Monday, August 22, 2016

Boy Trouble

As some of you know, I am now 36 weeks pregnant with our second son. I'm in the home stretch, for realizes, and despite all the things any 36 week pregnant woman can and should complain about, all is well. Everyone I encounter likes to remind me that I could "go any time" because I'm huge, and it's close, and asks us if we're ready. I answer, "yes. I think so." Meaning, yes the baby clothes are washed, the baby bassinet is clean, the swing is assembled (well, I'm doing that tonight) and the toddler has been thoroughly prepped on the idea that he will soon be a new big brother. He seems pretty stoked about it, and he genuinely seems to understand some of what this means. He tells me that when the baby is born I will be the baby's Mama, Eric will be his Dada and he will be his Big Brother! And he knows the baby will come to live with us forever and he says that that sounds fun. He kisses my belly and tells the baby inside that he loves him. And this is all without much prompting from me. We got a book, and he's watched the Daniel Tiger episodes where Daniel's new baby sister is born and when Daniel has to deal with the fact that there's another kid in the house (how good is this show!!!) and Cylas is into it. Things are going well for Cylas.

Things are going well for me too, but not as well. This has been a harder pregnancy, both physically (more morning sickness, fatigue, pain etc.) but also emotionally. When I was pregnant with Cylas, I had only one sleepless night of wondering/worrying about exactly what I had done to us! How this baby was about to blowup our lives so spectacularly and would we survive it. But I quickly remembered how much I had always wanted to be a mom, and how excited I was, and Eric really seemed excited too and all our friends were happy for us and Jasper had no idea what was coming, so I was pretty relaxed about the whole thing. People asked us if we were ready, and I would confidently answer "Yes! Ready! Bring it on!"

This pregnancy has plagued me with doubt and worry, mostly about how, this time, I'm also blowing up Cylas' life spectacularly and he had absolutely no say in the matter. And, sadly, I am plagued with doubt about what we have done because we are having another boy. But boys are great, you say? Yes, I know. I have one, and he is WONDERFUL! But, if I'm being honest, which is hard to be sometimes...I REALLY WANTED A GIRL! And this baby is a boy. Another boy.

It's a little embarrassing to admit, because I think it makes me seem petty and controlling and possibly like a bad mom, but I did everything in my power to conceive a girl this time. There are theories, and books have been written about them, and I read the books and researched the theories and took the steps suggested to up your odds of conceiving a girl. I did this for a few reasons. I like girls. I am a girl. I already have a boy. But mainly because I think a huge part of parenting is often about recreating the best bits of your own childhood for your children, and getting to relive them with your kids, and maybe healing some of the worst bits of your childhood by purposely doing things differently from what you experienced. Eric gets to experience this a lot with Cylas. Cylas wears his old t-shirts, and plays with his old toy cars, and Eric will take him to soccer games, and recreate other memories from his childhood. And don't get me wrong, Cylas and I have a lot in common too. Cylas is very theatrical. He likes to sing and dance and has an active imagination. I used to act out the Disney movie I was watching along with props and costumes, and just the other day, Cylas turned to me and said "Mama, sometimes I watch the movie Frozen, but sometimes I'm IN the movie Frozen." To which I replied, "I know exactly what you mean."

But I am still a girl, and Cylas is still a boy and this next baby is a boy as well and now I am outnumbered, which is just never how I pictured it. I worry that my sons will grow up and move out and find girlfriends and then wives and replace me, and their girlfriends/wives will hate me and I won't hear from them etc. etc. etc. I call my mother almost everyday, I don't know too many sons who can say the same. And it will be more of a challenge to attempt to recreate my childhood memories with two boys. They may not want to read Anne of Green Gables and The Secret Garden. They may have no interest in my old American Girl's Dolls that I have kept in pristine condition for the last 15 or more years. They can't attend the all girl's school I went to and enjoyed so much. They have penises, I have a vagina. This all sounds petty, which is why I'm embarrassed to mourn it so much, but alas, I have, and I do.

This is not to say that I'm not excited. I know that once this boy baby is born and here and our life together has flow and I watch the brothers grow up together, it will all make sense. I watch Eric with his brothers and it all makes sense, but still, sometimes my disappointment is real, and thick, and occasionally overwhelming. And, as I said earlier, it's not all gender disappointment that is overwhelming me, it is the idea that we have one kid who we love, who we can handle, who we can keep relatively happy and keeps us blissfully happy and now we are bringing another soul into the house who will be a risk and a disruption to this seemingly delicate balance, and I won't even get to braid its hair and dress it in pink! Even in our modern society, this is still frowned upon.

But at the end of the day, I guess I have to say "Oh well, Bring it on!" because that is what is happening and it will all make sense. People have told me that you don't get the kids that you want, you get the kids that you need. I don't know what this means, exactly, but I know that it doesn't really matter. I do love and will continue to love all my children, current and possibly future (who knows...I hear 3 is the new 2.) I have one amazing son already and another amazing boy on the way, and this is what my family looks like. It may not have as much pink in it as I hoped, but it still looks pretty rosy.


Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Leaning Out

It's April (almost May) and I've been thinking about New Years Resolutions since, well, New Years. We had a busy start to our year. Cylas turned 2. We bought a new house and started prepping to sell the condo. And we got the great news that I was pregnant again. Bam! Knocked Up Part 2. It's a good thing too, since the new house will need people to sleep in the bedrooms. It seemed like I had my New Years resolution work cut out for me. Get the new house in shape, get my pregnant self in shape,  get Cylas' life/activities in shape, get my writing life in shape, basically, make our lives perfect. As always, easier said than done.

This pregnancy knocked me on my ass. If you remember, my pregnancy with Cylas was magical. I felt great. I looked great (remember my glow?) I had no strange cravings or aversions. I never threw up (well, once, maybe) and I worked my ass off, on my feet, producing a film, working my restaurant job, and living my amazing pre-parenting life. We traveled a little, we partied (safely, of course). We nested, and rested, and had an amazing 9 months. This time so far...not so much.

I'm 18ish weeks in and feeling it. Being a pregnant mom is much different than being a pregnant fabulous almost mom. That first time, you really only had yourself and that little bean you are growing and wondering and thinking (maybe obsessing) about to worry about. And, was it my imagination, or did people fall all over themselves to be helpful (and sometimes nosey) as soon as I started showing last time? At work, people lifted, carried, and excused any of my bad/lazy behaviors. People saved desserts for me and made sure my favorite snacks were readily available for me at the Craft Services table.

This pregnancy, my main companion is a very sweet, pleasant, always demanding two year old. He's a little less helpful. He never gets me my much needed snacks, rarely seems charmed by my need to sit down and rest, and seems positively devastated my lack of energy and ability to chase him around like I used to. We spent most of my first trimester in the apartment while I pretended to pack up for our move,  but mostly laid on the couch feeling utterly, miserably nauseous all day, while Cylas watched the same episode of Daniel Tiger (where Mom Tiger gets sick and lies on the couch while Daniel and Dad Tiger fix her lunch and let her rest) over and over and over again. I felt so guilty. Poor Cylas would crawl onto the couch next to me and say "Mama Sick?" and I would answer "Yes, Mama's sick so I can't chase/play with/take you to the park right now." He would nod, solemnly and watch the episode again while I would hate myself. After a few weeks, I got on a prescription medicine that helped a lot, all though, it made me super sleepy, but soon I was feeling better enough to at least handle outings, and the occasional play date.

We moved at the end of February with some help from good friends and family and Eric being a veritable super hero, painting the new house, moving all of our stuff, and doing the bulk of the unpacking as well, while I did my best not to throw up, and manage our toddler. But all of this has left very little room for my New Year's resolutions.

About a week before I peed on the little stick that told me I was pregnant with our second kid, I had lunch with two of my favorite lady writer friends. One is also a mom who writes and produces plays in her spare time and the other is finishing her master's degree in screen and TV writing at USC.  Both these ladies are extremely busy and extremely talented. We talked a lot about the concept of "leaning in." Well, actually, we talked more about the concept of "leaning out." How there are times in your life where you have to give yourself permission to lean out a little and not beat yourself up for not achieving everything on your to do list. Maybe you don't even have a to do list. Maybe you just need to lean out, look at your life and enjoy what you can with out a list of complicated intentions driving you forward and ultimately into the ground. At the time of this lunch, I was feeling good, it was early January and I did have a major list of intentions I wanted to set forth on for the year, but I also reveled in the notion of cutting myself some slack. I also get a little frustrated by the concept of "leaning in" as though it is always a choice you can make. In my experience trying to carve out a writing career, I'm not sure how to lean in anymore. I'm sure there is always more that I can be doing, and always more that I can be writing, but I have projects in development, I have meetings, I have a movie in the can, and the fellowship applications submitted yearly, and these things often feel a bit out of my hands at this point. I'm often waiting for people to buy, hire, and accept me and I'm not sure how to lean into that any further. So, as I was saying, the idea of leaning out, was appealing, and that was before this little parasite in my womb decided to exact his hormonal (yup, it's another boy...more on that in a future post) revenge upon my delicate system.

So for now, I'm embracing it. I'm leaning out people. I'm leaning way out! That means a lot of take out, a fair amount of TV (educational, of course) and a lot of quiet afternoons at home with Cylas. I'm still writing, and I still have an exciting project "in development" but I'm also not beating myself up over the fact that the new house is still not totally unpacked, not especially tidy, and that I'm not cooking a gourmet meal nightly (when did I ever manage that?) Cylas seems happy to have his mom back, albeit with a bigger belly and a little less energy, and doesn't seem to mind that he's had quesadillas and peanut butter sandwiches a lot lately. Actually, he's pretty thrilled about it. 

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Killin' It!

Tonight, as a mom, I killed it! Really, I was pretty much killing it all day long. It was awesome. This morning Cylas and I attended a sweet little Holiday party with my mom's group at which I brought home made peanut butter balls and home made gluten free/dairy free/sugar free cookies. Killed it! My treats were delicious, appreciated, and did I mention, home made? Cylas had fun. I had fun. There were very little tears (all his) and lots of laughs (both). It was great. We killed it.

However, I still managed to wake up from Cylas' nap (yes, you read that right. About twice a week, I co-nap with Cylas and it is wonderful!) a little grumpy. So was Cylas. Maybe we had too much sugar (or not enough) in the morning. No big deal. We rallied. We cuddled and read, and played and then I decided to make an awesome dinner.

Now dinner is tricky for me. I am endlessly impressed with people, like my mother and sister, who provide home cooked dinners for their families every night. I try. I make lists and buy groceries, but we, even as a team, have never managed more than 4 meals a week. I had one of those meal delivery systems for a while that sends you the ingredients and recipes for 3 meals a week. Those 6 weeks were my best streak, but I wasn't that impressed with the recipe selection so we stopped using them. Most nights, it is suddenly 6:30 pm. I haven't begun to cook (even if I had a meal planned) and so Cylas gets something (delicious and nurtious) that I throw together, then bath and bed by 8:30 and I stumble downstairs to heat up a microwavable Trader Joe's Indian food for myself. If Eric is home, then instead of TJ's he goes out and procures us Thai Food, or Burgers, or burritos.

Not tonight though! Tonight, I made dinner! Actually, I made an amazing dinner on Sunday night too, so it being only Tuesday and already having 2 home cooked dinners under my belt for the week is pretty impressive. Tonight, I baked chicken with a mustard sauce that I quickly whipped up from a Pinterest recipe and I also made broccoli fritters. I saw these on pinterest too, and they promised it was a great way to get your kids to eat the super food that is broccoli. Sometimes Cylas is a great eater, and sometimes he is not, but a cheesy broccoli fritter sounded delious to me too, so I dove in. All in all it took about 40 minutes. I steamed some broccoli while I dressed the chicken, then stuck the chicken in the oven. While the chicken baked I threw the broccoli, 2 eggs, gluten free breadcrumbs, and shredded cheese in my food processor. Then I pan fried them into litter fritters. I also microwaved some TJ's brown rice. Cylas watched the Sign Language TV show that he is obsessed with on Netflix. A few times he wandered into the kitchen and said "Mama nummy?" and I said "Yes, it is going to be nummy. I'm killing it."

I set the table for he and I (we were on our own tonight since Eric was working) and put our plates down. I cut his chicken into bite size pieces for him, gave him a good scoop of rice and 2 broccoli fritters that I made sure weren't too hot. He had his water cup, and I had mine. I turned off the tv, put on some music and we sat down to eat, he in his chair, and me in mine. It was 5:50 pm. I had a home cooked dinner on the table before 6:00 pm. I was killing it! Cylas took a nibble of his broccoli and pushed the chicken and rice around a little and then seemed to have a problem with his purple plastic knife (that he chose.) "Yellow!" he yelled. "Oh, you want a yellow knife? I'll get you one." I jumped up and went back to the kitchen. I didn't see one so I brought him a yellow fork and a yellow spoon. He was not impressed. He started to whine. I asked him if he wanted to try some of my broccoli fritter. He did not. He started to push his plate, then he tried to flip his plate and throw his fritter at me. I stopped him, and sternly told him that was not acceptable behavior. "You don't have to eat, but you can't throw your plate." He looked at me. I looked at him. A minute passed. His face slowly morphed from shock to a cheeky smile. I went back to eating. Then he wanted to get down, so I let him down. Then he wanted back up. So I put him back in the chair. It turned out that he did not want back up. This happens a lot. Then he wanted to sit in my lap and nurse. I told him he'd have to wait. So then he cried, and collapsed on the floor beside my chair. I continued to eat as calmly and slowly as I could while my small child wailed on the floor next to me. Then he stood and asked to sit in my lap. That sounds like "Mama Uppy?" So I lifted him into my lap explaining that he could sit with me but we weren't going to nurse until I had finished eating. He signed that he wanted to nurse (Thank you Signing Time) and I said "no." He pulled at my shirt and so I put him down. He fell on the floor, his cheek resting on the wood planks in full despair. I told him that I loved him, but he would have to wait to nurse until I was done eating my dinner. That he could eat with me, or sit with me, or play, but not nurse until I was done. He declined my offer and instead just lay on the floor and cried, occasionally stopping to laugh at the dog or look at one of his toy cars, and then he seemingly remembered the abandonment he felt and he would let out a wail and return his cheek to the floor. It was a pitiful sight and I considered abandoning my plate to console him. But I did not. I ate my dinner. I cleaned my plate. The whole thing took about 6 minutes. I'm a fast eater, even when I have someone to talk to, and there isn't someone screaming at me to stop eating and take care of their immediate need. I announced I was done and stood up. So did he. He clapped and yelled "Yay!" Then he ran to our large chair and patted the seat for me to come sit down. I did. He nursed. All was right with the World.

So he did not eat the amazing dinner I made for him. Not at all. And he screamed and cried his way through most of the dinner experience, but I still feel like I killed it. How is that possible, you might ask? Because I ate my dinner! I'm hoping that I showed him that he is not the boss of me. That, he is loved, and valued, but that other people (including his mother) have needs too. And that other people's needs are also important and should be valued.

After dinner we went for a walk in the neighborhood with the dog. Then we came home and he ate a little dinner, had a bath, and we rocked and read stories and he nursed and I put him in the crib and he went to sleep with very little incident. I didn't say no incident. There is never a night without incident. That's what it is to have a toddler, I guess. But all and all, what a killer day! And I tell you what. He's gonna see those broccoli fritters on his plate again tomorrow, whether he likes it or not. I'll try to make sure I find the yellow knife to cut them with.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Identity Crisis

When I first became a mother, my world changed instantly. Gone were the days of sleeping in, or staying out late. Gone were the days of getting out of the house quickly and running a few errands. At first, I didn't mind at all. There was nothing I would have rather done than stay at home and stare at the baby. I would wake up in the middle of the night to stare at the sleeping baby. It was my entertainment, my socializing, my food. Cylas was all I needed.

And then he got older, and Eric went back to work and I started reading FB pages that weren't baby focused and I remembered that there was a whole world out there. A world I used to live in. A world that was hard to get to between naps and bedtime and a baby that really didn't like being in his car seat.

Sometimes, being a mom is lonely.

And this seems crazy because now we really fill our days with a lot of activities. We have classes and parks and play dates with new mom/baby friends. I have a great group of women who have babies around Cylas' age who I spend a couple of afternoons a week with. We chit chat as the babies parallel play and we text each other questions about potty training, nap schedules and food advice. I know a lot about their opinions on cloth vs. disposable diapers, and how much and where their children sleep at night, but ultimately, I know very little about them. We don't talk about ourselves much. Well no, we do. We talk about ourselves in the context of our newish identity...MOM. Most of us are currently some variation of the traditional "stay at home mom." Meaning that none of us goes to a 9-5 5 days a week and has to leave the baby with a caretaker. We're the main caretaker. Taking care is the Full Time Job. So, these new friends are kind of like work friends. We met because we work at the same "stay at home mom" job and we mostly talk about work.

I also have a few dear friends who I knew before Cylas was born (if there was such a time) and we happened to have babies around the same time. We talk about the babies A LOT too. But because we don't need to go through all the background small talk of getting to know each other "before baby" it makes it easier to slip into conversation about other things. Politics maybe, or music or....who am I kidding, we mostly talk about our babies. Wouldn't you? Look how cute they are.

And it makes sense. I spend about 95% of my time thinking about Cylas, so it makes sense that I would spend the majority of my time conversing about him as well. When Eric and I do get a night away from Cylas, or after he goes down for the night, we find ourselves talking about him, comparing notes on the amazing things he did that day. After we've exhausted the subject, we collapse on the couch with only the energy to watch Fresh Off The Boat. I try to always remember to ask Eric how his day was, and I try not to fall asleep before he's told me.

But then, later, as I lie in bed, scanning FaceBook or Instagram, or attempting to read a (non child-rearing related) book, I start to think about all the things I didn't give myself time to think about...or talk about. And sometimes...I feel lonely. I look at the events that so many of my childless friends are posting about, and I feel a bit envious. They are traveling, working, acting, shopping, eating out, going to spin class, (ok, I'm not envious of spin class, I'm just envious of her know who you are.) Most of my days revolve solely around Cylas right now. He is lucky. I am lucky that I get to spend so much time with him. And then I feel guilty for being envious of spin class. SPIN CLASS?!? But then I remember that the first (and sometimes only) question anyone asked me that day was "how's Cylas" as though I didn't exist outside of him. As though, Cylas  were the most interesting thing about me. Or, maybe, the only interesting thing about me.

And of course, I know this isn't true. And they know this isn't true. Even though it sometimes feels like it is true. I think it is easy, once you become a parent, especially a mom, especially a stay at home mom, to feel like you've been handed, not only, a new little life to love and take care of, but also a brand new identity. And it replaces your old identity...entirely! I've talked about this before, I know. I think about it a lot. And for now, it's fine. I'm envious sometimes, and lonely sometimes, but mostly so deeply in love with my little Czar that I don't remember that I'm lonely or envious. And, to top it all off, I want ANOTHER BABY! I want one bad. So, I better get working on creating a new, blended identity that makes me feel good, but hopefully doesn't have to involve a spin class.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Good Night Sweet Prince

On January 31st, Cylas turned one. My little, tiny, baby is not a little tiny baby anymore. This has happened gradually and then all at once. On his birthday, he decided (using the help of a ride-a-long giraffe toy) to start walking around my parents' backyard. First words have been spoken, first steps are emanate. It's been an amazing year. Probably the best year of my life. But, let's be honest here, it's also been really fucking hard.

That being said, I am lucky (I think.) I got an "easy baby." Cylas is mellow, and sweet. He's healthy and robust.  As a newborn, he slept pretty well, rarely cried and nursed like a champ.  I didn't even mind getting up with him in the middle of the night and at a couple of months old he was sleeping through the night. In fact, I would set an alarm to wake myself up in the middle of the night to pump because Cylas would sleep right through his possible nursing sessions.

Then around 4 months old, Cylas changed his mind. He no longer wanted to sleep peacefully beside our bed in his cradle. He started waking up every hour needing to be nursed back to sleep. I moved him into our bed where he slept while latched on and nursing ALL NIGHT LONG. And for awhile, this worked. We both got some sleep, the operative word being SOME. You try sleeping while a tiny human lies attached to your boob all night. It was during this time that Cylas' naps became more problematic as well. Then at 6 months, when we started solid foods, Cylas stopped pooping. Not entirely, of course, but his poops became very infrequent, about once a week, and they were, how should I say...substantial when they did happen.

Before Cylas was born, I would have considered myself a baby expert. Not only did I have experience with other people's babies, but I also did a lot of reading while I was pregnant. A lot. I love to read, a pleasure I had to forgo while nursing Cylas to sleep several times a night, until I downloaded the Kindle app for my phone (game changer, people.) I read books about sleeping, I read books about eating, I read every mommy blog and mommy board on FB. I should have been an expert, right?

It turned out, I wasn't.

Becoming a mum has been a humbling experience to say the very least. I'm a capable and confident person. I am educated and sensitive to the needs of others. I have all the necessary qualities a successful mother needs, and yet I was plagued with such DOUBT. When he wouldn't sleep, I would lie there, desperate and sad, with an unquiet mind; my own terrible mantra circling through my brain..."failure, failure, failure." I was failing him. I couldn't get him to sleep for longer than 45 minutes without needing me to settle him back down. Oh and did I mention that he was only pooping once a week? I obsessed about that too, but mostly I thought about his sleeping. And I thought about my sleeping (which was naturally effected by his sleeping and visa-versa.) I thought, and I researched and I asked others and I cried (and I laughed sometimes, too) and I practiced that wicked mantra. This went on for months.

And that is not to say that our days have not been filled with music, and sunshine and giggles and one life changing, amazing, awesome, mind blowing experience after another.  I have been happier in this past year than I have ever been. Eric is happy. He is alive with his son in a way I've never seen him before. Our life feels more complete. Every moment of this past year has been so precious, I thought about investing in Google Glass so that I record it all. Especially, I wished I could have recorded Cylas as he fell asleep. I did my best to memorize every detail. It was only in those dark moments, when I was back in our room for the fourth time in a couple of hours, to nurse that boy back to sleep, and Eric was downstairs waiting for me, and I was hungry for my dinner and my back ached from holding a position that made it easier for him to nurse, that the doubt crept in.

And I'd love to say that it's all better now. It is much better. Cylas eventually seemed so uncomfortable sleeping next to me that we made the decision to move him into his own crib. He protested some, but within a day or two he was falling asleep by himself in his crib and sleeping for much longer stretches. I still go in and nurse him a couple times a night. Some nights, it's more than a couple, but we're both a lot happier, and sleeping much better. And a couple of weeks ago, I stopped taking my prenatal vitamin and Cylas started pooping again. My vitamin had too much iron in it for him. Some expert I am.

All and all, life is excellent. I have a loving and supportive partner, and the cutest, sweetest baby I could have hoped for. I only mentioned the DOUBT because I'm sure that I am not the only new mother to go through this. I'm not talking about postpartum depression, I'm just talking about doubt. I beat myself up about any and every problem that Cylas was having and then I beat myself up for beating myself up. Lately, I'm trying to be nicer to myself. I'm getting better at it every day. The sleeping helps. Supportive friends and family help, and Cylas' smile helps.

If I could change one thing about this last year with Cylas it would be the doubt. I would quiet my horrible mantra and just breath in the sweet fleeting moments of having a baby. He's one now. He survived, and so did we. He'll be walking soon, and he's getting a few new teeth. He weighs 20 lbs and when he nurses his legs spill out of my lap. I can't even remember what he felt like when he was 7 lbs and I could hold him with one arm. I wish I hadn't spent a single moment of that time feeling afraid or lost. But alas, I did. Because I'm human. And try as I might, I'm sure I'll feel lost and doubtful again and again as he grows. Oh well, I'm feeling pretty great at the moment. I should make a new mantra.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

The (New) Bo(u)rn(e) Identity

So the thing about being a new mum is that your days tend to get away from you. That's because they don't belong to you anymore...they now belong to the baby. And I can't speak for every new mum, but mostly, you don't mind. I will ignore every task I put on my to-do list if it means getting Baby C to smile and stop fussing. I have stopped mid dishes, mid cooking, mid texting, mid sentence to give him kisses, tickle his belly, and generally do his bidding. It's awesome. I don't care that my hair isn't washed (or brushed most of the time) that all of my clothes have to be "nursing convenient", or that I haven't been alone with Eric in 4 months. Last night, when the wee babe threw-up the entire contents of his stomach, milk that I spent a lot of energy producing and letting him drain from me for the past 30 minutes, all over me, I didn't miss my old, sexy, care free life at all. Honestly.

HOWEVER, finding time to write has been difficult, because it isn't even a task that I've been ignoring from my to-do list in order to illicit giggles from a 4 month old. I didn't even think about this blog post for the first 2 months of Cylas's life (that's his name, by the way.) I spent the first 2 months in recovery. That little nugget sure did a number on me getting here. I had an epic pregnancy. I felt better pregnant than I ever did before I was pregnant. I glowed like it was my job. Labor was another matter. I read, I prepared, I took classes, I visualized, I did yoga, I was ready to labor like a boss. A very calm, centered, serene, un-medicated boss. And I did remarkably well...for the first 48 hours of labor! But still, after 2 full days of powerful contractions only 4 to 5 minutes apart, Cylas was still not coming out, even though I called out to him, even though I did a headstand (with help) to aid him, even though I internally begged him, he remained bunkered down. Dare I say, stuck and restrained. We now know that his umbilical cord was very short and so he was tethered tightly to the placenta unable to descend down the birth canal, and he was caught behind my tailbone as well, which he fractured with his head as I finally pushed him out 68 hours into labor, then having transferred to the hospital, aided with a delicious epidural and a room full of supportive people. Cylas arrived, instantly peed on me, started nursing and fell asleep, just like I always wished...I just wished he hadn't broken my tail bone with his enormous head on his way out.

So four months later, with some physical therapy, and a lot of love and support from Eric and our family and friends, I am almost back to normal (at least I can walk again) and Cylas is a happy, healthy, adorable 16 lbs. This is my life now. Easy. E.A.S.Y. Baby Eats, Activity, Sleeps, and while he sleeps I have You time, (You time meaning Me time.) and that is when I write, right? Wrong. That is when I do the laundry, or clean the house, or just sit on the couch while the baby sleeps in my arms since that is his favorite way to nap, so that he can nurse on and off at his leisure for 2 hour stretches. I can't blame him. That sounds really nice. If someone would let me sleep in their arms while they fed me a milkshake through a straw and I didn't even have to open my eyes I would do it with a smile. Yes please and Thank you. Sounds good. So finding time to write is hard. But no one told me it wouldn't be. I always knew that would be a challenge I'd have to work out. I know with a looming deadline on my newest writing project, that I'll have to figure this problem out since my partners will not accept the excuse of "I just couldn't find the time" to write our next script.

So I now realize that I spent the last several years of my life figuring out how to become a mum (the short answer is "get knocked up", but we all know it's a lot more complicated than that.) Then the last 4 months have been about figuring out how to be a mum (a process that I will continue to negotiate for the rest of my life) and now I have to start thinking about how to be a writer, friend, wife, and full human again too?!?! A person who has wants and interests other than those of her 4 month old master.

I have a FWB who attended a Mommy and Me class shortly after the birth of her first baby. She recounted how the leader of the group asked the women to go around the circle and introduce themselves with their name, their baby's name and "what they used to do BEFORE they became a mommy." As though there was no identity now for them other than that of "Mother." Of course my friend rejected that and, in theory, I reject it too. But I also understand how it happens. In the exhausting marathon of mothering (a marathon that I am still in the first miles of, I know) it seems perfectly reasonable to abandon yourself in sake of the little one's needs. It actually seems like the easiest thing to do. That way, you don't feel like you're missing out and you don't have to beat yourself up about all the personal goals you are not accomplishing at every second, etc. You can surrender yourself to the little one. You are in baby-world and life is simple. E.A.S.Y even. What an awesome thing to get to do. Watch a baby figure stuff out. Change and grow. Cylas has changed so much just in 4 months, I can't imagine what the next 4 months are gonna be like. I'm so grateful that I've gotten to be a part of his changes with little distraction so far.  I think I could stay here for a lot longer if I didn't hear the call from my keyboard pulling me back, imploring me to tell the stories that will always be in my head. And there are deadlines that must be met and work that must be returned to and Cylas and I have to learn to live without each other 24 hours a day. It's sad, and wonderful. Heartbreaking, and a relief all at the same time. 

So basically, this is another long winded excuse for why I haven't blogged in so long. I've been doing other things. But I really do promise to keep writing if you enjoy reading them. And I also promise to move the blog up on my list of priorities because it's fun to write and makes people happy. And I think I've realized the most important significant thing I've ever learned and I'd love to share it with you now. I realized...Oh shit, I gotta go, the baby just woke up.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

38 Weeks Later

About 38 weeks ago,  I went to see two movies in the theatre in the same week. The first movie I saw was Before Midnight. The second movie I saw was Frances Ha. As I sat in the cool, dark theaters, watching the stories play out before me, I couldn't help but notice the humorous connection I was feeling to both of the films.

Frances Ha is about a struggling, somewhat lost, young woman in NYC trying desperately to find her footing in the cruel cruel competitive art scene/world. That was my entire 20's, in a nut shell. I was Frances. Impulsive, driven (but easily distracted) and utterly "un-dateable." My most significant relationship was with my best girlfriend from college, and I wanted to be an artist but was not very organized about actually going about it. I loved this movie, I was charmed by it, I felt nostalgic and filled with a bitter sweet melancholy as I watched the black and white version of New York. But I was relieved as well. Frances's life looked hard. She was homeless, poor and unemployed. I live in a nice condo in Sunny L.A. and have a job that pays all my bills and allows me to go see two movies in one week. I have artistic endeavors that are going well. My "Frances Ha" time is behind me.

On the other hand, Before Midnight is about a married couple with two young children who analyze every aspect of their marriage, sex life, child care and careers, as they drive, and stroll through some beautiful European countryside. I was feeling humorously connected to this film, not because it was in my past the way Frances Ha was, but because it was in my future…my immediate future. Because, earlier that week, that morning in fact, I had taken a pregnancy test. And it had been positive.

Now, you might be thinking, "Wait a minute! Weren't you single and looking for love and hanging out mostly with your dog and missing your ex boyfriend who you'd split with almost a year earlier because he had decided against having children???" Yes, you are correct. But what I didn't tell you was that the ex and I were still seeing each other (secretly, I guess) and we were coming to the decision that we wanted to make it work together.  I had talked it over at length with my therapist who told me it was OK that I wanted what I wanted. I just hadn't told any of my friends, because I was pretty sure they would tell me that I was making a mistake. Prolonging my heartache. And I was scared that they were right. But love is hard to ignore, and the heart wants what it wants and all that jazz.

So when the second pink line appeared on the test, I had mixed emotions. I was happy, and terrified, and slightly ashamed. I was happy because I wanted a baby, and I wanted it with Eric. I was terrified because I wasn't totally clear on what Eric wanted, and I was ashamed because I'd been keeping so many secrets, I was sure everyone would think I had been irresponsible and crazy and had concocted a plan to entrap Eric. But at the end of the day, happiness was the winner. Eric was totally on board, my family and friends were all delightfully supportive. It was an amazing twist of fate. And now, 38 weeks later, I am super pregnant with a baby boy (yet to be named) engaged to be married and very very happy about it all.

I've meant to write about all of this sooner, but my first trimester was spent on set filming my other "baby" Other People's Children (the feature film I wrote and produced and have been talking about for…YEARS!.) The second trimester was spent catching up on all of the things that I missed being too busy (and sick) during that first trimester and the third trimester has been spent mostly working and baby prepping. But luckily, I have had a delightfully easy pregnancy with no complications and relatively little discomfort. A friend referred to mine as an "epic pregnancy!" So, I'm hoping that will translate into an epic birth/epic baby/ epic parenting skills. So far, so good. Birthing Class is going well. The Breastfeeding 101 class we took last night was empowering, helpful and fun, and we got to watch a video with a lot of boobs and babies and who doesn't like looking at boobs? And babies? They're both so awesome. And I just watched a video of an elephant giving birth that was gross and amazing, and if she can do it, then, dammit, so can I! All is well.

However, on New Years day, when I woke up, exhausted from having worked late the night before (no partying for this Preggo) and Eric said to me that 2013 was one of the best years of his life, for a moment I felt totally confused. By his account of the year, he had done some soul searching, re-connected with some great guy friends, did several successful film projects, gotten back together with me, moved back in together, gotten engaged and was expecting a son. All good things.  So why was I still obsessing about the first third of the year when I was an alone and miserable mess? But upon reflection, I realized that he was right. I had also done a lot of soul searching, gone to therapy (always a good thing, I think) visited with friends, wrote, prepped and filmed my first feature, supported my sister through her pregnancy, reunited with the love of my life, gotten engaged, travelled, and grew a human. Not a bad year at all. And Jasper didn't seem surprised at all when Eric moved back in. I think he knew that was gonna happen all along. He's a pretty wise little dog.

 So now I try to look foreword instead of backward and to focus on all the fun and hard work we have ahead of us. And if I have any questions, I have a lot of friends with babies who I can call. In fact, I don't even need to call. The main thing I've noticed about being pregnant is that everyone (and I mean everyone) has something they want to tell you about it. Some "truth" they need to impart to you about your upcoming labor, delivery, and parenting future. Sometimes, these people are strangers in the Target that want to tell you what coco butter to buy. Sometimes they're your childless neighbor who wants to tell you what nipple cream you should get,  and how you should never, ever drink caffeine/sugar/honey/windex etc. And sometimes they're a gay guy you work with who's really concerned that you will regret your choice to labor without an epidural. And sometimes it's all your very close friends with helpful tips and hints and awesome hand-me-downs that save you from the overwhelming marketplace that is becoming a parent. And, as annoyed as I get by some suggestions ("don't drink that thing or your baby will definitely come out with a tail") I'm mostly grateful for all the help and support I received from friends and strangers alike.  And I know it's gonna be a piece of cake (insert winky face emoticon here)

I'm sure all of my friends with babies will have a few things to say about that.