Got Milk?

You know your baby boy is milk drunk when:

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Wesley practices for his new role ...

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Quick Reminder

I just read in another blog about a father who is happy he has learned how to wear a sling (congrats!), and it reminded me of our early days. This borrowed sling is actually on wrong, but you can't really tell ;) We eventually became "experts" and hiked all over the place slinging (and breastfeeding, well, I did, not Patrick).

It's fun to carry around a little pea in a pod!

I can't wait to do it again! So here's a little reminder of what is to come ...


Oh, and then another reminder: that pea quickly grows up, so do all you can do to cherish those first few days/weeks/months!!!! Then do all you can do to cherish the rest ;)

The surprising thing about parenthood, and this from a mom who LOVES the newborn stage, is that every stage becomes my new favorite!

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Quick Post! Girl stuff, etc.

Patrick is painting our bathroom right now -- it's looking good! The fumes are a little much so I stopped cleaning up in there and decided to steal a few moments with the blog.

I had a neat experience today: I got my second pedicure ever. I know that may surprise some of you mani-pedi regulars/addicts, but it's true.

So here's the deal, I used to think that the whole "high maintenance" thing was just not for me ... well, um, I might have been wrong.

When we met, Patrick admired how easily I moved from the canoe to a fancy night out with his friends; How swiftly my hair went from undone to up-do.

I've worked hard to maintain my low-maintenance status for many years now, and I think I'm ready to balance it a little more with some nurturing ... but not just of my feet. Read on:

So, there I was with one swollen foot soaking in bubbling water as another was being massaged when I took a good look around the shop. The five women who worked there were speaking Korean to each other, one was translating for two Hispanic ladies to another of the Korean workers, and three strangers gabbed as their nails dried. There were four races of women who spanned at least 50 years in age and obviously came from different socioeconomic strata all hanging out talking about life -- not just life, but girlie things!

I found it fulfilling to be with so many different people for one common goal: to feel good about ourselves. I'm learning that it's OK to spend a little money here and there in the name of nurturing, and that it's kind of fun to just sit and talk and learn that even though we're all in different stages of life and all from different walks ... we still like talking about the same things: good food, weight loss, hair, nails, and men!

I hope that in San Antonio I can find such a fun diverse place to pamper myself -- a place where I can be nurtured from heart to heels. Read more!

It's Almost Time to Say ....

Good-bye.

While watching a scene from a movie with a fast train in it, Wesley turned to me and asked, "Do you remember Rowan?"

"Yes, of course I remember Rowan,"I replied. "We saw him at the picnic." I thought he was talking about a little boy in our Baha'i community.

He looked at me with another question written on his face: "Do you remember Rowan on the train -- the fast train?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed; No way! I thought.

I was astonished that he was referring to the Rowan he met six months previously in Switzerland. We talked about the fun we had on Switzerland's transportation system of buses and trains, and the fun he had with my friend Emily's children. He only spent a short time with Rowan and his sister, and he remembers them -- fondly. More than that, I sensed he feels a bond with Rowan. And isn't quite aware of the distance between them.

I wish they had more time together.

***

My dad came into town Friday. He brought Wesley a German-made electric train set. I don't know, but perhaps it is similar to the one that his grandfather bought for him when he lived in Germany. I do know that Wesley and his grandfather share a joy in playing with trains.

My dad left on Saturday. Minutes later he called:

"I feel like I didn't stay long enough."

"Me too." Silence -- we were both crying. "I think we feel this way because we didn't get much time together ..."

More silence. More tears.

I don't remember the rest of the conversation, in the end he told me he would be back in a few weeks to meet the new baby, we hung up, and I continued to cry. I wasn't crying because I missed him in that moment, I did, but the depth of my feeling and the situation didn't match -- I was crying because I had missed him for so long.

I wish we had hadmore time together.

***

I don't know how many times I've dropped off Patrick at an airport knowing it would be months before I would see him again.

A couple of those times I parked my car, walked with him to the terminal (back when we could do that sort of thing) ,and held his hand until he had to walk through the terminal doors. But I prefer the drop-kiss method. The one where you stop briefly outside the airport, give your loved one a quick kiss, watch him walk away with his bags, and then speed off, turn up the radio, and numb out before the tears have a chance to flow.

I always wished we had more time together.

***

I find that good-byes vary from awkward to torture.

I'm not sure how much of my current withdrawal from my community and friends has to do with this self-protection factor and how much of it is a genuine effect of life as it is with a busy husband, a book that keeps needing new scenes/edits, a difficult pregnancy, nurturing a busy toddler, and a desire to take advantage of my post-grad work through the Southeast Institute by reading, writing, and signing up for every weekend workshop that I can while I am here.

I read in an article (reference to come) that many pregnant women focus more on "being" than "doing" ... we recycle the being needs of the infants inside of us. We do this partly through our connection to them and partly to "fill up" and ready ourselves for the journey of nurturing and sacrifice that newborns require. Receiving nurturing and nurturing ourselves simply for who we are and not what we do becomes very important.

So whether because of this time of rapid internal and family growth, or because of unnecessarily making myself busy as a defense, I'm sorry that I will soon be leaving without knowing many of the people I know better.

Whether I know you through my training, through my neighborhood, my Baha'i circle, the Pin, Patrick's work, or any of the random and instantly fun and/or inspirational encounters I've had here, I'm sorry we didn't make more time together for general gab or whatever it is that brings people closer and more aware physically, of the bond that unites us spiritually.

Also, I am grateful for knowing you. You are each unique in who you are and what you choose to do with your time and life. You are each an inspiration to me. We may or may not have a lot of things in common, but that doesn't matter. It's how you are you and how you have something unique and new to offer others that I cherish you -- for it's our differences, not our similarities, that enrich us. And those differences, often the counterparts to my weaknesses, are the pieces I want to take with me as I move to San Anotnio, and to any other place around the world thereafter.

***

Wesley wasn't sad when he was remembering Rowan. He was rather joyful.

Once again I find myself standing in the shadows of my son's reality. At two, he doesn't know distance and time as barriers as I know them. And he doesn't feel sadness at his separation from people he loves and enjoys. Rather, he remembers them fondly.

I may not have spent as much time with all of you that I would have liked to ... but I am taking a piece of you with me.

And I am reminding myself that no matter how much or little time I have to spend and know the people who cross my path, no matter where I go, because of the natural spiritual connection we share, you are with me. And I am with you.

(That knowledge won't replace a phone call, a letter, an email, or a quick blog comment though, so let's stay in touch!)

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Sleepless in utero

Insomnia,
In love,
Inside

I wake up at night for at least two hours, and the fatigue is starting to show in my eyes.

Every night when my internal alarm clock kicks me out of sleep at 2 a.m., I toss and turn and try to find just the right position, all while trying not to wake up Patrick. I stop and listen, and can tell by the rhythm of his breath that our mattress set was well worth every penny, so I continue to toss and turn. I stuff and re-stuff the pillows around me and rub my feet together for comfort, over and over again ... while he sleeps on.

Then, just when I think I've found the perfect position, our 20-week old baby starts to do her/his own tossing and turning. While I'm sure her/his mattress is supportive and well worth every pound I put on to supply it, it's not so perfect that I don't feel the child's little moves here and there.

So I lie in the bed with my hands placed on my uterus and dream of the day or night the child inside is delivered to my arms and laid upon my chest where s/he'll nuzzle and hear for the first time my heart beat from this side of life.

I recently received some new insight into what that heartbeat is like:

A man, who didn't have such a loving mother when he was six months old, regressed through therapy in order to accept nurturing messages from an "ideal mom," a role player. He laid his head upon her chest. Was silent. And then wept. The bearded man talked about his ideal mother's heartbeat and the resonance of her voice as he listened with his ear to her body.

I cried.

He was doing his own "work," and receiving a much-delayed gift: A mother's love and promise of protection. At the same time, I received a gift: The gift of hearing the words that infants can't say; That my infant won't say ... but will feel.

"I feel safe. I feel loved."

So at night when I'm awake and the child inside of me is awake, we toss and turn and get comfortable with each other, and in my mind I hold the child. And I tell the child that s/he is safe and loved. And that s/he'll feel that way long after the mattress I supply for her/him now is gone.

I already look forward to tonight's early-morning connection with the child inside. And to the time when instead of waking up for two hours every night, I wake up every two hours throughout the night.

And to the mornings, when I look in the mirror and see that the fatigue is showing in my eyes -- along with a sparkle.
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