A Little Help From My Friends

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There are hundreds of topics to be written about.  Endless opportunities for conversations about the journey of motherhood.  Yet my mind doesn’t want to let go of a comment that came after last weeks blog.  It was basically tips on how to keep my sanity/self whilst being home raising my child.  I believe it was posted with the best of intentions.  It was not mean or malicious.  It was a comment filled with concern.  Dare I say, worry.  It was another mother being blatantly honest.  But it left me wanting to defend my writing, my actions, my choices.  And then I took a breath.

After my initial reaction of wanting to announce to the world that A, “I’m not drinking alcohol during the day with my 11 month old!!!” And B,  “Sometimes I add dark humor to my writing to make it more entertaining because I think it’s funny!!” I sat back and realized this woman was not only compassionate, but she was right.  A woman I don’t know, who reads my blog, was sending me a huge hug over the internet.  She was sending me support.  It was everything I say is missing in our modern day Motherhood Madness. And my initial reaction was defense.  Silly me.

Now I stand by the notion that every one of our journeys is, indeed,  our own.  That all our circumstances are individual.  That every child is unique and brings different circumstances and challenges to the table.  But we must remember,  there is a big difference between bashing and constructive criticism.  What is the idea? It takes a village? Well, when did that just become a catch phrase and not an actual thing we engage in?

I remember growing up in the 70’s and 80’s.  Neighborhood parents would actually parent.  And ones who didn’t or who weren’t right there, had no issues with other parents jumping in.  It was more of a collective effort.  In today’s world if you correct another person’s child, or admonish them for bad behavior, you likely have a disgruntled parent telling you to mind your own business.  Yet, a common theme among Moms is the feeling of isolation.  But when someone offers help, we get defensive.  As if someone thinks  we aren’t capable.  That we aren’t doing enough.  But the truth of the matter is, in many cases, it is our own self criticism that makes us defensive.  I know in my case it was.

Shouldn’t we be grateful someone else is watching out for our children? Watching out for our well being, as a mother? It’s complete b.s. when people say “I don’t want to get involved.” Or “It’s not my business.”  We are a culture of peeping toms watching everyone’s business on Facebook, YouTube, and every other form of social media.  But we do it in the privacy of our home, or on our cel phones.  It lets us peer in, and often judge from a distance.  But let’s own the fact that we are interested, even (oh my gosh!) involved.  How often do you read a post or share a story on Facebook that touches you for real?  That makes you feel something?  For real?  That’s involvement.  Scary that today’s “involvement” can be so removed.

Anyway, I just wanted to thank this Mom.  For actually caring.  For trying to share some tools to help me succeed.  After all, I did ask for help! Why was I so surprised someone would actually offer it? I will keep her advice.  And be grateful.  It was not only helpful to me, but a ray of light in these dark times of the Mommy Wars.  There is hope that this era of judgement may someday become a thing of the past.  There is hope that the “village” will actually lend you a hand on this journey, and not just Tweet about you from afar.

Until next time, I’m gonna keep on keepin on…and lighten up on myself a bit.  Cause I have to be there for O…happy, fit, and rested.  A friend gave me that piece of advice.  🙂

 

 

 

 

 

Crash Test Mommy

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I don’t know how it happens.  It’s like I go from 0 to 60 in a matter of moments.  Everything is going fine, I’m handling the day with O.  I should say, enjoying the day with O.  Ok, I didn’t sleep great the past couple of nights, but I’m tough.  Then I navigate family stuff  i.e. dysfunction,  over the phone while I’m trying to get some exercise by taking a walk.  Then, I make baby food while I figure out what we will have for dinner.  Then I field emails and calls to make our crazy (at the moment) life actually function. Add laundry, keeping our house show ready for prospective buyers,  throw in a trip to the post office,  a stop at the grocery store and a diaper run for fun.  Then O decides not to take a nap, but rather stand in his crib crying until Mommy comes in to save him.  And every whine and whimper sends my head spinning further and further into a place I don’t know how to return from sometimes.

By the time my husband gets home,  I’m feeding the overtired wonder boy in his high chair, while he wears some of his meal, as he has now taken to swatting the spoon away and then crying because there is no food in his mouth.  Of course, I have a large glass of wine beside me.    I swear, O will be a toddler able to open a bottle of wine like a professional sommelier and make a killer dirty martini to rival Dean Martin.  He’s seen it done enough.  I look like I’ve been through a prison camp.  A camp where they dress you in yoga pants and make you wear your hair in a ponytail everyday.  My husband asks me if I’m ok? He is truly concerned.  He takes over feeding our child.  And all I feel is guilt.  Like I have somehow lost the battle of the day.

I then don’t know how to come back? Has that ever happened to any of you? It’s like I don’t know how to wipe the day away  and start over.  The guilt of getting frustrated or of wasting the gift of the day stays with me.  I can’t imagine how my husband could love me.  I’m so so far away from what he signed  up for.  And it seems I can’t handle even the simplest task.  I can’t even keep it together as I write this.  Thankfully, I know this too shall pass and I will recover and become “me” again.    But in the midst of the whirlwind I seem unrecognizable, even to myself.

When I was dealing with postpartum  baby blues, I’d often have the “drive away”  fantasy.  I didn’t  know how many women had this fantasy until I started reading other women’s blogs.  I’d see myself getting into my Kia and just driving away.  To nowhere.  Just to breathe.  Just to feel the wind on my face.  I didn’t know how far I’d go… I always planned on coming back, but in my mind it was the perfect escape.  Now my escape fantasy involves a bath and a nice hotel room.  I fantasize about sleep like it is some elusive unattainable thing.  When I start fantasizing more frequently, I know I am approaching my breaking point.  I am getting close to crashing into the wall.

I am not a super woman.  I am just a woman.  I’m trying.  Everyday I try.  That counts, right? My number one concern is that I do right by O.  That I give him everything I can, everyday.  That I teach him what I know and more, to make him a decent kind loving person.  But inevitably, there are days when you are at the end of your rope, and you wind up teaching him something negative.  A curse word you said out of frustration (it only has to happen once) …or how to make a killer dirty martini.  How can you be the perfect mom at every moment?? If you have the answer, let me know.  Until then, I’ll be putting one foot in front of the other.  Occasionally, I’ll take a step backwards…because I’m only human.

Motherhood and Mortality

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Not all that long ago, I used to tell my husband, I thought I would die on the young side of old.  The notion never ever bothered me.  I can actually say I was really ok with it.  I have always been a big believer of things happening for a reason.  I guess it was just a silly gut feeling I had and I was at peace with it.  Then something happened….I had my son.

To say I feel differently now is an understatement.  And the reasons are layered and complex.  I am sometimes hit with the fear of “Oh my God! What if something happens to me and O is left alone?” Well, it’s already ridiculous, because he would not be alone. He would have my husband.  His father.  The person on this earth who loves him as fiercely as I do.   But every child needs his Mother, right? Or is it the other way around? Now that I have him…now that I have tasted this kind of love…I don’t think I could live without it.  I need him as completely as he needs me.  Maybe more so.

The completely irrational and borderline crazy mourning of my own inevitable passing I experience at times,  is about MY missing out.  I don’t want to miss a single second of this brilliant journey.  Being an older Mom just emphasizes the fear.  I don’t need to be sidled with an untimely death.  Just dying in the normal course of life will leave me missing a chunk of O’s journey.   If he waits to have children like I did, I’ll be 84  if I am lucky enough to meet my newborn grandchildren.  Certainly too old to watch them grow up.  It’s depressing really.  Geez.  Right now my husband is rolling his eyes.  He wasn’t thrilled with this week’s topic of choice.  He likes it when  I write about rainbows and unicorns.  Lol.

The other night, I started to get worked up over it all. I completely freaked my husband out.  I had just read an article that stated 1 out of 2 women and 1 out  of 3 men  will get cancer.  Most survive, but no one lives forever.  I started to feel consumed by a loss that didn’t even happen yet? A loss that,  most likely, would not happen for a very long time.  And when that time does come, and my number is up, so to speak, I won’t experience the loss, cause I’m the one who will be gone.  But I guess that really depends on your beliefs on the afterlife.  I’m completely certifiable.  See how your thoughts can snowball?  It’s complex, right?

After researching some other articles, I realize that I’m not alone in these thoughts.  In fact, I’m on the sane side of “cray cray.”   I read a post by a women who was encouraging parents to document their lives (video, photos, etc.) for their children to have when they are gone…”before it is too late”….(Geez).   It is called intentional memory making.  There is even an app for it!  I mean, I get it.   When my husband’s father passed away, he had heaps of recordings of his father singing.  It helped him grieve.  And even now, almost four years later, it helps him feel closer to his dad.  But his father was a professional singer/songwriter.  These memories were made by his father simply living his life doing what he loved.  It’s a bit different than intentionally documenting everything.  I take my fair share of photos, I do.  And it is fun to go back and reminisce, but I don’t know.  I don’t want to judge what others want to do.  So..what do I do?

Well, I can’t change the fact that I am, indeed, an older mom.  I can try to keep myself healthy, but even that is no guarantee.  In fact, that’s exactly it…..we have no guarantees of the time we have here.  No telling when our time is up.  So acceptance seems paramount.  Acceptance and gratitude.  Gratitude for all we are experiencing in the NOW.  I can try not to waste days, but I’m sure there will be a few days, at least,  lost to complaining, or stress, or both.  I’m only human.  But I don’t want to spend moments constantly behind a camera lens…hovering on the outside of our experiences for the sake of documenting them.  Nor do I want to feel every moment has the cloud of mourning hanging over it…even if it is hanging somewhere in the back of our mind, it’s still there, stealing from our NOW.  Our perfect NOW.

As with everything, balance is key.  So I’ll mix my neurosis with some healthy belly laughing and get on with this awesome second act of my life.  (Did I mention my life is a play in Three Acts?) I guess when it’s all said and done, I can say I have tasted pure true love.  I have experienced real joy.  I feel like I know what heaven truly is.  And maybe I’ll find an old shoe box and occasionally put some photos in it and write some love letters to the sweetest boy I’ll ever know, my little O.

Until next time, keep on keeping on…and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up!