by Debra Frasier
"On the eve of your birth
word of your coming
passed from animal to animal.
The reindeer told the Arctic terns,
who told the humpback whales,
who told the Pacific salmon,
who told the monarch butterflies,
who told the green turtles,
who told the European eel,
who told the busy garden warblers,
and the marvelous news migrated worldwide.
While you waited in darkness,
tiny knees curled to chin,
the Earth and her creatures
with the sun and the moon
all moved in their places,
each ready to greet you
the very first moment
of the very first day you arrived.
On the day you were born
the round planet Earth
turned toward your morning sky,
whirling past darkness,
spinning the night into light.
On the day you were born
gravity's strong pull
held you to the Earth
with a promise that you
would never float away...
...while deep in space
the burning sun
sent up
towering flames,
lighting your sky
from dawn until dusk.
On the day you were born
the quiet moon glowed
and offered to bring
a full, bright face,
each month,
to your windowsill...
...while high above the North Pole,
Polaris, the glittering North Star,
stood still, shining silver light
into your night sky.
On the day you were born
the moon pulled
on the ocean below,
and wave by wave,
a rising tide washed
the beaches clean for your footprints...
...while far out at sea
clouds swelled with water drops,
sailed to shore on a wind,
and rained you a welcome
across the Earth's green lands.
On the day you were born
a forest of tall trees
collected the sun's light
in their leaves,
where, in silent mystery,
they made oxygen
for you to breathe...
...while close to your skin
and as high as the sky,
air rushed in and blew about,
invisibly protecting you
and all living things on Earth.
On the day you were born
the Earth turned, the moon pulled,
the sun flared, and then, with a push,
you slipped out of the dark quiet
where suddenly you could hear
a circle of people singing
with voices familiar and clear.
"Welcome to the spinning world," the people sang,
as they washed your new, tiny hands.
"Welcome to the green Earth," the people sang,
as they wrapped your wet, slippery body.
And as they held you close
they whispered into your open, curving ear,
"We are so glad you've come!""
Yes, darling child, we are so glad you've come.
7 months and 19 evenings ago, you arrived here safe and sound. Your birth was the thing I've waited for the longest of anything in my whole life, and you've made me more whole than I knew I could be or should be.
Some days, kissing you and cuddling you and playing with you and telling you that I love you are sufficient ways for me to express to you how I'm feeling.
And some days, I feel that I could write you a letter that would let my pure, bleeding heart soak a whole ream of paper without really telling you of the depth of my love.
Your imperfections make you perfect. Your need for me and Mom makes me feel vital and important.
The way you reach for me with tiny, chubby fingers and imploring eyes the color of a stormy sea make my insides melt and in that instant, I know that I love you infinitely more than I love myself. And I love myself an awful lot.
Growing up, I remember my mother telling me that she loved me more than I could ever know. At the time, in my childhood, I only recall feeling cherished and adored and always loved. Now that I have a daughter of my own, I think I must finally know how much my own mother loves me. I find myself whispering to Ever, as she's falling asleep, that I hope one day she'll know the full depth of my love for her.
Maybe I'm still learning about the depth of love that a person is capable of.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
"The Talk"
Lately there has been a lot of talk about how we live in a "rape culture". Victims of rape are being publicly shamed and blamed for being stupid enough, drunk enough, slutty enough to get raped. As awful and wrong as I know it is, sometimes I even hear a little voice inside my head that says "Well, she really shouldn't have drank so much she passed out." I've been trying to figure out where this voice comes from and I think it can be traced back to how our society approaches sex.
Today I was listening to the radio and they were addressing this issue. They asked people to call in and tell how they talk to their kids about sex. Over and over I heard people say they teach their daughters that they need to set their boundaries and stick to them. They need to make sure they don't get in a situation where they don't have control. Their advice to their sons is that they need to respect those boundaries and not take advantage of women. That's all fine and good, but does that mean that it's acceptable for the males of our species have no sexual boundaries? Why can't we focus on teaching all of our kids, or rather, society as a whole, that we should all respect ourselves and each other enough to know that rape in any form shouldn't be tolerated? Isn't teaching boys that it is okay for them to have no boundaries just making it worse?
I think it also relates back to gender roles. I have a hard time with the rules society places on gender. I really feel like assigning qualities to be masculine or feminine doesn't do anybody any favors. I know we've come a very long way, but let's not lose traction in progress because we're busy telling our boys to be boys and our daughters how not to get raped.
I have more to say, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts today. I promise my next blog will be on a more cheerful subject and include lots of pictures of my amazing daughter (who is crawling up a storm nowadays).
Today I was listening to the radio and they were addressing this issue. They asked people to call in and tell how they talk to their kids about sex. Over and over I heard people say they teach their daughters that they need to set their boundaries and stick to them. They need to make sure they don't get in a situation where they don't have control. Their advice to their sons is that they need to respect those boundaries and not take advantage of women. That's all fine and good, but does that mean that it's acceptable for the males of our species have no sexual boundaries? Why can't we focus on teaching all of our kids, or rather, society as a whole, that we should all respect ourselves and each other enough to know that rape in any form shouldn't be tolerated? Isn't teaching boys that it is okay for them to have no boundaries just making it worse?
I think it also relates back to gender roles. I have a hard time with the rules society places on gender. I really feel like assigning qualities to be masculine or feminine doesn't do anybody any favors. I know we've come a very long way, but let's not lose traction in progress because we're busy telling our boys to be boys and our daughters how not to get raped.
I have more to say, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts today. I promise my next blog will be on a more cheerful subject and include lots of pictures of my amazing daughter (who is crawling up a storm nowadays).
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Not enough.
The problem with inviting strangers from across the globe to read your thoughts is that sometimes, you want to write but you're cautious to share what's been tumbling around in your brain. I just wrote a blog. Just. And I wasn't brave. And it wasn't enough to quiet the buzzing in my head.
I'm going to try again.
That day we were apart and broken; my heart plummeted through my feet. I needed to see you, but I didn't think you'd agree. I felt like poison, like black death dragging you down. I was addicted. I was drunk and high on you and your fears of being with me hurt worse than anything.
I sent a hopeful beacon to you, begging to see your face. You said yes.
It wasn't safe to come to your house. You wouldn't let me. We met on campus, standing too far apart and too close together. I searched your face, not knowing where you were. I was too scared to look into your brown eyes.
You sighed. We sat in the grass. I picked at my shoe.
I glanced up and caught you staring at me. I was drawn close, closer than logic told me I should go. Would you push me away?
No, you met your lips to mine instead. I groaned and pulled you into the grass with me. We lay together for time interminable, kissing and crying and holding one another, trying to stop the inevitable shatter. We looked up into the heavens, darkened by being on the wrong side of the earth. The stars shone on, unaware of the loss I felt deep in my chest.
"I can't do this." you told me.
You left me then. I was alone.
After all these years, I know that you were fighting to know your heart, fighting for the courage to leap beside me. We both struggled because the depth of our feeling was so intense, so fast. I know that you loved me, even that day, or it wouldn't have been so damned hard.
It's easy to forget after eight years what it took to get here.
All of this, our life together, is because of love. And courage. And strength. And faith that together is better than apart.
I love you for fighting for us, for loving me.
But - don't forget what it took. Don't forget what it still takes.
I'm going to try again.
That day we were apart and broken; my heart plummeted through my feet. I needed to see you, but I didn't think you'd agree. I felt like poison, like black death dragging you down. I was addicted. I was drunk and high on you and your fears of being with me hurt worse than anything.
I sent a hopeful beacon to you, begging to see your face. You said yes.
It wasn't safe to come to your house. You wouldn't let me. We met on campus, standing too far apart and too close together. I searched your face, not knowing where you were. I was too scared to look into your brown eyes.
You sighed. We sat in the grass. I picked at my shoe.
I glanced up and caught you staring at me. I was drawn close, closer than logic told me I should go. Would you push me away?
No, you met your lips to mine instead. I groaned and pulled you into the grass with me. We lay together for time interminable, kissing and crying and holding one another, trying to stop the inevitable shatter. We looked up into the heavens, darkened by being on the wrong side of the earth. The stars shone on, unaware of the loss I felt deep in my chest.
"I can't do this." you told me.
You left me then. I was alone.
After all these years, I know that you were fighting to know your heart, fighting for the courage to leap beside me. We both struggled because the depth of our feeling was so intense, so fast. I know that you loved me, even that day, or it wouldn't have been so damned hard.
It's easy to forget after eight years what it took to get here.
All of this, our life together, is because of love. And courage. And strength. And faith that together is better than apart.
I love you for fighting for us, for loving me.
But - don't forget what it took. Don't forget what it still takes.
Springti... wait, no, Summertime!
Well, it's certainly been awhile, blog! I've missed you.
E turned 7 months old beginning of this month! Wow. It's surreal, because I've been here every day and kissed her face every day, but somehow I feel like surely someone's played a trick on me. It's impossible that all our baby friends are talking about the theme for their little ones' first birthday party. The weather is heating up and leaving winter (and the fleeting spring, for that matter) in the dust. The snow. No, the dust is a better analogy, since there's a lot more dust here than snow. The weather warming up is really the first indicator to me that E is a lot older. She was born as the summer died, and now a new summer is blooming. Already.
I am madly in love with E, and as the number of things she's learning increases exponentially, I am having such a blast being her Mama. Something new every day, it seems. She's become so much more mobile and independent. I miss her being a tiny new baby, but truthfully I'm really looking forward to seeing her grow and mature. Just... not too fast. I'm afraid I'm going to miss something.
People have lately been doing something I was told nobody would care about after E's arrival. They've been turning to me and saying, "So how are YOU doing?" And they mean it. I don't know if it's like, "How are YOU doing as a non-gestational mom?" or "How are YOU doing with only working part-time?" or "How are YOU doing with all the attention being given to E?" or "How are YOU doing with T being at work all the time?" or what. But I want it known that I appreciate that all these people are sincere and genuinely care about my answer to their question.
I'm not really ever sure how to answer it. I don't particularly care to LIE, but it's better and simpler to just smile and say that I'm great. But it's complicated. I am great... but I'm also stressed, lonely, elated, joyful, depressed, eager, questioning, unsure, unmotivated, thrilled and driven to do my best by Ev. Every day.
Do I want to have that conversation with every single person who asks how I'm doing? Of course not. After all, life isn't particularly simply for anybody, right?
I strive to live in today, live in this hour, live in this fortieth minute that my precocious daughter is asleep in a row. Tomorrow I'll try and do the same thing, and the day after that.
And you know what? That's more than good enough.
E turned 7 months old beginning of this month! Wow. It's surreal, because I've been here every day and kissed her face every day, but somehow I feel like surely someone's played a trick on me. It's impossible that all our baby friends are talking about the theme for their little ones' first birthday party. The weather is heating up and leaving winter (and the fleeting spring, for that matter) in the dust. The snow. No, the dust is a better analogy, since there's a lot more dust here than snow. The weather warming up is really the first indicator to me that E is a lot older. She was born as the summer died, and now a new summer is blooming. Already.
I am madly in love with E, and as the number of things she's learning increases exponentially, I am having such a blast being her Mama. Something new every day, it seems. She's become so much more mobile and independent. I miss her being a tiny new baby, but truthfully I'm really looking forward to seeing her grow and mature. Just... not too fast. I'm afraid I'm going to miss something.
People have lately been doing something I was told nobody would care about after E's arrival. They've been turning to me and saying, "So how are YOU doing?" And they mean it. I don't know if it's like, "How are YOU doing as a non-gestational mom?" or "How are YOU doing with only working part-time?" or "How are YOU doing with all the attention being given to E?" or "How are YOU doing with T being at work all the time?" or what. But I want it known that I appreciate that all these people are sincere and genuinely care about my answer to their question.
I'm not really ever sure how to answer it. I don't particularly care to LIE, but it's better and simpler to just smile and say that I'm great. But it's complicated. I am great... but I'm also stressed, lonely, elated, joyful, depressed, eager, questioning, unsure, unmotivated, thrilled and driven to do my best by Ev. Every day.
Do I want to have that conversation with every single person who asks how I'm doing? Of course not. After all, life isn't particularly simply for anybody, right?
I strive to live in today, live in this hour, live in this fortieth minute that my precocious daughter is asleep in a row. Tomorrow I'll try and do the same thing, and the day after that.
And you know what? That's more than good enough.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Being "Normal"
I know fighting with people on the internet is futile, but I found myself doing it recently. They were saying that they had worked with some gays before and they were just normal people and that gay people should stop making drama and prove they could be normal, hard-working people.
Of all the things someone could say to provoke me, I'm not sure why this tipped me over the edge, but it did. Maybe it was the implication that sexuality has something to do with work ethic. Or maybe its because telling a marginalized population to "just be normal" is part of the problem. If no one stands up and says how things are wrong, nothing will ever change. Let's not revert back to homosexuality being something we just don't talk about.
Today I am sitting by my wife while our daughter takes a nap on her lap. Yes, for all intents and purposes, we are normal. I see it in my daughter's eyes when she looks at us and everything is right in her world. We are a family, regardless of the path that led us here.
I feel endlessly lucky that we haven't faced any outright discrimination, just the everyday heterosexism that exists. Most days is just background noise to an otherwise beautiful song. Most days E's laughter is enough to drown it out. However, every once and a while it can't be tuned out and I can't help but say something. Sometimes it is the bazillionth "that's so gay" comment and other times its something more intentional. Some days it is having to cross "Father" off of forms, again, and others its the biannual medical power of attorney we have to have in case anything happens to E while she is with her mama. Once a year it is filing taxes. Until my family is recognized, we can't be normal, and I feel like a poor example for my daughter if I never speak up and tell people their words sting. To them, I'm sure I seem like another angry lesbian, but they were just unlucky enough to be the final straw.
In other news, every year February and March are crazy at my job, this year is no different. Most unfortunately, Valentine's Day is also in February. Over the past few years I have become rather jaded about the commercialization of holidays and Valentine's has taken the brunt of my cynicism, much to A's dismay. This year A told me the origin of the holiday which partially honors a saint who performed marriages for people who weren't allowed to be wed. I can appreciate and celebrate that, especially since my own marriage is not recognized by many. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone! Here are some cupid pictures!
Of all the things someone could say to provoke me, I'm not sure why this tipped me over the edge, but it did. Maybe it was the implication that sexuality has something to do with work ethic. Or maybe its because telling a marginalized population to "just be normal" is part of the problem. If no one stands up and says how things are wrong, nothing will ever change. Let's not revert back to homosexuality being something we just don't talk about.
Today I am sitting by my wife while our daughter takes a nap on her lap. Yes, for all intents and purposes, we are normal. I see it in my daughter's eyes when she looks at us and everything is right in her world. We are a family, regardless of the path that led us here.
I feel endlessly lucky that we haven't faced any outright discrimination, just the everyday heterosexism that exists. Most days is just background noise to an otherwise beautiful song. Most days E's laughter is enough to drown it out. However, every once and a while it can't be tuned out and I can't help but say something. Sometimes it is the bazillionth "that's so gay" comment and other times its something more intentional. Some days it is having to cross "Father" off of forms, again, and others its the biannual medical power of attorney we have to have in case anything happens to E while she is with her mama. Once a year it is filing taxes. Until my family is recognized, we can't be normal, and I feel like a poor example for my daughter if I never speak up and tell people their words sting. To them, I'm sure I seem like another angry lesbian, but they were just unlucky enough to be the final straw.
In other news, every year February and March are crazy at my job, this year is no different. Most unfortunately, Valentine's Day is also in February. Over the past few years I have become rather jaded about the commercialization of holidays and Valentine's has taken the brunt of my cynicism, much to A's dismay. This year A told me the origin of the holiday which partially honors a saint who performed marriages for people who weren't allowed to be wed. I can appreciate and celebrate that, especially since my own marriage is not recognized by many. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone! Here are some cupid pictures!
 |
| She's so cute, I can't stand it! |
 |
| Pensive Cupid |
 |
| Showing off her new trick! |
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| "No! I wanted chocolate!" |
Monday, January 28, 2013
Why being a parent is sometimes SO hard.
I've had the immense pleasure of knowing some truly phenomenal parents, in my relatively short existence on Earth (mine, included!). And do you know what? Every single one of them has questioned their worthiness, their quality as a parent, their effort, their abilities, their patience, their knowledge. I think there are natural tendencies inside all of us to question ourselves occasionally, and I think that we can all reap positive benefit from introspection but there's certainly a line to be drawn.
Recently, my close-knit group of parent-friends has been experiencing some true difficulties with our little babies (who are all within a few months of each other in age). Maybe I shouldn't say that we've been experiencing difficulties with our babies, but rather with the rest of the world and their "concern" with our babies.
This has given me some stress; some grief to know that my friends who are all incredible human beings are being pushed to their limits and wondering if they're good enough on a daily basis.
All parents know that babies are hard. But in addition to the difficulties inherent to young infants, now there is this interesting (read: infuriating) public belief that pregnant moms and parents and babies are all people who it is appropriate to interject your own beliefs and opinions upon - completely out of the blue and unwarranted.
It seems right now that most of E's baby-friends are sick in some way, or have been recently (or are about to be...). Sick babies are infinitely harder than healthy babies. And every joe-schmo and his brother's got an opinion about how what you're doing to help them is totally and utterly wrong and surely you're going to kill your child.
My friends. My lovely, capable, amazing, effort-FULL, loving friends: You are doing a simply remarkable job. I understand how hard life is right now for you. I feel you. I feel your hearts, heavy with dread about making a wrong choice. Your stress filters through my bloodstream just as it filters through yours. The elation you feel deep in your soul as your baby slowly grows into a little person - it is also my elation. I love each and every one of you and I can say with 100% confidence that you are all the exact right parents for your own babies. No, none of us are ever perfect. But I've witnessed your struggle, your compassion, your caring, your effort. The sheer exertion that it costs us all to know that maybe we could've done better.
There isn't an app for how to raise a baby the perfect way. There's no GPS to show us where to turn the hell around and try and find a new way. Our brains and our hearts and our guts are all we've got.
Maybe I've got all this confidence and unshakable faith that we're all doing well because I know what bad, neglectful, hurtful parenting looks like.
Bad parents get frustrated with crying babies and dunk their heads into pots full of boiling water, then wait hours and hours before taking that baby to the emergency room - all the while claiming that "the water splashed him".
Bad parents get infuriated at their toddlers and burn them with cigarettes and force them into scalding hot bathwater and lock three of them together in a closet with nothing to eat or drink.
Bad parents get drunk and high and let all their friends come over and sexually abuse their two and three year old little girls. Regularly.
Bad parents believe that their babies are possessed because they want to eat every time the parent wishes to eat. So they just stop feeding the baby, who then loses his will to survive.
Bad parents lock their infant and three year old toddler in a room together with little-to-no adult interaction, so much so that both children are significantly delayed and the toddler believes she is the only person who will care for that baby.
I knew and know all of the children who had those things done to them. I've lived with them, I've helped raise them, I've loved them, I've cared for their wounds and I can tell you that not a single one of my friends would ever dream of letting any of these things happen to their own children - or to anyone else's.
To all new parents who care so much about doing a good job that they question themselves: you are a good parent. As long as you are doing your best and trying your hardest, you are better than just "good enough".
My friends: I know that it's hard, to be constantly second-guessed and questioned by not only our friends and family members, but by the public at-large. It's really difficult to not let that get into our heads, over time. But we must try.
It's also hard when there are so many "things" out there now, so many groups, so many ways of doing something - it can be extremely trying to continually have to defend our choices and decisions, even against other parents. Whether it's introducing solids or vaccination or cloth diapering or breastfeeding or baby sign language or whatever - somebody's always going to think everyone else is a total idiot for doing it differently.
There is no one right way to parent. Each of us has to find that path for ourselves. And in the meantime, I'm just trying to stay out of my own way and do my best every day for our daughter.
And I hope, that maybe... if you've made it all the way to here, you'll consider taking it a bit easier on the new parents that fumble with their stroller in the mall and accidentally get in your way. Or the dad whose baby is crying in line at the grocery store. Or the cute pregnant lady next to you in the department store - just take your hand off her belly, for pete's sake! She doesn't need to hear your horror of a birth story.
Everyone. Please ask permission before you go touching some infant's sweet little face with your germy hands. Keep your hands to yourself until given permission to do otherwise. Or do as my sweet Aunt Claudie does - ask to touch the baby's feet, instead.
Let's take things a little easier on one another, okay? And a bit easier on ourselves.
Okay. It's a deal.
Recently, my close-knit group of parent-friends has been experiencing some true difficulties with our little babies (who are all within a few months of each other in age). Maybe I shouldn't say that we've been experiencing difficulties with our babies, but rather with the rest of the world and their "concern" with our babies.
This has given me some stress; some grief to know that my friends who are all incredible human beings are being pushed to their limits and wondering if they're good enough on a daily basis.
All parents know that babies are hard. But in addition to the difficulties inherent to young infants, now there is this interesting (read: infuriating) public belief that pregnant moms and parents and babies are all people who it is appropriate to interject your own beliefs and opinions upon - completely out of the blue and unwarranted.
It seems right now that most of E's baby-friends are sick in some way, or have been recently (or are about to be...). Sick babies are infinitely harder than healthy babies. And every joe-schmo and his brother's got an opinion about how what you're doing to help them is totally and utterly wrong and surely you're going to kill your child.
My friends. My lovely, capable, amazing, effort-FULL, loving friends: You are doing a simply remarkable job. I understand how hard life is right now for you. I feel you. I feel your hearts, heavy with dread about making a wrong choice. Your stress filters through my bloodstream just as it filters through yours. The elation you feel deep in your soul as your baby slowly grows into a little person - it is also my elation. I love each and every one of you and I can say with 100% confidence that you are all the exact right parents for your own babies. No, none of us are ever perfect. But I've witnessed your struggle, your compassion, your caring, your effort. The sheer exertion that it costs us all to know that maybe we could've done better.
There isn't an app for how to raise a baby the perfect way. There's no GPS to show us where to turn the hell around and try and find a new way. Our brains and our hearts and our guts are all we've got.
Maybe I've got all this confidence and unshakable faith that we're all doing well because I know what bad, neglectful, hurtful parenting looks like.
Bad parents get frustrated with crying babies and dunk their heads into pots full of boiling water, then wait hours and hours before taking that baby to the emergency room - all the while claiming that "the water splashed him".
Bad parents get infuriated at their toddlers and burn them with cigarettes and force them into scalding hot bathwater and lock three of them together in a closet with nothing to eat or drink.
Bad parents get drunk and high and let all their friends come over and sexually abuse their two and three year old little girls. Regularly.
Bad parents believe that their babies are possessed because they want to eat every time the parent wishes to eat. So they just stop feeding the baby, who then loses his will to survive.
Bad parents lock their infant and three year old toddler in a room together with little-to-no adult interaction, so much so that both children are significantly delayed and the toddler believes she is the only person who will care for that baby.
I knew and know all of the children who had those things done to them. I've lived with them, I've helped raise them, I've loved them, I've cared for their wounds and I can tell you that not a single one of my friends would ever dream of letting any of these things happen to their own children - or to anyone else's.
To all new parents who care so much about doing a good job that they question themselves: you are a good parent. As long as you are doing your best and trying your hardest, you are better than just "good enough".
My friends: I know that it's hard, to be constantly second-guessed and questioned by not only our friends and family members, but by the public at-large. It's really difficult to not let that get into our heads, over time. But we must try.
It's also hard when there are so many "things" out there now, so many groups, so many ways of doing something - it can be extremely trying to continually have to defend our choices and decisions, even against other parents. Whether it's introducing solids or vaccination or cloth diapering or breastfeeding or baby sign language or whatever - somebody's always going to think everyone else is a total idiot for doing it differently.
There is no one right way to parent. Each of us has to find that path for ourselves. And in the meantime, I'm just trying to stay out of my own way and do my best every day for our daughter.
And I hope, that maybe... if you've made it all the way to here, you'll consider taking it a bit easier on the new parents that fumble with their stroller in the mall and accidentally get in your way. Or the dad whose baby is crying in line at the grocery store. Or the cute pregnant lady next to you in the department store - just take your hand off her belly, for pete's sake! She doesn't need to hear your horror of a birth story.
Everyone. Please ask permission before you go touching some infant's sweet little face with your germy hands. Keep your hands to yourself until given permission to do otherwise. Or do as my sweet Aunt Claudie does - ask to touch the baby's feet, instead.
Let's take things a little easier on one another, okay? And a bit easier on ourselves.
Okay. It's a deal.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Sunday morning
It's been cold here lately. The temperatures at night have dipped below freezing; the mountains surrounding our city are capped in snow.
When it's cold, for whatever reason, I feel more domestic. More like keeping my home and my family cozy. More like keeping our home clean so we can cuddle up in it and not worry about how much the laundry is piling up. For instance, this morning, before 9:00 am I: washed dishes and set the dishwasher running, wiped down kitchen counters, got E's first bottle of the day ready for warming, took out trash, set a load of baby laundry running, and played with our daughter.
Now I sit contentedly on the couch, my mind and body soothed by the gentle hum and swoosh of the dishwasher, the little grunts and sighs from a napping baby, and the snores of an aging dog - napping curled in a ball in front of the swing where the baby sleeps. Our living room has a comfortable, amber glow to it emanating from one single lamp in the corner.
Inside these walls, life feels simple and kind.
Outside these walls, though... it's hard. It's long hours away from home; it's the harsh reality of money being earned and spent; it's the stress of not seeing enough of my wife; it's a crying baby in the car while I sit, stuck in traffic, on my way to the grocery store. I don't like to venture away from home on days like these. Days where I have E to myself all day and there are no magical, milky boobs to fix things. Days when home feels safe and outside feels far away. But I don't always get my way. Sometimes, you just have to go outside.
In the next few months is the busiest time for T. She works long hours, long days, long nights. Typically, I dread January through April every year. I cannot even imagine how T feels about this time. Last winter, she was newly pregnant and working these insane shifts. I'm sure it was immeasurably hard for her, though she says it helped pass the weeks of nausea and general yuckiness that the first trimester offers.
These first few months of each new year are always a struggle for us. Nobody gets enough attention, communication gets dropped, both of us get hurt feelings and feel driven away from each other. It's not unusual for us to go several days without seeing one another while awake.
Now that E is here... I'm extra scared. I worry that it's going to be worse than ever this year, but I hope that it won't be. Every year, we tell ourselves that, THIS YEAR will be different. We'll communicate better; it won't be so bad. And every year, it still kicks our butts.
I fear that T is going to be really upset and feel like she's missing out on these months in E's babyhood. I worry that E won't see enough of her mom, and that T's milk supply will dwindle and we'll have to supplement with formula. I'm concerned that once T comes home at night, E will nurse all night long and T won't get any sleep. I'm afraid that my inner demons and negativity will come crawling out of me and insist that I'm not good enough for my wife, and that's why she's never home. That I am not enough of a mother to be the sole caretaker of our daughter, and that's why she cries. That I can't make it through with my relationships intact.
Each and every year though, we have made it. It usually involves a lot of crying and fights over stupid things because we each have stress pent-up inside that we haven't let out for fear of hurting the other. We each try to put on a brave face, put up a wall, so it seems like we are tough enough and we aren't bothered by the long days and nights and loneliness. But all those walls ever do is push us further apart.
Someday, maybe, we'll learn to show one another our vulnerability without worrying that we'll be judged as incapable. You would think after eight years, we would be better at this. But you would be wrong.
But for now, it's still Sunday morning, and life still feels simple and kind. Except that I miss T, and I wish she were here with us.
When it's cold, for whatever reason, I feel more domestic. More like keeping my home and my family cozy. More like keeping our home clean so we can cuddle up in it and not worry about how much the laundry is piling up. For instance, this morning, before 9:00 am I: washed dishes and set the dishwasher running, wiped down kitchen counters, got E's first bottle of the day ready for warming, took out trash, set a load of baby laundry running, and played with our daughter.
Now I sit contentedly on the couch, my mind and body soothed by the gentle hum and swoosh of the dishwasher, the little grunts and sighs from a napping baby, and the snores of an aging dog - napping curled in a ball in front of the swing where the baby sleeps. Our living room has a comfortable, amber glow to it emanating from one single lamp in the corner.
Inside these walls, life feels simple and kind.
Outside these walls, though... it's hard. It's long hours away from home; it's the harsh reality of money being earned and spent; it's the stress of not seeing enough of my wife; it's a crying baby in the car while I sit, stuck in traffic, on my way to the grocery store. I don't like to venture away from home on days like these. Days where I have E to myself all day and there are no magical, milky boobs to fix things. Days when home feels safe and outside feels far away. But I don't always get my way. Sometimes, you just have to go outside.
In the next few months is the busiest time for T. She works long hours, long days, long nights. Typically, I dread January through April every year. I cannot even imagine how T feels about this time. Last winter, she was newly pregnant and working these insane shifts. I'm sure it was immeasurably hard for her, though she says it helped pass the weeks of nausea and general yuckiness that the first trimester offers.
These first few months of each new year are always a struggle for us. Nobody gets enough attention, communication gets dropped, both of us get hurt feelings and feel driven away from each other. It's not unusual for us to go several days without seeing one another while awake.
Now that E is here... I'm extra scared. I worry that it's going to be worse than ever this year, but I hope that it won't be. Every year, we tell ourselves that, THIS YEAR will be different. We'll communicate better; it won't be so bad. And every year, it still kicks our butts.
I fear that T is going to be really upset and feel like she's missing out on these months in E's babyhood. I worry that E won't see enough of her mom, and that T's milk supply will dwindle and we'll have to supplement with formula. I'm concerned that once T comes home at night, E will nurse all night long and T won't get any sleep. I'm afraid that my inner demons and negativity will come crawling out of me and insist that I'm not good enough for my wife, and that's why she's never home. That I am not enough of a mother to be the sole caretaker of our daughter, and that's why she cries. That I can't make it through with my relationships intact.
Each and every year though, we have made it. It usually involves a lot of crying and fights over stupid things because we each have stress pent-up inside that we haven't let out for fear of hurting the other. We each try to put on a brave face, put up a wall, so it seems like we are tough enough and we aren't bothered by the long days and nights and loneliness. But all those walls ever do is push us further apart.
Someday, maybe, we'll learn to show one another our vulnerability without worrying that we'll be judged as incapable. You would think after eight years, we would be better at this. But you would be wrong.
But for now, it's still Sunday morning, and life still feels simple and kind. Except that I miss T, and I wish she were here with us.
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| E says hello. |
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