Up, down, Up Down

"Up".
"Down"
ahahaha
"Up". "WOW!"

"Down"." WOOOWWWW"

Its amazing how much joy and suffering you can feel for one small, but significant person. Andrew has been complaining in the back seat for the last 5 minutes. I totally know he is bored. I can't imagine having to get strapped in to a seat where my feet don't even touch the ground. Not to mention having a crying sister next to me.

We are in the IN N OUT drive thru line. My best mommy self has prescribed a night of fast mexican food and just to make sure our bones stay healthy and strong milkshakes from the coveted In N OUt burgers.

"Say up"

"Up!". "hahaha"

There was a time in my life ( that I sometimes relive) when I believed that it only took a pure heart be a good mom. Borrowing from the Beatles "All you need is love" is the only way to raise a child. Just kill them with kindness and they'll grow up loving you and themselves and never hit other children, never look you straight in your eyes and throw their plate of food on the ground (you can see how the list could continue on). No, a child reared with all the affection in the world their little hearts could hold would be just a little lamb.

Reality hit me hard the first week I try and nurse Andrew--it doesn't just come naturally to me. I pictured myself while pregnant running to my crying baby in my flowing, white silk gown (the most practical new mom outfit) I pick him up and he is immediatlely comforted by my sense of love and milk.

What I discovered after about 2 days of nursing was the fear/dread/panic of needing to nurse again. IT HURT! I would sit and cringe while he began eating. I would tap my foot and hum a song of comfort. I would think to myself, breath, breath, just breath.


I feel overwhelmed with joy for my little boy who is growing up like all kids do. Then there are glimpses in my mind, of me sitting on a beach listening to waves with a pina colada, calmly breathing in the soft humidity. My obligations are gone, I don't have diapers to change, messes to be cleaned up, and my clothes won't have any more spit stains. I dream of a vacation from mommy obligation. When I won't be needed anymore for things.

Andrew then began to pull off and scream when he was about 2 weeks old. His dad and I would try and burp him. He must have an air bubble, he didn't eat enough. One morning at 3am I called my parent's house on the brink of total crying breakdown "Andrew just cries and cries" I apologize for the hour and my dad responds "Thats okay thats why we are here". Mom gives me suggestions and says she knows how I feel just do the best we can.

We've just ordered and Andrew and I are splitting a chocolate shake, his dad gets a vanilla and buggy is still fussing in the back seat overly tired.

"Say down"
"down.""WOW!"

I still believe mothering is best when used with unconditional love. I haven't of coarse reached my ripe age of perfection to have required this--I still need quite a few more years on the shelf. However, I have learned that pain is unavoidable in the raising of kids. That just when you think you are too tired to change another diaper you are propped up by your kid needing his "poppy"* (which is andrewlation for puppy) a big ol' kiss.

I roll the window back up that is next to Andrew
"Down"
I roll the window down, this time without look at him
"HAhahaha"
Say "UP!"
"Up"
I roll the window back up.

Our bone reniforcers are ready at the window.

I am beginning to understand not only the reality of what is possible in mothering, but I am discovering that being a good mother takes more than the ushy gushies of love. It will take the rest of eternity.

It takes time to help entertain your unhappy toddler. Not just so you can keep your sanity in the metal kid cage, but because you will learn to love to do those things for them. It brings you joy.

"UP"

The aftermath of a baby

I sit here right now in my fleece zip up, after prego jeans and nasty uggs. Yes, my hair is clean, my skin moisturized, and I am actually shaved.
Let me better explain. 15 months ago I was enjoying the first real snow storm in Utah. My size 6 fanny was seated directly on the futon my husband and I bought (our first family room piece) before he graduated from college. We had been in our fixer upper home for over a year and we were planning a trip to Italy. Now for a girl of 22 life was pretty darn good. Around let's say middle of December I conceived. The months following that hot and steamy event my body began expanding.
In little ways at first. My perfect little DD bras soon began to get too snug and when I woke up in the morning I felt as though someone had given me a titty twister. This did little to distract me from my expanding butt.

I know someone may read this and say, "Well, at least you were able to get pregnant"-, but I am not complaining about being pregnant and having an opportunity to help bring into the world a little person. I am simply complaining about the disgusting things it can do to your body. I often think of the quote from the line in the Lion King. "No body know's the trouble I've seen...nobody knows my sorrow". When my family first were clued in to my pregnancy my grandma reminded me, "Now, remember you aren't the only person who is pregnant or ever has been." That basically sums this whole shinanigins up.

I may not be the only one, but I am sure all the others can wallow with me for a little while about it. After getting over the shock of being pregnant (I mean for crying out loud my husband and I don't even sleep in the same beds! ) I began to feel excited for those pregnancy clothes. "Oh when, oh when will I be able to buy those cute tops and rub a cute round tummy?" Little did I know what was coming around the corner. "Little" is the word of focus here. There was not a little anything thing, except for a 'little' baby growing inside me that I imagined looking something between a hybrid seahorse and a frog. By the way, who ever said we evolved from apes? Has anyone ever investigated Frogs? I mean sperm looks like tadpoles right?
Anyways. It became perfectly clear that things were rounding out, when at about 16 weeks my 'fat' jeans came about to mid thigh. I had seen quite a few pregnant women in my life time. The ones with little round balls perfectly centered and balanced in the middle of their torso's and then the women who are repeatedly asked "Are you having twins?". I guess, I just always assumed that I would be one of the basketball belly moms. You know the toothpicks with the little altoid hanging in the middle. I don't know why I thought this. Those women were usually at least 5'7 w/ long legs and flat booties. I was 5'4 w/ dangerous curves-.

I remember the weighing of myself weekly, measuring how much I was supposed to gain--because I didn't want to be one of the popcorn moms--you know the before pregnancy women that conceives and puffs out like a kernel in an air popper? So I kept working out and watching what I ate. I read the "what to expect when expecting book" and nodded my head at the diet suggestions and told my husband how I wasn't going to be that stumpy mom who all of a sudden let herself go. I was better than that. I had class--for crying out loud I drive a used Honda!
I gibbered and jabbered to my vain heart's content. 15 months later all of this pre baby nonsense is sitting right on my butt and hips.

Babies are hard work. Keeping yourself from scowling is hard work and by Golly it is hard work getting a shower in while 24/7 being on call for the little person you helped conceive. For now my grooming methods will stay: Bathe 1 time daily, and brush teeth. Beyond that I don't think people should expect much from a new mom.