I am hushed over the computer with my eyes practially bugging out--miracle of miracles-- both my newborn and toddler are actually asleep at the same time! So here is my opportunity to put some thoughts together, which has not been an easy thing to do since Baby Adrian was born six weeks ago.
Baby Adrian. My snuggle puppy (yep, that's a Sandra Boyton title) and my unexpected little boy. I was quite vocal during my pregnancy about wanting another girl and when asked about the possibility of she being a HE--since we chose not to find out at the ultrasound--I would crinkle up my nose and sigh. "I have no idea what to do with a boy" followed by a slight shudder. The other person might smile and say wisely "The same thing you would do with a girl" but I wasn't really listening. I was convinced I was a Girl Only Mommy.
With that last momentous push with all of my heart, soul and being, I heard the doctor say triumphantly "It's a boy!" and that was that. I knew it! I thought. For as much as I had resisted, by the end of my pregnancy I found myself referring to "it" as "he" and wondering why my belly was hanging so dang low--so different than my first pregnancy with Angelica. My subconscious had been warning me, trying to get me ready ahead of time. My baby was then whisked away to be cleaned and checked, and I just sat back in the bed, without much urgency to get right in there. Finally my husband walked over to sneak a peek. "What's he look like?" I asked tentatively. "He....has big, big eyes" (A little later in the recovery room we would laugh and say that the baby was a slightly feito, a "little" ugly in Spanish, but luckily I now chalk up that observation to the fact that he was still pretty squished and spotty from being born). Big eyes? I was curious. "Bring him over, I want to hold him." He was then placed on my chest and I was checking him out. He really looked like a he, no doubt about that, smack dab in his facial features. But there was still something endearing about him...
And that was the beginning of this love story.
A love story that took a few days to figure out the perfect name. We came to the hospital without one, and the options we pulled out of our "just in case" file weren't working. Alan? Nope. Elian? (Nope, that one was out when I tried it out on the delivery room nurse who pronounced it as "Alien"). Julian? The nurse wheeling me to the recovery room raved about how much she liked it, but still something didn't feel right. Then I remembered "Adrian". And my heart skipped a beat--he looked like an "Adrian". I then remembered my mom's comment to that name when I tried it out during pregnancy: "Aren't there more girl Adriennes?" and recalled that that had been why I had thrown out the idea at the time.
Skip ahead to the next day at the hospital. One of the pediatricians on-staff at the hospital walks in cheerfully and introduces herself and her assistant, Adrian. Adrian??? I can't see the other person yet. Is it a he Adrian or a she Adrienne? A tall and handsome he Adrian walks briskly behind the doctor. I smile. "Your name is Adrian? Do you like your name?" He replies that yes, in fact he does and always has. And then laughs about the Rocky association: "Adrieeeennnnne" (which does not deter me). I consider this my sign. I tell my husband. We agree on Emilio as a middle name, in honor of Rufino's paternal grandfather.
He has a name, and my heart opens even more to him. The days and nights pass slowly. He cries so much. He sleeps all day and we barely see his open eyes when it's not 12:30 AM. or 3:00. Or 5:30. I cry with sleep deprviation. My patience goes south with my sweet Angelica, and I feel torn in two different directions with two sets of Very Big Needs of my children. He wakes up and needs to be fed; she wakes up and needs my attention. Shortly afterward, he starts to fuss and then all out cry without consolation because he's tired. She watches me try to soothe him and then promptly loses it. Theres only so much a two year old can take when her mommy is loving on someone else. She melts down completely and demands to be held, crocodile tears streaming down her face. He screams, she screams. (We all scream--me inwardly--but not for ice cream). Eventually the storm clouds pass and he's sound asleep and she's playing in the living room, singing to herself, but not soon enough. Then there are the nights when deep down I know that I don't really like him very much. I resent that he and I are the only two people awake, together, again. But then out of the blue he lets me sleep a little longer, maybe 3 hours in a row, and I wake up completely enamored with him. Head over heels. He smiles at me--finally-- and I feel the shift. I open up a little more, and let him in. Adrian. My boy, wonder of wonders. What will I ever do with you?
I will love you. Patiently will I wait to get to know you. I will try not to lose my way as we maneuver down this path together, even as day by day I may feel stretched to the limit and sometimes like I'm letting you down. I'm not holding you enough, or singing or talking to you enough because I'm tired or Angelica needs me or quite frankly, sometimes I'm just not sure what to say to you. That guilt does grip me fiercely at times, Adrian. I can't give you all of me all of the time, and that hurts. But I promise that I will still be here, imperfectly, trying to scoot along and meet your needs as best as I can as we slowly come to get to know each other more and more. I'll be here. For you. You can bet on that.
And you, baby boy, may teach me things I never would known had you been born a girl. God love you for that.
Epilogue: The doorbell rings. Angelica startles awake and yells from her room. Baby wakes up and cries. In one split second chaos returns, and my moment of sweet reflection is shattered...but alas, these thoughts have remarkably still been pulled together and recorded! YAY!!!!!!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Waiting Game
I'm somewhere in the middle of two distinct realities. It's a strange place to be in: to know as surely as I know that night follows day, that life is about to change again from "before" to "after".
I knew this feeling when I was pregnant the first time. I knew that I'd draw a line in the sand and say this was the way it was. Back then. Before the baby arrived. And this is how it is now. That feeling is nothing new, except that I've somehow deceived myself into believing that since I've been through it once already, I somehow know the outcome this time as well.
Which is completely ridiculous. Life doesn't give you a plan book with details on circumstances with set outcomes, like a math formula or a verb conjugation (though I'd no doubt feel comfortable living life through those conjugations!) Life is best lived through faith and wonder, and I am clinging to both as I wait. There's nothing else that I can do. I tell everyone that I'm "in denial" about life after this pregnancy--even though in a previous post I chided pregnant women for not thinking past Labor Day to what life would be like with a newborn--I just can't seem to follow my own advice on this one. Guilty as charged. The only thing that seems real right now is where I am right now. I'm 38 + weeks pregnant with a nameless Baby #2 who is unidentified (to us!) by gender. I carry around this weight within me and feel all extremes between exhiliration to utter exhaustion. I feel a sweet sentimentality toward my precious Angelica, who at 2 1/2, is entering her final days as our Only Child. I want to stay in this in-between place just a little longer and savor the not knowing of what's to come.
I love hearing her proudly exclaim that she's going to be a big sister. And her laying her head on my belly to "listen" to the baby, or bringing her favorite musical stuffed dog to "sing"
to the baby. Or...the memory of us being in the middle of grocery shopping when she turned her gaze from my mid-section to my face, saying: "Mommy, your baby is getting really BIG!" They are precious moments to me.
Yet at the same time I continue to check every day off as one more day closer to Labor Day. And I can't quite keep my mind off of the subject for more than a minute at a time.
It's a strange place to be in, this hazy space between then and what's-not-quite-to-come. I know I will look back on it and say If I even had a clue of what this new reality would be like! But somehow I feel content in this place, sensing the change slowly coming in my own soul as this new life gets closer and closer to revealing itself to us and changing residence from my womb to my heart.
I knew this feeling when I was pregnant the first time. I knew that I'd draw a line in the sand and say this was the way it was. Back then. Before the baby arrived. And this is how it is now. That feeling is nothing new, except that I've somehow deceived myself into believing that since I've been through it once already, I somehow know the outcome this time as well.
Which is completely ridiculous. Life doesn't give you a plan book with details on circumstances with set outcomes, like a math formula or a verb conjugation (though I'd no doubt feel comfortable living life through those conjugations!) Life is best lived through faith and wonder, and I am clinging to both as I wait. There's nothing else that I can do. I tell everyone that I'm "in denial" about life after this pregnancy--even though in a previous post I chided pregnant women for not thinking past Labor Day to what life would be like with a newborn--I just can't seem to follow my own advice on this one. Guilty as charged. The only thing that seems real right now is where I am right now. I'm 38 + weeks pregnant with a nameless Baby #2 who is unidentified (to us!) by gender. I carry around this weight within me and feel all extremes between exhiliration to utter exhaustion. I feel a sweet sentimentality toward my precious Angelica, who at 2 1/2, is entering her final days as our Only Child. I want to stay in this in-between place just a little longer and savor the not knowing of what's to come.
I love hearing her proudly exclaim that she's going to be a big sister. And her laying her head on my belly to "listen" to the baby, or bringing her favorite musical stuffed dog to "sing"
to the baby. Or...the memory of us being in the middle of grocery shopping when she turned her gaze from my mid-section to my face, saying: "Mommy, your baby is getting really BIG!" They are precious moments to me.
Yet at the same time I continue to check every day off as one more day closer to Labor Day. And I can't quite keep my mind off of the subject for more than a minute at a time.
It's a strange place to be in, this hazy space between then and what's-not-quite-to-come. I know I will look back on it and say If I even had a clue of what this new reality would be like! But somehow I feel content in this place, sensing the change slowly coming in my own soul as this new life gets closer and closer to revealing itself to us and changing residence from my womb to my heart.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Why wait?
I am 100% part of Gen X, the generation of women who agonize over the "work/family" balance. We are sandwiched between two interesting generations. The ones that have gone before us--the baby boomers--were busy smashing down glass ceilings and proving their worth in the work place (sounds exhausting!). The ones that are coming of age now are being referred to as Generation Y or "the Millenium Generation". Apparantly, they are the confident ones who were brought up to 'question' everything. They won't be tied down to a job that is unfulfilling, and they see Gen X's preocupation with balance as superfluous. According to a USA Today article from back in 2005, Generation Y: They've arrived at work with a new attitude, they simply choose jobs with flexibility and seek out telecommuting options or working from home if children come on the scene.
Many of my peers have also sought such options. But I wonder if the difference between generation Y and X is that we Xers still have a tendency to feel a deeper sense of identity in our chosen work field and place of employment (apparantly the Yers feel that work is one of many facets of who they "are", not to be outdone by competing interests for their time: sports, organizations, hobbies, etc. Work will never be the isolated, main activity for them). We feel a loyalty to stay at the job, where it seems that the Yers are much more open to the idea that technology moves people around, and that can include changing jobs with relative frequency.
This all leads to the point of our angnst with "work/life balance". We were brought up to believe that we could have it all, that in fact we should go to college and pursue a career. At the same time we knew we wanted families, and just assumed they would fit in there sometime. Yet we scratched our heads in our twenties, wondering how the two were supposed to fit together in reasonable harmony? So we waited for kids. And a lot of us waited until our thirties to get started. And we still questioned ourselves constantly, wondering if we had made the right decisions. (It's amazing how many books you can find on this subject! I have a prominent one on my bookshelf, from my mid-twenties when I was already starting to think about such things called Mid-Life Crisis at 30 by Lia Macko and Kerri Rubin).
A little life experience can open a person up to just a tad bit of wisdom. After many years of waiting and wondering, I'm not in the thick of trying to live this "balance" thing. And what have I come away with? I now know that we can't and won't always "have it all" during life...that there are seasons for some things, and there are disappointments along the road, no matter the road chosen. Yet, as I've said before, there is also incredible joy to be found on the way, in places most unexpected. I still work, but I now have a different perspective and attitude. I now understand what the Y-ers seem to have intuited: work is good, work is fun, but it doesn't define who I am. It will never be the Main Thing. Priorities are now much more visible, from the meeting I walked out on half-way through because my 3-month old wouldn't take a bottle. I went home and nursed her, and that was that. I know that some colleages may look at me (one even said it) with a slight look of disdain--"You're pregnant AGAIN?!" but that's okay. Work is what I do; motherhood has had a huge part of stealing my heart.
Getting back to the generational thing. We still chose to wait before having kids. Here are some reasons:
1. It gave us time to settle down, eventually buy our condo, and know the natural rhythms of life together.
2. We traveled...a lot (although--always on the cheap!) We took trips to Italy, France, Canada, and Brazil, not to mention Mexico several times to visit my husband's family.
3. I got so much experience working that I started to get burned out, and realized that I wasn't cut out to be the type to put my energies into climbing up the latter. I was pretty "stagnant" (in terms of upward mobility) at the position where I was, and really, not all that upset about it.
4. I had "finished" a lot of things once Angelica did come a long. School, getting into the work routine, the marriage routine, etc. She didn't rock our world as much as she could have, had she shown up a few years before.
Yet, I can't help but wonder sometimes how things might have been different if we hadn't waited...so long. I'm now 32, and this pregnancy will most likely be my last. If I had started in my mid-twenties, would I now be pondering #3? Would I have had more physical stamina during pregnancies and the young baby-toddler years? My friend, who had #1 and #2 in her twenties, seeems to think so (for herself). She told me back then that she was so glad she had them when she did, so she could keep up with them physically. I know there's truth to that!
The point is, I can argue back and forth with myself about it in my head, or realize that honestly--when it all comes down to it--I don't really have the control I like to think I have in life. (Hence the disappointments and joyful surpises along the way). God gave us Angelica exactly when the time was right for her to be born; the same thing for Baby #2. I respect my generation for striving to be the best that we can be in all aspects all the time, but I also find peace in the knowledge that there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.
(Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Instead of trying to have it all, I think we Gen Xers can start to be content with giving it our all in each of life's seasons. Good enough.
Many of my peers have also sought such options. But I wonder if the difference between generation Y and X is that we Xers still have a tendency to feel a deeper sense of identity in our chosen work field and place of employment (apparantly the Yers feel that work is one of many facets of who they "are", not to be outdone by competing interests for their time: sports, organizations, hobbies, etc. Work will never be the isolated, main activity for them). We feel a loyalty to stay at the job, where it seems that the Yers are much more open to the idea that technology moves people around, and that can include changing jobs with relative frequency.
This all leads to the point of our angnst with "work/life balance". We were brought up to believe that we could have it all, that in fact we should go to college and pursue a career. At the same time we knew we wanted families, and just assumed they would fit in there sometime. Yet we scratched our heads in our twenties, wondering how the two were supposed to fit together in reasonable harmony? So we waited for kids. And a lot of us waited until our thirties to get started. And we still questioned ourselves constantly, wondering if we had made the right decisions. (It's amazing how many books you can find on this subject! I have a prominent one on my bookshelf, from my mid-twenties when I was already starting to think about such things called Mid-Life Crisis at 30 by Lia Macko and Kerri Rubin).
A little life experience can open a person up to just a tad bit of wisdom. After many years of waiting and wondering, I'm not in the thick of trying to live this "balance" thing. And what have I come away with? I now know that we can't and won't always "have it all" during life...that there are seasons for some things, and there are disappointments along the road, no matter the road chosen. Yet, as I've said before, there is also incredible joy to be found on the way, in places most unexpected. I still work, but I now have a different perspective and attitude. I now understand what the Y-ers seem to have intuited: work is good, work is fun, but it doesn't define who I am. It will never be the Main Thing. Priorities are now much more visible, from the meeting I walked out on half-way through because my 3-month old wouldn't take a bottle. I went home and nursed her, and that was that. I know that some colleages may look at me (one even said it) with a slight look of disdain--"You're pregnant AGAIN?!" but that's okay. Work is what I do; motherhood has had a huge part of stealing my heart.
Getting back to the generational thing. We still chose to wait before having kids. Here are some reasons:
1. It gave us time to settle down, eventually buy our condo, and know the natural rhythms of life together.
2. We traveled...a lot (although--always on the cheap!) We took trips to Italy, France, Canada, and Brazil, not to mention Mexico several times to visit my husband's family.
3. I got so much experience working that I started to get burned out, and realized that I wasn't cut out to be the type to put my energies into climbing up the latter. I was pretty "stagnant" (in terms of upward mobility) at the position where I was, and really, not all that upset about it.
4. I had "finished" a lot of things once Angelica did come a long. School, getting into the work routine, the marriage routine, etc. She didn't rock our world as much as she could have, had she shown up a few years before.
Yet, I can't help but wonder sometimes how things might have been different if we hadn't waited...so long. I'm now 32, and this pregnancy will most likely be my last. If I had started in my mid-twenties, would I now be pondering #3? Would I have had more physical stamina during pregnancies and the young baby-toddler years? My friend, who had #1 and #2 in her twenties, seeems to think so (for herself). She told me back then that she was so glad she had them when she did, so she could keep up with them physically. I know there's truth to that!
The point is, I can argue back and forth with myself about it in my head, or realize that honestly--when it all comes down to it--I don't really have the control I like to think I have in life. (Hence the disappointments and joyful surpises along the way). God gave us Angelica exactly when the time was right for her to be born; the same thing for Baby #2. I respect my generation for striving to be the best that we can be in all aspects all the time, but I also find peace in the knowledge that there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.
(Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Instead of trying to have it all, I think we Gen Xers can start to be content with giving it our all in each of life's seasons. Good enough.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Don't lose the forest for the [tall and view-blocking] trees
Lately I've been thinking about all of those times over the years when I've been told that these are the best years of your life! As far as I can remember, it started in high school, but when I heard it then I just wanted to puke. If those were my best years then life was some kind of cruel comedy-tradgedy in my book. I was shy, alone, and in my own head during most of high school. Were there good moments? Yeah, of course. They just generally happened far from those front doors. Then I heard it again during college. Of course during those years I was preocupied with getting transportation to be able to get around the small Texas towns I lived in, or writing papers, or dealing with boyfriend drama. But generally, I think I knew even then that those years were pretty special. I finally broke out of my shell, started my love of traveling, and just generally had a good time with some really good friends. College was good, but I wasn't satisfied. I was always looking ahead--where would I go next? What cool job would I get? Who would I marry and wouldn't it be awesome to finally live as a completely independent adult on my own?
I did graduate, travel, have an interesting job and go to grad school. And marry and start "adult life". The next time I heard that these are the best years of your life was after we had Angelica. Having young children at home was, in the opinion of those preaching, IT. (Ironically, those were also the people who didn't have young children at home anymore). One part of me screamed inwardly, "How can this be it? Do you have any idea of what I've given up for this? My life is a sacrifice for this little person, and every day from morning to night, she comes first. Not me. My dreams and plans are still there, but fuzzy and in the backlight of my daily reality. Do you understand that?"
And then I stumbled upon a blog last week based on an article from last summer out of New York Magazine, titled I love my children, I hate my life by Jennifer Senior. Tell that to the people preaching! I wouldn't go as far as to say I hate my life, but I have been tempted to hang poster-board sized "affirmations" in every room of my house and in my office at school with the message This Is Worth It on every one. Because day-to-day life is work. And I want to venture to say that it doesn't matter what balance of outside work, home life and children a mom carries--it is always a sacrifice and many days a struggle. And during those moments of frustration, our "best selves" get buried and we lose focus. The forest is lost for the trees (the kind that rise tall and don't leave room to see beyond them).
We (okay let me go back to the first person singular) I hash things out on my husband. I end it all with the statement "I feel like I'm always complaining". He replies: "You are always complaining" and quickly tries to turn it into a joke as my eyes widen and my jaw sets in them-are-fighting-words stance: "Well, I'm like your complaint department. That's what I'm here for". Really? Has it come to that? These are the best days of your life play again in my head and taunt me. I want to be better, do better at this. When did I turn my husband into my complaint department?
Deep down inside, I know that these really are the best days and I want to live them at my best. I think the best days are the ones you are totally present in, the ones you instinctively feel their precious value even when the trees are threatening to choke you all around. Angelica teaches me this over and over, day after day. When I am exhausted and cranky, distracted and dissatisfied, she pulls me back into the now. Sometimes she does it literally, pulling my face close to hers and staring intently with her big brown eyes into mine. She does it with an emotional intelligence that takes my breath away. One day recently after running some errands, I realized that we had left behind her favorite book and that I had no idea where it was. I was devestated because this was no ordinary book--she slept with it and took it everywhere with her. So I told her that mommy had made an oops, and I confessed, I shed a few tears (dang pregnancy hormones). She gave me that look of wisdom beyond her years and she asked "Mommy, are you sad?" As I blubbered and nodded, she calmly reached for a library book of the same series (which she had shown no previous interest in) and started leafing through it. She continued asking me if I was sad until I finally relented, realizing that she was teaching me something. She said "It's okay, Mommy" and never asked for the book after that (although I admit that I went and found a replacement the next week, as soon as I could, and it has returned to being one of her favorites again).
My two-year old felt empathy? I think she did. And that's just one example of why I live each day with its monotony of meal preparation or constant toy pick-up or running here-and-running there, and fitting work into it all with sparks of wonder. The sparks of wonder tell me that this really is IT. If I need to hang signs up all over my house and beyond as reminders when the trees get too tall, fine.
Isn't it an irony of life that the most difficult things are often what end up bringing the most joy? The sacrifices made, the plans deferred bring us to a new and more vibrant NOW that we never would have imagined of know had we stayed the course we once thought we had chosen. Well that's what has happened to me. I was the girl who said "Kids? Nah...not now..and not for a LONG time". I was never the one who dreamed of mommyhood as a young woman. Yet, here I am in the midst of balancing my life as mommy and wife and teacher and so on...and in spite of the madness of it all I find these brillant colors that only being a mommy can bring. And I want to hold on to these days because there are these moments that I never, ever want to forget. And to think, I could have missed out on all of this!
And of course, as we all know, these things that bring joy in spite of great sacrifice...well, they are never things.
I did graduate, travel, have an interesting job and go to grad school. And marry and start "adult life". The next time I heard that these are the best years of your life was after we had Angelica. Having young children at home was, in the opinion of those preaching, IT. (Ironically, those were also the people who didn't have young children at home anymore). One part of me screamed inwardly, "How can this be it? Do you have any idea of what I've given up for this? My life is a sacrifice for this little person, and every day from morning to night, she comes first. Not me. My dreams and plans are still there, but fuzzy and in the backlight of my daily reality. Do you understand that?"
And then I stumbled upon a blog last week based on an article from last summer out of New York Magazine, titled I love my children, I hate my life by Jennifer Senior. Tell that to the people preaching! I wouldn't go as far as to say I hate my life, but I have been tempted to hang poster-board sized "affirmations" in every room of my house and in my office at school with the message This Is Worth It on every one. Because day-to-day life is work. And I want to venture to say that it doesn't matter what balance of outside work, home life and children a mom carries--it is always a sacrifice and many days a struggle. And during those moments of frustration, our "best selves" get buried and we lose focus. The forest is lost for the trees (the kind that rise tall and don't leave room to see beyond them).
We (okay let me go back to the first person singular) I hash things out on my husband. I end it all with the statement "I feel like I'm always complaining". He replies: "You are always complaining" and quickly tries to turn it into a joke as my eyes widen and my jaw sets in them-are-fighting-words stance: "Well, I'm like your complaint department. That's what I'm here for". Really? Has it come to that? These are the best days of your life play again in my head and taunt me. I want to be better, do better at this. When did I turn my husband into my complaint department?
Deep down inside, I know that these really are the best days and I want to live them at my best. I think the best days are the ones you are totally present in, the ones you instinctively feel their precious value even when the trees are threatening to choke you all around. Angelica teaches me this over and over, day after day. When I am exhausted and cranky, distracted and dissatisfied, she pulls me back into the now. Sometimes she does it literally, pulling my face close to hers and staring intently with her big brown eyes into mine. She does it with an emotional intelligence that takes my breath away. One day recently after running some errands, I realized that we had left behind her favorite book and that I had no idea where it was. I was devestated because this was no ordinary book--she slept with it and took it everywhere with her. So I told her that mommy had made an oops, and I confessed, I shed a few tears (dang pregnancy hormones). She gave me that look of wisdom beyond her years and she asked "Mommy, are you sad?" As I blubbered and nodded, she calmly reached for a library book of the same series (which she had shown no previous interest in) and started leafing through it. She continued asking me if I was sad until I finally relented, realizing that she was teaching me something. She said "It's okay, Mommy" and never asked for the book after that (although I admit that I went and found a replacement the next week, as soon as I could, and it has returned to being one of her favorites again).
My two-year old felt empathy? I think she did. And that's just one example of why I live each day with its monotony of meal preparation or constant toy pick-up or running here-and-running there, and fitting work into it all with sparks of wonder. The sparks of wonder tell me that this really is IT. If I need to hang signs up all over my house and beyond as reminders when the trees get too tall, fine.
Isn't it an irony of life that the most difficult things are often what end up bringing the most joy? The sacrifices made, the plans deferred bring us to a new and more vibrant NOW that we never would have imagined of know had we stayed the course we once thought we had chosen. Well that's what has happened to me. I was the girl who said "Kids? Nah...not now..and not for a LONG time". I was never the one who dreamed of mommyhood as a young woman. Yet, here I am in the midst of balancing my life as mommy and wife and teacher and so on...and in spite of the madness of it all I find these brillant colors that only being a mommy can bring. And I want to hold on to these days because there are these moments that I never, ever want to forget. And to think, I could have missed out on all of this!
And of course, as we all know, these things that bring joy in spite of great sacrifice...well, they are never things.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
family
My husband is my family. My child is my family, and so is the one that's not been born. The one not even known yet, but for kicks and squirms that feel more like ping-pong balls rolling around in my belly. But so are my parents. His parents. Our grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, their spouses--they're family, too. We're supposed to be adults and not "need" our "extended" families. At least, somehow we get this idea from something ingrained in our society. Mexican society treats the idea of "extended" family more as how we would view the nuclear family, in many aspects. Kids move out of the house much older. Sick members or newlyweds can come and stay as long as they need to get their feet back on the ground. Family gatherings are long, frequent, expected.
My husband and daughter have been out of town for over a week...hubby went to visit his parents and relatives in Mexico and took Angelica along. I stayed behind really, isn't it every frazzled parent's dream? To have a few days awaaaay from the 24/7 chaos of family-with-a-small-child life?
Yes, it's been nice to have a "break", but I've spent most of my days outside of the house, since it's honestly a little too painful at times to have all of this silence wrapping around me in a place where Angelica's laughter bounces off the walls and the pitter-patter of her feet up and down the hall, along with shrieks of happiness normally abide.
And yet the stories of Mexico crack me up, as I realize that the bonds being nourished with her other side of the family are building blocks, helping to fully form who she is. She chats with her grandparents in English on Skype as she sings "Abuelito dime tú..." everytime she sees my father-in-law, a refrain from a popular children's song from Mexico: "Grandpa tell it to me..." which he replies "Angélica dime tú" (Angelica, YOU tell it to me). I would have never believed a two-year-old could tease, but they tell me that when she sees her aunt Magos (short for Margarita) she throws up her hands and says "Hola, tía MANOS" (manos=hands) instead of Magos, yet refers to her "correctly" when she's out of earshot. She chatters away about the chickens she's been feeding and the towers she's made of tierra. She impresses the neighbor children--older than her--as she "reads" to them in Spanish out of her beloved picture books, repeating the words that's she's heard her daddy pronounce over and over, knowing where they go by recognizing the images that correspond on each page. I marvel at her ability to blend right into this "other" culture.
But back to the empty house. I remind myself that they're with family. I pause and think--who is family? People have asked me this week when my family is coming home, and I must admit to feeling confusion at first--my mind would go to my parents and I would think Mom and Dad aren't out of town....oh yeah, they must mean Rufino and Angelica! It is embarrassing to admit, but I DO admit I have this fuzziness about family. Everyone else infers the obvious--my family is my husband and child--and I realize that this true. Yet, I still feel strongly attached to my "family of origin", as I know Rufino does, too--we spend a lot of resources in order to get him connected and able to visit his parents as often as possible, given the circumstances of being in two different countries.
When did becoming an independent adult translate into not needing the support and nearness of our parents and/or other significant "extended" family members anymore? Nothing like becoming a parent has shoved me into the world of "independence" and "adulthood". But I relish the times my daughter spends with her grandparents both near and far. I love going to my parents' house and having dinner together or just being together. Many times, quite frankly, I feel that I need it. I need them--their presence, their support.
Can I be both independent and dependent? An adult and also an adult child? A loving parent who needs desperately to be nurtured at the same time?
My family is coming home in two days, and I couldn't be happier in the anticipation to have them back. Yet I also am incredibly grateful that they could spend time with family. His family. Who is now her family as well.
I think the answer to my questions is YES. I believe that a family can function as a circle, one to wrap its loving arms around its members at different stages of life, one to support and form life at a young age, and strengthen those who belong to it. Its arc is then completed when we remember to return once and again with those who helped shape who we are.
My husband and daughter have been out of town for over a week...hubby went to visit his parents and relatives in Mexico and took Angelica along. I stayed behind really, isn't it every frazzled parent's dream? To have a few days awaaaay from the 24/7 chaos of family-with-a-small-child life?
Yes, it's been nice to have a "break", but I've spent most of my days outside of the house, since it's honestly a little too painful at times to have all of this silence wrapping around me in a place where Angelica's laughter bounces off the walls and the pitter-patter of her feet up and down the hall, along with shrieks of happiness normally abide.
And yet the stories of Mexico crack me up, as I realize that the bonds being nourished with her other side of the family are building blocks, helping to fully form who she is. She chats with her grandparents in English on Skype as she sings "Abuelito dime tú..." everytime she sees my father-in-law, a refrain from a popular children's song from Mexico: "Grandpa tell it to me..." which he replies "Angélica dime tú" (Angelica, YOU tell it to me). I would have never believed a two-year-old could tease, but they tell me that when she sees her aunt Magos (short for Margarita) she throws up her hands and says "Hola, tía MANOS" (manos=hands) instead of Magos, yet refers to her "correctly" when she's out of earshot. She chatters away about the chickens she's been feeding and the towers she's made of tierra. She impresses the neighbor children--older than her--as she "reads" to them in Spanish out of her beloved picture books, repeating the words that's she's heard her daddy pronounce over and over, knowing where they go by recognizing the images that correspond on each page. I marvel at her ability to blend right into this "other" culture.
But back to the empty house. I remind myself that they're with family. I pause and think--who is family? People have asked me this week when my family is coming home, and I must admit to feeling confusion at first--my mind would go to my parents and I would think Mom and Dad aren't out of town....oh yeah, they must mean Rufino and Angelica! It is embarrassing to admit, but I DO admit I have this fuzziness about family. Everyone else infers the obvious--my family is my husband and child--and I realize that this true. Yet, I still feel strongly attached to my "family of origin", as I know Rufino does, too--we spend a lot of resources in order to get him connected and able to visit his parents as often as possible, given the circumstances of being in two different countries.
When did becoming an independent adult translate into not needing the support and nearness of our parents and/or other significant "extended" family members anymore? Nothing like becoming a parent has shoved me into the world of "independence" and "adulthood". But I relish the times my daughter spends with her grandparents both near and far. I love going to my parents' house and having dinner together or just being together. Many times, quite frankly, I feel that I need it. I need them--their presence, their support.
Can I be both independent and dependent? An adult and also an adult child? A loving parent who needs desperately to be nurtured at the same time?
My family is coming home in two days, and I couldn't be happier in the anticipation to have them back. Yet I also am incredibly grateful that they could spend time with family. His family. Who is now her family as well.
I think the answer to my questions is YES. I believe that a family can function as a circle, one to wrap its loving arms around its members at different stages of life, one to support and form life at a young age, and strengthen those who belong to it. Its arc is then completed when we remember to return once and again with those who helped shape who we are.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
In the meantime
The thing with being a parent is that as soon as you have one area under control, another challenge rises up from the deep and threatens to take all of your sanity with it, and while you step from the once comfortable path toward an unknown new direction it seems that you find yourself in the meantime...
Last week we started potty-training. "We" was really me, and I think that's the heart of the problem. It wasn't a problem at the beginning; no, it was more like the perfect solution for the circumstances--being that my friend with twins, who is also a teacher, brought up the fact that all three toddlers would be well-served by knowing how to use the toilet before school starts in August. And on my end, there was the other slightly pressing detail of my pregnancy, and the fact that I was determined to grit my teeth and get this done before baby #2 comes along in December. So I took Angelica to my friend's house for a little potty-training boot camp. Spend a couple days with the twins, everyone watching each other drink lots of juice and sit on the potty at intervals, and then some tasty treats (read: chocolate) for continual motivation. The first morning seemed like a success--Angelica, along with the twins, peed in their potties and all was well. All was well until she "held it" for about five hours after that, and in utter defeat, I had to put a diaper on her and take my melting-down-haven't-had-a-nap toddler to the car.
In the meantime I stressed and exploded inwardly. Was I not teaching her what she needed to do? She's smart enough--why won't she just do it? I felt like a failure because she wouldn't comply. I still do, to be perfectly honest. I compared this challenge to my previous weaning escapade, laughing that the previous one was emotional and that this was just physical run-around. But I stopped laughing when I realize how wounded I've been feeling. This is also emotional. It's so emotionally draining that I am exhausted by the effort of wondering what I could be doing better to make this work.
But that's the thing. You've never seen someone more dedicated to the cause. My friend and I call each other, speaking in tones of anguish as one of her twins regresses and Angelica seems to not progress. We tote the potties with us the library and the park--Angelica stark naked, just sitting on her potty in broad daylight--as the park employee and teenage girls on bikes pass by try not to stare. And I die inwardly of embarrassment but press on...and I'm thankful that I can lean on my friend for support since she knows exactly what this feels like.
In the meantime, I keep hearing that this will happen on its own time, that she will show me when she's ready. I believe it, but I also hold on to the pride of accomplishment--this is a parenting task I want to cross of of the list of things to do--I want some control in this, or at least to demonstrate some leadership. I want to show the world something palpable that I've done in the hopes of proving that I'm doing a good job. Still looking for that outside approval, I suppose. And of course, I want it done before school starts and the baby comes and life becomes that much more chaotic. So I don't think my motives are all that bad...
Right now we are neither here nor there. We are in the middle--not in diapers but not out of them, exactly. Everyday has its hopes and disappointments and so I ask--what do I do in the meantime? I write about it because I don't want to someday forget that this was a struggle. In our pre-child days, we measure our actions by accomplishments. As parents, we learn that sometimes just giving it you best effort--one more day--is the best you can do.
In the meantime, maybe we'll try pull-ups...
Last week we started potty-training. "We" was really me, and I think that's the heart of the problem. It wasn't a problem at the beginning; no, it was more like the perfect solution for the circumstances--being that my friend with twins, who is also a teacher, brought up the fact that all three toddlers would be well-served by knowing how to use the toilet before school starts in August. And on my end, there was the other slightly pressing detail of my pregnancy, and the fact that I was determined to grit my teeth and get this done before baby #2 comes along in December. So I took Angelica to my friend's house for a little potty-training boot camp. Spend a couple days with the twins, everyone watching each other drink lots of juice and sit on the potty at intervals, and then some tasty treats (read: chocolate) for continual motivation. The first morning seemed like a success--Angelica, along with the twins, peed in their potties and all was well. All was well until she "held it" for about five hours after that, and in utter defeat, I had to put a diaper on her and take my melting-down-haven't-had-a-nap toddler to the car.
In the meantime I stressed and exploded inwardly. Was I not teaching her what she needed to do? She's smart enough--why won't she just do it? I felt like a failure because she wouldn't comply. I still do, to be perfectly honest. I compared this challenge to my previous weaning escapade, laughing that the previous one was emotional and that this was just physical run-around. But I stopped laughing when I realize how wounded I've been feeling. This is also emotional. It's so emotionally draining that I am exhausted by the effort of wondering what I could be doing better to make this work.
But that's the thing. You've never seen someone more dedicated to the cause. My friend and I call each other, speaking in tones of anguish as one of her twins regresses and Angelica seems to not progress. We tote the potties with us the library and the park--Angelica stark naked, just sitting on her potty in broad daylight--as the park employee and teenage girls on bikes pass by try not to stare. And I die inwardly of embarrassment but press on...and I'm thankful that I can lean on my friend for support since she knows exactly what this feels like.
In the meantime, I keep hearing that this will happen on its own time, that she will show me when she's ready. I believe it, but I also hold on to the pride of accomplishment--this is a parenting task I want to cross of of the list of things to do--I want some control in this, or at least to demonstrate some leadership. I want to show the world something palpable that I've done in the hopes of proving that I'm doing a good job. Still looking for that outside approval, I suppose. And of course, I want it done before school starts and the baby comes and life becomes that much more chaotic. So I don't think my motives are all that bad...
Right now we are neither here nor there. We are in the middle--not in diapers but not out of them, exactly. Everyday has its hopes and disappointments and so I ask--what do I do in the meantime? I write about it because I don't want to someday forget that this was a struggle. In our pre-child days, we measure our actions by accomplishments. As parents, we learn that sometimes just giving it you best effort--one more day--is the best you can do.
In the meantime, maybe we'll try pull-ups...
Friday, July 2, 2010
Words, words, words
Thoughts that keep coming back to me lately, words of "wisdom" for me:
1) When you give a gift, don't expect anything back, including an expression of thanks. This also includes "gifts" of encouragement or just a nice e-mail. If it comes back to you, all the better. If it does not, and you expected it to, what was the value of the gift, anyway? This is a hard one for me but it's important.
2) "Not everything that's true needs to be said". Thanks, Lanita for that one....it's goes against every fiber in my being to keep some things "unsaid" but if I'd live by this one, I'd live much more peacefully with others, I think...
3) "You weren't around when you were young". This one comes from Dad. As in, you don't remember the junk that you did when you were that age. But oh yes, we do...
4) "I need help". Interestingly, this came from the book How to Raise Totally Awesome Kids by Chuck and Jenni Borsellino. I'm realizing more and more how hard it is for me to reach out and admit that as a pregnant mother of a toddler, I am overwhelmed and need help. Emotionally and physically, but I do no one a great service by trying to carry the burden alone. I will seek out more help.
5) Keep it real. In relationships, I hide from the "messy" stuff because it hurts to deal with it. But the more I am open with my feelings, the more I feel accepting of the differences I ineveitably will have at times with others.
6) "What's said during jury duty, stays at jury duty". Thanks, judge for that one. I guess that goes along with #2, so if I'm called in again for a nice juicy case, I will have a tough time with #6 as well. *Sigh*
7) It's okay to find your own rhythm. Taken from Angelica and her Kindermusik teacher, Miss Cindy. Stand when other sit, tap the floor when others tap the drum. Do what you must, but be true to your heart's dictation.
Happy fourth of July weekend!
1) When you give a gift, don't expect anything back, including an expression of thanks. This also includes "gifts" of encouragement or just a nice e-mail. If it comes back to you, all the better. If it does not, and you expected it to, what was the value of the gift, anyway? This is a hard one for me but it's important.
2) "Not everything that's true needs to be said". Thanks, Lanita for that one....it's goes against every fiber in my being to keep some things "unsaid" but if I'd live by this one, I'd live much more peacefully with others, I think...
3) "You weren't around when you were young". This one comes from Dad. As in, you don't remember the junk that you did when you were that age. But oh yes, we do...
4) "I need help". Interestingly, this came from the book How to Raise Totally Awesome Kids by Chuck and Jenni Borsellino. I'm realizing more and more how hard it is for me to reach out and admit that as a pregnant mother of a toddler, I am overwhelmed and need help. Emotionally and physically, but I do no one a great service by trying to carry the burden alone. I will seek out more help.
5) Keep it real. In relationships, I hide from the "messy" stuff because it hurts to deal with it. But the more I am open with my feelings, the more I feel accepting of the differences I ineveitably will have at times with others.
6) "What's said during jury duty, stays at jury duty". Thanks, judge for that one. I guess that goes along with #2, so if I'm called in again for a nice juicy case, I will have a tough time with #6 as well. *Sigh*
7) It's okay to find your own rhythm. Taken from Angelica and her Kindermusik teacher, Miss Cindy. Stand when other sit, tap the floor when others tap the drum. Do what you must, but be true to your heart's dictation.
Happy fourth of July weekend!
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