remembering colleen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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.

gifts

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

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

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

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

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

happy molly moon-day

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

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

dreaming home

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

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

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

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

tumble

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

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

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

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

anxiety redux

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

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

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

tattoos

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

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

handwritten #1

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

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

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

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

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

moonshine, no- actual moonshine

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

coming to terms with modern medicine, and my birth story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

birds & random bits

A few random notes from Life of Heidi:

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

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

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

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

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

a houseful

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

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

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

fairy tales

for Crazy Hip Blog Mamas Writing Collaboration

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

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

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

mom identity

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

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

alchemy & contortionism

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

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

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

maiden

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

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