I’ve been trying to write this entry for over a month now, and although I can pull the mommy card and say that I’ve been busy, I don’t think that’s really the reason.  I’ve been avoiding writing my “Year In Review” because I’m not sure how I feel.  Barb and I had a great year last year, spending much more time with each other that we would have if I wouldn’t have had a baby.  But I’m starting to feel the cloud of hesitancy even more than before, and it starts to wear on me.  Over the course of the year it didn’t seem like there was much that was changing about our friendship, but looking back on it now, I guess much more has changed than I realized.

After reading Barb’s Year In Review, it seems as if last year was, well, last year.  There were some good times and fun had and work done, and she seems amazed that she still likes to hang around me, even though I had to go mess things up and have a kid.

The year started with lots of fun times exploring areas of LA that we had never visited or it had been a long time.  Matteo was just an accessory at that point, taking up space, but not affecting the schedule.  As long as he was with me (i.e. the milk machine) he was happy.  But then I went back to work and the honeymoon was over.  I continued to be dragged down by the day-to-day of trying to keep all the balls in the air.  I had no time for myself and even less for my friends.  I kept in touch via email and Barb and I still got together, but I was less and less engaged because I was more and more exhausted.  I sensed that Barb was waiting for the end, when she would ride off into the sunset and find other friends that were more available, more energetic and didn’t have the baggage of little ones.  And I guess a part of me still feels that way, that Barb is just hanging out, biding time until she decides to cut me loose.

The last few times Barb and I have gotten together her favorite saying is “I can’t believe you do this every day.”  Matteo is walking now and exercising his will, which means he’s more of an “issue” in Barb’s eyes.  He interrupts our creative endeavors and distracts me from my time with Barb.  For the first time ever, after this week’s visit, I can honestly say I’m starting to see what Barb has been talking about.  I am seeing why she might cut and run.  And although I would be sad to see it happen, if I put myself in Barb’s shoes, I have to say I understand.  Our lifestyles couldn’t be more different, and although we have a great time together and enjoy each other’s company, I think the difference in lifestyle might ultimately win.

My friendship with Barb has changed because I have changed.  And although it seems as if Barb is just waiting for the other shoe to drop, I love her anyway.  Her passion for doing her own thing has been an inspiration, and regardless of how sparse our friendship becomes (or not), she will always be a part of who I am.

As I’ve said before, I feel like having a child has been an experience that ultimately has given me my own life back.  I didn’t feel like a blossoming flower when I was pregnant, I felt like a fat, bloated cow.  I’m not the woman who does everything and likes the control (or image thereof) that comes along with it.  I don’t want to go back to the corporate world in the same capacity and keep spinning my wheels in the rat race of capitalism.

I know I want Barb to be on my top five list of coolest people to hang out with when I have the time, but I’m not sure how long she’ll last.  I don’t blame her, because I know where she’s coming from (after all, I spent 35 years NOT having children).  I hope she can see the value that Matteo adds to our friendship, not just from being himself, but from what he gives me.  I hope she can leave her hesitancy at the door and open her mind and heart to the possibility of having a FWK on her list.  I hope she can go there, but if she can’t, then I understand.

A New Year, A New Life

My last blog entry was last year, and although it has only been a few weeks, it feels like a lifetime ago.  I spoke of lemons and lemonade, and was leaving the country to spend my holidays in Brazil.  I am home now, and I feel like a new person.  I am rested, relaxed, and invigorated.  I am also unemployed, a stay-at-home mom and we have a new President.  This is a historical time for me, my family and the world at large.  For the first time in a long time, I am not just living, I am happy to be alive.

Let’s start at the beginning, with my box of lemons.  My last day of work was December 12th, and the only way I can explain it is describing it as being in a crappy relationship.  It’s not SO crappy that you’re miserable enough to leave, but it’s not good enough to make you want to stick around.  Then one day he comes home from work and tells you HE’s unhappy and HE doesn’t want to do this anymore.  HEY, that was MY line!  I was shocked, I was upset, I was furious.  I was also relieved, excited, and for the first time in a long time, I was HAPPY.

Then I left for Brazil to visit my in-laws.  It was three weeks of rest and relaxation (although it was hot, humid and we had no air conditioning and limited amounts of ice) and time with my husband and son.  It was boring, crowded, and sometimes downright annoying.  But it was good for all of us to be together, and it was good for me to see how other people live.  They don’t have as many things, but they seem to be more content.  They seem to be less stressed.  And upon returning to the US, the American way of life seemed less and less appealing.  Especially living in Los Angeles, surrounded by plastic surgery and Mercedes Benz on lease, I returned with a new perspective on my life and of those around me.  

Now I am home sweet home and loving it.  We don’t have as much money as we did before, in our checking account or in our 401k(s).  I don’t have a cleaning lady and we don’t go out to eat.  I don’t really feel like a stay-at-home mom yet, and I don’t want to go back to work.  I want to keep my house clean and enjoy actually being here.  I want to hang out with my 14 month old son and laugh, giggle, play and (occasionally) cry.

I went to my therapist last Saturday and in the course of my session told her this was my time.  Two years ago I was pregnant, and last year was my first year as a mother.  This year is mine to give birth to myself.  I am 35 years old and feel like I have my life ahead of me.  Finally, I have my life back.

MAKING LEMONADE

When I am an old lady and look back on my life, December 2nd 2008 will be one of the most pivotal days of my life. Bigger than when I turned 16, 21, graduated college, and possibly bigger than the day I found out I was pregnant. I’m not at liberty to reveal why this day was such a dramatic one, but promise to give details later. Let it be said that I was handed a box full of lemons, and since that moment I’ve been paralyzed, staring at this box trying to decide what to do with it.

As with anything in life, when you come to a fork in the road you must choose:  direction A, direction B, or to plot your own direction.  I’ve always been drawn to trailblazers and pioneers, those people who dared to be different, who ignored all the naysayers and critics and did what they wanted to do because it inspired them and made them tick.  The problem is, I’ve never acted on it.  I’ve been standing at the edge, waiting for the right time to jump.

Now that I’m being pushed off the cliff and have this box of lemons, I’m really trying to be smart about my lemonade recipe.  Sweet (but not too sweet), cool and refreshing - just like me.  Something to quench my thirst and keep me going.

I’ll keep you posted on my journey, and will be able to share more details in 2009.  Until then, I’ll be seeing my therapist, writing in my journal, and traveling to Brazil to see my in-laws.

Have a Happy Holiday and New Year, and here’s to cliff diving in 2009!

The Baby and the Bathwater

Nothing speaks louder about the difference in my life con bebe than my experience in the bathtub last night. And even though I love my little Matteo, I am not so thrilled about the impact he has made on my bathtub, or should I say, what used to be my bathtub.

For those of you who know me, you know that I have a long running intimate relationship with my bath. It is my decompression chamber, my safe haven from all things stressful and unwanted.  For many years I have taken a bath every night.  Ev-e-ry night.  My bathtime ritual involves aromatherapy, candles, books, wine, smoke, and whatever else I feel like including (use your imagination).

It wasn’t until last night that I was hit right between the eyes on the impact having a child has made on my favorite evening ritual.  And I must say I wasn’t too happy about it.  Granted, it’s not enough to make me drop him off at the fire station, but I swore to myself that I must make sure that our next house has TWO bathtubs; one for me (and me only) and one for my offspring.

Glaring difference #1:  I haven’t even taken a bath in ages!  I can’t even remember the last time I took a bath for a reason other than to shave my legs (another event that rarely happens, but I can’t blame that one on the kid).

Glaring difference #2:  I’m out of product.  I used to have salts, scrubs, bubbles, candles, waterproof books, cup holders, you name it.  Last night the only thing remaining was a half used tub of bath salts.

Glaring difference #3:  All my products have been replaced by all Matteo’s products.  He has a non-slip mat (like the one my grandma used to have), bubble bath in the shape of an oil can from the movie Cars (which he hasn’t even seen), Johnson’s head to toe baby wash, Burt’s Bees Baby Bee milkbath, stacking cups and other bath toys.  He even has a frog mounted to the wall to hold all this shit in.  And the worst part?  I bought all this shit.  Yeah, it was me…guilty as charged.

So as I was taking my bath and staring at this less than ideal situation, I was crabby.  I was tired (standard) and laid in my lukewarm water (I made the mistake of washing bottles and running the dishwasher before running my bathwater - bad idea) wondering where my life has gone.  Not only do I not have my bathtub sanctuary, I have lost that “me” time spent in that space.  The best thing that came out of this experience (other than clean shaven legs) is my shift in perspective to preserve the things that are most important to me.  I love my bath time, and that damn frog is coming down.  The baby stuff is going in the cabinet when it’s not being used, and I’m reclaiming my territory.  And it’s my right, dammit.  This is MY tub, and Matteo can share it, but he’s not taking over (at least not yet).

The Invitation

I read this book by Oriah Mountain Dreamer years ago, and I loved it.  Last night I was sitting on the couch, drinking my wine and checking my email, when I thought about it again.  I flashed back to a line in The Invitation that hit me right between the eyes.  I realized that I have read it a million times, but didn’t really know what was meant until I became a parent:

“It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.  I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.”

I’m not weary or bruised, and I don’t have much grief and despair, but I relate more than ever about getting up and doing what needs to be done to feed the children.

I’ve been extremely tired lately, and it’s not in the I had an all nighter kind of way.  It’s more of a Chinese water torture kind of way, where I operate on a quarter tank of gas, and when the indicator light comes on I put enough in the tank to not run out, but never enough to fill up.  I only notice it on occasion, as it’s become the status quo now.  The bottom line, however, is that no matter how tired I get, I will always put Matteo’s needs ahead of mine.  It scares me to death, because I saw my mom do the same thing for most of her life, and I criticized her for it.  I told her she needs to take care of herself.  I told her she shouldn’t do everything for us.  And now I see myself doing the exact same thing.

There’s a certain drive to care for a child that I’ve never experienced before.  I do things that I never would have done before, and my patience is greater than ever.  I love this new role in my life and the sense of purpose it has given me, but I’m afraid of losing myself and my own identity and goals.  I’m afraid I’ll compromise too much of myself to keep the family together.  And if I’m afraid that these things will happen, it’s because it’s already moving in that direction.

When my alarm goes off every morning (aka Matteo wakes up and cries to be fed), I don’t roll over and wait for him to stop (aka hit the snooze button).  Before being a parent, if I was tired I slept.  If I was late for work, I’d work late.  Now, everything’s different.  I get up no matter how tired I am.  I feed Matteo no matter how much I don’t feel like it.  Hell, I’m even trying to be a good example.

So I am now a mother first, and me second.  I understand Oriah’s Invitation more than ever, and I will do whatever it takes, for the rest of my life, no matter what.  Now that’s a first.

Keeping Up

As the calendar keeps moving further and further into the fourth quarter, I find myself trying harder and harder to keep up.  I feel like I’m getting less done and doing everything half assed.  I don’t know if it’s true or not, but the feeling sure sucks.  One of my working mommy friends (there’s a new acronym for you Barb, WMFs) told me while I was pregnant that being a working mother meant feeling like you’re not doing either one very well.  At the time I could relate to an extent, but now that I’m wrapping up my first year of motherhood, that notion is up front and center.  If I can’t keep up after one year, where will I be in ten or twenty years?  I try not to think about that, and for now I’m focusing on the remainder of this year.  My goal is simply to keep up, and it has nothing to do with the Joneses.

At my day job, we’re a fourth quarter busines, and so we’re in the crux of controlled chaos.  Take normal chaos and add the current state of the economy, and it takes the tension level to a whole new category.  It’s stressful, and it doesn’t help that I don’t have the time (or desire) to spend my time after hours catching up, so every day I come to my office with a bigger pile than the day before.

Then there’s the day to day job keeping up with laundry, groceries, baby, and trying to work my creative muscle by getting ready for a couple holidays shows where I’ll be selling my cards.  Plus, this year, for the first time, I have Matteo’s birthday party to plan for.

Somehow, amidst this chaos, I’m supposed to track my eating and my spending, lose weight, take a shower, dry my hair and keep my sanity.  Overall, I have resigned to the fact that I will never catch up.  I imagine this feeling is shared amongst other working mothers, stay at home mothers, and women who aren’t mothers.  The difference that I’ve noticed, however, is not that I’m not totally keeping up, but at how far I fall behind.

MOMMY GUILT

I’m not one to feel guilty.  I’ve done some things that I shouldn’t have done, and I’ve said things I shouldn’t have said, but guilt has never been a big part of who I am or what I do.  If you live your life fully, mistakes will be made and all we can do is try to learn from them.  Having a baby, however, put a whole new spin on both my definition and experience of guilt.  So much so that I’m almost feeling like I was raised Catholic!

When I initially went back to work, I felt guilty, but once I fully transitioned into the role of working mother, the guilt started to fade, day by day.  I really haven’t felt much guilt since then…I’m reserving that for when he’s older.  So I was shocked this week when that nagging feeling returned.  It started Monday night when I knew my little man wasn’t feeling well.  He was teething, drooling and constipated.  I was tired and didn’t want to deal with it, so I gave him some Tylenol and went to sleep.  Tuesday morning I made an apointment with the doctor and in we went.

The doctor checks him out and he’s got ear infections in both ears, which would explain why he won’t drink his bottles.  The doctor prescribed an antibiotic and told me to come back in a couple weeks.  I asked him if he thought it was ok to take him to daycare (it was going to be a busy day at the office and my boss doesn’t have kids, so when I call to say my child is sick and I need to stay home with him, I can almost hear her rolling her eyes).  He said no, that I should stay home with him.  I took him to daycare anyway.

Guilt, enter stage left.

I don’t even LIKE my job, and I absolutely ADORE my child, yet I chose to go to work and take him to daycare, against the doctor’s recommendation.  What kind of mother am I?  How could my perspective change so much within a few months?  Six months ago I was home everyday with him and could barely go to a movie without wondering if he was ok.  Now I’m tossing him at daycare with an ear infection in both ears after drugging him with Tylenol.  How is that even possible?

But I did it.  And I felt guilty about it.  Two days later and it’s still tugging at me.  I told my coworker (one of my only “working mother” friends) and she told me not to worry about it.  She reassured me that he would be fine and I wasn’t a bad mother.  And although I believe her, it’s yet another difference in my life from when I didn’t have a child.  I am 100% responsible for this little boy, and my decisions shape his life.  Luckily he’s still young enough to not remember this one.

Five years ago there weren’t any children in the family.  I take that back…five years ago, my brother, sister and I were the children in the family (at ages 25, 30 and 35 if you can imagine).  Then my brother and his wife had a baby, and another one, and then I followed suit with Matteo. Three months ago my sister adopted another one, and in no time our family has doubled and everyone’s roles have changed.  My parents are Granny and Grandpa, my siblings and I are mommies and daddies, and my grandparents have all passed away.  This gift of mortality - new life coming in, old life going out - has created a new dynamic, new perspective, and for me, new inspiration to reinvent myself and open the door to the dreams I left behind years ago.

My own perspective started shifting when I found out I was pregnant.  I’m not one of those women who cleaned up my act six months before getting pregnant, tending the soil if you will.  I waited until the very last minute, the minute I saw that little white stick turn into a + while I was on the toilet.  I was a little surprised that it happened so quickly, and instead of feeling excited and happy, I was completely overwhelmed.

Those initial moments faded and I adjusted to the new life growing inside of me.  I had an easy pregnancy and Matteo has been an easy baby, but as the days blend into weeks and months, I’m wondering what kind of parent I am and will be.  It’s daunting knowing that you’re responsible for creating the foundation on which your children will live their lives.  I see my parents and the life that they have lived, the parents that they were and are.  Is there anything they would do differently?  Do they have any regrets?  What do I want to take from them and apply to my own child(ren) and what do I want to leave behind?

I can’t say I know anymore as a parent than I did before, or that becoming a mother has enlightened me.  I do, however, have a newfound love of life that wasn’t there before.  I don’t have any answers per se, but being wedged in between the beginning and end of my life, I’m excited to reinvent who I am and want to be, and to think about how that will impact those who came before me and those I will leave behind.