This Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving it will have been 19 years since my mom died. I have known her as a ghost in my life way longer now than I have alive. If I close my eyes I can't remember her face at all. Sometimes if I still myself, I can remember certain lilts to her voice, certain ways she elongated words, or shortened her midwestern vowels. What I can remember most about her physical body were her hands. They were long and skinny and creamy white. They were knobby at the middle knuckle. But this is so easy for me to remember because my sister has the very same hands as my mom did.

My mother was a drug addict and an alcoholic. She was so many more things like a liar, and a thief and quite possibly, a sociopath. She was my mother, so I have every right to say these things, because they are true.
I am not sure if her lifestyle made her that way, or if she was that way before the drugs.
And still, I will always love her, and mourn for her.
But because of these things, really, I grew up with no mother ever.
And because of that, I am raising my son with no prior knowledge on how to mother or raise children. I had no role model on how to love, or nurture or care for children. So many of us don't.


Right before Jace was born, I was sitting quietly alone one day. The sun was filtering in through the window, and shining into my face, so that I had to close my eyes. That forced me to do nothing else with my time but think. And I started to think about the fact that I would not know how to mother my son, the way a blind man cannot describe to anyone, the color orange.
A lot of times in my life I had to learn how to grab quickly, fend for myself, put myself to bed, soothe myself when I was hurt.
No one taught me how to communicate, how to be part of a family unit.
I thought I would be shit out of luck.

Now, several months after my son is here, I realized tonight, as I am sitting here again quietly, that I am separate from my mother. That I knew how to nurture long before I was born. That being motherly was and still is a huge part of my personality.

I have my sister, who has pioneered childbirth before me for all of the technical answers. When to start tummy time, any breastfeeding question I might ever have (she is the breastfeeding guru), whether or not to call the doctor.
But I need no one to teach me how to love and care for my son. I need no assistance in communicating with Amanda or Jace, in telling them how much they mean to me. Or in telling them what I need.
 I have wished for a child since I played alone on the fire engine red of my carpet as a child.
I have waited my whole life to start mothering.
And In some ways I wonder if the absence of my mother made my mothering instinct stronger?
Either way, it is present, and solid and unwavering.

If you are a parent, and you are missing something from your past, or in your life, don't doubt yourself. You are not your past, or your parents. You are your own being and even though your experiences have shaped you, they will not make you what you are. You will make that of yourself.
I will not let my mother influence me. I know I am the best mother I can possibly be for my son, every single day of my life.
If nothing else, from her, I know how not to be.
I have never felt so strong.

The Muffin Micro Manager

Speaking of the way things change post baby.....Tonight as Amanda and I were doing what any couple normally does on a rainy evening, I came to realize that without having each other to lean on, day to day tasks would become virtually impossible.
When you have a baby who refuses to be put down, it's important that you and your partner work together in order to get things done.
When you can rely on one another for help, you are then able to continue to do the things you loved pre baby, just with a little tweaking.


I love baking. I have always loved baking. When I am stressed, or sad, or lonely, or angry, or really feeling anything other than flat lined, I love to put on music, strap on my vintage apron and put a myriad of ingredients together until I come up with an end product. The fact that it's an edible end product is even better.
Nothing has ever stopped me from baking. I baked the whole time I was pregnant, and hope that one day Jace will want to bake with me and learn to bake on his own.

I am even writing down recipes for him, and any future children. It's on actual paper with an actual pen. This way it will seem just as archaic as the recipes I inherited from my grandmother, on old brown 1940's recipe cards.
Tonight I put together a great recipe my sister emailed to me, only I made the recipe my own. The muffins came out great. They were really fucking amazing. Only Amanda complained the whole time she ate hers that she didn't like having chocolate in her muffins, and never again should I put chocolate in muffins.
"They are Trader Joe's Chocolate Chips though" I stated firmly, as if that would change her mind.
"So. I hate chocolate chips in muffins".  (Munch munch. Munch munch.)
I am in love with a freak.

However. The baby was a little fussy tonight. Needed to sleep, didn't want to be on his own. My hands are still so numb. Sometimes after hours of holding him, the pain becomes too intense, I have to find another option. So I sling him. This fits perfectly into my attachment parenting scenario, and gives my hands a break, but sucks for my back.
So, here he is, snoozing in my sling. I had already put my muffins in the oven and realized I could not get them out, nor could I check their doneness with a baby strapped to my chest.
Enter Amanda. My chocolate chip hating other half.
While I stood four of five feet away ready to micro manage, Amanda kindly took my muffins out of the oven, and at my instruction, checked for their doneness. She even refilled the muffin tins with batter, and put in a second batch for me.

While I wasn't able to finish my baking spree, I still got the satisfaction of baking. I also got the satisfaction of being there for my son when he needed me.
Tonight I had the best of both worlds. Bossing Amanda around, and rocking my son back and forth, back and forth against my chest.

So see...Most things now will go this way. We will become really proficient in baby passing. Our priority in making him happy. Secondly, we will be able to enjoy all of the things that make us who we are.
It will just be done a little differently these days.





                                                Recipe for Kate and Amanda's
                                         "I hate Chocolate Chip Banana Muffins"

1 C All Purpose Flour
1/2 C Rye Flour
2 tsp Baking Soda
1/4 tsp Salt

2-3 Really Ripe Bananers
2 large Eggs
1 tsp Authentic Vanilla. Not the fake kind from beaver butt excretions.
1/3 C Milk
1/3 C Oil (Vegetable or Canola)
1/2 C Brown Sugar Packed
1 C Vanilla Yogurt

Oven to 350.
Mix all dry ingredients together in one bowl
Mix all wet ingredients together in another bowl
Add Wet to dry and Mix
Add 1/2 C Chocolate Chips, or not if you're making them for Amanda.

Place in greased muffin tins and bake for twenty minutes or until golden brown.

Best fucking muffins ever. Best. Fucking. Muffins. Ever.

Balancing the Clean

The baby is in the bath, he is learning to move his feet in order to get the water to splash. We put up a mirror for him, but he has yet to discover that.
I turn my head for a moment, and zero in on a dead fruit fly on the window sill. My gaze trails down to the floor and hones in on little bits of toilet paper resembling snow. Worse yet, I can see dust in the corners of the floor.
But back to the baby.
Amanda and I love to bathe him together. It is our family time every couple of days, it's become a real treat for us both, watching Jace's thoughts begin to connect there in the soapy water.

I carry him out to the living room and see a small rodent run by. Wait...no, it's not a rodent, it's a dust bunny. Fuck. How long has it been? I can't remember the last time I swept.
I look around, clutching the baby to my chest like the last pair of boots at a sample sale. Every flat surface has clutter. I fucking HATE clutter. Clutter is my worst nightmare. If my house is going to be cluttery, we might as well move into a trailer park, start smoking Kools, and drinking Bud Light. Clutter is that bad to me.
Everyday is pretty much the same for Jace and I. We wake, marathon nurse on and off for hours and when he finally falls asleep, I spend that time doing dishes, making dinner, and cleaning house. Or so I thought.
I guess I never realized just how much time the baby takes up and just how little time I really have to clean. Sometimes I look up from Jace's cherubic face and whole hours have passed.
Last night I tip-toed downstairs after the baby fell asleep, and at 2:30 in the morning, cleaned out the refrigerator. While that sounds like brain death for most people, I found it exhilarating and gleeful. I love cleaning. I am, after all a Virgo. Organization makes my soul happy.
At first I thought to myself I must find balance. Time to clean the house, to put away the camera, the nail clippers, Amanda's work boots.
But then I know, right now, there's no such thing as balance. Even if I tried, all I really care about is spending time with the baby. I want to be there for him always. Not just when he needs something, but I really like the time we spend together, bonding. Breathing in each others breath, his hand holding my finger, watching him stretch out on a blanket on the floor.

And I don't mind sneaking in a random cleaning session in the middle of the night. If I have the energy, then I'll do it. But I won't pressure myself to be or do anything more than I can right now. That's a recipe for an unhappy momma. And I want to keep things light and airy in this house.
The clutter won't go anywhere. I keep the house clean enough. Though it doesn't really meet my pre-baby standards, eventually, when the baby is older, and needs less of me, I will get back into the swing of things. Wood will become polished, frames will be dusted, dogs will again be brushed. I myself, may even get dressed, instead of living in pajamas.
Housekeeping standards. They have lowered.
This is just one of the way things change after you have a baby.

Dear Male Roles

Dear Male Roles (including but not limited to, Husbands, Partners, and the more masculine duos of girlfriends and wives)


I want to write to you a little letter about the changes you will go through now that your wife has become not just wife

but also wife and mother

So many things are going to be different now, boys. So many things. I'm sure you have caught onto that during the pregnancy stages of this new life the two of you have embarked upon. You have had approximately ten months to get used to hormones and mood swings. So why have you not coped? Because you probably didn't take that time seriously, and now the baby is here, and you're unprepared for a few things, you're caught like a naked teenager in class, and you may be feeling very awkward by now.
Let me just throw a few things your way. Keep this as a reference if you need. It might come in handy.


Mood Swings

These don't end after pregnancy. They sometimes can even get a little worse right after the baby is born. Jace is almost three months now, and while the anger portion of my mood swings has fizzled out a little bit, the random bouts of sadness and irritation still run rampant. For example. Just the other day I was crying on the toilet, because the mere memory of having my son bought me to tears. Instant tears. Do you know what it's like to pee and cry? No, sir, you do not.

Your Role

Just as with pregnancy, be real sensitive. Even if we are being 100% irrational and every fiber in your being is telling you to disagree with us- don't. Smile and nod, like you do with any crazy person. Just to make us feel better. And validated. I cannot tell you how comforting it is to be validated when you are having a bad day.


Body after Baby

Women can understandably become very uncomfortable with how their new body's look after having a small person in them. They change in so many ways. The way my body has changed may be different than the way your wife's body has changed. But no matter what, things will sag where they didn't before, or dimple where they used to be supple. And everywhere her body has changed, she is well aware of that.


Your Role

Even if you've had a long day at the office, and all you want to do is come home and veg and say or do nothing, Please, Please Please, take a few minutes to brush your wife's hair away from her face, nuzzle into her neck and tell her how beautiful she is. After all, she may not even be dressed, or have eaten. Make her feel like a princess even if it's for 30 seconds. She's been tending to your baby all day. She deserves it. And for the love of GOD, never comment on any weight gain, stretch mark or cellulite pocket, because I SWEAR, if you do, I will come punch your lights out myself.


Pets

You may have one, you may have three, or you may be shit ass crazy and have nine like we do. They used to be your wife's babies. She used to carry them, dress them and take their picture. They are still your buddies. You will always have a frat boy-like relationship with them, especially now that the baby is here. They are after all, the closest thing that you have left to your old bachelorette lifestyle. But understand me clearly. Your wife now has a baby that replaces those feelings she had for her pets. The pets were just practice, much like her first couple of boyfriends/girlfriends were.  Now she's in the big leagues.

Your Role

When she yells about the dogs or cats or ginuea pigs, or anything else that becomes just another thing she has to take care of, when she doesn't really have the time, let her vent, man! Don't get all up in arms and defensive about your precious animals. Even agree with her, because it will calm her down and get her off of your case. And try to understand that she barely has time for herself anymore. It's very hard to take care of extra beings when you have a brand new baby. Also, try to gently dissuade her from getting rid of her pets. She doesn't really mean it, and even if she does, try to make things easier on her. It's not fair to the pets that they be out on their asses. Step up your game, and help out a little. Take some of the burden off of her. Remember, she's just venting.

Sex

Every woman is different. One of my friends didn't want to have sex for over six months after the baby. Another one of my friends still doesn't want to have sex and it's been over four years! I on the other hand was ready for sex right away, and could barely wait for clearance. Ok. We didn't really wait. But whatever.

Your Role

Always remind your wife how attractive and sexy she is to you. Most likely she'll scowl and point out some flaw. When she does that, look her in the eyes and tell her she is your everything. Or that she is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. Tell her you're ready to have sex when she is. Don't push it, but every once and a while, nibble on an earlobe, kiss the back of her neck, or rub her leg. THEN walk away. Don't over crowd. That way you are giving her the option to tell you when she's ready, but you're still treating her with the attention she deserves.

Down Time

If you were not the one to have the baby, I cannot even try to explain to you how tired, dirty, hungry and busy we are. Especially if your wife is a stay at home mom. We need to do things for ourselves and it is your job to facilitate that.

Your Role

Take the baby for a couple hours so she can sleep, or do her nails, or take a bath, or go out with girlfriends. She desperately needs to replenish her calm bank, or she may just go apeshit on you, and no one needs that. Whatever you do, don't tell her that work counts as a day out. One of my friend's husband said that to her. What a mistake. Give her some time to herself. She will reward you with a kind word, a hearty dinner, or a romp in the hay. Money back guarantee.

Gents, there are so many other tips I could give you, but here I have mentioned the biggies. The rest you will have to figure out for yourself. But if you follow this basic set of rules, you should be ok.
Once you get the first baby down, the second one should be smooth sailing for you. Just keep your wife in mind, like you did when you first courted her, and your time at home will go from tip-toeing around corners, back to the old times. Or at least as close as you can get with a new baby.

New Shades

Amanda has the baby for a few moments in the evening. We have been passing him back and forth so that each of us, in turn, may do a couple things for ourselves.
I sneak up to the bedroom, sounds of Jace disappearing behind me.
I tuck my foot under myself at my vanity table and open the drawer, slowly, almost like a thief.

For My 30th birthday I bought myself a really crazy lipstick color. A vivid pink with violet undertones. I haven't had the chance to try it on. Plus, I have been savoring it, keeping it for an emotional meltdown.
Nows a good time as ever.
I tried to go clothes shopping earlier, and came back with nothing but a candle. Everything I tried on looked horrible and wrong. So I settled on a little aromatherapy to calm my nerves.
But back to the lipstick.
I slide it out of the case and pass it over my lips. It feels like warm butter and smells faintly of wax.
I open my eyes wide, like an innocent doe. I turn my face from side to side. I make the expression that every woman does when she is considering herself in the mirror.

I look ridiculous. The color is foolish. It's meant for a child, or a Kardashian.
Also, where would I ever wear it? My mother in-laws house? The grocery store? This is the mid-west, not LA, so I would either look really pretentious, or really schizophrenic, considering my coat no longer buttons over my milk engorged breasts, and my hair always looks like I was in a wind tunnel, or a crawl space.
I wipe it off with a square of toilet paper and throw it toward the garbage. It sails through the air, but because of it's lightness, lands feet from the basket.
The act of picking it up seems daunting right now.
Adjusting to body after baby is really hard. Adjusting to mind after baby seems harder yet.
And, realizing there are certain things in your wardrobe which will rarely if ever be used again is another life lesson I have learned.
For example. I might look a little silly in an asymmetrical,  off the shoulder sequin tunic. Especially if I'm pushing a stroller, or holding a screaming child. I might as well throw in my 6 inch sparkly heels, or that really great lipstick I purchased for my birthday.
I'm not saying that I can't dress nicely, but things I think are just going to be a little different from now on.
How many of you women have altered your mode of dress after baby? Whether it be looser garments, less cleavage, or lower heels, I'm sure in some way or another you have toned it down.
Maybe that's how things are supposed to be.
I'm already covered in tattoos, and make up one half of a queer couple. I already shock and scare. I don't need clothes or make-up helping me along.

We are role models for our little ones.
If nothing else, we have to make the statement to them, respect yourself, show your confidence through the way you present yourself to others.
Don't lose who you really are, but don't let things like fushia lipstick on a tired, puffy eyed face, come back to bite you in the butt one day.
That, or a selfie of yourself in a white bathing suit, where your all boobies and ass and desperation.
Call me crazy, but nothing says I'm a new mother more than that look.

Sleeping Arrangements

Tonight is kinda rough. I feel a little blue. It is one of the first times Amanda and I have not gone to bed at the same time.
For the past couple days, Jace has been having a really hard time sleeping. The littlest noises wake him,  and because of that he has not napped well, and hasn't slept too good at night.

At first I was the type of mother to say "Make as much noise as you want around the baby! It's good for him!"

Two things on that. My mom made a shit ton of noise around me when I was little. She liked to party and live up her "I'm a princess, not a mother" fantasy while I was sleeping. I now have insomnia, and have never slept well in the 30 years I've been alive.
Also, at this point, I'm so desperate for the baby to sleep, I'll cut the next bitch who makes a sound in this house.

I feel like I've pretty much turned into Satan while the baby sleeps, because I can't get anything done around the hose until he's out. I glare at any human making noise with a firey vengance, and have taken to squirting the dogs with a spray bottle any time they cause a ruckus. I've even considered fashioning felt bottomed shoes for the cats paws... I feel like I'm turning into a 90 year old man, in a house coat and slippers.

"Get off my lawn, you little bastards!" yup. right now that's me.

I'm not sure what to do here. I enjoy a hodgepodge of parenting styles. I'm pretty much a "do it if it feels right in your mommy gut" type of gal. In saying that, I don't know if I try to put the baby down in a reallll quiet room during the day for naps or if I continue to wear him and let him cat nap on and off for  5 or 6 minutes here and there. I've gotta figure something out, because I'm losing sleep and sanity.

Also, right now he's asleep in his swing. I'm sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myself that I might have to snooze on the couch until he wakes. I miss Amanda. I want to sleep next to her.
Do I wake him and reap the consequences? Or dream alone? Of my bed, and my baby?

As of now I'm just sitting bleary eyed, pumping and blogging.
Wearing an even deeper rut into the footsteps of the parents who have come before me, unsure as hell, if what they are doing is right.

Contrasts

My whole world has flipped. Because of the baby's schedule, I live like I did when I was younger, a party girl. I sleep till noon, and am up all night. But this time, instead of being out and shaking my ass to fast rap music, I am straightening things, mopping floors, showering. I am living a whole world by myself. I put everything into their compartments. Amanda & Jace in bed. The dogs in bed. The dishes away. The coffee waiting to percolate.

My mind is going at warp speed. Sometimes sentences don't even finish themselves. They hang mid-air, and disappear before they are done. I can almost sound them out in the silence of the living room. Sometimes they bounce along the hardwood floors. Sometimes they reappear like memories from scents, or song.
During the early morning hours its seems my thoughts are razor sharp, if nothing else. Nothing else makes a sound but them.
When I come to bed I am still awake, eyes owl-wide. The baby twitches and startles beside me. Amanda's breath quickens and stills, quickens and stills. The dog snores quietly into the carpet.

I have time to reflect on the days. They are so dissimilar from the night. My days are thick and sludgy. I forget whole words as I speak them. Sometimes halves of sentences escape me, and I stare with an open mouth, tasting the essence of them, of where they used to be. My hands are still tingling, and burning. I feel as if I am starting to go mad at the buzz of them.

The baby and I wake and sleep together. Around noon we stir, a symbiotic dance against the sheets, and he nurses at my breast before we rise. It is one of my favorite times, because he eats there with his eyes still closed and fingers lazily pushing at my skin. I think of nothing, letting my eyes blur against the blue of the walls.

I don't know if being a new mother is the reason my mind and body are starting to fail me so, or if it's something more dark, or sickly.
Truth is though, I will never forget the words I feel for my son, and Amanda.
I say them over and over to myself, here in the dark, and the light of the computer screen.
Love. Permanence. Symphony. Reality. Choice.
I am so happy these days,
I could just float away.

Eff you Kate Middleton

Look at this shit right here. Just look at it. Why does it look like Kate Middleton, Princess of Perfect, look like she never even had a baby? How is it that only three months after the birth of her son she appears to be what is a very narrow size 2. Son of a Bitch.

Before I had Jace, I was a sizzling size 6. I loved getting dressed everyday. I had drawers and drawers of form fitting skinny jeans in every color of the denim rainbow. I looked good no matter what. Everything fit me just so, unless you include the length of things because I'm short as hell, topping out at a measly 5 foot 2 if it's on a day I'm not slouchy. I stood on top of my stool, which teetered on top of my soap box, and clucked at any woman who did not have a good body, regardless of whether she had kids or not.
"Just go to the gym like me, losers" I'd think to myself while twirling in front of the mirror, admiring my perfect little buttcheeks.

I was a drug addict, and my addiction was being skiiiinayyyy.
But that was then.

I guess I just never understood until now. Shame on me. This is karma full force.

Some days I catch my reflection, and I am puffy. I've filled out like a Polish gramma, round in the middle, facial expression like a gremlin. I jump back on those days, horrified at what my body has become. I straighten my posture, and suck in my gut. God damn it!
"How can I get back to meeeeee?" I wonder.

And I realize, until the baby is older, or I become a princess and get a nanny nurse who can take care of the baby while I focus only on me, me, me, I'm stuck with this jiggly version of myself. Also, I'm pretty sure my hips have shifted outwardly, so I'm not sure If i'll ever get back into my sixes again.
Sure, I do my ab workouts when the baby is doing floor time. Some days I even do lunges while I'm wearing him in the pack.
But any real mother without help, or the finances to go to a gym with a daycare will tell you, it's just not about you anymore. Not until you can weasel time away for yourself. And when you can finally do that, will you really want to spend it at the gym, or will you want to spend it doing something that involves rest, or a shower?

So. I apologize to any woman I have secretly judged in my head. Baby or no, it's not my business why anyone carries extra fluff, and I'm sorry I had nothing better to do before than to worry about the weight of my fellow sisters.

But no matter what, the last thing anyone who just had a baby wants to see, is how quickly rich people, who don't really realllly take care of their own children, bounce back from being pregnant. Eff you Kate Middleton. Pull your shirt over your washboard abs and have some respect for those of us who are still longing for the days when we will be back to our pre-baby weight...should that ever again, happen.

7,000 Ways to Cry

I'm writing this hunched over. My right hand is completely numb, and I don't know why, my feet are freezing and achy. I'm pretty sure I am going to die if I don't go to the bathroom, or at the very least, pee all over the sofa.
But I can't. Can't move, can't put on socks, or even use the bathroom.
I have the baby strapped to me in a front carrier. He is slumped over to the side, like a little milk-drunk angel, and he is sleeping.
If I move, I risk waking him, and chances are, if I wake him. He. will. cry.
No one ever said to me. Kate. Your baby will cry on average of 4 hours a day. Sometimes more. Rarely less. He will throw his head back and cry until you can see his little white tongue, the tooth buds under his gums, the peach flesh under his chin rolls. And It will be an octave you've never heard before. One that is completely incompatible with your ears. Or with nature even.

Picture it. 12:30 am. Your baby has been blood curdle screaming for hours. You and your partner pass him back and forth like some creepy hot potato game for adults. You glare at each other like vultures over his arched back, saying disdainful things to each other, but luckily you never hear them over the baby's wails. But you sense them. Evil things have been said.

Picture it. 10:15. You lay the baby down. You squeeze into some sexy number. It's romance time. Nevermind  your stomach still looks like a popped can of biscuit dough. You have been waiting all day for attention and lovin. Five minutes in. Baby is hysterical. It's like he can just tell you are about to do something for yourselves and he is going to put a stop to it. immediately. Your partner takes the baby while you trudge back into the bedroom for something a little more practical. Some jammie pants and a nursing tank. Dang.

Picture it. Pictures on hay bales for the holidays. Crying.
Picture it. Grandpa Wil wants to hold the baby. Crying.
Picture it. You need to get your housework done. Crying.
Picture it. Crying. Over and over and over again.

So we take him into the doctor. We think colic. She says prolly not. Prolly a growth spurt. You'll just have to deal.

What do you do with this situation?

Well....for weeks, I panicked. I sweated about the upper lip and under my boobs. I yelled at everyone who wasn't the baby. Because I really didn't know what to do, or how to take it. Any new mother will tell you she simply cant bear for her baby to cry that way. It breaks your heart and mind in two.

Now? I'm getting used to it. I can tell the difference between his "I'm crying because something is wrong" and the usual "I'm crying because I'm tired and frustrated and I can't fix things myself".  Deep inside myself I think that's what it is.
I'm still not perfect. I still give Amanda the stink eye if he cries too long. I still feel sorry for myself some days when everyone else's babies are smiling and happy always.
I still wonder, why me?

All I can hope for is that this is a "new baby" thing. That he is super sharp, and super in tuned with things and it's very strange and alien for him to experience all of these new and raw emotions, sounds, smells, faces.
I can also hope that eventually it wears off, and he becomes a happy, smiling boy, filled with wonderful and adventurous journeys in his life. I just want my son to find a sense of peace.
And if he doesn't? I will  still be here for him.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that as with everything in life, there is a beginning to a story, a peak, and an ending, and then eventually a new story starts.
So it is with Jace. Some days a peek of a smile comes out, when normally he would be crying.
We will figure it out together my son, the three of us. This I promise you.