a beautiful blessing. I decided Shane and I (or myself alone if Shane opts out) will have our own tiny ritual to name and bless her with some Goddess- and Earth-centered prayers before Sunday. Shane told me today, when I was still kind of twitchy about the whole deal, that what I'm really worried about is my own guilt about not holding circle in so long or going to church with Molly yet. I think he's right. It's so important to me for her to be brought up in the UU faith, but as always, my slacker ass isn't living up to my own ideals.

The real bottom line is it's important to his parents, and any blessing given in love is a beautiful gift. His father was diagnosed with cancer very recently, and we just lost his father's mom to cancer, so emotions are high and fragile right now. The in-laws are darling, sweet people and they mean well for Molly- they love her so preciously. We decided that this blessing isn't a ceremony we have any specific complaint with, so my gut-feeling-ickiness isn't worth upsetting them by changing my mind. Shane doesn't seem to care either way, but isn't going to the church for this. I'm going to look at it as an excuse for Molly to wear fancy baby clothes and look adorable, and for Papaw to give her a blessing.

I'll post some details about the Wiccan prayers I come up with and share that experience- I'm excited to do a little something magical:)

slackerdom & the repercussions

I'm taking a break from website work to blog. I've been fighting anxiety attacks since I started working. I'm under a deadline, which usually isn't a big deal- in fact, I usually don't produce anything good until the last minute. The procrastination is a problem, though. It's been put into perpective better lately, as I realize that (here's the ridiculously fucking obvious part) the sooner I finish my layouts, the sooner we get paid. We are short (again) this month paying bills, and if I'd have finished this job sooner we could be billing for it now. Shane let loose on me how frustrated he is with my independability, and he was totally in the right, but it's so damn hard balancing everything. I have terrible time-management skills and with the baby it's an absolute necessity to fix this.

My anxiety is surely financial, and Shane's been freaking out about it too. The part I hate most is the way the attacks feel. I get anxiety about my anxiety, thinking that one smallish panic attack means I'm incompetent as a human being. It's so silly afterwards, but they feel so overwhelming and then I'm angry with myself that I can't control my physical reactions to stress. They feel like my life, which is a content and good one, is just a fragile facade over the real me which is a weak, sobbing mess of a fuck-up and a tiny crack will shatter my life. They pass and it's ok- I'm under stress like everyone else in the world and crying and feeling shaky for a few minutes isn't going to kill me.

I can't believe how hard it is to organize this life. It's a simple one, or it should be. People with much more stressful careers do just fine as working moms, but I can't find a few hours to play with a design program? I think I'm getting better, at least realizing that vegging out with the evil TV is robbing me of hours I need to be productive. It's just hard to reprogram myself after years of giving into the mild depression and lack of motivation, which snowballs into serious depression because I feed it with my idle hours. I have been improving, very slowly, for a few years, but being a mom kicks it into a real need. I can't bear the thought of Molly inhereting my weaknesses and am determined to make a good example of my life. The only way I'll raise a happy, healthy, strong woman is to BE one.

Right now the MollyBird is in her bouncy chair on my desk watching me type/falling asleep. Of course I'm worried as the chair says not to put it on an elevated surface, but she won't let me work unless she can see me. She's not mobile enough to tip it yet, and I'm right here, so I'm trying to ignore the slight worry. I tried her in her unbelievably complicated Infantino carrier, but she was pissed off. How can I be an attached parent without an attached baby? I guess I'll settle for arm's reach rather than in-arms.

The world will have to live without seeing how adorable Molly was playing on her gorgeous handmade quilt yesterday, as Blogger is being the devil today.

gifts

A lot of the time I feel displaced, like I was born into the wrong time and place. The world is complicated and worried, and I think we are disconnected from what makes us human. On another level, I’ve been told I was just born a generation too late, that I’m a lost flower child who should have been a young woman in the 60’s instead of the 90’s.

Today I was daydreaming and looked at things differently. I am amazingly lucky to be who I am, when I am. I’m incredibly blessed that the medical technology was available to make use of my arm, and to fix my doubled organs. Without modern surgery, I could never have made love or built my sculptures, much less have borne a child. Without medication, I may not have been able to feed the baby my own milk.

The other thing that fell into perspective was the amazing connection I’ve found with other moms on the net. The communication and information that I devoured to teach myself about pregnancy and parenting is unprecedented. Each generation probably thinks the wives’ tales they hear are ridiculous, but I know I knew more about my body and what to expect than my mother did. I had a vast store of medical information available to me, but even more important, I had stories. I read dozens of natural birth stories that helped embolden me and bolster my confidence. I read about nursing problems so when the baby’s latch was shallow and weak I knew what to ask of the lactation coaches. I read about new moms' daily struggles and hysterical kids' stories.

It’s just an incredible thing to feel so connected on an intellectual level to so many other parents, because since I conceived I felt a spiritual belonging that’s that powerful, too. I always revered the whole concept of Mother from a religious perspective, but somewhere in me I never really expected to graduate from Maidenhood. The transition was subtle and comfortable, and it’s so awe-inspiring to pass the torch to a daughter, to get to be somebody’s Mama. To be Molly’s mama. It’s the loveliest thing that this bright shining little soul that peers out at me from those huge sparkling eyes picked me to be her first guide in this world. I know Shane feels this too- I can see it in his eyes when he looks at her. He wouldn’t phrase things so mystically maybe, but that’s the way the world is to me.

Edit: Making me feel like a third grader with a shiny gold star on her summer vacation essay, Deb at Organized Chaos nominated me for a Perfect Post award.

happy molly moon-day

My little teeny-girl is three lunar months old today:) I also did a quickie natal chart online for her, and discovered that my little Gemini has a Libra ascendant and her Moon in Cancer. The moon in Cancer reinforces Shane's "two moody women under one roof" worries, as my moon is in Cancer as well and makes for a weepy, sensitive disposition. I maintain that this is not necessarily negative. I like that I feel things so intensely. I would be a poor, cold artist if I didn't.

Molly is, hopefully, at home right now celebrating her Moon Day with a bottle of mom-milk from the fridge, not the freezer. We discovered this week that my milk has too much lipase enzyme and does not keep in the freezer. That's why she refuses bottles a lot. So now I have to re-stock my freezer, scalding the milk beforehand. A pain in the ass, but it's better than formula so I will take the extra few minutes of prep time in stride.

dreaming home

Last night I dreamt of my home for the first time. It’s difficult to explain how beautiful this was for me. My dreams are very important to me- a nightmare can upset me for days. I dream of houses frequently, but almost always it’s the house I grew up in. Occasionally I imagine a strange new house with hidden rooms and treasures, and I was delighted to learn that Carl Jung also had this recurring dream. He wrote that the house represents the soul, and that finding hidden rooms within is a sign of self-discovery.

I moved into this home nearly five years ago. It was my husband’s grandparents’, and when I moved in he and his brother were renting it. The three of us were roommates until just before our wedding close to two years ago, when my brother-in-law moved out and my husband bought the house. My mother had died the year I moved in, so it’s not surprising that I dream a lot about her and my childhood home. Often in these dreams, I sense that something is wrong- that I should be somewhere else. I remember Shane then, and that he is my home, my family. I try to call him to take me home but can never reach him.

The dreams are obvious to interpret- that I’m transitioning from the past and holding onto my grief into this new life and family. I’ve been frustrated that I don’t dream of this house where I finally feel a comfortable sense of ownership and belonging. My dreams of the old house are filled with frustration and they are shadowy and haunted- my mother isn’t there anymore, only my sadness.

Last night, the simplest thing. I dreamt I had Molly in my arms and was carrying her from the living room to her nursery. She was sleeping and pajama-clad, soft and warm against me. That’s all I remember, but it was enough. I awoke and told Shane with tears in my eyes about my dream, and he said, “You finally came home. Molly brought you home.” I think with this dream that my new life as a wife and mama finally was made real for me. The realization of home and all the security and familiarity is finally made solid and tangible for me by a brief, perfect moment in a dream.

tumble

Molly had her first head bump today, by which I mean she fell on her head. She was on the couch, where her Brilliant and Conscientious Mother had posed her on a pillow and was beginning to snap a photograph, when the baby rolled a bit and toppled into the floor- onto her tiny, precious, vulnerable, skull-isn't-even-finished-forming head.

I picked her up, comforted her lovingly, and she stopped crying fairly quickly. I called my mother-in-law, just figuring I should confess to someone and I knew Shane had repeated head injuries as a child, so she'd be a good bet to reassure me that I am not an abusive and neglectful mom. She laughed her ass off, and I could hear Dad-in-law in the background just cackling. I thanked her for talking me down, hung up the phone and fell completely apart for a few minutes, sobbing and rocking the baby while she squirmed and wondered why mommy was having a psychotic break.

I watched for a bump, but there appears to be no damage done whatsoever.

The pictures are from before the Incedent, when she was safely planted on terra firma.

anxiety redux

Wow. Every single state, except mine, is growing in diversity. http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/08/15/diversity.ap/index.html
It's funny. I started reading the article, and it said the trend of increasing ethnic diversity was in all but one state, and I thought, "I bet it's us." I nailed it. People have a tendency to leave the state rather than move here. We are so bloody poor and there are no jobs. None. It's a shame, because West Virginia is a gorgeous, comfortable place.
_____________________________________

I had a mom anxiety relapse this morning. I dropped Shane off at our friend's where he was meeting up to do a photo job, then brought the baby home to nurse before I took her to her grandfather's and went to work. I got really freaked out and was nursing her with tears running down my face. I couldn't stand the idea of leaving her. I seriously considered calling in sick, but I knew I couldn't because we are way too poor and I was hanging onto a little shred of responsibility. I tried repeatedly to get my shit together and failed miserably. I finally made myself stop crying long enough to call my dad-in-law and tell him I was taking the baby to work with me and then I packed her up and made it in on time. I don't know what the problem was. I'd had a long weekend, so maybe I was used to being home. But I have long weekends a lot. Maybe it was knowing he was going to be travelling with her to a neighboring county an hour or so away? I don't know why it was suddenly heartbreaking again, but I'm so glad my job is open to my bringing her in occasionally.

She was a sweet pea most of the day. She rolled over all the way a couple of times effortlesssly. (All weekend she struggled and tried so hard to roll but couldn't quite make it.) She giggled at me and made my heart burst open with love and pride at her first almost-real laughter. She held a toy for the first time. She was incredible. Then around three o'clock she got very fussy and stayed that way for the next six hours. I'm worn out now. She's finally asleep in her little kick & play chair. I'm going to head upstairs and put us both down for the night, Goddess willing that she stays asleep. I should be working on the wedding invitations I'm designing for Shane's cousin, but I'm exhausted and I have another evening before we need to print them. My procrastination, once again, is astounding. Bah- I'm a tired mommy. I have an excuse this time.

tattoos

A shiny fakey and a fading real one. Daring Young Mom sent me a Blog This tattoo from BlogHer with the request that I post a picture. I love getting snailmail:)

The real tattoo is my mom's birth chart arranged in my sunburst design. I got it shortly after her death in 2001. Erg. Molly cries- I'm off to rescue...

handwritten #1

regarding adulthood, a reunion, book snobbery, V, and a not-half-bad quiche

Last night, in anticipation of my family reunion, I made my first quiche. It turned out very well, which thrilled me. I have maintained a reputation for not cooking that has served me well- no one blinks when I show up with store-bought goodies at a potluck dinner, or at most make some dip. Lately it's been a new mission of mine to teach myself to cook. I'm no where near ready to tackle baking bread, which is my ultimate goal but intimidates me. I am planning a deep-dish pizza from scratch tomorrow. The successful quiche experiment made me feel like I have finally arrived firmly in Adulthood. This is weird, as I'm thirty years old, but I've lived kind of an extended semi-adult-college-student life up until now. Shane & I eat like dorm rats- fast food, pizza, & sandwiches. (As a result, we're too damn fat.) I've been such a slacker since my teenage years that I still felt like I was a teenager in a way. Marriage didn't quite feel like the initiation into the world of Grown Up, because we'd been shacking up for four years and nothing changed except I have a nice ring. Having Molly, though, has been the kick-in-the-ass-hello-reality wake up call I needed. I want to live up to the great example my mom set for me, and for Molly to have wonderful sense-memories of her childhood, which includes a kitchen of yummy mom-smells.

The family reunion was fun. Molly got to meet her surrogate great-grandma, my late grandmother's sister, and we finally got to meet baby Mary, my cousin's baby who is 4 weeks younger than Molly. My dad was beaming all day showing off the baby. We met my cousin's new girllfriend who seems great- I secretly wish she'd introduce her as her girlfriend rather than her friend, but it's not my battle. (Actually it kind of is. The whole family for whatever reason found out I'm bisexual even though it's a non-issue as I've never had a real girlfriend to bring home. I've always been a wee bit bitter that I got to be the family's queer girl when we have an actual lesbian, but whatever...)

Someone brought a huge bunch of old books to give away, and I found a copy of The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. I yelped with joy- I finished Veronika Decides to Die recently and I was really impressed. It was good timing. I needed something to read really badly. Shane's dad gave me a fantasy novel, but so far I'm not digging it. I'm incredibly picky about books and if the writer's not up to my standards I find it impossible to read- I keep editing and rewriting in my head. People are always suggesting fantasy and sc-fi, which I love, but there seem to be a lot of shitty authors in those genres. I also pickled up some old Stephen King- that guy can write. Plus he has a really cool wrought iron fence. We stopped in front of his house when we went to Dad's place in Maine a couple of years ago and snapped some fangirl pics.

Speaking of fangirlishness, we saw V for Vendetta finally, and now I want to buy all the comics. It was incredible. I love Hugo Weaving. His voice makes me want to purr, and he's just such a badass. The story was great- I swoon over dystopias. I think it was as good as The Matrix. Rock on Wachowskis.

moonshine, no- actual moonshine

I promised I'd write a little about living in Appalachia. Usually it's exactly the same as living everywhere else. And then a friend came over with a jar of moonshine. Shane had some halfway decent vodka, and I had a couple of beers this weekend and didn't want to drink, so we didn't sample any. Apparently it's good with orange/tangerine juice.

coming to terms with modern medicine, and my birth story

I’ve been thinking a lot about modern medicine lately. During the pregnancy I did so much reading about natural birth and midwifery that I became extremely distrustful of OB’s. I’ve been increasingly skeptical of America’s approach to healthcare, and having the baby has educated me even more. My online groups have been so valuable- before joining them I’d never heard of attached parenting, for example.

Many of the moms in the groups discuss delaying or foregoing vaccinations. Shane & I felt comfortable deciding to follow the APA recommendations, which I think put me in the minority in some of those groups, but that’s what works for us. So Molly had four shots yesterday. She handled the visit really well, but was fussy all yesterday evening. She’s back to her peachy self today, though.

My birth experience was a huge wake-up call after my determined preparation for a natural labor. We planned a waterbirth at the birth center, and the mention of pain medication was totally forbidden.

When my water broke and it was ew, green, I started to see my plan slipping away. When the midwife snuck us into the hospital to check it (planning if the meconium was thin to send us on to the birth center) and she told me I’d have to not only check into the hospital but also start a pitocin drip to hurry the baby out, I was crushed. I just could not get excited that the baby was coming so soon. I was terriefied, and all I could do was try, and fail, to reconcile my imagined birth with what was happening to me. (I didn’t want labor to “happen to me,” I wanted to be immersed in warm water having a strenuous but emotionally powerful initiation rite.) Then my cervix refused to budge. The scars from an operation on a birth defect (a wall dividing my vagina, cervix, and uterus into separate parts) made it too tough. The midwife told me she had to tear it open, and gently told me this was something she couldn’t recommend I do without pain medication.

Because she knew how serious I was about her not suggesting drugs, I understood that this was going to be extremely painful. I accepted a shot of nubain, and it stopped the contractions from strenthening, but she was able to progressively pull my cervix open, and when the medicine wore off and the contractions intensified things went well. I pushed for two hours, and at length the midwife told me she felt she needed to do a small episiotomy. She and the doula told me this was the first or second one she’d ever felt was necessary- the scar tissue wouldn’t stretch there either. It didn’t hurt, or I didn’t notice because the contractions were huge and had to deal with. Molly was born immediately after, and was wide, wide awake and healthy.

Then my placenta wouldn’t come out. The umbilical cord tore, and the midwife couldn’t get the placenta out after several really painful attempts. They had to call in the OB for the practice. He stormed in with a gruff, abrasive aura and after expressing shock that I didn’t have an epidural and grunting at me that this would hurt, he removed my placenta. I can’t express what this was like but it hurt so much I don’t know why I didn’t pass out. I wish I had. I bled a lot, but they decided I didn’t quite need a transfusion. (I wish they’d have just given me one, because I got so anemic my milk was severely delayed coming in, and I had to take Reglan to induce lactation. Molly had to have formula supplements for two weeks, and I’d rather have taken the relatively small risk of having the transfusion if I could have avoided giving her formula.) Afterwards the midwife said the scar tissue inside my uterus may have been rough and kept the placenta from detaching properly.

For the first few weeks after the birth, I was stunned and completely disappointed. I was exhausted and anemic and in a constant cycle of nursing, pumping, and bottle feeding trying to bring in my milk and keep the baby fed. It took a long time, but it dawned on me finally that it is a miraculous gift that I’m able to have Molly. If it weren’t for medical technology, I couldn’t have even made love to conceive a child. The fact that I had a very medicalized birth in a hospital and a traumatic experience afterwards was suddenly a very tiny price to pay for motherhood. I felt lucky to be alive in this era, when surgeons were able to give me a functional arm and fertile womb. I lost the disappointment and the pain, and I just felt overwhelming gratitude.

I’m just now finally able to examine my birth story and share it. As the weeks have become months, Molly has filled our time with so much sweetness and life. Every day she makes new memories that soften my experience and put it into perspective. I’m able to be proud that the midwife told me, “don’t let anyone tell you you didn’t have a natural labor,” and that when I was in active labor I was unmedicated. I can brag about Molly’s alertness and her Apgar scores (9 both times) and advise my friends that an epidural is totally unnecessary. I feel like a warrior woman to have been through it and still standing. I’m proud, so proud, to be breastfeeding exclusively. And I completely impressed my husband, who was incredible support and inspiration. I'm happy this is starting to recede into memory, and that time is bringing acceptance and thankfulness.

birds & random bits

A few random notes from Life of Heidi:

A Molly Milestone: first ripping out of Mama’s nose ring: 8/7/06. And later that day, Molly’s first throw-up on my beloved couch.

There are tire shreds all over a parking lot near the house that keep reminding me of Kiki Smith’s Jersey Crows. I adore her work, obsessively, worshipfully. I got to handle some of these little bronze birds once. A dear lady who owns the largest collection of women’s art in the state is friends with many of my former professors, and she welcomed my Women Artists class into her home. She was amused when I reacted like a goofy fangirl when I got to hold Kiki’s birds. I swooned. She has a beautiful Leslie Dill piece too.

I miss my art, but not enough to manage my time better in order to fucking make some. It’s bad, wasting talent and energies and insights…and I keep dreaming of the studios at school and of my professors.

I made a great banana bread, redeeming myself after my last baking debacle. I am going to get a handle on this cooking thing if I kill myself trying. I can’t believe I didn’t try to learn more from my mom. It’s a travesty for the offspring of such a great cook to be at a total loss in the kitchen. I want Molly to be raised on home-cooked, healthy meals. Her Dad & I are the King and Queen of eating crap despite our best intentions. This must change before Molly’s old enough to eat table food.

Mollybird is well-nicknamed. We’ve discovered a new trick. If she’s fussy, and we put her in her car seat and cover it with a blanky, she’ll go to sleep like my little parakeets Sailor & Lula used to. It completely cracks me up that this works.

a houseful

We just cleaned up after a great cookout with friends. We had Shane's brother, his new girlfriend (whom I'm really starting to like) and her 15 month old girl Katie, and a couple we're close to with their nearly-nine-month old Elyse. We got to watch Elyse's very first independent steps right here in our living room! I was in mommy bliss, frying up a bunch of decadent greasy zucchini fritters while the bigger girls played together and I listened for my little sleeping tiny one to wake up. I adore having a houseful of kids, but I also treasure the special attention and bond we have with our one & only.

Shane & I are blessed with our families, and especially our extended "family of choice"- our friends who are like our kin. It was so much fun, the happy chaos of kids and moms and dads eating, talking, and laughing.

Marianne at Busha Full of Grace wrote a post about her day with her 3-year-old grandson and his 4-year-old friend that's just lovely. She expressed a great enthusiasm for my generation's parenting that made me feel wonderful- I think our parents think I'm a new age hippy flake sometimes. They're actually very supportive, though... they tell us stories of how things were so different when we were babes, but they respect our approach pretty much. I am going to have to kick Papaw's ass if he doesn't stop parking Molly's bouncy seat 2 feet from the television, though.

fairy tales

for Crazy Hip Blog Mamas Writing Collaboration

I'm in love with books. I read them, I make artist's versions, I devour them like food. I love them as objects and covet them- I confess I prefer bookstores to libraries because I hate giving them back. Of course I'm excited to introduce Molly to books. She enjoyed (I think that's what the kicking meant) A Midsummer Night's Dream while she was in the womb. I haven't yet taken the time to read to her now that she's actually born, but I'm secretly loving the idea that right now I can read anything to her and she'll be absorbing the rhytms of speech and the comfort of my voice, blissfully ignorant of the actual words. I'm dying to reread Neil Gaiman's Stardust, my favorite fairy tale by a contemporary author, and I think I'll read it aloud to Molly at bedtime. (Now at age 2 months, she can hear the smutty bits and be none the wiser.) I like to imagine that the essence of the book will instill a sense of magic in her.

I can't wait until she's able to understand stories. We'll do the Brothers Grimm, then Hans Christian Anderson, and maybe I'll allow some Disney-fied versions to sneak in... they did Peter Pan pretty decent. We'll invent our own fairy tales too, like my Aunt Vicky did when I was little. By the time she's old enough to hear them, I may have the whole Harry Potter series memorized. You can be relieved for the baby that I've decided not to make her endure the Lord of the Rings Trilogy until she can read them herself. And I promise not to give her quizzes on Middle Earth geography and Quenya grammar.

Unfortunately, I'm clueless about simpler books for toddlers. I know Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, but I'd love recommendations for fun baby books.

mom identity

A couple of different bloggers have mentioned the conundrum of how to keep one's own identity as separate from the identity of "baby-name-here's Mommy." I am having no problem with this- but what if that means I'm having an opposite problem? I am so un-freakin'-believable proud to be Molly's Mama that I want to go have t-shirts printed with her face, and buy a billboard proclaiming, "I created this Beautiful Creature- in my womb even!" I'm probably an awful bore to talk to... So am I letting Molly define me too much or is this just a phenomenon of having a brand new first baby?

In other news, my inner sex kitten woke up, yawned & stretched & then made my husband and me very, very happy. This was a sudden and surprising development, and we have both been in a giddy mood all day. My libido plummetted during pregnancy and only now seems to be heading for recovery. It's a pain in the ass to start worrying about contraceptives again. We're waiting a while to be sensible, but are planning on Shane having a vasectomy. I'm not sure how long we should wait to make sure we aren't going to change our minds, but I'm impatient to have the luxury of worry-free sex. As of now, I'm 99% sure I want only one child, and Shane's 150% sure. Actually, I'm 100% positive as of this entry, but I hear too many women tell me I'll change my tune when Molly's a toddler. So I acknowledge there's a chance I might want another, but I just don't think so. We've both always seen ourselves with just a Molly. We've always known she'd be our Molly, so when we got pregnant we just discussed middle names. (Of course we were also prepared for Molly to be Will.)

alchemy & contortionism

This morning when I took my first pump break, I amused myself by observing that I felt like a mad alchemist with this strange contraption, extracting the elixer of life. All the tubing and bottles and bags just seemed so fun and weird. Carefully, slowly pouring the milk from the collection bottles into the little baggies and trying not to spill a drop made the pumping seem special and ritualistic.

Of course, it's very boring, so one has to entertain oneself somehow:)

Later, I was nursing Molly in the car (it was just too hot not to be in air conditioning) while Shane and his cousin scoped out wedding photo settings at the farm where she's getting married. The caretaker pulled up and motioned for me to roll down the window (to explain why we were there I guess), which I somehow managed to do with my good arm without breaking Molly's latch. I write this just because I think I deserve a medal for contortionism. I probably couldn't have done it if my breasts weren't so damn big they practically hang into my lap. And I'm proud of the fact that I wasn't embarrassed at all- I'm getting over my shyness of nursing her in public, at least a little bit.

maiden

This is what went through my head, bleary eyed and still dripping with dreams first thing this morning. The newness of that little body, all warm and snuggly, and the perfect delicate paleness of that round face just overwhelmed me. She's a round ball of potential, a virgin to everything. Experiencing that purity and infancy is a rare gift- so fleeting. She changes every day. That I get to be a caretaker of this life as she unfolds is a treasure.

now your skin is shining
like mother-of-pearl
you are fed only
pure white milk
you are a tiny daughter
of the moon-
someday you'll run
& dance in the sun
but now you are like
moonlight
precious & ephemeral
you grew slow
in my round watery belly
as i counted ten full moons
and waited for you
my little shining maiden