Saturday, December 31, 2011

Multi-tasking: A mom's best friend and worst enemy


I’ve always been a multi-tasker. I remember working at a fast food restaurant during my high school years. I felt completely superior to the guys because I could simultaneously refill someone’s drink, take a new customer’s order, and restock the shelves while they all looked at the to-do list and tried to process it. Today, I can type this post one-handed while my son sleeps in my lap and I grab a blanket with my feet. My husband can't even carry on a conversation while he looks for his keys.

I guess that’s not totally fair. I’m sure there are some men who can multi-task. But for the most part, men compartmentalize their lives and seem to focus on one thing at a time. This is a good trait when it comes to parenting. When you parent, your child should be the sole focus of your attention at that time. Unfortunately for me, it isn’t always that way.

I work full-time every day as a high school teacher. I am fortunate that I get off around 2:30 or 3:00 every afternoon and that I have the evenings to spend with my son and husband. However, it doesn’t leave much “me” time. I don’t mean “me” time like time to get my nails done or time to soak in a hot bubble bath—both of which would be nice from time to time, though. I simply mean time to check my email, time to watch the latest Cupcake Wars episode, time to grade a paper, time to pee in peace.

What’s the solution to the lack of “me” time? Multi-tasking. As working moms, we all do it. While we cook dinner, we give our children pots and pans and whisks and wooden spoons and let them bang away next to us. We’re making dinner while we play with our kids. Sort of. Multi-tasking. While we walk the baby in the stroller, we might return some important phone calls to people we rarely get to speak to anymore. Multi-tasking. Recently, my multi-tasking hit an all-time low.

Picture this: you’ve just received a Christmas gift in the mail that is way too small for your growing child. There’s no gift receipt, but it’s clearly from a particular store, so you hope they’ll cut you some slack. You get the diaper bag ready, you change the baby, you put the baby in the car seat and you’re ready to go. Wait, you forgot to put shoes on. You go into your bedroom and you come out to see your newly mobile eight-month-old climbing out of the carseat (which you set precariously high on a piece of furniture—shame on you) and you catch him just in time. “Oops,” you think to yourself. “I must have forgotten to strap him in.” You strap him in, put on your shoes, and you’re off to the store. You get to the store, you get out of the car, you get the stroller out of the trunk because this is one of those non-kid-friendly stores without suitable shopping carts, changing stations, etc. You put the baby in the stroller, hand him a toy to play with, make sure he is tied in tight, and take the box of clothes in to exchange.

Everything sounds okay, right? Taking care of a baby, returning something to a store. Not too bad. Stay-at-home-moms have to run errands with their kids all the time. Well, it gets better. Let’s say after you receive store credit, you decide, “Hey, I’m a working mom and I don’t usually have time to shop. I’m going to take advantage of this and spend the store credit now. I’ll just buy a pair of jeans.” Your child is being so good in the stroller that you grab multiple pairs of jeans and approach the fitting room. You try one on—eh, too tight. You try another one on—eh, too long. Then you try one pair on that seems to fit just right. “Okay, I’m done,” you decide. Just then, the baby starts fussing. He doesn’t normally fuss, so you hush him, give him a different toy, and try to speed up the process of putting clothes back on hangers. When he fusses some more and arches his back—your absolute favorite gesture—you decide to undo his straps. First, you unlatch the barrier keeping him from getting out of the stroller. Because you’re dumb, rushing and multi-tasking. With his arms free, he leans forward and grabs at a toy. You quickly take off the new jeans, grab your old ones, and in that split second, you hear it: a loud thud followed by a blood-curdling scream.

That’s right, folks. My son’s first “booboo” happened. In public, no less. Because I was multi-tasking, and I forgot to leave the tray down so he couldn’t wiggle or climb out. And because undoing his straps was more convenient at the moment then taking him in my arms to calm the fussing.

Panic set in. My son is not a crier but at this point, tears streamed down his face, the rug burn on his forehead grew redder and redder, his voice got louder, and strangers knocked on the door of the fitting room. God. Is he okay? Did he injure his neck? Does he have a concussion? What do I do? So worried. So embarrassed.

Lady #1: What happened? Lady #2: Should I call someone? Lady #3: I’m a nurse. Don’t let him sleep for at least an hour.

I’m proud of myself for one thing: I did not cry. I held my baby, soothed him, listened to all of my unwanted visitors and asked the employee of the store for a cold compress. When I got into the parking lot, I burst into tears, called my husband who is ever-so-forgiving, and made an immediate appointment with the doctor. “Babies are made to bounce,” the doctor said. My son laughed. Some Neosporin and a Toy Story bandage, and everything got a little better.



There is nothing like the first time your baby falls. Everyone always tells you it will happen, you see shows like Modern Family making fun of how the parents are more frantic than the children. But you never understand how it can affect you until it happens to you. Especially when it’s your own fault. My son cried for probably 10-15 minutes, which felt like an eternity. I cried for like an hour. I cried in the doctor’s office. Guilt. Worry. Stupid multi-tasking working mom.

It’s really difficult to stomach the realization that you cannot always protect your children. In this instance, I definitely could have and should have prevented my son from falling. But from getting sick? From bullies? From getting hurt while he stays with his abuela when I’m at work? I’m helpless. I can’t always be there.

But I came to one productive realization during this trauma. My days as a successful mult-tasker have come to an end. If I can’t give 100% to something at the moment because I’m with my son, then I suppose it’ll just have to wait.

Friday, December 23, 2011

William's Lullabies

When Will was very little, he liked movement. I would pace the house with him every evening to calm him and get him to fall asleep. During those precious moments, I would sing to him. I sang whatever songs came to mind, and those songs have become his soundtrack. He reacts when he hears them because he has heard them since birth. I thought I would include a list of Will's lullabies, and my favorite portions of them, the lyrics that are dear to my heart.

"Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Judy Garland

This was one of the first songs I ever sang to William.

Favorite lyric: "If happy little bluebirds fly above the rainbow, then why, why can't I?" It just reminds me that I want Will to know he can do anything he puts his mind to as he grows up. This lyric was so special to me that I started calling Will my little bluebird, and I even got a tattoo in honor of him and his attachment to the song.


"When You Say Nothing At All" by Alison Krauss

I feel like Alison Krauss was never as "big" as she deserved to be. She has such a soothing, beautiful voice, and this was one of my favorite songs as a child. For some reason, this popped into my head when Will was only a few weeks old. To refresh my memory, I put the youtube video on and danced with Will to it, singing along.

Favorite lyric: "Old Mr. Webster could never define what's being said between your heart and mine." That lyric makes me cry to this day. There's absolutely no way to put into words how a mother feels about her son.

"I'll Be Seeing You" by Billie Holiday

When my grandfather was alive, he loved to sing and dance. One of the songs of his "era" and a song he loved was "I'll Be Seeing You." When Bop died, I knew I wanted to get a tattoo in his honor. I wrote about him, thought about him, remembered times we shared together, and nothing fit. For the longest time, I toyed around with getting a shamrock because he was an O'Neill or getting an anchor because he served in the Navy. Still, it just didn't fit. Then one day, I was talking to my mom, and the song came up. It just fit.

Favorite lyric: "And when the night is new, I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you." The lyrics are exactly what I feel about my grandfather, and it is a song he used to dance to. Now, I sing it to my son, to remind myself that no matter how far you are from the ones you hold most dear, you can see and feel them. And to remind my son that he comes from a long line of great men and someday, he'll be just like them.


"My Love is Your Love" by Whitney Houston

When I used to sing to Will and began getting tired of repeating "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," I tried to think of songs mothers sang to their children. This song came to mind because the little child in the background says, "Sing Mommy" in the opening of the song. Hopefully, someday, William will utter those words to me.

Favorite lyric: "It's okay as long as I got you, babe." Self-explanatory.

"I Hope You Dance" by LeeAnn Womack

I don't dance, but this song is such a precious wish from a mother to her child. Dance is a metaphor. She wants her daughter to literally dance when she has the opportunity. But it's really about putting yourself out there. I want Will to have the fullness of life, to take chances, to know he is loved in every step he takes.

Favorite lyrics: "I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance, never settle for the path of least resistance. Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin' and lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'. Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter. When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider."

I think these lyrics means a lot to me because, well, they mean a lot to me. I don't often take chances. I've spent a good deal of my life living in anxiety and fear. I don't ever want Will to live that way. I don't ever want him to hold onto bitterness. And I don't ever, ever want him to give up.

8 Months Already?

Full Name: William Thomas Rodriguez
Nicknames: "Prince" (he was born the week of the royal wedding) and "Will" (after Mommy and Daddy's favorite movie, Good Will Hunting)
Born: April 23, 2011 at 2:34 p.m.


Age: 8 months


Weight at birth: 7 lbs 15 oz
Weight now: 19 lbs 10 oz
Length at birth: 20.5 inches
Length now: 26.5 inches

Milestones: Started crawling a week ago; says Dada; thinks now that he can pull himself up and crawl, that he can climb and stand on EVERYTHING; his eczema patches have disappeared—woohoo! And I think he’s starting to learn how to wave and clap.

Clothing: He wears mostly 9-month clothing. Some 6-9 month onesies, rompers and shorts still fit and he wears 12 month pajamas.

Sleep: Takes a morning nap, an afternoon nap, and sleeps from about 9:30 p.m. to 5:30 a.m. on weekdays. On weekends or vacations, Will wakes up around 6:30 a.m., eats half-asleep, and naps with Mommy until 9.

Food: Will takes five bottles each day. He has one bottle in the morning of 5-7 ounces of formula, then takes another bottle like that every 4 hours. His nighttime bottle is usually 9-10 oz, so he consumes about 30 oz of formula a day! Three times a day, he eats a half or a whole jar of Stage 2 Earth’s Best foods. His favorite is definitely Sweet Potatoes!

Crying: Umm, he doesn’t. He’s just not a crier. He pretty much laughs at everything, and only cries if he’s overtired.

Likes: his grandparents, our dog, his soothie pacifier, walks in the stroller, climbing, sleeping on his tummy, running in his walker, pulling Mommy’s hair, knocking over towers of blocks, playing in the bath, books (more to eat than to read), “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and Mommy’s singing voice <3

Dislikes: his swing, wearing shoes, the sun in his eyes, and anything that requires patience (I wonder where he gets that from)

Monday, December 19, 2011

Christmas Presence

An article I wrote was featured on liberatingworkingmoms.com this week: See it here!


Or, just keep reading:

Well, that’s it. Thanksgiving’s over. Not even 24 hours after eating that last bite of mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, Americans rifle through circulars, plot their Black Friday buys, and break out the Christmas trees and hand-painted ornaments. To some, Christmas means everything to do with faith, hope, and the birth of a savior. To some, Christmas means cookies, candles and flights back where you feel truly at home. To some, it means giving—gifts wrapped in ribbons and bows, service at homeless shelters, or maybe just time and energy to the children you miss so much when you’re overwhelmed with the busy-ness of daily life. To some, it means a feeling of loneliness and loss, a time to remember those who have gone before you, a time to wish they were here to celebrate with you. To some, it means scarves, mittens and that first peaceful blanket of snow.

But what does the Christmas season mean to a working mother? I have celebrated Christmas for 25 years and I don’t think it has ever had quite the same meaning as it has today.

My son is seven months old. Every day, he amazes me with his belly laugh, his sweet spirit, and his playfulness. Every day, I wake him up—or he stays asleep and if I were him, I’d stay asleep at 5:30 a.m., too—and I send him off to his grandma’s. Every day, I drive to a high school where I teach English to over 100 ninth graders. I pour into the lives of these students academically and sometimes emotionally, and hope that my efforts are not wasted. When I come home, I have to make sure I have enough wisdom, kindness, and creativity left to give to the one child who truly matters.

That’s what Christmas means to me this year. When I was a child, Christmas meant sneaking around the house looking for hidden presents. In high school, the Christmas season meant sleeping in, listening to the latest CD, watching Price is Right reruns and pretending I didn’t have homework to do. As a college student, Christmas meant singing in my church choir, choosing next semester’s classes and buying the most romantic gift I could find for my soon-to-be husband. As a new teacher, the Christmas season meant a breather from my students, a good book on the couch in my pajamas, Christmas carols playing while I surfed the web.

Today, as a first-time working mother, it means starting new traditions. It means tracing my son’s handprint 15 times on green paper, asking my husband to cut them out because he’s better with scissors, and gluing them just-so to make his first little Christmas tree craft.




It means Christmas pictures in red sweaters.




It means reading my son
The Night Before Christmas and showing him how to dig treasures out of his stocking.




It means his first ornament—a little glass shoe with all of his birth statistics written on it—donning the tree for the first of many years.



It means singing “Silent Night” as I rock him to sleep. It means being thankful that although I work full-time and mommy full-time, I chose a career that gives me 18 precious days in the winter and even more days in the summer to relish every moment with my son. It means my presence—just being there. Him and me. And it means giving all my love because I’ll never need to get anything for Christmas ever again.

Many Months


I cannot understand how pregnancy seemed like the longest nine months of my life, yet these last (almost) eight months of William's life have flown by before I could even catch my breath. When I look at the pictures that my friend Charlotte took of Will when he wasn't yet four months, I am again taken back by how beautiful he is, and how often he is changing. 




In October, we went to a pumpkin patch and Will donned his first Halloween costume for trick-or-treating at the mall. He is the cutest astronaut in the universe!




What doesn't change over time is Will's personality. When he was seven months old, another dear friend of mine, Taylor, offered to take Will's portraits in a studio and to shoot family Christmas pictures as well. As if I didn't take enough pictures already... But Will loves the camera!




In these last few months, I have made an effort to follow blogs, take advice from friends, and really make the best of every moment I have with my son. My son. Those words still sound so strange. I want Will to have fun and to learn every day during his childhood, and I want him to know that when I'm with him, I'm with him. He has my full attention. Despite living with what I used to think was a mild case of OCD, I have enjoyed allowing Will to take part in various sensory experiences. We have played with finger paint (on the high chair, I might add, which would have caused the pre-mother in me some serious anxiety). Yes, I stayed with him every moment to make sure none of the paint went into his mouth or eyes. We started with "What do red and blue make?" Then, we ended up mixing all the colors together.




I have taken a couple of "sick" days this year when I was really yearning for some extra time with Will. On one of those days, I posted a sick day blog but I didn't post any pictures of all the fun! We played with pots and pans, stacked rings and blocks, went to the store, read books, and played in a makeshift ball pit. I bought a ball pit set and poured them into the playpen. Will rolled around in the balls, held one of every color, tried to put them in his mouth, and of course, laughed.




One of my favorite times was our spontaneous trip to Green Key Beach. My mother, my husband and I took some beautiful shots of Will's first experience with sand. You can see the amazement on his face. We also pushed him in the swing--which he loved. Even though the weather was a little chilly, it was an absolutely glorious sunset. 




Another day after work, I decided to repeat the beach trip. This time, it was just Will and me.




The other night, we put food coloring into ice cubes and let them melt in water in a container on his playmat. Will loves playing with bath toys any time of day--he is definitely a water baby! It was fun to watch him try to catch the ice cubes!




Everything about my son amazes me. He is happy all.the.time. Literally. Everything and everyone can make him laugh. My favorite aspects of his dynamic personality is his sweet spirit when he first wakes up and his belly laugh. He is also a huge fan of sticking his tongue out.




He started crawling--small movement at first--a couple of weeks ago. This last weekend, he decided to take off. He also cut his first tooth. I am grateful that even though I had to go back to work when he was four months old, he has saved each and every milestone for my husband and me. At our home, he is turning into quite the little rambunctious climber.




It's hard to believe we are about to celebrate our first Christmas as a family. 






It's hard to believe that I, Shannon, the one who said she'd never be a baby person, the one who cringed every time she heard a baby cry, the one who struggled her whole pregnancy, the one who never changed a diaper, the one who feels like she doesn't have a crafty gene in her body... has become a mother. And most days, I hope, a good mother.


I have realized many things over these last many months. But one of my major realizations is that I finally understand the phrase "You're gonna miss this." Because I know I definitely am going to miss this. Every little bit of it.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Where I'm From

My students and I read "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyons this week, analyzed it for sensory language, and then created our own. I am laminating my students' poems and creating a book of them because they turned out FANTASTIC. My students asked me to write one that would be the first page of the book. So here it is:
--
Where I’m From
By Shannon Stephan Rodriguez

I am from piles of orange, red, and yellow fall leaves
From sneezing underneath and my Bopaw’s laughter behind the camera
I am from puffy snowsuits
And sleds my mom pulled in the street
Her long dark hair flying behind her

I am from Flintstone vitamins on the bus stop
Seeing and hearing the ice cream man from the upstairs window
Saving my brother’s life
Again and again
And the tall pine tree in the backyard

I am from the steep staircase
That smelled like home
From the basement and the hidden passageway
Filled with my grandparents’ treasures

I am from the above-ground pool and orange swimmies
The birthday parties on the lawn with Batman and Little Mermaid
From DJ, Stephanie, Michelle, and Comet
And unwrapped Christmas presents under the tree

I am from stacks of boxes
A move to beaches and Disney World
Pen-pals and a new school
A cul-de-sac with no cars or sidewalks
That called us to play kickball all day
I am from my brother’s little league games and his basketball hoop
And the cement where my father drew our family name

I am from the boat
Roaring to life and defeating the waves
With “Life is Good” painted in blue on the side

I am from mood swings and fights
From dogs and cats and iguanas and hamsters
Buried now in the backyard

I am from straight A’s and the church choir
From “You’re going to college no matter what”
And “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar”
From mission trips to foreign lands
My father’s house to my husband’s house
From writing papers to grading papers
And meeting a little boy who is like my very own piece of Heaven on earth

Friday, November 11, 2011

Mommy's "Sick" Day

Last weekend, I made a spur of the moment decision to take Will to the beach for the first time. It was probably 60 degrees out, so my husband, my mother, Will and I went to Green Key Beach in our clothes and sweatshirts, and let the sensory overload begin. We took a TON of pictures, and let Will go in the swings and sit in the sand. He touched it and was totally mesmerized by it :) I think that day made me realize that I missed those special moments.

Not that I can't have special moments with Will because I'm a working mother. But I really wanted to be able to spend quality time with him, like I did on the beach, with the wind blowing, him looking around and both of us experiencing something special.

Even though this week was a "four-day" week in honor of Veterans Day, I found myself weepy on Tuesday night and I made a decision: I'm staying home tomorrow. I miss my son.

I stayed up late, thinking about activities I could do with him on a day when it was JUST him and me. I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, or like I felt those days I knew my parents were waking me up the next day to go to Disney. Although I was blessed to be home with Will 24/7 for the first four months of his life, he's six months old now, rolls around, sits on his own, stands, gets up on all fours, makes tons of cool noises, says "Mama," and a litany of other things he didn't do two months ago. I was very much looking forward to a day with him.

I put in for a substitute, didn't care that I didn't have copies made or that my classroom would be a shambles the next day. My day belonged to Will. Like it should.

When he woke up, we played with shape blocks. I separated them by color and let him roll around. He kept picking up the red triangles... I wonder if that will be his favorite color. I let him bang on pots and pans with a wooden spoon, which was funny because he kept just wanting to suck on the spoon.



Then we went shopping at Target. We picked out a book--one of my favorites: The Night Before Christmas. Inside the front cover was a dedication: "For Will, Christmas Boy." Couldn't have been more perfect.

While I was at Target, I picked up a package of 150 colored ball-pit balls. When we got home, after Will's first nap, he ate some apples. I let him hold the spoon and try to feed himself--pretty funny. Then I threw him AND all the colored balls into his playpen. Again, pretty funny! He enjoyed holding the balls and throwing them. After he was tired of the ball pit, I took his walker outside. He kicked his shoes off, so I ended up letting him run around in the driveway with no shoes on! I just can't believe how strong and independent he is at only six months old. When we came inside, I laid his pictures (tons and tons) out on the floor for him to look at while I put some in an album. I put him in his crib and poured all his clean, dry laundry on top of him. To end the day before Daddy came home, we walked (well, Will rode in the stroller) to the library down the street. He stood in the children's section, leaning on a bookcase and threw some of the books around.

Successes: I didn't turn on the television ONCE all day. I didn't touch the essays I know I needed to grade. I didn't surf the net. I devoted ALL my time to looking at my son, listening to him laugh, and playing with him while he learned. Even when he napped, I lie next to him on the bed or sat in the rocking chair waiting for him to wake up.

Failures: Sometimes when Will eats, he gets frustrated and so do I. He had a bit of a tummy ache and fussed with me when I tried to get him to eat. Not the worst failure I've ever had as a parent, but I definitely don't like when my impatience makes Will frustrated, too.

This day was all about my prince. And I realized, as I made plans for future days and weekends with him, that every day needs to be about him. It's going by too fast <3

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Capture.

I wrote a poem today. It's not really good, but here it is:


I wish I could capture
The scent of your hair
And have it to dwell on
Years and years from now

The squint of your eyes
In the bright summer sun
And the kick of your feet
Before you learned to walk

The way you sneeze
And Eskimo kisses
Your heavy breaths
Sound asleep after dark

I wish I could save in a treasure box
Your genuine laugh
That knows no regrets
Your carefree-ness

I wish I could bottle up
Those chubby little legs
And that you’d always fit
Neatly curled up on my chest

The babble before your voice came
The softness of gums with no teeth
The neediness and the independence
Only you can feel both in the same day

Your sweet growing fingers
That grasp everything near
Your big brown eyes
That follow me, and your dad, and the dog, and the rest

I wish I could hide away the contentment of the moment
When we dance together
Even though you can’t stand
And know that at any time, I can go back to it.

The splash in the tub
Your first little nightmares
Your finger holding mine
The taste of your tiny toes.

Even if it’s just for the day.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Everything rustles.

Sophocles once said, "To him who is in fear, everything rustles." The truth behind that statement simultaneously intrigues and frightens me.

Although I wholeheartedly respect the memory of my grandparents, think of them fondly, and often refer to the lessons their beautiful lives taught me, they did possess some minor flaws. For my grandmother, that flaw was a mixture of fear and anxiety. Most times, those two go hand in hand. My grandmother rarely left the town where she lived for 60 years and raised children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She didn't show it, but she was often frazzled by change. Unfortunately, whether these qualities are genetic or not, I see many of my grandmother's anxieties when I look myself in the mirror.

I suppose it started when I realized not all people are good. When I realized not all situations turn out like you hope they will, or like you think they should. When I realized not all people get what they deserve, and some people get what they don't deserve. When I realized adults make mistakes. When I realized I make mistakes. When I realized disappointment is probably one of the most harmful, painful and detrimental feelings a person can experience.

It started in 2004. I was readying myself to graduate high school and my mind teemed with ideas and dreams that at the time, I believed were entirely possible. Though good stress surrounded me in the sense that I was up to my ears in scholarships, I had the world at my fingertips, and my parents and boyfriend (at the time... he would eventually be my husband) supported my every move, I began to fear. At 17 years of age, I had my first panic attack. I remember not being able to get a deep breath, and asking the school nurse if this was normal. I was scared to choose a college. I was scared I would have to declare a major. I was scared of moving away from home, but also of staying home. It was a thrilling but overwhelming time in my life. Fortunately, I pushed aside the fear and worry. I embraced the newness that was adulthood. Shoulders back, head held high, I graduated from high school and moved away to college...

Southeastern University was not what I expected, and soon after settling in I realized I didn't fit in there. I wasn't a pastor's kid. I wasn't a missionary's kid. I had always attended public schools. I wasn't majoring in ministry. Why was I there? But again, I rolled with it. I smiled. I aced all my classes. I came home on the weekends to visit my family and boyfriend (again, at the time...)

So truthfully, it started in 2005. I was on top of the world. And in the summer, while I served overseas on my fifth and what would be my last mission trip, my world came crashing down. I won't go into detail. All that matters is that after those two weeks--which seemed to me like an eternity--my fear and anxiety skyrocketed. And remain high as the sky to this day.

I've always been afraid of spiders. During my teen years, if I saw a spider crawling in the house or in a web outdoors, I typically cried, hyperventilated, yelled for someone to kill it. But I figured most everyone had that one irrational fear. Soon, however, I began fearing other things. The events of 2005 caused me to develop a fear of people, and of relationships with them. Because they hurt. I had always been a people pleaser, a girl who would get straight A's just to hear her parents say how good she was, or just to compare herself to her peers. But now, I had more of a fear of failure, and more of a fear about what people would say to me and about me if they knew me when I wasn't at my best. I also developed a fear of flying, and even hindered my parents from getting on the airplane to go to my paternal grandfather's funeral because I couldn't move my feet in the terminal. After a few years of being (seemingly) surrounded by death, I began to fear death... not mine, mind you, but the death of those I love dearly. I still text my husband every morning to make sure he got to work on time, because before I hear from him, I'm constantly listening to the car accident reports on the radio, and feeling myself forgetting to breathe.

Now I have a son. Motherhood brings along a slew of new fears and anxieties. But really, none of the specific fears and anxieties matter. What matters it that Sophocles' quote is correct... One fear seems to breed. It not only takes over, but it lays eggs and takes root and causes more fears and anxieties to creep up. What matters it that fear and anxiety are stopping me from living. And I fear, may stop my husband and son from living. That makes me increasingly sad.

The problem is that as I write this, I don't have the answer. I'd like to believe that recognition and admission is the first step to recovery. I know that's part of the process for like alcoholics and stuff. I don't deny the problem. I don't deny that I want everything to stop rustling. But I will deny any knowledge of how to fix it.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Oh darling, don't you ever grow up.

I'm exhausted. My hands are raw from washing bottles. I can think of a lengthy list of things I would rather do than change dirty diapers. But in the last four weeks (wow, has it been four weeks already?) I realized something: I'm no longer preoccupied with goals I never reached. I'm no longer researching masters programs online with a heavy heart because I know I can't afford it yet. I'm no longer obsessed with sitting on my computer, typing up elaborate lesson plans for my students. Instead, my life is wrapped up in the needs of one little boy.


I look at him and how small and fragile--yet strong--he is. I listen to his little noises and take in his every movement. Because I know that tomorrow, he'll be grown. He'll be an adult.

I can look back on the last ten years of my life and see how quickly they flew past me. The first day of high school, prom, high school graduation, college graduation, wedding day, three years of teaching experience... Where did the time go? So right now, while I can, I want to take in every bit of this little child I am somehow able to call my own. I never, ever thought I would feel this way. But I do.

When I was younger--and I have to admit, even during my pregnancy--I could not understand what would possess my mother to give up her career, her independence, her salary, her seniority, to stay at home with two children. Now I understand. I don't think I'll be a stay-at-home mom. But I get why she wanted to be there. Why she wanted to see, hear, do all the things she saw, heard and did. Why would I want to be teaching other people's children when I could be teaching mine? What could be more important than hearing my child's first words? Playing on the floor with him? Coloring Easter eggs, picking out Halloween costumes and trick-or-treating... I realize, as my mother did, you can work a job anytime anywhere. But once those moments with my little boy are gone, they're gone.

William Thomas, tomorrow you will be a man. Hopefully, prayerfully, a good man. But when I look at you, I will always see the newborn sucking his fingers on my chest in the hospital room. I will always see the infant asleep in a bassinet with his long arms stretched above his head. I will see my dad's cheekbones, my husband's long fingers, my Bop's wrinkled forehead. I will see that tiny sideways smile that shows up when you're dreaming. And I'll smile, remembering the days when you were my baby, and knowing that whether you like it or not, you always will be.

"Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that supposed to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing." -Toni Morrison, Beloved

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

11 days early, but right on time.


Here I sit, on what was supposed to be my baby's due date. Instead of still being pregnant, I am 5 lbs lighter than my pre-pregnancy weight and an 11-day-old boy lies on my chest.

On Friday, April 22, 2011, I decided to drive with Jimmy to Brandon to visit a friend and her newborn little girl. We were going to go on Saturday, but turns out, it’s a good thing we decided on Friday. We spent a good deal of time there with Taylor, her husband, and her little Evie, talking, eating, and watching basketball. When we got home around midnight, I was still pretty awake and felt dehydrated from the salty food. I drank a bunch of water, pried my rings off swollen fingers and went to bed. When I woke up around 3:00 a.m. on April 23, 2011, I just thought I had pains that meant I needed to use the bathroom. So I went into the bathroom stood there for a minute, and let the pains in my abdomen go away. That was weird, I thought. Then went back to bed. I woke up again around 4:00 with what felt like menstrual cramps in my lower abdomen, but brushed them off again to sleep. At around 4:15 a.m., I felt those cramps again. I figured to be safe, I could google “What do contractions feel like?” I mean, surely my baby wasn’t coming—I wasn’t due for 11 more days. But better to be safe than sorry. Sure enough, people all over the World Wide Web described contractions as cramp-like pains. Between the cramps that came every seven minutes and the fluid I started leaking, I thought it best that we go to the hospital. I woke Jimmy up, told him to pack the car, and took a shower. Jimmy thought I was kidding. “Are you sure we need to go to the hospital?” he asked. I didn’t know, but it felt like the right thing to do.

We went straight up to Labor and Delivery and they checked me in around 6:00 a.m. A sassy nurse named Terri welcomed me, took my vitals, checked my cervix and fluid, and assured me it was true: I was having a baby today. They would call Dr. Umstead and get me a room. I started tearing up—how could this happen? I had worked so hard on Senior Projects at school, I had my maternity leave all figured out, I still had shopping and laundry to do, we weren’t even settled on a name. I couldn’t have a baby. But there I was, in full-blown labor. They checked me into room 805, and by 8:20 a.m., a really pleasant anesthesiologist named Eric came to meet me and perform my epidural. A nurse named Karen helped me arch my back in between contractions and what I expected to be a horribly sharp pain with a lot of pressure and needles in my back turned out to be barely anything at all. A little pressure, a little zing down my back and legs. Soon, my left side was numbing, and Karen was helping me lie on my right side so that I would be numb on both sides. Although my wristband informed the staff that I was allergic to antibiotics Ceclor and Bactrim, the doctor ordered antibiotics because my strep test hadn’t come back. They gave me vancomyacin, something I had never had before. Immediately, my head started to itch. My ears turned hot and red, my forehead got splotchy, and I knew it: I was having an allergic reaction. Thankfully, they were able to give me benedryl and change the antibiotic to ampicillin, one antibiotic I’m not allergic to.

Everything went very quickly. I really don’t even remember what Jimmy and I talked about during those hours in the room. I was probably pretty quiet. A nurse checked me—6 centimeters. The doctor came in to talk to me. Pretty soon, 8 centimeters. The doctor was saying my child would enter the world before dinner time. Somehow, I started feeling contractions again. They were pretty strong, like severe cramps, enough to make me tighten up and go, “Ow, ow, ow” and breathe through them. Not supposed to happen with an epidural. Thank God, the anesthesiologist came back to give me more medication. It was then that I felt the strangest sensation ever: total numbness below my waist. I literally couldn’t control my legs or feel anything when someone touched them. As much as I was thrilled that I wouldn’t feel the pain about to come, I started freaking out: how was I going to push?

My dear friends, Jenn and Danielle, showed up to support me, and ended up staying for the delivery. Jimmy held one leg, Jenn held another leg, the doctor and the nurse were at the foot of the bed, and Danielle was at my side. Like it was the last laugh my kid could have before leaving the womb, I started to get completely nauseous and threw up in a bucket on my right side. Pregnancy, labor and delivery are simply a total loss of dignity.

Just after 2:00 in the afternoon, it was time to push. I still didn’t believe it. This was nothing like the movies. I wasn’t sweating, screaming at Jimmy. And everything was happening so fast. I started pushing at 2:20 p.m. with the doctor, my husband, and my friends coaching me that my baby was coming out quickly. The doctor told me that most first-time mothers push for about two hours. That didn’t happen with me. At 2:34 p.m., my little boy entered the world.

The nurse put him on my chest and started to clean him. She asked what his name was. I said, “William Thomas.” It just fit.





I didn’t immediately feel any overwhelming connection to William. I didn’t cry right then. I was tired, in shock, embarrassed, concerned about the pain I might face when the epidural wore off. The nurse took William and Jimmy followed, taping our little boy as he was cleaned and evaluated. His Apgar score: 9.9. He weighed 7 lbs and 15 ounces and was 20 inches long. And he had my father’s face—my face as a baby. It was unreal.

I took a moment to post a facebook status, one I still can’t believe: “I have a son.” I posted the first picture I ever took of him, with my cell phone, on my chest, staring at me.


The room just seemed to spin for a while. The epidural wore off, visitors came and went, and at around 3:45 p.m., I tried nursing Will for the first time. The nurse Karen manhandled me, trying to teach me and help me. Will screamed, I cried, and both of us were tired and frustrated.

In the quiet when everyone was gone that night, the nurses took little Will so Jimmy and I could get some sleep. Instead of sleeping, I broke into deep sobs. I didn’t know if I could breastfeed. I didn’t know what to do once we got Will home. I didn’t know how to raise a child. I wanted to go back to work. Would I love this child like a mother is supposed to love a son? Would I disappoint Jimmy? Between lack of sleep, the surprise of a newborn child, and all the hormones, I was a mess. So unsure of myself.

I nursed Will three times that night. I wanted to try. My insides were contracting and my breasts (TMI) were in so much pain that at 5:30 a.m., I gave in and asked the nurse to show Jimmy how to bottle feed Will. I was able to sleep from 5:30 to 8:30 a.m. and Will was perfectly content to have a full belly.

When I woke up, took a shower, and put on clean clothes, I felt like a new person. I decided to try bottle feeding Will. It was the first time I really sat and held him without other people around. I looked at him, listened to his little noises. It was the first time I was relaxed with him, and I realized I was completely in love.

After hearing tests, birth certificate forms, genetic tests and other hold-ups, we were finally able to take William Thomas home. It was around 9:30 p.m. on Sunday, April 24, 2011—Easter. His first night went well. He didn’t wake us at all. We woke him for changings and feedings (and the occasional picture) and before we knew it, we had survived our first night of parenthood. I probably slept a total of 3-4 hours that first night. I was so scared to leave him, and I think my body was still rushing around on adrenaline. While Jimmy slept, I fed and changed Will, let the dog out, did two loads of laundry, and made a to-do list for the day. When Jimmy got up and the 10:00 feeding was coming around, I decided it was time to go pick up our dog Esme so she could meet her new little brother. I drove to the school where I work because I just HAD to show everyone pictures and I wanted to check on the progress of Senior Project presentations. Everything was going smoothly, and people were thrilled and shocked to see me fewer than 48 hours post-partum. I went to Helen Ellis to pick up a bag we left, dropped off my prescriptions at the pharmacy, and picked up Esme. The entire time I was driving, I felt myself smiling. I was beaming. And I missed my son. I couldn’t believe the feeling. I wanted to be with him. I never, ever expected to feel that way.

Esme was as sweet as could be when I got her home to meet Will. She was very excited, and Jimmy was freaking out about Esme trying to lick Will, but overall, the experience was great. Will sat peacefully in his swing and Esme cautiously walked over to smell him and figure out who the new little person was in her house.


Over the next few days, we had a bunch of firsts: I read Will his first book, Jimmy and I gave him his first sponge bath… I often caught myself looking at Will’s little face, analyzing his features and trying to figure out how in the world he came out looking like me. Bottom line is, just like people told me I would, I just adore this little boy. I want so much for him, and he’s not even two weeks old. The other night, I read “Love You Forever” to Will, and I cried. I didn’t cry out of sadness. I cried because I truly had never felt such a strange, unconditional love before. So Will, I may not know what I’m doing, I may not be the most maternal person in the world, and I’ll probably make mistakes. But I know one thing: “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

Friday, March 25, 2011

Guilt.

Today, my beautiful friend Danielle and some of my other co-workers threw me a baby shower at work. Two other women at our school are expecting boys, and our school wanted to celebrate this with us which I totally appreciated. However, I'm not really thrilled to be the center of attention. I'm not girly, I feel kind of awkward when people are watching me open gifts, and I think to myself, "So many of these people would rather be somewhere else." Because of this, I sometimes fail to enjoy the moment. But, I am who I am... Which brings me to the reason I decided to blog in the first place.


One thing I realized during my baby shower two weeks ago and the shower today at work is that "it" still hasn't set in. I'm surrounded by onesies and burp clothes and bibs and little socks and booties. What used to be our home office is now a quaint nursery with a crib, rocking chair and soft blankets. I look around at this stuff, and I wonder why I don't feel different. How can I not feel different? Each day, I have the feet of a little 4.5 lb boy kicking my ribs. It's uncomfortable. It's fascinating that he's in there growing and I'll meet him in fewer than six weeks. But I don't glow and talk about it all the time. And for this entire pregnancy, I've often felt one emotion: guilt. Guilt because I am not what everyone seems to expect me to be.


Early in my pregnancy, when I literally couldn't do anything but hug the toilet seat or clutch a plastic bag in the car, I wondered why I got pregnant in the first place. And I felt guilty. As this pregnancy has gone on, we've had to make financial sacrifices--no, we can't spend money on that for Christmas because we need to buy furniture for the nursery--and I wondered why I got pregnant in the first place. And I felt guilty. When I tell someone I may not have another child, that one might be enough for me, and they look at me funny, I feel guilty. When people tell me that breastfeeding is the absolute BEST thing for a child and it will be SO detrimental if I don't succeed in doing it, I feel anxious--what if I can't or don't? Does that make me a bad mother?


But I've been thinking about things lately. When I went to high school, and many of the girls around me loved to shop til they dropped... or wore a lot of make-up... or had more purses and shoes than they knew what to do with... or had sex with their boyfriends while I waited til marriage... Did I feel guilty? Did I feel like less of a woman? No. So why should becoming a mother let me question who I am?


I don't think natural labor is the most beautiful miracle in the world. I think it's going to be painful and I don't look forward to it. Will it be completely and totally worth it? For sure. When I see what I hope is a healthy, tan baby who resembles my husband, I will probably forget about all the nausea, all the contractions, all the discomfort, and I'll be totally content. I'll forget about all the anxiety and all the wonderings and all the, "Why did I get pregnant?" However, I can ALMOST guarantee I'll never smile and tell someone that I didn't want every painkiller in the world while I went through it.


I would like to get my Masters degree and still pursue a career while simultaneously mothering my child. Some people would call this selfish. Well, guess what? I don't care about some people anymore. My husband and I love each other, and intend to raise our son with as much love, faith and support as we are able to give. Our son will be surrounded by family members who adore him and will guide him as he grows and makes decisions. I'm learning that I don't have to feel guilty for being me AND being a mother. 


One of my closest friends who recently had a daughter wrote me a note that simply said this: "Don't let 'mommy guilt' get to you." It's probably the best advice I've gotten so far. I'll never wear a ton of make-up, buy designer purses or wear high heels. Just like I probably won't have 5 kids and dedicate my life to homeschooling them all. I respect and admire many of my friends who have mastered the art of being a woman and a mother. And what I notice when I look at all of them is that they are all different. All good mothers, but all different.


I am who I am. And I think today, I'm okay with that.