talesofmotherhood

Today, Julian took his 7th plane trip (or 13th if you count each way). The flight was delayed because of some sort of military thing, but the moving sidewalks held J’s attention and curiosity for several hours before we boarded. We are now in sunny Florida where there are beaches, boats, and family to have adult conversation with. It’s weird to be here without Husband, but I am so happy to be with family and out of our lonely, dimly-lit, and very small house.

On the plane, J and I sat next to a really neat woman who taught me about Scios and quantum energy wellness!

quantum energy wellness

Apparently there is a scio seminar here this weekend. We talked quite a bit.
She has two grown children and lived in Israel for five years. J loved her. Not quite as much as he loved the airplanes, though. He kept asking me for “more airplanes! More airplanes!” I love that he thinks I might actually be able to control air travel. Move planes through the air on cue.

So far, Florida is kicking Raleigh’s ass. I mean, the airport sucks – Raleigh’s is just about my favorite in the world – but sitting by the inter-coastal and watching J giggle with glee as boats pass is pretty awesome. And did I mention I have adults to talk to?

Tomorrow morning, J and I are flying to Florida to visit the in-laws for a week without Husband (he will join us Saturday through Monday).

Warm beaches, here we come.

More tomorrow.

Lame post, I know.

And that’s my message for today.

Not so unique, I realize. But pertinent. I hope that J always is who he is, and I hope he knows I will always love and accept who he is, no matter who that may be.

I also hope to figure out who I happen to be again someday. I think I’m in the middle of a quarter-life crisis right now. I am Mom. I am wife. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’d like to elaborate at some point. And possibly add a few titles.

I would like believe that I am who I am even now, though. I may be depressed and in the middle of a quarter-life crisis, but at least I’m owning it! This is my here and now.

And we all know I say how I feel. I just hope the last part of this statement holds true and those who matter actually don’t mind. According to Suess, I suppose minding would put them in the not-mattering category anyway.

Anyone still following? It’s late…

So it happened.

I went two days without posting, and my streak is officially over. I suppose I was bound to miss days at some point. I’m not sure anyone noticed – I almost didn’t – but I’m back. And I hope to make up for lost time. Tomorrow, that is. Tonight, I’m lying on the couch.

It’s been a very long week. And a very long day. J is still not feeling very well, and his sleep is erratic and inconvenient. No matter how inconvenient, I still respect his schedule (sometimes encouraging slightly in one direction), but it can be difficult. For example, it is 7:52 pm, and I have already come to bed 3 times to nurse J back to sleep. I’m probably just staying this time. I put him to sleep the first time right after I finished cooking dinner, then the second time right after I put the dinner on the table. Needless to say, I ate cold dinner, but that’s ok. The occasional cold dinner is part of my job description.

So tonight it hit me how precious this time is with J. He’s a different boy than he was yesterday. Every day, he is growing up right in front of me, and if I don’t cherish every moment, I’ll forget how beautiful those moments are.

Tonight, I ran my fingers through his hair as he nursed, and I vowed to hold an image of him in that instant in my memory. It seemed so fleeting.

So it happened. I missed a day. In my all-or-nothing brain, I now feel like a failure. However, I will call it a “sick day”, because J is currently experiencing his first real fever-ridden virus. Yesterday, we laid in bed a nursed all day. Literally. He was so miserable, and so out of it that he even fell asleep without breast feeding once. He has NEVER done that before (unless in a car or carrier).

He must feel better this morning though, because as I hide under the covers in bed, recovering from quite a rough night, I am listening to him and his daddy have a squealing contest in the bathroom. Lots of giggles must mean we are on the road to recovery! His fever broke yesterday evening for a while, and he was almost himself again. It seemed like it had been a lifetime since the last time I had seen him smile.

This experience has also made me appreciate breast feeding on a whole different level. I honestly don’t know how anyone ever gets through this without breast feeding. A nipple in the mouth was seriously the only time J wasn’t crying yesterday. We were skin-to-skin, nipple in mouth almost the entire day. Nothing else soothed him. And being sick, of course he refused to eat, so without breast milk he wouldn’t have received any nutrition.

Thank the stars for boobs!

Today, in an attempt to fill my own cup, I drew a bath after J fell asleep for his nap. I filled the tub with warm water, added some lavender and Epsom salt, grabbed the book I’ve been reading, and even found my razor. I undressed and sunk into the warmth, but just as I closed my eyes and exhaled, what did I hear? “Mooommmmiiiiiieeeeeeee!!!!”

I laid down in the bed with J as his sleepy eyes focused on mine, and just as I was about to ask him if he needed to go potty, I felt something warm trickle down my belly. Yup, you guessed it – the contents of his bladder. So I did get to bathe after all, just in pee pee instead of lavender scented water.

Out of the bed we crawled. Still craving my hot water fix (and recently peed on), I decided to take a shower instead of a bath. I brought J into the bathroom with me asked him to please look through the cabinet or basket of toys for just a few minutes. I turned on the hot water and sighed in relief as it ran down my back. No less than ten seconds later, what did I hear, “poopoo!”

And so the day continued.

You know those people you see, driving down the road in their new, meticulously clean cars? You pull up next to one of them at a stop light and glance into the driver’s side window. You see a woman with her hair ironed, make-up done, and travel coffee mug in hand. She appears calm and is slightly nodding her head in time with a song from her “trip to work” mix, her ipod glowing on the dash.

I’ve always been jealous of these people. Pulling away from the traffic light in my 1996 jeep cluttered full of clothes to donate, kids books, and dirty dishes, I wonder how on Earth anyone is that put-together. I glance in the rearview mirror at my unmade face, one hand on the wheel, the other hand holding a glass of water, and a cell phone balancing on my lap, and I realize that I will probably never be that kind of woman. Let’s face it. I’m scattered. Forgetful. Unkempt.

I have gone through different phases when it comes to accepting my unkempt nature. Sometimes I despise these qualities, but there have been times when I’ve embraced them. Since becoming a mother, I think they have magnified themselves to a point where I can’t overlook them. I am forced to face disorder and deal with it. Sometimes I win. Other times I fail. Lately though, I have had a problem accepting failure. As many people could probably tell you, I tend to think like a newspaper – black and white. I have difficulty accepting (or even noticing) shades of grey. Apparently I never reached that developmental milestone as a child (or an adult). So, when life seems messy, everything is a mess. The house. The car. My appearance. My mind.

Thursday, I just couldn’t take life inside our house (or my mind) any longer, so I packed a bag and J and I took a drive to Pittsboro, a little town about 45 minutes from where we live. There’s a house for sale in an intentional community there called Blue Heron Farm*, and as community-starved as I am, I had to take a look. As it turns out, the house itself is beautiful, but it’s off a gravel road and backs up to a cow pasture. Husband said “no” immediately. I have to say, I’m not sure I could handle it either. I love the idea of living closer to nature, but I’m not sure I’m actually equipped for that kind of life. If the community was strong and lively, I could definitely learn to love it, but if the sense of community was no better than where I am now, I would probably just feel more isolated and less put-together. I could see the scattered part of me thriving in that sort of environment, but hey, maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe I need to just embrace my disarray rather than fight it.

There’s always been a little part of me that has dreamed of living on a farm – taking care of the Earth and it’s creatures the way I believe is right. I could create my own little bubble and not have to deal with people I strongly disagree with. But there’s another, larger side of me too, and that’s the side that thrives on “modern” life. As much as I hate a great deal of how our society is structured, I have to say I could see myself living in Manhattan. Hypocrisy? Maybe, but I’m not sure. I think there’s room for a lot of different ways of life in a city like New York, and that includes my way.

Driving home from our Pittsboro adventure, I reached to the back seat and asked if J wanted to hold my hand. He curled his little fingers tightly around mine, and we remained connected for the majority of the trip. Every time J holds my hand, his grip is firm. It isn’t fearful or reluctant. Instead, it implies trust. A kind of trust that only a child could have for his mother. It’s such a pure, untarnished trust, and I just want to bottle it. It makes me wish, so much, that I could trust in the same way. Trust myself. Trust the universe. A one-year-old boy has no real expectations of the world. He trusts it to guide him by his mother’s hand, to be there when he opens his eyes. To give him what he needs. I wish I could feel this same sort of trust. I wish I could believe that I’m scattered for a reason. Or that I am where I should be at any given moment. Somehow, between toddler-hood and adult-hood, we lose faith. The world becomes scary instead of inviting. It becomes the protagonist in this quirky play we call “life”.

Well apparently my post didn’t go through last night. It wasn’t much other than a picture anyway.

Neither is this post.

Tomorrow, I am going to try to write something longer and more meaningful.

Husband is out of town for the weekend.

J is asleep.

I am lying next to him in bed.

Sleep sounds just about lovely.

Here is a yummy picture of J carrying his bee baby in the sling.