My Training, Our Move, and Holes

I spent a 3-day weekend training in Advanced Integrative Technique, formerly called Seemorg Matrix work. What? You don't know what that is by the name? It is one school in the growing field of energy psychology.

This particular seminar was titled Presence and taught us how to use AIT to remove trauma related to dissociation, which interferes with whole presence to the here and now. I enjoyed the training and hope to find a way to work with it in San Antonio after our move. Heck, I hope to find a way to continue all my training in San Antonio -- I love it. Everything I study is enjoyable and I find it rather fulfilling, a definite part of the complete me that as a mom I could easily neglect.

"After our move."

It's just a three-word phrase and yet a lot will shift between now and then.

First of all, we've got to figure out the logistics of moving two cars, two dogs, two boys (one nearly three years old and another three weeks old), and ourselves from North Carolina to Texas (Yes, we are taking donations to the "keep Wesley mindlessly entertained fund"). The logistics, Patrick and I can and will handle. There are a lot of options and some combination of people and dogs and valuables in cars and perhaps planes will get our family to our new home. Every time we make a plan we find new holes to fill, but I'm confident that eventually the only holes that we'll be watching out for will be pot holes.

I am more concerned with bridging my training and education while not being swallowed by all that will be required of me in the first few months. After all, I will have two children to adjust to a new life, one in a new place with a new brother, another to a whole new stage in his spiritual journey.

As you know, I've enjoyed studying transactional analysis, redecision therapy, and more recently energy psychology at the Southeast Institute. You may not know that I have some thoughts brewing on family development cycles, in particular family spiritual development cycles, as well as other ideas related to Drama Triangle roles. I could use a 9-5 week to write full-time in my office without interruption. That way I could organize my notes from all my training and my thoughts around the subjects above. But, as the birth draws nearer and as Wesley requires consistent stimulation through play and adventure, that time is less likely to happen. Which is fine, I can make do with stealing a few moments here and there to work on my projects, punch holes into papers and organize them along with my thoughts into 3-ring binders (I get giddy just thinking about it!).

I'd like to get this work done before the move so that in addition to unpacking, adjusting, and then isolation while Patrick is in COT I am not figuring out where I left off with a pile of unorganized notes. After all, one hand will likely be holding an infant and the other making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and it's a lot easier to use my toes to turn pages when papers are in order. (Sifting with toes is a whole different skill that I have yet to master.)

So, anyway, here I am ... sleepless at six a.m., and updating the blog, it's better than lying in bed awake tossing and turning in search of comfort. Now that I've shared my goals with family and friends I may have just the motivation I am looking for to turn on the light, take out the hole puncher and get to organizing.

Of course, as I type that I look up and see the nail holes in the wall that need filling, sanding and repainting before we move .... *sigh* ... which holes will get my time? See the dilemma? And Wesley's not even awake yet. The holes in the walls are much easier to attend to: it's a time-limited project with actual results about which I don't care what others think ... my own work, however, is different. I have no idea how long it will take and I DO care what others think. After all, the thoughts, the writing, the field of endeavor itself says a lot about me and who I am.

I'll find a way to make time for both today -- me and the house. How about that? I'll let you know how it goes. For now, I'm going to make a small pot of coffee, put a homemade waffle in the toaster, and get to punching. Read more!

Count on Me

Why am I up in the middle of the night counting Braxton Hicks contractions when I should be counting sheep? Perhaps because they are organizing at 5 minute intervals!

I'll be 36 weeks this weekend and yet I am excited about a slim slight not-even-really-possible labor that I don't even want to happen until at least next week, when at 37 weeks I can deliver in the comfort of a birthing center.

Ah, but that's what the sweet anticipation of holding a newborn will do to an otherwise logical mind.

So, rather than take a Benadryl and see how I feel in the morning, I'm up in the middle of the night dreaming of ten little fingers and ten little toes; two awakening eyes and a little pug nose. I am dreaming of holding the baby and feeling his spine -- a string of pearls -- under a layer of velvet skin; of nursing him and staring at him, of sleeping and waking with him, and of course, of smelling his head and internalizing the reality that he is nestled in my arms.

If I had a magic pill that would let me sleep deeply and soundly from now until 7 a.m. I'm not sure if I would take it. Nope. There's a part of me that would rather be up dreaming of our time to come ... the time that waits just around the corner.

*Yawn*

I think the Braxton Hicks are slowing now. Hmmm ... Maybe I can get back in bed and rest my head just so by tucking a pillow under it, and then one in between my knees, another under my belly, and yet another between my ankles. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll get comfortable enough to quiet my mind and slip from wakefulness to dreamland where, for now, I can hold the child I carry in my belly, in my arms.

And then I'll be rested for our journey together -- whenever it may come. Whether now or later, you can count on me ... sleep or no sleep ... to be anticipating your arrival with open arms and heart.

Good night, sweet babe, and hold tight. Read more!

Picture of Emily, Wesley and Baby Brother

You can see baby brother poking out to the left of the picture. We all went out to a dinner tonight for Patrick's medical society leadership group. We had a lovely time. By the time we returned Wesley's white sweater was smeared with red velvet cake. Sorry, no after shots, he's already in his PJs and in bed. Daddy is reading to him as I type.

As a mom who rarely dresses up, I enjoy the opportunity to blow dry my hair, put on some lipstick, and wear a nice dress (thank you, Maren, for the maternity donation).

Good night! Read more!

Yes, I'm that Mom

You guessed it, that was me.

Yes, I am the mom who had a hard time at the grocery store's self checkout line today.

Yes, I am the mom who asked for help from the checkout lady.

Yes, I am the mom who told the woman I had already pressed the buttons she had told me to press.

Yes, I am the mom with the child who kept leaning on the bag holder and messing up the scale and reseting my transaction.

Yes, I am the mom who asked her son not to do that anymore and moved him to her other side.

Yes, I am the mom who returned her attention to the card reader when her son started to whine and complain.

Yes, I am the mom who kept her attention on the card reader when her son threw himself on the ground and started to kick and scream.

Yes, I am the mom who picked up two bags of groceries, a tantruming son, and turned to walk out the door.

Yes, I am the mom who said, "have a nice day."

Yes, I am the mom who wanted to cry when your eye brows sharpened into a "V" above your tight-lipped disapproving silence. Read more!

The measure of a mom ...

An inch.

that's all it took ... I gave him an inch, he took a one-foot fall into a shallow bog at the botanical gardens.

So, i ask, is the "good" mother the one who keeps her child from falling into the bog in the first place by not giving that inch ... or is it she who keeps her wits as she fishes him out, undresses him, removes her jacket, covers him up with it, and then -- after he has calmed -- sits back down to chat with her friend as her son continues to play ... ?

It's a rhetorical question, at least, I don't think it's either/or. It's just a thought. I'm actually rather proud of how calmly i approached the situation. and it did give a photographer a very cute subject (if I do say so myself). Read more!

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.
Read more!

Thoughts on tantrums and being two

I am not sure where this blog entry is starting or going to go. For most entries I at least have an idea of what I want to mention.

Wesley's Aunt Casey took this picture while babysitting him last week. I attended a half-day of group therapy that I attend once a month, followed by two days of training in Transactional Analysis and Redicision Therapy.

I enjoy both the break from Wesley and the learning opportunity the training presents. One day I will really enjoy going to work as a therapist, when the real training begins. Thankfully, I'll have knowledge of a framework with which I can work and connections to people with whom I can consult when the time comes.

Until then, I am telling myself not to rush this phase of life -- the staying home phase. As difficult as this particular stage (raising a two and a half year old) can be, it will one day be no more. I have convinced myself that the tantrums and other familiar fights of this stage are normal and even beautiful. Now, if I could just convince the rest of the world ...

Unfortunately, some people assume that natural two-year-old behavior is a "problem" and that a "problem" with the child indicates a problem with the parent. What they don't know is that at two, when a child is up and running, talking up a storm, or on the ground flailing his/her arms and legs, the child is completely normal. There is no problem and there need be no excuse. What the parent does with that behavior can be a problem, but that's a much longer post than I would like to get into right now.

So, when you see a two year old throwing a tantrum, don't wonder why he's not sitting still and using his words like a "good" child or make up excuses like, "that poor child must be sick, that's the only way to explain the behavior, last time I saw him he was an angel." That completely annoying to the parent (this one at least) who knows beyond a doubt that the child is 1. still an angel and 2. completely normal.

Accept, at least in Wesley's case, that the parents are doing the best they can to meet the dueling survival needs cherished at once inside of the child: 1. the need for closeness and unity with the primary caretakers and 2. the need to identify himself as an individual who is separate and unique.

With patience, consistency, and firm boundaries, Wesley will find confidence on the other side of this battle.

You can probably guess some of the parenting frustrations that I have bumped into in the last week. Let's just say that I have reclaimed my confidence in my parenting, and it does not waiver with Wesley's moods, though others' perceptions may. I am confident that Wesley is uniquely Wesley, as God intended him to be. And that at the end of this journey he will know and cherish his uniqueness. Just in time for the next child to realize that he or she is in fact a separate being from the rest of the world ;)

So as much as I look forward to working and learning through doing in my field, I am concentrating on being right now: Being here for me and my family.

I think I'll talk about being vs. doing next time, because that too is on my mind lately. Read more!