random thoughts: stuffed but empty

in very basic terms, i'm a minimalist. over the years I've 'lost' my possessions (televisions, stereos, books, clothes, sentimental things, etc) repeatedly due to moves, basement floods, theft and various other circumstances. each time things get lost it hurts for a bit but never more than a month or two because that's how long I give myself to say 'well I've managed two month without ______, so I don't need it.'

'hoarders' the tv show shows the extreme side of a very common problem in this country; our self-worth lies in our possessions. it's the down side of a capitalist society, we have to have lots of pretty things to show our success. it's a lie and a mask, a mask made of lots and lots of stuff covering lots and lots of inner emptiness.

I'm deeply grateful to be able to take stock and see I have way more love in my life than 'stuff' and I realize I never want it any other way.

Bi the Way: I am Bisexuality at it's Finest!

this is a post from my new, R-rated, NSFW, cover the kid's eyes blog Other Side of Mama. on Other Side of Mama i take great and grand liberties in letting my freak flag fly and kicking the censors to the curb. on Other Side of Mama i pay homage to the foul-mouthed floozy within! and as such, my first official post there is being highlighted on BlogHer.com in the Life section (HAPPY DANCE!!)! I'm very proud of this and i wanted to share my news all over the place so if the kids are in bed and you're not feeling too sensitive, hop on over and give it a read, tell me what you think! :D

s

How to Clear a Clogged Shower Head with Vinegar

i'm always on the hunt for awesome easy, green and inexpensive ways to keep my home healthy for my boys, so this handy little tidbit is fantastic! thanks Savvy Brown for the ever-useful info!


How to Clear a Clogged Shower Head with Vinegar

hairy situation

i spend way too much time talking about this natural, giant, curly mass of hair. i said 'too much time' because i'm not talking about my hair, i'm talking about my son's.

apparently my decision to just let it be big and beautiful as long as he lets me detangle and comb it a few times a week, doesn't sit well with everyone. there seems to be some unspoken rule that if a little black boy is going to have long hair it should be cornrowed or braided in some way. if not, cut it off.

i happen to think his hair is fantastic just the way it is and i have no desire to try and contain it. in fact, this one's for you kid!!

Whip My Hair Sesame Style - Willow Smith Remix (I Love My Hair)

insomnia

the gas face

i'm an insomniac. it's one of a few sleep issues i've always had and probably the only one that really bothers me. not being able to sleep is nasty business and not for the weak of mind or short of temper. granted, after a week or two of insomnia anyone's bound to be weak of mind and short of temper, but at least if you don't start out that way it might take you longer to notice.

for example, i talk to myself. a lot. it's bad. but since having my boy it's gotten worse because i've always talked to him. in the womb, as a newborn, always. even now we have full conversations and he's only 2 1/2. but i think that wearing him in a front carrier and doing things like asking him during walks 'honey do you think we should go left or right? right? well then right it is!' has soaked into my nature and now i can't stop. i actually catch myself having these same conversations to no one but myself. out loud and with feeling. 'what am i gonna eat? does a sandwich sound good? well then a sandwich it is!!'

at one point i thought i'd toned it down but eventually i realized i was just talking in more of a whisper, which only proved to make me look crazier.

but after a week or so of no good sleep i'm even talking to myself with my son sitting right there. i have full fledged conversations and i don't even notice it....right up until i see that look of baffled amusement on my son's face. he never asks me who i'm talking to- he's 2, imaginary conversations are his life. he just stares at me with his curious eyes and crooked grin and i'm pulled out of whatever conversation i'm having with me.

the temper is another story.

i have a fairly long but oddly explosive temper. i've always been able to disregard a lot of crap before i get really mad, a trait that serves a chic like me. it helps me look for the humor, balance, or benefit first in whatever situation or outcome. it takes a lot to piss me off. but when it happens i have very little control over the hulkian green rage that washes over me.

i've gotten into lots of trouble because of this.

my son is a spirited boy. spirited as in a very sweet way of saying he has the energy of a hummingbird, the strength of a bull and the brains of a really friggin smart kid. and he's 2. and most days i keep another spirited boy. another 2 yr. old spirited boy. it's......fun.

my temper has become a razor's edge with me stuffing an elmo toy down a kid's throat on one side and me chaining a child to the backyard fence on the other.

so, insomniac mom has had enough. tonight i try a valerian/hot milk combo with a benadryl chaser and maybe the wall street journal on audible. i'll be sleep before they finish reading the title.

he loves, we hate

my son will be 2 years old in a month. i know i'm in store for big fun potty training, grand scale temper tantrums, lots of new vocabulary, and budding personality traits, but have no mistake this boy is definitely his own person. he is a very verbal and articulate little man and has no problem telling me and anyone else what he wants, doesn't want, likes and dislikes.

and therein lies my dilemma as a mom.

when my li'l one decided to boycott eating all things red, i patiently complied. i knew it was a phase that would last as long as a 1 year old's attention span can last and of course it did pass (granted, he then decided to boycott eating the color orange, but my patience still prevails). my sweet boy is now adamantly protesting wearing any shirts with tags in the collar. i rather agree with this protest, itchy tags in baby clothes are just mean! but what happens when he absolutely LOVES something that i, or his father, hates?

at the moment, there's a particular cartoon that our boy absolutely loves, i mean he loves it. when he woke up this morning it was the first thing he asked for and at night it's the last thing he wants to see. i know it's just another one in what's bound to be an ongoing series of phases and i think it's rather funny. daddy however is not so amused. as much as our boy loves this cartoon, that's how much his father hates it. i mean he really hates it.


i don't let our son watch anything that i haven't watched first and nothing that doesn't benefit him in some way. anything he watches has to teach him something good, so it's not that this particular cartoon is harmful in anyway. his father just thinks it's a lame cartoon. that's the problem. the cartoon is not objectionable just unlikeable. so do we inflict our likes, our personal preferences on our son and not let him watch this cartoon or allow his personal preferences to bloom as they naturally will?

i've always loathed when parents say things like "my child will only eat chicken nuggets" or "my 5 year old loves the song 'birthday sex'" because as far as i'm concerned it means the child is the parent and the parent has allowed that child to run over them. a child has no job and can't buy themselves chicken nuggets or a cd so that parent has to provide these things. thus their statement should be "i only buy my child chicken nuggets" or "i let my child listen to 'birthday sex'". to me, these parents have a problem with accountability and a bigger problem with their parenting skills because in essence they're blaming their children for actions that it's the parents responsibility to control.

these parents also have the problem of wanting to be their child's 'friend' instead of the 'parent'. i thoroughly understand not wanting to deny your child something they really want, i know how tough it can be when a sad-faced, miserable kid begs and pleads for something i just don't want him to have or i know he shouldn't have. it goes from annoying to heartbreaking rapidly, but i'm his mother not his friend. my biggest role as his mother is to protect him and i can't do that if i'm too busy trying to be his friend. but in an effort to protect him the converse is also true.

as far as i'm concerned, just because i dislike something doesn't mean i have the right to keep it from him if it's something that does him no actual harm and especially if it's something that helps him. thinking back to my childhood and adolescence my parents were pretty good about living this concept. they created a learning environment in our home so that the things that were in my life as a child were all beneficial to my growing brain until i was able to earn my own money and indulge in my own preferences. i know they were not fans of the very loud heavy metal and even louder clothes and makeup, but their objections were few. their method was to expose me to as much as possible so that i had a wide berth of knowledge to learn from and develop. the end result is a 35 year old woman who can still rock hard with the best of 'em, or mellow out to some nina simone or sam cooke.

i will protect my son to the best of my ability everyday of his life. that means he will never have a chicken nugget that i don't cook myself or listen to any song with a title like 'birthday sex' until he's able to buy these things with his own hard earned cash, even if that doesn't happen until he's 18.

that also means i won't be forcing my likes or dislikes on him because then i'm not allowing him to be his own person, and frankly i'm very curious as to who that person is going to be and i can't wait to meet him!

turn off the light

I have a full head tonight. thoughts running and racing, bouncing off of each other, makes it hard to write anything truly coherent.

so instead I'll leave you with someone else's words, a poet I grew up loving and I'm so happy to share with my son now. good night beautiful people, now turn off the light.

-----

"When You Turn Off The Light"

Small as a peanut,
Big as a giant,
We're all the same size
When we turn off the light.
Rich as a sultan,
Poor as a mite,
We're all worth the same
When we turn off the light.

Red, black or orange
Yellow or white,
We all look the same
When we turn off the light.

So maybe the way
To make everything right
Is for God to just reach out
And turn off the light!

-- Shel Silverstein

babylove's love

this is a notice to everyone who will spend time with our baby boy alone, the people who love him and want to bond with him. he's a really good kid, honest! he doesn't mean to break your furniture and pull apart your electronic devices. he's just curious and very enthusiastic.

we want you to know that he probably likes you, he's very friendly, but he does have some unusual ways of showing affection, coupled with his....enthusiasm, it's easy to confuse his affection for minor acts of terrorism. this is a basic guide to understanding babylove's expressions of affection.



1. if he stares at you blankly for extended periods he probably likes you, or at least he's interested in learning what you're bringing to the table. captivate him with exagerated funny faces & sound effects and you've made a friend.

2. if he shrieks and runs away from you, he likes you. he just gets so excited in your presence he simply must flee. this is how he responds everytime he sees his father!

3. if he throws things at you he does like you. especially if he aims for your head. he's just sharing.

4. if he asks you to pick him up, then immediately put him down, then pick him up again, then repeat, he really likes you. he thinks you're worthy of being his plaything.

5. if he runs at you then pummels you about the head, neck, and chest with his strong little fists he thinks you're great! you're so great he can't believe you're real unless he pounds on you repeatedly!

6. if he's sitting on your lap and suddenly tries to agressively climb, you he loves you! he loves you so much he has to get closer to you, climb inside of you even.

7. on the rarest of occassions he will actually take your face in both of his little hands, says 'mmmmmaaahhh!' and plant one right on the kisser! this means.....well we're actually not sure. it happens so rarely we haven't had many instances to study this behavior. but we're hopeful!

so there you have it, a basic rundown of how babylove shows his love. so when you hand him back over to us just consider all of your bumps, bruises, and broken items to be signs of love!

exittheapple presents "story" episode 4: grandma's house

exittheapple presents "story" - a pared-down film experience exploring the essence of story and storytelling. episode 4: grandma's house, is a story by your's truly! this was a tremendous experience and i'm so honored to have had the chance to tell my story.

watch and enjoy!



story
-noun 1. a narrative, either true or fictitious, in prose or verse, designed to interest, amuse, or instruct the hearer or reader; tale.

perspective

your mindset shapes your life. it shapes how you see the world, it colors your opinions of situations and people, it determines whether you have good or bad experiences.

i was just reminded of a very short story that had a very big impact on me. in the 1920's a bunch of fellow writers challenged ernest hemingway to write an entire story in just six words. six words, and hemingway felt it was his best work. six words:

For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.

i read that in high school, freshman year. i thought it was one of the saddest things i'd ever seen. it was so pointed, it felt like it had to be just six words because it was too tragic a story to relay anymore than six words. i thought it was a story of loss and suffering.

about a year ago i was asked if i'd ever heard the hemingway six-word story, to which i replied, "i've heard it but i don't remember the words. i do remember it's something ridiculously sad."

i googled and found:

For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.

this time i was struck at how sweet and joyous the story was! this time it was a story of growth and surprises. it was funny and cute and i read it over and over, smiling the whole time. i wanted to remember it.

perspective.

the first time i read the story, i read it with the mind and experiences of a cynical teenager. i was rebellious and often jaded, i didn't see that the world had a lot to offer and most of what it did give was sorrow life was about loss so the story was about loss.

when i read it again as an adult, i read it with the mind of a woman content with herself and her world. i read it as a woman in love, a happy new mom, a confident woman. i read it as the mother of a healthy baby boy that just outgrew three pairs of shoes before he ever had a chance to wear them. this time, the story was beautifully triumphant.

perspective. everything i see is colored by my perspective, which means that living with a good perspective keeps my experiences wonderful and uplifting. i have wonderful experiences because i choose to see the wonder in my experiences.

it's all about your perspective.

I'm a Bad Motha-! - my kid's a jerk!

my kid's a jerk! yea, that's right, i said it; MY KID'S A JERK!

even more annoying is the fact that he's a very intentional jerk. i don't think he intentionally means to be a jerk, but he very intentionally does things that are extremely jerk-like.

po-tay-to, po-tah-to, whatever. he's a jerk.

i will say that his general jerkiness is making me into one of those crafty moms, so it has it's good side. for example, all babies love the drop-and-pickup game. it's a riot to them for whatever reason to take whatever object is in their hand and repeatedly drop/throw it then squeal heartbrokenly if you don't retrieve it for them.

of course when you do they just drop/throw it again. big fun.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="153" caption="our little lion at his true angry best"][/caption]my kid takes drop-and-pickup to another level. he'll squeal, screech, and flail about until he has a good sized collection of toys and trinkets within arms reach, then he'll hurl them one by one to the nether regions of the room, then squeal, screech, flail about or contort/struggle/writhe and attempt personal injury until he gets them back...individually. don't try to pick them all up at once and hand them to him in a bunch. not unless you want him to smack them onto the floor, or even more fun, throw them at YOU individually. and for a 1 yr. old his aim in uncanny.

after having to leave the room a few times and count to ten while taking deep cleansing breaths, i had to realize that he's only doing it because his way means he gets my attention for longer. even if i ignore the game for a little while, he'll bang his head on things, throw himself backwards, try to twist out of whatever he's strapped into almost to the point of giving himself rope burn; he'll force me to pay attention to him for as long as he deems necessary.

he's a jerk, but he's very intelligent. he's wiley. so am i.

i've now found ways to strap everything to him or to whatever contraption he's strapped into. it's particularly awesome when he's in his stroller and done playing with whatever bottle, cup, or toy that was occupying him and has to hurl it with all his might to show his completion; kind-hearted people damn near dive like their going for home base to catch the poor baby's object before it touches the nasty ground only to feel foolish when the object boings and lands back in his lap thanks to whatever cord or device i used.

somehow, he also senses when i'm trying to keep him on a schedule to that i can get some kind of work done. again, he knows that a scheduled day means less face-time for baby and this is not an option.

these are the days when the baby adrenaline kicks in.

he won't sleep. sleep is the enemy and the enemy must be defeated.

he will pull out every stop in his efforts to stave off the enemy. i've seen my child pull at his own hair, punch himself with toys (not the plush, squishy toys, the hard plastic ones), even bite his own toes so hard he left teeth marks just to stay awake.

and of course the more of this he does the more attention he requires because, you know, it hurts him. a lot.

so basically he won't sleep and he won't let me put him down for 5 mins. because he'll injure himself. or his new trick is to jam anything, including his own fist, so far down his throat that he pukes. then he does a happy dance in said puke and holds the offending, puke covered object out to me with a big, 6 toothed grin.

WHAT A JERK!!!

i mean if the person you lived with acted like this just for their own amusement you'd put their crap out on the street and change the locks! i'm probably not going to put my child out yet, but i don't care what you say, he really is a jerk.

begin

have you ever read "lady in the water" by m. night shyamalan? not the movie, even though contrary to popular preference i liked the movie too. i mean the book that the movie is based on. it's a children's book, he wrote it for his own kids.

it is classic shyamalan, there are twists and bizarre developments, and in the end you may not feel he answered all of your questions. i love it.

there is so much room for you (and your child) to elaborate on the story and turn it into something of your own. my little one is only 8 months old, so the imagination part is totally up to me right now, but i don't mind. it gives me time to hone my storytelling skills so that when he's 5 he doesn't already think i'm lame.

shyamalan knows he's building a foundation for the creative mind to build on, the last page doesn't read 'the end', it reads 'begin'.

it's new years, the first day of a new year. it's probably the one day when the masses are simultaneously thinking about change and growth and all things new. today we think about the year ahead and what can happen differently and there is so much room for twists and bizarre developments.

it's all new today. you might have the same job, schedule, car or whatever, but if your mindset is new, it's all new. start a new story of your life and make it elaborate, make it your own. today you're new.

begin.

enough

i believe we create our own existence. by what we hope for or don't hope for, by what we focus on or don't focus on, and by what we surround ourselves with or don't surround ourselves with.

if you choose a life that includes happiness, love, health and harmony and embrace all of that in your current life, you will always welcome more into your life. self-fulfilling prophecy.

if you choose a life that includes anger, loneliness, illness and discontent and embrace all of that in your current life, you will always welcome more into your life. self-fulfilling prophecy.

i've had enough.

no more conspiracy theories, no more random paranoia, no more higher and lower levels of evildoers waiting to do me harm. no more gossip and no more nastiness. no more.

i've had enough.

i choose what will be present in my life.

to be informed about the actualities that exist in this world is smart, to be inundated with the potential evils that could exist in any world is self-destructive.

tell me something good. tell me what you love. tell me what made you smile today. and i'll tell you the same. i'll tell you why i think you're cool. i'll tell you about something beautiful i saw. i'll tell you something sweet.

let's shine some light in each other's worlds instead of casting shadows. there can never be enough of that.

a hug from the universe

i love when i can actually look around at the tangible and intangible things in my life and see, fully see, the energy i put out coming back to me. the hopes, the love, the dreams- all reflected in my day-to-day life. even better is when it's a surprise!

right now, my life is pretty damn good. i have so much love in me and around me that i sometimes don't know where to put it all. i am in love and it's the first emotionally mutual relationship i've ever had. it's the first time in my life i've been with someone who was just as in love with me as i am with him, at a time when we were both available to each other. the same man i took to my high school prom, and i loved him just as much then. we have a healthy, beautiful, energetic, happy, loving son and we all adore each other. 

but the expanse of positive wealth in my surroundings has layered over into other aspects that i'm just truly understanding.

i realized when i got pregnant that my social life was going to change. i would have to limit the time i spent with lots of my friends, only because they are good people and there are some things good people don't like to do around pregnant women. even if it's play loud music or have a cigarette, some people are just protective of the mother-to-be and my friends are those people. i didn't want them to be uncomfortable so i didn't hang out much. and the same applies to a woman wearing a 6 month old strapped to her front. there are some things good people just don't like to do around kids. i totally get it.

but i was missing a community. i was feeling a bit isolated and it was an unfamiliar feeling to me. i've always spent a lot of time alone, it was often the side effect of being a black nerd. but this time i was in unchartered waters and it was unpleasant. kinda like 'castaway'; i felt like i was reinventing fire....only in my womb.

but then, in what was a remarkably quick show of understanding, all of the members of my new community surfaced and gave me a little hug, even if we never saw each other. i got messages and emails from couples and mothers and soon-to-be mothers and lots more happy, nappy, natural people and it was all love and peace. it was sharing and laughing and offers of help and i was always touched and reassured. i was given a circle where i could laugh when i felt like crying, talk freely about disgustingly personal bodily functions and not have a single raised eyebrow, and just hang out and not feel like i was bringing the party down.

and i love my old friends, they are still my family and so close and dear to me and i see them whenever i can. i even take the baby sometimes (he's just too cute and people need to see him sometimes, he makes them happy!). and now i'm even more blessed with another family that i can call out to for advice, amusement, and nervous breakdown avoidance and they all have their own level of 'i've been there' experience. 

this is my big ol' hug to all of you! every one of my family and friends who knew to send me love when i needed it. who offered me help (even though i'm not very good at asking for help), who shared a story, who hung out with me at various levels of hormonal schizophrenia.

thank you, i love you, and i'm hugging you right now.

p.s. this big ol' bear hug goes out especially to kandi, tomeka, tori, the bennu tribe, mirlande and fam, stefanie, and meagan cuz you love our babies soooo much!

I'm a Bad Motha-! - Food for Thought

Breastfeeding. Breastfeeding. Think about that word for a sec - breastfeeding. Literally, feeding a person from a breast. My breast. If you've done this before it probably just seems rather innate after a while, and I'm sure after a while it will seem innate to me too, however right now I am painfully aware that several times a day I have to feed a person from my breast.

Now let me preface this by saying that yes, breastfeeding is a wonderful thing, the bonding time with my baby is very cool especially when he's staring up at my face like he's memorizing every freckle. It's so sweet... but there are some definite quirks to the situation.

It's a rather surreal event sometimes. I mean, we'll skim over the whole 'leaking' fun and not dwell on the uncontrollable flow of fluid from body parts that are now 5 sizes bigger than they were just one short year ago. It's just so weird that now the process for alleviating hunger for a member of the household now requires me to be topless at odd and often public times and places.



And you can look at me and plainly see that I am a rather buxom broad. My girls were pretty large and in charge before getting pregnant, then during pregnancy they began get a little more robust and dynamic (but they were almost eclipsed by the growing dome just inches below them), and now they are a new breed of wild beast. So I watch some women breastfeed and it looks like such a delicate and non-evasive process, but when I whip one of my massive ta-ta's out it is blatantly obvious that my boob is bigger than my infant's head. BIGGER THAN HIS HEAD! And my kid has a pretty big head. Luckily it doesn't have a funky shape or anything because it could definitely knock down his cute points. But still when my kid is latched on several times I've look down and thought, "That looks like the number 8."

Think about it.

The comparison is that for some fortunate lady with a C-cup, breastfeeding in public just looks like a woman cradling a baby to her bosom, the beautiful back of the baby's head obscuring any sign of mommy's skin. From almost any angle a halo of flesh is visible around my baby's head when he's sucking on me. Then, for an added bonus, my little boy likes to grab my shirt and lift it up and down, up and down, flashing any eager eyes that happen to be wandering our way.

And the biting.

Don't let anyone tell you that gums can't cause pain. Gums, gnawing little gums, gums connected to jaws that have no impulse control can freakin' hurt! Especially when those gums are gnawing on swollen and sore boobs, it really freakin' hurts. And I really want to do what's best for my boy and breastfeed him until he's at least 6 months, but I don't know - once his 1st tooth comes in we just might have to renegotiate this contract. I'd hate to accidentally punch the li'l guy in the top of his head for biting his dear mommy.

Like I said, breastfeeding can be endearing and quite cool and I'd do it all over again without hesitation.... well, without much hesitation.

I'm a Bad Motha-! - Adjustments

It's amazing the things that one can adjust to in a short period of time.

I never thought I would not only get used to, but actually enjoy having a person drool or vomit on me. Having been a wild ass drunken club kid it's not the first time in my life that these things have happened, but it is the first time that I thought it was cute.  Granted, it's baby puke and drool, but it's puke and drool nonetheless.

I've adjusted to having liquid flowing from me without my control. It's an odd little dilema, when I'm home these days it seems pretty fruitless to wear a top because my giant, fat baby will either drool or puke on it, or attempt to eat through it to get to my boobs, however walking around topless has led to trails and puddles of breastmilk all over the apartment. Also, I've had female friends point out that if I don't wear a good bra more often my boobs will soon be in my lap (since I am a rather buxom broad).

I've adjusted to the post-partum narcolepsy. It's funny, I can't sleep when I want to because my child has radar and will always wake up as soon as I lay down intentionally (his radar is also excellent for knowing when I'm about to eat or have sex), but as soon as I try to sit and read a book or watch a movie.... 3 hours later I wake up wondering what the hell happened.

I can't even think of all the things that have changed over the past 4 months that are now just a regular part of my life and I guess being a mama means just taking it all in stride.... and only owning wash-and-wear clothing.

Welcoming Me Back

I think around the eigth month of pregnancy I started to really grasp the fact that I was actually having a baby.

Really, 'being pregnant' and 'having a baby' are two entirely different things. I focused on 'being pregnant', eating right, exercising the muscles in all the right places, getting doctors and making (and keeping) more appointments than I've ever had. Being pregnant was a lot but I was getting the hang of it.

And then it occurred to me one day that I wasn't just pregnant, I was having a baby!! I was going to be responsible for a tiny, delicate, fragile life that I have to raise and educate and prepare for the world! Are you kidding me!?!

I had more than one minor anxiety attack.

Luckily, it didn't take me as long to adjust to motherhood as it did to adjust to 'having a baby'. My baby is only 10 weeks old and I can honestly say 'I get it'.  Yes I am totally responsible for a tiny, delicate, fragile life that I have to raise and educate and prepare for the world, but it's so much more basic than that. My baby boy has the most beautiful, crooked, open-mouth giggle that I get rewarded with regularly. My baby boy recognizes me and will look for me when under stress; I bring him comfort. My baby boy will be a big boy, then a young man, and then a man, and I will give all that my soul has to make sure he's a damn good man.

My love for him initially made me frantic, self-conscious, neurotic and probably made me seem a bit nuts. I'm a first time mother, cut me some slack. Now, my love for him makes me cautious but joyous because I can see his love for me. His cute little baby love!

So, with all that said, I can feel the transition taking place. I can feel my certainty and confidence in the mother that I've always been and I'm feeling like 'me' again. I'm feeling my legs up under me again and I feel steady.

I wanted to pause for one second in the midst of my motherhood and welcome me back to the world.

Good to see you again!

Adding Up and Counting Down

Motherhood. Mommy. Mom. Soon, very, very soon, these words will apply to me. Damn. I'm not really sure that I'm ready, I wasn't even ready for the pregnancy and the abundance of changes that came about, but I guess most first time mothers have that sense of fear and uncertainty.

I have days where all I can think is, damn.

Initially is was difficult for me to say that I was pregnant. I wasn't wrapping my head around the concept very well. My 'partner', the baby's father, always tells people that I have a 'bun in the oven' or 'one on the way' or some other euphemism, which didn't help me to learn to vocalize what was going on. And then once I finally settled in the comfort of saying, "I'm pregnant." I had another obstacle to overcome.

I had to stop thinking of my pregnancy as some sort of ailment or situation that had to be dealt with and start embracing it as the best part of life and the one metamorphosis that my body would go through that meant more than any other. As uncomfortable and even downright painful as parts pregnancy can be, I wanted to make myself focus less on the discomfort and more on the actual little person that was forming and growing inside of me. This fueled my need to learn as much as possible about what we were going through. I wanted to know, week-by-week, what changes were taking place, what did my baby look like now, what should I be doing differently- any and everything I could pick up. It made the whole process more concrete to me, more real. Especially during that time before I could actually feel my little one kicking and squirming inside of me. Learning about my pregnancy helped me to accept it as natural and not quite as creepy as I once felt.

But that wasn't the end of it.

I'd accepted that I was pregnant. I understood the changes and developments that my tot and I were going through. It took a whole other mindset to translate 'being pregnant' into 'being a mother'.

It was one day in particular that drilled this point home. I was around seven months or so, it was early morning and I was trying to get a few more minutes of sleep. However the karate kicker in my belly had other ideas and simply wouldn't settle down. For about a week or so before this particular day, whenever my little one was restless like this first thing in the morning I would get up and try some prenatal yoga, or go for a short walk (which is my partner's cure for every pregnancy discomfort) but it hadn't been very effective. This morning I had an epiphany that should have been common sense but just wasn't to me; I had to eat something. I was trying to soothe a hungry baby and all I really needed to do was eat. I ate, and a short time later my well fed kicker went back to sleep.

Wow, it sunk in with a vengeance. I have a baby to take care of, regardless of whether or not I'm holding the child in my arms at present, I have a baby, not a pregnancy, to take care of.

So now, with less than three weeks until my due date, I think I get it. I have no idea if I'm going to be a good mommy, but I do realize that everything that is happening means that yes, I'm going to be a mommy. I know I'll be a good provider, everything that this baby has now in preparation for their grand entrance into the world, I've provided.

Plus I've done everything in my power to stay healthy and happy to get my little one healthy and happy before they ever see the light of day. Isn't that what a mommy is supposed to do?

Bad Moods and Mad Shade

Misery does not always need company.  

Steps In Faith

"Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step." - Martin Luther King, Jr.