omygoddess i love these boots

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*

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

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

frustration

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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"

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

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...

...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

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

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

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

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

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

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

slackerdom & the repercussions

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

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

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

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

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