annaverity said: I really love your posts, as sporadic as they are, and I’m oddly (?) invested in your happiness as a mother/wife/homemaker because…I don’t know, more and more, that’s WHAT I WANT, even though Feminism says I should want “more.” xo
First, xo to you! And thank you!
Second, this is likely not going to come out right, but isn’t Feminism about wanting what you want and having that be your right and your choice and your life as YOU deem it? Be it as a homemaker/wife/mother/biker/pilot/doctor/congresswoman/stripper/lion tamer/etc. etc.? I’m totally baiting a backlash of “FEMINISM IS THIS AND YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US!!!!” (not like that many people read my blog anymore, really, so I’m prob okay), but my view of it is the beauty of choice.
That said, I’ve been thinking about the concept of wanting more lately. I’ve spent my whole life wanting more. Thinking I should have more/be more/want more. And I believe that is one of the reasons I can get unhappy sometimes. I think if I had lived thinking, life is just life…it’s what you make it…I might have been better off.
This sounds really stupid, but I feel like it may be worth it to not teach Georgia to strive for the best. I’ll teach her to do the best that SHE can do, but not to worry so much about being the best. She doesn’t need to be amazing or want more or do more or be more; she needs to be a nice and good person who works hard and plays hard and plans well and puts her mind and heart into most things she does. Yes, it may sound really stupid, but I kind of want to teach her to be okay with the middle.
So to get back to the original point…wanting more. Believe me, my dear, I. Hear. That. It’s constantly running through my brain. Not from a Feminist standpoint, really…though I get it…it’s from my crazy artist standpoint (or rather, the wannabe crazy artist standpoint). But I think….just be who you want to be. Whoever and however that is. And if you’re not doing that, then try, a little every day, to make it more a reality. But seriously, lay off yourself! Fight the good fight of feminism, of course, but also live by it…really and truly…and do what will make you happiest in life. And answer to mother-fuckin’ no one who balks at it, because THAT is the way to choose your choice.
The Georgia/Saddle Report...19 months, the former; 5 years, the latter
I received an email from the good folks at Tumblr telling me my blog turns five today. Pretty crazy. It prompted me to write.
I think it’s safe to say that my blogging days might be behind me. I think of stuff to write almost every day, but like everything else on my list of to-dos, it falls to the bottom underneath all the other shit that gets piled up that needs more taking care of. I mean, it’s a job, really, this motherhood/housewife thing. But I’ll tell ya, I had a lot easier of a time dicking around on the internet and in general when I was actually “working.” Yeah, I might be making runs to Target and having play dates and what have you, but it. is. work. And it’s non-stop.
This is a Georgia Report that is more about me. Me and her, I guess. My life as a mom.
I’m going to repeat a lot of shit I’ve already said on here, but I have a new point at the end of it, I promise…You see, I spent a good portion of my teenage and young-adult life thinking I was “special” and “different.” I was “meant for more” than a “normal” life. I had so much potential. I could do anything I set my mind to. I was gifted.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I didn’t do any of it. I didn’t “become” anything. I am exactly who I said I’d never be. Again, blah blah blah, we’ve all heard me say this. I’ve discussed this so many times on this blog because sometimes I just really can’t even believe it. I still struggle almost daily with the feeling that I didn’t do what I was supposed to do with my life, that my potential was totally unmet. (Yes, I read that article that went around a month or so ago around about Gen Y and yes, it’s basically me. Except…I don’t think I’m so special anymore. That’s the difference. I’m not looking at all the stuff in my past and all the stuff in my present and thinking I’m still this special snowflake of a person. Quite the contrary. I’m annoyed at how insanely obnoxious I was, thinking that way. I had no business acting like I was better than anyone. I wasn’t. I’m not.) But here’s the interesting thing about all this…the thing that both surprised me and didn’t surprise me at all…and this is the new point…
I am damn good at this. I am better at this than any other job I’ve ever had. I am succeeding at this in a way I never did when I was working.
I’m not the best at follow through. I’m a major procrastinator, I am a last-minute kind of gal, my desks at school and all my jobs were always messy, I always created a lot more anxiety for myself and others than necessary because everyone always wondered…will I get my shit together or not? And I always did. And I always did a good job. But it was always harrowing. There is only one other thing I’ve taken super seriously and that was my wearing a back brace for scoliosis for basically all of my teenaged life. And I equate my taking motherhood seriously to my brace because both, if I failed…if I was, well, me…the consequences are/were dire. So yeah. I’m glad to know that when it really comes down to it, I rise to the occasion. I haven’t let myself or Georgia down.
And that’s not to say that I am the best mother on earth. I’m not. I have “mother of the year” moments daily wherein I do something incredibly stupid or selfish or just plain wrong (example: I cracked her head on the top of the car while putting her in the carseat today. She didn’t cry, luckily, just gave me a what the fuck look. Whoops.). I’m just saying that I am getting things done and I am keeping this house clean and nice and I am keeping my child alive and not just alive, she is thriving. She is learning. She is so smart. And I’m not taking credit for how she is, but I’m taking credit for allowing her to be and do and become. And she is, in the best way possible. It’s incredible to witness.
She’s a good kid. Maybe I will take a little bit of credit for that. Just a little.
For the Georgia Report record, she is doing most everything a little toddler should be doing. She’s walking, running, dancing, playing. She’s talking so much—putting two-word sentences together and telling us “stories.” She laughs so much. After having only her two bottom teeth for what seemed like forever, she’s getting one tooth after the other after the other, making for really fun nighttime wake-ups. Apropos of the last point, she is still the worst fucking sleeper EVER. But she is still (a few mini-tantrums aside) a glorious little person to be around day in and day out. She’s smart and strong and funny as hell. I’ve dubbed her the Great Imitator, as she does, inflection for inflection, repeat pretty much everything I say. She’s also an incredible love…hugs and kisses and “I yuv you”s all over the place. There is a lot of love in this house at all times.
That sounded really cheesy and lame. It’s true, though.
So for me, being around her…it’s just good. Like any job, there are days I wish I could call in sick. Unlike most jobs, I cannot. Like any job, I’d love to zone out and let whatever’s going on around me just happen. Unlike most jobs, if I did that, a tiny person would likely eat all the coins in my wallet, fall down the stairs, go outside and get in the car or some other horrible result of irresponsible workmanship. Like any job, I sometimes have to deal with annoying behavior from people. Unlike most jobs, I have to stop said people from repeatedly flushing the toilet while I’m mid-pee.
I think you get the gist.
In any event, I’m doing okay. Suburban life depression aside, 35-year-old-what-do-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up (oops, I AM grown up) life crisis aside…just as a mom, I’m doing pretty well. I’ve rallied. I’ve become. I’ve taken it so motherfucking seriously.
And alas, my little five-year-old blog has suffered a bit. My (Jewish) New Year’s resolution was to write something…anything…every day. That lasted about two days in the journal next to my bed. Maybe it should come back to this forum I’ve loved so much for the last five years. Maybe I really will let this fizzle out. We’ll see, I guess.
In any event, thanks Tumblr, for giving me a place to get my crazy out. And thanks to you all for reading and sharing and experiencing this all with me. You’re all lovely.
I’m completely awake. I felt the shift happen from exhausted, having fallen asleep on the couch, to wide awake while reading Fiona Apple’s Wikipedia page. Like, really felt it. Oh well.
When I’m awake like this I often think about random things. Like how I’d love to sit down with a doctor and tell him or her every weird feeling I feel in my body and every stupid question that I have about my health, because there are a lot of each.
Because every doctor wants a patient who sits there and says, and this? This, doctor. What’s this about?
Not to be a total naysayer, because I know everyone was all abuzz about how they’re singing live and it’s acting and blah blah but…this is awful. Awful!
Here’s why: it is a musical. It’s supposed to be about the singing. So if the singing is bad…and it is BAD…then you might as well have just made a non-musical. And there already is a non-musical movie of Les Mis. The world did not need this.
I mean it’s just awful! I know it’s, like, Anne Hathaway’s dream to do this and she almost had me during the beginning of I Dreamed a Dream, but really? Really. She kind of killed the beauty of that song. Because it’s a SONG. Not an Oscar consideration reel. Sing it for real. Sing it well.
Try as I might, I can only take so many spiders, skunks, creepy crawlies, cobwebs, weird smells, grubs (google for gross insect stuff you never needed to know about), dead trees…the list goes on.
I miss the city. I miss noise. I miss street lights. I miss its smell (seriously, I do). I miss feeling simultaneously like you are alone and surrounded by people. I miss action past 8:30pm. I miss good restaurants. I miss big buildings. I miss most everything.
Maybe it’s just that I miss my life.
Nah, I don’t think I like it up here. Yes, I like the space and I like being 10 minutes away from where Jonny works (I especially like that after a no-nap day), but sometimes, every fiber in my being is screaming at me, saying “YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!!!!!!!!” And maybe I don’t. Or maybe I’m being stubborn and need to let go. Maybe.
Or maybe I just don’t belong here.
Well, be that as it may, I’m here and there’s nothing to do right now. These are the choices you make for yourself and your family. And they are the right ones…this move was the right move. Just sometimes, like right now, when I’m sitting in what seems like an endless stream of skunk spray seeping in through my windows, it’s hard to remember those reasons why you chose what you did.
Seriously, this skunk is just spraying on repeat. Just when I think the stink dissipates, he re-ups. I now have a headache.
I haven’t posted in almost a month. Yet I think of things every day to write.
Today, while doing my daily Georgia’s-napping-so-I-must-get-everything-done routine of dishes, laundry, cleaning, etc. while 90210 is on in the background, I thought the following:
Noah and Donna are an awful couple.
Dylan coming back and acting all vigilante-like is just dumb. He holds a gun sideways. Come on now.
Gina was one of the worst characters ever. Aside from Noah. And Matt. Actually, the only good newer character they introduced towards the end was Janet. (well, then she married Steve, which takes her down a few notches, but hey…) (these thoughts, by the way, are happening right now as opposed to earlier. I don’t have that much time during naps…)
Didn’t Kelly feel weird about dating a dude who was living, as you do when you’re a new character on 90210, at the Walsh house? I mean, shouldn’t that be addressed?
I’m so glad Brando is off the show. He really fucking sucked.
More on how the suburbs and I don’t mix later…keeping you on the edge of your seats, I am. I know it.
So, first…a semi-update. The smell dissipated and came back and dissipated and came back. To respond to this:
sdotmarymartha said: Moisture? We have to run a dehumidifier, when we don’t, the basement gets real funky and it permeates the house.
I say, YES. Shortly after I wrote that post, I thought perhaps our dehumidifier was causing part of the problem because it was the previous owners’ and god knows how old it was, and I read that old, dirty dehumidifiers could just recirculate old, dirty air. So we cleaned it. And shortly thereafter, it went to dehumidifier heaven. So we bought a new one right quick and it seems to be doing a better job. Definitely smells….cleaner….in the basement.
We also just removed a bunch of moving boxes (cardboard+old basement+slightest bit of groundwater leaking in from old windows that aren’t sealed very well = funky) and are basically just trying to keep everything squeaky clean.
Cut to last night, G woke up at 2am crying (more separation anxiety because I’ve started working a little…more on that later) and as I got up, I noticed it. Funk. Ass. Smell. It was skunky. It was……a skunk???? We’ve had this smell before, but the thing was, we’ve never smelled skunk outside in the immediate vicinity of our house (I make this distinction because we have smelled skunk in the nearby park and stuff). So I was like, could it really be a skunk? Wouldn’t we know it more? Wouldn’t it smell outside like in our bushes or under our porch or something?
So I googled and googled and found other information (marceptan, the chemical they put in gas to make it smell; skunk cabbage, a plant that grows along streams and stink to the high heavens) and I’m beginning to think, if it smells like a skunk, it’s a mother-fucking skunk. So the next two questions to answer are, 1. why does the smell permeate and linger in my house so strongly (I suspect the old windows have something to do with it) and 2. how the eff do we stop it?????
I just wrote a lot about skunk smell. How interesting for all of you.
So I’m working!! (Nice segue!) Nothing major, just doing some freelance proofreading, as I’m a total nerd and love that stuff, for a marketing company. I made a connection with this company two years ago, shortly before I realized I was pregnant, and have kept in touch through this time, knowing it would be a good opportunity to get back into the working world post-Georgia. I can mostly work from home, but for my first day, I went into the city to the office and was among the working folk again for the first time since March 2012.
It felt damn good.
I never knew, pre-Georgia, how I’d feel about working vs. staying home. I always thought I’d want to work and I’ve surprised myself the most with how much I do enjoy being home with Georgia, teaching her essentially everything she knows. Each time the opportunity to go back to work prior to this, I’d get nervous and edgy and wouldn’t want to make it happen. I wasn’t ready. Now I am.
It felt really good to be semi-dressed up and in the city in a cool office with interesting people all around me. No one knew (or cared, really) that I had a kid. I wasn’t “someone’s mom.” I was Alison. For the first time in a long time, I really was just me. Working. Using my brain in a different way than I had been. I did miss Georgia, but I’ll tell you…HORRIBLE MOTHER ALERT!!…I didn’t miss her that much. I liked doing my thing. I realized how much I’ve missed it.
Now, I’m sure if I was there every day and spending less time with my girl, I’d be bitching about that, so…….something to think about.
Anyway, G has responded by becoming a bit more clingy to me. And I get it; the one person she knows is always there for her has now started leaving her for full days with Nana and on different days, with some new person! How dare I!? It’s scary, though. I get it. So I’ll let her get through it and hope that one day soon, she’ll understand that it’s okay. Or maybe I need to understand that.
In any event, it felt good to be part of the world again.
Whoa, that season finale of Mad Men gave me some serious feelings.
That and I’m hormonal.
That and there’s a funky smell in my basement and it’s permeating the rest of my house when the air goes on and it’s driving me effing crazy. Sometimes, I really hate homeownership, you guys. Or rather, house-ownership. The condo was a lot easier, psycho, horrible neighbors aside. Every day there’s something else. It’s an endless time and money suck. And part of the problem is we bought an old home with past-owners who had a do-it-yourself mentality. In some ways this makes the house very charming. In others it makes it a bit…..difficult to deal with. But we’re learning. I imagine everyone’s first year in a home is one big learning curve, but I’m just frustrated. I want a pretty home that feels and smells clean and fresh. And no matter how much I clean or anything I try, it’s still funky down there. I’m working on solving it…I’m actually being more than a little nutty trying to solve it.
This is a ringing endorsement for spending any time here. Anyone wanna come over for dinner? Ha.
Anyway. I’m hormonal so this all is making me sad. That and Mad Men. That and the feeling that time is flying and the summer is flying already and we’re overcommitted with travel and family and not really enough with friends and our own little family.
This post doesn’t have a title because I don’t have a cohesive theme to it.
We’re going through a maaaaaaajor separation anxiety phase lately. Happening a bit during the day, but mostly centers around nighttime and sleeping. I get it, really. It’s scary, being alone in the dark quiet. I can remember being a kid and being so comforted when I would be in bed and I would hear the sounds of my parents moving about downstairs—dishes being done, adults talking, the tv on, etc. It was when I couldn’t sleep and everyone else was sleeping; that was the hardest. Incidentally, my parents always say it was a mistake for me to have a tv in my room as a teenager, but it really helped me. Perhaps now that’s why I like having tv on as company. At one point in my life, during bouts of insomnia at three in the morning, it really was.
But I digress.
Because I get it, I feel like we have to kind of coach her through it, as opposed to making her cry it out and deal with it on her own. She’s 15 months…she doesn’t know how to deal! So we kind of hang out in her room until she’s asleep. A modified cry it out, if you will. We don’t pat her or shush her or anything, we’re just there. It seems maybe to be helping…maybe.
Anyway, as I was in there tonight, knitting and thinking. Thinking and knitting. I realized I just want to write stuff down. I think I have some stuff to work through.
Like? I focus on the past waaaaaaay too much. I can’t let go. I can’t let go of decisions I can’t change. People I let down. Things I did or didn’t do. I also can’t let go of good times that I miss. And with that, I get hung up on feeling old. Feeling stuck. Feeling like time is passing me by. Feeling, or rather knowing, that my childhood and early adulthood are so far behind me. And feeling sad about that. I have to stop feeling sad about it. I want to stop feeling sad in general.
So how do I live in the moment? I’ve gotten better at it in my recent years. Georgia helps me do it. I’ve stopped worrying about the future and not knowing what it’ll bring. I don’t care as much. It’s really just the past stuff that I’ve got to get over.
Anyway (again). Shit’s about to get real boring up in these parts. But at least I’ll be writing more? Whatever. Just want to talk about how I’m feeling. In this adulthood. In parenthood. In suburbia. In my life.
I’m currently watching the disgustingness that is Princesses of Long Island on the awfulness that is Bravo. One of the girls is from my hometown; my mother taught her years ago.
I’m from the north shore of Long Island. I am Jewish. I was raised in a lovely home with giving and nurturing parents and didn’t want for anything. I knew people who had more than I did and people who had less. I knew people who were nice and who were mean. I knew spoiled people and I knew salt of the earth people.
But you guys…
I can tell you…WE ARE NOT ALL LIKE THE GIRLS ON THIS SHOW.
It worries me because they’re posturing it like a Jersey Shore or Real Housewives for L.I. Jewish girls. But it’s different. I’m well-aware, as are many Jews, that we are not well-liked, as far as an ethnic community goes. This show does not help that, at ALL.
So I’m writing this post, after weeks of not writing anything, to tell you all that WE ARE NOT ALL LIKE THIS. Please believe me. That Ashlee girl? I can’t. I can’t even. It’s not funny, it’s not cool, it’s not good. And it’s not who we are. Please, if you watch this show, know that.
aubreyjane said: You’re always welcome to come to the city and play date with my nanny kids! :-)
Oh, Aubs…that’s sweet, but it wouldn’t help the situation. I have lots of friends in other neighborhoods, it’s just kind of hard to break into the mom circle here where I live. I’m starting to think that because it’s such a small town, it’s even harder. Few reasons why:
First, there are less people (obviously), so less people to meet/make a connection with.
Second, out of everyone I’ve met, I’m the only first-time parent. Everyone’s on their second or third (seriously, everyone here has three. THREE!) and so they have older kids who know each other from school. So I’ve got a few years til that happens for me.
Third, everyone really does know each other and so, even though they don’t mean to be, I think people can be clique-y. I mean, they’re all really nice and welcoming when I am around (at various “mom group” meetings, etc.), but it’s hard to crack the fully-formed groups.
Fourth and final, I’m kind of awkward at this. I’ve put myself out there waaaaaaaay more than I’m comfortable with, and it’s still probably not enough to really make friends. I just don’t like getting up in people’s business. I suppose I’m just waiting for it to happen more naturally, but I guess it just doesn’t always. I have to get over it.
And I’ve come to the conclusion that, for some reason, making friends in the ‘burbs is more crucial than making them in the city. In the city, you can kind of exist in your own little world a little more without feeling totally isolated. Here…I don’t know…it just seems important. I mean, there’s kind of nothing else to do. Ha. But that’s a whole other post.
There’s a cardinal that hangs out in our backyard trees. He (she?) is so beautiful and regal looking. And also, for some reason, cardinals just strike me as being nice birds. Like, wise and calm and good folk. Like, Paul Newman or something.
I love Justin Timberlake, don’t get me wrong, but the backbeat of his new song “Mirrors” doesn’t just seem like it sounds like “Cry Me A River”, it seems like it’s sampled directly from it. Like he sampled from himself. Is that allowed? I mean isn’t that just lazy?
Making mom friends is hard.
I haven’t been on Tumblr in a looooooong time. Hi everyone!
This is beyond a Georgia Report. This is a life status report. This is a marker of how much my world has been rocked in the last year plus of my life.
But first, the stats. I skipped over 11 months, really because it was such a blur. So this is kind of a combined 11 and 12 month list of likes, dislikes and everything in between:
as of a year, she is 31 inches (still rocking the 95th percentile) and 21 pounds (slimming down to the 50-75th percentile…she’s always on the go, this one).
she’s cruising…loves pulling herself up on everything and walking around, holding on to edges.
favorite games: opening and closing drawers, taking everything out of said drawers, taking every book off of her book shelf…you see where this is going.
favorite toy: at 10/11 months, it was her Laugh and Learn little doorway/house thing, which is a huge Fisher Price monstrosity that has horribly annoying (and annoyingly catchy) songs and sounds. She looooooved it though. Still does, but not quite as much. Now it’s all about musical instruments. She has two little drums, a tiny xylophone and, her first-birthday-gift from her parents, a toy piano. And it would seem music continues to run in the family.
favorite books: still loves Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and all Curious George books. For a while The Snowy Day was her true favorite; now she loves all lift-the-flap books like Dear Zoo and Where’s Spot and all that. We got a ton of new books for her birthday, though, so she’s discovering a lot more. She’s a reader, this one. It’s a good thing!
favorite songs: We’re moving along in the James Taylor oeuvre with Sweet Baby James and Something in the Way She Moves. Recently, we’ve discovered she likes Elton John, so Your Song has been on heavy rotation. And just the other day, Jonny discovered she loves ELO. Chick’s got good taste in music.
and she’s back on bananas, ladies and gents!
loves lentils. LOVES. LIke, her favorite thing.
also? Loves pasta. But then, she IS my daughter, so…duh.
still hates eggs.
loves all kinds of soup…the heartier the better…split pea, butternut squash, lentil…she’s definitely got the savory palate going.
that said, it would appear she’s like her father and loves chocolate.
word count: mama, daddy, Baboo and Poppy (my parents), Nana and Papa (Jonny’s parents), baby, books, hi, bye, Georgia, Jessa, up, apple, pear, banana (kinda sounds like ‘nana), water (wawa), pasta (my favorite), no (her favorite), and this really cute version of “I love you” that’s more imitative of our tone and sounds than expressive of the actual words.
Seriously, her favorite word is no. No all the time. No no no. Nooooooo! Sometimes it sounds like she has a cold and it’s “Dooooooooooo!” Sometimes she nods yes while saying no. It’s at those times I think of The Princess Bride and say to her, “I don’t think it means what you think it means…”
one of my favorite things that she does is, while she’s in her high chair, she will always put her feet on my knees. She just likes to be touching, I guess. She’s generally very affectionate and loving. It’s heart-warming.
Her sleeping is better, but still fairly unpredictable. We’ve gotten used to it, I guess; we know that pretty much every couple of weeks she’ll have a bout of waking up for three hours a night, and then she’ll stop doing that but her naps will get screwed up, then her naps will resume and everything will be good for the next week or two until the cycle starts again. So I guess it is predictable, kind of. Whatever, I’m tired.
She is still just a lovely, lovely, mellow, sweet, hilarious, lovely baby.
I’m still nursing her, which is just crazy to me. Not because it’s crazy to be doing it, but because I can’t believe I made it to a year at all, let alone beyond. I feel like when you exercise and you reach that point where you’re no longer counting the minutes til your workout is over and you’re kinda like, huh. I feel good. I can keep going for a while. I mean, I wanna stop soon and I’m working on that, but right now…it’s easier still. And any response to stopping has been met with some resistance from a certain no-monster who really likes her quiet time at the boob. And truthfully, I still like it too. It’s 3 times a day of 20 or so minutes of just quiet, peaceful time. So…I’ll be done when I’m done and she’s done, I guess. I don’t want to be done just because I’d like to be. There’s someone else involved here.
Generally, her mind is just amazing and watching her learn and realize things is really cool. Little things like how she isn’t fooled by the decoy remote control anymore. She gets that the point of the remote is for it to make stuff happen. She looks at the decoy when I hand it to her and is like, psssssssshhhh, mom. Really? And she has preferences! One of her toys plays this funny little song that, apparently, she only likes the first 15 seconds of. So she’ll press the button to start the song, dance for the 15 seconds, and press the button again to start it over once it gets to the part she doesn’t like.
And dancing! The dancing. All the time dancing. I just….it’s just…sigh.
There are seriously so many things to share about her. So many little details. But to sum it up….she’s just the best. The best best best.
You know…this was gonna be a dual Georgia/Saddle update post, but I think we’ll just leave it at this.
The original New York real world is on MTV (hash tag retroMTV. Omg my life is now retro) and its so amazing to watch now, 21 years later. The familiarity and the feel of it. It’s making me so happy.
But they’re simultaneously showing previews for the latest installment of the real world. And here’s the scene where Julie is bringing the cameras’ attention to the homeless problem in the city, and there’s a little side box with previews of the new one and in every cut in these previews, there are half naked people making out. This is not a new thought, but it’s insane that the show really has gone in this direction. It’s just dumb.
I’m nostalgic for the days of smoking in bars, no cell phones, and people were just being normal attention whores on tv, as opposed to the super-sexed, super-drunk, super-ultra-ridiculous attention whores we get now.
T and I went out for a three-hour dinner tonight. It was awesome.
Something that struck me funny later on was thinking about the people at the tables on either side of us. The tables turned over a few times, so in the span of our meal, we had the full spectrum of Friday night diners. From the beginning of our meal at 6:45 to the end at 9:45, there was (in order):
parents with two young boys, finishing up and paying quickly as we were sitting down and ordering our food.
another pair of friends around our age.
a foursome of late 30-something to early 40-something couples.
a young couple on a date.
And we outlasted them all. Sometimes, you just need your friends.
It’s a Jewish thing that when you get your period for the first time, someone is supposed to slap you. My sister took that honor, quite happily, when I got mine at 13.
As I mentioned in my boobs post, I was excited to get to know my lovely menstrual cycle again, not realizing that after not having a period for almost two years, it would be kinda bad when it returned.
Did I say bad? I meant mad. MAD. My body is mad at me. It sucks.
I suddenly feel like I’m 13 again. Someone slap me.
burn these god-forsaken, uniboob-creating, might-as-well-be-sports-bras, hideous nursing bras.
buy some really pretty new bras!
give Jonny a Daddy/Georgia day and go out…and stay out…ALL DAY and not worry about pumping or feeding or ANYTHING.
re: #3, start doing things that I was hesitant to do because of feeding/pumping/engorgement responsibilities and issues, like record some music; spend a day visiting city friends; go to a spa; what have you…
get to know my actual menstrual cycle again…I have not had my li’l friend in almost two years. TWO YEARS!! It’s actually been nice, but it’d also be nice to know when things are actually happening, reproductively.
go back on my old skin regiment asap. I haven’t had clear skin in almost two years. TWO YEARS!! It has NOT been nice and my vanity has suffered greatly. Me and retinoids will be like peas and carrots again.
hide my breast pump far far away in the depths of my closet and relish the fact that I will no longer have to utter the phrase “ugh, I have to pump” at 10 o’clock at night.
I will also:
miss my pre-breastfeeding boobs.
miss being able to eat tons of food and kind of not feel bad about it because I then burn 800 or whatever calories by sitting on my ass watching ReHos with a kid on my bosom.
miss being able to soothe my baby instantly.
miss being able to treat cuts and scrapes and rashes and stuff with my all-powerful breastmilk (it is true that it cures everything!).
miss the actual bonding that I felt with her…all jokes aside, it has been nice, these last almost 11 months (one month to go!), sharing this experience with her. I’m proud of us for making it through, even through the most difficult times with it. And I’ll miss the closeness we get from it. I know I’ll find it in other areas, but this one was all mine. And it has been really special.
no longer likes bananas; like her mama, hates melons
still hates eggs.
favorite books: anything with Curious George
favorite song: You’ve Got a Friend
a seriously keener mind…I can’t articulate the difference, but it’s there. She’s like, a person. She understands and responds and is so so with it. It’s incredibly fun.
she’s amazingly…how do I describe this…considerate? in her actions. I don’t mean that she’s considerate of other people because she has not learned that trait yet; she’s still all id. It’s that she is very aware of the world around her and thinks about things before she does them. It’s amazing watching her play on her mat with her toys. When she pulls herself up and then wants to get back down, she’s so cautious and graceful in the process. I mean, there are times when she completely wipes out and thuds on the floor. But for the most part, her movements are really kind of beautiful.
the above said, I know she’s ready for a nap when she starts bumbling around like a 20-something-pound drunk person. It’s hilarious.
she is, without a doubt, the most good-natured baby during the day. Everyone notes how smiley and happy she is.
she is, without a doubt, the worst fucking sleeper ever. EVER. No consistency. None. It. Is. So. Frustrating. It is, essentially, her only real downfall.
That all said, we’re pretty lucky. I mean, really. The pessimist in me, though, is very wary of all of this. I think we’ll be paying for this fabulous behavior come puberty. We’ll see though. We will see…
so much to say so much to say so much to say so much to say
But alas, it’s 11:24 and my short amount of relaxation time after baby, grocery shopping, dinner, laundry and dishes was spent watching some mindless and enjoyable tv (ReHoBeHo…my name for Real Housewives of Beverly Hills…and Friday’s episode of Portlandia, respectively), and I need to go to bed. It’s already too late to be up, but I enjoy this portion of my day so much, it’s hard to see it end.
Anyway, I’ve not written in forever. I’m behind on my Georgia Reports (it’s like, part of my job as mom, I think). There’s just life happening and while it’s good not to document every little thing, putting it on this blog is a nice way to freeze frame it all. From this perspective. In the moment after the moment, if that makes sense.
This is all to say, I want to be writing more. I’m not even sure I have an audience, but that doesn’t matter so much as me getting it down. For you. For me. For Georgia to read one day. Who knows. It just feels good to capture it sometimes.
Sigh, if only there was more time. I suppose I could just write and not worry about the writing…not every post has to be epic (as evidenced by my last few, I think). I mean, look, here I am wasting time writing about how I want to be writing more.
It’s 11:30. I should go to sleep.
Suffice it to say, here are a few tidbits of what’s going on, both important and stupid:
G will be 10 months on Thursday. It’s true what they say; the days are long but the weeks/months/years are short. Sometimes I can’t believe I even have a baby. A baby that is quickly turning into a toddler. Who will quickly turn into a kid. But I am jumping ahead… But seriously, I have to start planning her first birthday soon!! What?! (This will also serve as my reminder to discuss how having a child has made me infinitely more responsible.) (Note: I said more responsible, not responsible.)
After only about, what, 2 months? of having bangs (as referenced in my last post), I’m over them. I think I just want a “look”. I’m not all that impressed with my appearance these days, but that’s a whole other thing I won’t get into now.
Our house is great and I’m working on making it better. I will post pictures…eventually.
The suburbs are nice, but I do miss the city a ton. Trying to reconcile that in my head.
In the last few months, we’ve gotten through two colds (working on the third at the moment), one tooth (working on the second at the moment) and hellish sleep training. We. Are. Tired.
We (jonny and I) are still trying to find our respective selves amidst this total shift in our constantly-in-limbo state that we hovered in basically for the whole of our relationship. We’re settled. We’re homeowners. We’re parents. We’re full-on adults. Figuring out how to let our crazy selves back in takes some adjusting. But we’re getting it. We will get it.
I. Am. Tired.
It’s now 11:39. Sleep is beckoning. I bid you all adieu for now….hopefully to resume sooner than this last time.
I’ll be back in bed tonight, but for now, I’m sitting on the couch with Jessa snuggled up next to me. It is so quiet. It is easy to get lost in thought.
Sometimes I find it so hard to battle the bevy of irrational fears that run around my head on a daily basis. Those times usually center around times of crisis. Since becoming a parent, they’re that much more pronounced. And certain times, when I’m deep in it, things just seem so hopeless. Everything seems doomed. Everything seems destined to turn sour. Everything is cause for fear or despair or terror.
I don’t want to make this a post about the events of Friday because everyone talks and no one really knows anything about what happened or why it happened or who is to blame. It’s not solely guns and it’s not solely mental illness. It’s not only evil and it’s not only neglect. It could be all of those things. It is not up to us to decide. Things need to be better and it’s hard to say how that can happen. Or if it would even really work to prevent something like Friday happening.
All we can do is try, I suppose. Try to get past the irrational. Try to stop searching for explanations. Try to connect more. Try to understand more. Try to foresee the cause and effect of certain things. Try to believe in the good. Try to be thankful for all the good.
That’s where I’m at right now. I don’t want to think about all that can go wrong. I want to look at my little girl and revel in her wonder and her discovery of the world around her. I want to try to teach her how to wade through it, now as a little baby and in the future as a person who understands. It’s a crazy and heartbreaking world. All I can do is prepare myself and help her. And hope that it all turns out okay.
It kind of seemed to work. We think? I mean, we’ll see what happens tonight, but she didn’t do too badly last night.
The last time we really tried crying it out was a few months ago and it did. not. go. well. At the risk of angering any anti-crying-it-out people, I’ll tell you that she cried for two and a half hours before I, hysterical, gave in and nursed her. Even our doctor agreed she just wasn’t ready. I figured at the time that for whatever reason, she needed the extra feeding(s) at night and that for a little while I was going to have to suck it up. Especially since it really only took 20 minutes…baby girl would nurse quickly and go right back to sleep.
Now? Now it’s a different ball game. Now when I go in there in the ungodly hours of night/morning, she’s like, oh heeeeeeeeeeey mama! Wanna play? She giggles, she twirls my hair, and she babbles when I put her back in her crib. No, no, no, little girl. This ain’t play time. This is functional or it’s not happening anymore.
So here we are today. She woke up twice last night and each time cried for a little less than an hour and went back to sleep. Woke up this morning happy and calm, nursed like a champ first thing, and ended up having a great day.
Not bad. Not bad at all. Again, we’ll see what happens tonight. Might be a totally different story, but here’s hoping that somewhere in her head, she was thinking, okay…I get it. I can do this.
I’m on the couch downstairs. We’re crying it out for real.
I haven’t gotten an uninterrupted night’s sleep in nine months. I’m so freaking tired and irritable and stretched so thin.
And yet, Jonny had to force me to tear myself away from our bedroom and the monitor and hearing my child cry. Maybe I’m not ready to give up these night feedings. Maybe, even though I’m soooooooooo done, I’m not emotionally done. Who knows?
I honestly don’t know anything right now, I’m so bleary eyed.
It’s nice though…I really can’t hear much in the way of Georgia right now. Perhaps sleep will actually happen. Perhaps.
Actually this has turned more into a self-deprecation mommy blog, as I take to Tumblr like I took to my journal in college…minus the classes and alcohol. I write when sad or troubled or needing to sort through something. You guys are getting a glimpse of the many things that go around my head. There is a lot of good going around in there too. But you know….when things are good, why stop to write and ruminate, right?
Thanks for being my therapists, y’all.
Here’s something good:
Tonight while feeding G, she finished eating and we spent a few minutes just rocking in the chair, in the glow of the nightlight. And she was just making soft sounds and looking up at me with her big eyes. She then put her little hand on my chest and snuggled up to me. And then she gave me the happiest grin. It was wide and her eyes were smiling and she just looked so adorable and content. It was truly a moment.
And back to our regularly scheduled programming. I mean, this is MY blog, right?
Each day passes and I feel further away from any person that I knew. Any opportunity to still be that person. Any opportunity to BE….anything. Anything other than a mom. I know I’m being dramatic. I just get the distinct sense that this is how people settle into their lives. This is how our moms were made. Did everyone have big dreams? Did they give them up? Did they not work hard enough?
I had big dreams. I pretty much gave them up. I definitely did not work hard enough.
This plagues me. I feel like one of those people with wasted potential. I never did anything with mine. And is it too late? Or am I having special snowflake syndrome here? Why do I feel stunted? Why do I feel like my life is not enough? And why, even though all evidence points to the contrary, do I feel like this is final? This is it. For good. Never to be changed or not even just changed, never to be different again.
I miss the city. I miss the excitement of it. I miss diversity. I miss the energy. I’m scared of the suburbs sometimes. It’s so quiet. Like, really really quiet.
I don’t know what I want, honestly. I guess I want to feel proud of myself, and, yes I’ll admit, for others to feel proud of me. It’ll be easier to be proud of my mothering in several years when I can see what kind of kid G is. Right now I kind of believe you get what kind of baby you get. I’m fairly lucky that I have a sweet-natured baby (minus the sleeping annoyances). Yes, I’m keeping her fed and healthy and happy, but really, the proof will be in the five year old/ten year old/twenty year old pudding. And that makes it hard to be really proud of it, cuz I feel like I don’t have much to do with her being awesome. She just is. So. What am I doing, really?
I”m hoping something will come to light sometime soon. Perhaps an appointment with my actual therapist might do me some good. I’ve got some things to sort out, some work to do.
Sometimes, when I’m at my most frustrated, I get irrationally angry when she cries super hard. Like, when she wakes up from a nap after sleeping for only 40 minutes and I’ve barely gotten anything on the looooong list of things to be done, and she’s screaming in her crib? I’m like, REALLY? REAAAALLY? Are things SO BAD for you?? Your life is SOOO HAAAARD!!!!
I think these things like she can help it. She’s a freaking baby. That’s what babies do.
We returned from our Thanksgiving trip to New York to discover that we really should have just lowered our heat as opposed to turning it off. It was 48 degrees in here. (File under: Boy are we stupid.)
Georgia was seen by the doctor and diagnosed with conjunctivitis.
Jessa was seen by the vet and diagnosed with conjunctivitis. (No, seriously.)
It being too cold to be in the house, we drove around for an hour and a half so that an exhausted Georgia could take a nap.
The house was taking a hella-long time to warm up. (Yes, I said hella. It was necessary.)
The “replace battery” sign came on our thermostat, and the heat shut itself off for a harrowing 7 minutes while I frantically found batteries and replaced them.
The furnace resumed and chugged along and we’re finally to a semi-comfortable, albeit red- and runny-nosed level.
Georgia was put to bed in a fleece footy, a fleece sleep sack and a hat. She actually did not seem to mind.
Jonny and I, faced with a mess of a house, are exhausted.
I don't think anyone believes you're a terrible mom. And if they do, they're idiots! I read all of that, and I still believe you can have whatever you want out of life. You don't have to spend your time commiserating with other moms who may have never had as much ambition or talent as you. Stay positive, you'll find your way again in due time.
Ha…thank you! I was just being facetious. Someone always unfollows me when I do a particularly whiny post. It’s all good. I don’t actually think people think I’m a bad mom.
And thank you for your sweet words. I want to point out, though, that I don’t view these other moms badly. The women I’ve met here are lovely and cool. It’s not a judgment on them. It’s just…the life. Some women love it and thrive off of it. Other women thrive off of working. I’m somewhere in between, I guess. I don’t know where I fit in. And I think that’s the crux of it. I will find my way, though. You are right about that. It just may take a bit…
It’s easier to not write or write something dumb or inane, or write something about Georgia. Because then I don’t have to think. And word properly. And face what I feel sometimes.
I’m on and off sad these days.
I’m loving the details of my life, but not the big picture. Does that make sense?
Let me explain.
I love my husband. I love his caring and his intelligence and his ability to make me feel calm and better. I love 6pm when he walks through the door and the weekends when he is around. Not because I need the help/break from Georgia-care (though it is nice to get a break), but it’s just nice to have him there. To revel in our partnership. I truly am sad on Monday mornings when he leaves for work.
I love my child. I love spending time with her. I love her quirks. I love her smell. I love snuggling her and giving her endless kisses. I have fun with her. Even in my most frustrated moments, she somehow finds a way to make me smile. She’s a funny little one. She’s sweet, too. Amazing combination.
I love my dog. Even when she rolls in a giant mound of shit twice in the span of 36 hours, both times requiring an emergency bath wherein I almost vomit from the smell, she is without a doubt the best dog in the entire world.
I love my house (minus a few changeable-in-a-few-years things). I love that it’s ours. I love its weird layout. I love its light. I absolutely love Georgia’s room.
I love my life. Its day to day little moments. The nitty gritty. I love it. And it’s good that I love the nitty gritty. I think that’s what you’re supposed to love.
It’s the big picture. The sitting in moms groups with tons of kids running around screaming and moms, exhausted, drinking wine and talking about what they’ll make for dinner. The walking around the mall seeing other mothers pushing their strollers and watching their kids in the playground. In the mall. Next to a Starbucks kiosk. The nagging feeling that…..is this my life?
The feeling tugs at me a lot. The feeling of wasted potential. The joke that I’m doing exactly everything I said I’d never ever do. The feeling that I was supposed to be more. But what, exactly? Staying at home is not what defines me. It’s not “it.” It will not be this way forever. And actually, staying home is a noble thing as well. As Jonny wisely put it, I’m taking time off to raise my daughter. There is nothing wrong with that. It’s actually quite great.
But staying home is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I feel and know I am extremely lucky to be able to stay home to raise Georgia. On the other, I can never get a good read from other people about it. From the other stay-at-homers, it’s a form of acceptance. From working moms, it’s sometimes a raised eyebrow, like “how are you able to swing that?” From working non-moms, it’s sometimes a copout. And the truth is is that all these reactions are probably just my projected feelings about it all.
I guess maybe the problem is it reminds me of what I didn’t do. What I wasn’t cut out for. What I wasted time on. Precious, young, free time.
And youth! My god, youth! I’ve never felt so old. I see, for the first time, truly see my age on my face. I hold my daughter and see our reflection in the mirror and see this beautiful, cherubic face with perfect, bright skin and rosy cheeks and then I see my tired, crinkly eyes and sleep-deprived skin and I see it. I see that I have reached the point where I need to fight to look good. I need sleep. I need water. I need makeup. I need to take better care of myself. Both for my vanity and my health.
And I know, I’m only 34 and that’s not necessarily old. Buuuuuuut….yeah, it’s getting there. The physicality of me looking it reminds me that I’m so IN my life right now. I’m no longer waiting for it to happen. It’s happening. And when I don’t think about big picture, I’m fine.
If you HAVE a baby, you won't BE the baby anymore...
Where are Overboard gifs when you need them?
While I was pregnant, I wondered what it would be like if I got sick while being a mom. I imagined it would be totally sucky, as no matter how bad you feel, you still have to take care of a small being. In short, it doesn’t matter how bad you feel. You are needed. You can’t take off. You have a job to do. And I was like, well doesn’t that just suck?
And now that I am living it? I can say, yes. Yes it does suck. Indeed it sucks a lot.
I’m overreacting of course — this is just a bad cold/throat thing, but I tell ya…what I wouldn’t give to crawl into bed right now and sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep (that’s sleep with a lot of e’s in there. Cuz I need them desperately.). I want to be taken care of. I want to be the baby! Alas, I am not and will never be again, so….oh well.
Also, I feel bad for G, who’s now subjected to a lot of silence broken up by me coughing or blowing my nose. There is no fun today. Maybe some ridiculous faces to make her laugh, but otherwise, not a whole lot going on over here.
Just spoke to T, though, and she’s also a little sick, so she’s going to brave my germs and come over to cheer me up. What a friend. Fun will prevail after all!