I love your body

Consider this an open letter. Consider this my heart. Consider this the smooth round cheek of my baby son when he's concentrating hard on picking something up and his lips stick out like little pickles and his eyes are cast downward upon his work. Consider this the wart on my husband's middle finger where it joins his hand and I love when I feel it tickling the inner pad of my hand, my breast, the hard line of my aging jaw. Consider this the smell of shampoo in the thick hair of my stepson, tousled so it shows that little streak of premature gray. Consider this the hot stars shooting out from my hips and buttocks after a hard, uphill bike ride, the raw cavity of my throat, glowing red, a heat wave around my head, the world still and solid once again below my feet. Consider this real.

My outer lip

I just emerged from my darkened childhood bedroom in which I just danced my beautiful baby boy to sleep to the tinny music of his mobile. What a love! Down in the basement of my parents' sprawling suburban estate my step-son is playing on his new X-box with his friend Phillip. They were such good boys tonight. They came to my grandparents' house and ate pizza (Phillip only eats pizza and fries, which I find kind of cute) and swam in the pool at their complex and then played at the playground and didn't complain about not having their video games or about being in their house of strange old people they barely know.

It's amazing how close I am at this moment, with the fireflies in the grass outside and no children playing stickball in the middle of the street, to the life I never thought I'd have. Perhaps because it is borrowed (we'll be back in the city as soon as my kitchen is done in a few weeks), it's not so terrible. Plus my parents have mega-cable. Very nice when breastfeeding.

So I just took down a post about all the anxiety my husband's job and spending habits are causing me. I actually only posted it because I never actually think anyone reads this stupid thing. But apparently, you do. I was shocked - shocked - to see that some of you have even posted comments! I was also thrilled because it's nice to know I am actually communicating with people. But I've always thought of this thing as more of diary that gets housed in cyberspace and I don't think I would have actually posted some of that dirty laundry had a I realized.

So, I took it down for that reason, but also because I feel like it's unfair to Larry. Everything was true when I wrote it - the anxiety, the anger, the hopelessness. But as soon as I wrote it down, most of that dissappeared. The events are there and the bank account is still low, but writing down my bad feelings has always helped me to overcome them.

And the thing is, I get it. I understand completely that my husband is absolutely drained after working for 12 hours straight on his feet without so much as a lunch break. I get that that's why he needs to smoke - to relieve stress and to stop working for 10 minutes. I get that on his days off, he can barely move, let alone wake up early and head out for an all-day hike. And I know why he bought Marley that X box - he wants to make up for not seeing him enough, for dragging him between so many houses and people, for more dissapointments than any 10-year-old should have to bear.

There is also one thing I didn't mention about buying the X-box. He called and asked me if he could buy it before he did. I didn't feel like I could say no, but I could have. And we have plenty of savings. I don't really want to dip into them and I think the Xbox is an extravagance that we shouldn't even consider if we can't afford to fix my car or go on vacation, but if he really feels like its that important for his son to have this, how can I say no? How can I? And, after all, it's just money. It means nothing. I won't even notice it's gone a year from now. And the two of them will enjoy it for much longer than that.

I suppose sometimes, I feel like Larry doesn't consider how I'm going to feel, but do I always consider his feelings? What about posting a mean entry about him? Is that kind? I always want him to show up with flowers or some sort of surprise, but I do remember what it's like to go to work (it wasn't THAT long ago) and just want to get home and hit the couch.

Really, I am just lonely and not lonely for people, because my friends and family are great and always around - which is a luxury he does not have these days. I am lonely for him. I just miss him. I miss being able to laugh with him because he doesn't get to do much laughing these days. But that's because of his schedule, not because he's a bad husband. It's because he's working hard, not out partying or seeing other women or even abandoning me for his buddies. My god, his buddies must think he's dropped off the edge of the planet. I never really thought about the fact that he not only gets no time with his sons, but also no time with friends or any of the rest of his family.

I guess there's this evil little part of me that just wants him to miss me as much. And I think he does.

If I were a kind wife, I would probably arrange some sort of guy party so they could all veg out on the couch together and make stupid boy jokes. If I were a wife that didn't think about herself and dirty socks all the time.

He said to me a few weeks ago that I was the only reason he was able to hold this job- that without my support he'd have to quit. It made me feel so good. Maybe that just has to be enough for now.

Wardrobe Complications

So, I always knew I'd need a separate wardrobe for pregnancy and with maternity clothes so cute these days, I was totally looking forward to that shopping spree. By my third trimester, I was, of course, sick to death of maternity wear, especially the pants that never stayed up and especially because the wardrobe consisted of so few choices, since I only bought a few things. At the end I told anyone who would listen how I couldn't wait to get back into my regular clothes.



So it was a major dissapointment to realize that, having gained 40 pounds, I was not going to fit right into my "regular clothes." I refused to buy more than two pairs of pants two tops. That combined with some super stretchy long t-shirts and an old pair of fat jeans lasted me all spring. Eventually, I began to shed the weight. I am now 12 pounds from my old weight and the baby is three months old. I swear, next time I will only gain 25 pounds, I absolutely swear -- no cheese doodles! I finally fit into my larger jeans and can just barely zip my smaller pair. But now I have a bigger problem. I suddenly realized I have only two pairs of jeans!



I know that might not seem like a huge problem. After all, I've had two pairs of jeans for years - a casual pair and a "Saturday night" pair. (I had that old pair of fat jeans, too, but they didn't count because I pretty much used them for painting in or cleaning the basement and chucked them as soon as my real casual pair zipped up.) It was never really a problem, but that was when I could only wear jeans in the evenings and on weekends. To work, I wore slacks and skirts. Now, suddenly, I find myself living in a jeans, t-shirt, and shorts kind of world. Mine is a world of sweat, spit up, and breast leaks. Every day the effluvia of my child find their way onto my clothes. Although I have never been a big clean freak, showers are now my favorite time of day. Whereas I used to wash my clothes after several wearings, now I often have to change several times a day.



I have to say, it was kind of a thrill to find myself in front of the graphic T shirt display at Old Navy, a location I always avoided in favor of the sweater set aisle. It made me feel young to dress like a teenager again. I can't even remember when sneakers and flip flops were my staple footwear. The last time I was out of work I still got "dressed" every day, but suddenly, I can barely manage to change my earrings every few days, let alone organize outfits. Plus, almost every day in the city means miles of walking and pushing a stroller. I had no idea that motherhood was so physical. The thing is, I spent my 20's contstantly trying to find a job that didn't put me behind a desk all day. I was miserable doing that unsuccessfully for 8 years. Now, it looks like I've finally found that job - only I don't get paid for it. It feels good to go to bed tired from a hard day's work, but not zombified by having stared at a computer screen for hours and hours.

But I do miss my wardrobe. I never get to wear my red, high heeled sandals. I sometimes stare at my closet and stroke my beaded evening camisoles. And I am still waiting to squeeze into the pencil skirt larry bought me the day after our wedding, the only week in my adult life that I weight less than 130 lbs.

There has to be a mix, right? A job that includes quiet work and physical activity, a life that includes work and family, a wardrobe that includes tank tops and kitten heels?

Magnolias revisted

By the way, i figured out the difference between Magnolias and Dogwoods. Duh, Rachel!

Oh, and it continues to rain petals and every day I am grateful to be outside with my baby.

My grandmother sent me a mother's day card with only one line: Enjoy Dylan every day. I'm trying, Grandma.

Bedbugs

It's true. I was changing my sheets yesterday (for the first time in a MONTH!!!) and I saw this little doodley bug doodling its way across my pilllow. Then another one on my mattress cover. Finally a dead shell of one, which I carried into the office and looked him up online and there he was: teeny, round, stripey - a bedbug. The disgusting thing (if it can get more disgusting) is that the exterminator can't come until tomorrow, so I had to sleep in that bed last night and will again tonight. Eeek, heebie jeebies!

Of course, the more upsetting part of this story is that my little bedbug has to sleep there, too. I mean, it's one thing for met to get some little itchy spots, but I keep checking Dylan to make sure he's ok and thankfully, so far he is. Unfortunately, he is also far more annoying a bedmate than the bugs. He is kicky, scratchy, restless, and regurgitative (if that's a word). I know I should be keeping him in his co-sleeper, but lately he's had some real trouble going back to sleep after waking up to nurse. This keeps me awake. I do not like that. Therefore, at the risk of being yelled at by my pediatrician, I sometimes let him sleep on my chest. Then, sometimes, I feed him lying on my side and then we both fall asleep that way. I am not a big fan of this, both because of the aforementioned kicking and also because I often wake up with my fingers tingling because I have to keep my arm above my head. And, of course, I worry about the baby suffocating or some other horrible thing involving my pollow top mattress and my feather douvet. Now, I get to add being bitten by icky vermin to the list.

Ah, god it feels great to write. I just paid all my bills, cleaned my floors, did my dishes and laundry, made the beds and organized. I am almost a real human being here. I feel like I can start taking on freelance work again. Maybe I should say yes to some of the projects I've been hemming and hawing on. I'm definitely going to go to that interview with the Tribune. Some days I have no idea how I will be able to go to school in 3 months, and other days (usually the days my mom comes to help me and the days the baby crashes out early/easily) I can't imagine why not. Next task - find childcare/write novel. That's all I got in me tonight ...

Magnolias

So, I'm beginning to come out from under the baby haze. I even have Dylan lying on the bed next to me while I type this and he's totally entranced by Larry's belt or something else sitting in that general direction.

Yesterday was the first glorious day of true spring, a little late in coming, but welcome nonetheless (however you spell that word!). Dylan had a doctor's appointment in the morning and I had a midwife appointment in the afternoon, and it was so nice out that I decided to just spend the whole middle of the day wandering around. As a result Dylan got to breastfeed in a number of interesting locales, including on a bench next to a smoking, but very polite homeless man.

Magnolias and Dogwoods are my favorite trees -- although I can't tell the difference between them. I love their lush flowers that shade from deep pink to white, but they die very quickly. First the flowers open too far, like a middle aged woman who still relies on the makeup routine she used when she was 20. Then, the tender white ends of the petals turn yellow and thin, as if someone has smushed them on purpose. Finally, the petals fall off individually and the branches, while still in bloom, but lacking any of the green that will come later to fill them up, looks scraggly, naked, while beneath the tree a carpet of rotting petals builds. It is one of the hardest trees to catch at its perfect peak, but when you do, it's breathtaking.

There is a magnolia garden in the middle of the colonial section of Philadelphia, one in a string of connecting gardens that run throughout the old city. I love to walk that route and yesterday, Dylan and I meandered through it, taking the time to stare at the daffodils -- ok, I stared and he slept -- and rest under arbors. It was delightful. It felt so great to stretch my legs and take advantage of one of the best parts of the city -- one I don't often get a chance to appreciate -- especially with my little son in tow.

The best part was the magnolia garden. I had Dylan in his baby carrier at that point, so I left the carriage at the foot of the stairs and strolled slowly through it with the baby. We just stood under the trees and felt the breeze. There were people reading on benches and there was a hushed sense of being in a quiet, contemplative place in the middle of the city. No one was talking and all cell phones were silent. The trees even blocked the sounds of the traffic. The magnolias were just a hair past their prime, but still lovely. I sat on a bench, kissed my baby's head and teared up at the beauty of spring. I decided I would go back to school in the fall and this summer I will make it to Montana. After all, I've turned 30, had a baby, started my own business and am married to the man I love. Now I just have to lose the last 20 pounds of baby weight and I'll be a chick lit heroine. Ok, maybe not, but standing there beneath the blue sky and the floral crosses of pink and white, I felt like life is pretty damn good.

new life

This is my first post since having the baby and it is such a respite to write. I am typing as fast as I can because I can hear him stirring downstairs - our little dylan henry. He's great. But he hasn't let me put him down in days. except the last hour and I finally got my bills paid and my dinner eaten -- first things first. well - I hear crying. looks like second things second will have to wait ...