On Vagina

Well, I finally broke down and got Naomi Wolfe's Vagina: A New Biography. I thought it might help me out with my sexuality, but I think instead it led to a fight with my husband.

The other night when we were supposed to do it, he did what he usually does—laid down next to me with his eyes closed like he was asleep and started rubbing and scratching my back. I usually do the same thing and if we don't pass out and fall asleep we might start kissing, I might start stroking him and it might lead to sex. Or, it might lead to me complaining about why he always lays there with his eyes closed.

See, Naomi Wolf told me that the adoring male gaze is part of the "Goddess Array" and that I need it to feel special and get turned on. It kind of made sense. After nine years of marriage I do get the feeling that he doesn't even look at me, pay attention to me or notice me, really. I feel pretty fine about how I look and so I don't need his gaze for self-esteem, but I do understand how, if he gave me more of a signal that he saw me, I might respond with a little more fire than I do.

So, I called him on the eyes closed thing. He defensively gave me a bunch of excuses that it was awkward for him to stare at me when he was so close, that his eyes couldn't focus well, he didn't even have his contacts on. It kind of made sense what he was saying, but, Naomi said he should be looking at me.

He's also supposed to treat me like a Goddess—this is never going to happen.

One of the things I value about my relationship with my husband is our friendliness. We are friends. We are friends who have sex. As much as I may be into my power as a woman, I don't think he is ever going to look at me as a Goddess. That's not to say I don't think I am worthy. I do. It's just not who my husband is. And I don't think he's the type who would grow into it and I'm not sure I want him to—it sounds kind of smarmy.

There's a lot that's good about the Vagina book, but there's a lot that's corny—and suspect.  Lots of reviews get more into it (The New Yorker, Jezebel, Feminste, WIRED...) so I am going to stick to a my personal reaction rather than anything societal or overarching.

Many times while I was reading it, I couldn't help but wondering, what about the guys?  It was all, women want this...women need that. It seemed to have an undercurrent of...men just want to get laid and so they need to do all this attentive stuff for their women and the men will get better sex out of it. There was this unspoken assumption of men taking the lead sexually and that men were kind of monolithic in their sexuality. I realize the book wasn't supposed to be about men's sexuality, but it did seem to assume a lot about that.

I like the idea that our bodies (our vaginas) should be sacred and private and not abused or made fun of. I don't think it's revelatory that if women are raped it damages them wholly, not just physically in their vaginas (Wolfe has much to say about rape as weapon of war and such, and I just kept thinking, of course, of course, these things destroy women's self-confidence and lives overall).

It makes sense, too, that a woman with a satisfying sex life in a good relationship would have the happiness, peace and wellness spill over to other areas of her life, like work and creativity, as well. However, I don't think that it has to be vaginal sex only and I don't think that an otherwise healthy woman who has not been raped or otherwise damaged and abused but who may not be having amazing vaginal sex will necessarily suffer in other areas of her life. Sex is not everything.

I don't say this just because I don't have vaginal orgasms (never have). I say it moreso because I'm not that interested (at all?) in having vaginal orgasms. If it happened, cool, but I don't feel like I am missing something and am not now driven to pursue it. Of course, maybe it's a shortcoming in me that I don't even care. But, to me, it's not the kind of orgasm my husband gives or doesn't give me, or even the sexual techniques at all that are important, it's the attention and care overall (yes, sometimes lacking) but I don't think it has to be so prescribed.

Wolfe does say in the book that she doesn't mean any of this to necessarily be prescriptive, but more of an a la carte assortment of things she found out in her research and connections she made. I question much of what she calls "science"—she relies a lot on rat studies to make her cases. She mentions as an aside a sugar rush from semen and I just wonder how much a guy would have to cum for the amount to, chemically, really evoke anything physiologically in a woman that she could really feel. One Amazon reviewer lists suggestions for Google searches pointing toward articles critical of Wolfe's interpretation of the science: Neuroscientists take aim at Naomi Wolf's theory of the "conscious vagina"; Naomi Wolf's "Vagina" is full of bad science about the brain; Pride and Prejudice, by Zoë Heller (The New York Review of Books); Feminist Dopamine, Conscious Vaginas, and the Goddess Array; Of Mice and Women: Animal Models of Desire, Dread, and Despair; and Upstairs, Downstairs; `Vagina: A New Biography,' by Naomi Wolf (The New York Times).

Also, the tantric coach who charges $150 per hour for "yoni" work, including hands-on massage grosses me out.

I enjoyed reading about different historical mores related to the vagina, although certain parts of the past and certain current practices within cultures that denigrate women were troubling. If anything, it made me grateful to be a grown woman in the West married to a kind, if not stunningly tantric, man, even with the porn-addled consciousness that supposedly ruins us all. (I think some people of my and my husband's age may have escaped exposure to and getting hooked on or damaged by some of the more distasteful or harmful porn.) I have to be careful not to focus on ways my husband may not be treating me like the Goddess I allegedly am. Maybe try and come up with some ways to quietly evoke this in him, because my direct requests for things like eye contact don't usually work. I'm not sure knowing what I know now after reading Vagina will improve my sex life, but maybe that wasn't the point. It was her personal discovery, not mine.

Sorting out conflict

All day long I have to look out the window at this car. The 17-year-old car that I consider "my husband's." The car with the ceiling cloth torn down with the foamy black bits of chemically-infested whatever crumbling. The car, that, though I consider my husband's, I am the only one who ever cleans and organizes. I have a certain admiration for this car. It's still running after all these years. He drove me places in it when we were dating. We drove to New Jersey together, to the beach. We drove to New York City together. It should mean something nice. It should be a happy thing to see. Right now, though, it's a sign of meanness, a trick, a hard lesson someone wants to teach someone they're mad at. It hurts to see the car.

I'm not a big airing-your-dirty-laundry kind of person, but I'm writing about  a recent conflict to try to make myself move on, feel better...somehow sort it out for myself. Laying out the details of the most recent incidents will create something that may sound petty and ridiculous, but I am going to do it anyway.

I think my husband is controlling, dominating and manipulative—though not a bad guy. I know that sounds very funny. There are all kinds of statistics showing overall what total dicks men are to women. I've been hit by my dad and hit by an ex-husband. So, that fact that my husband tends to get what he wants and does what he wants and I end up feeling like what I want is just really not that important, well, intellectually I understand it's just not something to end an marriage (with a child) over, or get too worked up about. Once in a while, though, I do get worked up. I act out. I can't take one more instance of feeling like I don't matter that much and I blow. Then I feel bad, I apologize, saying "Well, there was a lot of truth to what I said about you controlling everything and making me feel like I don't matter, but I shouldn't have called you those names and yelled at you like that..." and things just move on...and don't really change.

I had plans to go to a "girls night out" (GNO) on Saturday. Meanwhile, we also caught wind and got the idea of a beer I had liked being on tap at the local Whole Foods that has taps and a grill and I had the craving and idea that this beer would go really great with a sandwich they serve, and couldn't we go there for lunch? He agreed and acknowledged, well, we don't do what you want or your ideas that much, sure, let's go. But then he got wind of a beer he wanted that would be tapped later, once a certain other one (not the one I wanted) was kicked. So, he wanted to wait til the beer guy posted on Facebook that the other beer was tapped too. I was a little thrown because I didn't want to go too late and have the nice lunch be right on top of the GNO dinner (which was early).

Now, I'm not super big on the GNOs anyway. I like the people well enough, but we're not super close. Sometimes I even feel a little awkward, but I like to go out in this way now and then because I feel like it's a normal and healthy thing to do. Even if I'd rather just stay home with my family because it's easier and I like them, I push myself to do these GNOs. I have to say my husband doesn't really encourage me to do them, either, while he doesn't explicitly discourage them, he never says "Oh, yeah, go out and have a great time! You deserve some fun!" Never would say that. He'd rather I didn't do anything. He doesn't feel like he "needs" friends outside our relationship, but he goes out now and then, I think for the same reasons I try to. I don't think he really feels its as important to psychological health as I do, though. And I don't really feel like the dynamic of our relationship holds him back the way I feel held back.

Anyway, he just insisted we wait and wait and wait for his beer to come up. I decided to bail on the GNO. I really wanted my beer and sandwich combo and felt like just hanging out with my family would be fun, too. But we waited and waited and waited til finally we couldn't wait anymore and it became an early dinner instead of lunch—and the beer I wanted was no longer on tap. I got screwed. He was only sorry because I bitched and moaned and he made a bunch of excuses of how it wasn't his fault, blah blah blah. If we could have just gone at a normal time like we were supposed to and he didn't put his desires over mine, I would have gotten what I liked (which he had previously acknowledged would have been special and rare...) So I was miffed. But we carried on.

Another piece of the conflict was that had I gone on the GNO, he'd brought up wanted to go to this Whole Foods maybe just with our daughter. I didn't want him to do this. I didn't want him to take the crappier car on the highway with her not in her best carseat and I didn't want him to be minding her and driving even having had just one drink because the beer can be strong and I believe he is a less adept caregiver and driver than I am sober or slightly buzzed. I've always been "the primary" with our daughter. I haven't minded, really. I love her to the extreme. I loved breastfeeding her, sleeping with her (still do when I can). I loved being home with her. There is a whole now in my life I am trying to fill with her in school all day. Still, I think there are many ways he could have contribute that he chooses not to. I am 99 percent of the time the disciplinarian. I am the one who registered her for school. Who makes sure the homework gets done. Who makes her special meals when she won't eat what we're eating. I am the gift shopper. I am the doctor appointment maker. I am the one who knows where the lost toys are. These, of course, are natural things that might fall to the stay-at-home or work-at-home mother, but as the child gets older, someone who wanted to do more to help could take it upon themselves to do it. He's not all bad, just not as "on" as I am to the point where I'm not super comfortable with him going lots of places with her. (OK, as I type this, I am realizing I am sounding maybe like the controlling one, so that's maybe something I need to explore...)

I wanted to take the nice car to the GNO so I could feel more special. It's a newer car and it makes me feel nice to drive it. The nice car kind of has defaulted to "mine." I know it's both of our cars, but he usually takes the crappy one, since he only drives a couple miles to the train station each morning. Also, he chooses to take the crappy one when he goes out to rock shows in the city because he thinks it's so much smaller than the nice one and so much easier to park. He even insists on taking the smaller, crappy car when we go on dates to the city—again, so much easier to park, allegedly. So he never seems to mind driving this crappy car...until I express a strong desire to drive it, or he comes upon a way to make it some kid of bargaining chip.

We've argued about the car before. He knows that I love the car and feel special driving it. (By the way, it's not some super luxury car, it's a 2006 RAV-4, but compared to the other car, it's just lovely.)

So, I'd bailed on this week's GNO, I'd missed the beer and sandwich combo that I wanted, and I get an email about the next GNO so mention that to my husband. I tell him I'd really feel better if he just stayed home with our daughter or only went somewhere close by with her in the crappy car. I wouldn't be able to relax and have fun worrying about them. He'd previously said I was weird and had irrational fears about this and I told him that he is weird in his own way and I have to accept it, I do accept it and so he was to accept little ways I am weird too. But he pushed back and pushed back and pushed back.

He wanted to be able to do what he wanted to do. He doesn't see that he's not as good and on-the-ball taking care of her as I am. When I try to explain to him, he just thinks he's right. I tell him that it's part his way, part that I'm not comfortable with them driving the rickety, old car with the second-rate car seat that far. I'd be OK with it just going a couple miles. I know that scientifically those opinions may not be valid, but its how I feel and I feel like I ask for so little, he should accept and respect it. He was fairly obstinate, though. We dropped it. He took a shower. I thought about it. I'd swallow my pride and not be so materialistic and I'd just drive the crappy car to the next GNO—a dinner party at the million-dollar home of one of them. I'd previously thought I'd feel bad, showing up in the jalopy, but then thought, who would actually see me in the car? And, I care more about my kid's safety than my looking cool in a cool(er) car. So I told him, you know what, I'll just take the crappy car to the GNO. But he cut me off and said, no, no, you can take the nice car on your night out, but I'm going to take it every day to work.

What?!? He then reiterated to me all the concerns I'd laid out for him about the crappy car on the highway with my small child but he spoke of them with regard to his safety having to make a left turn coming out the train station in the dark. He claimed this new insistence on him taking the nice car to work every day was for his safety. He claimed he'd worried about it now and then before, but it was my concerns now that really hit him. I do not believe him. I think he is using the nice car, the fact that it is something that makes me feel special and "taking it away from me" as a punishment. He actually said, that he paid for most of it and it was his car and he'd take it if he wanted. I just saw it as a hugely un-gallant power play. A way to hurt me. He knows the car means a lot to me. But what means more, and hurts more, is him being mean and manipulative.

When I really think about it, I can let go of the car. When I really think about it, I understand that he might want to drive the "nice" car sometimes. In fact, I have actually felt sorry for him for having to drive the crappy car. But for him to use it this way just really hurt. If he would have asked, if he would have asked to take the nice car at another time—not immediately after I laid out issues about the car. I feel like he's using it to punish me. I feel like he's trying to teach me I better not bring up any concerns, I better just shut up and let him do what he wants or else he'll take away something I like.

Our fight escalated. I screamed so much my chest hurt. I still feel anxiety and stress the day later, even though on the surface we "made up." I screamed again and again that it wasn't about the car but about the manipulation and the domination. He complained that I didn't care about him and he was just a paycheck. Later, I explained to him that if he is just a paycheck it's because that's what he's set himself up to be. When asked to help around the house (I usually have to ask specifically, he won't just do) it's often with a mild gripiness or he does a poor job. I feel he is a bare minimum around the home kind of person. He answers always with a spotlight on the fact that I "only work part time from home"—something I chose to do that I thought was best for our kid.

One of the most hurtful things—or I should say hurtful themes—is the lack of valuing of my staying home. He brings it up whenever he can. He says he'll do more around the house when I go back to work full time. He makes me feel devalued. It's as simple as that. He says I make him feel devalued too because I complain he's not ambitious enough and doesn't do enough around the house.

I feel like my "attacks" on him are only ever in response to his either making me feel devalued or not doing enough—so really, they are counter-attacks. I am not dumb enough to miss the bad cycle here, though, and not see that is is me who has to change the dynamic. So I always do. I always apologize and try to be nice after. He accepts, probably just glad he's off the hook and can have the opportunity to try and place nice for a little while, but eventually slide back into his domineering ways, and we move on.

I guess the only progress is me becoming more mindful of the fact that I am the one who has to change. I let go of my attachment to that car. I walked the child to school, I walked to my store errands. We'll walk home from school and walk to and from tae kwon do, probably. I could drive the crappy car if I needed to, but that might make me feel worse, I don't know. At least all this walking could be a boon to my health. That's what I try to do, look on the bright side. He says that when spring comes and it's lighter out later, he'll take the crappy car again because he won't feel unsafe making those left turns in the light. I think, he's trying to lend some validity to his "safety" scheme. Or, maybe it's legit. I don't know. I do know I am left feeling uncared for and manipulated and bullied into not voicing concerns or grievances. But, that is fine. It's better that I deal with them internally anyway, because after all, I can only change myself.


We'd gone hiking earlier that day. I was happy about it. We had a nice, low key time as a family. I posted pretty photos of it on Facebook. My happy family. But by the time I posted, there was already the pain of our fight. I tried to choose a good quote to keep it just this side of being phony. Some indication that my life is not so picture-perfect, but with the hope that I will be OK, that we will be OK. So I chose this, from John Muir: Nature is always lovely, invincible, glad, whatever is done and suffered by her creatures. All scars she heals, whether in rocks or water or sky or hearts...

Self-comfort through reading

My New Years resolutions this year were kind of weird. I have this general sense that I need to lose 15–20 pounds by late March so I look good on my tropical island vacation. I want to make my kid practice her keyboard 15 minutes a day (this is a resolution for me because I actually have to make the time and pretty much be engaged the whole time). I want to meditate most days (say 5 out of 7)  I want to do yoga more regularly. One of the most measurable ones, though, or, I should say, one of the ones I am least loathing of measuring is to  start FINISHING all (well, most, the ones I still actually want to read) the books I've got on my Kindle that I grab up every time something catches my interest before grabbing any more. It's getting out of hand!

So, the one I am starting with is Comfort by Ann Hood, which I actually just bought today, so it's not really fair to the other books in my virtual pile, but something I'm hoping will help me in life. I will be, of course, concurrently reading the Mindfulness book I just mentioned, but that's a different kind of thing. Comfort is a memoir about how this woman deals with her five-year-old daughter dying.

Yikes! Right? I have a five-year-old daughter who I am madly in love with. We sit there and say "Best kid ever! Best mom ever!" and trade numerous "I love yous" while cuddling each other to sleep each night. I can't even begin to imagine losing her. And yet, I think about it too much. Not only do I think about actually losing her, which very likely won't happen, I think about her growing up, which is of course a good thing,  and will happen—but I am realistic to know I will not always be able to cuddle her to sleep. She is going to grow up and leave me in a very normal way.

I already am lost over this thing of her being in school all day, still, now in January, after her having been for several months. I'm not a loon of a mommy who is on her at every minute with some activity or always engaging her and who doesn't get annoyed with her at times or doesn't want time to myself, either. It's not that. It's just...I think most parents might feel this way about their child, don't they? And yet, we are all different so we feel love in different ways, so I don't know. I love pretty hard. And there is the thing of her being my only one. And there is the thing of her being a girl. Her looking like me (kind of, but way prettier). Her being every hope and blessing and dream for the future. (No pressure, my girl, really!) So, yeah, I need some help!

I am thinking if I can get an insight into how this woman deals with her child actually dying—arguably the worst thing someone can go through, or one of the worst—then maybe I can come away with some lesson for myself.

OK, I am off to being what I hope can be a couple solid hours of reading (another thing I am trying to do instead of all kind of crazy, disjointed, interruptedness...)

Holiday to a deserted island

I've decided. I'm taking a holiday to a deserted island. On this island I will meditate, read books, get to know my husband and kid better and just take a break from all the bullshit. So yeah, husband and kid, not truly a deserted island, and of course, I may see friends and neighbors and such, but the idea is I am staying off Facebook and Twitter for the month of July, and starting a little early, today.

This will be a challenge. Eschewing Facebook, I won't be able to post about my many adventures, how I am taking my kid to see Brave tomorrow, how we're going to the beach, how we're going to see fireworks and it will be my kid's first time. But, I also won't get in frustrating discussions about breastfeeding vs formula, the Affordable Care Act, or having to scroll and scroll and scroll through countless inane pictures of cats and ugly babies saying trite things with poor grammar. I'll miss others' posts about timely news items, the awful state of the Supreme Court, banking systems all over the world, corrupt churches and child molesters. Since I get a lot of tips on news items from my Twitter feed, I'm staying off there, too.

I worry about not being informed, but this is only for a month (for starters) and it's summer. I'm supposed to be sipping cold drinks, vegging out poolside and enjoying long, lazy days with my family, right? Right?

I will, of course, still have to work for my clients. Gotta pay to keep the AC running, after all. But, this is a much-needed break to heal my hamster wheel brain and cleanse my sullied heart. I feel tainted by my angry, contentious thoughts when arguing points with friends, even if we keep it civil (some can't even do that). I feel like a hypocrite reading Pema Chödrön and the Dalai Lama and then pounding out points meant to take someone else's view down.

Often I listen with half an ear to a story my husband is telling me about his day or something he read or heard, while I read the latest "mommy wars" article, or learn of yet another non-fiction book I must read, or form my latest counter argument in some online debate. The other day while running our local trail, I saw a couple in their 60s strolling and it hit me—someday it's going to be just me and him again and so I better keep in touch with him. We share a physical space, responsibilities, bills, sex, but honestly, my consciousness is more often keyed into to drivel on the internet. How ridiculous is that? My focus should definitely be on my life partner who I am supposed to be in love with!

And, of course, I won't even start on how I need to pay more attention to my child because that is so obvious.

So, if you'll excuse me, my plane is now boarding!

My gift

I was supposed to get a massage today and have lunch with my husband in the city. It is his Christmas gift to me. I was so riled up this morning about how I was going to get down there (at least 30 minutes, but up to 45 or more depending on traffic and parking), get the massage, meet him for lunch, have lunch and get back in time for preschool pick up. It was really stressing me out. I rushed my daughter around to be sure we could drop off at school right when they opened. I felt bad about that. Then I knew I had to get gas. I was so nervous, I hit wrong keys on the pump and the thing froze so I had to go to a new pump. I only filled up halfway because I was in a such a hurry. I realized I forgot my gift certificate at home so I rushed back, got it, but left my sunglasses on my desk, and I am totally a sunglasses person! Then I took off—45 in a 25 through my neighborhood. I gunned the gas and passed some old man on the road. I was a little bit of a menace, actually. I was so nervous. So anxious. I knew I shouldn't be dashing around in a car like this. Something was sure to go wrong. I called the massage place and asked if I could cancel. Since it was a gift certificate they really couldn't impose their penalty on me, and I explained to them I just didn't think I could make it in time and I'd reschedule for a Saturday. They seemed cool with it. Then I called my husband and told him we were off for today. He protested mildly, but had no choice but to accept my decision.

I'd told him before thanks for the gift idea but it's really too much to pack in during preschool time with the driving and all. I'd be so freaked out and mortified if I was late for pickup. Plus, an hour massage doesn't just take an hour. You have to get there 10-15 minutes early. You have to ease out of it and not dash right off. And, you're really not supposed to down beer and pizza (as was his plan) right after a massage either. He just didn't get it and kept pushing.

He often pushes me into things that I'm not thrilled about. Too tight schedules. Too many errands. An outing I don't really want to do when I'd rather just spend time at home either relaxing to doing some much needed work that needs to be done (and there is always something.) I'm glad he's there to balance me, so that I do go out and do things and enjoy life, maybe stretch beyond my comfort zone sometimes...but I'm glad I put my foot down and said no this time. This massage, this lunch, these things are supposed to be my gifts. They are things I should be able to have on my terms, not rushed, not adding to my stress level.

So I turned around before I got on the highway and headed home. I got an iced Americano from Starbucks and set about getting my living room back in order after it had been torn apart for the last three days for painting (with items spilling over into our office). Things like this make me nuts, too. The disarray. Like an itch that needs scratching and won't be quelled. I put the furniture back. Hung pictures back up. Much better. Order. I listened to samba, sipped my drink. At times, I just sat on the sofa taking breaks and listening to the music, feeling the cool breezes from outside waft through the house. Now this was actually relaxing.

Husbands say the darnedest things

My husband sent me the nicest e-mail a couple days ago. I'd confided in him that I was feeling a little out of sorts reminiscing about a time in my life when I wanted to move back home with my parents after splitting up with my abusive husband at age 20. They said no. I had to make it on my own. I would be too much of a disruption to their house. Now my sister, who is 27, is moving back home. I guess things change. Times have changed. We're in a recession now. They don't have any kids living there any more. Me and my sister are different people. Anyway, my husband wrote alot of sweet things to me and applauded my strength for making it on my own saying, "you may not be a feminist, but you are a strong woman, which is more important." This was also in response to my sharing with him my ambivalence about and disappointment in the feminist movement, especially with regard to how it interfaces with mothering young children.

At first I laughed to myself sarcastically...of course, a man would say it is more important that I am a strong woman. That means less for the man to do. He doesn't have to worry about me. He knows that when push comes to shove, I can take care of my damn self. But, I think I agree with him, actually. It is more important to be a strong woman than a "feminist". Maybe I say this because so much of what I encounter in feminist voices I read doesn't sound so much strong as it sounds whiny. I have become so turned off by all the whining that I am compelled to take any amount of crap and unequal distribution of work and childcare in my relationship with my husband just so I am not one of those whiny women. This is an issue that's come to a head as of late. On one hand, I know this is kind of lame, but on the other hand, if time and again the whining (or complaining, or whatever you want to call it) doesn't work, then it just gets old and life is much more pleasant if I just suck it up and deal with it. Be happy, be strong and move on. At the end of the day, I love him and its not his fault if I choose to work, work, work. I guess I just want someone to notice and say how good I am. But maybe him saying I am a strong woman is his way of saying this. I wish he could be more specific and direct, though, and yes, sometimes give me a little more help than he does, or have his help me a little more competent.

In another conversation, the one where I was telling him about how I was irritated at the question always being what women lose when they have kids, versus what they can gain, he listened and observed that some people just don't like that parenthood is all about sacrifice. Whoa, I thought. This is exactly what I didn't think. That was my whole point, that it's wonderful. Hard work sometimes, yes, but in the final analysis wonderful, with everything to gain and nothing to lose. He said it was a sacrifice that was worth it, but still a sacrifice. I think this is a little funny, since, as I said, my life has changed a whole lot more than his. Maybe the thing he has "sacrificed" most is me.

I asked him what he meant and he just gave a list of all the things we "couldn't" do anymore. It seemed like alot of these things were things I couldn't do anymore, not him. Like go to rock shows. Like work in an office. (In reality, I could do both of these if I really wanted to but I chose not to right now). But, he mentioned, we can't go to Cap D'Adge (a nude town in France with sex clubs that we went to on our honeymoon, and no, we did not sleep with other people, and yes, we went other more "pure" places on our honeymoon trip, too, like Florence, Venice, Barcelona and Paris), stuff like that. And I was like, I don't even want to do that right now, do you? Sure, he says! It's not that I don't want to do that ever, just not now. I can see us doing that when Ava is in college or something. But, I digress. There's plenty of things we can do in the mean time. But not everything can be done. right. now. That's just the reality of having a child. It's just another example of there being "a season for all things", like I keep saying about being a part-time work-at-home mom, extended breastfeeding and all those things that seem like they tie women down. We only really need to do them for such a relatively short time.

It's interesting, though, how some people consider it a sacrifice and others don't. Or, maybe the word "sacrifice" means different things to different people. It's funny, though, when I look it up, the very definition mentions parenting in its example:

"3 a: destruction or surrender of something for the sake of something else b: something given up or lost <sacrifices made by parents>"

I guess I just don't see it that way. I will be honest, in moments of frustration and weakness when I have given my all and then some, I may have cried to Ava "but I've sacrificed so much for you, can't you just go to sleep for today..." or something like that. But, when I really think about it intellectually not emotionally, it's no sacrifice at all. (Uh oh, isn't that an Elton John song? Yikes!)

I recently came across something in the Ariel Gore book, The Mother Trip, that quoted Muriel Rukeyser from The Life of Poetry, that said:

I think there is a choice possible at any moment to us, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk of sacrifice.

Beware, indeed. We are in a phase where I don't like him very much, sweet e-mail notwithstanding. I blew up at him, as I am wont to do. I think in the course of my crazy day I forgot to take any vitamins, or my valerian. So it was one of those high-anxiety blow ups. For his part, he said stupid things that undermined what is most important to me in life. A little he said/she said, as recalled by me:

Him: You only work and stay home because of your big ego to show you can do it and other people can't. Our lives would be easier if you were like normal people. Our lives would be easier if you didn't work.

Me: My life would be easier if you just helped me in the ways I asked. I like working and I need to work. I like the connection I have to the outside world. I like to earn my own money. It's good for my self-esteem.

Him: See, self-esteem=ego.

Me: That's just one part of it.

Him: You would be nicer to me if you weren't so stressed from work.

Me: Work doesn't stress me out. I enjoy it. You stress me out.

Arghhhhhh! With all my praise of work, I am sounding quite like the angry feminist! Seriously, though. He once implied that if I didn't work from home I'd have more time to play with his dog and clean. (He doesn't want a cleaner house, he justs me not to nag him about being a slob or helping me keep it clean.) Well, those are not things I want to do. I love the balance of my time spent with Ava and my time spent working from home. His comments are just so off-base and insulting.

I know he doesn't mean them in a bad way, though, and he is just frustrated. I know if I am nice, then all the argument points will be moot because he never starts an argument. It's always usually me, when I ask for more or when I blow because I am not getting more. So I will do what everyone else is doing these days and get by with less. I know we will make it out of this phase, and probably quickly. We'll be fucking by the weekend (its Friday). But it will involve mostly me "sucking it up" and just being nice in order to move on. I can do it. I am a strong woman, after all. And it's no sacrifice.

Depression? Naw, I'm just crazy.

Sometimes, at the end of a tiring day, I will sigh to my husband, "I am so depressed!" He will tell me I'm just tired, not dismissively, just matter-of-factly. And you know, he is right. I don't think it actually is depression that I'm feeling when I say that. It's just that depression is such a common concept in today's world, especially for women, that when you're not at the top of your game, even for a short time, you can run the risk of wallowing and over-diagnosing. I recently came across bits about women's depression—real depression—in my web wanderings and in Ariel Gore's "The Mother Trip: Hip Mama's Guide to Staying Sane in the Chaos of Motherhood" and had the opportunity to ponder my part in this while pedaling away on the stationary bike at the gym this morning. I came to the conclusion that I probably have not been depressed in the true sense of the word in a long time (perhaps not even at my lowest points). I never felt like totally giving up. I never felt like I couldn't get out of bed. I always had a little fight left in me. I think I just get tired, restless and anxious and none of it is ever that serious compared to some of the things I read that some people go through. Serious chemical stuff, serious reactions to realities far worse than even the worst I've had to deal with.

I did have quite a meltdown mid January, though. It was the night of Barack Obama's inauguration. Should have been all happy. The start of something new and wonderful. Instead, for me, it was the end of a long weekend in which my husband was home with us two extra days, kind of throwing me out of whack, messing with the schedule me and my kid usually keep. I don't remember details of what was bothering me anymore. Probably it had something to do with him not helping enough around the house, me feeling like I was doing too much, and that whole mess. Having him home with two extra days off for MLK day and the inauguration while I still had to work (running my own business, taking care of the house, the baby, etc.) and having it all in my face kind of wore me down. When I'm alone, it just doesn't bother me as much. At the end of the day, I had alot of trouble getting the child to go to sleep and I just wanted to get her to sleep and have some down time to myself. But instead it was a huge struggle. I cursed the fact that I'd set this up for myself—extreme attachment, nursing her to sleep, making it my job to put her to sleep, even if my husband was willing to help. (When my head is clear and I am well-rested I am firmly committed to and happy with these decisions.) I just wanted to be alone. The whole toxic mixture ended up with me yelling wildly at both my child and my husband, throwing a glass in the kitchen (baby was safely in her room) and hitting myself in the face repeatedly because I wanted to punish myself for the former two things. OK. So maybe that sounds kind of serious. Sounds like a break down.

I called a few friends that I was supposed to have over at my house the next day and canceled. I was forced to tell them the truth because I couldn't come up with any legitimate excuses. I really couldn't bear to be around moms and their kids after I had so badly failed as a mom the night before. I would feel so fake smiling at them and their babies, serving cookies and tea like I was a happy little homemaker. I didn't want to have them over to commiserate, either. I am really not big on commiseration. I don't like dishing about husbands and how rotten they are. I don't even really think mine is so rotten. We just have different approaches to some things. So, I canceled and decided to go get therapy.

I was really serious about the therapy this time. Well, as serious as someone like me can be. I'd tried it a couple times before. Once, when I was in Chicago in my late teens with an abusive husband. The therapist was late for our first appointment. I left. It was insulting. I don't really tolerate lateness from people who I am paying. I tried again in Georgetown when I was living with my Jewish financier boyfriend. She was OK, but between my first and second appointment with her I negotiated a 15K raise for myself and suddenly my problems were all over with (for the time being). I then tried a group thing a few years later. No good. So I tried again this time, but driving 30 minutes each way, paying a $30 co-pay each time, and having to go when my husband was around to watch our kid didn't seem like the most fun use of free time I had to squeeze so much to get. I'm glad it never worked out for me. I just don't think I am a therapy person.

I am from a lower middle class blue collar family. We don't do therapy. We do beer. Seriously, though, last summer I had started taking the herbal supplement valerian after talking with one of my friends about anxiety and her taking anti-anxiety meds. I somehow learned that valerian, which is more commonly used to help people sleep, is also helpful for anxiety. I think I do have a bit of anxiety issues (as do so many women of my ilk, it seems). The valerian really helped. Somewhere along the line between last summer and inauguration day, though, I dropped off the valerian. I decided to start again after my meltdown, and it again has helped alot.

The valerian in combination with alot of reading, writing and getting in touch with my feelings has made things pretty OK since my meltdown. (I always exercise regularly anyway, so that was nothing new to add to the mix.) I feel like I can't really complain or claim depression because the things I read other women go through seem so much more serious and deep than my issues and I genuinely feel so much for them. I have no real problems. I have a healthy, easy kid, no money troubles, an overall decent husband. I should not complain! I can easily identify why I get upset if I stop for a minute and process it. I can trace bad bits from my past and childhood that linger to sometimes taint my now peaceful life. And so its just a matter of managing my emotions and my responses to things. Not letting myself get too tired. Asking for help when I need it (from my husband, because there really is nobody else around to help me). Taking work-work in stride. (I actually tend to get more "depressed" when I have less work, oddly enough.) Knowing that good enough is good enough. Reveling in my beautiful daughter. Facing the fact that toddlers are wild and woolly and not meant to be controlled, and laughing it off instead of stressing out. And making sure to take that valerian!

I remember in my 20s, some snobby dude in my circle of friends telling me I wasn't smart enough or deep enough to be depressed. At the time, I was slightly insulted but brushed it off and went up for round two at the Chinese buffet. Now I believe that I am smart enough to transcend depression and deep enough to understand that the richness of blessings I have in my life would make it an embarrassment for me to claim depression. Maybe I am a little crazy, but I'm not depressed!

A convergence of coincidences creates meaning

Life has been pretty good. But yesterday I went on a ragging jag on my husband after I found a bigger co-sleeper on Craigslist, which reopened the always dangerous discussion of how long Ava should be sleeping with us. Details of that aside, I said many things that should not have been said and I was left trying to sort out my different feelings of love for my baby versus love for my husband...and anger toward my husband.

Googling brought me to an essay by Ayelet Waldman (I'd never heard of her) who proclaimed that she loved her husband more than her children. Quite different from what I was feeling at the moment. Turns out, her husband is Michael Chabon, who is pretty good-looking, very successful, and, according to Ms. Waldman, shares equally in the household and child-rearing responsibilities. Easy to love, right?

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that my husband, too, is easy to love. It especially hit me the next morning, as he patiently laid in bed trying to get another half hour of semi-sleep while the baby babbled noisily beside us. Thank goodness she was content to lay there babbling on her own while I caressed him and said sorry. Further thoughts of reconnecting flowed as I did my morning run, seeing a gorgeous full moon setting, thinking back on past romantic times with my husband, grateful he watched the baby each morning when I ran. And while I don't feel the need to compare and say I love my husband more than my daughter, I felt happy to have been prompted by Ms. Waldman's essay to examine my own feelings and try to better understand them.

It's funny that I had multiple "encounters" with the Chabons out of the blue. Just a couple days ago I put several old books up for sale on Amazon and the first one that sold was Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, which I actually never got into. What a coincidence that I would stumble upon his wife's work the next day and that it would relate to my life in a real way.

I am now thinking more about how I need to keep the passion going between me and my husband—and that doesn't mean just sexually. In some ways, sex comes easily. It's the whole deal of being generally excited and happy about someone that is so key, I think. Not wanting to just roll your eyes and be like, "what now?"
I've been pretty passionate about the baby, being a super-duper on-demand breastfeeder, having her sleep with us, staying home with her. (Almost like one of the AP devotees Ms. Waldman describes in another of her essays, but not exactly, because I don't rudely push my beliefs on others.) Sometimes, my uber-passionate feelings have even led me to behave irrationally during tough times with her, because I'd gotten too wrapped up in her. Taking it personally when she was fussy. Thinking she was ungrateful or didn't like me. Things that are not attributable to a baby, of course. (My husband brought me back to reality on those points.) Still, the beauty and cuteness of my baby enhanced by the maternal hormones and the cuddly closeness we share together so many hours each day, all make it easy to be deeply in love with her.

I have to remember, though, not to forget the hardworking, loving and patient man whose hard work and planning allows me to have the luxury of staying home with the baby, and whose very physical contribution has given me the gift of growing this baby—a real-life expression of our love. She is part of him and me—and I am so blessed to have them both.

IYADWYADTYAGWYAG

"If you always do what you always did, then you'll always get what you always got."

I read this somewhere years ago and periodically it pops into my head.

Lately, my husband and I have been squabbling alot. I just had a baby five weeks ago and we're both figuring out how it's all supposed to work. We have new---and very different---roles. I'm staying home from work for the first time ever, for example. It seems there are so many things we don't see eye-to-eye on.

We argued about co-sleeping and when's the best time to migrate the baby out of our room. Not now---at least we agree on that. We argued about the purchase of a stroller. We now have four. We argued about how to spend gift certificates people have given the baby. I didn't think it was right to spend it on random household items or car repairs. He says, funds are funds.

Also, since I'm breastfeeding, I'm the one who wakes up at night and takes care of the baby, and I try to keep her as quiet as I can so he loses only a minimum of sleep. I know in other households, the father also wakes up with the mother for moral support, or, if they are bottle feeding or the mama has pumped, he will do some of the feeding. However, I don't really feel the need to make my husband do that, but I do expect him to face the facts that he will be getting less sleep and he does need to pick up some slack in other ways. I feel as though he's not doing enough to pamper me as a new mom. He disagrees, but hears me out and says he'll do better.

But, I know something is just not working and I'm wondering if the problem is my delivery. Here is where the "IYADWYADTYAGWYAG" and life coaching lesson comes in. I have got to do something differently if I am ever going to get the results I need. So, instead of spouting forth my complaints and disappointments, like I usually do as a woman who speaks my mind, I am going to try a new approach. I'm not sure what that will be yet, but I don't want to get what I always got so I have to stop doing what I always did.

It's almost August, a new month, so the next few days I'll be gearing up for the change and in August I will officially implement the change and get back to the blog with my results.