A world where American mamas don't cry...

I read an article posted on FB about African babies not crying (really, NO babies cry in Africa? I find that hard to believe, but I digress). While the personal narrative experience of the author was nice and interesting, culturally, it wasn't a definitive study about how we mess up our kids and how to stop.

What it did was continue to propagate a MamaMyth, that if we were "better" our kids wouldn't cry as much. Nevermind that crying is just a form of early communication from babies who don't have a very wide array of verbal communication early on.

A commenter on the post tangentially mentioned that our culture will pay for putting kids in all day preschool (not the subject of the article). I debated commenting. After all, it's not the point of my friend's post. But I couldn't just let that comment sit there so that other mamas could either silently feel judged or collectively high five each other if they were able and chose to stay home with their kids.

Also, the article spoke about breastfeeding those "quiet" babies in Africa no matter what was happening. Okay, so there is no crying technically because there's a boob in the mouth physically. That makes sense logistically. And then I think about my experience with my baby.

I won't break down every moment where this concept ran through my head (and was used to emotionally flog myself because my kid didn't quiet when offered the breast). But as I started to listen to each cry and how they were different, I realized that I could solve most problems based on what was actually needed, not based on quieting my kid with boob/food. I learned what was an "attention" cry versus a "hungry" cry versus an "over-stimulation" cry. This really helped me learn my kid's world faster. It's not just crying, my son was telling me what he needed. And as a result, I have a really great communication system with him. I'm not saying my method works for everyone (I'm just sharing what I did), but I was trapped in the idea that every cry was a milk/boob-craving cry. And my kid didn't always want to nurse. Just like he wasn't able to be born vaginally and it wasn't my fault, I needed to listen to my reality, not just my idealism. And I needed to listen to myself and my kid.

As a new mom, it was hard to listen to myself. I had "no idea" theoretically, what I was doing. Other more experienced moms knew better, I was convinced. I read the books,  chatted with the experienced moms, and knew the studies. But one thing that no one considered: none of those people were looking at or listening to MY kid! And they weren't ME! So all bets were off, eventually. This was between me and my kid. I had a lot of information and support, but I needed to go through this struggle and pay attention to what was really happening. No amount of doctor recommendations or 30 peppy hippie mamas suggesting x/y/z could replace those moments when I was listening to my kid. And we forget to tell new moms that a lot. We're getting better about telling each other that what matters is what works for us individually, but as a culture, we still judge the crap out of everyone.

In the last few weeks I've hung out with some of my mom friends and I've been listening to not just what we all tell each other, but how and why.

There's a lot of confessing, disclaiming with "TMI, but I want to share..." (TMI=too much information), telling half-stories (to test the water and see if anyone will judge), and more clever mama tactics to make sure no one calls CPS, commits someone to a mental ward, or other damning actions.

It breaks my heart, honestly. My heart actually aches having the awareness and sensing that fear, anxiety, and guilt in other mamas. Because of course I am also doing this. I am also trying to make it look good, while inside or alone my experiences are confusing, isolating, and sometimes scary.

To think that one thing will be the demise of our culture is ignorant. Another friend pointed out that even if babies don't cry in Africa, there is a lot of violence, rape, poverty, submission, dictatorship, etc., so how can we look at the broader picture and not make one thing the definition of a culture? And frankly, putting kids in all day preschool isn't usually a simple choice. Would financial strain with one income be better? What about the sanity of the parents?

When I was done with maternity leave, I was eager to get back to work. Not because I didn't love my little one, but because there was a large part of me that was aching to stretch my brain, my creative desires, etc., again. Not just to have "adult conversation" (but that's valid, too), I wanted to keep offering my gifts...and I couldn't turn magically turn into a full time mom. It's not who I was, despite my lineage of stay at home moms (but now, I wonder if there weren't a few mamas in my line who wanted to do something else that just wasn't done back then). And honestly, motherhood made me cry a lot. For all the reasons one might expect, sometimes I just couldn't do it one more day, one more night. What then?

So while it's a nice story that one Kenyan woman experienced some relief and peace by breastfeeding, there are many other ways for mothers, especially here in the US, where tribal culture is different in many fundamental ways, to get help and support. Whether that means their child gets cared for by others in a preschool setting (which we are doing now expressly so that our kid has  more stability in his life, at least on a topical level), or the moms create a larger network of support in friends, family, and in-home child care givers, or they stay at home (or the papas stay at home), there are many ways to create a happy, healthy, sane family.

But what I can do is to shed light on the truth of my life specifically and hint at the larger group of mamas who struggle with their new role. And let mamas express themselves so that they don't feel alone. That isolating feeling in moms can create more damage than a crying child. Isolation kills people in reality. Moms that feel they have no recourse to a life of struggle often (yes, OFTEN) choose to end their lives. And if I could make the difference, by listening, by encouraging honest expression, by creating a system of support, then I want to focus on that. That's what raises healthy kids. A sense that an entire community is holding them, not just their parents. And we can do that without government advocacy (because we can't wait until that happens), without college education and co-sleeping and breastfeeding until two (or later). Yes, those things are nice and beneficial, if they work for the families, but if they don't, other things work too and families need to know that. 

I'd like to promote a culture where mamas don't cry either...

Releasing Weight

As a new mom, with a lot of other new mom friends, there's a lot of talk about losing weight/pre-baby weight/honoring our bodies and all the suggestions and advice that comes along with that. I've heard and read some wise words, but still the weight clings.

Yes, yes, I know that I need to "exercise more and eat less," but as an energy practitioner, a spiritual person and frankly, (shh, don't tell anyone), a believer in unexplained miracles, I have this strange notion that won't leave my head that it's not about exercising more and eating less. Not for me, anyway.

"Then what it is about?" I eagerly ask myself.

And after the short pause I like to give (yes, I am capable of pauses, contrary to popular belief!) myself when asking a question that's as deep as this one, it comes to me.

All the stuff that's hanging around my body with nothing to do, honestly, is a manifestation of what I'm not giving away.

Now, before you go and apply this to yourself, then think I'm completely wrong/crazy/off my rocker, I'll offer this disclaimer:

This is my experience. And this insight came to me in a quiet moment when thinking about my life. I've had a lot of time to think about my life, a lot of therapy, a lot of personal work, etc. So the best I can say is this is the most accurate for me. It may not be for you. I'm not a doctor or a shaman or a health professional. So take what you want and leave the rest.

Back to it. I've recently been exploring a few things that have come up in my daily writing and this thought just came to me. My extra weight is stagnant energy that I didn't want to release for whatever reason. It's a delightful mixture of fear, scarcity, laziness, and resistance. And that's just my first glance.

I was trying on clothes and it was strange because my friend who was with me saw what seemed like a very different person than I saw in the mirror. She used words like beautiful, stunning, and some others that I blocked out of my mind because she was obviously 1) lying 2) talking to someone else 3) feeling bad that I was so unattractive and 4) ultimately crazy.

But that weight that I was so intent on making fun of, using as a defense against cute clothes, and holding on to, was not the issue. It was the 'me' behind it. My head (which consequently makes a lot of decisions based on the past, incomplete info, and straight up fear) was perfectly fine keeping me in sweats and hoodies. It was so obvious. The little voice in my head that eeked out, "Hey, this is kind of cute" was quickly squashed by the uncontrollable tic of my hands grabbing a love handle and pointing out that the dress wasn't able to camouflage my new chub. That poor little voice of "cute reason" was smashed, again.

Why do I want to stay chubby, I asked myself. What do I gain (pun not intended...) by holding on to this weight, this look, and these feelings? Nothing. Really. I feel horrible. I look worse to myself. I'm uncomfortable. And it's no fun!

Back to the idea of what I am not giving away...this is a complex question to pose to myself. I have made it look like (to myself only, probably) that I am giving away plenty. But the truth is, I'm not giving away what I am capable of giving away. There's a big difference when I look closely.

I am mostly nice, reasonably generous, I smile occasionally, I'm friendly, I try hard. That seems to be good enough for the most part. But I don't even know the extent of how much more I can release into the world. Can I be nicer? More generous? More loving? More fucking smiley? Friendlier? Can I say "That's a nice dress" to more strangers? Can I tell more friends how much they mean to me and the friends I already say it too, can I say it more? Can I exhaust myself with new and different ways to find the awesome in people I've known for years and people who I've just met? Can I actually follow through on all the wonderful artwork I've made for people in my mind (trust me, I could open my own gallery with the pieces I've ideated {new word} just to show people how much they mean to me)? I'm not saying I'm not good enough...that's not the point. I know people know that I love them, but to be in balance with the Universe like I want to be, I have a lot more to give than I have been and my hypothesis is if I actually attempt to achieve (okay, striving will be good enough) this balance, then maybe I will release the weight.

To make a finer point, there is a difference between communicating loving feelings, and emptying myself of all the love that is inside me as often as I can manage it. I think I might be surprised how much is really in there waiting to get out and be given to its rightful recipient.

Butterfly

There will be no awards ceremony, where I get to stand up in front of all of you and thank you from the bottom of my heart, in front of the world. No sparkling lights or expensive gowns. No red carpet or after party with lavish gift bags.

You won't see all your effort, generosity, or impact immediately in the life I'm living right now. Not at first blush, anyway.

You don't know how often I am thanking you, or weeping with gratitude at the thoughtful words you shared with me, or feeling really full from the mere presence of you in my life.
Extreme tragedy, in my opinion, and these words feel so small to your bigness.

I'm going through what feels like a massive butterfly (or soon to be butterfly) stage and the cocoon of transformation is made up of the tiny cells of love you have created around me. At times, I have pushed those offerings onto K, like you only gave them to me for him and I'm just his agent. But that dismisses the outpouring of love that you graciously give, most times without a second thought.

Letting go isn't just about releasing my hand from the tight grip I have on all things (it seems) and crossing my fingers, hoping. I am able to do this constant letting go, but at times when I am not able to (or just not supposed to) hold on to something, you are there holding on to me. With a gentle firmness that feels like a snug blanket wrapped tight.

It would be incorrect to say that this butterfly transformation is only for K (or only because of K), even though it basically started that way. Now it's so much more. It's for you too. You have cocooned me so beautifully, that you became a part of the creation, my creation, itself. I hear your words of encouragement, I see your smiles in my mind's eye, your gifts of time, labor, and delicious artifacts,  surrounding my life. Those are becoming part of me, part of my butterfly self.

I don't always know how to thank you. Or appreciate you. Or tell you how profound the gifts you have bestowed have been in my life. And the only way I see being able to repay you, is to fully become that thing of beauty. To give you the pleasure of seeing me fly, float, and share my beautiful colors with you.

Watch me become what you have helped create me to be...

Playing Big, Part 2

So I've completed, in less than a month, NaNoWriMo (which is an event/goal/Writer-supported thingy designed to write a 50K novel in a month).
I had a few rough days (under 1K words), but ultimately I had no problem writing about 2K words a day. Did you read that? I had no problem...which means that I willingly, and enjoyingly (I know, now I think I can make up words!), wrote 50K words in 25 days.
To almost every other person, this is exciting but not surprising. I am a writer, after all, they say. But I guess I thought it would be harder, or I would get bored, or I would succumb to those damn critics along the way. But I didn't. And that means something to me. It means that I will be a writer, no matter what. A decision to be a writer, or a lot of blank books, does not a writer make. I don't have that NPR "writer voice." My wardrobe, writing area, voice/style are not typical of the professional writers I know. I'm extroverted. I like talking. All of these things point away from my very stale and outdated image of a writer. But make no mistake, I am a writer.
Boxes of journals, 10 running blogs (not blogs about running, but blogs that are running), more writing classes under my belt than any other class in my undergrad degree, and when I think, the thoughts come out like they are ready to be written down.
For some reason (okay, I know the reason, and I've been in therapy for years about it), I have been doing what I call, "bad math."

David Sedaris is considered (at least, by me) to be a great writer. I do not write like him, therefore I am not a great writer.

Now, being a writer might mean that math isn't generally a strong suit, but even I know this doesn't add up. And I'm pretty sure if David Sedaris thought there was (or was okay that there was) a slew of people NOT admitting that they want to be writers or that they are already writers, just because he's reached such acclaim, he would probably not like that at all. I know I wouldn't. Just because I am talented, doesn't mean someone else isn't!

So acknowledging that writing 50K words in less than a month is a big deal (my friend had to tell me this, of course, since I thought, "Okay, that's done"). And the book is not bad, even in rough form.

This is the playing big I was talking about in an earlier post. I can't keep NOT writing. I can't keep pretending no one wants to hear what I have to say (that excuse is really silly! So I should stop talking altogether, then?). Someone does. One person (at least) does. That's plenty. If one person liked one sentence of my book, I would be happy. Because, as a reader too, my world has been changed again and again with one sentence. One measly sentence has echoed in my head years after I read the book. That's why I write. That echo, that organization of words on paper, sings in my heart like a well-played song. And I'll hum that song for the rest of my life.

I'll let the rough draft sit a bit, then I'll go back and edit, and then I will begin the process of getting it published. If I wasn't the one who had written it, I'd take it off the shelf and have a look. That says something. I admit I'm scared. Even though this is what I've dreamed of for what seems like forever, I'm scared of the rollercoaster. But I can safely say that I've spent plenty of time not being published, so I should simply try something new.

Trading off

My family went on a field trip for Veteran's Day to visit the grave of Great-Grandpa Alvin Russert. He was buried in a cemetery that's just for veterans. I'm not always a fan of cemeteries because it's somber (or intended to be), reminds me of my late loved ones, and sometimes I'm just not in the mood. But we went and I was happy to get out of the house, truth be told.

As expected, many other people were there. All the headstones looked the same, save for a few extras like religious symbols and "beloved wife" or "beloved husband." We thought we knew where G-pa Russert was, but didn't see his stone at first. So we wandered around looking. I let K get down and he was weaving in and out of the headstones. He was barefoot, in good spirits (he had a little phone with him and he was saying Hi a lot, like he was calling people--I had to laugh!), and generally keen on the freedom and the interesting stones.

We finally found G-pa Russert and headed over. We are Jewish and our custom is to put a rock on the headstone, instead of flowers, because they don't die. It can stay there for as long it does.

So we put the rock on and K just look at the headstone, waved, and said, "Hi." Like it was a person, plain as day. Of course that choked us up a little. And then he leaned in to kiss the stone. It was this perfect, unrehearsed, surprising moment of innocence.

I believe in unseen beings and I believe we were actually visiting Grandpa Russert. And it seems K did too. But more than that, I noticed that adults, specifically around letting go of loved ones, have so many conflicting feelings and experiences. I tend to be a bit desensitized, since I have a spiritual connection to my lost loved ones, but letting go of people is not easy to do, or even talk about doing (or not doing).

And here was my kid, saying hi, giving kisses unbid, and clearly not "letting go" of anything. Why should he? He has nothing to let go of. He never knew G-pa Russert physically, so if their relationship is purely spiritual (I know, I am assuming a lot, but he does share my DNA), then he can hold on as tightly as he wants.

That made me feel so much better. K also never met his other Great-Grandpa Keith, who was also a veteran, and just seeing K at ease, saying Hi, planting kisses on cold stone, and not needing to be somber, made me feel better about letting go, because K is happily holding on. We can trade off. I can let go of some things, and K can hold on to them, because honestly, there's not reason for HIM to let go, is there?

If we all let go at once, that would be insane. Some of us need to hold on a little longer, and others can let go in moments. I like that.

Perfect little mama

Don't misunderstand, that's not what I am calling myself.

This is about 'providing' experiences for K. It's Halloween week (remember when it was just a day or two around Halloween and not a month?) and I had big plans for my 14 month old. We were going to the zoo for Pumpkin Bash. We were going to meet other moms at Harvest Fest at waddle around in the bought-on-time duck costume (I always made my own costume at the last minute). I was going to bring him to an adult party to show him off (many haven't seen him since his birth!). I even bought candy two weeks ahead of time (it's all gone now, but I did!).

But here's what happened. K started teething weeks ago and this past weekend he was tired, drool-y, congested, hungry, and I just let us be home. We went out a bit for necessary errands, but ultimately, I missed the "festive" and "tradition-building" boat. And felt crappy looking at pictures of more "active" families, doing the holiday thing on Facebook.

UGH.

I started down the road of "Crap, are we those parents? The parents who don't do holiday type things at the time of the actual holiday?" It's a long, bumpy road.

But luckily, after nap #2, when I went it to get K, I saw my kid's face when he saw me. He was happy to see me. He doesn't know he missed ANYTHING. In fact, really, all he cares about is missing me. I know that because he's happy most of the time. And actually, so am I. I'm content to play inside when it rains (we didn't go out because I can't justify a clean costume+rain+teething/congestion+and no papa to share it with--papa was working).

We have loads of fun at home. My kid sleeps at night. I am not depressed or starved for me-time. These are the things that make a difference. I remember a couple Halloweens and a few other holidays. There are holidays that stand out and others that don't. And frankly, I only care about spending time with my family. Seriously. If we all had to just sit around and eat beans out of a can while telling stories, I would be so content it would be surprising to most people.

When I got pregnant and then birthed K, I made no promises of standard traditions being upheld. In fact, I didn't make any promises but this is my vow: I vow to love. That's it. I may forget to do things and we may have minimal money sometimes for Hanukkah and birthdays...and we may be too tired for cookie-making and wreath-hanging...but I vow to love fiercely. And we'll find moments and create memories and it won't be about awesome costumes and holiday festivities every year. Some years, yes. Other years, we'll opt for whatever we can manage. But boy, there will be love.

So I let up on myself. K and I had a bit of dinner, took a bath, and he went to bed early. He slept through the night, and I couldn't wait to see him again in the morning. He may not remember that specific thing, but his duck costume has nothing to do with my love for him. And I am grateful for that. It's just a holiday, it's just a costume.

I can let go of all the parental expectations I have for myself. My mom wasn't "on" every holiday. She picked her favs and I remember about 20% of those. Also, it doesn't make a lot of sense to make a big deal of holidays that aren't a big deal to me. When K gets older, he'll let his loves/preferences be known. I loved me some Hanukkah...and I still love it. I don't celebrate it the way our family did when I was little, but I still love it. I need to trust that we'll figure it out together...the whole family...not just the mama who checks Pinterest too much.

There are so many things that I never even thought about letting go of...

Preparing

Part of letting go for me is about the actual letting go, and then part of it is about the "to do what?" dilemma. So I know that I'm venturing out into something bigger...that I'm already on that path, even. But strangely, I feel like I am avoiding the eyes (and everything else, for that matter) of the guy I have a crush on, even though I WANT to say hi, hang out, and talk about music, etc. I know that I will be working on the B&B, and the upgrades will be awesome...and yet I am also preparing for the inevitable downtime that the hospitality business has in the summer, in Seattle. So I turn my focus to other ventures like editing, helping out at B Fuller's Mortar & Pestle, and any other freelance/temporary work. But I've barely even prepared for the time I have legitimately to work on Synergy B&B.

I'm always trying to be 2-3 steps ahead of myself (and everyone else). I'm afraid that if I really spend all my time planning the upgrades, working on marketing, and handing out cards, when it doesn't work (nice attitude!), I'll be tired, unemployed, and quickly broke.

I don't raise my son that way, though.

I give him the full blast, as often as I can. Sometimes it's not very awesome-looking...but it's always the best I can do at the time. I'm used to that with him. I play hard. I attempt more cooking for him. I prepare and I live in the moment, together...

So why is this different? Well, K is a little person. Who talks, walks, eats, poops, etc. And the house, probably to its dismay, can get pushed aside (horrible, I know) more easily. Granted, when a furnace goes out, or a pipe bursts, then I pay attention, but otherwise I carry on.

I guess I can prepare, let go, and live in the moment. There is a delicate balance to all of those, which is how I probably live my life anyway. I can't prepare for something I don't know about (will the B&B business grow?), but I can definitely put time, energy and love into my updates.

And letting go is just that. It's saying a goodbye and looking ahead to what will come.