As Barb mentioned in her blog last week, she’s noticed me getting more antsy…more unsettled in my life and eager for a change.  I go through this stage every now and then, rethinking all the decisions in my life thus far, thinking I should quit my job, get divorced, sell the house and hit the road.  Where doesn’t matter, the details don’t matter…I just need a change like it’s my job.

So instead of acting irrationally (of course), I plug away at my weekly routine - preparing Matteo’s bottles for daycare, doing laundry, ironing my clothes for work, and somehow getting myself there every Monday morning.  This Monday was no different, except how I was feeling.

Tired, crabby, and disgruntled, I counted the minutes until my first phone consultation with my therapist.  I feel so corny even saying “my therapist”…it’s such an LA thing to do.  But I think I need it, so I’m doing it.  I had a great talk with her and look forward to our first session this week.  I hope to break ground and peel the onion as to why I keep repeating the same cycle in my life, but never able to get over the hump to make lasting change.  Hopefully she will be the catalyst for propelling myself into a future I can be excited about.

Then, the best reward of the day is that Barb came over for Micromovement Monday.  Our first of many, we have renewed a commitment to getting together and brainstorming and setting goals for things we want to accomplish.  An exercise in accountability and helping each other take steps in the direction we say we want to go, helping each other to manifest the world we want to live in.

It was a great Monday, all in all, and I look forward to many more.  Now if I could only figure out how to work half the time and make twice the money, I’d be in business.  Until then, I gotta keep my girl Barb around to keep me inspired, keep me honest, and keep me sane.  Pretty scary I’m depending on her for a sanity check, but that’s what friends are for.  And besides, as we were laughing about last night, when you’re crazy you’re always the last to know. 

How they change…and how they stay the same.  I’m the same person, just in a new way.  I’m still the Lori that my friends know.  I’m still the Lori my family knows.  Now I’m the Lori that Matteo knows…a person, quite frankly, that I myself have never met.  I’m still myself, only softer, stronger, warmer and hopefully wiser.

I’ve been struggling lately with what my future will look like.  I was driving the other day behind a minivan with a “Soccer Mom” bumper sticker, and called Barb to PLEASE ask her to shoot me if I ever become that person.  Same with the “my child is an honor student at such and such elementary school” bumper stickers, and the ones with the little stick people on the rear window with mommy, daddy, kiddies (usually at least three), doggie, kittie, etc.  You get the picture.

You see, I don’t really want the “working mom” life.  There’s not enough time for either “working” or “mom”.  And I don’t want the stay at home mom life either.  My job is to really dig deep and decide WHAT DO I WANT?  I need to find the sweet spot in this life of mine.  The spot where I feel fulfilled with something of my own, get enough time to spend with my amazing baby, and still have something fun to talk about with my husband over dinner and drinks.  Is that asking too much?

No, it isn’t.  I’m not quite sure what this picture of my life will look like, which is why I’m hiring a professional.  I’m going to start seeing a therapist (which is such an LA thing to do I can’t stand it) to help me be accountable to myself and help me put a plan together to create a life that I am passionate about.

Don’t get me wrong…I’m not unhappy, per se.  The only way I can really describe it is that having a baby has opened a space within me that I have never seen.  A beautiful, pure and phenomenal space filled with joy and awareness, adventure and true love.  And now that I have a taste of it, I want more.  Give me more, I’m finally ready for it.

So I’ll keep you posted…it’s a journey, they say…and I’m getting my map out to see where I want to go next.  I have five years until I turn 40, and want to make sure I take advantage of it.  You never get this time back.  I will never be 35 again, and Matteo will never again be 5 months old.  I don’t want to miss a beat…I don’t want to miss my life.

And if it takes therapy to make this good life better, then so be it.  Why settle for happiness when bliss may be just around the corner?

Wish me luck.  My first mother’s day…and it definitely won’t be my last.  It was a great Sunday filled with family and food, and Matteo even took his first swim!  Carpe diem.  Suck the marrow.  Today is the only day we truly have…appreciate what you have, never give up on your dreams, and get out there and make it happen…woo hoo!

Monday morning, I’m driving to daycare to drop off Matteo.  I’m a little tired, more than the usual tired, and bitching inside that I have to get up and go through this boat drill to get to work, when all I want to do is stay home.  Hang out at home with my baby and my husband and enjoy my house and explore my creativity.

On the way out of daycare, I stop and talk to another working mom, Kelly.  Kellycalvinsmom brought her son Calvin to daycare the same day Matteo started, and they’re the same age, so she and I have gotten to know each other over the past 5 weeks.  She and her husband live in the area, and we keep talking about getting together for dinner or something, but haven’t quite accomplished it.  The closest we’ve gotten to spending time outside of the daycare parking lot is when she came over on a Saturday afternoon and we went to Target.

So we’re in the parking lot Monday morning, talking small talk, and I ask her how it’s going.  Bad, she says.  Really?  I say, in what way?  And I quote:  “David (her husband) has stage four colon cancer.  They’ve given him 18 months to live and he starts chemo next Tuesday.”

Shit.  Here I am bitching about having to go to work.  Here I am bitching that I’m not independently wealthy.  Here I am bitching that I’m fat and my pants don’t fit so I have to go shopping to get new clothes to wear for my vacation coming up in Hawaii.  Shit, shit, shit.  

So we talk for a few minutes…I tell her how impressed I am that she’s holding it together.  She even wears makeup every morning and dresses professionally.  She says what choice does she have…and she’s absolutely right.  She needs to keep her job.  She needs to take care of her 5 month old son.  And now she needs to take care of her dying husband.

Please, please, please, be grateful for what you have.  Even if it’s not what you imagined having or not what you think you should have.  We always tend to think the grass is greener, and forget to look down at our own patch of land and realize how lucky we are.  How lucky we are to have what we have and be who we are.  Lucky to be healthy (and fat) and alive (and bitching). 

I went from moment to moment of each hour of the weekend, being present with the time I had.  It’s hard to remind ourselves that we are human BEings, not human DOings, and to take some time to not DO anything.  During this somewhat meditative weekend, I was able to reconnect - with myself, and with my son.

During all this mother/son quality time, I realized how much he has grown since the first day I saw him.  I was working on a photo album, looking back at his ultrasounds, the day he was born, the day we took him home, and so on.  And when I was rocking him to sleep Saturday night, it hit me.

Rocking and breathing, we were in a totally peaceful place.  He was resting his head on my shoulder, laying on my chest, his little legs hanging down to my belly.  I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of his body on mine.  I took a few deep breaths and went into a partially meditative state.  I kept thinking that less than five months ago he was inside me, he WAS me.  My blood was his blood, my breath his breath.  I am his original home, from whence he came.  No wonder it feels so good to have him close to me, listening to him breathe.

I’ve always been close to my mom, some even say I still haven’t cut the cord.  When people ask me where home is, I have a hard time answering.  I was born in Seattle, and over the course of the past 35 years I went from Seattle to California to Missouri to Indiana to Missouri to Ohio and now California.  I haven’t seen the home I grew up in for almost 15 years.  They say home is where the heart is, and before I had a baby I’d have to say home was where my mom was.

Now all I can say is I AM home.  Matteo’s home.  Until the cows come home.

First of all, the flexibility thing is huge.  I have so much less time to spend with Matteo, that the friend time almost becomes non-existent.  In fact, most of the friends I have kept in touch with so far are still in touch because they’re willing to come hang out at my house.  It’s just easier that way.  Besides, when I spend the week working, the last thing I want to do it ditch my baby to go hang out with my friends…I mean really.

Barb and I are planning on going to a play, and the options are Thursday night or Saturday night.  I know she’d prefer Thursday night because she and her husband always make plans for the weekend, but going out on a Thursday night just isn’t in the cards for me anymore.  It’s too much work, and by Thursday I’m so wiped out that the last thing I want to do is drive to Santa Monica for a play.  Disappointing in some ways, but it’s just a lifestyle thing.  It makes perfect sense that people with kids hang out with other people with kids.  They have similar schedules, they have similar priorities, and they understand that you need to be home by 8pm to put the kids to bed.  Friends without kids look at you like you’ve totally surrendered…and although in some ways that’s true, it’s so worth it.

So yeah, you won’t bleed to death, but your friendships must be strong in order to survive a new baby in between you.  Your friends without kids will still love you, but they just might not want to hang out with you very much.  A slow bleed that may drain some energy from your life, but nothing that’ll kill you. 

The first time I met my husband was at work.  I had transferred out to LA from Ohio, and a woman in my department was taking me around introducing me to everyone.  Sal was one of them.  That was in January 2000, over eight years ago, but we didn’t start dating until a couple years later.

The thing that struck me most about Sal, other than the accent of course, is how incredibly smart he was.  Every guy I had dated in the past was far below me intellectually (by design, actually, they’re easier to control that way), and as I reached my late twenties, it was becoming more and more of an issue.  Rather than wanting someone cute and fun who liked to party, I was looking for something more stimulating, which shocked me almost as much as it did everyone else.  I always joke with Sal that he’s the smartest man I’ve ever met, but it’s not like he had much competition.  Partially because it’s funny, but mostly because it’s true.

He was smart.  He was interesting.  He had experience in the world that I envied.  He spoke five languages (and not just in the “hola amigos” kind of way).  He was funny.  We talked and laughed and watched movies and went to concerts.  He was open minded, politically liberal (if not radical), and had a degree and a good job.  He wasn’t homophobic or racist (another novelty from the crop thus far).  Frankly, he was a breath of fresh air from the ones who came before him, so I snatched him up before anyone else could.

Together ForeverSo here we are, approaching our five year anniversary, with our little Matteo joining us on the journey of our lives.  Our marriage is far from perfect, and we can’t figure out how that’s possible when we’re both so perfect (just ask us)!  Together in so many more ways than we were five years ago, and anxiously anticipating the results of our little experiment in genetic engineering - our little boy.  He’s an amazing combination of the two of us, and he’s only four months old!  He’s got his daddy’s ears, his mama’s eyes, and who knows what else…who knows what else.

If you ever read The Lord of the Flies, you may remember the two characters Sam and Eric.  They were twin brothers, and over the course of the book, they started as two separate people – Sam and Eric.  They became so enmeshed in each other that figuratively and literally they melded into one:  Samanderic.

That’s how I feel as a mother, calling daycare to check in on Matteo:

Receptionist:  “Tutor Time, this is Katrina.  How may I help you?”
Me:  “Hi Katrina, this is Lorimatteosmom.  Can you buzz me into the infant room?”

I am no longer just me.  I am me, plus another part of me expressing itself in another person.  He used to be part of me, breathing with me, walking with me and eating with me.  Now he is Matteo, and now I am Lorimatteosmom.  My identity will never be the same…I wouldn’t call it on hold, or waiting for something to be finished so I can begin again as myself.  I am new, I am different…not on hold, maybe just on the other line.

And besides, my life has always revolved around the important people in it, not around me.  Maybe because I’m a middle child, I have always defined myself in relation to others.  That’s why Barb likes me, after all…when we’re together, I revolve around her, and now Matteo is the sun around which I revolve.  My friends and family are still in orbit, but the pecking order has changed.  I am Lorimatteosmom.

What brought Barb and I together was Nicole.  What keeps us together is our desire to live creatively and according to our own standards.  That’s what I love about Barb - she is living exactly the life she wants to live.  No apologies.  No excuses.  I wouldn’t want her life, and she wouldn’t want mine, but we understand each other in that we want it the way we want it. And even though I’m insanely jealous that she doesn’t work and only has her cat to take care of (her husband even does the freakin’ laundry, for God’s sake!), I know she did what it took to be in her situation.  After all, our lives are a result of the string of decisions we have made to get us where we are today.

I promise, Barb, I’ll never bore you with stories of Matteo’s diaper contents.  How could I, when we always have such fun talking about whatever it is we talk about!  In fact, that’s what I miss most about the time Barb and I spent together during my maternity leave - our talks.  We’d be sitting around the table working on a creative project, or sitting on the couch drinking wine, or walking down the boardwalk at Venice beach, or laying on the beach drinking wine, talking, laughing, eating, drinking and just BEING.

And that’s what friendships are all about.  Your friends are people who you can BE with, not censoring your thoughts or words, not worrying about what they’re going to think.  Just being together and sharing a moment in time.  Quality time that will never pass again in quite that same way on quite the same day.  It doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing, or even if Matteo is tagging along (although I’m sure that will change as he becomes more of a little person himself).  We just have fun being together, and kids or no kids, that’s what counts.