Resolute 2013

I haven't made a New Year's Resolution, but I'm gonna try to do a few little things in the New Year.  First on the list is trying not to go inwardly postal about gun control/anti-gun control memes.  Try, that's all I can do.  Second, I'm gonna try to resist feeling patronized about my parenting.  On my own, I feel pretty confident and calm about how things are going, even when they're tough.  He's been teething and not sleeping as well, etc., and I lose my confidence and become a nervous wreck about it around other people.  Why?  Because of the two responses from daycare workers, people in waiting rooms, mimes, general contractors, acrobats, and oral surgeons.  I made a few of those up.  It's either(1) he's fine.  Stop worrying and being a hysterical first time parent or (2), here's what you should do because I've been around him for forty-nine seconds and am, therefore, qualified to comment on his personality, habits, and preferences.  It's enough to rattle my confidence, for sure.  One woman, who shall remain on my personal prayer list forever, saw us at daycare and said.  "What a happy baby.  You're must doing a great job with him."   She should be lauded.  There should be a paid holiday in her honor.  I'm also going to eat less cheese because, come on, no one needs that much cheese.  I'm going to  make an effort to keep my (new!) house more organized than our current one.  I'm going to celebrate little victories, even if they seem insignificant.  For example, I've managed to avoid formula for the first six months of his life.  I feel guilty saying how proud that makes me, because I know how many people would feel some implied criticism of formula, but in reality, I'm just proud that I've achieved a personal goal.  I'm sure that sounds nutty to anyone without children, but it's cause for celebration in my life.  I'm going to cook more.  I'm going to take more pictures of the baby with the real camera instead of my phone.  I'm going to walk the dog more and, perhaps, give him a bath.  Currently, he gets a bath around the beginning and the end of the fiscal year.  He stinks.  2013 shall be The Year of Less Dog Stink.  Let it be written.  Let it be done.

A November's Worth of Thanks

    I haven't done the Facebook November daily thankful thing because I am thankful for nothing!  Just kidding. The real reason is that I don't have that kind of follow through.  That's partially true.  The other reason is that I didn't get what was going on until about the fifth.  So, there. I am grateful for so many things, though, and I've always liked that we take this time of year to be mindful of gratitude and thanks.

     Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July have always been my favorite holidays because there are no gifts, and for me, not a lot of expectations.  Celebration for the sake of celebration.  We have holiday traditions, but they aren't that firm.  I don't think any two Thanksgivings have ever been the same.  I'm not really sure what traditions we'll start now with the baby.  We've always been so portable that we could go anywhere and celebrate with anyone.  Now there are just so many more moving parts to be considered.  He's one little person, but having a four month old is like trying move a caravan.  We tried to plan, because we are planners who love plans.  Plan plan plan.  Turns out, those plans just aren't going to work out this year.  So, now we're figuring something else out.  Maybe that's the new tradition.  That is, being flexible and figuring it out as we go.  I have no idea.  In my fantasy life, all of my friends and loved ones live in the same place so we can always have him wake up in his own house on holidays, but still see everyone who loves him without hopping from place to place. That wasn't the case for me growing up and probably isn't for most people.  We'll work it out, but I want so much for him to have some dinstinctly "us" memories as he gets older even if it's a little different every year.

    However we celebrate this year, I feel like this is the year that gratitude was made for.  I had a healthy baby boy.  I was finally made permanent at work.  Our friend made it through a health scare.  We've had the opportunity to spend time with friends and family we don't get to see much. I've got the most supportive husband in the world.  I can honestly say that nothing would make me happier than for my son to grow up to be just like him.   Like any other year, there has been some really tough stuff going on too, but I'm happy to take time to focus on the good things.  We've got new worries, but so many of the things I was worried about this time last year have worked out perfectly and that's important for me to remember.

 

Holla-ween

     They say pimpin' ain't easy, and I don't want to belittle what must be a challenging line of work with untold personnel issues, but being a new mom and back to work is pretty tough, too.  This mom gig is the hardest job I've ever had and he doesn't even talk yet. On top of that, indigent defense is, at times, not as fun as you may have imagined. Pimpin' may not be easy, but pumpin' isn't a cake walk either.  Breastpump joke!  So far, every morning has been an adventure in postpartum dressing.  Those last ten pounds weren't really bothering me so much when I was still wearing glorified pajamas.  I say 'glorified' because my rule during my maternity leave was that if I hadn't actually slept in it the night before, it wasn't pajamas.  Put it on in the morning and call it an outfit!  I also had a rule that the baby needed me to have ice cream pretty much every night.  See aforementioned ten pounds.

   Being back at work has been good, but really jarring. I haven't recovered from the massive change of pace or gotten used to not being attached to him all day.  He does seem to be happy at daycare, though, which is a huge relief.  Its fun to see him learn how to be a part of a little community. I hope I haven't derailed his social standing with the other babies by taking him in his costume on Halloween.  It's a kill or be killed world in the infant room. That's a complete lie, but it sounds funny.  To me. Here's a cute baby in a ketchup packet:

    We did pitifully little for Halloween other than sending him to daycare in his packet.  We didn't want the dog to blow his sweet little gasket, so we turned off the porch light and hunkered down.  I'm gonna tell you a sad true story.  Our pumpkin is still in the truck.  Yep.  We bought a pumpkin to carve and we never even brought it out of the truck.  Peter, Peter pumpkin eater had a...poor introduction to Halloween.  We'll do better next  year.  We'll definitely get him out trick or treating when he's big enough to bring home some chocolate.  You can take that to the bank.

Fear and Loafing

Way back before the dawn of Pinterest and the social media onslaught of cutesy quotations, sometime around the early paleolithic era of 1997 or 98, I found a book on the shelf at home that was a dictionary of quotes.  It had thousands of quotations listed by speaker and by subject.  We lived on the river, which is about fifteen minutes from the booming metropolis of uptown Fairhope.  We called it that because Fairhope is far too genteel for a downtown, and because it helped us know the locals from the tourists.  Anyway, I came to peruse this volume because we lived too far away from my friends and no one, Mom, wanted to chaffeur me as often as I required.  Boredom is what I'm getting at. One of the quotes that stuck with me was, "It is better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees."  Or something.  It stayed with me, I think, because it's about fear and how fear gets in the way of life.  I'm pretty sure that I even used that quote in a paper I wrote for my G/T class in middle school.  That's Gifted/Talented, thank you very much, or more appropriately, Smart Mouth/Nerd class.  So, yeah, I liked to use quotes as a middle schooler.  Here's what we can learn from this: 1) You're never too young to be a pretentious ass, 2) teachers who have too strict of a word minimum get what they deserve, and 3) I've always been preoccupied with the theme of fear.  The first two are absolutes, but the last one I've had to put some thought into.  I've decided that I'm so interested in fear because it's such a part of me.

I'm fearful in many ways, but none quite so much as with health.  I can spiral into anxiety in an irregular hearbeat when I start reading about how this additive is linked to this calamity, and this dye causes goats to grow two goaty beards instead of one, and how the whole planet is being inundated with carcinogens, and how autism is caused by each and every thing a mother does.  I should just avoid this kind of information, but instead I eat it up, even though I know that a lot of it is skewed or incomplete data.

One thing I read, or heard, or maybe made up entirely is that one way to delay dementia and keep your mind active is to vary your routine.  An example being, that if you normally brush your teeth with your right hand, occasionally using the left will force your brain to do something neat, the specifics of which I'm not clear on. Natch.  I think the idea is that it creates new pathways.  This is where I think the mind is fascinating and why worrying about disaster is a joke.  So, I think about this recommendation every single night of my life when I take out my contacts.  I always take out my left contact first, and each time I think about how I should switch this up more. If not, my brain will rot and I will lose my mind and not be able to care for myself and I will die in squalor, not knowing my own name.  All this happens in about two seconds.  Instead of creating new pathways and keeping my mind active, I've conditioned myself to contemplate my own mortality every single night between brushing my teeth and washing my face. This is the danger of science in the hands of amatuers.  This is why it's better to not know sometimes.  When I am senile and in the aforementioned squalor, I believe I'll just wear my glasses.

mADdening

  Have you seen this new McCormick's commercial?  You have if you're currently on maternity leave with a ten week old baby who will only nap when he's held.  What this means is, sometimes I'm tied to the couch for two hours.  You could say it's my choice not to go to the bathroom at these times, or sneeze, or shift my weight, or breathe too deeply, but you also may not have been screamed at by a tired infant in a while.  What I'm saying is, I've been watching TV.  If you're wondering, Michael Strahan is a surprisingly fun co-host for Kelly and Katie Couric's new show is also quite good.

   As a recap,  I do a lot of TV watching and diaper changing, and very little getting dressed or eating with two hands.  

    Back to McCormick's.  They have a commercial right now that says, "Life is a Fajita."

.....

   And that's the end.  What does that mean?  There's no end to the metaphor.  Nothing.  Life is absolutely not a fajita.  A fajita is a fajita.  I need something more, Seasoning Sirs.  Couldn't they at least throw in something about sizzle or steam.

Life is fajita.  Don't touch the plate. 

   Another headscratcher is the old Bagel Bites commercial.  Do you remember it?  "When pizza's on a bagel, you can eat pizza anytime."  Was the crust holding us back?  I support anything that makes 'round the clock pizza a go, but I'm just not sure a bagel does it.  

  One that has blown every remaining bit of my mind recently is the new commercial for Hefty.  Let me set the scene.  Two women are in the kitchen.  A baby, presumably the home owner's, is making a mess eating.  The other woman looks on in horror and says, "What do you do with the diapers?"  We find out at the last moment that it's a commercial for odor blocking trash bags. I wanna connect the dots.  My fragile new mother mind needs logic and order.  I think I get where they're going, but they Just. Don't. Get. There.  It appears that there is an intended poo joke, but come on Hefty, if you can't land a poo joke, you need to hang it up.  Really.

   

     And what about these Charmin commercials with the evidently filthy bears?  I can't even.

Politics Shmolitics

Bleeeeehhhh. I dread election season like I dread a root canal, but I'd do that every four years to never see another hateful shared Facebook post. I'm so grateful to live in a time and place where I have the right to vote. I believe in the notion, no matter how far reaching from reality, that each voice can be heard. Here's the thing, though. I see most political debate as nothing more than disgusting vitriol, top down. From Presidential candidates, to pundits, all the way down to some yahoo from Facebook who I haven't seen in twelve years, I hate it. It's not that I can't handle disagreement. Disagreement is my bread and butter as a lawyer. What I can't stand is the "us versus them" war of words. First of all, what a ridiculous fiction? The difference between the us' and the thems is de minimus. But mostly, I can't stand the idea that for one person to be right, everyone else must be an absolute idiot. I'll say this, many people that I love and care about deeply are very vocal in their beliefs that are polar opposite to my own. I know them in life to be kind, thoughtful people.  I believe that they are wrong. Absolutely wrong. But I also believe that life is complicated and that there is more grey area than there will ever be black or white. That's why there will always be different ideological camps. I don't, however, think that they are stupid, or naive, or unChristian, or (insert various insults here.)

I don't often spout off my social/political views. For one thing, I assume no one cares, but also because I have a job and I like it. I have to admit, I assume anyone who posts offensive or inflammatory political views, no matter which flavor, is either under employed or at the top of the food chain. It is a bad idea. It just is. It's my opinion that stating your views publicly is one thing, but going extreme or inflammatory conveys a whole host of negative qualities. It shows, I think, that you don't fully understand the issue. There wouldn't be a debate if there weren't at least two equally valid sides. Pick one. Have your belief and hold to it strongly, but don't undercut it with the complete inability to see past the tip of your own nose. If the strength of your opinion is dependent upon the degradation of opposing views, it probably doesn't hold water.

Again, I'm not hiding any of my views, but I will always keep my cards a little closer to the vest than to say something out right inflammatory in order to support my views. Why? Because I'm cool like that. Ok, maybe not, but at least because I value self-control. The mean kid on the playground doesn't win because he gets the sandbox to himself. He just ends up alone with sand up his shorts.

 Plus, I heard some kid peed in there earlier.

Springs of Water

I became a mother sometime in the last week.  Technically, I've been a mother since July 14th, but it wasn't the same.  Peter and I have been building a relationship this whole time.  I thought the first time I saw him the whole thing would make sense and I would be automatically transformed.  That's the way I've always been told that it happens.  That's just not how it happened for us.  I loved him right away, but I didn't feel like he was mine or that I was his.  Instead of some single life changing instant, we've bonded through hundreds of little moments and I think that's okay, too.  I'm way too cerebral to be a natural at much of anything, so I guess it isn't surprising.  Hopefully he won't mind too much.

Over the last week, I just get it.  And wow.  And ouch.  Wow because it's amazing to love someone so much.  Ouch because it's both liberating and absolutely crushing, and that push and pull is something I could never have been prepared to feel.  My dream for him since before he was born was that he would grow into a kind and independent person.  It didn't fully sink in to me until after he was born that this means he'll have to get hurt to become those things.  Intellectually, I know that's a good and natural thing.  At the same time, it breaks my heart in the most profound way.  I realize that nothing has or will ever hurt me like something hurting him and I can't protect myself from that at all.  I try not to think about it, but a few tears may have fallen on his sweet little head like some kind of home baptism, except this one is as ancient as mothers and children and washes away my former self instead of his.