Baby Lust— Or Not

I used to always think that I would probably have two kids. Two parents and two kids seemed like the “perfect” family unit, balanced and lively yet manageable, without necessarily requiring the purchase of a minivan. I grew up with a sister, and although we fought a lot (we are a year and a half apart, and many of our spats ended in fear-inspiring threats like, “You can’t wear any of my clothes anymore, ever!”), we also had lots of fun together.  We understand each other on an intrinsic level because we grew up in the same environment under the care of the same people.  Being an only child always seemed so… lonely. Only children might grow up to be more… self-centered, or demanding, or possessive of their things. Well, even if these aren’t true (in fact, siblings might feel more of a need to establish their personal territory), I still always felt that two was better than one.

But now that I’m the parent of a toddler, I see things a little differently. It’s true that I still see families of four (or five- but five’s the limit) eating crepes, drinking coffee, and reading the paper and picture books together on Sunday mornings at the café, and think how great that would be to be able to go on family outings someday where everyone will be entertained. But then, during the week, I see mothers pushing their toddlers in a stroller, while also carrying a baby in an Ergo and walking the family dog, and I feel a kind of empathy for them. Or is it pity, born of thankfulness that, no matter how tired I am, at least I’m not them? I’m sure that they treasure their family and that this may very well be the cozy family unit that they’ve always dreamt of, and yet, no one can deny that these full-time mothers shoulder a heavy load.

Mostly, I have embraced my initiation into motherhood over this last year and a half, and I have been grateful for my ability to stay at home with Cedar while he is so young. And yet. I have also acutely missed my loss of time—namely, to write and pursue my career. Because so much of the work that is involved in being a writer is unpaid, we cannot afford to hire a regular sitter so that I can go sit in a café and write. Instead, I depend on the two afternoons a week of childcare that my mom provides, or my weekend morning respites care of my husband—and inevitably, half of “my” time also gets funneled into the mound of dishes, laundry, emails, or chores that I haven’t been able to get done while I’m with Cedar.

Recently, as my son has grown older, I’ve slowly started to claim back little pockets of time to write, not to mention to begin to consider pursuits like teaching and publishing again. And despite what can feel like painstakingly sloooww progress, chipping away at a long list of goals, it has also been hugely satisfying to begin to inhabit the larger spectrum of my creative and professional identity again, even as I remain a “stay-at-home” mom. Don’t get me wrong, I have only the fullest respect for stay-at-home moms—I know how hard they work (for no pay, for often under-expressed thanks from their partners, and for a sliver of respect from society), and I also know what a joy this occupation can be. But I resent feeling like I am “just” a stay-at-home mom in the eyes of others, I resent the distinct ‘demotion’ that this role occupies in our society, and the way that it’s demands usurp all other aspects of my identity.

And so of course I am excited for each new stage of independence that my son moves into—whether this was his ability to be away from the breast for longer periods, or, his ability to go to preschool for several mornings a week in the not-so-distant-future, during which I can dive into my projects all the more. Even if we’ll have to find the money for these additional school hours, this spending will feel more ‘justified’ since it’s good for Cedar to be exposed to other children and creative environments. This investment will be “for Cedar” and not just me, even if I will reap just as much—if not more-- satisfaction out of this new routine.

So with this new phase of motherhood on the horizon, it’s hard for me to feel eager to get pregnant again and to plunge all over again into that altered, caring-for-a-newborn state of mind-- only this time with a toddler to chase after simultaneously. If I’m so tired and desperate for more time with just one, how on earth will I be able to do anything else but care for my children if I have two? Of course, I realize that eventually when they go to school you gain some of your time back. But I don’t think I can handle waiting the four or five more years that that it would take (if say, I got pregnant today) to come back to the state of equilibrium that I’m only just reclaiming now.

Right now, I’m thinking that having just one might be good enough. He can play with his neighbors, cousins, and friends. He can be assured of always having plenty of attention from mom and dad. And he can more easily be schlepped off to the grandparents or brought with us on airplanes when mom and dad regain their ability to go out more and travel (even if this feels like a distant fantasy). Also, having just one will help my husband and I regain some of our own time together, something we desperately need, as opposed to taking away even more.

Maybe if we were rich, some of these factors wouldn’t be quite so relevant. We could hire a nanny, go on regular date nights, both feel intellectually engaged by our work, and still have energy left over to shower on our kids. But we aren’t rich, and when one half of the family income comes from a writer, we probably never will be. So although a lack of money alone wouldn’t stop me from having another kid if I wanted one at all costs, in our case, it’s definitely a factor worth considering. With just one we aren’t quite as pressed to tackle the expensive remodel that our humble cabin requires if my husband and I ever hope to have our own bedroom again.  And with just one, doing something drastic (however unlikely) like moving the family for a year to live in China feels slightly more within reach, whereas everything feels that much more daunting with just one more child’s future to worry about.

There’s something to be said for making life a little easier. I know that some people say that with two they can entertain each other, but mostly what I hear from the buzz on Facebook and the like is that having two young kids is definitely harder. Perhaps it’s a selective memory of the early years (not to mention an intense love) that leads one to proclaim that more is easier. I don’t know.

I do realize, of course, that in another year or two I might take all this back as I’m seized by an irrational desire to have another baby. Even now, as I encounter the newborns of friends, I have small flutters of longing to hold and remember the essence of one of those mystical beings. Those first months are such a blur of hormones, anxiety, and sleepless nights that it’s already hard to recall what it felt like to be privy to care for such a being, but I know that, once again, our selective memories can help us to block out the hardships and to instead pine for the fleeting, yet nonetheless very real moments of joy that come with caring for a baby.

And yet, I fear getting sucked even deeper into the maternal world of diapers, playdates, doctor’s appointments, online shopping, and conversations centered around breastfeeding and sleep.  I fear getting sucked in so deep that it will feel insurmountably hard to reemerge into the adult, work world. And this is in part because I am acutely aware of how much work it took me to get to where I am—and I’m not even satisfied yet; I still have greater goals. And the longer you set those goals aside, the harder it is to dig back into them. Not impossible, never impossible. But hard.

Baby lust. I know it might still hit me. I know some of you out there might be thinking to yourself, yeah, I remember feeling that way… just you wait another year or so, and I concede that I’m still hanging on to those bins of baby clothes up in the attic, just in case.  Yes, there is a part of me that would be excited again to go through the ripening journey towards birth again, with the ultimate climax that comes from meeting the new mystery that life has sent for you.  But I have also not yet forgotten just how hard this first year and a half has been. These last twenty months have shown me how strong I am, how much I can shoulder when called upon, at the same time that they have shown me my limits and where I need to set the boundaries when it comes to my own needs.

Writing Motherhood: 2012 Workshops

I haven't written much lately, but I have been busy making plans. I feel an energy to step out of my comfort zone again, an energy that is buzzing and rising inside of me, an energy that can sometimes manifest as fear, but mostly as a necessary hunger. A hunger to connect with other adults, a hunger to engage my mind and to feed my spirit, a hunger to see what else I can add into the fold of motherhood, to see how much I can take on, little by little, without becoming overwhelmed.

First off, I am planning to teach a couple workshops-- a one-day intensive on February 11th and an eight-week, Saturday morning series starting on March 3rd. Writing Motherhood. Each week, 5-10 women, incidentally mothers, will gather to write from a series of prompts. I will provide readings culled from  memoirs and essays on motherhood, passages and chapters that make me excited, that make me go "Yes!", or make me go hmm...what do I think about this? What do I have to add to this collection of smart voices? What parts of this crazy journey have I been most affected by? What aspects do I most need to spend time with and digest?

I can't wait to share these readings with others and to see how they spark each of us differently. I can't wait to gather a group of women together with the shared intention to explore this vast and complicated, humbling and overwhelming, awesome and mundane terrain called motherhood. I can't wait to learn from other mothers and their writing, however new or far along they are on their mothering and writing paths.

It's been almost two years since I've led a workshop, not counting a short, free one I gave about a year ago. This is not surprising given the fact that my son is 19 months old, and it's been a slow, evolving process of learning how to carve out more time for myself to write, to read, to sleep(!), and to pursue my publishing- and teaching-related goals. 

In the early months, it was enough-- or all I could hope for-- just to scribble out a mad journal entry during Cedar's naps. Then slowly, I began to give more to this blog. Then less again, as other things in life easily took over to crowd out my narrow windows of time to write, be it chores, illnesses, or my parents (i.e. my childcare) going on vacation.

Now, I finally feel like I have enough energy and time (though it's never really enough, of course; we're talking about altered expectations here), to even consider giving a little bit of my writing time away to teach. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching, and the communication and community that can come from facilitating a group feeds me in exhilarating ways that writing alone cannot. But if I have to choose between the two, writing will always win. After all, how can I teach writing if I am not actively writing? How would I have the confidence and embodied love to teach, if I were feeling deprived or depressed or unmotivated ? I would feel like a hypocrite. It's not that I need to be in a prolific period to teach; chances are I'm not. But I do need to feel connected to that essential pulse of excitement and love for the process and craft. 

I sense a new phase of motherhood coming on. One in which I am still exhausted and pining for more time to myself, but also one in which I am actively claiming back my commitment to my passions. One in which I am surfacing from an almost dreamlike immersion, and remembering that I am so many things, that I've lived so many lives, and that I have so much more still to learn and create.

How about you? Are you ready for something new?

Workshops will be held at the Good Shepard Center in Wallingford. 

One-day Intensive: Saturday, February 11, 9 a.m. - 2 p.m.

Eight-week series: Saturdays, 10 a.m.- 12 p.m., March 3 - April 21, 2012

Registration details to come!

To Remodel or Not to Remodel?

Right now my husband and I are trying to figure out whether we can afford to take on a major remodel project in the next year or so. We need more space. Our house is 810 square feet, with only one small bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a three-quarter bath. We consciously chose from the get-go to sleep with our son in our bed, so this helps out with the lack of a space for a crib much less a proper “nursery,” but we don’t want to sleep with him forever (obviously). He’ll need his own room.

We live in a cedar cabin in the midst of Meadowbrook, a residential neighborhood in Northeast Seattle. The cabin has one large ‘great room’ with an A-frame ceiling which houses our dining area on one side, living area in the middle, and desks, shelves, dresser, changing table, and piles of laundry on the other side. Lots of built-in shelving helps us utilize our space, but nevertheless, space is tight. Cedar’s outgrown clothes, along with sleeping bags, Christmas ornaments, bedding, and all kinds of artifacts from Els and Frank are stored up in the attic. We have more storage space in an unfinished basement area too, but only for things that won’t grow moldy from the dampness.

Ideally, we’d like to add on two more bedrooms—one for Cedar and one which I could use as my office or a guest room. We’d like a large bedroom for us, along with a master bath, and we’d love a nice big kitchen with an island and shiny new appliances (our current appliances all date to the seventies). We’d love to put in a couple skylights in the living room which is always so dark due to all the tall cedars and maples surrounding our property. We’d also love a nice deck, and a two-car garage or carport.

What we want isn’t exactly extravagant, but it also isn’t going to be cheap. And we are not exactly rich. But eventually, whether we do it now or five years from now, we are going to need more room—at very least an extra bedroom for Cedar. But since it wouldn’t be architecturally that feasible or practical to just tack on one room, we might as well do more while we’re tearing down walls. So the question is, do we take the plunge, commit to a tight budget and do it now, or do we wait until we feel a little more financially sound?

Over the last couple months we’ve been doing the preliminary research. We went to our credit union and learned about interest rates for a variable rate line of credit versus a fixed rate loan. We got an estimate of what our monthly payments might be for a $100,000 loan versus a $150,000 one. We talked to a couple architects and a contractor about our ideas, and got a better sense of our possibilities. Namely, we surmised that we were not going to be able to come close to doing what we want for $100,000, and even $150,000 on the low end. Better to shoot for the $150,000-$200,000 range, because remodeling always costs more than you think, and because we’d better have some wiggle room or else we will end up very very stressed out or very very screwed—or both.  

The only problem is, we are not sure we can afford even the monthly payment for the $150,000 loan. On paper, perhaps, we can make it work. But in reality, we are not very good at sticking to a budget. Do we eat beans and rice when there’s no more money in checking to buy groceries at the end of the month? Of course not! We transfer money over from savings (or we overdraft, and our bank kindly transfers it for us, yet with no fees so we are never ‘punished’ for our carelessness). And we are not talking about a very big savings to begin with. So do we really want to take such a plunge where we will be so tight every month that there is no money to go on trips, to spend on treats, to hire a babysitter, or to stray at all from our budget?

It’s not as if we live lavishly right now by any means. Do we really want to be slaves to a monthly payment for the next 20 or 30 years? We have been blessed by the huge gift of owning a house, but not having a mortgage. I’m not sure we quite realize yet how huge this gift is. I think we might miss the freedom it affords us very quickly once this is no longer our reality. I think we might no longer care so much about the extra bedroom, the bathtub, the counter space, or even a basement free of mold. After all, I reminded my husband, we used to live not long ago in a cabin with a woodstove for heat, a compostible toilet on the porch, and no shower to speak of. When we first moved to our house (also a  cabin) in Seattle, it felt like a luxury just to have instant hot water flowing from the faucets and heat to turn on with the flick of a knob.

But of course, we quickly adapted. And of course, the older we get, the more we want, and the less tolerant we are of shitty cars and outdoor toilets. Backpacking for weeks on end in primitive conditions sounds less and less appealing, whereas having things like a nice garden, energy efficient appliances, good sharp knives, and soft down comforters become more important.

I’m pretty sure we will eventually build an addition; it seems unavoidable. And yet… if I had to choose between the freedom to still be able to write and care for Cedar versus working full-time to help us meet our payments, I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe if we wait a couple years we’ll get some of our other debt paid off and maybe Matthew will be making a bit more then and a big loan will feel more feasible and comfortable. But then, maybe by then interest rates will shoot up, Matthew’s job security will be on shaky ground, and Cedar’s school costs will start to kick in.

I know at some point we will just have to decide to do it, take the plunge and commit. I’m just not sure that time is now. I’m starting to wonder if sticking a bed in the corner of our living room for a couple years—or else just continuing to co-sleep with Cedar—might be preferable to being stuck with a huge payment that we are stretched each month to pay.

I’d love to hear from those of you who have embarked on big remodeling projects—what you’ve learned, what you’d do differently, how having the new space has improved your life, or not. What kind of stresses has the process put on your relationships?

Matthew and I have had some tense conversations just trying to get ourselves this far in the process—and we haven’t even decided to do it yet! I can only imagine how the pressure of being displaced from our home for several months, closely tracking expenses and bills, and basically living and breathing the remodel project from start to finish (which will no doubt squeeze out time for writing, for fun, for anything else)—how all of this will tax us.

It will be worth it, I think, if we can stay on a budget we are comfortable with and if we are happy with the end result-- in particular, a vision that doesn't quash the character of the cabin. But we need to really think this through first and know what we’re doing before we start. There's a time for trusting in the Universe and there’s a time for trusting in your own detailed planning. In this case, I vote for the latter.

Happiness is Not A Point of Negotiation

Your insomnia is a gift from your darkness calling, Wake up! Wake up! Let yourself feel what  is churning inside of you. –Anne Liu Kellor, Facebook status update, 5/19/11

You know when you’re going along thinking you’re fine, and then all of a sudden you realize you’re not? I’ve been experiencing this recently. The last blog post I wrote was all about patting myself on the back for finding balance, patience, acceptance and perspective in the midst of never having enough time to do the things I most want to do—and I meant all those things that I wrote as I wrote them. But then the very next day I found myself unable to sleep until 3 a.m., and the night after that I didn’t sleep AT ALL. What is going on? I asked myself. I didn’t feel stressed about anything in particular, I’d been getting plenty of exercise, I went to bed at my usual hour, so why couldn’t I go to sleep?

The last time I’d had a bout of insomnia was back in November during the weeks leading up to my 4Culture reading, during which I needed to find a venue, advertise, tailor excerpts from my project to read (which ended up being more or less like writing three new short essays), and force myself to work on this in any spare moment I could find. It was exciting to have a deadline again, to organize and host what would be my first solo reading, and to cast myself back into the identity of a writer, but it was also stressful. The writing I do for this blog is not stressful, because there are no deadlines except for the (loosely) self-imposed, and because I don’t worry so much about it being “perfect.” I know people read it, but I don’t have to see their reactions first-hand. So suffice it to say that when the reading was over I was relieved to go back to my relatively stress-free life (besides the daily demands of mothering)-- and I started sleeping fine again too.

What I’ve realized from this most recent round of insomnia is: I desperately need more time to write. The few hours a week I manage to get most weeks is not cutting it. I long to actually sit at my desk regularly again, and not have it littered with Cedar’s clothes and unpaid bills. And just writing for this blog is ultimately not enough. I’ve got whole books I’ve abandoned—one finished in search of a publisher, and one that is still in relative infancy—and I don’t know how much longer I can go without working on them.

What I’ve realized is: I’m not happy right now. I’ve tried hard to be accepting of this “break” from my former writing life due to the demands of motherhood, and I’ve been pleased with my ability to adapt to working in short bursts of time, but that doesn’t mean that there has not been some part of me who has been longing, pining—and now, desperately yearning—for more time. Time that allows for sinking into a more meditative space. Time that allows for re-reading old drafts so that I can remember the voice and story that I was working with. Time to stew, time to edit, time to research and submit. Time to actually feel like a writer again. Time to reassure myself that it will not take years of Cedar’s childhood to pass before I re-enter what I’ve long considered to be my life’s passion, practice, and vocation.

It is hard. My husband and I live on one income-- his. After we moved to Seattle and before I got pregnant, I was starting to find venues to teach through here, along with a few new writing mentees to work with one-on-one, as well as some volunteering gigs with writing and youth. I was hardly making any money, but I was making connections and building on the same writing and teaching path that I’ve been carving out slowly now for years. At the same time, I was trying to finish my Heart Radical manuscript. I knew that if I ever hoped to get a teaching position in a college, that I would need to have a book published.

My husband and I had many conversations about the choices I was making. I wanted him to understand how my commitment to writing was both my passion (i.e. I need to keep writing or I will shrivel and die) and related to more practical teaching and publishing goals (see, I’m not just a dreamer, I’ve thought this through). He supported my dreams; after all, he was a creative, artistic person himself. And yet, now that we were married and sharing expenses all the way and talking about having kids and no longer living the hippy lifestyle we once did in the cabin on the acreage in Olympia, he no longer seemed quite as supportive as before.

And why not? We were doing okay financially on one income, due to the fact that I’d inherited a house in Seattle with no mortgage. But mostly I think he was, understandably, envious of my lifestyle. What it came down to was a sense of equity, and his idea of me sitting at home reading and writing and dreaming all day, whereas he had to get up and go to a real job. He liked his job and it was intellectually challenging to him and helping him grow in many ways, but still, it was not akin to his passions, like fly-fishing or making music.

Of course, I saw this all a little differently since he wasn’t exactly planning to build a career based on fly-fishing, and since I have never considered writing to be just a hobby. True, I hadn’t yet made it big with publishing. And despite a successful two-year run of private classes I led in Olympia, I wasn’t exactly a stellar entrepreneur in the teaching department. But I was stubborn, damnit, and determined to keep writing and teaching writing. I would buy all my clothes at Value Village (which I do anyway), drive an ’88 station wagon, never eat out, forego all luxuries. I was good at living simply in the service of “working” less so that I could write more. I’d spent years at this practice.

We had some tense conversations, but ultimately, I convinced him that it was important for me to stay focused within this “career path” and not just go “get any old job” which would neither help us that much financially nor help my resume. With all the traveling and contract jobs I’d held, I’d kind of pigeon-holed myself into a very narrow job market, jobs that pretty much only existed if I invented them myself. Help Wanted: freelance creative writing teacher.

Flash-forward to now. Now, we have a fifteen-month-old, two car loans, a big dog, a fat cat, and a tiny one-bedroom cabin that is badly in need of an addition. We are doing fine on Matthew’s income, but we certainly aren’t saving much money—whether for immediate needs, for Cedar’s future, for our house, or for a retirement (what’s that?). Since the kinds of jobs that I could get as a freelance teacher or, say, working with children are not going to bring in near the salary that my husband now makes, it makes sense that he fulfill the traditional role as bread-winner, and that I stay home with Cedar. The cost of childcare would not make it worth it for me to work-- that is, if you only consider working to be about making money.

Enter my dilemma. I love staying home with Cedar. I know plenty of moms who cannot make this choice and who surely envy all the time I get to hang out with my son. I know that he is growing fast, and that when he eventually goes to school, I will get back some of my own time. I am grateful for my husband’s support, and for his willingness to take on the “professional” role, even when this is still a relatively new role for him to play. I am willing to let go of so much of the time I used to have to write, to pursue teaching gigs, and to edit works of nonfiction. I have been willing to let that all go in service to my son and our family. A part of me has even been relieved at times to let all the “career-striving” stuff go and to just sink into this alternate reality of mother, caregiver, servant, Goddess. I know why the goals and awards are important, but they are not why I write. I will always have just pure writing to come back to. There is no hurry. I can pick up where I left off. Right?

Sort of. All of the above is only partially true, while another part of me has been starving. Frustrated. Angry. Sad. And finally, now, fifteen months after giving birth, I feel the need, undeniable, to claim more of what I need. Time to myself. Time to write. Three hours a week is not enough. (Right now, my mom watches Cedar about four hours a week, but so much of that time gets eaten up by errands and chores. Matthew then watches Cedar on the weekends, but a couple hours away is usually all I get. I could ask mother to watch Cedar a bit more, but she is not willing to commit to more than just an afternoon a week for now, and psychologically it is important to me to KNOW that I can count on a certain day and time each week. It is too tiring to negotiate week by week.)

So what to do? The simplest solution: we need to hire a babysitter. Once a week for a few hours. That’s all. We can afford it, if we decide we can. It’s that important. For no one in this family will be happy if I am not happy. I am the mother, the bill keeper, the house cleaner, the diaper buyer. I am the nurturer, the researcher, the plan maker, the story weaver. I declare my work to be important, even if it does not bring in money. I didn’t spend fifteen years of my life discovering the writing path as my path only to let it drizzle away quietly. I am willing to learn how to get by on WAY less time than before, and yet, this willingness has its limits.

My husband wants me to be happy. He understands, especially after talking to me, that I need more time. He understands (to the degree that he can) how Cedar clings to me, needs me, saps me, and how this all-enveloping experience of motherhood for me is different for me than what fatherhood has been for him. I live and breathe Cedar every day, every night. If I enter the room, he goes to me—like a moth to a flame, as Matthew says. The only way I can take a break in this household is to physically leave, or else Cedar will find me. I go to a café most weekends and write for a couple hours, but then I reach a point where I am hungry and need to come home, and even if I could easily sit down, print out what I’ve written, edit, and keep writing for several more hours, my time unfortunately stops the minute I walk in the door. It is a rare hour where I am home alone, and even then, it is near impossible to not want to first run a load of dishes or eat or sweep the floor or do some other quick task that usually is done as part of a speedy juggling routine with Cedar clinging to my legs.

I’m not sure if an additional three hours a week will be enough to motivate me to pull out those old manuscript drafts, but at very least, it will allow me to keep up more with this blog, and to delve into some of the more complex and emotionally charged subjects that I often don’t have the energy for (especially not if I want to actually post what I write, for some of the more tangled and messy stuff I spew out in these quick writing sessions do not make it into cyberspace). But this is a start.

Like all good mothers do, I’ve sacrificed a lot this year for my son, for my family. And I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how gracefully I’ve adapted, how natural the transition has been. Motherhood has been hugely fulfilling for me.

But I am also learning: I have my limits. And I am remembering: I am a writer, and if I am not writing then I am not happy. And I need to be happy. This is not a point of negotiation. This is infinitely more important than any future-oriented goals. This is where I draw the line.

Finding Balance Along the Way

Today, it rains. I sit at Cafe Javasti in Wedgwood, my favorite weekend writing spot, and drink Oolong tea (still not drinking coffee, sigh). I almost didn't get away this morning-- two poor nights of sleep in a row have compelled me to ask my husband to let me sleep in, thus cutting into my writing time. But, alas, here I am, if only for an hour or so. I need my weekly moment away from Cedar and the home to sip my tea, breathe, and decompress. Digest.

Today, like many mornings where I sit down to write for this blog, I ask myself what I have to say. More specifically, I ask myself what I have to say that won't take ten hours to unravel and then some-- if there's anything short and focused I can spew out in one sitting that is nevertheless still remotely interesting to anyone besides myself. It's important to me to not wait too long between posts, because when this happens it makes me feel depressed. As I've said here before, this blog is my lifeline to my writing life. Without it, right now, I do not feel much like a writer. Short abbreviated notes scribbled in my journal don't do much to satisfy the writer in me. If this blog is my lifeline, then those disconnected journaling sessions are like little floats that keep me bobbing along the way. Whatever. Enough with metaphors. Onward.

Being a parent to a one-year-old, and not having much money to hire babysitters, there is a lot in my life these days that doesn't get done or satisfied. Of course, we are not alone in this situation. It is part of the reality of being a parent to a young child. It is a part of the sacrifice we willingly make in exchange for the joy of creating a family together. Shone in the right light, it is a rollicking, thrilling adventure-- this thing called our life. Each day, we wake up tired and go to bed exhausted, and somehow tasty dinners still manage to get cooked, family walks have become our main form of entertainment, bills get paid, groceries purchased, dishes washed, and glasses of wine drunk at the end of the night with a sigh of sweet relief. (Have you seen the new picture book, Go the Fok To Sleep? It is hilarious, and if you are a parent, you should go to the bookstore soon if only to read it once.)

Somehow, the essential tasks manage to get done. And what gets left out? Sadly, a lot of friends don't get called or seen, or if they do, it is far too seldom. Late-night collage or dance sessions with my sisters don't happen anymore, and music doesn't get to be played loud at night. Date nights happen only rarely in our household, and even then, I still can't eat most of what is served in restaurants, so we've only gone out to eat a handful of times in the last year. Concerts and shows at clubs are a distant reality too. I envy the parents of good sleepers who are able to easily go out for a night, or-- still unimaginable to me-- even go away for an overnight stay. Someday, yes, this will happen. But we are on the slow train when it comes to weaning Cedar from his dependency on his mama (and I'm not even talking about weaning literally; that isn't going to happen for another year or more). 

Case in point: it was only a month or so ago that we started involving Matthew more actively in the going to bed routine. Before, he'd help with baths, pajamas, and stories, sure, but the crucial nursing and singing of lullabies and falling asleep portion was solely my responsibility. Now, I am gratefully happy to report that my husband and I share this job. If Cedar does not seem to be falling asleep at the breast (which is more often now than not ), then I'll say goodnight and call Papa in to the room, then leave. Cedar will cry in protest for a minute-- or ten, or thirty, depending on his mood-- but eventually (usually after crawling around the bed, patting Papa on his body, and otherwise playing around) he will quiet down and grow tired enough that he will just lie there and fall asleep. Then, an hour or so later, when Cedar usually wakes up again, Matthew is the one who goes in and lies next to him again until he falls back asleep. 

I can't tell you what a huge relief this has been. To not be the one who has to listen closely for Cedar's stirring cries while we attempt to watch an episode of Mad Men, to listen and determine whether he is truly waking or not, then hurry in before he wakes even more and put him back to sleep--and to do this, again and again and again, all night long. I still do it in the middle of the night when we're all in bed, but if Matthew and I haven't gone to bed yet, it's now Matthew's responsibility. We are hoping that if Cedar knows he's not going to always get Mama when he wakes (and especially not Mama's boob), then he might learn to let himself go back to sleep easier when he stirs. So far, this doesn't seem to be happening, but the good news is that he is now way more accepting of the comforting of Papa's presence, and in turn, I feel much more free to go out for the night without worrying that I am going to come home to a screaming baby who has been up for an hour, demanding my return. 

So this has been a big change, allowing me to feel a much overdue sense of expansion when it comes to things I can do in my life. I am much freer to go out and meet a friend at a bar, or even go out to a show if I should so desire. But the truth is, I usually still opt to stay home, because I am tired and I want to go to bed by 10:30 so that I can wake up and feel refreshed by 7:00. And when you only have two hours to chill out at the end of the day (after the baby is asleep and the kitchen cleaned-- for if we don't clean it at night then guess who has to do it anyway in the morning), it often sounds more restorative to me to just sit and talk to my husband on the couch with a glass of wine, and some music playing quietly. To surf Facebook (yes, it's true, sad as this sometimes seems), to read, to take a hot shower (with the heat turned on or else Cedar will hear the water and wake up-- did I mention that he is a light sleeper?), and then to drape my body over the exercise ball and stretch those tight back and neck muscles that get strained each day from carrying around my twenty-five pound baby.

Someday, things will change. Someday, Cedar will sleep better and my husband and I will get hungry enough for more time together that we will make the effort and fork over the money for a babysitter. But for now, I am resigned to this period and I know it will go quickly. In the meantime, I have adapted to these new parameters of what kind of "fun" a weekend can hold, and to how long it takes to get things done.

For example, this weekend. Yesterday, the three of us plus my mom went to see a Chinese drumming and dance performance at the Seattle Center which I'd gotten free tickets to. We timed it perfectly between Cedar's naps, fed him avocado and rice puffs along the way, and he enjoyed the show from my lap, bouncing and clapping and mesmerized by the lights. We were home by three, with time left in the day for a nap, a long walk with Fergie, a new batch of beer brewed by Matthew, and a dinner of fried rice with chicken, peas, and carrots for all. 

And today, Matthew's brother and sister-in-law are visiting from Olympia. We're borrowing my sister's truck so that we can haul a bunch of branches to the dump from the cedar tree that fell in our yard several months ago, I'm going to take Cedar and Fergie for a walk, and later on, we'll all barbeque. I won't mention all the things that aren't getting done, all the things on our list that have been there forever (like budgeting, doing research and contacting people for our future remodel, mopping the floors, various childproofing tasks, overdue phone calls, and of course, any and all of my more involved writing projects which are pretty much just on hold for now-- though I don't know how much longer I can placidly accept this as the status quo). 

Okay, so I will and did just mention some of the things. But my point is that I have been learning to accept our current limitations-- which almost all have to do with a lack of time. And in turn, I appreciate all the more the small successes that occur when we manage to achieve a relatively health balance between working for money, indoor chores, outdoor chores, family time with Cedar (and now Fergie too), time with friends, down time, solitary time, and finally-- so importantly, and sadly what often gets squeezed out the first-- time for Matthew and I to reconnect as a couple, to try and remember a glimpse of our pre-child reality, the energy that brought us together in the first place.

Balance. Priorities. Acceptance. Patience. Perspective. All of these qualities are necessary and called upon when learning how to become parents, how to create a new family, and how to merge into a new fluid, working organism. And, of course, we can't forget to throw in a lot of silliness, a few tears, and an occasional roar of wildness rearing it's head in a rebellious demand for change along the way.

Making the Most of It

Artifacts of Longing Reading @ NE Library 11/21/10

Right now I am supposed to be at Write-o-Rama, the Hugo House’s all day writing workshop fundraiser, only instead I am sitting at a café, writing, alone.

I was excited for Write-o-Rama, excited to get away for a full day on my own, something I haven’t done in months (or truly, something I’ve never done since giving birth to Cedar—the longest I’ve been away from him is for 4 or 5 hours in July when I went to the spa with my girlfriends). In any case, a day like today where I have a free pass to be away is precious, and as I sat there in the first workshop session at 10 a.m., I realized that this wasn’t how I wanted to spend it. I didn’t want think about craft or try exercises in genres other than my own, as interesting as those activities can be. I wanted to be journaling, free-writing, unleashing a million and one thoughts that I haven’t had time to process. And if not that, then I wanted to be walking around Capitol Hill by myself in the sun, browsing through Elliot Bay bookstore, then buying myself two sweaters from Value Village in different shades of green, before eating my brown bag lunch at Lookout Park, and then driving back to Café Javasti, my favorite writing spot in my own neighborhood, to write for this blog.

So this is what I did, feeling only the slightest bit of guilt for leaving the Hugo House, and most of that guilt directed at the leader of the one workshop I attended yet barely listened to, instead journaling about my own private thoughts and scanning the day’s schedule to see what drew my eye. Sorry, man. As an instructor I know you can tell who is paying attention and who isn’t, and I know how hard it can be to be up there and worry about not doing a good job. So I just want to say, it wasn’t you or your workshop, it was me. It was me, and the fact that I am so seldomly alone these days, that when I do get these rare opportunities, there is absolutely no room for me to not do exactly what I want—or at least what is within my means. So that is why I am here, writing to you instead through this blog, or writing to myself. Because I desperately need to catch up with my heart in words.

It’s been way too long since I’ve posted anything on this blog. Over a month ago, I started a post that chronicles my four-month saga of being on an elimination diet and Cedar’s food allergy and gas issues, but that is turning into something much more involved; hopefully I will finish and post it in the near future. In the meantime, so many other thoughts and feelings worth capturing on the page continue to filter through my mind and heart that never get written down-- and thus processed, honored, and witnessed.

The last thing I posted was about my Els and Frank/inheritance project, mostly to entice you to come to my reading that happened two weeks ago. The reading went great, I thank those of you who attended or wished me well on the project, and I am also relieved it is over. It was a challenge to have a real deadline before me at the same time that I’m a full-time caretaker for Cedar, as opposed to just my own self-imposed deadlines, like writing for this blog. In the weeks leading up to the reading, my mom and sister pitched in and watched Cedar more often, but even then, I had a very limited amount of time to write, edit, advertise, practice, and edit some more. I ended up revising three sections from my manuscript to read, and in order for them to have the most impact as excerpts, I had to essentially craft them anew. Down to the morning of the reading, I was still making edits on the page. I couldn’t practice reading my drafts aloud even once without finding things I wanted to change. I am not used to reading stuff that is so new in public.

In the end the writing still didn’t feel finished to me, but the process was good practice in letting go of perfection. And now, I am thankful to be able to write anything or nothing again, and to ask myself, what’s going on? What do you need to write about?

One recent development is that I seem to have adopted a penchant for insomnia. The first time it hit was a couple months ago, and I can’t deny the apparent connection between the insomnia and the new (now removed) stress of my reading deadline. I am so stretched for personal time these days, that all it took was adding one outside pressure and I felt the added strain acutely.

For several weeks, insomnia struck about once a week. I’d be exhausted (as usual) and try to go to bed at a decent time (10, 11), but then I’d lie there awake an hour or more next to my snoring husband and sleeping baby, before I’d finally get up, frustrated and even more wakeful than before. Since I’m breastfeeding, I couldn’t indulge in several glasses of wine, which would’ve been a nice solo, late night activity. And chamomile tea or other herbal remedies didn’t seem to help. I tried a hot shower (I’d take a bath if we had one), tried yoga, reading, surfing Facebook, journaling, eating, going outside, whatever I could, but most nights I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep until after 3 a.m., and by then my baby would start waking up again throughout the early morning hours and I’d end up with maybe three hours of broken sleep.

Insomnia is hell, yes, some of you know, or have known it far worse than my sporadic bouts. Especially when it happens multiple nights in a row. The night that happened brought me to tears I was so frustrated. Oh, to be that tired and not be able to sleep. And to imagine how tired I’d be the next day with my baby. I’ve had insomnia a handful of times in my life, but I’ve never considered myself a poor sleeper. Now, after it had struck enough times and I realized that it was not a fluke occurrence, I finally figured out that I shouldn’t be online, on the phone, or doing chores or any kind of work or correspondence immediately before crawling into bed. I absolutely need to have true down time, where I’m relaxed and am just sitting there reading or breathing in a chair for an hour or two before I go to sleep. It doesn’t matter how tired I am and how much I’d benefit from going to bed early. I need this time at the end of the day, without my baby, and preferably silent and alone. Going to bed at midnight or one a.m. is better than trying to go to bed at eleven, but then not being able to fall asleep and thus conjuring the frustration that keeps me up even later. There are no shortcuts. I need my own time and space each day to stay sane.

I also have recently recalled how in my “former life” it used to be so important for me to get exercise or at least to walk around outside for a bit each day. If I didn’t, then I’d feel all cooped up and wired at the end of the night, and I’d need to release that energy through drinking wine and dancing, or collaging, or staying up late and tapping into my inner depths in some way. But now, those outlets are no longer so possible. And although I can still stay up late if I please, I don’t have the luxury of sleeping in—not even on weekends-- to make up for it. So it’s always a compromise. The lesson in this is that I need to get out more on walks with Cedar during the day, even when it is rainy, oppressive and grey. This is essential. I must strive to maintain the delicate balance between my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. Any imbalance will otherwise reveal itself eventually in some way.

I’m doing better now, although the insomnia has not completely gone away. I’m happy I fulfilled my grant requirements, and I’m awaiting my final payment which I hope to plug back into my writing pursuits in some way. I’m proud of the job I did, and I have a better sense now of what it will take for me to keep working on my bigger projects in the midst of motherhood. I am also even more aware of how sensitive and stretched I am right now, and consequently how little it takes to tip me over. I need to be vigilant in making sure that I stay healthy and balanced. And I need to keep asking for help. Articulating my needs and then figuring out how to meet them.

It is imperative that I stay connected to my writing life. I can’t abandon my vital projects and goals. This is, after all, my life’s work, and I’ve known this for a long time. My writing may not bring in a paycheck, and it may pale in importance when compared to the heart-wrenchingly awesome work of motherhood, but it still absolutely will not and cannot go away. My soul will not allow for it. It must find room to thrive and breathe, even if it must make do with more limited time and space.

This makes me think of dancing. There is nothing I love more than to lose myself on the dance floor or out in an open field at some outdoor concert, to lose myself in the music and eventually ascend to that place of euphoria as I unite with each unfolding turn of the music. I love it the most when there is plenty of room around me, when I can twirl and stomp and jump without worrying about bumping into others. But when this is not possible, when I’m in a tight crowd or space, I must adjust my expectations, make my movements smaller and more contained. I must create a little bubble of intention, good energy, and movement around me, so that at very least those around me will respect my immediate space. And even though this may not be an ideal situation, I can still find a certain freedom within this containment, I can still eventually access that high and holy place inside if the music is moving me right. I might need to close my eyes and shut other people out at first, but eventually, once the music enters me, I can open my eyes again and see everyone and everything around me without having it distract me. My inner and outer world are in alignment, I am not striving to block anything out, nor do I need to push too hard to express myself. I am just dancing, lost in the movement and music.

This is what I am striving for now as I try to find balance between my life as a writer and a mother. I am learning what it takes to work within a vastly constricted bubble of time and space. And I am learning how to access those same transcendent moments where a commitment to a steady practice eventually yields to the gift of a moment where a sentiment or idea comes out perfectly expressed. I am learning how to ask for the space that I need, without pining for the expanses that are currently not available. I am learning how to make the most of all I’ve been given.

Claiming Pieces of the Whole

Every Tuesday morning, Cedar and I jump in the car and drive to our PEPS meeting. PEPS is a non-profit here in Seattle that matches new mothers with other new moms who live near their neighborhood. The meetings are facilitated by an experienced mom who gets the discussions going, and for twelve weeks, we take turns hosting the two-hour meetings in our living rooms. We start by checking in and sharing the highs and lows of our week, and then we delve in and discuss the chosen topic, be it sleep or breastfeeding or going back to work and childcare. All the while, we hold and bounce and feed and rock our babies, and slowly learn to trust each other and share that much more.

Last week the topic was “Looking Good, Feeling Good” or, in other words, taking care of ourselves, our health, and our needs. Megan, our facilitator, had us do an exercise where we drew on paper plates. First, we divided one plate into segments of how our time is currently spent. “I’m sorry, what were the other choices besides parenting?” one member asked in complete seriousness, because she hadn’t heard the examples Megan had given. The irony was not missed. What else do we do now besides parenting? How can there be any part of our life now that is separate from the incessant attention, worry, and love that we now direct towards our babies? Is there ever a moment, even when I am alone, writing, that I am not aware of my child and my role as mother-- even if my awareness might be of the fact that I am currently “escaping” this role, taking a breath and rejuvenating so I can go home and give of myself anew?

Not surprisingly, a quick glance at my neighbor’s plate revealed that for her too and probably for all of us, the “parenting” piece of the pie took over the majority—at least two-thirds. On mine, there were other categories like “outings with Cedar” or “walks with Cedar” or “visits with mom and dad,” which, in truth, all could have been included in the parenting category. The largest other category I had was “chores,” which often are hurriedly done while Cedar naps or with him strapped to my body in a carrier, so this can’t really be separated from parenting either. Then came a smaller slice of the pie for “zoning” which I define to mean things like television, drinking wine, listening to music, and checking Facebook—my main activities when I am exhausted at the end of the night-- and on second thought, I made this category a little bigger. “Relationship with Matthew” got a smaller sliver, since he is traveling for work four days a week, and when he’s here we barely get to spend any time together alone. And even smaller slices were delegated to writing, reading, and yard work. 

Yikes. But none of this was surprising. The next step in the exercise was to draw on another plate how we would ideally like our time to be divided. With only a tiny sense of guilt, my parenting category became much smaller, and now took up only a third of my pie; on top of that, I no longer named it “parenting,” but instead called it “Cedar.” This wasn’t a conscious decision to rename it, but it seems fitting in the sense that if I were able to have more time in my life for other activities, then I would not end up looking at “parenting” as this overarching, all-consuming entity, but rather, special individual time that I get to have with my baby. Also, not surprisingly, “writing” got a much bigger piece of the pie, as did a new category called “yoga/exercise,” and another called “Matthew/intimacy.” “Friends and family” also got a bigger piece, “chores/yard” still had a decent-sized chunk (since some things must get done no matter what), and, lo and behold, a new category appeared called “editing/publishing/classes,” or, in other words, my former writing-related “career” which I currently have no time for; if I have any extra time, I’m going to write, not worry about teaching or publishing, for writing is my lifeline. “Zoning” disappeared from the pie altogether, even though I know that this is a lie and I still need my zoning time; but what its omission reflected, rather, was its lack of relative value.  

I left these plates on the dining room table, and later that week Matthew told me he snuck a peek. “It’s good to see that I got as much of the pie as exercise/yoga,” he said with a grin. He was joking, but I still felt obliged to explain to him how the I did this exercise quickly, balancing a baby on one knee with one hand, writing with the other, without time to think about it or be precise, and how my relationship with him was also included within other categories, such as, well, parenting and chores. The “Matthew/intimacy” category referred to intentional, one-on-one time that we get to have together, doing things like going out to dinner, or cuddling in bed. Considering that we’ve had a whole two date nights since Cedar was born, and that on the nights that Matthew is actually home we mostly go to sleep exhausted with a baby lying in between us, I thought I was already giving us a pretty idealistic chunk. But still, being able to see visually how my time is divided helped to put things in perspective. Any way you look at it, we are not getting enough time together-- especially time where we can step outside of our demanding new role as parents. 

What can we do about it? Not a whole lot, it seems, with the exception of learning to make the most out of the time we do have, and taking care to be present with each other, to be loving, compassionate, and aware. Maybe eventually we can enlist more childcare and build in more rituals together so that our “relationship/intimacy” category does not completely disappear some weeks before we’ve even had a chance to realize it. But for now, I think we are doing the best we can. 

I have also been learning, week by week, how much time I need to write, to do yoga, and to otherwise feed myself. And I have been learning that I need to ask for it, and we need to plan for it, put it on the mental calendar, or else it won’t happen. We talked about this at PEPS last week—how we, as mothers, need to plan and ask for the “me time” that we need. Otherwise, if we are just hanging out at home on the weekends or in the evenings with our partners and babes, the mother always ends up being the default caregiver. Sure, it may be “easier” for us to comfort our babies because we spend more time with our child each day, and because we possess the magic boob, but that doesn’t make the cumulative effect of nonstop childcare any less exhausting. 

It was comforting to see how universal were many of the things we were all struggling with as new moms, and each of us made a commitment to plan and ask for more of what we needed. For me, I committed to asking for time on the weekends to write and to do yoga, not just one or the other which is all I can usually get away with in my one designated break. But it is also important to me that Matthew and I have more intimacy and time together. I can’t pick just one thing. It’s all important, and I want it all. 

So far, my asking seems to be paying off; I am progressively getting more time to myself, even if it still doesn’t feel like enough. But as long as Matthew and I keep our lines of communication open, and keep talking and acknowledging that parenting is a fluid, ever-changing endeavor, I think things will only get better and we’ll be able to find a more sustainable rhythm that works for both of us. 

For example, this weekend Matthew is watching Cedar both mornings (which is doubly helpful because we still need to get Cedar more used to the bottle). And then, when I come home, I feel refreshed, with newfound delight at holding my baby again, and with more energy at the end of the night to do anything with Matthew besides mutually “zone out” on our respective computers. It’s an ever-looping cycle, and it is so important that we, as moms who never get to fully leave the parenting role behind (it’s how we’re wired), get that “me time,” whether that means exercise or time with friends or writing or getting a pedicure-- whatever that means to each of us, however we have learned to feel good and rejuvenate—we need to honor it, and to ask for it. To know that asking is not a sign of selfishness, weakness, or greed, but rather the opposite. Our happiness affects our child’s and partner’s happiness in a direct correlation that isn’t that hard to trace.