Defrosting the Placenta

Placenta Prints

The other week, we finally planted Cedar’s placenta. What? Yes. It’s been in our freezer wrapped in a bread bag for almost two and a half years. I had planned to plant it right after his birth, under a young tree or plant, to mark the occasion, to join a part of our bodies with the earth, then watch the plant grow bigger each year. But, as you might imagine, other things took priority right after he was born—like nursing and sleeping and recovering from surgery-- and so it has sat, frozen in waiting.

Our friend, Amy, who was at the birth, gave us a small lilac plant in the weeks that followed. We’d wanted something that puts out fragrant blossoms in the spring around late March, when Cedar was born. Lilacs bloom a bit later, more like the end of April, but whatever, that’s close enough. Matthew and I both love their scent.

The lilac was tiny and we weren’t sure it would make it, so we kept it in a pot on our deck and watered it for the last two years, while the placenta receded further into the back of our freezer. (Is that a flank steak? A block of raspberries?) Then last week, since we were sticking around all day doing house projects, and it was a beautiful, sunny, early fall day, it struck me as the perfect opportunity to plant it. By now, I didn’t need the planting to be done on some particularly auspicious day—like Cedar’s first, second, or third birthday. At this point I just wanted it out of our freezer and the lilac in the ground before it died without ever even having the chance to flower.

A giant cedar tree had come down about a year ago, opening up a big exposed hole between our yard and the neighbors’, so we had a perfect spot for the lilac which may eventually grow quite large. First I let the placenta defrost--just a bit-- in the sink. Somehow it struck me that it should not be rock hard frozen, that I wanted to see its juices touch the soft dirt. Then I began to dig the hole. Matthew helped me make it deeper, then cut out some roots and filled it with homemade compost. Cedar then dropped in a couple small trowel’s full of fertilizer (his usual job when helping me plant flowers), and I cut open the bread bag, gently shaking loose the placenta while trying not to touch it.

Despite the fact that you may already think I’m weird for keeping it in the first place, I was not exactly eager to touch or smell the placenta. Still partially frozen, I didn’t readily detect any odor—and nor did I sniff it to try to locate one. Yet the blood had begun to seep onto the plastic and the hard, dark red mass was indeed revealing itself for what it was: a bodily organ. This is why the hospital was required to label it ‘hazardous waste’ when they gave it to me, sealed in a white plastic bucket. And this is why the whole process struck me as both slightly disgusting yet profoundly cool.

After I dropped the placenta into the hole, Matthew shook the root-bound lilac out of its pot and shoveled more dirt around its edges. How strange, I thought, that I could still see and touch the actual blood of my body, blood of our birth. I go through each day now so tightly bound to my son, 24-7, in touch with his rhythms, listening for his calls, responding to his needs. We are as connected as ever, morning till night, eating the same foods, running the same errands, going on walks, playing in parks, befriending sets of mothers and sons. But the memory of Cedar’s actual birth has grown faint, usurped by the constant forward momentum of our lives, our growth, our balancing acts, lessons, and needs.

           

So now, two and a half years later, to spontaneously decide to unfreeze, unwrap, touch and plant the very organ that once physically connected us, that gave him life while he was in my womb, felt beautiful in a quiet and unassuming kind of way. It wasn’t an overwrought ritual. We were just planting another plant, something we’ve done all summer long. But in other ways, of course, this was a very special plant indeed.

My sister and her baby, Avery, a mere two months old, happened to be here to witness our planting and snap a few photos. She asked if we were going to explain to Cedar anything. “He won’t understand,” my husband shook his head. “Maybe, we’ll see,” I said, wanting to leave it up to the moment. In the end, all I said as I shook out the dark red form from the bag was, “This is very special fertilizer.” And then: “This is a lilac plant. It will grow purple flowers in the spring. It is Cedar’s special plant.” 

This felt like enough.

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.

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.

Tell Me Again, Why Did We Want a Dog?

I confess, I have had a few moments this week where I’ve questioned our decision to get a dog. I haven’t wanted to vent about this online because I am aware that my friend, Fergie’s old owner, will likely read what I write, and I don’t want her to think I am actually having second thoughts. Questioning does not mean regret. I just think we’re all going through a necessary adjustment period where things are a bit more tiring and stressful than they will be down the road. We are getting to know each other and figuring out a new routine.

Routine. Anyone who is involved with the full-time raising of a baby will tell you that we are constantly yearning for and clinging to some fragile sense of routine. At least I am. And why? Because babies are constantly changing on us, and we are constantly trying to figure them out—what works, what is the ideal sleep schedule, how and when to cram in chores, phone calls, emails, feedings, etc. The often-spoken truth is that once you light upon a routine that feels fluid and works for you, your baby inevitably is ready to switch it up on you.

Cedar is thirteen months old. For the past many months his napping schedule has not really changed (although it is showing signs of the need to change soon). But for now, the rhythm of his naps and my corresponding planning of our days unfold with a consistency that I am reluctant to give up.

Mornings are the most mellow time of day. We wake around seven, nurse in bed for a while, then rise to change diapers, make tea and toast, check email, and entertain Cedar with books and toys. By 8:30, Cedar’s ready for his second morning meal-- oatmeal and fruit, blueberries the current favorite. Then, we change diapers again, get ourselves dressed, and putter around the house doing dishes, folding laundry, listening to music, and looking at books and toys. By 10:00 he’s sleepy again, so I heat up my tea, get my books and journals ready, and proceed to bounce him to sleep, then hold him while I sit in the big recliner and read, write, make lists, and enjoy my 80 minutes of rest.

Yes, I still hold Cedar while he naps because this is the only way that I can count on getting a solid block of time to myself—not to mention restorative time for Cedar. Otherwise he’ll only nap for 35 minutes at most, and that is not enough time to do much of anything but pop around like a crazy woman trying to get random things done. It’s much better to be rooted in one place by his weight, and “forced” to do “non-productive” things, like reading and writing.

Anyway, I digress. So now, it is not just Cedar and I doing our thing together all day long, but me, Cedar, and Fergie—our big, sweet, five-year-old Doberman. Now, picture the same aforementioned routine, but with Fergie nudging her long nose onto my lap as I hold Cedar for his naps, or Fergie’s long limbs stepping gingerly around Cedar as he crawls around her toes. Imagine me with a diaper bag slung around my shoulder, with Cedar in one arm, Fergie’s leash in the other, trying to get the big-ass stroller out of the car and unfolded into place. And imagine both Cedar and Fergie pulling and leaning against my body, seeking my attention, when all I want to do is sip my tea, eat my toast with almond butter, and take a few minutes to myself first thing in the morning before I devote the rest of the day to their needs.

Okay, I know, not a huge deal, but I’m just saying that I’ve had my moments where I’ve asked myself whether I really have the energy to be the mama all day to not one, but two. Granted, dogs are much easier to care for than babies; I can go on a walk with Fergie, and have a freeing sense of solitude that is very different than when I am walking with Cedar. But now having to walk the two of them together, it is definitely more tiring.

Exercise. That’s the key component to caring for a dog, especially a big dog. Going into this whole endeavor, I knew this-- I knew that adopting Fergie would force me to go on more walks, and I knew that there would be times where this would feel like a major drag, while other times where I would be grateful for it.

Matthew and I have committed to taking Fergie out about three times a day—he walks her around the block in the morning, I take her on a longer walk during the day, and then one of us, usually Matthew, but on occasion the whole family will go out for a short walk in the evening. By some people’s standards, Fergie is getting gold star treatment. But I’ve also read books (like by Cesar Millan, “The Dog Whisperer”) which suggest that what we’re giving her is more like the minimum for what an energetic dog needs. Fergie does have a lot of energy, but she is also pretty mellow, so I think we will find the right balance.

Cesar also writes about how you should adopt a dog that has a similar energy level or lower to your family. Well, if this is the case, I think we got a dog whose energy is probably a little higher than what Matthew and I have been used to. But I also don’t think we’re in over our heads. We both want (and need) to exercise more, and this is already happening. Also, we’ve already gone on several family walks during times which I’m pretty sure in the past we would have begged exhaustion. As the four of us set out with our energetic new companion, I like this feeling of the new pack we’ve created. I’m remembering the feeling of walking with a dog. A dog is energy, a dog is enthusiasm, a dog is a vital spark of life.

And yes, a dog is also work. A dog is needy. A dog is another being getting in my way, needing to be fed, wanting my attention at the same time that my baby is demanding my care—and, let’s face it, between the two of them, the dog will always be number two. That’s just the way it is. I have love to give Fergie, I have time, and I have energy—but these have very real limits. These are the limitations that have caused me to question, in moments, whether adopting Fergie right now was the wisest thing to do, and these moments have occurred when I’ve felt tired and stretched and when I’ve realized that as the mother of a baby, I can never offer Fergie the same kind of devotion that, say, a childless person might be able to. I try to imagine what it would have been like to adopt Fergie before we had Cedar, or to adopt her when I was single, and I am sure that my devotion to her would be ten-fold of what I can give her now.

Pre-Fergie, Cedar and I would go on a long (hour or more) walk every other day or so. But there were also days where we were busy or it was miserable out, and we didn’t. Now, the walk must happen no matter what. Now, we must structure our day around the walk, instead of letting the walk fall into free empty pockets. Maybe I’ll grow more flexible about this in time, but right now, it feels important to me to commit to giving Fergie enough exercise.  And so, my routine-seeking and -planning mind plots away. Maybe I can give up some of a.m. routine time and go on a walk in the morning. Or else the walk will just be the main thing we do during our 12-3 chunk of time (between naps), unless I am willing to hurry hurry hurry us along, feed us on the go and feel very tired by the time I make it back for Cedar’s second nap. (You might think three hours is plenty of time to walk and go somewhere else, but everything takes twice as long when you have a baby). Otherwise, I’ll feel slightly guilty all day if I make Fergie wait until 5 o’clock for her main walk, even if I let her outside throughout the day.

I am not a hurrying kind of person. I love the leisurely pace of my days with Cedar. Not having to hurry also helps to balance out some of the tiredness of having to constantly, ceaselessly be “on” with him. I like being able to set him in his high chair at lunch time and let him eat his peas and rice puffs--one by one by one-- while I eat, sweep, do dishes, and bustle around tidying at his side. I like having plans or social outings with other adults and babies most days, but I also like having plenty of down time. I am not the type of person who can easily go from one play date to another—one is plenty for me. And although I’ll go crazy if we spend too many days alone, I will also go crazy if we go too many days without a day to just be mellow and alone. And by alone, I mean Cedar and I, bopping around, going to the library, the grocery store, the pond, listening to music, doing our thing. (Lest this sound too idyllic, trust me, it’s also very tiring.)

Now, enter Fergie. There have been days already where I’d really rather not arrange my day around her walk—when we already have plenty going on to keep us busy. Yet there have also been days when I’ve been grateful for her canine company. That extra bit of energy jingling by my side as we pack our bags full of snacks and treats and journey off to the park. An adventure. That extra bit of entertainment and love filling our home. That giant breathing ribcage to lean my head against at the end of the day and say goodnight.

Fergie is a really sweet dog, and her presence is seeping into my skin day by day. But it wasn’t love at first sight; as a breed, I’d never been drawn to Dobermans—they don’t inspire that furry, goofy, cuddly response that say, Labs or Retrievers do. Yet I’d also heard that Dobies can be great family dogs—gentle, smart, loyal, mellow (if they get their exercise), and not huge shedders. Of course, this same loyalty can translate into over-protectiveness, and I don’t need to tell you about some of the more negative stereotypes that Dobermans carry. I see people tense as we pass them, and although I am confident that Fergie would never bark or lunge at a person unprovoked, I try to resist the impulse to draw in her leash or move away from the people we pass so as not to make them nervous. Dobermans seem to be one of those breeds that people either love or hate. Many dog lovers know enough to know that Dobies can be sweeties, but most everyone else kind of shudders or reacts with surprise when they hear what kind of dog we’ve adopted.

When I walk with Fergie and Cedar, they kind of balance each other out: big, “vicious” dog + cute, innocent baby= neutral response to the smallish, Asianish woman wielding the leash and stroller, smiling her hellos. I admit, I kind of like the attention Fergie attracts, or at least I’m curious about it, curious about what kind of looks people give us as we pass. And although I abhor the idea of someone getting a dog to compliment or enhance their image, I admit, I do feel just a tad more bad-ass with Fergie (in her metal pinch collar) by my side. Maybe it’s a refreshing anti-thesis to having my identity so tied to carrying a baby for this last year. Maybe I have just been craving some kind of change. Now, my steps are carried forward with a newly jubilant and purposeful stride with a dog—a bad-ass dog (but really a sweetie) by my side.

Fergie is incredibly gentle, having grown up around a small child and other animals. She is not at all aggressive towards humans, cats or even bunnies. But I still like to keep a close eye on Cedar and Fergie, as she towers over him and he crawls underfoot—all in a small carpeted space crowded with toys where they both hang out most of the time. (And did I mention we live in a 810 square foot house?). Actually, I’m more concerned about Cedar hurting Fergie than vice versa, as he is fond of grabbing her fur or at her face (not a good habit). Fergie’s already demonstrated a non-plussed tolerance of all this, but I don’t want her to get hurt or to take any chances that she might someday get annoyed enough to react differently. I don’t really feel this will happen, but I know it is a good thing to be cautious for now when she is still so new to our family.

“Tell me again, why did we want a dog?” I asked Matthew one night last week after a particularly exhausting day. I was only half joking. “It was your idea,” he said with a glint in his eye. When I shot him a look he added, “Because we want to be a big happy family?” Better, but in that moment, I wanted something more, something to assure me that we hadn’t just irresponsibly followed some whim. There was a small sinking part of me that feared that the naysayers may have been right. In particular, one Facebook post from a friend: “Everyone I know who has a baby and gotten a dog regrets it. Harsh but true.” Ouch. Would I too become one of those people, drawn by the allure of “a big happy family,” a T.V. image of a couple, child, and dog bounding for the woods together (that doesn’t show the difficulty packing, the long drive, the wet dog smelling up the tent)? It occurred to me that none of the people who’d encouraged us to “Go for it!” and “Get the dog!” had a baby. Was this really not the ideal time?

But then I had a little epiphany the other day while I was walking Fergie. It hit me that the things we most value in our lives, the things that are the most rich and give us the most pleasure, are the things that take the most effort, energy and devotion. This might not be an original or profound thought, but it came to me with a steadying clarity and assurance.

Ultimately I feel so fortunate to have adopted a dog whom has been raised by a friend, a dog whose history I know, and who has been nothing but a source of love and great companionship for her past owners. I can’t really imagine a better situation. If this opportunity hadn’t come about, I don’t know when I had the energy to raise a puppy, and I don’t know if we would’ve felt comfortable adopting an adult dog with an unknown past until Cedar was much older.

Of course it is more tiring and stressful right now. But something tells me that it won’t take long before I can’t imagine Fergie not being here. Something tells me that she was meant to be with us, and I know she will reveal who she is to us more and more so every day.   

Thank You

Almost two weeks ago, Cedar and I were rear-ended while heading over to my parents' house. I was stopped at a light behind two other cars on Lake City Way (a busy four-lane street), and I never saw it coming. Thankfully, neither of us were hurt, with the exception of some neck and back strain that I am getting treatment for now. But the impact was a shock to the system. Cedar started crying right away, and the scariest part of this whole experience for me was hearing him and not knowing initially if he was okay. Thankfully, he stopped crying soon after I got him into my arms. Dazed and disoriented, I exchanged information with the lady who hit me, and quickly joined my family who helped me to process the experience and the next steps to take. Cedar was smiling and back to his usual self within minutes, but my hands didn’t stop shaking for over an hour.

Thank God it wasn’t more serious. Thank God for seat belts and car seats. Thank God that I don’t have to deal with any more hassle than the visits with insurance agents, auto body shops, and chiropractors, and the lingering tightness in my back and neck. These things will pass and soon enough we will be back to our normal routine.

I want to take this opportunity to reflect on what else I am thankful for right now. I want to praise all that is positive, growing, improving, and illuminating in my life, for I know that I often write more in this blog on what is difficult or frustrating. It’s important for me to process what is challenging, of course, and parenting provides no end of material in this department, but if I had more time I would take care to regularly honor all that is encouraging and beautiful too. For despite the ongoing struggles, I am happy and thankful for my daily existence and for all the growth and wonderment that motherhood has gifted me.

So as we keep leaning into the coming of lighter days, here are a few other things I am grateful for:

1. New friendships. Although I often bemoan a lack of time for so many things, one pursuit that I have actually had more time for since becoming a mom is the pursuit of friendship. Most of the new friends I have made in the last year or two are also new moms. Some I’ve met through my PEPS group, and others are old friends and acquaintances I’ve connected with through Facebook. As new moms, there is so much we share in common, so much we have to learn from each other, and so much we can offer each other simply by understanding the depth, strain and joy of experiencing motherhood. Even if I see these moms less often now than I did during those first few months when more of them were on maternity leave, I still feel and value their presence in my life enormously.

2. Old friends and sisters. You know who you are, you ladies who have been with me since high school and college, or even earlier. You women who listen to me like no others, who hear me on deep levels, who inspire me with your creativity and passion, and who are the most remarkable aunties that Cedar could ever hope for. I am so very grateful you are in my life.

3. The overall improvement in Cedar’s gas and rash. The slow, but continuous expansion of my diet. Figuring out exactly what Cedar is allergic or sensitive to, even if it’s taken a lot of effort, self-sacrifice, repeated mistakes, frustration, doctor’s visits, guesswork, nights of watching my baby suffer, and general overall struggle. But all this effort has been worth it, and now, my baby is happier and I have learned to be more aware than ever before of what I put into my body.

4. Having my family close by. Watching my mom and dad’s growing delight in Cedar. Knowing that he will feel comfortable, safe, and loved with his grandparents and aunts and uncles. Knowing that I have someone to leave him with in a pinch, if need be. Knowing that me and Cedar are supported by my family’s love.

5. Me and Cedar’s daily routine. Having a nap schedule I can count on, for now, which allows me to better plan and flow with my day. The mellowness of our rhythm, the small pleasures. Waking slowly and playing with Cedar’s bear in bed. Drinking my coffee and checking email while he plays on the floor. Cedar’s naps in my arms while I sit in the recliner, drink more coffee, journal, and read. Our walks to the Meadowbrook pond where we look at the ducks in the water, the crows in the sky, and the trees overhead. Our slow strolls through the yard around the house, with Cedar in the Ergo or Bjorn, examining bushes and leaves. Our winding down times, nursing and reading books on the bed, reading “Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?”, playing his favorite throw the blanket over his head game.

6. And while I’m at it, all the small, ever-changing things about Cedar that I love. The way he claps his hands in delight. The way he growls, or smacks his lips. The way his hands and arms quiver in excitement when he sees Miles, our cat, or when you’re holding something he wants. His emerging personality: a mix of quiet watchfulness with silly playfulness and curiosity. Watching him learn every day and grow aware of everything.

7. The fact that my husband was able to find a job that he loves in less than two months in the midst of this recession, and that he is now able to be home with us every night instead of on the road. Watching my husband play with and watch his son. The cozy feeling of being a family, creating new rituals like going to a pumpkin patch or decorating a Christmas tree. Lying in bed together, the three of us, cuddling. Our rare date nights (or rather, date afternoons). Too rare, but that much more delectably pleasurable for that reason. The way we understand each other, always have, wordlessly. The new challenges we face, that are hard, no doubt, but that I know we will keep learning from.

8. And finally (I could go on, but I’ll stop here so I can actually finish this post), I am grateful for this blog. For this outlet, for this ritual, and for the constant sense that I have something I need to explore and say about motherhood, about writing, about life. I am grateful for this life that is intense and new and hard enough that it keeps my compulsion to process it through words burning and immediate, but not so hard that I am left with no energy or time at all.

And I am grateful for you, my readers, whoever you are, because this knowledge that I am writing for both myself and for others motivates me to sit down each week and write, even when my mind initially protests that it’s too spacey or tired. For years I labored away on personal essays and a collection of memoirs, getting my MFA, attending classes, submitting work to my writing group, and revising pieces over and over and over again as I refined my voice and craft. This process was important to me and my growth as a writer, but after submitting my work to literary journals for years, waiting months for replies, and getting so close to being accepted to this journal or that one, but again and again rejected, it is such a blessed liberation to take a break from one narrow mode of publication, and instead to be able to put my thoughts out there, raw, immediate and less refined. Instantly accessible to family and friends, less digested and “perfect.” But out there, nevertheless, and read, and appreciated. I know, because you’ve told me so. Thank you.

During this time when I often don’t feel like I have much of a life, body, or space that I can call my “own,” this blog has been a lifeline to my creativity, my sanity, and to my overall sense of wholeness and balance. And more than this, it is also a major way that I have maintained a sense of connection to a greater community, whether this community is my father whom I would not be able to share my thoughts in such a nuanced way with in person, or whether this community is a stranger who has randomly stumbled across my words.

Thank you, blog. Thank you, friends. Thank you, husband, family, baby, home, universe. Thank you for everything you have given and continue to give me. I am so blessed, I know this. And as we enter this new year, my wish is that you may all know and cherish your blessings, too.