Watching Love Unfold

Apologies for my recent silence. Its been one of those funky weeks; a heat wave, a huge fight that I am still processing, all night teething, a sinus infection. Its not to say that its been all bad, peanut is starting to cruise, standing on anything and everything and everybody and its wonderful to watch. Although its stressful, too, because there have been bumps and toppling over and letting it happen goes so against your nature but sometimes you just have to let them fall, let them figure it out. All this just to say that I am thoroughly exhausted, and as I write this its 10:02AM.

But I am noticing something kind of spectacular. Something I didn't know I would be able to literally see. I am watching a love story. A love happening between L and M that is beyond any words I can muster up - sleep deprived or not. 

L has always been a wonderful dad. In a way, he has been a more natural nuturer than I have been. Our second night in the hospital together (the first that he could stay over) after the fifth wheeling in of our little one, who was hungry but couldn't latch, L swaddled him up and put M on his chest, covered them with a warm blanket and slept like that. For hours. They slept peacefully and I watched them and felt confusion and all sorts of things that you might feel after giving birth and not sleeping and not being able to nurse and hurting and loving. He has always been kind, he was the master swaddler in the early days, now he is the master rocker at night. He carries M on his shoulders and tosses him in the air, he secretly feeds him almond croissants in the morning while I 'sleep in' and he carries him in the ergo while he works, oblivious to M's tuggings of noses and hair. He is a rockstar dad, and though I was kind of expecting it, it really does blow me away.

But.. he's also the dad. He doesn't wake at M's first cry, he has aways been the 'leave him in his crib and let him cry he's fine' one between the two of us, after a few glasses of wine he would rather talk politics than the sweetness of the back of M's head, with new curls springing up daily. 

Until yesterday. Something happened yesterday, something subtle but I watched it. I put M down for his morning nap. Usually he goes right out, might hum a bit or do his mama's and dada's, but its pretty soon he will be in dreamland. But yesterday was all tears, cries, wails. We could see in his video monitor that he was sitting up in his crib, crying, pleading. I went to the bathroom to distract myself with a shower, all the while hearing L's "Leave him in his crib and let him cry" line going in my head.. repeating.. even now, 10 months in, those cries are needles pricking into my every pore. When the water was off there were still cries. So I stayed in the bathroom a few extra minutes, hoping he would be asleep any moment. I had left the door cracked to let the steam out and make sure I could hear everything, and I see L walk into the room and silence. M is silent. I look in the monitor and there is L, rocking M, there is M closing his eyes, and L keeps holding him and looking at him, and I SEE it. I could see it. I could see a dad falling in love. Deep. When L emerged, his eyes were wet and he said "I just love him so much, I love him so much" and I knew exactly what was happening. Because it had happened to me, earlier, but not instantly. And I think by and large it may happen to dads a little bit later. They might need the time to settle into their role, to share their partners body that was once more theirs, to understand what all of the fuss was about. I fell slowly and softly in love, with mixed feelings and fear and worry. L fell hard and fast, and just like that, we spent our last night with too much wine and talking about the dimples on M's elbows and the noises he makes when he's happy. So here is one of the simplest, complicated, deepest loves between a father and son. I gave M a good one. It wasn't all bad, its really all good.

Date Night

Last night Ben and I went on our first post-baby date. We met up with (new) friends at a restaurant downtown. I got to wear a dress not equipped for breastfeeding, chew my food, indulge in an extra glass of wine, and have real conversation. Ben and I were practically giddy on the ride home; it had been such a thrill to spend a night out with other adults, and (momentarily) come up for air from the vast sea, that is parenting. I am now a date night devotee. As hard as it was to leave Charlie, and wonder (and worry) how we handle our absence? I am officially convinced that it is imperative for our relationship to seize the opportunities to enjoy each other and embrace new things.

Positive Thinking

I am not naturally the most positive person. That's kind of a hard thing to admit about oneself, but it's true. This is not to say that I have a gloomy disposition, I just tend to look at the glass as being almost full. I never really minded this about myself. I felt like it would be disingenuous to always claim 'happiness' even when circumstances were less than ideal, but lately (more specifically, since Charlie) I've started to be bothered by my lukewarm outlook. I have come to realize that a quality I genuinely admire in other people, is their positive perspective... It's a quality I would really love for Charlie to have. In acknowledging these truths, I have decided that even if it takes work, I am going to have to harness my own silver lining skills. At first this felt like an inauthentic ambition, but I think it's okay (even healthy) to admit that for some of us it takes more effort to see the good in the not so good.

Here are some ideas I am cultivating to combat negative thoughts.

1. Have you ever met someone who is a TRUE pessimist? The kind of person who only acknowledges what is wrong. I knew a guy like this in college; whenever my good friend and I (we were hardly optimists) ran into this gentleman on campus, we instantly turned into Suzy Sunshine. Our exchanges often went something like this:

GUY: This weather is miserable.
US: Isn't there something so cozy about a dark rainy day!
GUY: All of my professors are total jokes.
US: We have such a stimulating classes this semester!

You get the picture... So, whenever my internal monologue takes a wrong turn, I am going to think of that guy. I am going to pretend that my own diatribe is actually coming out of his mouth, which will hopefully rouse my inner optimist to point out the POSITIVES of such a scenario.

2. Write it down/get it out. I once read an account of someones experience in a mental institution; they recalled the only things in their room were an unmade bed, a blank notebook and a pen. Writing can be so therapeutic. Sometimes when I am truly frustrated someone, I write a letter I don't (really) plan on sending. Without fail, about half-way through I always realize how ridiculous my initial annoyance was, and that letter gets dragged to the (unsent) draft box.

3. MOVE. It's kind of amazing how the act of walking can clear my head. If I am ever really and truly grumpy, there is no better fix than this. At first my mind might be racing with stressful thoughts, but soon I'll be paying attention to my surroundings, the rhythm of my steps, and pretty soon I'll lose track of whatever it was that was bothering me.

Of course, this is not a fail proof plan, nor am I expecting (or suggesting) that I should suddenly become some sort of stoic who feels embarrassed by having an off day. Life is filled with off days, and being a new parent (amongst other things) can be particularly rocky--- it's comforting to know we aren't alone in those struggles. This effort is really just about trying to find a healthier balance between positive and negative, and to appreciate the small things I so easily forget to acknowledge. I'll keep you posted on how this little experiment unfolds.

Design Projects

Ben and I are moving... again! Finding an apartment has been really stressful; turns out DC (rental) real estate is just as (if not MORE) outrageous than NY. The only upside is that you tend to get more bang for your buck. After a million discussions/debates/a few rental applications, we finally agreed that it made the most sense to move back to our old neighborhood. Chevy Chase DC is a super strange place, if it existed in NYC it would undoubtedly be discovered and co-oped by hipsters who reveled in its almost frozen (mid 90's) existence. I mean the place has a fully functioning video store (one that we frequented often), and an old diner that plays The Graduate on an outdoor projector in the middle of July. It also has quite a few characters, and a small town feel on the edge of the City. It's a little strange to be moving further away from the 'action,' but I think Charlie will have an utterly charming babyhood in this idyllic little hamlet, and Ben and I will be saving enough money to take more trips up north.

The only thing we like about moving is the potential for another design project. Our studio apartment in  Brooklyn was kind of a major triumph; the perfect blend of our two personalities. Designing a 'nursery' for Charlie before he was born proved harder than I anticipated. I chose a lot of boyish cliches, feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of dealing with a real life boy every day. Now that Munch is here, and I know him a little better... It's really exciting to start anticipating all the different directions we can go in with HIS room... And this time I am hoping it actually becomes his room!

Forward March

Something happened at the 9 month mark.. No day is ever the same, no matter how hard I try to stick with my schedule. And every day now there seems to be a new trick learned. Yesterday it was standing upright and holding on to something (really someone) with one hand and today he started waving. It looks more like a floppy queen wave, but its. a. wave. He has also perfected the art of dancing to every tune that comes on, which makes the sporadic ice-cream truck drive-by and dance themed ringtones take on a whole new level of awesomeness. I can't get over it. I have a chubby baby who dances. I am complete. I keep fighting the urge to hold on too tightly to this baby stage, to photograph every second and weep thinking about how quickly it's going by, but I am also overwhelmed by how excited I am to watch this boy grow. I am privileged for it. I am slayed by it.
All this to say.. Happy Friday, Bears.

Attention Please

I haven't read many books on parenting. In truth, even the most informational text on what to expect can unleash a flood of anxiety on my sleep deprived mind, and send me to (the dangerous) google, which directs me to New Mom forums where they use a slue of abbreviations I cease to understand (why use LO when we can just write BABY?). One of the most perplexing issues I deal with (on the daily) is how to keep Charlie entertained? I torture myself with this subject. Am I playing with him enough? Are these activities stimulating? Too redundant? Have I pointed out and explained new things to him today? Am I using words in the right context (another result of sleep deprivation)? Or making any sense?

On more than one occasion I have heard the anecdote of the baby instantly strapped to its mothers hip for a full days work. Of course, this is far from Charlie's existence; he is held, tickled, talked to, and played with from (almost) the moment he wakes until it is time for bed. I rarely use my computer around him. My one purely selfish indulgence is phone calls with Auntie and the NYC family. Not to sound like a martyr. After all, I get to hang out, tickle, talk to, and play with Charlie every day! But sometimes I wonder if all of this attention deprives him of a couple of potentially important things. The opportunity to explore independently of me? The chance to embrace silence (which I wish I learned to love earlier in life)? And maybe even, the best version of his mom. Would it be so negative for Charlie to see--- even at this ridiculously early stage--- mom working on and enjoying some things for herself? Would his math skills plummet if he knows that while he is always the center of my universe, other things exist and need to be tended to?

I know if someone else asked me for advice on this topic, I would be very les-et-faire; I might even tell them anecdote of the baby strapped to its mothers hip promptly after its birth. But the truth is, when it comes to telling myself that it would be okay to exist for Charlie as something other than a playmate/full-time entertainer... I feel guilty. Is it okay to give ourselves permission to do things other than parent when we are full-time parents (other than at nap time)? And is our undivided attention for our babies benefit? Or our own?

balance

                                                         Photo by: Julie Blackmon

I was reading this post in the Times about the work/life balance.. oh the balance.. is there such a thing? If it exists or not, it is something I think of often. When I was pregnant with M, I worked until the day before my water broke. I took the subway back and forth to midtown, oftentimes not getting a seat, I carried my groceries up the two flights of steep steps to our apartment, I went to a photo shoot that week before giving birth, on my feet for a stretch of 8 hours, trying not to complain to the young cute photo dudes blasting Arcade Fire and watching me with a nervous eye, hoping my labor didn't start in their studio. I'm no super-woman, if anything I think I was in a bit of denial about the whole thing. I didn't take it easy, I couldn't. Taking it easy meant giving in, meant this was real, meant my body wasn't my own.. and it wasn't and it still isn't and that's a hard thing to accept when you're not used to an alien being kicking you from within, making your skin sallow, your hips separate and your nerves frazzle. Two weeks before M was born, I did take a taxi to work - and only because I brought a huge load of framed prints to decorate my office with. I was 8 1/2 months pregnant, standing on an office chair with a hammer and nails yammering away, annoying my coworkers, marking my territory. My office was small, dark and without windows - but it was mine. My room of ones own. And having an office in the Time Life building seemed to me, back then, to be a very big deal.

In hindsight, I was scared.. terrified, really, that I might not come back. That the love for this little thing moving about, hiccuping every afternoon, would be so great that I wouldn't return to my little cave-like office in midtown. I think I knew it might happen, and it shook me. So when M was born, my coworkers were the first ones invited to see him, I pumped hundreds of ounces of milk in little sterile bags marked with dates and amounts.. I interviews over a dozen nannies, called references, bought large black dress pants and read endless articles on returning back to work. I walked around in a daze, with M in my coat, sleeping huddled next to me, his lips parted and sweet breath on my chest. I was a wreck, and for weeks I walked around Brooklyn in hopes of finding an answer. I wanted to be supermom. I missed my routine, I missed my coffee breaks and the water-cooler banter and the subway ride and deadlines and photo shoots and lunch breaks. I missed getting dressed in the morning, I missed being part of that mass of people heading to work, pissed and excited and annoyed and eager. Everything I knew about myself was gone, I wasn't one thing or another, I was lost.

After extending my unpaid maternity leave as far as I could, after asking every woman on the street with a child what should I do, after finding a job I could do from home, after staring at my baby and even asking him what he would like.. I decided I couldn't go back to my spot on 50th street. Not yet, not just yet. In fact I remember the very moment I knew, and it hurt my heart in a way I can't explain.. I was at some takeout place on St. Marks street, getting a falafal with a new mom friend, and I was telling her about a nanny I had met and liked, and that perhaps bringing home $57 a week after paying for said nanny was still better than staying home, and M was in his stroller and wearing his onesie with little turtles printed on it.. and he looked up and me, and I looked down at him, and for some reason he looked scared to me (was there a noise? did I make a look? perhaps I was just projecting) and I knew.. I knew.. I couldn't go just yet.

Suffice to say I guess I knew that all along. I guess my hammering photos onto office walls days before hitting the L&D floor was my way of pretending that I would be back. I guess my extending my maternity leave as long as possible was an attempt to fake that my heart was in returning to the grind. And it was and it is and its not and sometimes I am afraid that it never will be again..

I'm not sure why I am putting this out here, because there is no advice, no words of wisdom. Going to work is hard, staying home is hard, being away from your babies is hard and not getting a break is hard. There is just no right way. But I am thinking that instead of what I used to consider being super-woman, the ones that juggle impressive careers and a family of five and a house and two dogs.. that maybe every day we are being super-moms, whether we are in our little cave's in midtown or our little caves in Brooklyn (or DC).. whether we dress in dark work pants or dark yoga pants, we're doing it our way and it will change but there is no right.. Perhaps the balance is the exception and chaos is the rule.

good bye to you..

good bye $17 american eagle outfitter jeans.. first pair i bought post baby jeans with a functional zipper (anyone else still forgetting about that 'real' zipper 9+ months later? i keep leaving the house without that, ahem, done up.. can we learn nothing from maternity pants? faux fly bring it on).

strange.. i feel a bit sad to see them go.. and although mom smartly suggested i save them in case i need them again in the future, they're pretty beaten up, even too much for me to leave on the stoop for someone needing an extra pair of skinnies on the go..

thank you for everything, in-between jeans.

*side note: emma had suggested purchasing a pair of AE jeans when they were on mega-sale right after i had M. i thought it was slightly ridiculous considering their target market is half my age and the rise's require brazilians, but for the weeks months after a baby when you can't stand the sight of the skin-toned commerbund of your maternity pants, they can't be beat.

mama's day..

i wasn't expecting much for mothers day (but secretly hoped it would be a little better then this last, recent, birthday which was celebrated by myself and a vicious 24 hour stomach virus). i'm not sure what my thoughts are about the day, but it being my first, i washed my hair, put on my bright green pants and stuffed M in a 'mom' onesie i found in his drawer that is a full size too small, and let L take our picture.. i slept in - until a blissful 8:30 - made myself pancakes doused in maple syrup, took M to the park where he practiced standing and kissed him as many times as i could in one day. it wasn't perfect, and i felt both elated and, well, odd, when neighbors would say "happy mother's day!"as we walked by.. but it was good.. its good to be a mama to this guy..

happy belated mother's day to all you mama's out there.. moms of babes, of pups, of plants and of other things..

(notice that weeks later our shelves are still filled with boxes.. my one saving grace is that the only shelf lined with books is indeed color coordinated)

sleepy monday

so apparently, according to one my my favorite parenting blogs Ask Moxie, we are in the midst of one of the toughest sleep regressions. there's the 4 month, which i think we really didn't get until 5 months, and there is this.. i'm confident that nobody is really interested in this information, but for sanity's sake i'm putting it out there - last nights wake-ups were as follows: 10:11, 12:05, 2:15-3ish, 4 something, up at 5:42. i nursed M throughout because trying to soothe him was doing nothing but keeping all of us up, and because i understand in some hazy way that crawling, teething, pulling-up and babbling will keep a new little up all night.. perhaps at 3am my sympathy wanes, but somewhere in the afternoon while i watch his determined face, i weaken and understand, these are huge times for the peanut..
i really loved this quote, because it was exactly how i was (am) feeling this morning:

It seems like 9 months is just about when parents start to feel confident about things, and women start to feel like they may have some semblance of their bodies back (if by "back" you mean that you've noticed that you still have toes and that your limbs mostly work), and the babies are kind of happy and interactive and starting to move around. And then--bam!--your kid's suddenly not sleeping and it seems like it must be something you did and you feel incompetent and defeated. (Source: AskMoxie.org)

i remember an old colleague of mine telling me, as we passed by some seedy hotel, that his big fantasy was one day to book a hotel room, not tell his wife or anyone, and just sleep in it all day. at the time i found that rather depressing, but now i completely get it..

    (dream bed by Rough Linen)

for the home

some things i have been swooning over for hours.. days.. weeks and years..

etsy linen cover

land of nod table lamp

rough linen duvet cover

BDDW captains mirror

this pillow from thief and bandit