me, molly, & the moon

veganpagan

2007-03-20T14:29:00.000-05:00

...was what my mom called me when I was a) having a candlelit ritual in the backyard, b) extolling the virtues of tofu and condemning the meat industry, c) telling her about my "girlfriend" in Pittsburgh, or d) being otherwise Not Of the Mainstream, at least for my itty bitty suburb in Appalachia.

She would accuse me, on occasion, of being a nonconformist because everyone else was doing it. The sexuality, the religion, the food choices- all for coolness, y'all. This infuriated by 19 year old belly pierced black dyed hair sportin' self very much. The piercings and the hair, sure. Superficial. But give a kid a little credit.

Exit mom, enter Bu. He tells me I'm non traditional for the sake of being non traditional. (Wasn't I supposed to marry my father not my mother?) He told me that when I planned to hyphenate my name. (Turns out it's an annoyingly long name, so no. I opted for his short & sweet surname, and took my maiden name as my middle name. Please don't tell my grandma. My middle name was her name.) He told me that during intense, long arguments with pregnant me about vegetarianism and circumcision. He also informed me yesterday that I am too old to dye my hair purple. (Just a few streaks? Very sophisticated purple hair it would be...)

While people I love are wondering why I'm so far out man, I'm wondering how/when I got so tame. Feeling very soccermom, having tattoo lust again. Is it motherhood? Thirty-ness? I just feel very um, restrained lately. Boring, actually. Like I'm not expressing myself at Full Heidi Strength. Possibly related in a convoluted way to my not producing (fine) art and missing school.

As an extension of this obsession with lack of hip, I think it's a huge tragedy that Molly has no cool clothes like the ones Drew is sporting. Why am I drowning in tiny pink things? So I was doing the online version of window shopping, and at Baby Wit I saw a T shirt that says "They're raising me gay." I told Bu if I were a single mom Molly'd totally have that shirt. He surprised me by laughing and saying that if we didn't have the Mormon grandies around she could have the shirt.

I don't know if I want my the Boue wearing something political, although this rocks, but I have got to get some funk up in her wardrobe for her birthday. I'm definitely earmarking some of the income tax return for her.

And this might be one of the most superficial posts I've written to date. Tomorrow I'll update you on the joy of discovering non-toxic nail polish at the health food store and how Honest Tea chai is not sweet enough. Just because I wanted organic doesn't mean I wanted you to skimp on the yum, peeps. Argh.

off to Grandma's

2007-03-17T18:56:00.000-05:00

My lifestyle’s making me insane. Tag-team parenting is bullshit; I want full days with the three of us. I can handle being a working mom, but not a double working mom. It’s great we’ve had design work lately but working evenings and weekends and plopping Molly in front of videos is freaking me out. Also, my house is a pit of filth. I’m feeling so torn in half right now. Molly’s been on a half-assed nursing strike, so I’m spending as much time as I can skin-to-skin in bed with her to encourage her to nurse. The past couple days the only time she’ll nurse is going down for a nap, during the nap, and waking up. So we’ve had a couple of marathon feedings and then nothing in the afternoon and evening. There are also new and exciting Biting–Ouch-Unlatch-Wait-Relatch-Biting-Repeat rituals. I broke down in tears yesterday, worried I won’t figure this out and she’ll wean early. My dad called yesterday, and I told him she has four (almost) teeth and he said, “So breastfeeding’s over?” I said, “No it means mama has to be brave…hahaha.” I thought at the time, “Gods he doesn’t know me very well at all”- somewhat unfortunate but true. Now, however, I’m quickly gaining sympathy for all my friends who weaned when their babes grew teeth.

I have so much to do this weekend, so the Birdie’s been with the grandies for a while now. I don’t want to let go of her right now for a minute. She’s changing so fast, and she’s wanting cuddle time less and less. Every minute seems heartbreakingly precious, and I resent every one I can’t spend with her.

So when my aunt just called and told me that she needs me to take shift at Grandma’s, I was secretly thrilled*. (She has a sprained ankle and the other’s mending from a break. She has a wheelchair now, and needs someone there all the time since last weekend.) She goes to bed really early, and might be asleep when the baby and I get there. I can spend the evening watching actual cable TV and being unable to work- and therefore unable to feel guilty. We’ll make breakfast in the morning and then turn her over to my brother for Sunday afternoon.

We’re having a family meeting Friday to discuss how to get her into a care home. I’m so relieved that this is her idea. I do think she’ll be happy with a small community of her contemporaries, and I’ll feel so much better knowing she’ll have round the clock care. I really wish she could come live with me, but there are so many reason’s it’s not feasible. I think she’ll be happier soon, and I hope I’m not painting a pretty picture out of something that’s not what I think.

It’s all an unknown right now… I miss my mom so bad I can’t stand it right now. My grandma is my link with her, and my aunt and brother. That small family is so important to me. We aren’t spending enough time together- another stress point.

So I’m going to pack up the Boue and head to Grandma’s. Just talked to her and she’s up- yay:)

*ETA: Secretly thrilled? Why secretly thrilled? It's not like Grandma's a chore. We had a good time, except for the part where I cried and cried lying in the bedroom where Mom's hospital bed used to be. Grandma got to see Molly steps:)

meet sophie

2007-03-15T13:13:00.000-05:00

I decided that anything sharing this intimate a relationship with my nipples should have a name. So, meet Sophie B.

She is my breast pump. She's a Medela Pump-in-Style double electric. She was handed down, with freshly boiled tubing, from Bu's cousin. She comes to work with me, usually. She also was my constant companion after the Great Anemia Debacle of post-partum milklessness. She did her thang, and Molly took over until I came back to work at the clinic. You go, Sophie. You brought it, girl. (The milk.)

Sophie B(reast pump) is named, bein sur, for Sophie B. Hawkins, who is killer sexy, and posed for this incredible David LaChappelle photo. I saw this years ago, when the Souster ~~was my mental health nurse~~ & I were roommates. Souster had this book, and I drooled on it a lot. In the book, you can see the texture of her very soft, fine leg hair under the poured milk, and it's so beautiful. Very mammal photo:) Very pretty.

I can't wait to bid my Sophie B farewell. I was counting the days until the Mollybird can drink cow or soy milk and I could stop pumping, and just nurse when I'm home. Now that I know she's gaining weight so slowly I don't have the heart to risk a supply drop. We'll add in (organic if we can afford it) whole milk in a couple months, but I definitely want to keep her full of real milk as much as possible. So, Sophie B and I have two standing dates per work day for the foreseeable future.

first steps

2007-03-14T23:05:00.000-05:00

Despite two weeks of crying after my short, unpaid maternity leave about just such an event, I survived missing Molly's first steps while I was at the clinic. Bu witnessed, so that made it totally alright. There were about 4 total. Two this morning from Bu to Papaw in our living room, then one more for cousin Boo 1.0, then one more from Bu to Mama this evening.

Squee. O squee!

In other adorableness, she "sang" along with Jiminy Cricket when we watched Pinnochio tonight.

court = scary + boring

2007-03-14T20:42:00.000-05:00

Today was my court date for the unruly dogs. (Who have now been licensed and have current rabies shots, as well as shiny new collars for their tags.) Bu went with me for moral support. I was nervous a little, and was teased incessantly at work and home. As we drove there, Bu regaled me with predictable BDSM jokes about handcuffs. The story:

Bu’s Dad’s old partner’s working the door, and had told Bu’s Dad that (a.k.a. Papaw) that he’d try to get the ticket thrown out. I meet H, the partner, who tells us to wait around until he can talk to us. There’s a hall with a stairwell occupied by lounging young women and one man, all in prisoner-orange ensembles complete with matching orange handcuffs. I didn’t know these come in colors. I try not to look/act as uncomfortable as I feel, and I feel like a big dorky princess snotty person because I am weirded out by casually-hanging-out handcuffed people. One of the girls, who’s sitting between Pretty-Vaguely-Angelina-Looking-Girl and Skinny-Thin-Hair-Tall-Guy is bumming a cigarette from a young woman who came in behind us. She says “Yeh, I know all about smoking while pregnant” and I can’t tell if she means it was hard to quit or what. Then H gives Ciggy Pregnant Girl, Angelina and Tall a cigarette apiece from the woman and another cop escorts them outside. Bu and I distract ourselves by reading the docket, whereupon my name appears four times, two counts for each dog. I think how taking Bu’s last name was a brilliant upgrade from R. to E. and am glad I’ll get out sooner than those unfortunate R-Z initial peeps.

We see many people filing in, including She’s-Gotta-Be-a-Lawyer, who’s in a great suit, He-Seems-Like-A-Stoner-Frat-Guy, Ew-I-Hate-Her-Eighties-Outfit-and-Scrunchy, and GQ-Dude-With-Goofy-Nose-Who-Is-a-Hottie. I feel like an ass for being judgy. I am there too, right? Maybe all these guys are sweetpeas who were too broke to license their dogs and have a big yard so they are careless about letting them roam free. Or they are potheads and I like potheads and think it should be legal, so stop being an uppity bitch. I have to pee. I see a sign that explains in great detail, like 6 steps, how to get to the restroom. I decide to hold it. I’m bored, and I cross my arms across my chest. Because of baby elephant arm’s shortness, this means they sit on top of my boobs. I remember this makes them leak, so I quickly drop my arms.

Finally, H. comes over with GQ hottie and they explain they can’t throw out the charges but the judge probably will. If not, I’m to plea not-guilty and H can talk to the human officer later to “fix” it. We go in to the courtroom. It’s crazy full, but we find a place to sit together. The clerk calls the role and people are responding “Here” like in school. It seems silly. I would rather say “Yes.” She calls my name and I say “Here” like everyone else. They go through the people with jailable offenses, and it’s all very slow. I start counting time since I pumped and am convinced I’ll have to face the judge with milk spots on my shirt. Bu leans in, tells me my top button’s undone. It is on purpose, to show off my necklace. I decide the judge, being up high and all, could see cleavage and that is not good, so I button it, very sneakily. I tell Bu, “I’m totally blogging this.” I daydream about Matrix-type technology so I could blog in my head while I’m bored in court.

At last, I get called up, show Judge the licenses and rabies records. He smiles, asks me how a German Shepherd puts up with a Lab. I smile back and tell him they are good girls and get along well. He smiles again- very smiley this guy, but in a genuine way. He dismisses the unlicensed charges but not the unrestrained beastie charges. I plea not guilty, feeling like a perjurer, but that’s what the prosecutor said to do. He gives me papers to sign. I’m nervous, and literally forget my name for a second, floundering with maiden vs. married. Take a deep breathe, and I’m done. I have another court date next month, which might go away if H can make it so.

So we meet H outside, and he leaves us while he copies my ticket. We are approached by Bluetooth-Thingy-Wearing-Missing-Teeth-Guy. He says how he can’t believe how high the fines could have been for unleashed dogs. “Yeah, man, crazy.” Then he says, “Yeh, Fucking cops. The cops up in Michigan came and got on me for keepin’ my dog under my trailer. That’s why I’d like to fuckin’ kill me some cops. I hate goddamn cops. My uncle was a cop and I wouldn’t fuckin’ talk to him when he was in uniform.”

So, I pissed myself.

Not really, but holy shit.

Dude leaves, then H comes back, just in time to not hear Bluetooth rattle on about poppin’ caps in pigs. I resume normal breathing. We leave, avoiding eye contact with all bystanders.

And, finally, I get to pee.

visual DNA

2007-03-14T11:07:00.000-05:00

Ridin' the meme train:

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

touchstone

2007-03-11T22:48:00.000-05:00

This is an ode to my Bu. Bu who drags me away from my computer when I am ready to explode with stress and makes me go hike up the hill across from our property. Bu who holds me when I'm sobbing for the most inane reasons and doesn't ask why. Bu who used to live in a tent near the New River and guide whitewater rafting trips and who is like a masculine version of a water nymph, and who will snort at me for writing that.

It was an amazing day, and we went to the woods and he told me about playing there when he was little, and the dogs played. Mollybird was at church with the grandies and it was the first "date" we've had in ages. I found a little stone to take home to help ground me when the work stressed me out too much. Looking for the perfect stone was fun and silly and I was delighted like a little kid on a treasure hunt when I found the right one.

I had little anxiety relapses afterward, but Bu still helped immensely. He's an amazing force of calm and centeredness when my energy's scattered and crazy. He steered me through the hardest time in my life, and I'm so amazed at the way he manages to do this without patronizing me or letting me sink. Just perfect balance and support.

handwritten #2: study in run-on sentence-ery

2007-03-10T22:10:00.000-05:00

And since I just scan mine in Photoshop instead of whatever awesome geekification Jase uses, I'll just link here, and you imagine it's in my written text even though it's not. Hmmm... wonder if i could do an imagemap in Dreamweaver & embed it in a post? Surely I could. May try, when I don't feel like a lump of dog pooh.

melancholy

2007-03-10T20:27:00.000-05:00

I feel so overwhelmed and anxious right now. Grandma fell (she still has a cast on her broken ankle from last time she fell. This a.m. wasn't a bad fall I guess) this morning, so my brother E & I were talking

to cheer myseelf up:
Mamaloo of Momcast tells me that fenugreek works by sweetening the milk, and she says that they put in on old dry hay to make it yummier for the horses. The sweetness in mama's milk makes it attractive to nurse, so the baby raises the supply by demanding more. I had no idea that's why it works and I think it's the most darling piece of trivia I've ever heard.

this afternoon about what will happen... . E was with her shortly after. She wants to move to a nursing home, and we both have the feeling that our aunt is very reluctant to do that.

Then E called this evening and told me she fell again. She's at the hospital right now getting X-rayed. She might have broken the other ankle, and has a huge bump on the back of her head. E says the aunt may be realizing now that supervised care is necessary, but they didn't really talk in depth.

I'm waiting to hear more, and worrying. I'm scared we're all going to disagree about how to care for her. We have few options. E works midnights, our aunt works evenings, and I work ~~days~~ all the fucking time and have the baby of course. Bu needs the car evenings for work... my head's spinning.

Meanwhile, I'm racing against time to get design work done by Monday, so Molly's plan ted in front of the goddamn TV again with Baby Einstein for the 6,789th time today, and she's going to spend most of tomorrow with the grandies and I feel like shit. The house is like an angry box yelling at me about how much mortgage we owe and how many loads of dirty dishes and laundry I we need to do.

Hormones are not my friend in this mental state. My period's starting again. Seems to come when I neglect to pump or nurse for longer than I should. That's stressing me too. I know better than to go out for the evening and not pump, or to forget it when I go to work. I'm worrying about my supply, and being paranoid about Molly being too skinny. I'm going to get some fenugreek capsules tomorrow.

well, hi? how are ya? i totally missed you yesterday...

2007-03-10T15:46:00.000-05:00

Our internet service was down all day yesterday. I had a lot of offline work to do, so it wasn't a loss. I spent way too much time turning this:

into this:
It's the background of a cover for a client's huge-to-me 5o-something page catalog which I can't think too much about or I get a little embryo of an anxiety attack in my gut. It's a bigger project than I've ever done, and I'm still wobbly on my InDesign feet, and it the dealine iscomingthisfastohmygods.

Meanwhile, in Molly Tooth Watch 2007, we have one still in the just-broken-through stage on the bottom, and a matching top one, as well as one you can see pretty well on the top, if you catch the 1/778678332 of a second glimpse you're allowed before she rebels. The nursing-biting has abated for now, so I no longer flinch every time she latches on.

In the land of me-separate-from-Molly, I keep getting compliments on my baby elephant post from people in real life, who I totally forgot read my blog. It's disorienting and yet very cool. The comments on the post were so encouraging and awesome. Thanks:)

Oh, I meant to post this on Thor's journal, but due to previously mentioned ISP tragedy, I didn't. And now I'm lazy, natch, so I'll postie here:

Happy Belated, L'il Bit:) Many awesome parties this spring. The Souster's "Irish twins*" will be 5 and 6 (holy shit!) in March/April, and Molly'll be a year (holy holy shit!) in May.

*Did I just use a racial slur? Am I allowed if I have a stray ancesetor or two from Ireland somewhere in the mix? What if I named my daughter Molly Shayne**? Does that help?

**Shayne is actually Hebrew (or Yiddish?) for "beautiful." See footer on blog. I was reading Prodigal Summer one very pregnant day, when I read an allusion to the poem, and I convinced Bu, aka Shane, that we had a new spelling (not Shane) for the Birdie's middle name. If we ever have a boy his middle name will be Heidi; it's only fair***.

***and now I stop being silly, and wishing I knew how to do actual footnotes to a blog entry, and get my ass back to work.

part two: the G word

2007-03-08T15:49:00.000-05:00

Or, "In Which Heidi Rants Aimlessly about Embracing the Real Feminine."

Gender, girls, girliness. Pink shit, prissy princesses, Disney hyperfeminization, Barbie & Bratz, dolls & dresses, Gardisil & sex education. I've been swirling my thoughts about gender around in my brain for a couple of days in preperation for Blog for Gender Liberation Day.

I'm coming up with more questions than answers. My initial thought was about the paradox in my own beliefs... Wicca is so gendered, all about Mr. High Priest does this, Mz. High Priestess does that, perfect balance, blah blah blah. I reject and buy into it all at once. The dual nature of the universe is so evident. Gender is everywhere in nature. The thing is, it can be so obviously oppressive. There's an overlapping that traditional thought leaves little room to explore. Things transition, they sway, they defy categorization sometimes. A little expansion in our approach to gender would be such a positive thing.

Then I daydreamed about my superfical femininity in the shower. I am very girly compared to some. I adore long skirts, cute hair, getting flowers, and I am a silly, flirty personality most of the time. I revel in my body hair, though, and I only wear make-up twice or three times a year. I have series of artwork about how awesome my period and the moon are. I think of myself as celebrating a human/mammal femaleness. Soft round bloody milky hairy womanness. When I write that I'm so aware some people will be put off. Why?

The bulk of my musings are about being a woman, raising a daughter, in this time and place. Murky waters there, let me tell you. I want so much to allow her to find her own expression of girl-ness. At the same time, I find it exhausting to think about policing her environment. I have stacks of princess movies, that I loved as a kid, and of course I want to share them with her. I think dolls are mostly OK, but scantlity clad sexed up things will be banished.

The doll thing... I think dolls are wonderful. I can't think of anything more positive than nurturing to teach any child. I used to think I'd shy away from letting my daughter have dolls. I didn't want her to learn that her only worth as a woman is her potential to be a mother. Now that I am a mom in practice and not theory, I can't think of a more important set of skills to have. Learning to nurture and empathize and comfort are so important. It's not that girls need to be exposed to this less, it's that boys need it more.

I feel like I've written poorly organized essays instead of blogposts all day. Indulgent and weird? Back to the usual mommy blog tomorrow. Er.

part one: the F word

2007-03-08T14:35:00.000-05:00

The past several years I’ve had roughly 1,572 encounters with women, usually younger than I am, who have said/written/expressed, “I’m not a feminist.” After I hear that, my blood pressure shoots up and my voice gets screechy and I get dizzy and have to deep breathing because I am so mad I want/need to scream. I can’t decide if I want to scream at this girl/woman or at the rest of the world. I can’t figure out how a person comes to that conclusion. Not too long ago I read a reference to feminists defined as women who hate p0rnography. What? Every time I hear a girl say that I think of Tinkerbell (clap your hands. Say you do believe in ~~fairies~~ feminists)and some hopeful piece of me wants to die in a tiny way.

When my senses return and I find a zen, reflective place and listen to these young women, it seems that we have a youth culture who have bought the “feminazi” paradigm hook, line, and sinker. It is not cool or sexy or normal to be feminist. Feminists hate men. They hate other women too if they are wearing too little clothing, or do not share in the angry orgy of man hating. I am a naïve thing, because I really thought no one bought that backlash bullshit- least of all girls brought up in this generation. I thought each daughter would be a stronger and more powerful woman than her mother. I thought our moms and dads worked way too hard for us to be where we are now. I am really angry on their behalf that girls are so ungrateful and unwilling to keep fighting/writing/loving/screaming/blogging for our own power. We should be dancin' and hollerin’ with joy that we have the luxury of taking feminism for granted.

The root of the issue, and arguably every conflict I can think of, is binary oppositional thinking. We have got, as a culture, to embrace holistic and inclusive thought. Feminism is a fluid, living ideal. The whole point was to eradicate strictures about women’s roles but so many people are buying into new ones. Feminists can be angry and joyful, beautiful and strong, sexy and intelligent, gay and straight and bi and transgendered, and I could keep going but listen: a feminist is a girl, woman, boy, man, human thinking being who does not believe that any gender is inferior to any other gender or that one’s sex at birth or by choice can determine the path of her/his life.

Arguing over semantics is ridiculous and divisive. Feminism is, by its essential nature, not a single-definition thing. And why should it be? Celebrate your own feminist spirit today. Delight in the anima and do something that makes you feel beautiful, or grab a marker and make an activist T-shirt. Write a letter to your Congressperson or refuse to do the dishes unless your brother/dad/husband does the ironing. Do some little thing. My feminism today is gratitude for a free and expansive outlet for my thoughts, and the promise of a warm, quiet bath with my nursling daughter.

pulsate

2007-03-08T00:41:00.000-05:00

Thordora's giving away an intriguing book about genetic mutations to a random reader who blogs about her/his own oddity. The post came a few days after a photoshoot with Bu when I noticed that I was always turning my arm away from the camera. I have had a tension between embracing the strangeness that is my body and wanting desperately to fade into the background. I've never made art about my birth defect, and it seemed like a perfect chance to explore it a little.
The photo Bu took is really beautiful I think, and it's weird how that surprises me. The digital collage is filled with personally empowering symbols... text from the Malleus Malleficarum, the book used by medieval witchfinders alludes to my neverending gothgirl delight that in more ignorant times my arm might have been called a "devil's mark." The Hindu god Ganesha is the patron Lord of the deformed and they served as priestesses in His temples. The mirror, a stormy sky, just moody layers. An atique ticket to a circus, because I love the idea of being freaky today. I'm showing you the simple file beneath, too- because I didn't want to hide under a Photoshop veil.

As far as genetics, there's never been a real answer. It kind of looks like Amniotic Band Syndrome, but I had some organ deformities too which can't be explained that way. I had a wall separating my uterus and vagina in two which had to be operated on. The scarring is a huge reason Molly's birth was complicated... I also have three kidneys. I remember waking in the night early in pregnancy in a cold terror that Molly would have my birth defects, and being so confused and confounded by feeling so scared. It seemed like that worry undermined my own sense of comfort with my body. When the nurse told me she saw one hand in her mouth and one by her side, then counted tiny shadowy fingers with me the relief was amazing.

When I was little, I thought my arm looked like a baby elephant, and it became a nickname, and later, another reason to love Ganesha.

gender liberation

2007-03-07T18:13:00.000-05:00

I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Linkie here, too, if you play.

floor, crash

2007-03-06T23:09:00.000-05:00

And then, what happens when my brain is overloaded from too much Photoshop. I looked over the shelf that divides office from living room to check on her and Molly was gone: poof. I freaked out until I saw her little bum up in the air and her face happily planted on carpet.

free, natural breast enhancement

2007-03-06T14:39:00.000-05:00

I forgot my pump. Ergo, I look like a p0rn star and feel like the Hoover Dam. I need to learn to hand express better. We need a HazMat team in the bathroom after my squirty attempt to fix myself, since we all know breastmilk is biohazardous and complicated to deal with.

9:41 a.m.

2007-03-06T09:41:00.000-05:00

I'm weak. Bu & Boue were so snuggly... I dragged myself very reluctantly out of bed at 7:05. I pulled on pajama bottoms and a flannel shirt. I looked at my baby and husband, the pillows and the soft sheets, then I set the alarm for 8:40 and crawled back into bed. I thought, my blog will understand.

So weak. But look:It was totally worth having to blog that I broke my solemn vow:) The good news? 4 1/2 hours of crib time. Hell yeh. I'm so late for work. Blessed place that it is, I can do that once in a while.

This picture is so beautiful. My Bu rocks. I want to learn to work our cameras. You just can't get perfect golden light and shallow soft depth of field with the crappy automatic mode. I ruined what would have been some gorgeous shots of crawling, clapping, and hanging out with my Grandma. OK: tea, bagel, work. Off I go, drowsy and happy and thrilled to have spent an hour in bed lazily snuggling.

little miss binary oppositional thinking

2007-03-05T15:39:00.000-05:00

In more weird blogosphere synchronicity, just as I was going to post about my inability to make changes because of way overthinking the changes, or something like that, Crissy writes about her art sales plans essentially creating artist's block. Also, my imaginary post tied in to The Secret, and then I read this at Blogging Baby.

So my problem is my mind/body do this trick that's like that thing in dreams or cartoons where you run so fast your feet lift up off the ground and you don't go anywhere. I have huge ideas. So huge I want to use a gigantic font to illustrate so here: they are

this big.

They are so big in fact, that they don't go anywhere or do anything. I'm stuck in a crazy extremes-mindset. Instead of say, realizing dairy products are bad for my skin/weight/asthma and cutting back, I think "Dairy products are the devil's own tool to exploit sweet-eyed cows and keep my mucked up with fatty bad chi, so I need to become a hardcore vegan overnight and never ever ever eat cheese again." Of course, it's much easier to fail at that goal, isn't it? I'm the same way in every area of life: big, bold idea for drastic change. No follow through. All or nothing, and surprise: it's always nothing. And as much as the Law of Attraction and visualization works (wow are they working. We have so much web design business it's intimidating me as far as doing it in between momstuff and dayjob,) to create real change I have to get some concrete problems fixed.

So, my new plan is to actually make a few small, implementable changes, one at a time. Quiet, easy changes. So, in this vein, tomorrow morning my new wake-up time is 7 am. If the baby wants to get up with me, so much the better. Your midnight bedtime, Mollymylove, is really, really annoying. In order to try to reinforce this plan, I'm committing to you (yes you, ya sweet pea of a blog reader) that i'm gonna post at 7:15 a.m. at the latest, while I have my tea. My post may be unintelligible, or not. We'll see. Maybe I'll have a cool dream, or Molly will surprise us all and spend 8 hours in the crib.

101st post. who knew?

2007-03-05T11:43:00.000-05:00

Sitting at my computer and an IM pops up from the Bu. He has updated his sorely neglected photoblog: This is a goatee of applesauce & black beans. And a very amused baby girl. Look at those eyes! They are lightening and I firmly believe they'll be the exact shade of hazel/blue/gray as mine. They freakin' better be. She's a perfect clone of her Daddy except for my eyebrows and forehead. I carry her for ten moons, endure an induced labor in hospital bed with no epi and she gives me eyebrows? Come on... That said, my eyebrows do rather define my face. They are so scary-pointy Jack Nicholson's would cry with envy. If I can ever get a photo of her pointing up one raised brow, I'll post it so you can see she's got it.

2007-03-03T20:41:00.000-05:00

Happiness = belly full of cookies.
Happiness = baby with cookies smeared on her face, nursing herself to sleep. Me, licking my finger to clean her face and feeling like a mama cat and swooning with quiet weekend lazy mama bliss.

I'm so overjoyed that my oatmeal cookies are medicinal. Added flaxseed meal for healthy fiber and fat, and brewer's yeast to team up with the oatmeal for to make more milkies. Molly's weight is worrying me a little. We had her nine month check up ~~yesterday... damn, what day is it?~~ Thursday and she's fallen in her weight range the last two visits. So, I'm trying to rev up production in the ol' nummins factories. I need to add another pumping session in at work too I guess. Our pediatric nurse is wonderful. She's an LC too, and she didn't recommend adding formula or an insane amount of solid food like so many doctors do. She actually told us that on my work days she should have her solids when I'm away so she can nurse more in the evenings. She suggested using a regular cup for her pumped milk, too. The grandies tried it today for me, but she spit a lot of it out. This kid is just not impressed with expressed milk. She's never going to sleep through the night.

I hosted a Mom's Night Out for my local online breastfeeding support group. We scrapbooked, to Bu's neverending amusement.

Bu: What are you and your friends doing tonight?
Me, scrubbing soap scum off shower doors: Scrapbooking, hangin' out.
Bu: Scrapbooking? [Mimes cutting and pasting with a scrunched girly face, cracks up laughing.]
Me: Yeh. So? It's fun.
Bu: You!? Scrapbooking? [Mocking, incredulous laughter.]
Me: What is so funny?
Bu: You're crafty.
Me: [Finally getting it...] Ooooh, you mean as opposed to artsy. As in feminist ragey paintings of demon goddesses slaying the forces of the patriarchy?
Bu: Yes. I don't know you anymore. You're a soccer mom.
Me: [Hissing.] Take that back!
Bu: Soccer mom, hehehe... [unleashed tirade of soccer mommish insults.]
Me: Bu, stop it. Look how the baking soda got the scum off the shower here...Oh Fuck. I am a soccer mom. Excuse me- I have to go pierce something.

So, it turns out it is fun, just like I imagined. I also learned that even though I know how to do acid-etching, wood-cuts, and handpainted monoprints, I cannot use a rubber freaking stamp neatly.

The company was the best. I got to see an old friend who I have always adored but don't know well enough, and got to know my friend who made my (gorgeous! photos soon) Mei Tai baby carrier a little more. We talked about birth stories until 1 a.m. Lovely.

OoOooo erggh:
Unhappiness = too many cookies.
Have I mentioned backsliding in February at my weight loss goal?

kitchen alchemy

2007-02-28T22:03:00.000-05:00

The ongoing kitchen experiments continue... I am thrilled to tell you I have made bread.

OK, sorta. It was tortillas. But still. The making of bread is the holy grail, the archaic and arcane mystery that awaits me at the end of my kitchen learning curve. Baking actual bread intimidates the hell out of me. I compensate my making all the easy things that are bread-ish. I do banana bread, cake, "batter bread," corn bread, beer bread, and now I have made tortillas.

The cooking thing is an obsession lately, a manifestation of my attempt to become a Real Person. I am not a Real Person, according to my Bu's definition, because of many random things... Real People get up at a reasonable hour, they cook at home more than they eat out, they do not go commando because all their underwear is dirty.

A kitchen covered in flour is one more tiny little step toward the amazing transmutation into the imaginary productive, creative, me.

in which i abuse Capitalization

2007-02-26T15:23:00.000-05:00

So, I freaked out on Bu last night because he wouldn't let me go visit Molly at midnight at the grandies' to see the new tooth. Mamaw called in the middle of the party to tell us about the discovery. Yes, the tooth would still be there as Bu and a friend eventually convinced me, and sure we deserved an adults only evening followed by actual solid sleep. This didn't compare in my brain with the fact that her very first tooth ever was found by not-me, so me needed to see it as soon as humanly possible. Nevermind she probably cut the tooth on my nipple and I just didn't check her gums yesterday.

randomosity

A thing I learned this weekend: A charley horse cramp is not nearly as awful after experiencing labor contractions as it is before labor. Even Bu was impressed with my zen-like approach to waiting for the pain to end. Not that charley horses don't still suck.

As a matter of fact, the tooth was resplendent at seven a.m. following six and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep. The night of bliss proved that even the moodiest hormonally charged bad day of cranky badness can be made all better by a double strong Tension Tamer Tea, a cuddly husband, and streaming video of heroes on a laptop in bed.

The badness of my day was all in my head. I'm owning my bitchiness. I was the one who decided that, even though I am usually passionately opposed to removing my body hair, I would wax my legs and be Glamorous. Also, I would borrow my best friend's classic black dress-up outfit, including heels, and I would be Sophisticated. I would Do My Eyes and also be Sexy. I would then wow my coworkers, board members, and clinic supporters with my ability to Cinderella myself from funky-messy assistant girl to Put Together Foxy Mama at our Oscars Party. (Bu & I take red carpet photos of guests each year.)

Not so much. I forgot my wallet when I scrambled to the store for brunch items, and had to put away all the stuff WIC vouchers don't cover. Then it was too late to make it back & cook & get the Birdie to the grandies'. Later, the leg waxing began, in a messy and annoying way, and I spilled warm wax all over the bathroom. Cleaned that up, and met souster at the door to retrieve my outfit. Quick shower & make-up. Right. OK, mascara in eye- wash off, reapply. Stings, watering, ouch. On to wardrobe. Only the outfit doesn't fit, and the heels are lethal. They are several inches too high for any human being to walk in and they are so pointy-toes I have a toe cramp just imagining them. So I throw on the dressiest black dress I have- short sleeved very simple. My only dress shoes are ballet flats with bows. They are cute bows, and are adorable- with jeans. As a whole, my ensemble looks like a 12 year old girl at a funeral. My panty hose have no runs- at least there's that. So we go.

The printer won't work with our laptop so Bu has to run home to get drivers for the hardware. Meanwhile I have discovered that my hose are too big and they literally roll down under my butt whenever I walk four steps. So I'm tugging at my ass every few seconds trying to hike 'em back up. I'm an anxious mess by this time, and think I'd love a glass of wine. Only it's a cash bar and if we spend any money we'll overdraw our account. (Ha! Silly me- we did that anyway buying frivolous gasoline.)

The event was wonderful, however. We made roughly twice as much as last year for the clinic. The turn out was amazing. I learned that it's possible to pump in a large bathroom stall in bra and panty hose and not let any of the bottles touch anything:) The whole night I was seeing a scene from The Secret where a woman has a Bad Day which is the result of her telling herself, "It is a Bad Day," and I'd tell myself to shake it off, but I couldn't muster up the conviction to radiate positivity with my hose rolled up under my booty and bunching around my adolescent shoes.

on sunshine & hormones

2007-02-25T10:46:00.000-05:00

Ask anyone to describe me in one word? "Moody." (Actually, ask my supervisor and she'd probably say "flaky," but that's another post with this headline: "Woman with reasonably high IQ and mad computer skillz finds she can't function at job retarded monkey could do.")

My husband would definitely say "moody." I'm infamous for my hair-trigger tears. This morning? Bliss, pure silly bliss. Why? Sunshine, tiny woody buds on the lilac bush outside my window, a great cuppa tea with stevia extract not honey so I feel like a healthy chick. That's it. In contrast, reasons I have cried in the last 48 hours:

Oprah inspires me to lose weight.
Molly scrunches my boob while nursing and looks adorable.
I'm ticketed for the dogs ands hate myself briefly.
Mom on Style network gets makeover because she's been sad and frumpy after losing her 10 year old son.
Tool song on radio.
Molly learns to clap her hands
I call the Grandies: "Whatcha doin'?" "Oh, I'm cooking breakfast while Mamaw's reading me Bible verses." (Because my parents pretty much hated each other by the time they were married half as long as these two.)

I think I may be having some chaotic hormonal surges. "Due" for my period if we count from my first one post-partum, but having signs of ovulation instead. Weird as I used to be a perfect 28 day full moon mama. Had to reassure myself via Breastfeeding Community that it takes a while to re-regulate when still nursing. I'm thinking about revisiting hormonal birth control. Maybe this new IUD I hear about? Or I think they called it an IUC. I dunno. I just know I'm not letting Bu get a vasectomy before the Mollybird's a year old. He could change his only child stance, but I so very seriously doubt he will. For the record, I'm fine either way. I was with him in the 100% only-one camp, but now I could sway:) You saw that coming, right? Me too. I'm still content with my onesie of course.

tool + jung = babble

2007-02-24T17:58:00.000-05:00

The thing about the Law of Attraction, i.e. my new obsession, a.k.a. The Secret, a.k.a. a law of Wicca via Ceremonial magick is this: it works to a crazy degree. It's insane when you pay attention to your attitude how much of what surrounds you is brought to you because of the energy you emit.

I think it really ties into the idea of sychronicity. Whatever I'm focused on keeps popping up everywhere. So I'm seeing references all over the place about creativity and rediscovering it. The cool thing is that this reinforces my quest for changing from artslacker to artist. I heard my favorite Tool
song on the radio today, a song I don't have on CD or mp3 any longer. My love for Tool approaches a religious fervor:) The lyrics are so influenced by alchemy and the occult, and the music and lyrics are beautifully dark but transormative. This song is one of those pieces of art that just opens up my soul and reminds it of all the stuff it keeps forgetting- what with me letting my brain & body stay so cluttered.

a bit of the lyrics:

I am too connected to you to
Slip away, to fade away.
Days away I still feel you
Touching me, changing me,
And considerately killing me...
And as the walls come down and
As I look in your eyes
My fear begins to fade
Recalling all of the times
I have died
and will die.
It's all right.

It was awesome to be hanging out with the Birdie in her high chair, cleaning my kitchen like crazy, and this song came on, so I stopped, picked her up and danced and sang with her. It's the first time I heard it since she was born and I was struck with how new and the same I am. (?) How to describe? To be filled with love and light, and be so content in a simple task- cleaning my home with my little daughter eating her "scooby snacks" and yet remember that I'm still the same girl who has been through dark, dark times and dived headfirst into rage and mourning and sadness. Awareness that that girl went deep into her shadow and came out the other side with a better wholeness than before. (This itself is a paraphrasing of another Tool favorite.)

So, this is me: tag-team parent on the long-weekend shift, overstressed and worried, taking inspiration from random radio programming and the beauty of scrubbing a refrigerator with baking soda.

new flickr photos

2007-02-23T15:40:00.000-05:00

New photos a la Bu at our Flickr page, including this one, which is a strong candidate for a new profile photo. Are you sick of seeing me topless and... well, saggy? Because I think I might be.

mother of the freakin' year

2007-02-23T10:27:00.000-05:00

And you thought Britney was the most pathetic redneck mother in the country...

Well, in my defense, my human baby is accounted for and it's been 7 years since I shaved my head under the influence of a fifth of Jack Daniels.

But still: Animal control just dropped off my dogs and issued me four citations, two for each errant dog. They were "unconfined/no leash" and I couldn't show him licenses. I don't know if we have licenses or not, but I'm thinking we don't. The supreme irony is that I was telling Bu we should start walking them out with leashes to poo so we can confine the lumps to one area that Molly can avoid when she's big enough to play outside. He thought I was insane and silly. No one in our holler* does that- the big dogs run the neighborhood pretty much.

So now we have to go to court (at least $65) and show our licenses (who knows how much that costs) and proof of rabies shots (have they gotten those lately? Gods I suck. I have no fucking idea.)

The officer also informed me they had skin problems and I told him they'd just been to the vet and were being treated- they both have nasty allergies. So now I'm dreading telling Bu, because we already are in the hole for this month, and also I feel like the skankiest shittiest most careless trashy dog-mommy in the world.

And Baby Einstein's over so I have to go read to the baby for 8 hours to alleviate my TV guilt.

*that's WV for "hollow," here meaning the cheap real estate in the valley between the hills where the nicer houses are located. I'm feeling acutely socio-economically bitter today since we don't know where our mortgage payment will come from. My apologies for the downer after my Rainbow Goddamn Brite post yesterday:)

positivity & artistic limbo

2007-02-22T14:05:00.000-05:00

Warmer day, start of my weekend. Feeling groovy today: perky, possibly to an annoying degree. Hence, a digi doodle for you:

This is a welcome change from yesterday, in which Bu and then I plummeted into a Funk. Apparently, for me, it was a short lived Funk, which rocks, as I have been known to wallow for months in a dark place. Thank gods I seem to be moving further away from that as I grow more wrinkles and silver hairs. My impression of my life is that I was sleepwalking from age 15-25. A decade lost to just nothing.

I'm doing a lot of daydreaming about reinvinting my life, "Evolution of a moon-eyed etc..." being the presumptive raison d'etre for this blog. Molly has changed me so drastically and beautifully that it's wild. I was thinking about that nursing a wiggle baby fighting sleep while I watched a Sex and the City rerun. It was an episode before Miranda had Brady and there was a pregnant chick breakdown. Their minds were blown pondering how much it changes you, being a mother. My reaction is that it change as much as you want it to. I wanted, needed my daughter to allow me to focus on something huge outside myself. I see her as a cuddly little fire lit under my ass to get my life in order.

When I got pregnant, I wondered what the impact of motherhood would be on my artistic life. Certain professors of the non-namesake variety (Molly's named after my ceramics prof) seem to think it's pretty much a death sentence for my hypothetical career. So, what I thought was that I want her to see me being the best version of myself I can be- that includes producing art regularly. I think it would be so harmful to her to see her mother wasting her talent.

How much art have I made in the time span since I was barely pregnant?

Zero art.

The thing is, it isn't the diapers and the nursing and working two jobs. It's my slacker self doing the same thing I've always done-nothing of consequence. For hours at a time.

So I'm trying to organize this life and family. We are living so loosely, with no routine and no direction. The baby's sleeping in with us then is up too late. The business plan's sitting there in a notebook with weeks?months? of dust on. My studio is a catch all storage room piled to ceiling with miscellania. My clay is in dried bricks, my kiln has never been turned on.

I'm implementing some ideas from The {cheesy} Secret, and I'll go into more detail later about that. My biggest thing need is to just create some structure in my/our life. I've got to start managing time better. I mean I will, I will, I will. I've become the thought police, trying to frame things positively. Constant battle.

Oh, and look: blog pretty again:) It's evolving too. Yay for BlogU.

home, a cozy little prison?

2007-02-21T13:20:00.000-05:00

David Byrne has visited Savannah, Georgia recently, and made me wistful for that amazing city. I've only been once, but Shane and I fell in love. The architecture and garden squares, spanish moss looking all lazy and drapey and sexy everywhere, the sultry heat just cast a spell on me. Something reminded me of the New Orleans of my imagination (never been there much to my disappointment.)

We talk about moving there when we daydream together. I vascillate between completely loving the relatively small town we live in, and feeling smothered my the familiarity. I love that our families are close, and I love the friendliness and comfort of this place, but sometimes I feel so sheltered and ignorant of the real world. I'm sure a lot of this feeling comes from living 10 or so miles from the house I grew up in and isn't a West Virginia thing necessarily. I've only ever lived one other place- Pittsburgh for a brief alternate universe of a time- and I feel like I'm missing so much culture and experience. In ways I feel insulated here. Time's strange in Appalachia. The mood of the people of older generations seems like it's the same as their grandparents' grandparents. Very slow, resistant to change, and conservative. My generation has the advantage of living in two communities- the global environment technology has created and the small old one we were raised in.

I love it and hate it. I think how lucky Molly will be to grow up in a safe tame world, then I remember how we are ranked 49th in quality of education. I have reveries of living on the east coast- the left coast, where I'd feel at home with the liberal green attitude that's so alien here still. Then my love of the earth reminds me how much I'd miss the green hills and little wandering creeks. Shane hates that idea, but moving to Savannah or the Outer Banks sounds good to him. The ocean would be a more than fair trade for the mountains I think. When I'm on Hatteras Island, where my mom's ashes were washed into the sea, I feel more at home in myself than I do here.

Beneath all these musing is the reality of our situation. We feel trapped by our bank account- if we could travel more, would we be happier to come home? How would we make a move if we wanted to? We also know Molly will be starting school in a few very short years. We'd rather be settled for her- someplace else or here. And what about the grandies, who see her every other day now. How could we take her away from them? But are we hindering her by staying here? I hate thinking I'm doing things by default. Like I'm not choosing anything, I'm just letting circumstance do it for me. If we have a choice some day when money's coming more easily, and we decide it's best to be here, we'll be here on purpose and that's wonderful. I'm just feeling trapped because our options in so many areas are severely limited.

happy moonday

2007-02-19T16:19:00.000-05:00

Molly, nine moonly-months. Hobbies include naps in the Mei Tai sling, eating hummus and beans, growing teeth, and practicing standing all by herself. Bedtime is midnight. Mama tired.

oops i did it again

2007-02-19T14:07:00.000-05:00

~~So, I keep blowing up my template and being generally unable to change ANYTHING without doing so, so I'm off to recreate it and you'll just have to live with a wonky right column until then.~~ OK, so it's fixed but needs improvement. Carry on:)

CrazyHip Mamas, I am the worst ring applicant, I promise I'll get your code reinstated ASAP.

(so sorry)

someone's grief

2007-02-16T10:34:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you read a terrible thing, and it's a stranger and it's so sad, and you pause and you send some healing thoughts out to them, but you don't even know where you're sending them. You are momentarily gloomy, and you prepare to navigate away from the blog where her friend posted about her loss of her newborn baby.

Then a small detail in a comment drags your heart out of your body and turns it inside out and you have such a vivid image of being this women that it takes your breath away.

Wannabe Hippie, who has the cutest girls ever, posted about her friend's tragedy. Asking, "What can I do? Anything at all?" Someone mentioned relief for sore breasts, because her milk would come in of course, with no mouth to feed. This just shatters me- to think of a mother's tender newly milky breasts leaking and hurting like her heart would be. Nursing to me is so much more than just feeding, it's a physical representation of the link I feel between my suddenly-mellowed spirit and Molly's bursting, new one.

All kinds of love and prayers for this woman, and her sweet friend who feels helpless.

ah, the morning after

2007-02-15T10:18:00.000-05:00

I propose that February 15th be dubbed International Eat Chocolate for Breakfast Day. I scrounged up a nice dinner at the supermarket and found some chocolates for us to share. We rented "Click" which was a little better than I'd expected. The best thing?

...FIVE (5!) hours of solid sleep, in the crib!

So I actually slept with my husband on Valentine's Day. *Swoon* Could have been more romantic if someone hadn't been cranky with a sore throat and stuffy nose and hadn't kicked her husband's well meaning gentle advances away, but still: awesome.

melancholia & the secret

2007-02-14T16:04:00.000-05:00

I feel so wistful and sad. I'm not sure why. The weirdly fragile mood set in before I read this and then this, so these beautiful loving posts aren't exactly the reason I feel tears in my throat.

It was hard sleeping in late with Bu & Boue and then having to face the fact that the roads had cleared and I had no excuse to avoid work any longer. I nearly teared up while microwaving watery hot cocoa in the cold back office, thinking of them snuggled up in bed warm and cozy. (I later found out they were actually napping then, like I imagined.)

I'm bummed and pissed at myself for not staying up late to make Bu a Valentine card, thus breaking a five-would-be-six year tradition of arty Heidi Valentines. They usually feature an actual human heart image because a) they are cooler than fake-heart-shapes, b) the vampire loving former goth girl adores the idea of giving Bu a bloody organ image for a gift, and c) I love anatomical imagery. I get creative chakra orgasms watching the opening credits for House or looking at old Vitruvius etchings.

But, can I be excused because I don't think he got me anything this year either and we are new parents and broke? We have a gift certificate to a new local organic restaurant we usually can't afford, but we elected to stay in. The weather's ick, and we want to be with the Mollybird. So my task is to stop at the grocery store, pick out something for dinner, buy wine or not, and get a movie. I feel the opposite of creative. I'm pissy because I feel like pasta primavera and Bu doesn't like it. We have opposing tastes in food. Hmm. No, now I want sake and sushi takeout, but that's too spendy. Fuck.

We got our The Secret DVD's. I was put off by the production- so drama queeny cheesily overdone. The message is cool, though. I'm so down with the Law of Attraction. It's a principle of Wicca flavored magic. Bu likes it except for a couple of the lecturers/Teachers/cult leaders. He felt motivated, so I think we can work some positive mojo into our lives. i fell asleep before gleaning any knowledge of how to implement the ideas, so I'll give it another open-minded go.

Happy Valentine's Day if, like me, you find it a good excuse to make gory cards, drink wine & eat chocolate ~~off of~~ with your loved one(s.)

arty night, the mom photos

2007-02-13T20:41:00.000-05:00

Bu was at the photo lab today picking up a job, and our friends let us know an old friend was in from Brooklyn to show his new work at the school gallery where we all got our BA's. We decided to go have Middle Eastern food and see the work.

It is awesome. He used to sandblast tomb stones for a living, and his work is on marble, and it's images of graffiti and found objects and junk food. So weird and brilliant to juxtapose this random stuff that we see as a casual, un-thought of texture in our environment and use permanent heavy material to frame it in a new way.

This is his site.

Molly enjoyed herself thoroughly. She feasted on hummus, eaten off my fingers, and we got to see a lot of old friends who'd never met her.

My friend brought me the photos of mom that turned up at the lab.

These are the Yayas, mom leaning out in the top left:

This is mom and her best friend, a.k.a. Molly's LaLa, on her right:

It's so amazing to have this sudden little surprise of her smile out of nowhere.

poem * little star

2007-02-12T15:45:00.000-05:00

I posted a new poem on AllPoetry a while ago, and there are my old ones available as well. Just remembered to link it here.

little star

Back to work now.

Again.

unconscious mutterings

2007-02-12T15:12:00.000-05:00

The best thing :: would be chocolate

Hold :: me closer tiny dancer i love shane

Rapture :: =blondie, but would I have written that if Eden hadn't? maybe I would have typed sex, but as we know I'm a nursing born-again virgin.

Cover :: make-up. can i find a good shade at the health food store? can I afford that? need some for fundraiser party. will aunt P still buy me a dress?

Restrictive :: corset

Baker :: dozen i want sugar cookies

Author :: who am I reading? who wrote Life of Pi? Martel? that was great. need new book. Second Nature was OK but reading large print made me feel cheated like the book was artifically long. Nice to hold book at normal distance. why don't I wear my reading glasses?
Pill :: hormones

Months :: pregnant. i'll never have a giant belly again how sad but i was so miserable at the end

Valentine’s Day :: red; see #1; do i have time to make shane a card this year? i always do have to sneak & do one by hand maybe

thanks, Eden, for the link. never heard of Unconscious Mutterings. now I have. 'S good.

molly's shout out & books you never thought i'd mention

2007-02-10T15:02:00.000-05:00

Molly waves "Hi!" to Marianne. Thanks for the *beautiful* hat. We finally got her to leave it on for a trip out by taking off the (adorable!) ribbon. The wave thing is the cutest thing ever. She knows the word "Hi" means to wave her itty bitty arm and sometimes she groks "Bye Bye" too. So far, there is not a sign of Mama-leaving-trauma, mostly because she's so bonded with the Grandies.

Speaking of the Grandies, Papaw heard me talking about The Hillary's run for the White House and decided that I should read Rewriting History, as well as Hating America and something by Bill O'Reilly. I grinned and said "I don't know if I should read these- they may piss me off." He insisted I'd find them very good and I replied, "I don't think you realize how liberal I am." He said, "If you're that liberal, you're in trouble, honey." (He loves me even though I'm a tattoed Goddess worshipping Hillary lover.) I told him that yes, actually I was "in trouble" politically because I am indeed so radical that I will see little or none of my favorites in office in my lifetime. He said something about Social Progressivism, and I said, "Um, yeh, like supporting gay marriage and the like?" His answer was, "No, not necessarily. Social Progressives want to change everything and they are against traditionalism."

I politely exited then, because both of the following things are true: Social Progressives aren't against traditional values per se, and many traditional values suck.

The books are in the bathroom with the good ol' King James, old parenting mags, and my cheesier "Wicca 101" books- where things that I am interested in but not very much go to live and be perused idly while I do bathroomy things. I chatted happily with Bu about what books from my collection I could offer in trade. We decided lesbian erotica would be best:)

cave womyn

2007-02-09T23:55:00.000-05:00

I've been deep in hibernation this week- nursing myself through a nasty cold with hot toddies, Sudafed (accompanied by an arsenal of oatmeal and brewer's yeast and vast lakes of water to preserve my milk supply,) and soup. The weather has only added to my insulated feeling. We had a pretty serious snow- maybe five inches, which is great for our area in these days of global warming. Molly caught a bit of the cold, but seems much more comfortable than I was at the worst.

Tomorrow I'm planning to emerge from my coccoon to tend to grocery shopping and a serious housecleaning. This house is driving me insane. Chaos has taken up permanent residence and I must drive Her out.

Bu is joining me in a renaissance mood lately. We are reinventing our attitudes and healing the fragmented craziness of our lives. We cemented our commitment to change by buying a copy of The Secret DVD. I feel a little flaky jumping on board the self-help machine after getting giddy seeing these guys on Oprah, but that's totally what happened. I'm more excited that Bu and I got hyped about the same idea that I about the actual idea I think. It just seems like a good dose of positivity and a good reminder of how important thinking purposefully is. I really think one's focus creates one's reality (if that's not a direct Jedi quote it's close, lol) but I don't live that way, and I need to. We need to. So, I'll post after viewing the DVD to see if I'm as excited as I imagine I'll be. There's probably a whole post in me somewhere about my desire for self improvement. Hence the "evolution..." tagline.

Map of my brain: hibernate --> cave--> womb --> da Vinci drawing --> my old digital sketch from when I was insane thinking I was pregnant and knowing I was but being terrified I wasn't for some unknown reason only explainable by the fact that I was indeed pregnant and my whole body was flooded with strange new hormones. I forgot until I found the file that I called it "My Own Red Place."

During the Great Hibernation of 2007, I read Life of Pi. It was fantastic. Molly was unphased by the passages I read to her, but then she's really more focused on learning to finger-feed herself, the strange technique of crawling she invented (on hands and one foot, dragging the other leg,) and practicing standing alone then thudding on her booty.

charge of the goddess

2007-02-03T22:45:00.000-05:00

A piece of art for my dear UU friend, who is also a Mary-revering pagan. The text, unfortunately illegible here, is the Charge of the Goddess. Since it's one of my favorite prayers, I'll indulge myself & post the text below:

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, who of old was called Artemis, Innana, Demeter, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Diana, Brigid and by many other names.

"Whenever you have a need of anything, once in the month, and better it be when the moon is full, you shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of Me who am Queen of all Witches. You shall be free, and as a sign that you be truly free you shall be naked in your rites. Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and the Mine also is joy on earth. For my law is love of unto all beings. Mine is the secret that opens upon the door of youth and Mine is the cup of wine of life that is the holy grail of immortality. I give thee knowledge of the spirit eternal and beyond death, I give peace and freedom and reunion with those that have gone before. Nor do I demand sacrifice, for behold, I am mother of all things, and My love is poured upon the earth."

Hear the words of the Star Goddess, the dust of whose feet are the hosts of heaven, whose body encircles the universe: "I who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters, I call upon your soul- arise and come unto Me! For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe. From Me, all things proceed and unto Me they must return. Let my worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals."

Let there beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you. And you who seek to know Me, know that thy seeking and yearning will avail thee not, unless you know the Mystery; for if that which you seek, you find not within thee, you wilt never find it without. For behold, I have been with you from the beginning and I am that which is attained at the end of desire.

Blessings!

mom

2007-02-02T20:51:00.000-05:00

The craziest, most serendipitous thing happened:

My souster (bestest friend, soul+sister=souster) works in a photo lab, and she called me to tell me she and our friend were printing a set of snapshots, and the women in the photos really reminded them of the YaYas (my mom's girlfriends.) They looked closer, and realized they were the YaYas and my mom was in some of the pictures. I asked her if there was any ethical way to get me a set of the photos, and they'd already contacted the woman and told her who I was and gotten permission to give me a set.

It's so crazy. Mom hated being photographed, even though she was so gorgeous, so I don't have a lot of photos. These are at least seven years old, so it's just crazy this lady happened to find them and decide to print them. Then, she took them to souster's lab, which is unlikely because they usually do high end processing for professionals and I doubt they get too many snapshots like that.

It's freakin' awesome. I can't wait to post some photos.

-------------------------------

I've been dreaming about Mom again, and they are disturbing lucid dreams where she's alive and I know when I wake up she'll be dead. Also she doesn't know she is dead, and if I mess up and let it slip she'll be gone. It's so weird. I always have to ask her why she's not dead or why she doesn't remember that she is or was sick, and there's a horrifyying scared look on her face. It's so vivid. I guess my own motherhood's bringing things up again- I used to dream this constantly.

Or it's in the stars, because a bunch of people are dealing with this. Thordora at Spin Me I Pulsate has a beautiful heart-wrenching post about her grief today. And when I talked to souster the other day, she was telling me that she and her eldest son have been missing her Dad a lot. He died the year after my mom did. The strange thing is that her little guy was just a year old when his grandpa died. He keeps talking about Grandpa like he knew him, in a sends-chills-down-your-spine, psychic and beautiful way. That kid is so amazing and cool. He's named after my mom, because souster got pregnant within weeks or so of mom's death. That was such a beautiful gift to me that she named him for her. It's a good reminder of how, in the big picture, birth and death are perfect mirrors and there's such beauty in the light and dark.

The macrocosm of death is easy to revere and understand. It's when one small, specific life is gone from you that the devastation happens. Someone who's echo keeps making patterns in your life long after they've gone.

new layout... so exhausted!

2007-02-02T17:51:00.000-05:00

My adventures in designing have worn me out today. I have plenty of client work to do, including the exciting layout for the urban wear website. (Let me just say how ecstatic I am to be working with a hip awesome client, because the last website and logo I did was for someone with very, very different taste than mine.) But, I haven't taken time to play with my precious, beloved blog in so long, so I messed around with PsychoKinesis template generator (because I barely know html, much less CSS or whatever the fuck widgets are) and finally came up with brilliance incarnate. Then it wouldn't work, so another hour later I realized I have to revert to the old blogger template and that seems to have worked.

There are issues that need ironing out, like my having to manually put in my labels links, but I seriously need to get to work Four more hours of Mollylessness (OK, so that's not my best invented word ever...) and oh Goddess I haven't pumped since she nursed at noon. Gonna 'splode.

A note: The Boue can crawl, and she is eight months. I'll do a moonday graphic later, and since this is MY universe I'm making the executive decision to change to normal Gregorian dates rather than lunar, regardless of my lunar dating rocks rant from a while back. So moondays will not always be Mondays, and I'm already late anyway.

And now I pump, and rest, and then jump headfirst back into Fireworks, the best program in the world.

snow, a party, milk & cookies

2007-01-28T14:40:00.000-05:00

Snow pretty.

We may get up to 4 inches, which is unheard of lately. When I was a kid, West Virginia had real winters with the sledding and the long undies and the cocoa and the school closings. Now we rarely have actual coverage. I hear the phrase “global warming” daily, which is good as far as awareness-raising. I am not, as I’ve previously whined, a fan of winter, but I’m only opposed to actually living in it myself. I think a good four-season climate is a lovely idea, and that people should be allowed to experience a nice Appalachian winter so they can sit by a fire writing me postcards in Savannah or Key West or something.

Actually, snow is lovely, and I hope we get a good thick blanket of pure white beauty and that the schools, and therefore the clinic, are closed tomorrow.
Yesterday was a fun Mommy-networking day. We went to a birthday party and I schmoozed with another nursing mama. We discovered that nursing in public is easier in numbers, and that after we proudly dropped bra, neither of our daughters would nurse due to the extreme excitement of Dora balloons, juice, and toddlers running amok. I went fishing in Molly’s mouth for a gooey gummed-up piece of party hat I didn’t notice she’d been eating, and avoided her choking to death, which is always nice. I talked to a mom of four-month old twins- her toddler was the birthday girl- who is nearly losing her mind (understandably) and I convinced her to let me help her out with some babysitting or something sometime. Both nursing moms (those twins have never had formula and their mom is so proud) I talked to are having supply problems, so I’m baking a big batch of magic milk-enhancing cookies*. It’s my first attempt at this recipe, so we’ll call it an experiment and hope it fares better than the banana oatmeal bread I ruined this week.

A la Noel at Breastfeedingisnormal.org Their site's down for maintenence but they have a mailing list subscribe button.

blog for choice

2007-01-23T15:42:00.000-05:00

I'm late, but:

Why?

Because it never occured to me to be anything but pro-choice. As I matured into a sexual creature as a girl, it just became a passion that this new world of sex would be my own to explore freely and hungrily and curiously. The responsibility inherent in this exploration was a given, and this beautiful world of new textures, tastes, smells, sights, and sounds was about beauty, and GodGoddess and love, and wasn't about motherhood.

Because the most rewarding job I ever had was at a women's health clinic, and the women I met there changed me, and enriched my understanding of the unending complexity that is the life and body and soul of a woman. Because every woman I met who needed to end a pregnancy had
her own reasons, and her own particular bravery about her choice. Because the girls I met who needed many more years of childhood kept me from sleep nights on end and it made me feel like the most important thing I could be doing, ever, was to be a calm and gentle voice on the telephone when they called, or a supportive smile when we met.

Because every woman who bears a child should be allowed to do so as purposefully, with as much joy and excitement and anticipation as I did.

Because every being conceived deserves respect and a conscious and careful consideration of the best choices for that potential life.

Because I am a woman and I demand absolute, informed power where my body is concerned. I will make love or not, conceive or not, according to my own purpose. I will decide what kind of medical care I need, and determine when I do and do not need medical care.

Because the prevaling cultural attitude that doctors and legislators can make a better decision than I can about when to end a pregnancy and how to bring one to fruition is a lie that hurts all human beings.

moonday redux

2007-01-21T16:19:00.000-05:00

I give up; I can't keep track of weeks anymore, so I'm just going to post by moon phases now...hehe. She was born 2 days after New Moon, so that's gonna be moon day. I'm a silly mom. I have so much fun with these little doodles.

Molly @ eight months: Learned to crawl, pulls to standing very well. Babbles constantly, waves Hi and Bye consistently. Lives for Peek-A-Boo.

a guilt-releasing resolution

2007-01-21T14:58:00.000-05:00

I resolve to parent intuitively and cooperatively with my husband and to refrain from pressuring myself by imagining that Dr. Sears and the entire AP community are keeping a scorecard somewhere that looks like this:

Hospital Birth- SIN!
Breastfeeding- Good!
Solids after 6 months- Good!
Bites of known allergens from adult plates - SIN!
Juice with water in the sippy- SIN!
Disposable Diapers- SIN!
Homemade Babyfood- Good!
Wanting Baby Out of Bed, sometimes- SIN!
Deciding to put baby in crib as deferment to husband's desire, even though I'm only 85% wanting to give up cosleeping, thus making my marriage and my sexuality a priority again- SIN!
Planning on Extended Nursing- Good!
Own and Use (pretty often)- Swing, Walker, Exersaucer- SIN!
Prefer Sling to stroller when out- Good!
Forget to Read to Baby for days- SIN!
Talk to Baby constantly thus Driving those around me crazy- Good!
Have Given Up and allow Baby to be in room with TV on- SIN!

Because there is no scorecard, and my Boue is healthy and happy and I am making good choices for my family. Mommyguilt is the enemy and I hereby release it.

I have to do something about my stress level, and this is an excellent place to start. I need to reconnect with Shane so badly. We are both so tense about our lives right now and so depressed that we don't see any way to get out of our money slump that we are really edgy with each other. We need to be a comfort to one another and not let this put space between us.

I'm feeling wiggy again about using our real names in this blog. Shane seems uncomfortable with it, so I may change names and retroactively edit entries. I dunno. Not revealing anything distressing here, just think sometimes being non-anonymous inhibits my honesty. Maybe I need to return to my paper journal and vent my intimate thoughts.

Because, really, how many of you are as excited as I am that my period returned and now I will be ovulating and having wild sex kitten thoughts again?

lactivism

2007-01-14T10:55:00.000-05:00

I love that word so much... so cute. So, your mission, if ya like:

Important! Breastfeeding legislation is coming up in this next session of the US House of Representatives, please help! From Florence Rotondo and the New Jersey Breastfeeding Task Force New Jersey Breast Feeding Task Force.Rep. Carolyn Maloney is going to reintroduce the Breastfeeding Promotion Act this coming session.The Breastfeeding Promotion Act would: amend the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to protect breastfeeding by new mothers; provide tax incentives for businesses that establish private lactation areas in the workplace; provide for a performance standard for breast pumps; and provide families with a tax deduction for breastfeeding equipment.

GET INVOLVED: Let the incoming Speaker of the House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi become very aware that the Breastfeeding Promotion Act is important and that we desire and expect her support in January.* Go to a card store and purchase (or make a homemade) card that is a "Congratulations on the New Grand-baby" card. The Speaker and the press have made much of the fact that she is a grandmother first and that she was awaiting grand-baby number 6 right around Election Day. The baby is a boy named Paul.* Write in the card:1) all babies have the Right to Breastfeed anywhere that the mother has the right to be.2) their mothers' need policies in the law that support the government's Breastfeeding Awareness Campaign to educate employers and workers about mothers' rights.3) ask her to throw the full weight of her position behind getting the Breastfeeding Promotion Act PASSED this coming session.* Get all your friends to sign your card before you mail it to Speaker Pelosi. Or buy/make several cards and get them addressed/stamped and ready to go and collect signatures from supportive friends who you know have good intentions, but little time, and mail them out with your own.* And lastly, *send this email to every mother, friend, listserv, breastfeeding support group and parenting site you know so that others can also send a card*. The idea is to get hundreds if not thousands of signatures/cards sent to Nancy Pelosi's office - right now - so that, by the time the Breastfeeding Promotion Act is reintroduced in January, she and her staff will have it on their radar.

The address to mail a card to Speaker Nancy Pelosi is:
* Representative Nancy Pelosi2371 Rayburn HOBWashington, DC 20515

And in Molly news, 4 1/2 hours of solid sleep. Belly full of fatty yummy avacado maybe helped? I decided to feed her some dinner at 9:00 p.m. Perhaps that was a good plan.

oh, shiraz be praised!

2007-01-12T19:07:00.000-05:00

OK, I promised myself I wouldn't waste any of this evening blogging. Hey- if a girl can't lie to herself, who can she lie to? (Read: "To whom can she lie?" Whatever. My mission is to relax, so that must include prepositional sins.)

Molly's playing with race cars at Papaw's & Mamaw's, and will be snuggly co-sleeping with them tonight, a full half-mile from the nummins. Me, I'll be nursing a bottle of wine (and, intermittently, a pump) and catching up on design work. Then, I’ll crawl into bed with my husband, and sleep curled up with him and some good thick cloth nursing pads until morning.

Day’s been good. Dropped the Mollybird off at the grandies’, went to a very brief meeting with a very cool new web design client. Worked at the clinic a few hours on a mailing for a fundraiser, then went to nurse Molly and visit. The in-laws fed me, bless them. Came home, pumped, for the baby’s belly was full of peas & squash. (Also they gave her a taste of strawberry, but observe how I’m not wigging- the mission statement, remember- even though the yummy berries are a notorious allergen. She had no reaction and apparently liked it, so whatever.) Then I opened my bottle of Shiraz, actually remembering to dribble a few drops on the earth (OK, a houseplant = lazy pagan) for Dionysos.

So… this is me, having a break. I counted nursies last night? Five times between bedtime and waking, six if you count her breakfast nummins. Can you say reverse cycle? I don’t know if it counts as reverse cycling, since each session’s like 3-4 minutes. Also, I betcha $5 she’ll only wake twice for Mamaw & Papaw. I am a pacifier. It’s OK, but I’m glad I have such great in-laws to ship her off to for a night.

Jeez, Papaw, it’s not necessary to call me to tell me the Boue’s having a nap. ‘Specially since you just called 10 minutes ago to make sure I wasn’t missing a cool program on TV.

No, that's not my wine photo. Check out the awesome stock-photo postin' peeps @ stockexchange.

stay-home envy

2007-01-08T14:50:00.000-05:00

I had a whole blog entry in my head Saturday. Even had a title: Stay-at-Home-Mom for a day. I spent all day with just me and Molly at home, with no car. It was wonderful, frustrating, exhausting. My imaginary blog entry detailed our day- lots of nummins marathons, ~~eating lots of~~ bathing in pureed peas, then a real bath with soap and splashies. There was the newly apparent Extreme Separation Anxiety which required that she be physically touching me 80% of the time, but oh, no, not in a sling- too restrictive. The other 20% of the day she relented a little and played in her high-chair or the floor but I had to remain in the direct line of sight OR ELSE.

Despite my best intentions, a couple of things prevented me from actually blogging. The first, of course, was the insane tiny creature, but even she finally went to sleep for the night, after adventures in snotty-nosed nursing. (Nothing de-sexualizes a breast like seeing a trail of baby snot attaching it to a sickish cranky baby's nose. Not that I care if the boobs aren't sexy. The libido's still elusive.)

The second was the arrival of Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 2 on DVD. So after the munchkin conked out in her swing, I vegged out with some fun witty carnage.

This afternoon I logged onto Bloglines, and I saw Coffee Betsy has had some working mom angst courtesy of a judgemental, self-righteous bitch. (See, I can say that because I wasn't involved.) It came at an opportune time, as I'd just dried up my tear-sniffles after calling home to hear Shane sounding very impatient with Molly. I had a revisitation of my loathing of being a worker bee when I want to be a Properly Attached 'Round the Clock Baby on Hip Mother. I love the clinic, I love my coworkers, I love the kids we serve, but I wish I could love them a few times a week as a volunteer.

I also wish I could bottle my zen-mama-patience and leave some with Shane. (He also wishes I could lend him the boobies.) He's a very, very good Dad, but his patience is a more fragile thing than mine. I'd rather Molly not be around a cranky irritable parent, because it just adds to her crankiness I think...but it's wonderful she's with her Dad.

Some secret part of me is happy that I'm more patient with her because I feel like a superhero. It's egocentric and awful, as well as sexist, but I feel like her mama should be the most amazing person ever in her eyes, and Shane a very, very close second. It's terrible to admit that- how pathetic to crave being needed by them both so much. Maybe leftovers of jealousy from her Elektra phase. It seems to be over now, that. She loves us both again:)

sciatica & baby elektra

2006-12-29T17:21:00.000-05:00

I'm down, physically and emotionally. My back's out and I've been lying around for two days. Shane's been wonderful, caring for the baby and me. Today he had to go to work, though, so his parents have her. They brought her to me a little while ago to nurse but she wasn't very interested. I miss her and feel weird about not being able to lift and carry her around, even though I know it's no indication of my mothering ability or anything. It's been a vulnerable week emotionally anyway, since Molly started to show a very insistent preference for Shane over me except for feedings and sleeping. It's so childish and ridiculous to be jealous, but of course I am. I'm sure all first time parents go through that- Shane used to annoy me being jealous of the nursing bond, but now that she's really smitten with her Daddy I understand how he felt. I'm so used to being her whole world. Well, at least when Papaw wasn't around. She's always loved him so much. He's fallen in her esteem too, and actually she prefers her Mamaw to everyone- Shane included. We went to pick her up from their house after work the other day and she cried when either one of us held her.

The loss of the mommy-obsession re-opened my working mom sadness. I had it in my head that I don't get to spend much time with her. That's an exaggeration I'm sure. I have her in my arms or at my side all evening and all night long, and then nearly constantly on weekends. It's just annoying and melancholy to "lose" her a little.

***

Mom & Dad E left me "Lady in the Water" to watch on DVD when they took Molly. It's so beautiful. I'm a total sucker for a fairy tale, and I love M. Night Shyamalan. How cool is it to be named Night? Or better yet, Story, the heroine of the movie. What a beautiful name.

***

I dreamt Molly had a tiny twin sister they had found in my womb at my six week checkup. She fit in the palm of my hand. She was sickly and I grew a tiny nipple to nurse her with, but she wouldn't grow. I told Shane we needed to name her and he told me we shouldn't get attached because she probably would die. I wanted to name her Suzy anyway. There was a beautiful huge angel fish in the dream too that flopped on top of an aquarium and had to be put back in the water. That's no doubt from staring at a toy aquarium nightlight with Molly as I nursed her to sleep. We also had an ocean CD playing so the nursery was wonderfully tranquil.

saints & such

2006-12-21T12:52:00.000-05:00

Shane'sa right- I do research too much. Right now I'm filled with crankiness at Saint Nicholas. I was researching to origins of a certain innocuous Christmas symbol, trying to form a good plan for explaining him to a young and curious Mollybird in years to come. I was hoping for some ways to align him with Solstice as well as Christmas, figuring he has nada to do with a Virgin Mama and a manger full of baby Holy Cuteness so it might be easy. I'll probably have more luck with Yule symbols and such. At any rate, I got stuck on this very informative site about the saint.

Turns out, when he was the Bishop of Myra, Nicholas attacked a temple of Artemis and crushed it to bits. Since She is second only to The Ever-Compelling and Mysterious, Dark, Yummy One Persephone in my esteem, I am sad and pouty right now. Not surprised, as many saints are lauded for such, but I'm bummed.

I'm having a religious reality check lately. Last night Mamaw & Papaw proudly showed me Molly's newest books- pop-ups about Joseph's coat, Noah's ark, and one called Jesus and the 12 Dudes Who Did. I'm very fine with them exposing Molly to their beliefs, but I'm realizing that if I don't get more involved in my church and circle, she's going to get the majority of her religious teachings from them. That's just not going to happen. It's an uncomfortable situation family-wise with Shane disdaining all organized religion, even when it's as poorly organized as my pagan friends can be...haha. So I feel a little like I'm alone in her religious/spiritual upbringing and it seems like I want to indoctrinate her. It's not that I'll be angry or upset if she would choose to enter the LDS or any other church, I just want her to have a broad education. If I were a Christian, I wouldn't feel like I was pushy if I insisted she go to my church, so why do I feel it's strange to want her to attend circle and learn about Wicca? I'm afraid UU can be a little more intellectual a path than spiritual, and I know adults who left their childhood UU faith because of this. I want her so much to follow the UU Principles and to learn the beautiful lessons of service and compassion that the congregation teaches, but I specifically want her to know about Earth traditions.

Is it confusing to a kid that we can be UU and Wiccan? Do I even classify myself as Wiccan really anymore? I don't know. I'm thinking this over too much. I'm sure I'll inuitively learn as we go what to share with her. It's just weird... religion hasn't been a terribly important part of my life (though spirituality of course is ever-present) for a while. I'm sure many new parents find themselves reassessing their devotion. The cool thing is, many of the families at the UU congregation are dealing with similar quandaries. I need to take my lazy ass to church more often. We even have a RE (religious education) class called Parents as Resident Theologians. So, I'm sure they're addressing many of my worries. Just need to get more involved.

End rant. Have a very Happy Solstice (technically this evening, but I don't know if this means today or tomorrow is the shortest day, but I'm thinking tonight's the longest night, so we'll light our special virgin holly-shaped gold candles and say prayers this evening.) Tomorrow we're baking baker's clay ornaments of suns & stars for keepsakes. Molly won't remember her first Yule but I will, and it's a good start to new traditions- I wasn't raised UU or pagan, probably obviously.

holiday meme

2006-12-20T13:32:00.000-05:00

Holiday fun from Crunchy on the Inside:

So…..
Real or fake (sorry, artificial)? Fake. Real ones are beautiful, though. I hear the replantable ones don't usually live, so I'm staying with my fakey.
Religious or secular? Vaguely religious, mostly just about family and giving
Santa or not? Yes, Santa, who will have a slight Solstice-Fairy makeover in years to come
Christmas or Hanukkah (or Kwanzaa or Solstice or…..)? Winter Solstice and Christmas
Eggnog or Hot Chocolate? Custard, the drinkable kind, old family recipe
Turkey or Ham (or Tofurkey)? Cookies, please, just lots of cookies.
Cash or Credit? Only cash allowed for Christmas- no debt.
Travel or stay home? Home
Mall or online? Thrift, closeout stores, or handmade
Extended family or nuclear? extended
Star or angel? sunburst usually, for solstice, or a snowflake this year
Plastic/battery operated or wooden hand painted? Prefer the latter
White lights or coloured? White
Traditional music or contemporary? A mix I guess
‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ or ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ A Christmas Story- Shane's obsessed. I keep wanting to get him a famous leg lamp but then there would be a leg lamp in the house. Erg.
Christmas Eve or Christmas Morning? Christmas Eve. We always did the family visit on the Eve, although in the coming years I'm sure seeing Molly's face Christmas morning will trump all else.
Original Grinch or Jim Carrey? Original!
Red or Green? Green
Candy Cane or Gingerbread? Gingerbread
Re-gift or Goodwill (or Ebay)? Local thrift store or Goodwill
White Christmas or Green? White, although if someday that referred to a sandy Carribean beach rather than snow that would be fine:)
‘Jingle Bells’ or “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer” Rudolph, with the silly extra lyrics
Ready or not? Not

why i am not cool, but molly is

2006-12-18T16:00:00.000-05:00

Squee! Rick Lee, a well-known local commercial photographer with the coolest blog, posted a snap of the Mollybird. I'm ecstatic because I am a dorky mom.

I have no hope of ever being cool, Shane says, because I am a gothy hippy chick (according to my husband, a nosering and excessive number of black tees qualifies me as goth) who uses lame wannabe gangsta slang interspersed with my "groovy"'s. Also, because the average age of new moms in my area is 5-10 years younger than me, I am going to be the weird gray streaked bag-lady-looking mom at the PTA crying because the cafeteria doesn't serve organic tofu in a region where we pretty much deep fry everything.

I am over being cool most days, and revel in my mellow at-home-in-my-own-skin-ness. Some days, though, I wake up and really want a tattoo sleeve and purple hair. Right now I'd settle for any neat haircut. I'm a mop right now. I've left a plea for help with my favorite hair goddess, but she's busy and I may have to suffer through the holidays.

remembering colleen

2006-12-18T15:43:00.000-05:00

Colleen was a regular at my old job where I sold coffee and "gently used" clothing for transitional housing run by the YWCA. She moved here from California and didn't know many people. She'd had a terrible break-up with a long-time partner, and I don't think she knew a lot of people in the area. She'd tease me about being a breeder, but then she brought me a huge bagful of Disney movies for the baby this time last year, when the baby was only a raspberry wedged into my uterine wall. She teased me sweetly because I declined a joint at a party, promising me her generation had healthy babies and their moms smoked weed.

She had a witty, insanely dry and sarcastic demeanor and was scary smart. I think she was the most unhappy woman I've ever met. She talked about suicide openly with me, and I offered therapists' numbers, cleansing spells, and my home number to call in the wee hours if need be. She took her life this November- I just found out this week. I'm so sad I wasn't able to attend her memorial. So I'm just offerring this up to the universe: She was here, and I witnessed her being, and enjoyed her company, and her leaving hurts me.

Next time you go to your favorite locally-owned cafe, raise a hot Latte with the espresso run through twice like a Euro, with half a shot of vanilla syrup, and toast Colleen.

molly has discovered the dogs

2006-12-13T14:00:00.000-05:00

Molly's obsessed with the dogs now. If one of them is in the room, there is to be no playing, no nursing, no eating while she stared with rapt interest at her beloved furry giant. When they are close, she is overwhelmed and can't decide whether she is in bliss or is just a little scared. It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen.

It makes me feel terrible, though, to realize how the poor dogs have plummeted in my attentions since Molly was born. They were our babies, now... not so much. They are great dogs, though.

Meet the Puppies:

Dharma: 10 years old, German Shepherd/Black Lab. Smart, sweet, with a soul deserving of her lovely Buddhist name. When she was a pup, they lived in a van and tent by the New River, and Shane was reading The Dharma Bums. She was Shane's main woman until I came along. After initial hesitation, I was adopted as a mommy with great enthusiasm. During my pregnancy, she watched over me like an angel.

Bailey: 5 years old. We inherited her from Shane's brother, who was our roommate until just before our wedding. The Boo (Bailey is the Boo of our home with the simplest spelling. Molly is the Boue, Shane's Bu, and I'm Bew) is just as sweet and affectionate as she is stupid. That's harsh, but she's not the brightest. She is our teenage rebel, and has a shaggy little boyfriend who's family has to walk her home a couple times a week.

the first booboo

2006-12-12T15:43:00.000-05:00

Shane has the baby playing by our mirrored door, and he decides the edges are very sharp and he should play at another mirror. I come downstairs and see the adorableness of baby and Daddy frolicking with Reflected Baby and Reflected Daddy. Then I see a bright red mess on the mirror, and think, "Have I ever worked on any paintings down here? How is there red paint on this mirror? Oh, is that blood?" I say, "What's that red stuff? Is she bleeding?" We examine the Boue and yes, it is her blood. It's a little bitty cut on her finger. She is blissfully oblivious, twisting to see Reflected Molly some more. We whisk her away to the kitchen and Shane holds out the tiny hand while I wash it with warm water, then I am sent to get the gigantic first aid kit. It is huge and waterproof, for my husband is the God of Whitewater Safety. Although would a good Rafting God let his gauze pads get all dry-rotted? No, He would not. So then we find Band-Aids and cut one into wee pieces and after a while the bleeding stops and all is well again.

The funny thing is, I so did not freak out, even a little. Shane's tone during the washing and bandage hunting was this uber-calm "Don't freak out, Mama" voice, but it was not necessary. I totally rock with the not swooning at the site of my baby's blood. Probably it's because she was in no actual pain, because remember the first tumble how I boohoo'ed? Hah! I was still a newbie then, not an experienced and worldly mom-for-six-and-a-half-months like I am now:)

happy moon day

2006-12-11T13:30:00.000-05:00

Seven moons. Wow. My little piglet's growing up so fast. I can't believe how fast May became December. We had a loooong night last night. The Boue had gas and a stuffy nose, so she refused to lie down for more than a short while. I took her downstairs to the rocking chair, wrapped us up in a blanket tight so if I dosed she'd be secure, and rocked her back to sleep. Then I'd try to put her into Ye Magickal Swinge For Desp'rate Motheres and she'd start bawling gaain. Repeated this three or so times, and when I finally got her to sleep for real, I lay down with us still in a mommybaby burrito and we slept with her on my chest like when she was a cranky newborn. It was nice, that whole one hour of good sleep we got before the alarm clock sounded.

La piglet must have had gas because she ate an entire container of squash, and some mashed potatoes Mamaw snuck her. She won't eat good for me. Nor will she allow a bottle or sippy if the nummins are even a slight possibility. (Daddy only has limited sucess with the sippy.) Mama = boobage, and that's final, apparently. Um, at some point she will allow me to give her food and water, right?

nightmares real and imagined

2006-12-09T16:56:00.000-05:00

Too much tragedy on my mind, I guess: The girl who was the secretary before me at the clinic called us Wednesday to tell us her fiance had been killed in a work accident. He had been in Iraq for over a year and was home for a few months and died of electrocution working on power lines. I'm so sad for my friend and her son, who called her fiance "Daddy." I'm so frustrated for her also, because of the timing. If they'd been married she would have recieved some financial benefits and have fewer money worries on top of her grief.

I've been following the story of the Kim family, too, maybe for longer than most of us East-Coasters. So many of my blog-friends are on the West coast and they mentioned the missing father this week. I just hurt for that family. Such a new baby, and she and her big sister so suddenly without their father. I can't even pretend to imagine the loss their mother feels.

The worries turned into a nightmare. The baby was playing with Shane on a trailor hitch flatbed thing, and I reached for her because I saw she was lying on the edge. She fell then, into a steep creek embankment filled with rocks and very shallow water. It was a slow motion, sickening thing, watching her fall. I started to dive headfirst after her, then realized I'd kill myself. I ran down the embankment and found her at the bottom. She was breathing, but there were shards of rock stuck into her head. I was afraid to move her but almost did, then I worried her neck was broken so I just held her and told her "Keep breathing, baby, stay with me, stay with me." The realism of these dreams is awful. A few nights ago, I dreamt she was diagnosed with a heart defect and was going to die. Each time, I woke up with the beginnings of a tension headache and had to get up, check on the baby, and drink a glass of water and some pain reliever. I wonder if my subconscious has trouble when she sleeps in her crib. I haven't had any nightmares when she sleeps with us.

I'd like to cosleep full time, I think, but there are problems. I always put her in her crib at first, anyway, because she goes to bed around 8, and I need to have some awake grown-up time. Also, Shane's not a fan of keeping Molly in our bed after infancy, and it's so hard to get her used to sleeping alone if she gets used to it now. The half-crib, half-cosleeping arrangement we have now is working fine for now. She wakes at 4 or 5 a.m. to nurse, and then sleeps with us the rest of the morning. I guess as she starts sleeping longer at night it'll evolve into her staying in her room. (If she ever sleeps longer than that. Not that I'm complaining, I'm all too aware that many babies nurse all night long.) I'll miss her though.

I guess it's the nightmare, but I'm being totally clingy. She's had more kisses today than I can count. Snuggle time has been pretty much an all day thing. I just can't let go of that warm tiny body that's so fragile and light. She still feels so baby-ish and little- comparing her to a couple of babies of friends who were chunky monkeys at six months. I love my dainty Little Bit.

Will I ever stop being so anxious and frightened of losing her? If I don't chill sometime soon, I am so not going to be the groovy laid back Mama I want to be. Or maybe I will- I told Shane I'll be the worrier until puberty and then he can take over. I'm totally comfy dealing with sex and drugs and the fun teen rebellion things, but he's so not. He's already joking about being the typical backwoods WV dad sittin' on the porch with a shotgun to meet her dates. Laugh now with me- I'll be crying about it later when he really tries to pull some redneck macho bullshit.

slingin' goodness, molly speaks, and the quest for velvet

2006-12-02T21:54:00.000-05:00

I finally found a position Molly likes with our DIY baby sling, which in a former incarnation was a longish shawl I bought at the thrift store and wore to my bridal shower. I tried it when she was newborn in a pouch-like cradled position and she didn't like it much. The other evening I used it differently. It's just tied with one big knot in a circle, and I put it over one shoulder, then slip Molly in straddling the fabric, then I open it up to cup her bottom and twist and open it to cup my shoulder. I'll post a photo sometime soon.

We went to an art reception and this woman said, "Wow, it's so nice to see you're slinging your baby. Is that a Such and Such wrap or a such and such?" I said it was a shawl I found second hand that I improvised and she was delighted. Turns out she's a La Leche League leader and does demos of babywearing and makes slings. She offered to help me fine-tune our new-found sling ability and I'll probably attend the LLL meeting this week. I was just thrilled to meet her on top of all my hippiemama pride at finally wearing her on our great night out.

We had such a fantastic weekend of girliness. Friday, before the art show, we met at Jen's house with a bunch of friends I haven't seen in a while. Molly got oodles of attention. She was playing in the floor when she decided to look at me an nonchalantly say, "Mmm. Mom. Mama."! I know it'll be even more incredible when she knows I am her Mama and she's labelling me, but my Goddess it was beautiful just to hear her tiny Molly voice say that wonderful wordlet.

Today we went to the mall with her Mamaw in the continuing quest for the all important Christmas (ahem, Solstice) outfit. We went everywhere and found that either 1) they had an adorable dress that we loved but none were smaller than 18 months, 2) they had nothing but cheesy red junk with candy canes and teddy bears, or 3) they had dresses I could live with but wasn't thrilled with. We decided to head out to The Hellmouth (big shopping center of discount stores and Evil, Vile traffic. Cool anagram there, yes?) but on our way out we realized we'd forgotten Macy's. We found a clearance rack, and started looking through, and then clouds parted and a choir of angels (for Mamaw) and faeries (for me) started singing and we found The Dress. It's a deep green, velvet with cream satin trim and little pearls and a flower with dangly ribbons. It has a velvet stretchy headband (which I usually hate, but I have been possessed by girliness) and l'il bloomers. It's freakin' adorable. I really, really wanted green velvet. I am a happy mama. Oh, there will be photos, lots and lots of photos.

bear with me, oh loyal peeps

2006-12-01T13:23:00.000-05:00

I'm attempting to revamp the [former] loveliness that is [was] my blog. It may be wonky for a while. I promis, new improved loveliness will return soon.

But, look! -------> Organization.

Swell, huh?

our birth story

2006-11-24T22:56:00.000-05:00

It only took me six months, but I've finally finished writing my birth story. Starts here, and I dated the posts so they're physically in order on the page if you're on the main blog page.

she's my sweet potato

2006-11-24T16:53:00.000-05:00

The sweet potatoes were a huge hit. She did really well with opening her mouth and swallowing; I was impressed. My contributions turned out pretty well, I suppose. The made-from-scratch and jello-free cranberry sauce was very tart and offended my 9 year old nephew's palate, but the grown-ups liked it. My glazed carrots could have had more glaziness, but were okay. The broccoli casserole was great. I could have eaten a ton of it, but Molly would have been pissed because broccoli-mom-milk gives her terrible gas.

After dinner with Shane's family we went to my Grandma's. She's doing really well now that she's back home. Her dementia is much better in a familiar environment. I think it's very mild, but Shane says she's more wacky than I think. Mostly she just repeats herself over and over. She had the best time playing with the baby- Molly was in the giggliest mood I've ever seen. She was just adorable.

I missed my mom so much, but it gets better and better. Molly is the best healing wonder. Being a mom makes me feel closer to my mom. I am still so close to her, it's weird maybe. I don't get into the guardian angel thing or any of that specific, religious stuff- it seems so literal and cheesy to me- I just feel closeness I guess. Like I still have a familiarity with her and a comfort about her memory that feels like the very mundane normal closeness we had when she was alive. Of course, there are times when all I feel is her absense, and it's like a fresh, wounded screaming pain that will never, ever heal. An orphaned, angry, lost feeling filled with confused denial. It just may never seem acceptable to my heart that she is gone. I think those moments are coming less often. They used to be so awful. I wince remembering the way Shane would hold me and I'd sob and shake. Now usually I have a little warm melancholy feeling, like a lingering ache but the baby will smile and I'll know her motherness is in me now as I sing and rock Molly.

(edited for a new better collage and longer entry-hre)

happy moon day

2006-11-13T17:21:00.000-05:00

Molly's new trick, in celebration of her sixth lunar month, is sitting:) She sits, supporting herself with her hands, when we position her. It's awesome. She looks like a tiny little girl. She had her first sanctioned taste of food yesterday- two little fingerfulls of mashed potato off her Mawmaw's plate. She seemed to dig it, so sweet potatoes may be our first real feeding. I want to wait until her little gut recovers from the onslaught of the antibiotics and then try yummies!

pregnancy inspired artwork, a note about Grandma

2006-11-11T18:05:00.000-05:00

"Motherline:" Untitled Variations on sketch for Motherline:

A dear friend, talented artist, and former professor just let me know she's expecting a baby girl this spring. Congratulations, Sabina! (Check out her page- she does really strong work about identity and culture) To celebrate, I'm posting some of the art I made while I was pregnant. I remember a conversation with Sabina a couple of years ago, when she told me that she thought maybe becoming a mom would be great for me and it would "pull me out of myself." She was, as usual, so right.

I took Molly to the hospital to see my Grandma, who fell and hurt her knee and aggrivated her two mended hips. I had the baby cloistered in a stroller under several layers to keep the germs at bay. I almost didn't take her but I had strong intuition that we needed to go. Grandma was overjoyed to see her "Holly." (She gets the name right a good 50% of the time, so we don't complain:) She's in the very early stages of Alzheimer's as best the doctors can guess. She's just dotty and it's still sort of cute to me, although I dread the real confusion that will come later. Right now she just repeats herself alot, and mixes up names. Today she was telling her roommate about Molly and me, and about how mom had died. She turned to me and asked "Did they ever figure out why your mother died?" and I had to remind her about the cancer. It was surreal, sitting down the hall from where Mom died and reminding Grandma about it. This visit didn't upset me like it usually has to be in the building. I guess I'm finally desensitizing a little bit. I hate most the smell of the disinfectant soap there- scent is so connected to memory.

I love talking to her so much. Every second I'm with her I'm so present and in the moment. Losing Mom made me so focused on savoring the time I have with Grandma, and so thankful she is with us and well enough to remember the baby.

marriage

2006-11-10T23:15:00.001-05:00

I don't write alot about my marriage outside of our role as co-parents, and in that respect I'm usually worrying about clashing ideologies. It's easy to avoid examining a marriage because it's an existence that's so easily taken for granted. It's like breathing, eating, sleeping. We have lived as if married for five years although our wedding was two years ago. I'm really instrospective the past few days about our marriage. I've just finished reading The Mermaid Chair, by Sue Monk Kidd and it brought up the issue of taking a marriage for granted. It also deals with an artist wife who feels tamed by her marriage. She falls passionately in love with another man and reconnects with her home and her mother and herself. It's heartbreakingly beautiful. At the time I've been reading this, our situation is a tense, all-but-sexless marriage of struggling new parents with barely enough money to survive. Shane is so stressed about finances he snaps at me, at telemarketers, at the dogs. Little bursts of severe asshole behavior have shot through like bullets that shatter my relative contentment. Meanwhile, we aren't making love because I have no desire for it, and we've barely spent any time together alone between all the part-time jobs it takes to make our household run.

We were out yesterday and Shane spouted some rage about something trivial and it just lodged in my head that he can be such a shit. His temper unsettles me so much. Then I was reading the book, and this cold fear settled into me and I saw myself in several years leaving him. I saw his temper flares just building and frustrating me and then I thought of how different we are and thought how devastating it would be to meet someone I connected with like the heroine of my book. Seeing this possible future made me feel 1,000 miles away from my husband. It ripped me open to be feeling our marriage as a thing that could be broken someday, a vulnerable entity that either one of us could tear apart. I have always felt if something did happen to us, it would be my breaking the vows. I sometimes worry that the wildness in me isn't meant to be married. I fret about not making art anymore. I wonder if I've lost anything to this union.

I examine those thoughts and I think that it's normal for me to wonder about those things. The truth is, I am a much better version of all possible me's because of Shane. The thing I've lost, the drive to create, it is a sleeping thing like a fire I've let dwindle, and neither my wifeness nor my husband has anything to do with that. I've struggled with that all my life. Shane has been my best advocate for channeling my energies into art. But I was reading my book, all these doubts worrying around in my head. I realized they were going to fester and grow into some resentment or anger if they weren't voiced. I went to him and it took me a long time to frame the vague ideas into a conversation, but he listened patiently and we talked about the stresses and the shape of our life and our lives. We were actually feeling similar anxieties but expressing them differently I think. I felt waves of relief giving vent to my doubts about us, and the relief washed them away as I realized how amazing it is I can talk with him about this, how strong we are. I needed to mend the disconnected feeling I'd had, and he held me close. Then the comfort turned to a fierce need to physically connect and we made love very beautifully. It was a wonderful, necessary ritual binding us tighter and the mood of the house is much lighter and cleaner now.

In unrelated news, there was another trip to the pediatrician's office today. I'd been waiting it out- just a cold, but her cough was getting worse and I didn't want to wait the weekend out with her feeling increasingly bad. The nurse said she had an ear infection too, but I hadn't seen any signs of it. I was loathe to put her back on antibiotics again since she's still on poopalot mode from the last one.

I brought her home and talked it over with Shane, and we decided ear infections are serious enough that we didn't feel like it was overreacting to use the antibiotics so we went to the pharmacy for them and to get some decongestant the nurse recommmended. It had pseudoephidrine in it, and they no longer carry anything with that at our pharmacy. The pharmacist was great, though. She went through all the possibilities with us and told us how the substitute for pseudoephidrine hasn't been tested in kids under 2. She was very knowledgeable. We bought some cough medicine & decided to stick with breastmilk dribbled into her nose and the nasal suction bulb for her nasal congestion.

After we got home, she spewed everywhere, so I gave her a bath and clean comfy pajamas. Then she pooped all over herself, so she got another bath and the last clean pj's, forcing me to wash a load of baby clothes as well as the bedsheets she'd thrown up on. Her cough has been gone since the medicine. Since the visit to the doctor's office I noticed her pulling on her ear, and then she wouldn't nurse with that side of her head lying down, so I had to wrestle her into a football hold. It is not fun to try to get a five month old baby into a new strange nursing position. She was very "whatthefuck?" Tonight may suck as our side-lying, semi-comatose-mommy position won't work if her ear still hurts.

showers & wings

2006-11-06T16:39:00.000-05:00

This is a piece of art I created for my friend's baby's nursery. (Yes, that's a sleeping Molly.) We went to her shower Saturday. I obsessed about giving her this, worrying that she'd see it as a photo of Molly and a self-centered gift rather than as a collage using a photo of Molly. Shane told me it was fine but I'm still not sure. Anyway, it's cute. She is decorating with fairies and winged creatures.

The shower was great. I met a sweet woman who has two-year-old twins and conceived by artificial insemination. She and her girlfriend live next door to the mom-to-be. She offered me several nursing tops for cheap when she heard I'm planning on extended nursing. I don't have any nursing shirts, so that's a very cool thing. Extended nursing... so weird a term. Like there's an invisible line at age 1 when it suddenly becomes an extra, strange thing to do. 'Round here most folks think it's gross to nurse after a year. Well, alot of them think nursing's gross, period. Weirdest thing how that came to be the mindset amongst a poor bunch of people. They'd rather spend money on formula- it blows my mind.

The baby's back to normal... her itchy red bottom is almost healed, and she slept 7 or 8 hours last night without any nummins (nursing.) Of course, as Murphy's Law would dictate, I had insomnia. Probably because she's nursed non-stop during the week of evil diarrhea.

this post is NOT titled "got milk?" because i am NOT a dork

2006-11-03T11:10:00.000-05:00

I had the neatest observation today. When my milk lets down (oh sorry Dr. Sears, I mean when I experience my 'milk ejection reflex'....heh) I have this tiny ache in the opposite breast. I could never describe it, but this morning Shane and I had a little tiff and tears welled up in my eyes. The burning ache right before the tears spill? That's my let-down ache, only right behind my nipple. It made so much sense and seemed so poetic. It's like the other boobie is crying because it's jealous. That breast wants an adorable baby cuddled up to it, too. Only thanks, Goddess that it doesn't for that would mean twins and a total spazzer mommy.

***

Jennifer at The Lactivist requests that we help publicize the efforts of HMBANA, a non-profit milk bank which distributes breast milk from donor moms. This link to her entry tells how a large drug company is trying to elbow HMBANA out of the way as it scrambles for profit. I am appropriately infuriated, and thought I'd repost in case any of you can donate cash or milk or know someone who could. http://thelactivist.blogspot.com/2006/10/donating-milk-know-who-you-are-sending.html I'm disappointed I can't donate milk, because I was pumping at least a few ounces more per day than Molly can drink. Turns out my milk gets wonky after a few days in the freezer unless I scald it which would make me ineligible to donate.

as promised gothiness, with bonus turtle

2006-11-02T19:25:00.000-05:00

See all the halloweeny fun at our flickr page.
This was after the tiring medical drama of the day, which is all moot now anyway. (Briefly: there was a wicked fever, there was a urine test, blood test, threat of scary dye-imaging testing, then antibiotics, then diaper rash and diarrhea. Then all the tests were clear and the drama evaporated. Now all we have to worry about is Molly's poor gut getting normalized after the medical invasion. There have been 456,992,344 poo diapers. My ass would be red & itchy too.)

omygoddess i love these boots

2006-10-28T20:25:00.000-05:00

OK, I seriously can’t wait to show you guys pictures of my outfit. After deciding not to fuck with creating costumes for the party, I was suddenly struck by a case of free mama when the grandparents picked up Molly. So I goth’d myself up beautifully, if I do say so my own sexy self. It’s so cute; it’s like I’m channeling myself at 19 on a random weekend. Did not go for the black hair dye (I hear Type O Negative in my head now…lol) but the black cat’s eye makeup, hoop in the nostril, and shitkicker boots are vintage Heidi. Woohoo~ I love Halloween! Giddy me. And I haven’t even started drinking yet. (We had a good stash of milk in the fridge so I’m planning on being a somewhat liberal partier and pumping and dumping.

After debating that plan for days Shane begged me to chill and take a “night off.” Um, yeah. I’ll just press the pause button on my maternal instincts for the evening. I have decided, actually, that since the baby’s securely elsewhere I have permission to relax a notch or two down from my usual state of anxiety- comparable to terrorist-alert-orange I think. So there. Shane’ll be home in a few minutes and he can help me fasten my fishnets to my garter belt and ask me “where did this come from?” I’m sure I will have a pleasantly surprised husband. Poor guy perpetually sees me in an unbuttoned nightgown with milk stains. Not the most seductive of looks.

of tea and snow and apples*

2006-10-24T14:02:00.000-05:00

It snowed yesterday, more than flurries. Enough to create that gorgeous lacy texture in the sky for a few minutes. Shane and I looked and said, "Wow. Our first snow this year," then we both looked at the baby and exclaimed, "Molly's first snow ever!" I walked out into the snow with her but she was unimpressed. Nothing exciting like, say, a ceiling fan. Now that's a good time.

We met with our job coach yesterday at a local coffee shop. I always get a chai tea, because I love, love, love chai tea. That evening Molly fought sleep more than usual. I've noticed this a few times and thought vaguely that it might be related to my little caffeine indulgences. Probably not enough to worry about, but at least in the evenings I should probably eschew the tea. We have a client meeting there this afternoon, so I'll stick with a vanilla steamed milk or a cocoa.

I'm dying to feed the baby real, tasty food. She's nearly five months, old enough in some peoples' book to have purees and cereals, but all the gurus of baby that I trust most suggest delaying food until six months. I'm with this in theory. It'll give her wee tummy more time to mature, and help prevent (possibly) food allergies. But it's so much fun to see a baby learn about the yummy texture-filled world of food. So, I broke down and offered her a spoonful of apple juice (I know- I really live on the edge.) She made the cutest scrunchy lemon face ever. Not a fan of the juice. She did open up wide for the spoon just like she knew what to do. I am a wicked mother and gave her a couple more sips just to see the adorable yuck face.

Leave me a comment with your green vegetable suggestion for her first real food. Peas? Avacado? What else can babies have that's green? Her pediatrician suggests green before yellow or orange veggies so they don't get hooked on the sweetness. Is she crazy? What do you veteran mamas think? She also said that it makes sense on the other hand to start them on something sweet like banana because breastmilk's sweet so they're familiar with sweetness.

*Well, apple juice. But I wanted to echo the title of Neil Gaiman's short story "Snow, Glass, Apples" because Neil rocks.

happy moon day

2006-10-16T16:18:00.000-05:00

(Damn. Forgot to post Molly's moonday celebration. Am terrible blogger. Had insomnia last night even, coulda been bloggin'.)

frustration

2006-10-15T12:59:00.000-05:00

If we didn't have this little goofy face keeping us company, we'd explode. We're on a deadline designing a website- well, building it. As usual, my design was very pretty and a terrible pain in the ass to execute.

Also have done .001% of the housework that needs done.

How am I supposed to be a mama, an administrative assistant, a graphic designer, and still have time for sleeping and eating- much less luxuries like clean house and clothing and time to spend with my husband?

toddler love and tea

2006-10-14T15:04:00.000-05:00

My friend hosted a Tastefully Simple party last night. It was much more formal than I thought. I hadn’t been to a captive-consumer party in ages, and told V that among my friends, we’d never dream of hosting parties like that- except for the sex toys parties. But, V had given me a sample of their Chai tea mix, and it blew my mind- it was actually really good. I am a major Chai junkie, so I saved for two weeks to buy a can of the mix. (That’s a testament to how broke we are, not how expensive the tea is.)

I brought the Souster, Megan, (think soul/sister, it’s a story for another day…) along with her 3 ½ year old Alexander, and, of course, the Mollybird. The kids were amazing- barely a peep, until the ride home. The food was much, much better than I’d thought it would be- I assume that prepackaged, just-add-water stuff is crappy, but everything was tasty. I’d buy some of the spices and stuff probably. The portions were teeeeeensy, though, so we left hungry.

As soon as we tried to get the kids in the car, Alexander wigged out. “I’m ‘stared,’ Mommy!” and had to be all but forced into his seat. The commotion got Molly started, so they wailed in unison almost the whole car ride home. When it would get quiet, if Molly would so much as whimper, the little guy would start that funky toddler whiny crying. He told her to be quiet, which I found amusing but Megan didn’t appreciate. I’m starting to think he’s afraid of me. The last time she had him at the house he said “I don’t like this place,” and he was scared of my car. Hmm. He’s so much more timid and sensitive than his older brother, Viktor. Alexander’s a Pisces, and Viktor’s an Aries, and they are both very typical of their signs.

Back at Meg’s I went inside to nurse the boo, and Viktor (age 4 ½) was so cute with her! He said “Nice to meet you, baby!” And “Her fingers are so tiny! Her feet are so tiny! Her head is so tiny! etc…” Then when she popped off the breast to look around he said “I think she wants to eat some more.” I was floored by the cuteness. Oh, and Alexander disagreed with me- “Her name isn’t Molly. No.” But he was kind enough to let his Mommy pass along an adorable pea-pod costume for the baby.

After her belly was full we went to pick up Shane at our friends’ house. Molly crashed in the car on the way home and was so cute bundled up in her coat and hat with Ducky on her lap. I should have snapped a photo in the car, but I waited until we got her inside then took some. (Blogger being a pain in the ass, you can see them at our Flickr page.) After that I changed her into her pajamas and she was hysterically giggling. She does that a lot- she thinks being naked is the funniest thing in the world. I adore her.

babydoll

2006-10-03T21:50:00.000-05:00

Sad: I googled "babydoll" to find an image to post, thinking of an old-fashioned porcelain angel faced toy. All I found was porn.

My daughter's beautiful. I'm biased, and she's more beautiful to me than she is to you even if her hugebluemooneyes beguile you, too. But she's damn pretty. I get pissed off at myself when words like "princess" and "babydoll" slip out, though. Everyone's praising her right now for her looks, and assuming this continues, how does this affect a child, especially a girl? I want her to be praised for being strong and intelligent and to know her true value to me has nothing to do with her attractiveness. At the same time, I want her to have a good self-image and celebrate her girlness and beauty.

My parents piled on the pretty praise, and I have a great self-esteem. That's a fairly wonderful thing, for me to feel beautiful when I'm also quite aware of my deformity. There's a whole complex whorl of thoughts & emotions there- I am self conscious about my body, but on the whole I'm very comfortable in my strange bones. But Molly doesn't have a birth defect that needs balanced like that. Is it teaching her the wrong thing if I keep cooing over her cuteness as she ages? Should I dole out two "you're so smart"s for every "you're so pretty?" How do I teach her to love herself but also that appearances aren't the true measure of worth? It's a funny thing- as an artist I do very much appreciate physical beauty, but I feel like I have a broad, healthy spectrum of what I find beautiful.

Oh, and again with dolls- what do you moms-of-daughters do when your little girl wants to play with a doll who represents unhealthy beauty standards or is sexualized? No Barbies/Bratz/etc? Do you let her play but explain to her, like my aunt did to a six year old me in one of my fondest memories, that no one really looks like that?

Oh, how do I raise a grrl?

new project

2006-10-01T21:39:00.000-05:00

I've started a new project over at LiveJournal, if you're ever inclined to check out the communities there. The community "breastfeeding" has been my favorite support and information group on the web.

I hope this will be a good place to share experiences, dreams, visions, and ideas.

october 1, goth holiday extraordinaire

2006-10-01T16:42:00.000-05:00

I worked at a family planning and abortion clinic years ago, and the Wicca was the majority religion of my co-workers. (That was so cool because there aren't too many in my area. Plus the religious right would have a heart palpitation about a bunch of witches running a clinic.) We declared October 1 a minor holiday and made it a rule that we'd all wear black, bonus points for pentagrams & gothy attire. I just cleaned, hung out with my aunt & grandma today, but I wore black because I always still do. It's like the countdown to Halloween begins. Whee!

I'm having religious conflict a little. I felt some weirdness at the group the other night, and I just don't know about my feelings. I used to be a devout little priestess in training, but it seems a little over-the-top now. At the same time I missed it terribly and feel like I need to reconnect with Persephone and Demeter, my patron Goddesses. I think part of it is I don't eat, sleep, and breathe Wicca like I used to. I devoured books, researched everything to death. I'm just not as interested in a scholarly way anymore.

My aunt brought a tiny, tiny sick kitten she found newborn & abandoned in her basement. It died on the way here. Too weak to suckle its little bottle of kitty-formula. I guess mama cat abandoned her? So my aunt was sad and then Molly was really gassy (bad broccoli eating mommy) and cried alot and I thought Pam was going to break down in tears with her. It is so pitiful to see those big eyes glass over with tears and then spill them all over her little cheeks. She was fighting sleep too. She passed out as soon as they left. And now she wakes.

blogging on blogging

2006-09-29T14:41:00.000-05:00

I never visit MySpace, because it's the most constipated website I've ever tried to load. I find the layout annoying and cluttered, and I want to dig my eardrums out of my head when I find a user page that has music embedded on it. But, many of my art school friends have pages, and from time to time I think of someone I'm curious to track down and I look them up. I found a couple I met through my ex who I was very fond of (both the ex and the couple.) They have a 10 month old baby, so I giddily added them both as friends and eagerly awaited a reply, hoping the fact that I was friends through the ex wasn't awkward for them. In the meantime I read their pages more carefully, and I found out they've lost a child who would have been a little over a year and a half old now. This shocked me and broke my heart. I'm not sure what happened to their son, but I'm amazed by their resilience. The father has a very sweet mention of the baby on his page, and I read a little about the mother's healing process. She did reply to my blog entry there and hopefully we'll have a playdate in the near future. Hearing things like that is 1,000 times more painful now that I'm a mother. I want to hold this friend close to me and tell her I love her because I really do. She's a precious, beautiful woman.

*****

A LiveJournal friend updated recently and was venting about her really high-needs baby. She wrote about how sick it makes her to read glowing mothers' tales of adorable, easy babies. It made me feel something like guilt for being that Mom- my cousin's troubles make me feel that way too, as if I won the easy baby lottery at their expense.

However:

The past couple of weeks, Molly has graduated from adorable, easy-going newborn baby to clingy attention-starved infant. She must be held (but Oh , No- not in a sling!) and entertained at all times, eat every hour and a half, and sleep right on top of mommy. She has to cry from 6:30-8:00 and then crash. We've had some stretches finally this week of long sleep in the night, aided by the admittedly excessive use of the baby swing. I'm not complaining- when I'd think I was approaching really cranky strung-out mommyness, she'd give me a little break. I just wanted to let the blogosphere know I'm not that mommy anymore with the unfairly easy life. Molly is, in fact, human. (Although I have on several occasions lately wondered if she was replaced recently with a screaming goblin changeling.)

two years yesterday

2006-09-25T20:54:00.000-05:00

Happy Anniversary, Bu.
(& thanks for all the fish.)

I think I'm going to go cry now for the 20+ inches of hair I've cut off in 2 years.

mabon

2006-09-25T18:35:00.000-05:00

I celebrated Mabon, the autumnal equinox, by returning to Earthways, the little group of pagans within my UU congregation. I called on the element of water, which was wonderful for me. I feel watery after literally carrying so much of it around in my body and then releasing it with my baby. Now, nursing is like I'm a fountain of liquid mooniness. It's so cool to make sweet milk in my own body that nourishes the baby. I can't get over the magic of that.

We had what would have been a quiet, contemplative meditation on balance, BUT... Molly decided to balance the reflective mood with loud pouty screaming until she fell into an immediate and deep sleep after we were all finished. I did manage to feel open enough to grok a couple of vague impressions. Something said "listen" and then I had the vision that we were bees, because we were humming spontaneously. (I think the listen suggestion meant listen to Molly, to trust the intuition that comes from both her and me. I had focused on the question of balancing my crazy fears with the "good" fear that makes me a good parent.)

I love the equinoxes- the scent of huge changes in the air and feeling how quickly the seasons change, and then settle in. Summer is long and lazy and easily taken for granted, and winter is just this seemingly unending nap. I have to force myself to love winter, and I fail.

But autumn- it is quick and powerful and the moment you try to revel in its beautiful colors, they fall away leaving stillness and a kind of sadness. The smell is my favorite. All these mixes of scents- the earthy, sexy smell of smoke and drying leaves set against the crisp cleansing breezes. Beautiful contrasts- like the brilliant oranges in the hills against a bright blue sky. (West Virginia is amazing in the fall.) It's no wonder I returned to my circle in the autumn. I wrote before how this time draws out my witchiness. October- I just float through October. My old friends and I declared October first an unofficial holiday- the day of wearing all black to work, and maybe a subtle pentacle if we felt brave. The whole month is like a festival to me, ending with Samhain (Halloween) which is the best day ever. The fact that I hate winter so much adds to the drama of the season- it's like the last wild party before buckling down for the slow, cold darkness.

tragedies and anxieties

2006-09-22T10:11:00.000-05:00

A little girl whose family lives down the road from here was killed in a terrible accident this week. Her mother hit her with the car backing out of their driveway. She lived nearly 24 hours but died on Tuesday. She was two years old. I didn't know the family except from noticing them as we would drive past their house. They have a big yard full of plastic toddler toys and there are always several kids running around and several cars visiting. The family seems chaotic and wild and I've made bitchy comments daily about the kids playing too close to the road.

I can't imagine what that mother is dealing with right now. It makes me sick to imagine, but I keep imagining- over and over. Since I lost my mom I have this ugly manifestation of my anxiety that makes me obsessively imagine terrible things happenning. When Shane was travelling at his old job, I would have visions of his being killed in a car crash. I had visions of being widowed immediately after the wedding. Dark, frightening things seem to insinuate themselves into my thoughts the moment I feel happy and lightened. It's like I got programmed to expect a tragedy when things are good. The baby, of course, is working my scary imagination overtime... I have times when I'm filled with dread that I won't get to keep her, that she'll have an accident and I'll lose her, that she's too good to be true. It's almost like I think I don't deserve her. That's such a sad thing- why would I feel like this? It's tense writing about this feeling- I feel superstitiously like admitting the worries will call the universe's attention to them and create them. Do all new moms feel these unfounded terrors?

The accident amplified these worries for me. I couldn't stop crying when I read in the paper that she had died. I just grieve for the family. In the same edition of the newspaper I saw a reference to a local man who murdered and raped his girlfriend's son. I think his mother is going to prison too, for some kind of neglect or responsibility for his death. We know the girl's cousin, and she has been very active in trying to get legislation passed in Logan's name to ensure longer sentences in such cases. It didn't pass in the last session of the state legislature, but I'm sure they plan to keep working.

How do we raise children in this world without losing our minds worrying? I want to take her and Shane and run away to a commune somewhere where there is no TV, food additives, pollution... I could go on but no such Utopia exists. I can tell from the first four months as a parent that this is my great challenge: I have to look out for her the best way I know how without letting my fears turn both of us into neurotic, timid crazy people. This is why the Wonderful Taoist Nature of Fate has brought me my husband. He anchors me, he is my counter balance. If we can find a blend of our parenting styles, this will be one well-adjusted happy kid. I'm learning to pick my battles, as it were. Allowing organic meats in the future, for example. But only when Daddy feeds her. I still refuse to prepare meat, and if my vegetarian example influences her eating habits, so be it.

happy moon day

2006-09-18T20:11:00.000-05:00

It's weird. I can't believe Molly's already 16 weeks old, but I feel like I've been her mother for ages and ages. It amazes me how different I feel compared to before the pregnancy. We went to an art reception at my old school last week, and seeing my old friends was so strange. I felt like I was seeing them after being on another planet for the past year. They acted like I was still me, but I'm not. I'm not mourning for my younger flightier less responsible self. I'm completely in love with motherhood and the mellowing, calming effect I feel in my heart. I wouldn't trade diapers and night nursings for all the wine and smooth belly skin in the world.

The world of Molly at four lunar months is this: playing with her toes; trying desperately to roll onto her tummy and then, having achieved her goal, wailing like a banshee until Mama rescues her from being mired belly down on the floor; slurping her fingers; teething and chewing her fingers, crying in the evenings from the discomfort; eating barely anything one day and then constantly nursing the next, and long long nursing sessions in the evenings. Frequent long stretches of sleep at night- 9 hours last Friday; playing "big girl," being held up to standing on Mom's or Dad's lap and babbling a blue streak at us; learning the splashes can happen in a bath, and slowly discovering her toys. Doing sit-ups on our bellies and sitting up very well when supported. She hates being cradled or held on our shoulders until she's sleepy, then she melts onto us and is a warm, quiet little creature who dazzles us.

dreams and "lala land"

2006-09-17T20:43:00.000-05:00

The photo op of the day involves a ridiculously feminine outfit and a beautifully girly handmade quilt that was a gift from Granddaddy's pal Martha. I meant to link to her eBay store, but can't find her card, so I'll edit later if I come across it. (*edit: this is her ebay store: http://stores.ebay.com/Handmade-by-Martha )

***

We'll say my day started at 4:00 a.m. when Molly needed to nurse for the first time since bedtime. I went to cuddle up with her in her nursery and it seemed like we'd nursed solid when Shane's alarm went off at 6:30 or 7, but I'm sure we fell asleep at some point. I was bleary groggy sleepy and my back was creaky so I told him to take the car to work (he's landscaping on the weekends for a friend. Yay cash) and Molly and I would skip church.

I put her in her swing and retreated to the grown-up bedroom for the comfort of the Suz Coccoon, another famous handmade quilt. I drifted, and had a dream within a dream within a dream. I do that pretty often. They're usually very vivid (the "core" dream) and often seem hallucinatory or something. Sometimes in the next part, where I think I've awoken , I actually interpret the previous dream in that dream. Boggles the mind, no? This morning I dreamt I had, or actually did have?, an out-of-body trip, then a nightmarish hallucination-in-a-dream of nearly drowning. It was so super-sensory. Cold, turquiose and indigo waters rising up like a wall on either side of me, and me pinned up against the ceiling. I could examine in detail the crisp white spackled plaster on the ceiling, and I knew it wasn't real but was panicky. Then I "woke up" and told Shane about it, asking for comfort. He reassured me, and I dreamt some mundane things, then awoke for real feeling super disoriented and hung-over. The astral projectrion deal was simple and weird, vague. The part I remember was walking calmly back into the bedroom and seeing myself there, wondering how to realign the spirit and body, then the bed appeared empty and I just lay down and that was the way back "in."

The water dream was so powerful and surreal. Frightening but much preferable to the nightmare I had the night before of Molly suffocating. Someone in the dream had given her a plastic bag to play with. Remembering that makes me shudder. I hate my nightmares. I've had them continuously since my night terrors as a toddler. I remember begging to sleep with Mom and Dad and not being allowed. I'd camp out on the floor outside their room or when I was older, on the couch within view of their bedroom door. That memory makes me adamant that Molly will never have a door closed to her when she's frightened in the night.

We spent the day with Molly's "LaLa," my Mama Janet. She was my mom's best friend and I adore her. She's a round, beautiful, beaming hippy chick. I haven't gotten to visit her since she was my lay-doula at Molly's birth. It was a great time, talking about her daughter's pregnancy- LaLa's first official grandchild- and my mothering and nursing expoeriences. She made me Chai and I nursed the baby for an hour as she's been wont to do lately. I'm so at home with Janet, and when I'm with her I can all but hear Mama laughing with us. It was a content, easy day.

sembiosis

2006-09-11T11:02:00.000-05:00

I thought the thing that touched me the most about motherhood was her simple but powerful biological need for me. It's so tender and sweet that this tiny creature sometimes needs nothing in the world but for me to hold her, and she needs it so fiercely it makes her cry.

Last night I realized how much I need her too now. She went to sleep after fussing for a while, but only slept a little while before she was hungry again. after I got her settled again in her crib, I went back to bed with Shane, with the baby monitor's gentle humming sound to lull me back to sleep. Only I couldn't stay asleep. I tossed and turned and fidgeted around, then finally got up about 5:00 and realized on Molly's normal schedule I'd have gotten her up and put her in bed with me in the nursery. But last night, she was sleeping so good by herself that I left her alone. I realized how much comfort she gives me in the night, and how accustomed I am to feeling her small warmth next to me. I told myself to go back to sleep, that she was fine and not to disturb her, but I couldn't stand it. I went to her room, and she had just started to stir, but hadn't made a sound yet. She arched her little back toward me and I scooped her snuggly little self and cuddled up in bed with her.

I decided it was OK for me to need her too. It's amazing the strength of this connection. I am so in love with the fact that I wake right before she does, that our sleep cycles synch up. And part of it's chemical- I think I'm finally feeling the oxytocin buzz of nursing that I'd read about. It's the most relaxing thing in the world. We both melt, and it's sublime.

wooblah...

2006-09-07T19:15:00.000-05:00

...is Molly's new word of the day.

Roughly translated, it means, "Why yes, Mother, I'd love to have my bath now and after considering your offer I've decided to accept and therefore am in agreement that I will not be peeing or pooping en route from the living room floor here to the kitchen sink. However, I smirk at your ridiculous attempt to prevent such occurance by loosely holding a diaper against my bum. For surely you are aware that I could do to said diaper what the rogue wave did to the cruiseship in that action movie you and Daddy thought I wasn't listening to last night. And furthermore, I can't help but notice that you still haven't cleaned the bathtub so that we may share our first bath together, you lazy woman."

Her baths are getting more interesting in the baby tub. She's too big for the newborn side with it's reclining slope and too little for the infant/toddler side with its little seat. I'm not certain I can negotiate a squirmy wet baby in the big bath with one and a half arms, but I think I'll try sometime when Shane's here as backup. It's one of my Mommy daydreams that I've always envisioned.

----

Molly's little blessing ceremony at the Church of LDS was nice enough. She wailed through the whole prayer, which amused me a little. I thought, "Yep, she's a pagan." They had a mother's room, which I thought was awesome, although it was very spartan: just two armchairs, which faced opposite eachother. I guess they thought nursing moms would hide from eachother? I was alone anyway. There were two or three other babies, but they all had bottles. Damn-I'd planned a longer post, but Princess Pink Pooh Pajamas calls.

perils of pagan parenting

2006-09-02T18:11:00.000-05:00

I performed Molly's little naming ceremony tonight. It was simple and sweet, and I'm overwhelmingly glad I did it. I started with a "Heidi's mom ritual": light every single candle in the house. We used to do this as a way of just grooving out with each other. When I was young, we'd pop on an album or CD and sing and talk. She'd braid my hair. When I was a young adult, we'd light the candles & then get high. Then we'd do the music thing, and once my hair grew back after my Sinead O'Connor phase, she'd braid my hair and we'd giggle, then get the munchies and raid the kitchen.

So. We lit all the candles as well as some nice incense, and I stripped us both down- skyclad's the only way to fly. I read the prayers I'd prepared. The full text is here, if you're curious. When I got to the part where I officially give her her name, I scooped her up into my arms, got emotional and reverent, and she peed all over me. At the exact instant I said her name. So I giggled and told her she'd baptized Mommy. We finished, with me tearing up reading her the Charge of the Goddess- I get weepy when it's been a while since I read it, plus, reading it to my daughter the first time was beautiful. Then I got her diapered, got me dressed, and opened the door and noticed I had filled the room with tons of smoke from the incense & candles. I swooped her away to the porch, turning on fans as we went. She never got a cough or anything, but I feel like a dolt. Bad witchy mommy.

So now she's had her name officially spoken in circle, to a suitably female deity(-ies) and I'm all ready to priss her up in a pink dress tomorrow and take her to the Church of Men, Manliness, and All Things Masculine , also known as Prophets with Penises*, for her secondary, for-Papaw naming/blessing/thing.

*I sincerely don't mean to be a bitch to members of the LDS church, or any other Christians for that matter-but you gotta know it's a weirdo experience for a feminist pagan. Likewise, I'm sure you think I'm a nutjob and possibly wish I'd shave my legs.

septembery

2006-09-01T16:45:00.000-05:00

The first of September, and there’s wet chill in the air that came on the rain. It feels like the end of summer, although I don’t smell the indefinable scent that means autumn yet. September means a new year in a way, a leftover feeling from my years, and years, and years of school. New beginnings on the dying of another summer’s greenness. It’s still exciting, although finally this second fall after graduation I don’t feel the pressing need to be somewhere and preparing for something.

Autumn is such an intense time- the change in mood and light and leaves is palpable and it brings out my witchiness like crazy. I’m so aware of the raw magical energy surrounding everything and I get the urge to do rituals and spells and to be outdoors just breathing. It’s a beautiful time, but I always have a hint of dread beneath my anticipation. Winter is a terrible struggle for me. I can measure my moods precisely against the length of days, and by February I’m usually deep in a depressed, fatigued funk. Christmastime fills me with a ridiculous level of anxiety and irritability, and after that it gets worse until late March or April.

Last year was a relief, though. I was insanely happy pregnant woman and although my tiredness was there, I was giddy. My spring this year was actually less fun, because by then my legs and feet were swollen out of all recognition and my belly was a large, lead planet. I’m telling myself, and pretty much believing it, that my first winter as a mama is going to be wonderful. I am focused on the milestones Molly’ll be reaching along the way- sitting up by Halloween? It could happen- definitely by Christmas, and then we’ll be ready to feed her some solid food. She’ll be bundled up in comfy, soft clothes when we go out, she’ll see snow for the first time, and she’ll be babbling, smiling, and laughing more. Will her beautiful hair start growing back? Will it still be dark like mine or blonde like Shane’s?

I know it’s a selfish reason to ernjoy having a baby, but I suspected that my daughter would prove to be a distraction from my overactive anxious mind, and it’s working in a way. My relentless over-analysis of my brain is getting better, because who has time for that indulgence? At the same time, though, I never knew the meaning of the word worry until now. On the whole, I think I’m as happy a mom as one can be. It feels like me, like a calling. And I’m pretty sure the baby high can float me through another winter.

a quandary

2006-08-29T21:00:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-28T11:58:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-23T21:09:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-21T13:07:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-20T21:09:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-18T19:27:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-15T20:30:00.000-05:00

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.
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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

2006-08-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-14T17:44:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-12T15:18:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-09T17:52:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-08T21:57:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-08T20:56:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-06T17:41:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-04T16:15:00.000-05:00

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.