Writer's Workshop: What I'd Do as New Mom

Oh, there is a long list of what I'd do differently given the chance. A long, long list. I am not ashamed to admit that one of the reasons why I'd like a second child someday is so I can have a do-over. That sounds terrible, but I've realized some things in my 8+ months as a mommy, and I'd like a chance to use what I've learned with our next baby. So sue me.

I would definitely, definitely get professional maternity pictures done. Definitely. I love the photos that my husband took of pregnant me. They are lovely. But the problem is, he isn't in any of them. There's a couple crappy snapshots people took at my shower, and a couple where we did that awkward production of holding the camera up above our heads and snapping blindly, hoping that both of us are in the photo. In those ones you can't even see my belly. Awesome.

Another thing I plan on doing is going natural. Before you jump in and say "You don't get a medal for going med free" and "Don't try to be a hero", let me explain to you what happened in my last labour. The stupid epidural froze ONLY my legs. That's right. I felt EVERYTHING above my waist, but I was powerless to walk around, take a shower, bounce on my yoga ball or any of the things I'd planned on to get me through the pain because my legs were totally numb. Not cool.

Next time, I am getting a midwife instead of a bossy OB and I am having my baby at a birthing centre, in a birthing tub. I am taking hypnobirthing or hypnobabies to deal with the pain, and it is going to be a magical experience. And I WILL give myself a medal. Or a trophy. Because I've never won one and it makes me feel sad.

Don't judge me for being a hippie. The over-medicated, impersonal hospital birth didn't work for me last time, next time I'm trying something new. I would do a home birth if I wasn't terrified, so maybe that interferes with my crunchy, earth mama status, but baby steps. No pun intended, I swear.
 
 

To capture this magical experience, I am hiring a photographer. Again with the photos, I know. Our hospital photos, while precious to us, are terrible. Two exhausted brand new parents were in absolutely no frame of mind to be creating great art. Grainy, blurry photos of the most important moment of your life are NOT cool. I will not be getting any crotch shots or anything like that (I still have a very tiny sliver of dignity left), but at the end I will have a beautiful, non-crotch shotty slideshow like this. Best slideshow ever. Seriously. Watch it. Go now!

Aside from the stuff I will do differently during the pregnancy and birth, I'm happy to say that there isn't a whole lot I would change about the way I mother. I may look back in a couple of years and think WHAT WAS I THINKING!?!, but for now, I am satisfied and happy with the way that I am taking care of my son. You know what they say, though. Hindsight is 20/20, and I may be living in a sleep-deprivation induced bubble of rose-coloured denial.

Check back with me when I have a toddler and I can talk from a safe distance about everything I'll do differently next time.

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This has been part of Mama Kat's pretty much world famous writers workshop. Head over and check out the other submissions, or enter one of your own!

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I wanna be MADE

Today I'm participating in Mama's Losin' It's writers workshop.

The question is, if I could be made into anything, what would it be?

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I want to be a supermom, superwife, superwoman.
I want to be a bohemian homemaker, who makes all her own cleaning supplies and cooks wholesome, organic meals from scratch and sews and knits adorable outfits for her child.
I want to be a creative genuis, who produces cutting-edge photography, paints like picasso, and dances like a dream, whose fingers glide over guitar strings and manipulate music like magic.

I want to look like I'm wearing make up when my face is really naked.
I want to be the kind of person who wants to run a marathon.
I want to be patient and soft-spoken and never raise my voice,
to not be driven to the edge of crazy by a child who is rarely quiet and
rarely calm, but often curious and always cute.

I want to be the kind of wife who cleans the cluttered kitchen,
says "How was your day" with a martini on a tray and an apron around her waist,
to prevent drips on her skirt and never trips over her heels.

Or maybe I just want to be the best me I can be.
The me who will likely never run a 5K,
but takes long, quiet hikes on hot summer days.

The me who occasionally loses it,
but always loves and will never leave.

The me who on some days accomplishes nothing,
but every night thanks God for giving her everything.

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Writers Workshop: Motherhood is another word for Ambivalence

This morning I'm participating in Mama Kat's pretty much world famous writers workshop.

BAM!

Ten Things I've Learned Since Becoming a Mom:

1. How to ask for help (read: lateral pass my baby to my husband/mother/crazy lady down the street as I run screaming for a bubble bath and a bottle of wine at the end of the day)

2.How to function on next to no sleep. For 6 months straight. And actually enjoy the hallucinations that sleep deprivation brings.

3.How to make dinner while dancing and singing La Cucaracha for the entertainment of my fussy baby, who will ONLY stop crying at the indignity of being imprisoned in his high chair if I'm making a fool out of myself the entire time.

4. How to use a Moby wrap. May not seem like a big deal to you, but when I got that thing as a shower gift, I was like "huh?" And I wrapped myself up in it and got stuck like a female Spiderman who lost control of her own web. And now I can throw it on in public in 5 seconds flat, and people look at me like I'm some kind of Ninja. Which I sorta am. Heh.

 

5.That it's possible to go a ridonculous amount of time in between having sex, even if no one is cheating or deployed. And that it doesn't mean that you don't love each other.

6. That its possible to lose all interest in shopping for grown up clothes, in grown-up stores, and that retail therapy can be even more therapeutic if the items are miniature and say "I love my mom" on them. (Doesn't hurt that all grown-up clothes in question will eventually just get pee or spit up all over them anyway).

7. It's possible for someone who was formerly against all forms of elective plastic surgery to be putting her "grown up" clothing money away to save for a boob lift.

8. Taking well over a hundred pictures a day can be fascinating, even if they are all of the same subject, when the subject is your Sweet Baboo.

9.It is entirely possible to want to sell your baby to a traveling circus one moment, and miss them like crazy when you finally get a break.

10. I've also realized that this ambivalence will probably follow me throughout the rest of my life.

Happiness that he's crawling will be accompanied by frustration that he's destroying the house. Pride that he's got teeth shadowed by desperation to stop the biting. Amazement that he's starting school will be clouded by pangs when I think about the fact that his teacher gets to spend more time each day with him than I do. And let's not even talk about his high school graduation, moving out of the house, getting married, having children. I'm glad I will have this blog, thousands upon thousands of photos, and lots of memories to look back on when that day comes. He makes me crazy, but I never want him to leave. Ambivalence is the word that most characterizes my new role as a mother. That's something I was very surprised to learn. When it comes to how being a mom makes me feel, I'm torn.

How about you?

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Sweet Home Alabama (or Canada. . .whatever)

Today I'm participating in Mama's Losin It's writers workshop. The assignment is to write about all the places that I've called home.

I have moved 19 times in my 24 years. It's so crazy I almost don't believe it. I know people who have lived in the same home their entire lives, and I am a little bit envious. They can show me the tree they planted when they were a child, the place where they buried their beloved hamster, and the place where uncle Chester tripped and cut open his forehead when he got wasted at their baby sister's third birthday party. I don't have that--my entire history condensed in the space between four walls. So when I think of the places I've called home, I dont think of buildings, but rather, people.





When I was a little girl I had a friend Tiffany who lived right up the street from me. We ran back and forth to each other's houses all summer and I liked her house best because she had Nintendo. Our families camped together, and they were some of the best vacations I can remember taking. They even out-ranked Disneyworld, because having a friend there makes all the difference. It's the people, not the place.

When we moved away, I had a best friend Molly that I met on the first day of school. She and I were inseparable and even did our third grade speeches about each other. For two years we played together every day, had sleepovers on Saturday nights and spent Friday nights talking to each other on the phone while watching every episode in the TGIF line-up. My mom says she can remember coming into the living room and seeing us just sitting on the couch, hugging.





The next time we moved I didn't have another best friend, and I don't know that I've had one since. I had a schoolmate at our new house who I walked to the community pool with, but I didn't like to sleepover at her house because her mother smoked and she snored like an elephant clearing its nose.

The next neighbourhood we lived in was full of young families with young children, and I got baby-sitting jobs with yuppies who came home 5 hours after they said they would and doubled my pay to make up for it.




When I was 17 I had problems with my parents so severe that I moved in with a friend for 6 months. We ate dinner in the living room on TV trays and watched the news, and for the first time in awhile I was able to breathe. Her mother was crazy, but her father was a peach and I married someone just like him. (Does that mean I'm the crazy one in this relationship?)

I went away to college and lived with forty girls, and it was just as hellishly wonderful as you can imagine. I made friends I will be close with for the rest of my life, and it also made me want to run screaming into the night several times a month.

A few years and roomates later, I found the perfect house and I loved it. It wasn't big or fancy, but it had arched doorways, yellow walls, a sunny kitchen, hardwood floors and a fireplace. The yard was spacious and filled with berry bushes and mature trees. I could have lived there forever. But one roomate got married, then another moved to Europe, then another got engaged and I had to leave it behind, because how could I carry the rent on my own?

Soon after that I was the one to get engaged and then married, and my home ever since has been wherever my husband is. It's wonderful to have that constant.

And now that we have a family of our own, I am adament that we will put down roots. I do not want to spend his childhood moving around, always looking for the next best thing. When we find our home, I want to stay there. I want him to bring his college roomates there for the holidays, and then his wife, and then his children. I want him to be able to say "Over there is where we tracked how tall I was getting every year, and that's where mom fell and pulled down the Christmas tree when she had too much eggnog." Though maybe I will have to have a talk with him about which stories we share and which ones we never tell daughters in law (or social workers) about. *wink*

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The Most Shocking Rose Ceremony in Writing Prompt History

Today I am participating in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, using the following prompt:

"Welcome to the most shocking rose ceremony in writing prompt history. Please award roses to the ten people (or items) in your life that you’d like to continue pursuing a relationship with."

Here Goes:

Canon 30D: Will you accept this rose, you wonderful piece of equipment you? You have changed my life. You have allowed me to take photos of my child's split-second facial expressions without the lag time that my old point and shoot had. I can actually document each second of a sneeze, yawn or laugh, and then click through them like a flip book and watch the entire thing like a movie. It. is. wonderful. No more crying because Baboo was doing something adorable and I "missed it".

Ikea Gulliver: Will you accept this rose? Thank you oh, so much for existing. Thank you for allowing me to sidecar a crib with a bed, so that we crazy, crunchy co-sleepers are no longer all sleeping a top each other like a basket of wiggly puppies. Ah, being able to stretch, being able to roll, being able to actually have my husband stay in bed with me all night instead of packing up and heading for the couch at 3 am because there is.no.space. I *heart* you. A puffy pink heart.

Etsy: Will you accept this rose? You are the provider of handmade goods, and for that I love you. Sure, you have taken a generous chunk out of my savings, but because of you, I have things for my son that none of those mall shoppers have. You are a trove of treasures, like custom wall decals for my son's room, unique, one of a kind jewelry I can't find anywhere else, and this camera bag that I am asking the Hubbs to get me for my birthday.

(Stephie Mc)

                               

(xcessrize)

Shutterfly: Will you accept this rose? You make great quality photo books and will occasionally toss 50 free prints or a free poster my way. For someone who has taken thousands of photos of her baby boy in the six short months of his life, you have been a God-send. My only issue with you is your use of Vividpics. I got some prints back the other day and my sweet Baboo looks like he has a spray-on tan, but ever since I realized I could turn that option off, I have been loving you more than ever.

Crinkle Book: Will you accept this rose? You are such a simple thing, I just threw you in my cart on a whim while shopping for my Sweet Baboo before he was even born. How was I to know you'd be the thing that saved my sanity on many a car ride? The baby loves you. You hang from his carseat and he crinkle, crinkles away. Your built-in teethers have also been a life-saver. Let's make beautiful crinkles together.

                                             

Moby Wrap: Will you accept this rose? You are amazing. I can put my behbeh in you and actually carry him, while having hands to get things done! I can cook! I can clean! I can wipe myself when I pee (don't judge unless you've had a baby who screamed every time he was put down)! More importantly, though, is the fact that you operate as an instant napper. 2 minutes in you and he's out like a light.

                                                       

Bathtub: Will you accept this rose? At the end of each day, when the Hubbs returns home, you are there waiting for me, filled with bubbles and hot wather. You are a place where I can unwind and have half an hour to myself to study, read a magazine or a novel, or to just think. During my pregnancy you were a GODSEND for my aching muscles and back! Now you are the only place I can go for a little "me time." Thanks for being you.

Electric Fireplace: Will you accept this rose? My older than dirt building is heated by a radiator, which my cheap-ass landlor has set to "frigid". Without you, my family and I would surely freeze. Plus, you look classy, and I don't have to have one of those fugly space heaters that also look like fire hazards. One day I swear I will have my own home, with a wood-burning fireplace, but you bring me so much joy in this little apartment of mine. Plus, the landlord may refuse to pay for heat, but this is a utilities included building, and he still has to pay for the electricity! Thanks for helping me stick it to the man!

                                            

                                         

Portable DVD Player: Will you accept this rose? What would I do without you? We have no tv in our bedroom, and you provide entertainment for me when our Baboo doesn't want to nap on his own during the day and needs me to lay beside him while he sleeps. You are also a CD player,  on which I can play ocean sounds for Boo to lull him to sleep at night. And you allow for family entertainment. All three of us can be together in bed, with space for Boo to roll around and play with his toys, and the Hubbs and I can have snuggles and watch a movie.

Internet: Will you accept this rose? You allow me to chat with other moms on message boards during the day when I would otherwise be lonely and have no one to talk to you. You let me read hilarious, insightful and informative blogs when the kiddo is sleeping in my lap and it would be too hard to hold and read a book. You link me to great recipes and let me set up playlists of my favourite music with the click of a button. I think if you stick around there's a chance of you getting the last and final rose. We have an "AMAZING CONNECTION!"

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My Baby, My Passion

I'm participating in Mama's Losin It's Writers Workshop this week. The subject is, "Describe what makes you want to live a life with passion?":
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When I found out I was pregnant, I did not experience the excitement and awe I’d always dreamed I would experience. I’d always wanted to be a mother, but at the time I was a miserable, unemployed student and living in my parents’ basement, which was placing a huge strain my marriage. It was just about the worst timing ever for the news. I took a couple of weeks to be depressed, wallow and will “it” away. Then I realized, this baby is coming and it doesn’t deserve such a mess for a mother. I had to get it together.

I got a crappy retail job, and on my days off I worked in the church nursery for a little extra cash. I wanted to work in my field, which was community services related, but in order to finish my degree I had to put 600 hours of field work—for free. So my days were dedicated to volunteering, and my nights were spent folding clothes and pretending to be nice to customers, while on weekends I chased around other peoples’ kids, hoping my own would be better behaved, and crammed for exams. In the meantime, my husband and I found free counselling from both an agency and the pastor who married us. We wanted to get as much help for our marriage as possible before it was transformed into a family. We didn’t want our baby caught in the cross-fire. He hadn’t asked for us to be his parents.

The nine months of pregnancy were a frenzy of 12 hour days, penny-pinching the likes of which you have never seen, and valiant attempts to reverse the damage that being poor and living with my family had inflicted on our relationship. During my lunch breaks I holed up in the storage closet with my previously-owned, pay-as-you-go cell phone and made frantic phone calls to different housing agencies, trying to find a place of our own. My parents were having their own relationship issues (read: yelling and screaming) and I was sick to my stomach at the thought of bringing a tiny, helpless baby into that environment. I trolled second-hand shops, craigslist and garage sales looking for the things my little one would need but I couldn’t afford.

Desperate love calls for desperate measures. I didn’t know it then, but this frenetic despair was actually passion in disguise. I was disheartened and hysterical, but devotion to my kid pushed me on and forced me to keep trying. I had to make money, I had to finish school, I just had to find a peaceful quiet place where we could be parents. And I did.

Sitting in the hospital in late July, I realized what it had all been for. I knew that all women didn’t necessarily bond with their babies at birth, but after everything I had been through during the course of my pregnancy, I was desperate to just feel something other than worry or sadness. My husband was an amazing birth coach, and after just under four hours of labour, the nine months of hell I’d endured were a blip on the radar compared with the tornado of love that ripped through me. They threw that baby on me and told me we had a boy, and I knew that I was incapable of living a life that resembled anything ordinary from that moment on.

I live to teach him that anything is possible--to show him the world and how to fully embrace it. I will tell him the story of his nine months in waiting so that he can see how love changes everything. I will live with passion so that he has a good example in me; so that he will do the same.

From the outside, my life is nothing spectacular. But from where we were just a year ago, when I got my Big Freaking Positive, it is absolutely charmed. I dance around covered in spit-up, and do it with gusto. We go for walks with him wrapped around my torso, and I am happy to stop so he can marvel at the leaves. I wake up at 3 am in our new apartment and can’t help but burst with joy as the most beautiful boy in the world grins up at me. It is just a 3 a.m. feeding, but it doesn’t get any better than this.

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