A post a week?

Life just doesn't slow down, does it? And all the waiting until "next week, things will be better" doesn't actually help anything.

Perhaps I shouldn't stretch myself so thin...

Congratulations Rosepetal!

The best of news! Welcome, Beanie.

confidence

I have always projected an aura of self-confidence to those who know me, but the reality is much more stark. It is a facade. It is a protectionist device. I am not so confident.

I don't cower in corners, but I truly struggle with the idea that I am not as good as other people. In many ways, it doesn't bother me. I am not as good an actress as Emma Thompson - that doesn't even register. But where I rank in my job, where I rank in terms of my favourite hobby - well, that's a different story all together.

I am currently working on an event related to my hobby. It will feature work of mine and work of other people who I have invited to partake in the event. It has been a lot of stress to plan and prepare for.

So the problem that I am having is one of confidence. I know that at least one of the other contributors is better than me - I knew that when I asked her to be part of the event. What I didn't expect was that she would have a certain snootiness about her. She has rejected my request that she submit the most challenging of her work and has instead chosen things that will appeal to my poorly educated (in her opinion, I assure you) audience. And through the course of it all, she has managed to injure my confidence in small, cumulative ways, such as explaining some of the most simple terminology to me.

She has a master's degree; I do not. She has made this her career; for me it remains a hobby.

The difficulty for me is that I don't know how to balance my complete understanding that she is better than me while keeping enough ego alive to put my self out there in front of an audience next weekend. It is my event, after all; there's no backing out now!I made my choice a long time ago to not pursue this career. Instead, I attempt to keep my passion alive by hosting these type of events. It isn't very helpful when what is meant to help me feel impassioned and alive instead makes me feel small and amateurish.

Don't get me started on how this woman popped out 2 baby boys with no problems, 2 hours labour for both, without gaining a pound or missing a moment of her fantastic, rising career.

Okay. So maybe I'm just jealous.

Trust me, I do.

I don't know how the average 1 year old interacts with the people around him - my experience is limited to one child. But judging by the comments that every stranger on the street corner makes, BB is a particularly happy and socially engaging baby. He makes eye contact, smiles, and giggles for almost everyone he sees. It is an endearing trait.

Not surprisingly, most people make some comment regarding their own experience. The older generation with their "I remembers" I can easily tolerate. It does take a few minutes out of my day to make these trips down memory lane, but I can almost always afford the time. However, the comments from people who have children between the ages of 10 and 18 always cause me to pause and think. Generally, the begin with some complaint about their child's current behaviour patterns and they always finish by saying "Enjoy it while you can" or some near approximation.

I think I understand where they are coming from and I know it is just idle chitchat. But I am often tempted to say something to try to make them understand exactly how much I am enjoying my son.

I think we are blessed with an extraordinarily even-tempered child. Which makes our time together so enjoyable. I would have to be a hard-hearted bitch to not enjoy my son. How could anyone resist those baby giggles, so rarely interrupted by baby tears? I am certainly not so used to him that I fail to comprehend the magic of each breath he takes.

Yesterday we went swimming, just the two of us. Today we went to the park. He is my world and I am his. I fully and completely appreciate how brief this moment in time is. I marvel daily at everything that he is and everything that he is becoming.

I have my frustrations, but I must admit they are few. He is such a good-tempered, easy baby. Through no virtue of my own, I find my role as mother a (relatively) simple task. I know that will change, but for now I am wholly content as things are.

So I write my reply here: I am not missing his babyhood. I do not count the minutes waiting for him to be more independent. I am enjoying every moment of the person his is today. And tomorrow, when his cries of "DAAAAADDDDD!" wake me and wake his father at 6:30 in the morning, I will happily make room for him on our bed, wait for his father to bring him in, and securely gather his warm body in next to mine for his morning nurse. I will marvel at the little hands that play with my pyjama buttons and his stuffed animal as he nurses. And this will merely begin my day of wonder-filled moments. And the day after that? I know I will enjoy that, too.

I can still hardly believe he is here. The juxtaposition of his life to his brother's life constantly sends my mind reeling in disbelief. How is it possible that he is here and sleeping in the next room? But he is. He's my son and he's here to stay.

I can't help but enjoy him.

Possession

I have a weird thing. I am upset by people who don't acknowledge C. I get more upset by people who over-acknowledge him*. Or something. I think an example is in order.

We went to the cemetery on Easter Sunday. And for some reason, I imagined that my MIL had been there and that she had been crying. Which is weird, b/c I knew she hadn't been there. But, whatever, the image popped in my mind. I was momentarily furious. That she would have the gall to cry over my son. And I feel the same way about some of things that my sister says about C. (I can't think of an example). But why????

It is such a weird combination of emotions - wanted people to talk about him and cry about him because he is so important to me, and feeling that something is being taken from me if the level of intimacy expressed is too high.

Do I just want people to feel sorry for me? I hope not. But there may be some of that in there somewhere. Is it because I am terrified at the idea of "sharing" him, since I have so little of him to carry with me? I think that is definitely a part of it.

But it is tiresome.

I had boundary issues when BB was born. I really didn't want other people holding him or talking about him in possessive terms (my grandson, or my nephew) or thinking that they knew what his little coos meant. Even now I have my little struggles when he is so happy to see his grandma (which is a good thing that I fully support, btw).

I just wonder if this is all a normal part of who I would have always been as a parent. If C. had lived, would I have felt these jealousies? They seem so small and petty. Is it an innate part of my personality - that I want to be all and everything to my children, with the rest of the world unnecessary? Or it is more than that; something that grew out of my grief?

There is no way to know where this comes from or why I feel this way. Just one more thing on my list of things I would like to let go of. I don't know how possible that is.

* This excludes my husband, of course. He is the only person 100% "allowed" to grieve for C. as much as I do.

Happy Easter

To you.

Lifestyles of... me.

Last night I organized our pen drawer. I went through about 300 pens/pencils, throwing out pens that don't work and sharpening all the pencils. Fun times on a Friday night.

Go and read Julia's post. You'll probably need a box of tissues; I did. I found this so moving. When C. died/was born, my niece was 5 years old. She idolized me. She always wanted to pet and hug my belly. I was so excited for her to meet her cousin and she was too. But because I am not her parent, I have not been the one to walk through the mess of emotions with her. Three years later, we have lost the closeness we once shared. I don't know if it was because she felt that I let her down, if she was afraid to be around me in case she upset me, or if it was natural for her to outgrow her auntie. Sadly, the relationship we once had with her parents has lost it's footing, too. There is a lot of pain in my soul for that loss.

Totally unrelated? I posted more pictures of BB on the other site (the first time since before Christmas). And video. Check him out - he is such the toddler these days.

The project

When the wonderful Julian's Mom was kind enough to send me yarn in the mail a couple of summers ago, I wasn't ever sure what type of project I would make. I believe it was before the arrival of Natalie and just after the conception of BB... maybe. I wanted to make something that was kind of special and that would use the beautiful merino wool to best effect.

Fast forward to the past weekend, where I unearthed the glorious stuff in the grand moving-everything-to-paint-the-basement episode. And a road trip where I would have 10 hours in the car to stitch away.

Then I realized that what I wanted to knit required a different weight of yarn. After much consultation with my mother, I came up with this:

The ribbing on the cuffs and colar will be a aqua-white-orange strip. The body of the back will be orange. The arms will be white. The front will be aqua. And I think that I have exactly the right amount of yarn to complete the project, in each colour. If there is extra, a matching scarf might happen. Or mitts - I have never made mitts before...

Thank you a million times over for this yarn. I am having fun!

I think I am a nerd?

Do you ever just need Bach in your life? I do.

Couple St. Matthew's Passion with an unhealthy dose of sugar/caffeine, I am starting to feel like a human again.

P.S. There is no excuse for sleep deprivation when your child goes to bed at 8:00 and doesn't wake up until 7:00 the next day. I will post photos of my new knitting project, though, so you can see what is keeping me up these days.

In Canada, it's called "English Meadows"

Well, things have improved on the home front. We were away for the weekend, so the basement is still not quite painted, but it is half done. I don't like the colour. It is a green (click on the colour selector and find "Pastel Sage" on RC16 -it's close to this), and it looks too old. However, I am not finished painting the trim white and I haven't accessorized, so things may improve after those two tasks are completed. No matter what happens, I am not changing it. It is too much work. It will be whatever it will be. The general consensus is that greens are hard colours to find satisfaction with.

BB is finally well again and not coughing. We returned the nebulizer and I am happy to report that he settled into using it quite easily. He only cried the first few times.

I am struggling to keep up with work. It is difficult to put in hours of overtime when you aren't passionate about the work. It is okay work, I am just not excited about it.

I am also setting an important personal goal of being less snippy with my husband. He will be glad to read this, I am sure. When I get stressed out (which happens when the housekeeping is less that perfect - read: all the time), I sometimes take it out on him, unfairly. Perhaps it would be more productive to discuss housekeeping strategies or hiring a housekeeper rather than sniping at him. What are your strategies on this point? Or do you have one of those magical houses that keeps itself?

I may quit going to the playgroup that I used to love for BB. Basically, half of the women are pregnant and I just can't deal with it. The further I get away from BB's birth, the less I am able to handle pregnancy and pregnancy talk. I HATE IT, PEOPLE! I can hardly deal with the baby pictures I get in the mail from all of my cousins who are new parents. Purposefully subjecting myself to random strangers once a week at playgroup is nearly completely unbearable. If only I could create a new and better playgroup of people who are not and will not be pregnant....

That's it, that's all.

A Week of "Holidays"

I am painting the basement. BB has a lingering cough from his MMR shot, which seems to be morphing into a full-blown cold. We are going away this weekend.

So. Tired.

I never get tagged

Niobe wrote:

The rules are simple. Look up from the computer, look around the room where you're sitting and pick up the closest book. And closest really means closest. No cheating by running upstairs to unearth your pink-highlighted college copy of The Critique of Pure Reason or the Prolegomena. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.

and then she tagged me.


Thus:


GARDENIA, Cape Jasmine (Gardenia jasminoides) - 6'h - 2- to 4-inch, very fragrant, double or single, waxy, white flower in mid-spring through fall. Dark green, glossy, leathery leaves. Zone 8, full sun or partial shade; rich moist, acid soil. Use as specimen, in tub or border, or as houseplant in North - not as hardy as camellia.


Sounds wonderful, no?


Between this, the above average temperatures, and Rosepetal's beautiful photos, I am getting that itch again. And no, I wasn't rolling in poison ivy (its all still frozen here).


From the cold of zone 3b, I tag Rosepetal, Kate, Catherine, and Monica. Feel free to ignore - I rarely do memes (out of pure lack of imagination).

I guess you would call this an update

I hate going a week between posts. The good news is that I am fine. The bad news is that my work laptop is not fine. It is as dead as a doornail. Hopefully, the tech people can save my files - yes, I am the idiot who hasn't backed up her files to the network since she started back to work. Oy.

We are well into toddlerhood here in our house. I am amazed each day at the changes in my boy. He has likes and dislikes (mostly likes, thank goodness). He is thrilled to discover new things almost every day. His poops really smell (thanks, solid food).

Is is getting boring for me to say that I still can't believe that C. isn't here? His life and my soul shattering grief feel like a distant dream. Then it all comes rushing back at me at the strangest moments. And because it moves away from me so often, the attack of grief it so unexpected that I almost don't know how to respond. For example, the other day I was reading through a list of current clients and happened across a person who share's C.'s name. Not really strange, considering that his name has been a traditional English language name for centuries. I have read his place in dozens of places in the past 3 years. And yet this time it almost levelled me -almost starting a torrent of tears that I wouldn't have been able to control (or explain, if someone walked into my office). And, as so often is the case, I sat there in bewilderment at the depth of emotion that I have trained myself to set aside for the majority of each day.

I am enjoying the PBS* series on Masterpiece showing film versions of the complete** works of Jane Austin. She has been my favourite author for years - I reread my collection at least once a year. This go round I am struck by the maturity of situation that I see in Persuasion. Simply, the main characters have a romance when they are young, are separated by well-intentioned meddlers, and have a second chance at love eight years later. I think this concept of the second chance is what I find so appealing. Anne, our heroine, now has the life experience to seize her opportunity at love without bowing to the expectations of others. She had to suffer greatly to gain this steadiness and resolve. And it turns out happily in the end (how could anything else happen in such a novel?).

I don't see particular parallels in my own life, other than the obvious suffering-one-dead-child-but-having-the-extraordinary-luck-to-raise-a-glorious-second-child thing (which I don't see as the same, what with not really getting a second chance - C. will always be dead, after all). I think what draws me to this story is the idea that we all should get second chances. I like that idea.

In her typical satirical fashion, Austin writes in the opening pages of the novel that if her character Anne had been afforded the chance to travel, meet new and interesting young men, and follow a happier life that the one she led in the intervening years, she would have forgotten her first love. The romantic in me (and admittedly, the bereaved mother in me) prefers to think that Anne would love Captain Wentworth eternally, regardless of situation. I like the idea that love, once nurtured in the soul of a human, can never be fully extinguished.

I am no scholar - so maybe my interpretation here is off the mark. But it is what I felt and experienced when I watched (then reread) Persuasion this time. And that has to count for something, right?

P.S. Isn't Rupert Penry-Jones (Captain Wentworth) delicious?

* I cannot explain why all of Western Canada has PBS Detroit included in cable TV packages, but we do.
** of course, the lesser early works aren't included

P.P.S. I can't comment on your blog, complicated mama. Wordpress hates me. Email me, okay?

Ah hah!

Well, here is one of the reasons for all of the melancholy of late: 'tis that time of the month, ladies. Apparently, I am not entirely stable when all hopped up on hormones.

This cycle has been a real pain in the patootie - nothing where I expected it to be. I used 3 hpts this month - knowing that they must be negetive, but doing them out of complete puzzlement. I chalk it up to nursing, but wonder why I had a number of completely normal cycles when nursing more, now this crazy one when nursing less.

Work is getting me down, too. I think part of the problem is that we have had a number of bank holidays, etc. recently (and more coming) and it feels like I don't have a good routine.

I had one day this week where I stormed around, furious at everyone, because C. died. That was unexpected.

Grief is so unpredictable. Friggin' frusterating.

I just want to hold on to every moment with BB. I really think that I am living in the moment with him. My time with him is so precious. I don't want him to be older and I am not feeling like I missed his babyness. Well, maybe a little, but it is something I can accept. I am happy with him right now. I don't want more or less from him. For now, he is perfection. There are times when I don't want to put him down for the night.

His wonderfullness:
- sleeps through the night, falling asleep on his own
- started signing a bit
- talking more
- all toothy grins
- hilarious sense of humour
- still snuggly (though in a squirmy-boy way)
- loves to mop and vacuum

Okay. Crappy post. Nothing profound here.

Pneumonia? Nope...

Can you take a sick day when the thing that is wrong is that you are emotionally disabled today? When the problem is that you just want to go home, crawl back into bed, and cry your face off? Because you know that would be the best way to deal with this huge lump of emotion that you are carrying around.

But, since that is just not an option, and because you know darn well that "heartbroken" really isn't a valid reason to leave work, you push it all down inside to that chamber of hurt. Instead of dealing with it right now, you will have to deal with it another time, in another place.

Putting off the pain is a healthy way to deal, isn't it? No? Well, I guess no one told The World. Because that is what you are expected to do.

P.S. There are too many pregnant women coming to playgroup all of a sudden.

Teleportation

What do k.d. lang and stillbirth have in common? Nothing, as far as I know.

Except that her Hymns album was released sometime near those dark, dark days of 2005. I love the album; in some ways, I think it saved me. I listened to it that often and it made that much of an impact on me.

When my iPod shuffled its way on to those songs today, my heart went right back to that place, barely noticing the time and space between now and then. It is easy - too easy - to find that dark place again.

Sorry k.d. As beautiful as this album is, and as much as I need it in my life and will keep listening to it, it just isn't happy for me. I know that isn't what you had in mind.

For Sale: One Green-Eyed Monster - well used

I have an almost unbearable jealousy for all people who "keep" their first baby. As in, that ugly green monster that lives in the recesses of my gut is clawing at me, trying to tear his way out and do irreparable damage to those around me.

In the past year, three of my cousins have had their first babies. I can barely stand to be in the same room as someone who is talking about these babies. It eats at me whenever I think of it.

I just want the jealousy to leave me alone. I am tired of it. It isn't fun to feel this way. And there are only more first children coming in my future; that's life.

Up until this point, I have allowed room for my jealousy. A normal part of grief, I rationalized. Understandable, I thought. But I am tired of it!!!

I know that we need to accept and embrace our emotions, etc. etc. yadda yadda. But doesn't there come a point in time when we need to let go of what hurts us and re-enter normal life? Is that totally impossible to do? Do I have to accept that I am damaged beyond any hope of repair? Do I have to accept this is my new reality? I know that it isn't possible to turn back time to the point where I didn't have this horrible envy. But shouldn't there be some way for me to heal enough?

Do you have any suggestions? Have you stumbled across anything that makes your equivalent hurt easier to deal with? What can I do with this emotion that I don't want and I want to get rid of?

Type A

I feel like I am directionless. I have no goals. Sure, I dream of a perfectly clean and tidy house, with precooked meals in the freezer and all the laundry neatly stacked in drawers. Who doesn't? But those things don't happen and they certainly couldn't be considered life goals.

That is what I feel is lacking. Direction. We have some random purchases that we have talked about making in the near future (we need a new car seat, for example). We have booked an RV site for July. Also not life goals.

Through the course of my life with my husband, we have always had direction. We were getting to know each other. Then we were getting married. Then we were trying to have children. Then anticipating the birth of our first child. Then trying to survive tragedy and cope with trying to get pregnant again. Then waiting those agonizing months to bring home our perfect little boy. Then learning to become parents.

Now that we have settled into a groove, I wonder what our direction is. Or, perhaps more to the point, what my direction is.

I work a job that is okay (as far as jobs go), but that I would not cry tears over losing. Perhaps it would feel a little less random if we had some financial goals that we were working for. When I got up in the morning and got ready for work, I could remind myself that it is worth it because it will allow us to do _________.

Personally, I am without any real direction. I just finished my degree. Now what? I don't do anything with it. I have no plans to do anything with it. The subject matter is the passion of my life, but I have no plans to continue my study. What is the point of it?

Maybe this is all just mid-February blues. I think not, though. I think I need to get my feet under me and set some more goals. And I think that this need is a sign of maturity in my grief; a desire to plan for the future is something that I am just getting back, three years later.

How do you set goals in your family? Do you talk it over with your spouse? Do you struggle to find common goals? Are you a "goals" person at all?

To admit

In an email today I made this admission:

I have started telling strangers that BB is my only child.




How sucky does that feel?

Barely

Barely treading water this week. Behind at work, my husband is sick, etc. etc.

I am really trying to avoid any news regarding this story. I was avoiding it, then made the mistake of listening to CBC Sounds Like Canada when in my car, heading to the grocery store. I was nearly sobbing. They were babies. Just babies.

Not to mention the 7 month old abandoned in Toronto.

I am going to think about kittens now.