Don't mind the mess

I struggle with feelings of inadequacy when it comes to how organized and clean my home is. I know I'm not alone in this. It's a frequently discussed topic among women, especially moms. There are books and TV series, reels with 15 second sound bites of tips, and the ever present need to explain or excuse your house if someone comes over. 

Many women have expressed to me how highly anxious it makes them to have a messy (I now call "lived-in") house. For some they can't go to bed with a dirty dish in the sink. For others like me, it's when the messes reach a certain tipping point. We all draw the line in different places. To a certain extent that's normal and maybe even human to want some order, but the anxiety seems pervasive and intense for many women, especially if someone else, even a friend sees it. 

 I once had an eye opening and affirming experience.  For purposes of privacy I will keep this vague. There was a mom of a baby and toddler who helped our family out in an urgent situation, very last minute, which meant I was in her home on short notice. I didn't know her very well. As might be expected with a baby and a toddler, the home was very messy. She didn't make any statement explaining or trying to excuse it and I found it refreshing, really refreshing. I admired her solid sense of self. I felt gratitude for how she was helping us. 

It also made me feel less alone. 

The other day I was reading Michelle Obama's new release The Light We Carry, and the topic of worth and matter against our own standards, not our country's or culture's standards stood out. 

Before I share it, I want to note that I believe she was primarily speaking to those who are marginalized and those in minority groups. It spoke to me as a woman and a writer but I want to note that I come from a position of privilege as a white middle class person in a first world country. I want to be clear about that before I share what I personally gleaned from it and how it has helped me to grow. 

Ms. Obama writes, " When you start to rewrite the story of not mattering, you start to find a new creative center. You remove yourself from other people's mirrors and begin speaking more fully from your own experience, your own knowing place. ....It's also helpful to acknowledge what makes this work so difficult. We are tasked with trying to write our own script over layers and layers of already written ones. We have to try to put our truth over narratives that have long suggested we don't fit, don't belong or don't register at all. These stories have been enshrined by tradition and cemented in every day life, in many cases forming the literal back drop to our days. They unconsciously shape our conception of both self and other. They purport to tell us who is lesser and who is greater, who is strong and who is weak. They have anointed heroes and established norms: This is who matters. This is what success looks like. This is what  doctor looks like, what a scientist looks like, what a mother looks like, what a senator looks like, what a criminal looks like, what a victory looks like... .. It's hard to dream about what's not visible. You can't readily strive toward what you don't see. Rewriting the story of not mattering takes both courage and persistence." 

I had an epiphany moment after reading this wisdom that maybe I can rewrite the norms and standards in areas where I have followed our culture's norms without even realizing it and have thus boxed myself in. It spoke to me as a woman and a mother, two roles that have historically not been valued and have been defined by a patriarchal culture.

A clean home means a hardworking and worthy woman/mother in our culture. It's an unspoken standard but it's there. I don't know of many men who grapple with how organized their home is, or at least not to the extent that women do. But maybe crumbs on the floor and dishes in the sink mean hard working and worthy because it was a mother who sat with her child during their emotional meltdown to be present and hold space for those emotions instead of spending that time cleaning. 

I also saw my messes through a new lens, a foreign perspective that stunned me. I was in bed journaling when I looked at the mountain high stack of books and notebooks on my dusty nightstand, spilling in an untidy pile on the floor and I realized I was looking at my creativity. 

My creative mind was manifesting in the physical world. This is how my creativity fuels. It's in spurts and jolts, in unfinished books and tattered notebooks. It symbolized the looseness, the free associating, the randomness required to fuel creativity. My process has improved as I've allowed not only my physical materials to be messy but also the writing process which can be really ugly and disorganized as it's being birthed. Letting go in other areas of my life (my home, expectations, my perfectionism, to name a few) has allowed my creativity the space it needs and to be accepted as an ugly duckling in the first, second and third draft.

The messy artist is not a new notion. But recognizing it and most importantly accepting it, even loving it was the change in me. Letting go of our culture's standards of tidy and clean equaling acceptable, successful, and worthy. 

It begs the question. If a woman is boxed in by those definitions (often unaware), what is being stifled in her? What is being kept from manifesting in the world? For me it's creativity and brainstorming. Maybe the mess represents something else for other women,  and frees their minds and activities in other ways. In ways that fully express who they are as a person rather than as a culturally decided definition of a woman who keeps up appearances, has it all together, and knows exactly where everything is for everyone. 

There's several other ways that I don't fit in the mold of modern society, some areas that I feel comfortable expressing and others I don't, but didn't realize it until I read this excerpt from Ms. Obama. I didn't realize that it was probably fear of going outside of the norm, of being rejected, or laughed at by the world.  But at what cost? I've decided I too want a solid sense of self, much like the glimpse I saw of that mother who greeted me into her messy home. 

I'm 41 and this is my midlife epiphany. I will not be stifled by others' opinions that are generated by centuries of cultural ideas that this what it means to "be a woman," "be a mother", "be an artist", be "an anything I discover that I am." 

I'm also a never ending work in process and change takes time, so there's a good chance I will clean before you come over but I'm going to incrementally allow you to see more of "me" in the mess and do less, and just maybe you will breathe a sigh of relief and permission. 

2023 will not be my year

2023 will not be my year. It won't be my best year ever. It will be a year of joy and sadness, anger and excitement, disappointment and anticipation- the myriad of human emotions. It will be a continuation of everything I'm practicing now- healthy things I started in 2020, new ideas that hatched recently, and the starting and stopping and sometimes sliding "backwards" in my personal growth. I may discover new things I want to start in July. I may keep it simple and find joy in tinkering around in my garden with a cup of hot coffee.

A man made construct of a new year does not encompass me. There's rough days when I regress to the old me of the early 2000s. My thoughts and feelings flow and are influenced by memories of 2021. I often circle back to old habits, old ways of being that I dislike. But that's okay. It's part of being human. 

Goals make sense for some of my life experiences such as graduating college, or when I started my career. But they don't work for my soul or personal growth. Instead I am strengthening my intuitive muscle, listening to my own inner voice of wisdom--something I started some years ago and then got away from, and recently rediscovered. 

It takes away the pressure of having to do "insert healthy change" every day or every week and instead practicing, "what do I need right now?" or "What do I need today?" Usually it's simple and it's not always fun or interesting or what I necessarily even want to do or think I should be doing. 

Often, it's that I need to eat something, I need a nap, or I need to get off the simulation of my phone. Or I need to put on a show for the kids so I can just have a moment to close my eyes and rest my mind. When I'm not in the middle of our busy routine and I have more space it might be, "I need to journal" or "I need to go to yoga." 

As soon as a "should" enters my mind, it's a red flag that it's not my inner wisdom speaking.

Sometimes my mind will interject and say, "Well, you should do some yoga stretches or journal" or any other sort of healthy behavior, and my deep knowing says, "No, actually you need to rest and it's okay to rest." Learning that came as a shock. I was used to identifying my mind's incessant demands of chores and to-do lists but it was a profound discovery that truly listening to what will benefit me in that moment is more important than forcing some healthy behavior. 

I'm still very much practicing but I suspect that listening to that inner voice consistently does lead to the fulfillment of broader goals that  will nourish and make me happy.  I think it will result in personal satisfaction and joy, some of the tenets that goals often promise. 

For a concrete example, if I had a goal of writing every day this year, I would likely have days that I don't feel up to it, I feel too tired, or my toddler wakes up at 4 am and there's no creative energy. I will likely not meet that goal, and not because I'm not capable, but because I went about it the wrong way. It set me up on the wrong path with too much pressure, too much anxiety, and forcing anything on humans rarely results in success. 

However, if I follow that inner voice, if I keep becoming more aware of it and learn to differentiate it from the multitude of other thoughts (very hard to do in this busy loud world), I will have some days where it tells me to rest or just soak in the sunrise, which in turn fuels my creativity (for a later date). There will also be days when the inner voice says, "yes, lets write!" with excitement rather than the forced dread of reaching a broader goal.

In the end it does result in what feels right and healthy and satisfying, much like the goal idea we had initially, and yet along the journey of following that voice, we don't always know what the outcome will be. Maybe it will be me writing a lot of poems and stories and blogs. Or maybe it will fuel different creativity that I never imagined but is equally fulfilling. 

So that's what I will continue to practice and will likely forget during stressful periods in 2023, but if I come back to it like I have previous years, I know this is the right path for me. What other angles might you take to reach personal fulfillment? My path way is likely one of many.

The invisible work of a mother

My work as a stay at home mother often feels invisible. As if there's nothing to show for it at the end of the day. Everyone being alive, clothed and fed doesn't seem good enough. What did I do? Where's the finished product? How did two hours go by with seemingly so little getting accomplished?

When I go to my outside of the home job (part-time), there are numbers to show for my productivity. The number of reviews I completed in an eight hour day. The amount of time I spent on each. A clear outcome on each case, whether it was approved or denied. As I complete each one, I can check it off my list.

But on the days I wear my stay at home mom cap, there's a lot of gray area. What was the outcome of that tantrum? Did I handle that well? Have I damaged my kid and his first memory will be of me  yelling after a very long morning? Is it enough that we just barely survived the day alive, clothed and fed? Where's my outcome? Where's my thank you email from my superior saying, "Hey, Terri, thanks for going the extra mile this morning and sticking your guns on getting the toddler to brush her teeth."

Normally I go through my day like a clucking mama hen. Your T-shirt is on backwards. Please hand me the spoon (instead of throwing it across the dining room). Where did I put the grocery list? Please get a pair of socks on.  Familiar? You've read a thousand similar blogs.

But instead of hurdling at velocity speed through the day and collapsing at 9:21 pm on the couch after a very prolonged two hour bedtime routine, I have become an astute observer of my life. Usually all I can manage is zoning out by scrolling mindlessly through Facebook or a TV show, but I've been working on stepping out of my emotions and the drama of the day to really notice what's going on.

One morning I forced myself to really observe myself and my children while I did the dishes after breakfast instead of letting my mind run wild with all the things that had to be done for the day. I became mindful. I counted the interruptions. There were 7 interruption from my tiny people.

Also, at one point my 17 month old was hanging on my leg. At another point she bumped her chin and was crying. I still had not eaten breakfast and it was 10 am. Dishes take an exorbitantly longer amount of time when you are interrupted 7 plus times. I simply noticed this and gave myself some grace. No wonder it feels like I have nothing to show for my day because it took over 2 hours to clean the kitchen, all the while I was attending to my children's needs and then it was time to start lunch and begin the madness all over again. A task that should be simple becomes a mountain.

It would be easy to see the outcome as, "I got the dishes done" if I view it the same way I look at my outside the home job since dishes are the only tangible completed task. However, I soothed my toddler. I redirected my four year old, multiple times. I assisted each with tasks they aren't able to complete independently. I was in constant mental tasking- prioritizing, assessing, processing, evaluating, all so to meet everyone's needs the best I could and keep the home functioning and operating.

No one really sees all this underground work. My little people don't because they're just little, and it's their job to simply be kids.

I don't have anyone to vent to other than the occasional text to another mom, phone barely grasped in my slippery dish soapy hands. However, that's not the same as venting to a colleague for a few minutes in person in the cubicle next door to yours who is in immediate reach and can instantly provide empathy with you since they're in the same boat. A stay at home mom is a lone wolf. There's a lot of talk about tribes. But we're not set up in a culture that's conducive to tribe living. Unless you happen to be lucky enough to live next door to another stay at home mom and can share a mimosa in the backyard morning sun in between temper tantrums.

There's a mental stamina needed in those who stay home with their children. Some days I am baffled as to why it feels so hard. I'm "just" home with my kids. However, when I force myself to step back and observe, I see how mentally, emotionally and physically exhausting it is to stay home as a caregiver to kids. Mentally, the planning, organizing, strategizing, vigilance, and brainstorming solutions. Emotionally being both a nurturer and a sounding board for the wide range of emotions seen in an immature and  still developing brain. Physically there's the lifting, running, protecting, and maintaining safety during temper tantrums.

I see you lone wolf mother. You're not alone. Your work is often invisible but I know all that you do. This blog only touches one percent of it.

Life and Death

I experienced life and death simultaneously. Not my own life or death, but the emotions of it as a witness, intimately connected with one person going through the journey of death and one person's new life and birth. My mother-in-law was dying and I was pregnant with my daughter.

I felt very alone in this unique experience. I tried to explain it and everything fell flat. Few truly understood. Intense joy and equally intense grief at the same time. Excitement and fear. Eager anticipation and dread.

I was frustrated because I could never fully be present with just one experience or the other. The other was always in the back of my mind, making it very confusing. I became very angry. By trying to attend to both, I felt like I was missing everything or failing at it all. While logically I knew I was asking myself to do the impossible- to uphold some perfect ideal of how I wanted to experience both situations, the frustration of it was fierce.

If all I do is allow the grief to flood me and if it consumes my thoughts, I will miss out on my pregnancy. If all I do is focus on the baby and planning and joy, I will miss out on these last moments and the attention and presence I wanted to give my mother-in-law. But to do it both at the same time was a daunting task. I didn't know how.

So I did my best. I switched off and on. Back and forth. When I was focused on one person, my entire focus was on them and I tuned everything out as well as I could. It was the best I could manage. I still have times though when my heart skips a beat and I feel a different loss. That I couldn't be there more for my mother-in-law. That I couldn't be there more for my baby and pregnancy.

One thing it taught me is how common and normal it is to experience two seemingly opposite emotions at the same time. While it might not be that common to experience the extremes that I went through, it's made me aware of how sometime I can feel happy and sad at the same time. Depression and sadness might be in the background. Or vice versa.

Whenever I felt buffeted by the uncontrollable ocean waves of death, I clung to joy and hope of the new life inside of me.

Then just days before my due date my husband's stepmother passed away unexpectedly.
So much death. Three family deaths during the pregnancy.
My grandmother, mother-in-law, and step mother-in-law.

A lack of control.
It was too much to process. Three deaths and an upcoming birth.
I felt a sudden shift. I became hyper-focused on the new life and birth only days away.

I wanted a natural delivery without medications for many reasons but after these deaths, that goal became even more important to me. Despite the physical pain, it was still life. It was pain with a purpose after witnessing pain without purpose-- or seemingly so. It was a way to feel my body healthy and vibrantly working the way it was designed. I viewed the pain as good and purposeful and better understood that pain doesn't have to equal fear.

Despite how painful labor was, it made me feel alive. There was some sort of reassurance in that. I was rooted in my physical self. It was painful but somehow it made me feel more alive.

While I clung to the pregnancy as a light of hope in the midst of what appeared dreary, over a year later I can also see how maybe the deaths prepared me for the "letting go" and trust that is required in labor and delivery of a baby. There was nothing I could do to stop the dying process- one loved one who died slowly and the other in a quick flash. That lack of control was difficult.


No amount of worrying changed it, no amount of research or talking about it, no amount of problem solving, no amount of denial. It was life playing out on its own. It's the same with labor. I did much better with "letting go", trusting my body, riding the wave of physical pain. The less I tightened my body and resisted it, the less pain I perceived. My labor mantras focused on this. My mind had to trust my body for a change.

Birth, life and death formed a perfect circle and had more commonalities than one would think. This might be because death is actually rebirth, a different kind of birth. A beginning instead of solely an end. Maybe birth on earth is an ending that we're unaware of.

*Quote taken from Ram Dass

Mom and toddler hurdles: Let emotions be

My daughter was whining and I was tuning it out, coffee in hand, on the couch. I was irritable. She was irritable. It was the day after vacation and it was an unpleasant post vacation day of unpacking, laundry, and getting back into the routine.

I started saying and doing things that might distract her from whining because I was already cranky and it was grating on my ears, only making me more irritable. I suggested this. Explained that. I was trying to make her happy. I did a lot of talking.

I realized then how absurd it was. I was cranky. Why couldn't she just be cranky? It didn't make sense to me because we had just had a really nice vacation but there it was. So I let it be.

I said, "I'm cranky and you're cranky."
That's it.
Let the emotion be.
Don't judge it or hide it or reprimand it or cover it up with superficiality.

So we were two crankys with a vacation hangover.

I learned two lessons.

1. Experiencing what it's like to ride the wave of an emotion instead of burying it.

2. Allowing my daughter to have a negative emotion and not becoming anxious over it.

Maybe the high of a good vacation is followed by an equivalent low.
Maybe emotions don't need to be controlled, no matter what the age. If given the chance, they make an appearance, pass through, and then dissipate.

The Value in Unmet Goals

You always hear about when people meet their goals, but rarely do you hear them talk about failed goals.

At the beginning of 2018 we decided to make a family goal of hiking 50 miles together as a family. Separate ventures were not included. All four of us had to be on the hike. My daughter decorated 50 popsicle sticks, each one representing a mile that would be placed in a jar after a hike.

We hiked 22 miles together as a family. Last spring was cold and rainy, making it difficult to take a toddler and baby on long walks and the summer was sweltering hot and humid,  many 95 plus degree days, once again, making it difficult with small children in tow. Most of those miles were achieved during the fall.

After making the goal we quickly learned that it would have been easier to achieve if we looked cumulatively at how many miles my husband took the girls in the running stroller and my walks with them while he was at work. However, the aspect of it being family time was important to us, and not just about achieving a high number. We also learned that uncontrollable factors (such as weather, unexpected life events etc) can easily affect goals or make them harder to grasp.

On New Years Day 2019, my four year old counted the popsicle sticks and I felt proud to think we had walked the equivalent distance of a northern suburb of our city to a southern suburb. I felt proud that we had even been mindful enough to set a goal like this when we had a five month old baby and that we stuck to tracking it, even when we realized come October that we wouldn't reach our number in mind.

I'm happy that this is something we do as a family and hope that my four-year-old learned something from it. Not just about setting goals. Not about achieving them. But rather about being intentional with your time, quality time, and being mindful of what you are doing. Counting the miles not only motivated us to hike more, but slowed my awareness that it's something we enjoy as a family and how many miles we went.

Sometimes the process or journey really is more inspiring than the destination.

The Facebook Guilt Slap

You know these, right? This was the most recent one I've seen on Facebook , but there are numerous others that are all one in the same.

How do you feel after reading that?

Honestly.

I just read:

Guilt. Guilt. Do More. Guilt. You're not spending enough time with your kids. Guilt. Guilt. Appreciate them more. Guilt. Love the sh!tty days. Ignore those "touched out" jitters. Guilt.

I'm sure not everyone reads it like this, but I also can't be the only one. Your toddler has been incessantly whining for over an hour about needing a snack ten minutes after you cleaned up breakfast, the baby just had her third blow out diaper by 11 am and your husband texted you he will be home late from work. You've given yourself a five minute time-out from the toddler by hiding in the shower and this heartwarming gushy quote appears in your Facebook feed.

GUILT SLAP

Better step out from behind the shower curtain and embrace the whining.

Okay, bitter rant is over. I had a sh!tty day so I decided it was good timing to tear this quote and all the similar ones to pieces.

I get the sentiment.

I totally get that I'll blink and my snack monster will be 18 and want little to do with me. I do savor what I can. I try to take snapshots in my head. I have a notebook by my bed where I try to write the cute things she says and does that I would never remember otherwise. I put my phone down and SEE them. So don't guilt me. Don't imply it's not enough. I heap enough guilt on myself without any outside help.

What the author of this quote doesn't get is that these little people are a huge part of my world. And if I don't take care of myself or set boundaries, I get lost, frazzled, and I can't enjoy them at all. So I actually find these guilt messages a bit dangerous. Especially if it's read by a mother suffering from depression or anxiety.

What I have found as a mostly Stay At Home Mom is that if I don't set limits or take breaks, I savor less. When I do take breaks, I enjoy my time with them that much more. So no, I'm not going to let my child jump into bed with me. That's my space and I need my sleep. And get this-- if I do let her jump into bed, as the quote says, it won't make me savor and appreciate this time more. It detracts from it.

And embrace the hard days? That's asking too much. Do you embrace your hard days at your outside the home job? I certainly hope not. I see it as progress if I can roll with the rough days.

I get it that when you're older, your kids are older, and you're not sleep deprived or dealing with a major meltdown in the Target checkout, that you get nostalgic. And you have hindsight--that this small child period is--in the grand scheme of things--short. But don't tell me that when I'm in it--when I've had a week straight of crappy days--because it's only human to crave a chunk of time to yourself. For peace. It's okay to not feel quite as loving toward the child who has been testing you all day.  That was your entire world that day.

Whoever wrote that quote can gladly come and watch my kids while I savor a glass of wine on my deck in peace.

Signing off as the mama who is not embracing this exhausting day, but is bracing herself for the next day by savoring sleeping kids.

Bearing witness to a toddler tsunami

I have a  delusion. It's a bit unconscious,  but it's always  humming in the  background  of my  mind. I  seem to  believe that you, the reader, and  lots of  other  readers have it all together.  That you have a  fairly  clean and organized  house at any  given time  and  to do lists are achievable. I am  always  competing  with you even though you are a fictional  character in my mind,  who by the way, is also fit, witty, and very sociable. I realize this is NOT based in reality.

I haven't found a good cleaning rhythm or schedule as a mother. It's not usually a trashed mess but also never seems completely clean or orderly. This frustrates me because I feel as though I'm in a constant state of cleaning and picking up, which I have found is the complete opposite of mindfulness and makes me feel very restless and irritated. I'm always in complete awe of the mothers who have found a way to keep up or at least appear to keep up. Perhaps this is some fantasy that I've just projected out there.

I hate picking up the toys, burp cloths, random clothes, blankets, and dirty socks off the floor because within a couple of hours it will look the same. So sometimes I don't.

I also despise dishes. For some reason I have it in my head that it's possible to have a clean picked up kitchen for more than 30 minutes  but I've come to the conclusion that that's only possible if I were to camp out and live in the kitchen.  I equally despise the restless irritable feelings I get when I am constantly picking and cleaning up. It's a vicious lose-lose circle for me. I've heard of some women who find it calming to pick up. It makes me irritable.

This morning a light bulb went off. I'm not sure why because on the surface it looked similar to probably 40% of my other mornings. The kitchen was a mess. Dishes crying for mercy. Aftermath of a war with splattered Ketchup in the sink. Rejected brown pears on toddler plates. Last night's pots and pans on the stove. I was behind.

I also had a toddler sprawled on the bathroom floor, upset after I had set a boundary 20 minutes prior. I was sitting on a toddler stepping stool in the bathroom while brainstorming how to handle this new phase of my three year old swatting away any comfort and yelling every time I calmly reflected her feelings. She was a burrowed turtle shell lying  on the shower rug. I decided to not touch her, but sit with her and verbally let her know if she needed something from me, I was there.

For some reason it hit me. That's why the kitchen is a mess and I can't keep up. I'm doing more important work at the moment. When she's angry and screaming and pushing me away, it would be much easier to go do the dishes. Dishes are actually much more appealing in that moment.

Granted, after a bit I let her know where I was going if she needed me and I began to tackle the kitchen because, well, it's a might balancing act. But for a good 20 minutes she needed me. Even though on the surface she was pushing me away, I sensed she needed me there, focused on her, even if only for a short time.

I found it affirming to myself. Dishes can't wait forever but they will be in a perpetual state of being behind. Can I let that go? Can I accept that? I'm  doing  important  work. Being a witness to her emotions, being present, being available, and reflecting her difficult emotions.

 As a therapist, I have seen many people struggling as adults from supressing and  bottling  their emotions, and no one accepting or bearing witness to them. So I realized how very important this moment was and to dig in, especially if  mentally and emotionally I felt I could handle it.

Which leads me to, sometimes I can't.

Admittedly there are times when I'm just not in a mental space to always be there for her emotionally and sometimes it's okay to ignore the tantrum and just go do the dishes. That's the challenge of parenting. There's no set guidelines to follow for every situation. It's  always in flux, with many shades of beige.

However, my mini epiphany was that I  saw what I was doing, in that moment, as valuable, and affirming myself for it. Like gosh, that was hard and I didn't do it perfect, but I did good and it was just as important as when I worked as a mental health therapist being present with an adult who is depressed. Personally, it's more important to me because it's my child.

Whether I  can mentally  and  emotionally  sit and bear  witness  or even if I  can't and I  leave the room to ignore the tantrum,  unconditional  acceptance of her emotions is probably the most important piece. This  involves  more than  just ignoring. I  let her know she has a right to her feelings  no matter  how  intense and  unpleasant, I  make sure she knows  where I am  if she needs me, and most importantly,  mentally  I let go and  just allow the  tantrum  to  run its course  (as long as no one is  getting  hurt).

While she needs  someone  present, it strikes me how a difficult  piece of  motherhood is how much is done without much acknowledgement because of the  nature of it. There is  no venting to a coworker  in the  office  next door  between the  hours of  9 and  5. Many tantrums you experience  alone, with no other  adults present.

While I  don't expect a pat on the  back  for every  hard thing I do (no matter what the job), mothering,  especially those hours your spouse isn't  home, can be lonely. Again,  it's part of the territory  but the affirmation and  acknowledgement is significantly  less than when I worked  outside of the home at a civilian job. I wonder if this  contributes to mothers' depression? It's easy to lose sight of what you're doing. Your world becomes smaller.

After a work meeting you might  process with a  colleague what you  said to Tonya during the meeting.  At home with a  toddler I can't  ask another adult,  was my tone too harsh when I scolded little Jonny? Am I off today? I have no witness for a good 40 hours a week.  And so, holding off on the dishes,  not only  helped my toddler but it helped me to slow down.

Slowing down.

Noticing  what I was doing.

Being mindful and aware of  myself.

Even if it's just to notice my own emotions.

I was able to witness what I was doing and affirm myself.

Mama Llama Challenges: Intervening less as a parent

Here you see not only two crafts but two different parenting styles.

The one on the left I gave a lot of guidance, prompting, and helping. The one on the right,  I shaped the paper plate for her, but after that I did a lot less intervening.

During the crafting of the first snow man I became aware of how much I was imposing. Part of this was out of excitement. Honestly, it makes me feel like a child again, since these skills have been dormant for over twenty years. I was eager to join in, see how it would turn out, and whether we could actually replicate what I had found online.

I  held the paper while she cut out the scarf and I was prompting how to cut it in the "right" shape. I held the paper plate, while she put the glue on. She stuck the eyes where I pointed they "should" go. I had her put the glitter glue buttons on, but again, I guided where would be the "best" placement. I gave her a black maker to draw the mouth. We were doing it together.

I had given her the tasks that I knew she could do and I guided or did the rest so that it would look the way the craft is intended to look. We were both excited with how it turned out. And yet something was missing. I felt as though I had robbed her. It looked like it was "supposed" to and yet it wasn't fully hers. It didn't have her touch.

So with the second one, I instructed myself to back off. Not entirely, but much more so. To let her be and become more aware of my own impulses and feelings. I created the paper plate cone for her, but then I let her create. I prompted still with "what does the snow man need?" "What else might he need?" but otherwise she was on her own.

I found that I really enjoyed watching her create. His orange hat was changed to a face of sorts, although she called it a nose. She chose yellow all on her own to draw the mouth. She put lots of glue on each eye. I also let her decide when she was done. It was kept simpler, and that was okay.

I later wondered what she would have created if I had not demonstrated the "correct" one first.

Granted this is just a craft, but as a parent and what I've witnessed in other parents, we are so eager to show the "right" way in many scenarios. Of course, brushing teeth has a standard way that must be taught, but if it's something creative or when it comes to play, why do we still feel a need to intervene so much? Is it because this is what we were taught? Is it because we lost that true art of wild imagination and creativity since as children we were shown the one way of doing things? Even in play. Did we lose that ability from lack of use? Due to the brain being trained and socialized into doing things the "right" way. Perhaps creative solutions to problems are also completely lost as we become adults in the workplace,  politicians attempting to fix a country, or as a researcher of cancer.

I hope to find a good balance. I still want to help her make the craft as it's been designed to look , but maybe she can first try it her own creative way. Or maybe I make one the intended  way while simultaneously she makes one her way. There's also the balance to consider regarding her age. More assistance the younger the child is, but I've also noticed that when I intervene less, she's capable of more than what I expected.

As a side note, I realize a lot of days you just need to give yourself a pat on the back for managing to get the glue out and actually finding a clean piece of construction paper in between the kitchen timer going off and the baby fussing and the millions of other tasks a parent does in a day. But on occasion the stars do align and there's the luxury of sitting and being present with my child while doing a craft and these are things I like to observe and think about.

I also like to find very small ways in which to intervene less, especially with things where it doesn't really matter how something is done. For example, when she does her ballet DVD, I never correct or show her, even when she's not doing it "correctly." I have to make a conscious effort to be this way because it's a knee jerk reaction to automatically show her how.

I first came to learn this approach through RIE articles, particularly those by Janet Lansbury. She addresses an alternative approach to how we might interact with children and tackles several different challenging behaviors as well. Here's a sample article of hers about play and creativity:

http://www.janetlansbury.com/2012/08/are-you-putting-the-kibosh-on-creativity/



Note: This in no way relates to or represents the  Llama Llama children's books  although we do adore the  series and I  personally  can relate to Llama mama's  stress!

Laid back mama

I wrote this many months ago. It's interesting to go back and see where my head was in different stages of my daughter's babyhood. I wish I had written more. I was always writing in my head, but as a new busy mom it rarely made it to paper. I debated whether to still post it, but it deserves it's moment since it really captures where I was, and while I've evolved and my experience is somewhat different now, I'm just simply not a laid back cool cucumber mama. I suppose I should update with a toddler version!




I'm jealous of the laid back mamas. For one, people always refer to them with such admiration.

"Ohh she's so laid back." oozes the (insert grandmother/friend/observer/neighbor.) They adore her.

Subtext: This is a cool cucumber mama who does not get frazzled, who lounges in her backyard both with manicured nails and the ability to say "meh" to the dog poo on her son's shoe. So chic/girl next door/wonder woman all wrapped into one. She embraces a bygone mama of the 1970's who lets her children explore the neighborhood until dinnertime and monitors from a distance.

She lets her son eat on the run, candy wrapper stuck behind an ear, and almost glances when he climbs a broken tree branch.

She is so cool and I rage with envy and wonderment.

"She hasn't napped yet today," She shrugs as if it's a minute detail about the forecast in Switzerland. When my daughter hasn't napped, there's a magnitude 8.5 earthquake in our home. This is why I bite my non manicured nails when she only naps 30 minutes, and we adhere to a nap schedule. Trust me, I didn't choose this. My daughter did. I attempted non-chalant-swing-that-child-whererever-we're-going. I wanted to be granola mama. It went so perfect in my head when I was pregnant. We both wore those matching hippie headbands. I did gardening while wearing her in a sling on my back. We rolled in the grass. We skipped naps like nobody's business.

Now introduce frantic, OCD, worrying, helicopter mama. There's no oozing about her, except maybe the ooze that secretes from her left eye as she squints and twitches at her 12 month old walking to the edge of the patio. She restrains herself from jumping in since she isn't sure if he understands one foot heights yet and wants to appear unbothered in front of her friends.

I used to have questions for those mamas:

1. How do you do it?
2. Is it a 1+ child phemomenon? Will I achieve that if I have more kids?
3. Is it simply your personality? Have you always been chill?  Did you not freak about eating deli turkey when pregnant?

But now, I honestly don't care.

I've tried the laid back mid century America approach and it feels like a burlap dress. Scratchy and uncomfortable. I'm that mama who restrains in an attempt to appear cool, but inside I'm tightly wound. Maybe I will ease up a bit as she gets older or if I have more kids, but I inwardly sighed when a friend revealed that she still check that her 8 year old child is still breathing before she goes to bed. I hear about mama's doing that the first month or two but I still do it and thought I was overly neurotic. Then I read some article that OCD-like behavior is a normal physiological process of early motherhood and I sighed again. It's exhausting enough taking care of a tiny person. I'm not going to beat myself up about what comes natural to me.

Spilled Milk: What no one tells you about postpartum life, colic, and reflux

 *Note: This isn't written prettily and you'll probably get bored quickly if you can't relate. I know I would have a few years ago before babies were even on my radar. I write this like I would in a journal so I don't forget. I wrote it along my journey, in real time, so now, in hindsight I better understand certain things, but I haven't done much editing (of content). It better captures my experience.

About one week old, before colic and reflux kicked in. I didn't like many of the pictures of me in those first months, but now I realize they show the reality.

This is the blog that I wish I could have read before my daughter was born. No one talks about post partum life. They speak in vague terms of sleep deprivation, how it changes your life, postpartum depression, and you don't have time to shower or eat. Maybe it's something you can't fully grasp until you've lived it, but I plan to lay out some of the grisly details- the behind the scenes footage of the Annie Leibovitz newborn photo shoots. Not all of this will fit since it's my unique experience and my daughter had colic and acid reflux, but there's bound to be some common threads.

This is the experience I had been anticipating and for some it works out this way, but I have a hunch that for most it's not sunshine and glory those first few months. Don't get me wrong. I am fiercely in love with my daughter, but was it mostly blue skies and rainbows with a few stormy nights like this fellow blogger mom describes? No.

My daughter kept us in suspense during the weeks preceding her birth. She kept flipping from transverse to head down position. If only we knew this was a sign of what was to come!

4 Weeks

My daughter is 4 weeks old. I'm curious to see how old she'll be when I finish this post. Hopefully before she's 2 years old! As I write this, she naps. This is the first time she's slept that I've not fallen into deep slumber myself or gulped down a meal.

Sometime between one and three months

You hear "sleep while they sleep". Yeah right. My daughter's colic kicked in at 3 weeks.

She. Would. Not. Sleep.

Her and I would be awake when her dad went to bed (he had to work the next day) and we'd still be awake when he got up in the morning. I told him, hopefully we won't still be awake when you get home from work. That might have been one of the times she was awake for 20 hours straight. I was baffled. I knew you had to get up throughout the night with infants, but an infant that would be awake for 12, 13 hours straight, regularly, only taking mini catnaps? I thought they needed 16 hours of sleep within a 24 hour period? ...sound of me throwing out the textbook..

I thought the hospital was at least partly about recuperation. It wasn't. I was in labor for almost 48 hours and I only got 1-2 hours of sleep each day in the hospital. I was eager to go home so I could sleep while she slept (I still believed that myth!). In the hospital our little one didn't sleep at night and during the day we had constant interruptions from the hospital. Then add the challenge of learning (and teaching baby) the new skill of breastfeeding while sleep deprived. Breastfeeding is hard. I consider myself holistically oriented, but I came close to giving up a couple times. I got depressed when we had to give her a bottle (some pumped, some formula) during that learning period. I felt like a failure before I had barely begun. If breastfeeding is natural and has been done for centuries, why was it so hard?

Every lactation consultant has a very different approach. The one we saw right before leaving the hospital had us in a panic because my daughter hadn't had any dirty diapers since the day she was born and she said we'd have to supplement with formula if she didn't have one by midnight. (The little stinker produced one at the doctor's office the next day after we had called the after hours number a la new parents style). I wanted to burst in tears when we discharged from the hospital because she spent two hours bombarding us with gadgets, methods, and an overflow of information that was meant to be helpful but it felt like a semester course in breastfeeding that my exhausted brain couldn't absorb.

No one talks about how when your milk finally does come in days later that you will constantly be soaking through shirts, or that breastfeeding gets a little easier once that happens. No one talks about how sore you will feel and that it's normal, and it may last several weeks. No one talks about momma and baby anatomy and how that can affect the learning. I didn't realize that during this phase you're breastfeeding 24 hours a day, or close to it. Some of this was due to the reflux. I would spend an hour feeding (or trying to feed her), she was fussy for a couple hours, then I would try feeding her again, and this was all we did. It took about 8 weeks before we seemed to have a good latch and I wasn't gritting my teeth in pain.

The pediatrician repeatedly told me to try waking her up earlier so she would go to bed earlier and switch back her nights and days. I repeatedly told her about my infant's chaotic sleep patterns and feeding behaviors and it didn't matter what I did. The pediatrician and I were on very different planets. Missing over and over in our conversation. It was pretty apparent that she had no understanding or experience with a child who's suffering from colic or reflux. I wasn't being heard or understood. I balled after her doctor appointments. There was an attitude of sorry, you just have a challenging baby, you gotta tough it out, and it's just colic that the baby has to outgrow.

 I explained how I couldn't get a good feeding with her. There was no feeding nicely for 20 or 30 minutes, baby is soothed, and then falls asleep. I couldn't even get 10 minutes of a nice feeding in once an hour.  I explained how my daughter would act starved, fiercely suck for a few minutes all the while thrashing her head and body, pull off, then get on again all the while crying and fussing. I thought I was doing something wrong with latching her. I couldn't tell how much she ate, one feeding blended into another. She would spit up while feeding, and after feeding. We would do this for hours a day. I now know that this is typical acid reflux behavior and she was doing this from the pain.  This behavior also causes them to suck in more air and have more gas. I was given no explanation at her appointments when I explained how chaotic her feeding and sleeping were. I was given a script for Zantac and basically told to tough it out.

Is she gaining weight? Yes. Doctor is satisfied. It doesn't matter how difficult the feedings are or that she is in pain. Am I bitterly disappointed in the medical field? Yes.

My brain got weird during the sleep deprivation. I went several days with only about one hour of sleep a day. I started having weird thoughts and I was on the verge of hallucinating. I remember when the breast pump noise started sounding like muffled high pitch voices. One time I couldn't even fall asleep. I cried in desperation to my husband,  I can't sleep!  I'm going crazy and having weird thoughts!  When I finally got a solid 3 to 4 hours, it was heaven. I was certain I could last for days! And this is coming from someone who has ALWAYS needed her sleep, averaging 9 hours a night to feel rested.

Three months

I didn't know it at the time (my daughter is now 13 weeks), but her reflux was keeping her awake. It would constantly wake her. One of those days when she was awake for 20 hours, I was afraid I'd fall asleep holding her so I set her safely in her rock and play sleeper. I knew she'd be fine for 5 minutes before crying again. I slept for 5 minutes and I even had a dream. Amazingly it rejuvenated me for another 45 minutes before the fatigue hit me again.

During the pregnancy I wrote about my impending feelings of grief about the pregnancy ending.I don't know how common this is. Most of what I hear is about women being so uncomfortable that they try every trick to get their water to break. I was huge and uncomfortable but I never reached that point of wanting it to be over. I also hadn't anticipated the pregnancy grief would last for at least a month after she was born. It took my mind a little time to transition from pregnancy mode to new mother with a newborn mode. It seemed a bit foggy and dreamlike. I wonder if that's what it's like for the infant trying to transition to our world, not quite being able to fully leave the womb.

 The pregnancy bond with your baby is different from bonding with baby in your arms. I thought it was more of a timeline type of bond, like most relationships. It was the same little being, but different experience. There's much to learn about this infant. There's quirks to learn. It's a bit messy. I felt guilty when it was early in the morning after she'd only slept for a couple hours and I didn't feel lovey dovey toward her. I felt annoyed. Then I felt guilty for feeling annoyed. I'm still learning that it's okay to not always like your child's behavior. It's okay to be frustrated and irritated by your child, no matter what age.

When you have a fairly easy pregnancy and you get sleep, you eat, and you have time with your hubby, it's easy to focus on bonding with baby whose needs are all being met by your body. When you care for an infant you get snippets of bonding time, but most of it is intense hard work, especially with a baby who has colic and reflux. I've never been more challenged physically and mentally at the same time. I longed to be two people, one who could do the hard stuff and the other who could relax and bond with baby.

Time stopped when my daughter was born. I was in such a fog, so consumed by this little being, that for months it still felt like early September. Nights and days are mixed up, adding to the confusion. I might take a nap in the evening, brush my teeth at 11 pm and then be awake for 18 hours with a fussy baby, only to repeat the madness. It's like being a sleep deprived third shifter that doesn't eat and rarely leaves the house.

On the occasions I went to the store for half an hour to get a break, I fumbled to answer the cheery cashier's questions. My brain couldn't process or retrieve words and I'd somewhat lost my social skills. I wanted to retort "yeah right" when they said "have a nice night." They meant well, but I was going home to a screaming inconsolable infant. People tell you it gets easier and it doesn't last forever, but when you are tired, hungry, and irritable, it feels like it will never end and you will never feel rested. I felt like I wasn't living. That's the best way I can explain it.

Moods. I've never experienced such mood swings in my life like I did those first couple of weeks. It must have been a combination of sleep deprivation, hormones, and the 8 lb 9 oz. life changer. More so than what I experienced the whole pregnancy or during any menstrual cycle. Crying, depressed, and frustration sum it up. Then there's the bleeding- nine months worth of bleeding for weeks. Soreness. My tail bone hurt for weeks and I dreaded going from sitting to standing because it hurt so much. I thought I'd feel completely healed by 6 weeks but I didn't. 13 weeks postpartum and I finally feel mostly healed (no more babies yet though please!).

Then there was the first time I was separated from her. It took me a few weeks. I broke down to my husband (poor hubby) that I was desperate for a break (i.e. run to the store for 20 minutes) but I couldn't bear to part with my daughter. It would be the first time I would be separated from her, ever! I balled my eyes out as I drove the store. I knew though that I'd be a better mother if I took a little time to myself. In those first couple of months, taking time for myself sometime consisted of a ten minute break of going outside because I was too exhausted to drive anywhere. Panera Bread became a frequent spot for me to go for an hour, even if it was just for a cup of tea. I couldn't take breaks at home because even if I was in another room, I could still hear her crying and fussing while my husband took care of her, and I would immediately get tense.

I wish I had known about the 4th trimester. Infant aren't ready for our world after nine months, but their little heads would be too big to make an exit if they stayed in the womb for a full year. I love snuggling and holding my daughter, but I wasn't aware that you hold infants all the time, particularly if they are fussy from gas or reflux.

Then there was the time a week ago when I was nursing her and she suddenly popped off to give me the biggest smile and like any girl, wanted to chat. Then she gave a mischievous smirk and snuck back on to get a few more sips. Only to pop off and chat a little more. Yes, it sounds cliche but I'll say it. It makes it all very worth it.

I cried multiple times because I felt like I was missing out on her early stages. She was either crying, very fussy, or semi fussy 90% of the time she was awake. She would on occasion have a chunk of an hour or few hours of seeming content. At first I thought it was normal infant behavior but when I thought of other infants I've been around and as the weeks rolled by, I was perplexed. Why was she so unhappy and uncomfortable? We had to constantly walk with her while she would cry. I'm not exaggerating. My husband and I would switch off walking her all the time. Her feeding and sleeping were chaotic. The spitting up became worse around 7 weeks old. I could not set her down. She hated being on her back and tummy. The helplessness is heavy when nothing you do seems to soothe your baby.

Four Months

My daughter is 4 months old, the time when most babies outgrow colic. While her reflux medication seems to be helping and toned things down from screaming for hours to being fussy the whole day and I can't set her down more than five minutes. Some days it feels like we're still in newborn mode. After feedings are the worst. We do have some good days which constitutes of  being really fussy and crying after almost every feeding, and a good portion of the day she's not content. (I just reread that sentence three months later and thought wow-- I considered THAT a good day?).

I felt really depressed yesterday. I still don't know what's wrong or how to help or if there is any way to help. I drive myself crazy wondering is it the dairy in the cookie I had? Did I not burp her thoroughly enough? Was her medication given on an empty stomach? Maybe she has slowed gastric movement and her stomach isn't actually empty after two hours which is why the medication isn't fully helping? How do these moms do the full elimination diet to see if it's food allergy related? I'm happy when I get two full meals in a day that aren't total trash and processed. Did that probiotic help or did that give her more tummy pain and that's why she screamed again for five days in a row? Should I try a new one? Are we now in normal fussyness? What's normal? Is some of it her temperament...a high needs temperament baby? My. Mind. Never. Stops.

I was so depressed this morning that I couldn't smile back at my baby. I even avoided her gaze. I caught her looking at me questioningly.  She picks up on a lot. I feel depressed because I wonder if my baby will be fussy for several more months. I remember a night when the colic/reflux kicked in and I took a ten minute break outside and thought, colic doesn't last more than 4 months. I counted how many weeks that would be, took a deep breath, and went back inside. Now it's four months and I don't know when the end is in sight. Is it four months down, four to go since reflux usually is quite better by 8 months, or so?

Four and a half months

My daughter is four and a half months old and (knock on wood) over the last week, I have seen a lot of improvement. Reflux can be cyclic so I don't know, but the other night I cried out of joy instead of frustration. Finally! Finally, my sweet sweet baby. You are feeling better. Your momma has longed for this, for longer periods of savoring you instead of the two of us gritting through pain and simply surviving. I cried as I rocked you to sleep because it was something that felt normal. Rocking you. You falling contently to sleep. Us having had a day with longer spurts of you smiling and playing with toys. You being content after a feeding instead of it escalating into crying and screaming. You and me, connecting in a way other than desperately finding a way to lessen your pain.

You are calmer. I knew the doctors were wrong when they said, "she's just a fussy baby." You don't fuss to be difficult. It's not a fussy personality. You've been hurting and you're trying so very hard to express what's wrong. You still are sensitive, you still are quick to fuss/express when you are uncomfortable, you might still be labeled as a high needs baby who tends to fuss more than others, but it is not an all encompassing part of your personality. The other aspects of your personality were hidden by this raging discomfort you've been experiencing your whole life so far. I cried because for four very long months I have been so eager to meet these other parts of you. To just be with you. To have times I can relax with you. To look in your eyes when you are feeling peace. We've both been frantic and exhausted. So exhausted. You in constant frantic motion, going hoarse with your cries. Me rushing around the house to meet both of our daily needs and finding ways to soothe you. This was a marathon neither of us expected.

I do not know why she's been better. I've been cutting dairy. I started her on a new probiotic. I've started taking her to a chiropractor. She is still on prescription medication. She is older. Reflux can simply be cyclic.  I drive myself crazy not knowing the "why" but I will enjoy this time.

6 Months

My daughter is six months today. What a blur the past six months have been. I still feel like it's September, not March since I've been living in a bubble, solely focused on giving my daughter whatever relief possible and giving every last ounce of myself. She started sitting up on her own a couple weeks ago and she is much happier in this position. There's also been some improvement in her reflux since she started sitting. It's not gone, but she's no longer spitting up 50-75 times a day.

I'm still anxious and afraid to even say she's doing better because, well, over the last three months we've had spells where she seems to do better for about a week or so (like I documented above at four and a half months) and then it gets bad again. The reflux seems to be cyclic and it felt like we would take two steps forward and one and a half steps back. I think, though, that this might be sustained improvement. I can set her down now and she will even play with her toys, sometimes giggling and squealing. She can do this for 20 minutes!! This is a huge improvement. She hated lying on her back and belly so for almost 6 months I either held her or wore her in the Moby wrap. This gives me the freedom to do some things around the house although lately, I've been so happy to see her happy that I sit with her and soak her in. It gives me so much joy! I want to cry because I have longed so very much to see her happy and feeling well.

So, the "why" that I've been searching for. I still don't know for sure, but this is what I've noticed: She's happier sitting up. Her reflux has improved since her back started getting stronger about a month ago and even more when she started sitting on her own. We switched her medication from the Solutab to over the counter Prevacid. Her teething seems to have subsided for the moment (she hasn't been knawing on my arm). And she's getting more sleep. I think some of her fussyness has been from being overtired and difficulty falling asleep. As a high needs temperament, she's extra alert and sensitive and therefore, has a harder time settling down to fall asleep. I never knew it could be so hard for a baby to fall asleep and that her default was to just stay awake. It's crazy! So I've been working harder and longer (sometimes 2 hours) to get her to sleep in the evening and just in the last week she's sleeping 10 hours at night (still wakes a few times).

I feel like I've been under water and I've just come up for air.

Almost seven months

Now that life is feeling more normal and less fragmented, I can think. I can relax. I've been tense for so long that I still find myself going rigid sometimes, especially when she cries. Nearly a flashback.  My body has been so trained that I have to gently remind myself, I can relax now. She is doing much better. She is fine. It will take me some time to learn this.

I've noticed that I have finally started processing the labor, delivery, and the past six months. Maybe this is because I'm no longer living in constant fight or flight mode. Some of this processing is really hard for me. It brings up mommy guilt and other hard-to-face emotions. I'm working through it.

Even when I used to take breaks, I had a really hard time taking mental breaks. I would obsess about what I might be doing wrong and what I could do different for her.

I have a theory that reflux and colic babies get a little behind on learning self soothing and healthy sleep habits. This makes sense though, right? She became fully reliant on my husband and I, but that's the way it was supposed to be. She was in pain. She couldn't be expected to learn to self soothe. We're working on these things now.

She is still a high needs baby (more on that in a future post). She needs to be held a lot and she's particular about who holds her. Just recently she started crying again as soon as I set her down. It only escalates to screaming when I try to give it some time to see if she'll settle. I'm getting better at going with the flow, accepting the ebb and flow of a high needs baby. Here's the 12 features of a high need baby.

Sometimes I feel like I have whiplash. I went from a fairy tale pregnancy and deep bonding, to a zombie world where I suddenly lost my baby.  I gave birth but I couldn't find her. She couldn't be present with us. She was with us physically but only in anguish, and therefore, mentally could not be with us. As I write, the recurring nightmare that I've had (sometimes nightly) since she's been born suddenly makes sense. I kept having this nightmare that she was sleeping in bed with me and I couldn't find her. I would half wake up and rummage through my blankets, almost grasping her, but never quite getting a hold of her, losing her between my fingertips. I stopped having it about a month ago.

My words fail me. I cannot explain those six months. You would have to live them to understand. They were the hardest months of my entire life.

She is a joy!

She is very observant, sensitive, and feisty.

I love getting to know her.

She knows me well already.

Baby girl I have waited so long to get to know you-- well over a year when you count the pregnancy. I hope I did everything possible under the sun for you. I hope you sense how hard your dad and I tried. I hope you understand how much we love you.

I just wrapped this up and she's 7 months old today! It finally feels like the month it is: April instead of September.

The day I cried

It may have been the hormones, just a pregnant day of feeling a little more weepy and sensitive, but I couldn't chalk it all up to the complex physiology of being pregnant. It was genuine and I still get teary when I think upon it.

When I was in the midst of balling, I told my husband I wasn't sure why I was getting so emotional about it. I was 20 some weeks along and I'd been thinking about how time was warping in speed. Like one of those amusement park rides that starts slow and then gains momentum until you're whirling in circles and everything is a blur. For some reason the second half of my pregnancy was going much faster than the first and while it was exciting, it also scared me.

I love having her inside me, with me everywhere I go. I love talking to her. I love that when I go to work, she tags along. At the end of the day, I reassure her, yes it's finally time to go home and Daddy will give her a kiss on my belly.

I also feel as though I can protect her quite well from this world. Not perfectly, but she feels safer in my womb. While I can't always protect her from the life stress that I encounter, I can protect her from people and many dangers in the world. I've gotten several reassurances from my doctor (with my incessant worrying) that the uterus is designed to be strong and protecting. She is safe.

And so I cried when it really dawned on me that this will change. That this time is the most I will ever be able to protect her. That her going with me everywhere I go will change. Feeling her kicks and rolls will change. That this time will come to an end. I'm going to miss that, and even as I write this several weeks later, I get a knotty lump in my throat.  I realize that it will be replaced by new joys and stages with her, which I'm eager to experience. But in that moment I told my husband, I'm going to miss having her safe and secure in my belly, in tune with me.

Fast forward to 40 weeks:

I'm due today and I am a flurried mix of emotions.

You feel like a roly poly baby now. You snuggle up from one side of my belly to the other. You do little stretches that I've grown accustomed to. Your hiccups are much stronger now, and I swear I can feel little feathery hands and fingers waving around. Sometimes you're a very strong baby, testing the limits of the uterus and it looks like you're trying to break out. Maybe you are all ready and confident for this world!

 I am excited to finally meet you! To learn your quirks and personality. To look into your eyes. I will get to interact with you in so many new ways! I'm anxious that the labor will go well and my body will be able to do something it's never done before. I'm scared for your safety. I'm nervous about parenting. I'm sad that the pregnancy is ending. I feel all of these emotions at once, which gets a bit confusing!

 I've gotten so used to you being inside me for nine months, it's as if I don't remember any differently- as if you've always been there. I hadn't anticipated this difficulty of letting go of the pregnancy, of you growing up, although we don't usually think of birth in that way. It's a big change though. For almost a year you've been connected to my body. You've been my buddy, co-experiencing my life, my ups and downs, and all the places I've gone. I could write a detailed autobiography or talk for hours with a therapist, but I think you have come the closest to an insider view of my actual experience of life. And I have become more aware of your experience or the closest that a human can of what life might be like in the womb. You made me more aware of life before birth.

Recently I saw all the pictures that the proud and emotional parents posted on Facebook of their kids' first day of school, and I realized that every stage from here on out will be a "letting go". An ending, intertwined with a new beginning. I've often had a hard time with endings, but this one is particularly hard. I've read and written about it before- how life is not static despite how much we want to cling and freeze it. Life is Motion and constant Transition, and therefore it's that much more important to actually be present in the moment. Accepting the Flow of Life.

So I sit still with you, close my eyes, and focus on your movements. I savor them. I focus my thoughts solely on you, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

We will get through this labor and delivery together. I will face my fears of the unknown and I will do this for you. We will transition to the next stage that life has to offer the two of us, and I will be overjoyed to see you develop relationships with your dad and others. You will still be my little buddy, just in a different way. And I will always be your mother, the one who carried, nourished and bonded with you before you entered this world.

*Photo credits to Angela Lynn Photography

To my unborn daughter

I love her innocence. Her kicks that are simply kicks, with no other purpose or motivation. She is not plagued by a mind yet with worries or stress or fear of judgment. She purely is. She may be aware. She tastes amniotic fluid. She experiences hiccups, but does not resist or get upset by having her third round of hiccups in a day. She floats. She experiments by touching her face and the cord. She explores her small environment. She is content. Or at least I hope and imagine she is content. She does not worry whether she will grow correctly. She just grows. She is dependent upon me wholly and trusts me, although she may not even be aware of this. She doesn't stress about whether I will eat enough or refrain from toxic substances.

 Her life form is entirely dependent upon my sustenance and the perpetual motion of Life Force, that which gives her life. The invisible. God. Life energy. Creation. And yet she is not, because her soul IS her and her soul is not dependent upon me or any earthly force. However, the development of her body, which she needs to experience a life on this earth, is to a certain extent dependent upon her mother, me.

There is so much I can learn from her. Perhaps I should mimic her way of life. Join her in simply being. Be content. Be free of worries. Experience the present. Or at the very least I can enjoy her Way. It gives me peace knowing a being such as this resides in me and is a part of me. I treasure her presence, having her with me everywhere I go.

I know this is temporary, an experience gift from God, and so I take the time to adore the moment. To sit in silence with my hand on my belly and tune into her ever changing and growing movements. To focus solely on her and this experience of her within me. To send her love and give her praise and encouragement, not that she needs it but because I love her. And sustaining her to the best of my ability physically and mentally.

I dream about my future relationship with her, getting to know everything about this soul who has chosen me to be her mother, and I savor this time with her even more. That one day  when she is a grown woman, I can look at her and fondly remember when my bond was just budding for her. I have several close relationships with other souls on earth and those who have passed away, but I was not aware until now of yet another who is coming to earth to be my daughter. I am eager and excited to meet a soul mate this way.

Our Baby

I love to create with words. It's natural and second nature to me. As humans we are all creators. You don't have to be artistic to be a co-creator with God. We are created in his/her image and there's no doubt God is the ultimate creator.

We create every day without realizing it. The thoughts and interpretations we spin on how we view events. The words we choose to articulate ourselves to another. We are dynamic innovative creatures. We create mud castles at the beach and new theories in physics. We create new ways of tackling a relationship problem and new ways of reaching a troubled child. To survive we must create.

My body creates new cells to heal a wound. I don't know how, it's mystifying. It doesn't involve any conscious thinking. It just happens. I repeatedly create another heart beat so that I can continue my life. I don't over think it. I don't think about it at all. Unconsciously my body and soul does this in joint effort.

This is also happening in my womb. I don't think through the steps. But somehow through the unconscious effort of  intertwined DNA, my incubating body, this new soul, God, and spirituality, a human is being created inside of me.

I realize I'm not the first pregnant woman and I don't plan to act like it. However, my experience is unique and since I love to create with words, it's how I will share some of my evolving thoughts as I go through my first pregnancy. I've also started a pregnancy journal, written to our baby.

I never fully understood this idea of being a co-creator with God until now. I feel a profound gratitude that God allows my husband and I to have such an intimate contribution to God's creation. While I still view God as the creator of the soul and spirit that will inhabit this person, I am awed and honored to have such a role (and responsibility) in creating this baby's body. And then of course in guiding this little person through life. I am also awed by the idea of this person being a combination of my husband and myself. While I've always known this logically, I've never experienced it. My husband put it well. He said this baby is a culmination of not just our physiology, but of our 11 year relationship. The sweat and tears and love and joys we've put into this ever evolving imperfect but beautiful and genuine relationship.

The week that the heart started beating, I longed to know exactly when that very first beat began. I was struck with how this commencing heart would beat years beyond my own, as if it gave me glimpse into those unknown decades that my own eyes will never see.

We've decided to not tell anyone until I'm further along. My husband and I are private people and we want to keep some of this process special and private for us. As I write this, I'm almost 7 weeks and I enjoy having this little secret. I go to the store and none of the strangers know. I go to work, I see people I know, and no one knows about this tiny but growing secret. Half an inch long, about the size of a blueberry and yet so many parts are actively forming within this tiny being, even the lens of the eyes! How is this possible? I'm not even trying or consciously doing anything!

This is another eye-opening thing for me. My natural tendency, especially when I'm stressed is to over think and worry. After doing this for 32 years, I've somehow convinced myself that this works (although it really doesn't) and so I keep doing it. For some reason I think if I use my mind hard enough, I will come up with the perfect solution and everything will work out. When I was sitting in silence and meditating today with others, I became more aware of how much I do this, and how ineffective it is. And much like how my heart beats without conscious demand, this baby is plunging right along, with the help of its DNA, my body, life energy, and God. Without me having to use my mind. At all.

Do i still worry? Of course. My worry has ramped up the last few weeks.  Google searches are a pregnant woman's worst enemy. I worry about whether I'm doing the right things, if the baby is okay, if anything is wrong. My mind is trying to do its half-crazed thing, but I'm certain it's not helping. Trusting the unconscious, the unseen, the unknown, is hard for a person like me. I've revered my thinking mind like the western world reveres its scientists. But the mind and the visible has its limitations.

Somehow this little person is still growing by means of these other forces. I'm in awe of this experience and know that this human is not just coming as a child for me to guide, but that this soul is coming to have a relationship with my husband and I, and has many things to teach the two of us.

A short story about this Violet:

I spent well over a year trying to get this violet to re-bloom. I re-potted it several months ago and still nothing happened. I'd almost given up. Soon after I found out I was pregnant, this single bloom appeared and it brought me joy! 

Changing Relationships

I'm not the same person I was ten years ago. My core self is the same, but many of the outward aspects are different such as my likes and dislikes, how I spend my time, what I think about, how I relate to others, how I handle stress, and what I wear. I once read that our bodies are physiologically different due to the death and regeneration of cells. Neuronal pathways change based on changes in behaviors and thought patterns.

Relationships change in much the same way. This didn't dawn on me until about ten years into my relationship with my husband. Not only is he different and I'm different but our relationship is much different than it was when we were 21, 25, or even a few years ago. It's in a constant state of motion, dynamic and changing. Our communication is different. How we spend our time together. The things we talk about. How we argue, how we resolve conflict. The essence of it, which is impossible to describe within the limitations of human language, is different. Which...if he's a different person, and so am I, then it makes sense that our relationship would also be different. It's the most apparent with my significant other since we're a huge part of each other's lives, but you'll see traces of it in other relationships too, with family, friends, and children. Your environment and life stages also affect your relationships. The interplay of those two things are much different now then when I first started dating my husband.

Before I understood this, I worried that something was wrong or it might mean the end of a relationship. Change usually feels icky and uncomfortable, especially if I don't understand it or don't have control over it. But if I can at least acknowledge the change and accept its existence (accept does not mean liking it), it usually helps. If you need to  mourn the parts that are no longer there, then do that. There are some aspects of our 21-year-old relationship that I miss. Even simple things like staying up until 4 am and going to Steak and Shake for an early breakfast was practical when I was in college and had evening classes, but now we work day jobs with a regular routine. I miss that and now my husband and I joke when we're still out (but yawning) at midnight.

"Losing" those things makes room for uncovering the new aspects of your relationship. We developed a new "tradition" of rotating restaurants we go to for brunch on some weekends. The key is adapting and accepting. This applies to deeper seated aspects of the relationship also. Some parts are "lost", but new parts are shiny and ready for you to discover.

How might this topic affect those who are engaged and those considering divorce? Or those going through a rough patch? I'm neither supporting or discouraging marriage or divorce. Would it give relief or might it scare those who are engaged? Would it affirm those in the process of divorce or make them second guess their decision?

Can you think of any relationships that are exactly the same as they were ten years ago? I know I can't.

The Misnomer of "Feminist Movement"

The feminist movement has missed the point, or at least half the point. I had this epiphany the other day when I was reading an article about feminism. I was raised to embrace independence in women. Equality, respect, assertiveness, self esteem, drive, career goals, all of it. I don't recall what exactly I was reading, but it suddenly dawned on me that feminism has often been defined as women acting more like men. I've always known intuitively that this was happening, but to view it within the framework of the feminist movement was appalling.

It's about embracing male characteristics in women. Not a bad thing in itself. I'm all about a culture that accepts a woman who is analytical, strong, and assertive. However, what saddens me is that in order for a woman to become a CEO in this society, the way she gets there is by only showing her masculine characteristics.

Male=strong=powerful=CEO. Female=nurturing=(perceived) weak=not a CEO. Remember when Hilary Clinton cried? I don't recall her being applauded for that.

We may think we've made great progress, but America is still steroids-heavy on male traits. Male characteristics are the ideal. They equal power, America's crack. And we've never seen it go through power withdrawals. I wonder what that would look like.

When I think about all the instances that led to where I'm at in my career, it was because I polished up my male characteristics. I had to show assertion and self confidence at job interviews. I had to speak with authority and conviction during class presentations. I had to show these traits during my internship and first post graduate job. When I feel emotional about a client's story, I hide my emotions and tears from them for fear of not looking professional or capable.

Carl Jung is a psychologist who explored unconscious universal archetypes. These are aspects of personality that are present in all humans. They take shape as thoughts and images. All humans have a masculine and feminine side to them. Yin and Yang. Action and reflection. Dominance and passivity. This is separate from biological sex and even gender. It might be thought of as how the spirit is androgynous.

Carl Jung used the terms anima and animus. The anima is the feminine side of a man and animus is the masculine side of a woman.  As a culture we don't accept feminine traits in females, and especially not in males. This isn't a reference to homosexuality or transgender individuals. I'm referring to feminine tendencies (anima) such as sensitivity, receptivity, reflection, nurturing, gentleness, and intuition that are often repressed in men. And male tendencies (animus) of courage, assertiveness, analytical thought, decisiveness, and drive that women are beginning to access through the "feminist" movement.

For example, some of my male traits are drive, perfectionism,and criticism (of myself), which tends to attack my female side. This might be effective in the American workforce and job interview, but it stifles my creativity. Perfectionism and self criticism slaughter most of my creative ideas before they have a chance to bud. It's like I'm going through life with only the right side of my body. The right limbs break the left and I'm only accessing half of my Self. No wonder I'm limping, stumbling along in some areas of life.

I discovered this when I went on a retreat in a community that embraces Jung and his follower's ideas. I was sharing my writer's block despair with someone, and they suggested my male side (traits) might be dominating and attacking my female side (traits). I'd never thought of it that way before. Read more about my retreat experience.

I can't do Jung's work any justice in a single blog post, but here's something from Wikipedia (under anima/animus) that goes a little deeper: "Because a man's sensitivity must often be repressed, the anima is one of the most significant autonomous complexes of all. It is said to manifest itself by appearing in dreams. It also influences a man's interactions with women and his attitudes toward them and vice versa for females and the animus."  We project our anima/animus on people we're in relationships with (of the opposite sex). This is fascinating!

Feminism is a misnomer because we're not about embracing feminine characteristics. It should be called the "masculinist movement." Please just call it for what it is: In order to be treated as equals women have had to act more like men.

I'm sure you noticed that "masculinist" is not actually a word. There is no equivalent to "feminist". That alone should clue us in.

It might be better suited to have a "masculinist movement" that encourages men to acknowledge their intuition, sensitivity, and tenderness.