I'm not the me I'd thought I'd be.

It seems fitting that my last post was nearly two years ago, a day and half before kidlet was born.

The labor was hard. Ridiculously hard. It seems silly to even write that (giving birth kind of sucks? what?!), but I was stupidly shocked at how much more difficult it was than I'd imagined. Probably because it's so unlike anything else that there was nothing I could have reasonably compared it to. Not that I didn't try. Pre-labor, I'd puffed myself up using all manner of ridiculous comparisons...I'd played rugby and had been tackled by some very large women; I'd broken a finger in the second grade; I'd once gotten into a fight in the seventh grade and had been punched squarely in the mouth.

Please.

40+ hours and too damned much Pitocin later, I would have happily taken all of those experiences on simultaneously, many, many times rather than push that 8 lb. 4 oz. kid--who seemed intent on giving my insides the departing gift of many swift kicks during her exit--out into world.

But push her out I did, somehow. And suddenly I was the mama of a beautiful little girl.

Mamahood has been interesting. Tough, to be sure. Frequently joyful. Surprising. Frightening. Exhausting. And certainly overwhelming at times.

I'm not the mom I thought I'd be. I don't get down on the floor with kidlet. I'm frequently the one who's too uptight, unwilling or unable to see the humor in things. I often feel like I'm getting a whiff of the teenage years when I tell her "No" and she smiles at me slyly before continuing with the offending behavior.

But mostly, I worry. The world is too dangerous. The devil incarnate, alternately seen speaking on the FAUX news channel or spewing hatred on the radio, seems hell-bent (pardon the pun) on making Americans hate each other even more than they hate group A, B, or C on the other side of the planet. (Not that we should be hating anybody, fwiw--but we do seem to be especially keen on hating our neighbors these days.)

I thought that somehow, once I came into my own as a mother, that I'd be centered, calm, ready to take on poopy diapers and a world seemingly gone mad without breaking too much of a sweat.

Wrong, again.

I'm more anxious than ever. I forge into each day trying my best to keep blinders on--to block out the latest headlines about an atrocity committed home or abroad, the latest environmental disaster, or the most recent manifestation of how good a job we're doing at fooling ourselves about who we're really, really being in the world and the impact it has on others.

And if that doesn't get me going, I've got an imagination just waiting to run wild at the slightest insinuation of all the Things That Can Go Wrong. Car accidents. Tree branches torn loose by freak tornadoes, falling onto a child walking unsuspectingly below. Remote control batteries, shining silver pills that cause difficult-to-identify symptoms and, ultimately, death if they're not extracted from small stomachs in time.

In my head, I've lost the kidlet a hundred different ways. It's like I'm steeling myself for dealing with misery, God(please)-forbid anything terrible should ever occur.

It's another extension of the same anxieties I had growing up (and often as an adult), when I'd imagine the overwhelming grief I'd experience when losing a parent--and later, my husband.

I spend an awful lot of time worrying, and wallowing, and just generally feeling like I'm losing myself in my worries. But I've been a worrier all my life. Surely, I didn't think this would magically stop once I had a child?

Apparently, I did.

Baby viene

My water broke at 4, a little over an hour and a half ago. It seems somewhat surreal...after all the waiting, and the frustrated of going past my estimated due date -- when, for some inexplicable reason, I was convinced I'd deliver before it -- that this baby is going to be born sometime within the next 24 hours.

Michael was already up, as he'd been unable to sleep, but after we confirmed that this is really "it", I sent him back to sleep. I tried to go back to bed myself, but was anxious and -- when contractions hit -- in more pain than I am while sitting up/standing.

Wow. We're going to meet the baby. This being that we created, and that we're dedicating our lives to nurturing, nourishing, and preparing for a life in the world on his/her own.

A few minutes ago I was playing our song from the wedding -- "Simply Beautiful" by Al Green. Al Green + hormones = a whole lot of tears. It reminds me of an earlier transition, of our being at the point at we dedicated the rest of our lives to each other.

We're at the juncture of another transition. The leap into parenthood is no longer theoretical...it's happening at this very moment. Every contraction brings this child that we've talked about for so long and have waited for closer to our arms.

Anyway, I'm pregnant, in labor, tired (we walked 4 + miles and climbed 385 steps in an effort to get things going yesterday - and voila!), hormonal, and rambling...and apparently, I really am about to become a mom soon.

Why I love my little sister, reason #47

My little sister is in town from Chicago for the weekend on account of a baby shower a dear friend is hosting for me this Sunday.

At the moment, she's at my apartment, likely lounging, harassing our cats, and planning her day and evening out and about with old friends from high school.

I happened to log into my gmail account and noticed her logged into Google chat. Her status?

"in san francisco!!! my sissy is having a baby shower. Shes HUGE"

It won't matter when I'm 88 and she's 80. She'll always do exactly what a bratty but much loved little sister should. I suppose it's fair payback for all the times I told her that ET dropped her off on planet Earth when he was cruising past in his space ship.

Growing up is hard to do

I'm afraid of my life changing dramatically. Terrified, actually.

It's been just the two of us for 13 years (well -- two of us for 3 and then 4 of us for 10 if you count the cats, which I suppose I should). We've had such the young urban couple existence for so long...impromptu outings to restaurants, shows on the weekends, occasional parties with friends, jaunts to wine country or hiking spots, etc. Don't misunderstand...we're hardly party animals. On the contrary, we're mostly homebodies who take advantage of some of the luxuries of having disposable income and weekend (an occasional weeknight) free time -- and lots of ways/places to enjoy both. And most of our friends are going to continue living that lifestyle while we....what? disappear into the ether with the kiddo?

I started crying after we left the 4th of the July bbq that we attend every year. It's a wonderful, fun-loving, kidless crowd, and I couldn't help but feel like this was the last time we'd see most of these people. It was also one day before our friends -- a couple who has been one of our few local friends with kids -- were flying to Paris, where they'll be living for the next couple of years. My sadness was definitely exacerbated by a feeling of double loss. I cried during the downhill waddle from the BBQ to the car, and during most of the drive home.

I finally settled down after a warm herbal bath that night, but even so -- every one of my five (six?) trips to the restroom during that night found me looking at the clock and thinking -- "Wow, they're leaving in two hours", "They must be packing up the van now", "They must be sitting in the airport", and "I hope the munchkin doesn't run her tired parents ragged on the plane".

More than anything, I'm afraid of being lonely...isolated with no support network (we don't have family locally). I know we'll make new friends who will have kids themselves, but that takes time. I feel like I'm saying goodbye to a significant part of myself and stepping off a cliff..and frankly, some days it really scares the crap out of me.

Subject Line: Insomnia. I haz it.

Email sent to a pregnant friend who is due two weeks before I am. Yes, sent just now. As in, at 3 in the morning. On a school night.

Awesome.

*************

:-|

I am, at this very moment, composing in my head a guilt trip that I will lay upon this child -- the likes of which has not been seen by anyone..not by any child (or adult) with a Jewish mother, nor by any Catholic. No guilt trip laid upon anyone before EVER can come close to what's percolating in my sad, very, very tired little (ok, so it's actually huge) head right now.

"Oh, punkin -- you know, mommy would really, really love to get you a sweet little fluffy puppy. But puppies require lots and lots of work. And mommy is too old and tired to do the kind of work that a puppy requires, bc when you were a baby in mommy's tummy she couldn't get a single decent nights sleep after around week 28 of the pregnancy. Yes, honey, this is why mommy's hair is all gray even though she's only 35 (* keep in mind this is in the future, when the kid gets the whole English thing*). It's also why mommy drinks often and heavily. Yes, that's right. She has you to thank for all of that! So, no -- mommy will not be getting you that fluffy puppy. But you can get one when you're 18 and she kicks you out of the house!"

Ok, ok -- really, I'm kidding. Mostly. Argh. Are you having trouble sleeping?
*whine, moan, whine, moan*

Ok. I am either going to attempt to sleep again (been up since 130ish, so it's worth another go, I suppose). Or I may just go jump up & down on the bed to wake M up. Because I am jealous and sleep deprivation has made me very, very bitter, and if I can't sleep, no one can!

Of course, now that the upstairs neighbors have decided to get their nook on at 3 in the morning on a school night (who the heck does that, anyway? I mean, after college, that is....), sleep may yet have to wait.

Slow on the draw

So this is my first pregnancy, and it so happens that in addition to waddling around town looking a bit silly, I've also been blathering about creating a blog off and on for a good couple of years.

Seems like a great chance to create one, no?

But, see, I'm 6 months along (just about), and still haven't done it. Well, I suppose I'm doing it right now. I'm just saying that I'm a bit slow when it comes to getting things done in my personal life. Apparently I leave all my project management juice for work.

This doesn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. After all, my husband Michael and I did take 7 years to get engaged and only married after a 2 1/2 year engagement. At least we weren't that slow when it came to deciding to get knocked up. Because I would have been in menopause by the time we got down to it.

So, pregnancy is...well, it's different. That may be the understatement of the (nearly finished) second trimester. I've found it has a tendency to enhance some of my less positive predispositions. Like anxiety.

Why, you might wonder, am I awake at 5 A.M. on a Saturday morning after a long and rather exhausting work week?

Fear, worry, anxiety about the unknown...preoccupation with the scarier things in life and death, and a pointless tendency to waste a lot of good time worrying about things I can't control.

Sounds like a bowl of cherries, no? Yeah...and when I think about it, I think "crap. I only have 3 months left to try to become a normal person so I don't inadvertently pass my neurosis onto our offspring."

Hm. 3 months. Well, I'll let you know how *that* goes.

**********

(As if on cue, as I wrote the last paragraph the lentil awoke and started giving me a few good kicks. It's like a message from my insides telling me to chill the heck out and stop taking everything so seriously...Did I mention that this kid is going to be a Leo? Boy are we in for it...)