....it's coming. Be patient.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
desperate measures
I'm writing this on my phone. I shit you not. I'm nursing a baby back to sleep for the millionth time tonight & suddenly I realized that if I'm never going to find time to write. I'm going to have to steal it. So I downloaded an app & here I am! Desperate times call for desperate measures...
What's so desperate about now? I touched it delicately in my post the other evening- my heart is breaking as I daily encounter my growing children. This passage that I dreaded & avoided for so long into motherhood is passing me by & I'm not ready to let the babies go. Trouble is, I'm not ready to have more of them either.
It's like facing a death of some kind- like a training ground for death, this losing of one's past self, the creation of a new unknown one, the sort-of-saying goodbye to intimate beings as they come more & more into their own bodies & require less & less of yours.
This morning X broke off from his play to summon me into my bedroom. " I wanna snuggle with you, mama. Just for a minute." I felt giddy, desperate. Kinda they way I used to feel when a boy I really liked condescended to speak with me in the hallway at school- choked up, lucky, flushed. I dropped everything to accommodate his wish. I hoped I didn't look too eager. That might fuck it all up. We laid down together for literally 15 seconds. I wrapped my arms around him, breathed in the smell of his hair, slipped my fingers under his shirt to stroke his soft still babyish belly. Tears sprang unbidden. I just can't help it these days. And then it was over as quick as it began. He was off to ride Crush Fingers into the sunset, or to rescue a beggar, or go wherever his dreams will take him. And I was left with the memory of his warm body curled inside the circle of my arms & precious little else.
What's so desperate about now? I touched it delicately in my post the other evening- my heart is breaking as I daily encounter my growing children. This passage that I dreaded & avoided for so long into motherhood is passing me by & I'm not ready to let the babies go. Trouble is, I'm not ready to have more of them either.
It's like facing a death of some kind- like a training ground for death, this losing of one's past self, the creation of a new unknown one, the sort-of-saying goodbye to intimate beings as they come more & more into their own bodies & require less & less of yours.
This morning X broke off from his play to summon me into my bedroom. " I wanna snuggle with you, mama. Just for a minute." I felt giddy, desperate. Kinda they way I used to feel when a boy I really liked condescended to speak with me in the hallway at school- choked up, lucky, flushed. I dropped everything to accommodate his wish. I hoped I didn't look too eager. That might fuck it all up. We laid down together for literally 15 seconds. I wrapped my arms around him, breathed in the smell of his hair, slipped my fingers under his shirt to stroke his soft still babyish belly. Tears sprang unbidden. I just can't help it these days. And then it was over as quick as it began. He was off to ride Crush Fingers into the sunset, or to rescue a beggar, or go wherever his dreams will take him. And I was left with the memory of his warm body curled inside the circle of my arms & precious little else.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
some recent & random observations
I'm plagued with anxiety of late over how swiftly my children are growing up. I'm still the mother of an infant -10 months, but my oldest is going on 4 & is somehow, inexplicably, slipping away from me. It started with the birth of his sister. I could no longer be relied upon to put him to sleep nightly, & so he became accustomed to his father's gentle attendance. I've missed 10 months of bedtimes -10 months of long, lingering chats, giggles in the darkness, warm big boy feet pressed against my thighs as he finally (finally!) doses off. And he's giving up naps these days too, so that means there are days when I do not manage to sneak one solitary snuggle the whole long day through. I have to beg for a hug. Beg for one, I tell you! Because he's just so damned busy...busy pretending he's the Velveteen Rabbit, or St. Martin, or a little lost mouse looking for his winter home....
We got our son an enormous, beautiful, wooden rocking horse for Christmas. He can hardly climb up on it unassisted. He tells us he's going to name his horse "Crush Fingers" & we're really starting to wonder as to the wisdom of such a purchase with a crawler in the house. We're already struggling to lay down the ground rules for operation. Thankfully his rational brain is starting to kick in. I marvel that I can explain things to him & he'll say, "uh huh. yeah. okay." and then actually DO what I SAY.
I'm noticing this especially as regards his sister's naps. What once was a blistering, terrible, epic battle to get him to LEAVE US THE EFF ALONE! has now become a most peaceful effort. He's finally figured out that the sooner I'm able to nurse her down in quiet, the sooner I'll be available to lend him my most coveted & undivided attention. So I leave him to his own devices in the living room while I sneak into the quiet dark of the bedroom. I often return a full 30+ minutes later & find him engaged in some intense play. Sometimes he's pieced a puzzle on the kitchen floor. He'll proudly direct my attention to it when I finally emerge. "I put it all together myself!" he'll declare. Sometimes I find him staring out the window, waiting, waiting...but patiently, so very patiently. It's incredible, really.
And he loves his sister. H is what I'll call her here (I realize I've yet to even introduce this rapidly growing girl to my audience...if I have one left after such a long absence). If she takes an especially long nap, he'll inquire: "Where's H? I want to see her." I can't say his attentions always take the most gentle form. Sometimes he's pushy, & he definitely doesn't want her to play with anything to his exclusion for very long. Whatever she has, he wants. Rattle, yogurt container lid, you name it -it's ridiculous. But she is so tolerant & idolized him, while also maintaining a very strong sense of GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. This girl is NOT going to be pushed around for long. Sometimes I wonder who's going to wind up calling the shots around here when she's old enough to do the calling. I think X might be a little surprised...
I've been thinking a lot about mom guilt lately, mostly because I have a lot of it. I'm always feeling like I'm damned if I do, & damned if I don't. I'm starting to realize that at the heart of mom guilt lies the tension between the desire to cling to every last moment of life with one's child, to lap up all the beautiful & gory details & commit it all to sacred memory, & the conflicting desire to run for the hills -to get as far away from this mundanity as possible. I just can't win, whatever I choose.
I'm going to publish this against my better judgement...just to get something out there, as a way of signaling to the universe: "you haven't heard the last me!"
We got our son an enormous, beautiful, wooden rocking horse for Christmas. He can hardly climb up on it unassisted. He tells us he's going to name his horse "Crush Fingers" & we're really starting to wonder as to the wisdom of such a purchase with a crawler in the house. We're already struggling to lay down the ground rules for operation. Thankfully his rational brain is starting to kick in. I marvel that I can explain things to him & he'll say, "uh huh. yeah. okay." and then actually DO what I SAY.
I'm noticing this especially as regards his sister's naps. What once was a blistering, terrible, epic battle to get him to LEAVE US THE EFF ALONE! has now become a most peaceful effort. He's finally figured out that the sooner I'm able to nurse her down in quiet, the sooner I'll be available to lend him my most coveted & undivided attention. So I leave him to his own devices in the living room while I sneak into the quiet dark of the bedroom. I often return a full 30+ minutes later & find him engaged in some intense play. Sometimes he's pieced a puzzle on the kitchen floor. He'll proudly direct my attention to it when I finally emerge. "I put it all together myself!" he'll declare. Sometimes I find him staring out the window, waiting, waiting...but patiently, so very patiently. It's incredible, really.
And he loves his sister. H is what I'll call her here (I realize I've yet to even introduce this rapidly growing girl to my audience...if I have one left after such a long absence). If she takes an especially long nap, he'll inquire: "Where's H? I want to see her." I can't say his attentions always take the most gentle form. Sometimes he's pushy, & he definitely doesn't want her to play with anything to his exclusion for very long. Whatever she has, he wants. Rattle, yogurt container lid, you name it -it's ridiculous. But she is so tolerant & idolized him, while also maintaining a very strong sense of GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. This girl is NOT going to be pushed around for long. Sometimes I wonder who's going to wind up calling the shots around here when she's old enough to do the calling. I think X might be a little surprised...
I've been thinking a lot about mom guilt lately, mostly because I have a lot of it. I'm always feeling like I'm damned if I do, & damned if I don't. I'm starting to realize that at the heart of mom guilt lies the tension between the desire to cling to every last moment of life with one's child, to lap up all the beautiful & gory details & commit it all to sacred memory, & the conflicting desire to run for the hills -to get as far away from this mundanity as possible. I just can't win, whatever I choose.
I'm going to publish this against my better judgement...just to get something out there, as a way of signaling to the universe: "you haven't heard the last me!"
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
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