So I'd scheduled a massage for myself today and to make it totally decadent and "me me me" I thought I'd get a mani-pedi, too. I have not done this for probably ten years. Seriously. Ten years! But, I can probably count on one hand the number of mani-pedis I've had in my entire life, so I guess it's not saying much. I am (was) more of a massage girl. I got them regularly for a while after landing a professional, well-paying job. Then faded out after working from home, being a mom, rationalizing to myself that my husband gives great massages, so why pay?
The problem is, he doesn't give them for an hour long, and, well, he's not a professional and usually wants sex (not that there's anything wrong with that.) But, I digress.
I've been turning into a complete and total bitch lately. I will defend myself in saying that it is not altogether unjustified that I should be cranky. I've been doing alot of menial housework lately and that always gets me crabby. My child has been difficult at all the wrong times. Though I must say she has been doing a great job of entertaining herself and playing for hours while I've been doing all the aforementioned cleaning, clearing and organizing. But her independent playing does not come without a price because she makes messes I have to go back and clean up and then she gets needy for my attention later, big time. Honestly, I don't know how mothers of more than one child get along. I know, that makes me sound like a total ass.
Anyway, I have been an awful, mean bitch...to my actual family who I am supposed to love. So, I had to check myself. I want the world to be a better place. I am, I guess, a "peacenik"...let's take care of everybody, share, healthcare for all, paid leave for moms and dads, care for those in need, educate...Kumbaya, my lord! But what kind of hypocrite am I if I am mean to my own family and what kind of hypocrite am I if I criticize others or am uncharitable with my views and opinions expressed online. If I can't even rein in these basic, close to home matters, is there any hope for humanity? Not that I, personally, have that much control over humanity as a whole, but, you know, it starts with one, and if everyone acted like I've been acting, and did so on a world-size scale, it would be, like total armageddon!
So, I decided I need to take care of me. Take a time out so I can feel a little more rested, a little more grateful, and all that. Thing is, the whole mani-pedi thing is a little awkward for me. I don't really know the drill, and the woman doing it was this little old Asian lady who barely spoke English, but she did a valiant job in guiding me through it all. I apologized for my nasty, leathery feet. I did not apologize for my hairy legs. I declined having my cuticles cut. I read from my iPod Touch Kindle while the pedi went down.
I just started reading, last night, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life, almost in desperation because I have been feeling so terribly mean, ugly and awful, and so here I was reading about Buddha and Confucius, as the author, Karen Armstrong, was laying the groundwork for the steps with some history, while a little old Asian woman (not Chinese, though, probably Vietnamese) does my feet. My instinct is to feel weird. I am the person who says I will never hire a cleaning lady. I am a woman of the people. Working class girl made good. Salt of the Earth. I don't want to be the rich white lady (I'm not rich anyway, by U.S. standards, although probably rich to many of the rest of the word's standards). But, I tried to take the exchange with gratitude instead of shame or awkwardness. She was making an honest living doing a service for me to help me feel good. In the end, I got a cute pedicure and manicure and felt nice—and a neat lesson I will write about in an upcoming post. I probably won't do it again for another 10 years, though.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thoughts on homebirth
A local dramaversy is unfolding surrounding a baby's death during a homebirth gone wrong. According to the WashingtonPost, a 43-year-old woman wanted to deliver the family’s first baby at home. She sought out an Alexandria, Va., midwife practice, BirthCare & Women’s HealthCertified Nurse-Midwives. But there was a complication; the baby was in the breech position, meaning that it was upside-down rather than having its head closest to the birth canal. BirthCare advised the mother that the case was too complicated for a home delivery, but she preferred to deliver at home. So she sought out a midwife with a reputation for experience with difficult deliveries. The outcome was tragic.
The discussion about the incident, and homebirth in general, has gotten a bit out of hand, though, as seen on the DC Urban Moms (DCUM) website thread.
I had a homebirth myself, with a midwife from BirthCare, a certified nurse midwife (CNM), and my Bradley birth class teacher is the birth assistant, allegedly connected with the case. While I feel sorry for the woman who lost her baby and I can't comment on the qualifications of the indicted midwife or the details of the case (since I was not there), I will say that, reading many of the comments on the DCUM thread, and comments on a post from the notoriously psycho Dr. Amy on the recent homebirth of The Feminist Breeder's new baby, pisses me off a tad bit.
The attitude that a healthy woman with a normal pregnancy having a homebirth is somehow reckless or selfish or in any way worthy of reproach is ridiculous. Sadly, the woman in the Alexandria case who lost her baby was risked out by moderate—some would argue conservative—homebirth midwives (who also practice in their own birth center and have hospital privileges at RNs) because of her age AND the position of the baby (and possibly other undisclosed factors).
So, in thinking through what I had to say about this all NOW—as someone who's had a homebirth safely and found it very empowering, but is cautious in recommending it wholesale to others because I really do think it takes a certain kind of mindset/personal makeup to do it—I came across something I'd written when I was pregnant that addresses why I made the choice I did.
I was much less rambly then, I guess! Need to work back toward that...
People who "hate" just don't get it, and I imagine no amount of going on is going to change their view. I guess this can be a lesson for me that might be applied to other matters I used to want to argue with people about online.
The discussion about the incident, and homebirth in general, has gotten a bit out of hand, though, as seen on the DC Urban Moms (DCUM) website thread.
I had a homebirth myself, with a midwife from BirthCare, a certified nurse midwife (CNM), and my Bradley birth class teacher is the birth assistant, allegedly connected with the case. While I feel sorry for the woman who lost her baby and I can't comment on the qualifications of the indicted midwife or the details of the case (since I was not there), I will say that, reading many of the comments on the DCUM thread, and comments on a post from the notoriously psycho Dr. Amy on the recent homebirth of The Feminist Breeder's new baby, pisses me off a tad bit.
The attitude that a healthy woman with a normal pregnancy having a homebirth is somehow reckless or selfish or in any way worthy of reproach is ridiculous. Sadly, the woman in the Alexandria case who lost her baby was risked out by moderate—some would argue conservative—homebirth midwives (who also practice in their own birth center and have hospital privileges at RNs) because of her age AND the position of the baby (and possibly other undisclosed factors).
So, in thinking through what I had to say about this all NOW—as someone who's had a homebirth safely and found it very empowering, but is cautious in recommending it wholesale to others because I really do think it takes a certain kind of mindset/personal makeup to do it—I came across something I'd written when I was pregnant that addresses why I made the choice I did.
Misunderstandings about birth
This is from the Boston Globe last summer. I stumbled upon it tonight while looking for stats on what percentage of women give birth naturally…
The author completely ignores any data on how interventions beget more interventions and thinks that women who choose natural childbirth do so as some rite of passage in which pain ushers them into some quasi-religious experience.
“It’s an interesting secular variation on a religious narrative where unbearable pain suddenly transmutes to boundless joy – just as it is believed that the brutal crucifixion of Christ led to the opening of heaven’s gates, or, for that matter, just as men blowing themselves to bits with suicide bombs think they will immediately appear in a paradise of virgins,” he writes.
He later says, “If anything, reliance on pain to create meaning during childbirth indicates a constricted imagination. Surely there must be more innovative challenges than voluntarily refusing effective, safe, and available pain relief during labor. ”
For me, I am choosing natural childbirth not because I need to feel pain to create meaning during childbirth, but because I believe that giving birth is a natural body function and that my body was designed to do it–so why should it be treated as an illness? Additionally, I believe that each medical intervention one accepts opens the door to another and another, and that can snowball to a situation where it’s not about the mother and baby but about hospital protocols and schedules. Furthermore, I’m not convinced that I will feel this pain that’s often described because I’ve read about and heard from other women who say differently.
He is completely closed to the idea that it is possible not to feel pain, as is explained in Grantly Dick-Read’s books and the HypnoBirthing book, or that the pain may not be “unbearable” but manageable with the proper preparation. What’s more, he quotes Sylvia Plath, using her description of labor as an illustration. For those who don’t know, she was NOT a healthy, well-adjusted woman!
Anyway, I’d be curious to hear other women’s reasons for choosing natural childbirth…and whether one-sided articles (the Ina May quotes notwithstanding) piss them off too.
I was much less rambly then, I guess! Need to work back toward that...
People who "hate" just don't get it, and I imagine no amount of going on is going to change their view. I guess this can be a lesson for me that might be applied to other matters I used to want to argue with people about online.
Friday, April 29, 2011
My baby's birth story
For those interested, to go with an upcoming post on homebirth...this is now old news, but worth reading for those with an interest in natural birth.
I count labor as starting at about 5:00 am on Friday morning, since that's when I was awake for good and able to really identify and time contractions, but in my mind, it all started with a little pop around 12:15 am Friday when my water broke, since I knew then that labor would need to begin within a certain amount of time.
I decided to clean up, sleep it off and call the midwives' practice, BirthCare, and my birth assistant, later in the morning since there was no sign of meconium in the water, the baby was moving and I was experiencing only a little abdominal achiness and very light cramps. (I was told later I should have called them right away...so any future mamas out there, do that!)
The midwife on call, advised me to take castor oil to help labor along and get me going within the 24-hour limit I'd have to give birth after the water breaking. We walked over to some nearby shops to restock on just a few groceries (fresh fruit!) and the castor oil. I took it at 8:30 am and its work began, slowly, behind the scenes. We hung out around the house for a bit and got a feel for how the contractions were going. They were coming about 7 minutes apart, lasting less than a minute, for some time, and quite manageable.
We went for another short walk around the neighborhood for about 30 minutes. I remember saying to my husband that I could handle contractions, like, ten times worse than what I was having at that time (little did I know what was coming).
After getting back home, we wanted to have some lunch before 12:30 pm, when we were supposed to call back the midwives and birth assistant. By now, the contractions were becoming a little more intense so that I ate most of my lunch but had to stop before eating it all. When I called in, I was told that the midwife at BirthCare with whom I'd developed a special connection, agreed to take over with my birth that day. That was great news, so I checked in with her and she advised a nap to be well-rested for what laid ahead.
The nap didn't pan out so great. I sleep a little, on and off for about an hour, as the contractions started to come a little more quickly and intensely. By this time, they were coming five minutes apart and lasting a good 70 seconds. I had to stand up and sway my hips, or bend over and hug a pillow, moaning in a low tone, in order to handle the contractions. I tried my best to rest in between them. My husband was coaching me through it all, at first comforting me with gentle, relaxing touches between contractions—we tried a little back massaging during them, but that wasn't working for me. Really, just him being there and being engaged in the labor with me was good, with me knowing I could call upon him as needed. He also helped by bringing me water, and making calls to the midwife and birth assistant when I couldn't deal with talking to anyone anymore. I managed to snack just a little from time to time for energy between contractions, even as they were getting tougher.
It's difficult to describe what the contractions felt like. Some women say they're not painful, but just a discomfort. I would say they were painful, but a productive pain. My understanding of what the uterine muscles were doing with each contraction helped me deal with how it felt.
I started to get a little concerned about the birth being imminent because I really had no idea how long it could go or how bad it could get, and it had gotten pretty intense by now. I was starting to feel alot more pressure with the contractions. I threw up once, and I was going from hot to cold and back, which I had heard were signs of transition, and though I wasn't thinking "I can't do this" (another sign of transition) I sure was thinking, "I don't want to do this...why did I choose to do this this way, with no medication..." so I thought I was reaching my limit. I was so wrong. I'm not really sure when transition was, officially.
Eventually, after a few back and forth phone updates between my husband, the midwife and the birth assistance, we decided we would do the birth at home and they'd be on their way over. I couldn't imaging coping with the contractions during a car ride. Even though it might only be twenty minutes, my need to stand, squat, curl over a pillow and the primitivism of my moaning just didn't seem suited to car travel.
When the midwife arrived, I was no longer paying attention to timing contractions, they were just coming and I was just hanging on and dealing with them any way I could. I think I threw up again.
The midwife gave me words of encouragement and praise for my ways of coping with the contractions and also talked to me a bit about our house, the yard with all its different trees, the nice deck. Eventually, she suggested we go outside for a bit, if I was comfortable with that. I think we all knew that the fresh air and change of scenery would give me a second wind and change up the energy a little bit.
It was a lovely evening by then, with cool summer breezes. Labor continued to be very intense, but with the midwife's advice, my husband's comfort and now, my birth assistant, too, there providing her support, I just took it one contraction at a time, as they say you're supposed to, and tried my best to chill out, rest, and gear up for the next one in between the contractions.
I began to start feeling the intense pressure and the urge to push and was grunting away out on the deck for a while. The castor oil was in full effect and things would have gotten extremely messy were it not for the endless expert and astute changing of Chux pads beneath me by the midwife and birth assistant. Being a wild woman in labor, I cared nothing about the flying fluids and mess and even found all the fussiness annoying at the time. However, looking back, I am grateful and amazed at how neat they kept the birth, and how much of my dignity they preserved by doing so.
Although I had the urge to push, the midwife checked me and noted I was only dilated 8 cm, so I had to hold back. Not pushing when I felt this intense urge was very difficult. She advised that if I breathed out during the contractions when the urge was building, it would keep me from pushing too much too soon. In order to do this, I had to grip my husband's hands really, really tight and I needed the midwife and birth assistant to work on my lower back as a counter pressure. I rested in between contractions while they took care of preparations for the next phase, and I called them back with each contraction for more help on my back. I must have squeezed my husband's hands so hard, but he took it all and supported me the whole time. He was there to remind me to blow out and coach me through the challenge as the intense contractions worked to open me more. The midwife sensed that the birth could happen soon and advised we move inside the house since it was getting cool and breezy for a new baby.
There still was another hurdle I had to clear before giving birth, though, which was that even as the cervix was dilating, there was a little lip that was in the way. After some time, the midwife said she could try easing it out of the way during a contraction to help move the labor along. I knew from other birth stories that it would not be pleasant, and would be a bit painful, but I really wanted to go forward with the labor as quickly now as possible and meet my baby.
The midwife expertly moved the lip and it was now time to push, which meant much more hard work. Pushing was tough. Maybe the toughest part because it was now about more than just coping with pain. I now had to accomplish something. I took in as much breath as I could, held it and pushed so hard for what seemed like the longest time. I pushed and pushed with each contraction, I thought it would never end. The midwife talked me through how to push with control as my husband and birth assistant comforted me. With each push, I felt burning and stretching. They later told me I had good control and followed the midwife's direction well to avoid tearing and damage to my perineum.
Everyone was getting excited and they told me they could see more and more of the baby's head with each push. With the last push, I thought they actually had to cut me because I felt a little something acutely sharp before the final relief, but they didn't. The next thing I knew, there was this sense of elation and the midwife was handing me my baby.
Holding her, I was filled with complete joy. She was absolutely beautiful, so soft and pink (for whatever reason, she came out very clean with little vernix on her at all). I felt such relief and love and peace. My husband cuddled us and held her for a moment, too, as we finished the birthing and basked in our happiness.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Kids are people, too...and so much more...
I remember when I was about 12 an incident that ended up with me being grabbed by the shirt, slammed into a kitchen wall, smacked around and yelled at, by my dad, for wanting to wear my shirt tails untucked from my pants. This was the style at the time--mid 80s. I'm sure by then my dad was fed up with my appropriation of the "New Wave" look, a girl wearing silly skinny ties and chopping my hair on top more and more so it would spike better. The poor man probably didn't know what to think. I remember wanting a handcuff belt and it being totally forbidden, but it never being explained why I couldn't--or shouldn't--wear one. During the shirt-tail-wall-slam incident he expressed anger that I wanted to dress like a slob. This was somewhat confusing to me because we were a working-class, informal family. Looking back, maybe that's why it was so sensitive, he didn't want me looking like a working-class "slob"? But he was not one for putting on airs. I told him that that was "the look"--"casual". He flashed his dick in a fury and said, "Casual? I'll show you casual!" I think this might have been when mom stepped in. She wasn't a big stepper-inner.
Anyway, my dad is alright. He did some deplorable things, sure, but we've moved on and despite what some may think of the flashing incident, he wasn't sexually abusive, in my view. He never laid a hand on me in that way. I think his outburst was just pure dramatic frustration. I am sure he is very, very sorry.
But, it's not without reason that I still cry pretty much every time I hear the song "Daughters" by John Mayer. Say what you want about Mayer, but that is a great song. It makes me remember the things that went wrong for me growing up, it inspires me to not have these things go wrong with my own child...and, sadly, it makes me regret mistakes I have already made in just few short years of parenting. I can totally see why my dad lost his temper. Children can be really annoying. If you are not on your game, feeling in control, sure of yourself and your place in the world, it's probably easy to lash out at them for being annoying, seeming ungrateful or disrespectful. I remember my dad sometimes yelled at me and even spanked me for "my attitude". This was at age 10 or 11, and I remember really, truly not knowing what the hell he meant when he scolded me about "my attitude", so it wasn't like I was consciously being a smart ass to him. I guess he just interpreted it that way? This is something I never want to do with my child. I think it helps to always assume the best of people, maybe.
Challenges now, for me, are seemingly straightforward, including things like not wanting to pick up toys, not wanting to cooperate for bedtime preparation, or getting dressed or ready to go somewhere. Typically preschool "I'm flexing my independence" stuff. Overall, though, mine is a good girl, not malicious, not very sneaky (she has been known to hide in her room and give herself marker tattoos, which I have told her not to do before school). When I am feeling good, I take it all in stride, when I am not, sometimes I don't respond as I should. I know, though, that it is really on me and it's my job to be in control---not of her, but of my emotions and my reactions to her.
What about future challenges? I read some good posts on Babble the other day that relate to this. One is a mom's reflections on her own childhood, how she felt back then, and a reminder to herself that kids are people. They have their own feelings and desires and we should honor them as much as we can. This goes for teens, of course, and on down to the little ones. I think lots of people forget that babies, toddlers...they have feelings that we should honor. Maybe they don't feel like eating X today. Does it really matter so much if we cajole them to eat X as long as they generally eat well? Does it really matter if they don't want to take a nap? Maybe they aren't tired anymore. Of course, maybe they are and are just too wound up to know it, in which case mama has to do her best to set the stage and encourage the nap. But, I digress.
Another post loops back around to the issue of teen girls (or pre-teen in this case) and sexy clothes. The Babble post refers to a CNN blogger who comments that it is the parents' job to make sure their girls aren't dressed too sexy. The Babble post raises really interesting questions about who the onus is on---why is it so much on girls not to look too sexy but boys (and men!) are looked on as being unable to help what they think or do because of the way the girls are dressed? Nobody wants to dig into why girls may want to dress a certain way or not. It is some marketing, but it's not all marketing. There's their own feelings, their own explorations of who they are and what they want to be in the mix, but that is pushed back as a topic of discussion because what's most important seems to be making sure they aren't too sexually appealing or tempting to men.
My parents could have explained to me why I shouldn't be wearing a handcuff belt. I was 12, I think that's old enough to know. It's ugly, maybe, but it would have been a good teachable moment. In case you don't know why a 12 year old shouldn't wear a handcuff belt, I would say it's because it does very much have sexual overtones--the whole S&M association, and even worse, taking that association further to the fact that it would have been a child wearing that, you have the sickening issue of child trafficking and that whole mess. No wonder my dad was freaked the fuck out by this! But at that time, neither of my parents were college-educated, they were fairly young, as parents go, and I'm sure he just didn't have the nuts and bolts skills to talk to his 12 year old daughter about such things, so he just blew up in frustration. I understand. On the other hand, if he would have just treated me like a person, approaching me with some empathy, or pity, that I, as a child, had no idea what this was all about and yet here I was, in this culture, being exposed to things I didn't understand...I don't know if that takes a high level of education or just, really empathy and effort. I'm not here to judge the past, though, just to try and learn from it so I can take a cleaner path with my child.
So it's funny while concurrently pondering all this, I stumbled, too upon the catchy song "Teenage Dream." In all this, though, I try to hold on to the idea that if I am compassionate and thoughtful and treat my daughter like a person, it might just all end up OK.
Anyway, my dad is alright. He did some deplorable things, sure, but we've moved on and despite what some may think of the flashing incident, he wasn't sexually abusive, in my view. He never laid a hand on me in that way. I think his outburst was just pure dramatic frustration. I am sure he is very, very sorry.
But, it's not without reason that I still cry pretty much every time I hear the song "Daughters" by John Mayer. Say what you want about Mayer, but that is a great song. It makes me remember the things that went wrong for me growing up, it inspires me to not have these things go wrong with my own child...and, sadly, it makes me regret mistakes I have already made in just few short years of parenting. I can totally see why my dad lost his temper. Children can be really annoying. If you are not on your game, feeling in control, sure of yourself and your place in the world, it's probably easy to lash out at them for being annoying, seeming ungrateful or disrespectful. I remember my dad sometimes yelled at me and even spanked me for "my attitude". This was at age 10 or 11, and I remember really, truly not knowing what the hell he meant when he scolded me about "my attitude", so it wasn't like I was consciously being a smart ass to him. I guess he just interpreted it that way? This is something I never want to do with my child. I think it helps to always assume the best of people, maybe.
Challenges now, for me, are seemingly straightforward, including things like not wanting to pick up toys, not wanting to cooperate for bedtime preparation, or getting dressed or ready to go somewhere. Typically preschool "I'm flexing my independence" stuff. Overall, though, mine is a good girl, not malicious, not very sneaky (she has been known to hide in her room and give herself marker tattoos, which I have told her not to do before school). When I am feeling good, I take it all in stride, when I am not, sometimes I don't respond as I should. I know, though, that it is really on me and it's my job to be in control---not of her, but of my emotions and my reactions to her.
What about future challenges? I read some good posts on Babble the other day that relate to this. One is a mom's reflections on her own childhood, how she felt back then, and a reminder to herself that kids are people. They have their own feelings and desires and we should honor them as much as we can. This goes for teens, of course, and on down to the little ones. I think lots of people forget that babies, toddlers...they have feelings that we should honor. Maybe they don't feel like eating X today. Does it really matter so much if we cajole them to eat X as long as they generally eat well? Does it really matter if they don't want to take a nap? Maybe they aren't tired anymore. Of course, maybe they are and are just too wound up to know it, in which case mama has to do her best to set the stage and encourage the nap. But, I digress.
Another post loops back around to the issue of teen girls (or pre-teen in this case) and sexy clothes. The Babble post refers to a CNN blogger who comments that it is the parents' job to make sure their girls aren't dressed too sexy. The Babble post raises really interesting questions about who the onus is on---why is it so much on girls not to look too sexy but boys (and men!) are looked on as being unable to help what they think or do because of the way the girls are dressed? Nobody wants to dig into why girls may want to dress a certain way or not. It is some marketing, but it's not all marketing. There's their own feelings, their own explorations of who they are and what they want to be in the mix, but that is pushed back as a topic of discussion because what's most important seems to be making sure they aren't too sexually appealing or tempting to men.
My parents could have explained to me why I shouldn't be wearing a handcuff belt. I was 12, I think that's old enough to know. It's ugly, maybe, but it would have been a good teachable moment. In case you don't know why a 12 year old shouldn't wear a handcuff belt, I would say it's because it does very much have sexual overtones--the whole S&M association, and even worse, taking that association further to the fact that it would have been a child wearing that, you have the sickening issue of child trafficking and that whole mess. No wonder my dad was freaked the fuck out by this! But at that time, neither of my parents were college-educated, they were fairly young, as parents go, and I'm sure he just didn't have the nuts and bolts skills to talk to his 12 year old daughter about such things, so he just blew up in frustration. I understand. On the other hand, if he would have just treated me like a person, approaching me with some empathy, or pity, that I, as a child, had no idea what this was all about and yet here I was, in this culture, being exposed to things I didn't understand...I don't know if that takes a high level of education or just, really empathy and effort. I'm not here to judge the past, though, just to try and learn from it so I can take a cleaner path with my child.
So it's funny while concurrently pondering all this, I stumbled, too upon the catchy song "Teenage Dream." In all this, though, I try to hold on to the idea that if I am compassionate and thoughtful and treat my daughter like a person, it might just all end up OK.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Photos and videos and just living life
There's a post over on Babble about whether or not parents are comfortable posting pics of their kids on the internet. I am kind of in the middle. It seems like with so many pictures of so many children out there, the evil pervs have millions to choose from and what are the odds they stalk me and mine. Also, I think I read somewhere that a majority of molestations, abductions and such are from people the victims actually know. As far as any virtual shenanigans that might be done with an image, well, after all, it's just an image, it's not the real person. And, besides all that, I have a sense that really bad and awful things won't happen to me. So, of course, I post pics of my kid on Facebook, now and then, and I used to even have a public, yet personal, blog detailing her milestones and growth as a baby. That kind of fizzled out around age two or two-and-a-half, though.
And that got me to thinking, oh no, I am not documenting my child's life anymore the way I used to! What am I missing? Cue mini anxiety attack! And this was while I was doing yoga, a time that I typically think about such pressing things as what I will have for breakfast, what deadlines I need to tackle today, if we'll have time to hit a playground, are my husband and I supposed to have sex tonight, what beer will we have with dinner...
And what about the baby book? Yeah, that kind of fizzled out, too. But that was my husband's domain. I am more of the electronic media virtual girl. It dawned on me I haven't transferred video from the camcorder (do people even use those anymore?) to DVD in a while. It's hard to keep up with all the work-for-pay work, reading, housekeeping and child-engaging I need to do, let alone be the family archivist. Then I got to thinking, the media will probably change over time and we won't even be using DVDs anymore. Uploading to the cloud may very well become the standard. But, what if the cloud blows up? That said, all the paper photos could burn up, be lost, or destroyed in some kind of natural disaster, too, of course. Nothing is forever!
Nothing is forever and so it seems pointless to worry about documenting a life when you should be living it, right? Right. I can live in the moment. I can really look, really pay attention to my child in the here and now. I can create memories and hold them in my heart, and my mind. But, but, but...what if I get dementia or Alzheimers when I am old? No. Remember? Bad things don't happen to me. So instead of sweating it too much, I am just going to do what I always do. Live my life, snap a few pics here and there, post them on Facebook and maybe print out a book once or twice a year. And really try to be in the moment.
Anxiety crisis averted.
And that got me to thinking, oh no, I am not documenting my child's life anymore the way I used to! What am I missing? Cue mini anxiety attack! And this was while I was doing yoga, a time that I typically think about such pressing things as what I will have for breakfast, what deadlines I need to tackle today, if we'll have time to hit a playground, are my husband and I supposed to have sex tonight, what beer will we have with dinner...
And what about the baby book? Yeah, that kind of fizzled out, too. But that was my husband's domain. I am more of the electronic media virtual girl. It dawned on me I haven't transferred video from the camcorder (do people even use those anymore?) to DVD in a while. It's hard to keep up with all the work-for-pay work, reading, housekeeping and child-engaging I need to do, let alone be the family archivist. Then I got to thinking, the media will probably change over time and we won't even be using DVDs anymore. Uploading to the cloud may very well become the standard. But, what if the cloud blows up? That said, all the paper photos could burn up, be lost, or destroyed in some kind of natural disaster, too, of course. Nothing is forever!
Nothing is forever and so it seems pointless to worry about documenting a life when you should be living it, right? Right. I can live in the moment. I can really look, really pay attention to my child in the here and now. I can create memories and hold them in my heart, and my mind. But, but, but...what if I get dementia or Alzheimers when I am old? No. Remember? Bad things don't happen to me. So instead of sweating it too much, I am just going to do what I always do. Live my life, snap a few pics here and there, post them on Facebook and maybe print out a book once or twice a year. And really try to be in the moment.
Anxiety crisis averted.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Do I have a right to NOT play?
So I am sitting here, aching all over from yesterday's marathon. I just woke up. Haven't had breakfast, just drinking some water and surfing the web a little, waiting for the first pangs of hunger and the motivation to get back off of the couch before I eat something. I have already given my child her breakfast, of course, twice (two bowls of cereal, mixed kinds with milk, and juice...just like she asked for) and she is supposed to now just be playing around me, herself, while I interject words of interest here or there about what she is doing and engage, loosely in it all.
But no, the time of coasting has come to an end. I've had to comment favorably on her puppies that she's taking to the museum. I've had to ride to the museum, that was easy, I just sat on the sofa while she draped some beads on me as a "seatbelt so I can be safe." But now, we've arrived at the museum which means I have to get up and walk...somewhere...that she will pretend is the museum.
The thing is, I just don't want to! I want to just sit here for a few more minutes. I will play with her later, for sure I will. But, damn it, I am tired...and sore. I spent the whole night with her, as I sometimes do, cuddling on the futon on the floor. I know I'm a decent mom. So why do I have to play what she wants when she wants? Fact is, I don't. But she demands it and then cries when I don't. What do I do? It's infuriating. I tell her I'll play later. Not good enough. I tell her to go to her room until she can stop crying and be quiet. So that's what she does, saying to her stuffed dogs, "Sorry puppies" as she continues to cry.
The crying stops after a very short time, though, like less than minutes, maybe 2 minutes? And now I hear her "reading" aloud to her puppies, peacefully and quietly. Maybe now I am ready to play a little or engage, because the sound of her voice reading softly to herself and her pretend puppies is so sweet, and I realize that I've had my five minutes, I am not working or doing anything really important right now, and so why not go to her?
But no, the time of coasting has come to an end. I've had to comment favorably on her puppies that she's taking to the museum. I've had to ride to the museum, that was easy, I just sat on the sofa while she draped some beads on me as a "seatbelt so I can be safe." But now, we've arrived at the museum which means I have to get up and walk...somewhere...that she will pretend is the museum.
The thing is, I just don't want to! I want to just sit here for a few more minutes. I will play with her later, for sure I will. But, damn it, I am tired...and sore. I spent the whole night with her, as I sometimes do, cuddling on the futon on the floor. I know I'm a decent mom. So why do I have to play what she wants when she wants? Fact is, I don't. But she demands it and then cries when I don't. What do I do? It's infuriating. I tell her I'll play later. Not good enough. I tell her to go to her room until she can stop crying and be quiet. So that's what she does, saying to her stuffed dogs, "Sorry puppies" as she continues to cry.
The crying stops after a very short time, though, like less than minutes, maybe 2 minutes? And now I hear her "reading" aloud to her puppies, peacefully and quietly. Maybe now I am ready to play a little or engage, because the sound of her voice reading softly to herself and her pretend puppies is so sweet, and I realize that I've had my five minutes, I am not working or doing anything really important right now, and so why not go to her?
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Thoughts on a very long run today
Today was a challenge.
I ran a marathon. My time was slower than I'd hoped. Probably slower than I could have done if I tried harder, now, looking back. But, I am happy. I am glad it's over so now I can just go back to running more normal distances and perhaps just enjoy running more without this big...event...or goal...looming before me.
I did not sleep well the night before the race. The hotel room made all kinds of weird mechanical sounds, as hotel rooms usually do. I am very sensitive to these buzzings, clickings, whooshings. I didn't want to wear earplugs, though, because I didn't want to miss the sound of my alarm. Also, wearing earplugs makes me feel too vulnerable. I'd want to be able to hear and wake up if something was wrong. In addition to that, husband was sniffling loudly, and what seemed to me to be obnoxiously, all. night. long. My kid tossed and turned and proclaimed she didn't love me for quite some time before falling asleep, only to wake up with a coughing fit around 4 am, proclaiming that, yes, she does love me. (This actually warmed my heart and I didn't mind. She is my baby, after all.) Then there was the dog's chains. Since husband was sniffling and stirring, he trusty sidekick was constantly on the alert as well. It was awful.
So, I headed out to do this race and I tried to keep a happy mood, or make a happy mood, this cold, cold morning, heading to the race start, in shorts, alone, in the dark. Standing around in the crowd, waiting for the inexplicably delayed start, a muscle in my back and neck out of nowhere tensed up. I figured, it's a long race, I'll just work through the pain.
I started the race uneventfully and slogged on through. People always pass me in droves at the beginning of these races. People I know I will pass at some point later. I am not the fastest, but I am good at pacing myself. My thing is I never, ever, spend it all. I always save something for the end. I've always got a little left. Today was no different. I seriously contemplated skipping out of this thing at the half-marathon point. I was tired from lack of sleep, feeling down, I just didn't see the point of going through all this. I though about how I could make a legitimate quick answer for people who asked how I did. I'd say, "Eh, I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to just make it a half." Thing is, people don't really do that. I knew I'd feel like a big loser if I did that, and I'd always have "that time I dropped out of the marathon halfway through." So, I told myself I could go as slow as I needed to in order to keep myself from feeling pain and from suffering too much. It's hard to conquer that thought process when you're still in the single digits...mile 7, 8, 9 and you just want to stop at 13. But, once you get to 13, you can tell yourself, "OK, I survived. I just have to do that, again, one time, and I'll be done." And that is just what I did.
I worked through alot of thoughts and emotions during those 26.2 miles today. I had alot of anger. I was angry at my family for keeping me awake. I was angry at my fellow man, my fellow runners in this race for lots of petty little things that didn't matter. They were wearing headphones. The rules explicitly said "NO HEADPHONES." They were senselessly chattering about useless and petty things. One young college-age girl was going on about what the problem with healthcare in America today was. Like she had it all figured out. Some conversations I eavesdropped were interesting, though, and helped keep me going by taking my mind of things for a bit. A woman was working for a medical device company developing some device for blown out knees. Another was a 1st grade teacher in the D.C. public school system. A man told of how he liked to move every 5 or 6 years because life got stale. Faster people passed me. Slower people fell behind me. People who didn't know pacing kept passing and kept later falling behind. And then there were the walkers. They'd walk, then run and catch up, then walk again. And on and on. My view is you don't walk. You run. Even if you run slowly like me. You run.
What I came to realize in this marathon is that I had to run my own race. Today's race. For me. The race I ran today was all about just keeping on as best as I could. I wasn't trying to hit any personal best. I wasn't trying to be a shining star athlete today. No. I was just basically trying to survive. It didn't hurt too much because I just didn't let it. And for me, that was a really fun and gratifying way to run the race today. I enjoyed seeing how slow I could go without being ridiculous, but while not really being in pain or pushing. I never really was winded or breathing hard. It's the bones and muscles of my body that ached. I couldn't help but think, again, just like I did on so many of my training runs, that all this would be easier if I lost a little weight.
I became re-acquainted with the fact that there are many ways to do things. I know this from graphic design and art applications. There are often many ways to accomplish the same goal, different tools to use, different techniques, to do the same thing. Same for running, same for life. For me today, the tools for finishing the race were just to go slow and steady and keep on keepin' on. For someone else, it was different. Today may have been there day to go faster. They may always be faster, or they may someday decide that being fast wasn't what interested them that day. Like me today. I learned that it is much more relaxing and freeing and pleasing to let go of thoughts that dictate something's got to be done a certain way.
One reason I didn't quit at the half was just purely because I had no definite place to go or thing to do. My husband and kid would be out getting bagels or at a playground, waiting to meet me at the end of the marathon, a couple hours later. I thought maybe I could just go back to the hotel room and sleep. But they would be there. I loved them, but I was still annoyed with them. I needed to be alone (albeit in a crowd of runners) for a while longer. I needed to think more. I thought about how I just want to be nice and loving to my family. I thought about how marathons are alot like life. You have good days. You have bad days. There will always be people "better" than you and there will always be people "worse." You just have to know yourself, your pace, what you can do, and sometimes push and sometimes don't, but you have to know yourself enough to know when to do which.
It was really freeing to be able to take the relaxed approach I took to the marathon today. Made me think I could try fighting less and resisting less in day to day life, as well, especially dealings with my preschooler, and to some extent my husband and the whole world.
I ran a marathon. My time was slower than I'd hoped. Probably slower than I could have done if I tried harder, now, looking back. But, I am happy. I am glad it's over so now I can just go back to running more normal distances and perhaps just enjoy running more without this big...event...or goal...looming before me.
I did not sleep well the night before the race. The hotel room made all kinds of weird mechanical sounds, as hotel rooms usually do. I am very sensitive to these buzzings, clickings, whooshings. I didn't want to wear earplugs, though, because I didn't want to miss the sound of my alarm. Also, wearing earplugs makes me feel too vulnerable. I'd want to be able to hear and wake up if something was wrong. In addition to that, husband was sniffling loudly, and what seemed to me to be obnoxiously, all. night. long. My kid tossed and turned and proclaimed she didn't love me for quite some time before falling asleep, only to wake up with a coughing fit around 4 am, proclaiming that, yes, she does love me. (This actually warmed my heart and I didn't mind. She is my baby, after all.) Then there was the dog's chains. Since husband was sniffling and stirring, he trusty sidekick was constantly on the alert as well. It was awful.
So, I headed out to do this race and I tried to keep a happy mood, or make a happy mood, this cold, cold morning, heading to the race start, in shorts, alone, in the dark. Standing around in the crowd, waiting for the inexplicably delayed start, a muscle in my back and neck out of nowhere tensed up. I figured, it's a long race, I'll just work through the pain.
I started the race uneventfully and slogged on through. People always pass me in droves at the beginning of these races. People I know I will pass at some point later. I am not the fastest, but I am good at pacing myself. My thing is I never, ever, spend it all. I always save something for the end. I've always got a little left. Today was no different. I seriously contemplated skipping out of this thing at the half-marathon point. I was tired from lack of sleep, feeling down, I just didn't see the point of going through all this. I though about how I could make a legitimate quick answer for people who asked how I did. I'd say, "Eh, I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to just make it a half." Thing is, people don't really do that. I knew I'd feel like a big loser if I did that, and I'd always have "that time I dropped out of the marathon halfway through." So, I told myself I could go as slow as I needed to in order to keep myself from feeling pain and from suffering too much. It's hard to conquer that thought process when you're still in the single digits...mile 7, 8, 9 and you just want to stop at 13. But, once you get to 13, you can tell yourself, "OK, I survived. I just have to do that, again, one time, and I'll be done." And that is just what I did.
I worked through alot of thoughts and emotions during those 26.2 miles today. I had alot of anger. I was angry at my family for keeping me awake. I was angry at my fellow man, my fellow runners in this race for lots of petty little things that didn't matter. They were wearing headphones. The rules explicitly said "NO HEADPHONES." They were senselessly chattering about useless and petty things. One young college-age girl was going on about what the problem with healthcare in America today was. Like she had it all figured out. Some conversations I eavesdropped were interesting, though, and helped keep me going by taking my mind of things for a bit. A woman was working for a medical device company developing some device for blown out knees. Another was a 1st grade teacher in the D.C. public school system. A man told of how he liked to move every 5 or 6 years because life got stale. Faster people passed me. Slower people fell behind me. People who didn't know pacing kept passing and kept later falling behind. And then there were the walkers. They'd walk, then run and catch up, then walk again. And on and on. My view is you don't walk. You run. Even if you run slowly like me. You run.
What I came to realize in this marathon is that I had to run my own race. Today's race. For me. The race I ran today was all about just keeping on as best as I could. I wasn't trying to hit any personal best. I wasn't trying to be a shining star athlete today. No. I was just basically trying to survive. It didn't hurt too much because I just didn't let it. And for me, that was a really fun and gratifying way to run the race today. I enjoyed seeing how slow I could go without being ridiculous, but while not really being in pain or pushing. I never really was winded or breathing hard. It's the bones and muscles of my body that ached. I couldn't help but think, again, just like I did on so many of my training runs, that all this would be easier if I lost a little weight.
I became re-acquainted with the fact that there are many ways to do things. I know this from graphic design and art applications. There are often many ways to accomplish the same goal, different tools to use, different techniques, to do the same thing. Same for running, same for life. For me today, the tools for finishing the race were just to go slow and steady and keep on keepin' on. For someone else, it was different. Today may have been there day to go faster. They may always be faster, or they may someday decide that being fast wasn't what interested them that day. Like me today. I learned that it is much more relaxing and freeing and pleasing to let go of thoughts that dictate something's got to be done a certain way.
One reason I didn't quit at the half was just purely because I had no definite place to go or thing to do. My husband and kid would be out getting bagels or at a playground, waiting to meet me at the end of the marathon, a couple hours later. I thought maybe I could just go back to the hotel room and sleep. But they would be there. I loved them, but I was still annoyed with them. I needed to be alone (albeit in a crowd of runners) for a while longer. I needed to think more. I thought about how I just want to be nice and loving to my family. I thought about how marathons are alot like life. You have good days. You have bad days. There will always be people "better" than you and there will always be people "worse." You just have to know yourself, your pace, what you can do, and sometimes push and sometimes don't, but you have to know yourself enough to know when to do which.
It was really freeing to be able to take the relaxed approach I took to the marathon today. Made me think I could try fighting less and resisting less in day to day life, as well, especially dealings with my preschooler, and to some extent my husband and the whole world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
