Resolute

I'm not that big on resolutions. I get their intent. The idea of a new year being a blank slate - the idea that you can start fresh, is appealing. But firstly, you can start fresh ANY day. And secondly, I think resolutions often set up a dynamic wherein you're kind of destined to fail. Not always, but often.

So, what I'm looking at, then, isn't so much a resolution as a project that I'm deciding to begin (again) for 2013. I want to accept and love myself more. I worked very hard on this same thing in my late teens and early twenties, and by my mid-twenties, I had it down pretty well. I liked who I was. I knew I wasn't perfect, would never be perfect, and felt ok about that, because I felt like I was a good person, a likable person, lovable even, and I felt good enough.

But a lot has changed in the years since. I think a lot of it is pretty natural, normal stuff. I got older. That's a biggie. I became a mother, and really, don't we all kind of tend to feel inadequate as mothers, like, always? I left my career, which like it or not, defined a big chunk of my life. Add to that all the mental and emotional duress leading up to the leaving of said career, which had already stripped me pretty bare, self-esteem-wise, and what you end up with is someone with A LOT of self doubt and a feeling of being adrift.

Additionally, as my therapist likes to point out, I tend to like to beat myself up. I never really was conscious of it until he pointed it out, but let me put it this way: any of you who want to judge me are certainly welcome, as it's your right, but I assure you, you're never going to judge me as harshly as I'm already judging myself.

And that's the big one. I really want to quit judging myself. I want to stop looking in the mirror with such critical eyes. I want to remember all the things about myself that I LIKED once upon a time. I want to remember what was so cool about that girl, and remind myself that, for the most part, it's still in there.

I think this should be a pretty attainable goal. I know E will be on board, since, you know, he loves me and thinks I'm pretty cool. I know my therapist will be MORE than on board since he's been telling me on and off since 2008 that I'm not nearly as inadequate as I've made myself believe I am.

I'm not perfect. Never will be. I'm a work in progress, but said progress will be lifelong. And the fact that I'm in progress doesn't mean I'm not good enough. That's the conundrum.

Passages

My grandmother passed away yesterday. She was 96. Well, truthfully, she'd have been 97 on December 1st, so she was actually closer to 97 than 96. She was, for lack of a better, more accurate word, amazing. She was the original tiny force of nature (something we call E frequently).

I'm struggling with this post, a bit, because I'm not even entirely sure how to articulate everything I want to say. But I know I need to try. So, here goes...

First of all, my grandmother was my namesake. She was, like me, the middle of five children. And as much as we were different, there were ways in which she always made me feel like she got me, in a really special way. She got married at 28, which, back in the 40's, was considered pretty late. And that was one of the really significant things she passed on to me - that belief that there should never be a rush to get married - that it should be all about finding that right person. And since I've covered her love story with my grandfather repeatedly in this space, we all know she did just that. And the moment she met E, she was absolutely, 100% convinced that he was that right person for me. And as usual, she was right.

My grandmother was kinda fabulous. She believed in looking good - dressing well, being well-groomed (the last time we visited her, E told her her hair looked nice and she positively GLOWED as a result), and in living life to the fullest. She played golf into her nineties and drank martinis at cocktail hour (5 PM sharp) even deeper into her nineties. She led a life brimming with love. She invited it, cultivated it, cherished it.

On that last visit that E and I had with her, she was fairly out of it, for the most part. Interestingly, as we were getting ready to leave, she perked up. It was as if she came back, in a way. And she said almost exactly the same things to me that my grandfather said to me the last time I saw him. To the end, they were true twin souls (and still are). And just like with him, I had this inkling inside that it would be the last time I'd see her.

I know I've written before about the visit I took to see my grandmother after my grandfather passed away, and about sitting in his chair, and the flickering lamp. Tonight, as I was sitting in my own living room, the lamp next to my sofa flickered the same way. It's not really a lamp that flickers regularly, so it caught my attention. I could just picture the conversation:

Mam: "Oh, Dad. Don't fool around. You know how sensitive Linny can be."
Bucky: "No, don't worry. She loves this trick! Watch. [Flicker.] HA! See? She loves it!"
Mam: "[Shaking her head,] I wish you wouldn't do that. She's so overly sensitive. You're just going to make her cry again. Heavens to Betsy, that Linny can cry."
Bucky: "Oh, Betty, relax. She's not a child. Drink your drink before it gets warm."

I've had this very intense mix of emotions inside these last two days. I'm so relieved for her that she's no longer sick or suffering. She loathed being sick. And she even more intensely loathed the loss of her eyesight. But that doesn't erase the ache inside that results when you have to say goodbye to someone you love so dearly. And then I'm also so glad for her that she is finally, after almost exactly 13 years, with my grandfather once again. She missed him terribly every day of these years, and I know the reunion they're sharing is full of joy. And then there's the pain that comes with knowing they're both gone now, and that part of our family life that they represented is more memory than reality now. I think we can acknowledge that death is a natural part of life and appreciate its inherent difficulty. I don't think those concepts are mutually exclusive.

Among the hardest things was having to tell B what had happened. I'm of the opinion that you shouldn't lie to children about these things. So, we didn't. We told him what was going on. And in his highly emotional way, he processed it. He cried, and he wailed that he didn't want Mam to go to heaven. He said he was going to miss our visits with her, and he told us he was mad at us for visiting that last time without him (she was in hospice care toward the end, so children were not allowed). But he expressed all of that, and he expressed how much he loves her, and all in all, I think it went about as well as it could.

Anyway, I feel like this post is VERY all over the place, so who knows - maybe I'll come back and tweak it at some point. Or maybe I'll just leave it as kind of a raw, brain dump. We'll see. Suffice it to say that a big part of who I am left us yesterday and I'm sad. And happy. And very, very thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Give your peeps big hugs, y'all.

Five

Five years ago today, my son was born. As everyone always says, everything changed that day. (Cliches are cliches because they're true, right?) In some ways, these five years have gone by in a blink. In some ways, I really can't even remember what it was like before he was here. He's just everything. It's funny. I kind of feel like those early days are a blur. I forget what it was like when he was very tiny, because he's clearly not that baby anymore. He's a (very) tall, mouthy, strong-willed, intelligent, sensitive boy who amazes and annoys (enrages?) me on a daily basis. He defines who I am as a person. My questioning of myself mainly stems from him, as does much of my sense of identity. I waited 31 years for him, yet in a way I feel like he's always been with me.

Ups and Downs

Well, as you've probably gathered by my decidedly sporadic presence lately, the ups and downs (emotional) continue. It's getting really frustrating, I have to say. I guess at least there ARE ups, right? But I mean, of course there are. How could there not be? I have a husband who is loving and smart and funny and brave (see 180X40 for evidence of this) and generally awesome. I have a son who, although he drives me bananas daily, is sensitive and smart and surprisingly athletic and really, really hilarious. I have a daughter who is a ray of sunshine, who makes me smile at just the thought of her, who is sweet and curious and very obviously brilliant. Oh, and did I mention beautiful? ;)

Yet, there remains a malaise that won't entirely quit. Late in the spring, I re-discovered running, and that has been tremendously helpful. However, I've currently got a strain in my right hip that precludes running (if I run on it, I get maybe 1/4 mile before it pops, at which point I can barely walk for a day and a half...so, no running for now).

Meanwhile, I think I'm at a bit of a crossroads, in terms of life and identity. I love being a mother. I love everything about it, even the things that drive me crazy. It's literally a dream come true. I love being a wife. I love having a partner in crime. And I especially love MY partner in crime. I love this family at the center of my universe so much that merely writing those words seems inadequate.

But I still feel a searching inside. I feel like there is still another calling I'm supposed to find. I feel like there is more to my identity about which I'm not yet sure. And that's kind of an angsty feeling. I feel a bit like I'm not complete in that way. Pair that with the damage my old gig did to my psyche and my confidence, and I'm on rather shaky ground.

But as you also know, I'm a pretty upbeat girl, and I do love to focus on the positive. So...I know the not so great stuff will get better. And the great stuff, I will be grateful for every day. Even the days when B makes me want to run for the hills. Which, if we're being honest (and why would we stop now?) is, like, EVERY day. God, I love that kid, you guys.

Vacation, Birthday, Injury

We were on a family vacation last week. During that vacation, E turned one. I cannot believe how incredibly quickly that year went by. I mean, B's first year was fast, sure, but this past year? It was a heartbeat. And now my sweet baby girl is a year old. It has been absolutely awesome, watching her grow through her first year. She is an absolute delight, a tiny force of nature, a silly monkey.

Last Thursday, she was playing with her cousin and fell and hit her head. She was dazed and listless, so we called 911. Admittedly, I was basically incapacitated by panic. I won't even try to front. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was more or less back to normal, and by the time we got to the hospital, even more so. We stayed in the ER for about an hour and a half for observation, and in that time, she chowed a bottle and charmed the entire ER staff. Needless to say, this was even more indication that she was back to normal, so we were released. It was just a few hours, but it was the longest few hours of my life.

So Behind

I'm so behind on my blogging. I've begun several entries recently that went un-finished. I at least owe a brief download of what's up.

- Two weeks ago, my childhood friend Heather lost her husband in Afghanistan. He was a Marine EOD Tech (like the guys in The Hurt Locker), and a true American hero. Please join me in offering her prayers and healing energy as she navigates this unimaginably difficult journey.

-This Saturday is the March for Babies in Boston. I'll be participating once again with my family. Please consider supporting the March of Dimes. They are an amazing organization. I began my involvement after some dear friends lost their premature baby girl and I felt really helpless. Volunteering with them has been among the best experiences of my life.

-My seemingly invincible grandmother, who is 96 years old, is having a rough go of it. She's had them in the past and I've discussed them here, and she's bounced back in ways that have amazed her family. I know that she misses my grandfather every day, and I'm so grateful that she's stuck around for all of us.

-I still owe an update on the Liebster blog award I was nominated for several weeks ago. I haven't forgotten about it, per se...it's just that every time I think about the fact that I owe an update, I don't actually have the time to write one. I will.

-I also still owe an update on my PPD/PPA situation. I've stopped nursing and have begun meds and things seem to be improving a little bit. Hoping to continue that trend, and will update as the situation warrants.

Hope all is well with everyone.

Playing Nice

Why can't we just play nice? I mean, seriously, why can't we all just treat each other with respect and dignity and kindness?

I've been thinking about this a lot in relation to motherhood. The various camps we set up - the working vs. at homes; the breastfeeders vs. the bottle feeders - set up a kind of adversarial dynamic that seems so counterproductive to me. Certainly, there are exceptions, but for the vast majority, don't we all want to do what is best for our children and our families? And isn't what's best different for each family? And shouldn't we, within reason, understand and respect that?

I've been a working mom. I've been a stay at home mom. Both are absolutely brutally hard. Being a MOM is hard. Period. There are a million reasons why women choose each option. And there are women who don't so much choose an option as do what circumstance dictates. In fact, that was the case for me - I didn't CHOOSE to be a working mother, per se. I had a baby and at that time, we couldn't afford for me not to work, so work I did. Miserably. For two and a half years, until we felt like we were at a point when I could stay home for a while.

Now, I stay home. And it. Is. HARD. Anyone who claims it isn't has never done it full time. Full stop. You can stay home with your kids on your two week summer vacation and think, "This is cake!" But you don't know what being a stay at home mom is until you've done it in the dead of winter with a cranky toddler who's got a wicked case of cabin fever and it's literally too cold to play outside. And I'm not talking one day of that, either. I'm talking full on MONTHS of tedium. And as much as you love your kids, you can't help but feel stifled on a lot of those days. And then you feel guilty for not feeling constantly grateful and present.

And if you've never been a working mother, then you don't know what it is to be a working mother, either. You can judge the woman who harriedly drops her child off at daycare and realizes she's forgotten some daily item, and you can think, "HOW could she forget that?!" or whatever. But until you've BEEN that woman, trying to herd a one year old up, into clothes, through breakfast, into the car and into the school, you don't know how excruciating it is to kiss your baby goodbye for the day and cross your fingers that nothing horrible will happen to him while you're gone. And you don't know the crushing guilt you feel about that separation. And you don't know the seething jealousy you sometimes feel toward the women who get to spend all day with their kids.

On the breastfeeding front, there is a similar type of judgment. Listen. I agree, wholeheartedly, that breast is best. I do. I've breastfed both my children. I'm not going to lie to you here, it hasn't always been my favorite thing to do, but I've recognized its importance and benefits. HOWEVER. There are cases in which breastfeeding isn't feasible. I've had friends and relatives who haven't been able to breastfeed. Not who didn't feel like breastfeeding, but who couldn't. Maybe the baby didn't latch, maybe their production wasn't enough, whatever the reason, they couldn't sustain that human life without the aid of formula. And to them, I have said that formula, that option, exists for a REASON. Is it preferable to breast milk? No. But is it better than a malnourished baby? Oh, HELL yes. And yet, the judgment.

This particular issue is hitting very close to home for me right now, since I'm still battling the terrible anxiety, and in order to treat it properly, I will need to stop breastfeeding, since anxiety meds and breastfeeding don't mix. And the guilt I feel at the prospect of stopping breastfeeding is unreal, because after all...breast is best, right?

And yet, I have done nine months of breastfeeding. And the reality is that my anxiety being properly managed will be beneficial to both my children, won't it? Not that I've been unable to care for them or anything like that, but the fact is, kids are perceptive. So, if I'm anxious and scared and tense, they pick up on that, don't they? Probably. And I want to be fully myself for them. I want to be fully present. They are gifts. They are treasures. And I DO get to spend every day with them, and I don't want anxiety to cloud my enjoyment and gratitude.

To be continued, I suspect...