Bodies

I like this guy in general, but then I read this blog entry and it annoyed me beyond belief. I think he is way off. He (a man, but an Oprah-therapist-lifecoach kind of man) suggests we (women) blame men (in general) for our self-image problems. Initially I had my weak moments of worrying about what pregnancy was doing (stretchmarks) and then not liking what pregnancy did to my body (mostly the residual belly bump), but I can tell you men have nothing to do with it. I think women are their own worst enemies when it comes to creating unrealistic expectations for their bodies (and other women’s bodies, for that matter). I think men will take what you give them, and they aren’t that picky. The trick is that you deliver it with plenty of belief in your own worthiness. Men are (generally-forgive me for generalizing, but this is MY experience talking here) attracted to women who have good self-esteem, are doing something they believe in and have interesting insights for conversation, and believe they are worth people’s time. They will look past thick thighs, small breasts, or a belly pooch (any of these things are turn ons for many men) if you carry yourself like a confident, competant WOMAN. And they will exclaim your hotness from the mountaintops. This is how a strong “fluffy” woman can be a super-hottie and how an ironic heroin-chic waif can be a complete turnoff. Self-deprication/fishing for compliments, even from attractive women, seems to scream “use me!”. I think men are more likely to fixate on a woman’s imperfections if she does. It annoys me when people like this blogger gives grown women an out to blame men because they hate themselves. They hate themselves because they buy into someone else’s propaganda, and usually that propoganda is brought to us by other women. Generally, buying into that is a woman’s choice…but I dare say it starts when girls are young, and that is where the rub is.

There is a woman I know professionally that is obssessed with her body. Every time she sees me (and it's often) she looks me up and down and will disingenuously say “oh, you’re looking skinny today” followed by “Ugh, I am so bloated-I have gained 5 pounds in the past week”. This woman has a child, and I worry about how this constant fixation with appearances affects her 14 year old daughter. This is how we pass the torch of poor self-esteem. I have heard her telling her daughter what to eat, and I know she pushes her to try to keep up with her exhausting exercise routine. This woman is almost 50 and looks stunning (I would love to be so fit at my age!), but I have to tell you, the price of that isn’t worth it to me. I like my chocolate, my french fries, and my wine too much. Life’s too short to not enjoy the things that blow your hair back (within reason, of course), at least in moderation. And I’m not saying people shouldn’t exercise, but it should be for the express purpose of general well-being.

I weigh the same, if not a few pounds less, as I did before I was pregnant with Addie. Things have just shifted around. Although the stretchmarks are pretty non-existent now, I wince at this post of mine now that I have come to love this new body I move around in. The extra room in the front is the place where I grew babies in my body, and is a temple for which I now have absolute reverence. My now less-than-firm breasts have fed two children, for quite some time providing all of their nutrition, for going on three years of my life. For me to drone on about wanting to change anything that reminds me of the physical experiences molding what a woman I have become-completely 100% WOMAN-is a disservice and is lacks respect for what I have done in the life-giving department. That is like unicorn magic, ladies-WE HAVE GIVEN LIFE TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. Holy Jesus-that is amazing, right?!? Things don’t look the way they did before, but I don’t want them to. I am a mother. What’s more, my husband thinks I’m sexy, belly pooch, less-firm-breasts, and all.

Sean is not to blame for my moments in the beginning when I wondered if I could get use to the new shape of my body. In fact, he has zero patience for that self-indulgent drivel. Any comments he has ever made followed one of mine. If I said something about my pooch back then, he’d simply say “well, if you don’t like it, work on it”. But not once did he ever make me question whether or not I was still what he considers his “pretty wife”. It was, and is, up to me to accept and love the changes pregnancy and birth have brought to me.

Pumpkins and Imaginary Alligators

Bustly little world we're in these days. Addie has so many words, and it's nice how she can express herself more and more every day. For example, when she sees her high chair, she says a blessing, even if it isn't exactly dinner time yet (Gah Gay, Gah Goo, Amma-or God is Great, God is Good, Amen). She always asks for a cookie before dinner, which sounds like "cooo-keee" and during which her little petal lips make a little O that is quite contrived. She says mermaid in the bathtub when she wants to play with Gillian's polly pockets ("mah-may"). When she's thirsty, she asks for water ("ow-wo"), or to nurse ("boop-tee"). I love to finally hear her little voice say "babeee", and lately calling "Maaaaaaaama! Mom! Mommy!" as she runs down the hall looking for me. When she hands you something she says "hee-goe" for Here You Go, and says "Thank you" when you hand her something. But. The down side with Addie's M.O. is how much climbing she does. Almost like she goes from one thing you don't want her to do to the next. We call her Monkey, and for very good reason. She is our rough and tumble girl. She falls and hits her head regularly trying to get someplace she shouldn't be, and is forever eating God-knows-what. My mantra is "IMMUNE SYSTEM".

Gillian continues to be Gillian. Today we spent an hour playing with invisible alligators at the playground. First we were running from structure to structure trying to avoid being eated by the alligators (which, Gillian told me "even live in I-RRR-LAN") only to discover that they were just sad because they missed their mama and papa, and were crying. They didn't really want to hurt anyone, and she decided that they wanted to live with us. So, she tenderly removed a thorn from one's foot, and then she carried him gently to our ship to take care of him. Changed his diaper, gave him a bottle to make him warm and cozy.

Then, we carved our pumpkins, and Gillian carved her very own with the tiny carving tools. I didn't even start it for her. During this process, Gillian told me "this is the best day of my life". It must have been the munchkins on the way to the best playground around here. Or maybe it was having Mama to herself on the playground since other people could play with Addie, and going higher spidering on the swing than we ever had. Or maybe it was the imaginary alligators whose lives were made better because we took the time to love them. But the topper was being able to use grownup tools to carve her little pumpkins. That put this day forever into another plane of amazingness.

Gillian's PumpkinsAll of the pumpkins

Gillian-working hard
Mama and Ernie the Pumpkin

Love and Pain

Addie is a huge fan of cause and effect these days, particularly when it involves other people. She likes to do something awful, and then make it all better with a kiss or hug. Like, when we were on our apple picking trip, it didn't take long for her to start loving on the baby, Will. But then the love didn't solicit an "awww!" or "thank you" because, you know, Will is 7 months old, so Addie would then start poking him in the face, saying "EYE! EYE! EYE!" or in his ear yelling "EAR! EAR! EAR!". When she made him cry, well then, she felt she had done her job, and gave him a hug and kiss (which did nothing to assuage his suffering). Amanda made the mistake of leaving them along for 5 seconds while she went to get Will a bottle (while I was running to town to get dinner) and Addie literally scratched him so bad in the face that it was covered in blood. For the rest of the trip, it looked like he had been mauled by a bear in one of the orchards (insert mound of guilt).

So, Addie will bite you and kiss you. Or slap your face and hug you and kiss you, or scratch you and give a little kiss when you squeal in pain. She justifies meanness with a little "kiss the boo boo and it's all better" action. Sometimes she tries to tickle you after the kiss and hug (there is seriously NOTHING as precious as a 15 month old trying to tickle you!). Clearly, this phase is all about reactions to her actions. And my GOD she doesn't like to sit still. My milk supply is on the fade because she literally can't be bothered to sit still long enough to nurse (except in the mornings). I'm down to about 6 ounces a day now if I pump both times. So, I'm thinking we will officially be done soon. She's finally happy with cow milk, so we're done with formula too.

And, regarding last post (which I will not apologize for or have any shame for posting, because that's exactly how I was feeling right at that moment), it's truly remarkable how none of the business bothers me when I get enough sleep. It's the sleep deprivation that makes it overwhelming. I had the opportunity to get 11 hours of sleep last Sunday night (the marathon was hell on 4 hours of sleep), 8 hours Tuesday night, and 7 on Mon and Wed nights. Yesterday, in spite of yet another in a challenging string of bedtimes, I was pretty chill about the hour it took to get everyone to sleep. We are entering a "let G fall asleep in our bed, so A can fall asleep in her crib, then move G to their bedroom while asleep" phase since Addie is all wired and keeps Gillian awake. Like all other challenging phases, this too shall pass...

Overwhelmed

I feel like I am chasing my tail and that I don’t ever get anything accomplished…or when I take something off my plate, something bigger and greasier gets piled on top. I feel like I need to do a better job balancing my responsibilities of being a mom and a wife and an employee, or I might spontaneously combust. M said it best, “I feel like I am doing a lot, just nothing particularly well”. Yes, exactly. A said she felt like the “you can do it all; you can be a perfect wife, and mother, and career professional” mantra for our generation was a big fat lie, and she is angry that she was fed this load of B.S. from the minute she was born. She feels like the feminist movement (which she considers herself partial to) is responsible for that warped image, and she’s resentful. We talked about the fact that while we never would want to be reliant on our husbands and appreciate the opportunities we have in the workplace and with education, there was something luxuriously simple and secure about the distinct roles family members had before women joined the workforce. Women had a job-run the household, raise the children. Men-bring home the bacon. Straightforward. For the record, M and A are both full time working Mamas with two kids (each has a baby and a toddler). Let’s face it, mothers are in greater demand from everyone, all.the.time. When Sean walked in from work last week and I was trying to finish dinner, pot in hand with Addie whining and clinging to my leg because she wants to be held every waking second right now (only by me though) and Gillian was throwing a fit on the floor, I thought to myself “now THIS picture is so representative of a working mother’s reality that it’s worthy of a modern day Rockwell Painting”. And I would title it “Domestic Bliss” or “Is this what we really wanted?”

So, I’m forever deprived of sleep. I get up every night lately with Addie at least twice. I get up for the day before 5 am, pump, make my latte and go to work. I commute 45 minutes. I work 10 hours, and commute 45 more minutes. I get home, sit for 15 minutes with the girls, then go in the kitchen and make dinner. Addie pulls everything out of the cabinets (mental note: need child-proof thingies for the cabinets) and Gillian whines for TV or for me to play with her (“in a little while” is my usual response). Addie clings to my legs and wants love and attention. I walk around stiffed legged finishing dinner and put away everything from the cabinets she has pulled out. I ask Gillian to set the table. I serve dinner. Sean comes home. I sit down for the prayer, then get up to finish making my own plate (I do mine last). After dinner I bathe the children (Amber does this if we are on our own and Sean can’t clean the kitchen). I dry them, slather them both with lotion, and put on their pajamas. I straighten up their room, put in a load of laundry, feed the fish, and clean up the living room while they play a few minutes before bed. I make a bottle for Addie and a cup of cold water for Gillian. We read books. We brush teeth. We snuggle. I tuck them in. It’s somewhere between 8:15 and 8:30 by this time, in spite of my effort to get them in bed earlier every single day. Then I go in the kitchen and make Gillian’s lunch for the next day, make my expresso shot for my morning latte, wash the bottles from the day, and get my own food made for lunch. Now it’s 9:15. Time to pump (ahh…I can sit down for 15 minutes), then to wash the pump parts and make bottle for the next waking. If I take a few more minutes to talk to anyone or if I get a phone call, it’s 10:30 or 11 pm in a blink. I still have to wake up at 4:45 am no matter when I go to bed…and Addie is waking up twice a night. So, you get the picture. I am not attentive enough to my children because I am too busy keeping the house together. I don’t have enough time with my husband because of the time it takes to care for the children. I am exhausted from all of it and not on top of my game at work. See-Not doing anything particularly well. Survival mode, really. This is why I have to literally schedule calls with my friends out of town to catch up.

I don’t think I ever felt quite this bad when it was just Gillian. Somehow with Addie, and adding Amber to this mix (my 18 year old niece who now lives with us) life has gotten beyond complicated. Amber is a gigantic help, so I don’t think anything but good things about her being here, but logistics are complicated. All this past weekend, I feel like I was cleaning, or cooking, or organizing, or grocery shopping, and helping Amber with homework after the kids were in bed until I passed out into a deep, black sleep. I don’t feel like I did much of anything valuable with the girls, which is heartbreaking. Gillian threw one of her biggest tantrums ever last night because she didn’t want to go to bed. I did not sit down yesterday even once to relax…when I finally got her (and Addie) calmed down she, hyperventilating, said “I…just..want…to have…a..date…with…you. Without Papa or Amber or Addie”. Needless to say, when Sean got home, I cried and cried and cried. Because it is HARD. I feel like I neglect everyone, especially myself. How can I cultivate a rich garden when I can’t even begin to verbalize my needs, much less meet them? What piece of this pie is mine? When can I carve out an hour just to do something I want to do (that is not for one of the children or for the household)? My two hour nap time on Wednesday is spent cooking for the kids or taking care of medical bills or blogging or uploading pictures to share. Even the amazing walk I took with my girlfriend last Wednesday (theorectically for me) made me feel guilty because I wasn’t interacting directly with Addie (though we did stop off at the playground). And now Gillian’s school expects parents to contribute time to the classroom (10 hours a year, but still). In my free time, I guess.

I am committed to changing this, I just have to figure out how. Sean has offered to go to the grocery store. That’s a good start. I am all ears if anyone has advice on how to manage a household when you cut out 50 hours a week from between the hours of 5 am and 5:30 pm on weekdays. It feels like this became overwhelming about a month and a half ago when Addie stopped sleeping through the night again, which coincided with Amber moving in and the kids starting to share a bedroom. So, just in case you thought I had it all, effortlessly, this is my not-so-secret secret. And I think many of us feel this way. Three full time jobs is too many, particularly when they are so emotionally demanding. And I do believe that motherhood, being a wife, and having a paying full time job are each equally demanding JOBS. At the end of the day, I think we all feel like we are the only ones struggling to keep our heads above water because everyone else seems to have it together. I think it’s more common than we realize. I realize in myself, it’s time to stop being a martyr and start letting the house be a mess if that means playing with Gillian while Addie naps, just us two. Or to let Sean do the grocery shopping, even if it means not all the coupons get used and he forgets to get the ORGANIC strawberries. Or to leave the kids at home and go get a pedicure because I deserve an hour to myself. Or asking for help and not expecting other people to intuit what I need for them to do to lessen my load. Otherwise I’ll blink and my precious babies will be grown and everything getting done around the house won’t matter at all, because I won’t get these moments back.