I’m an ungrateful shrew

So I was sitting in our family room last night, feeding my month-old son. An ad for The Ride to Conquer Cancer came on, narrated by a genlteman named Mike Lane. Mike was explaining that he was riding in memory of his sister,  Stephanie.  At that point, I looked up at the television and my heart caught in my throat. Stephanie was a friend of mine in university. And she had been diagnosed with a brain tumour shortly after I received my own cancer diagnosis in 1995. Stephanie died three years ago. I am sitting in my family room, with my husband and two young children.

And I was rocked first by Stephanie’s death (she was a glowing, wonderful person), but also by the realization that I can’t remember the last time I threw myself down on my knees and thanked God for every day, every moment, and every breath. I am embarrassed by my arrogance. I am mortified by my complacency.

My best friend pointed out the other day that I have now everything I ever said I wanted.  And I let that comment just roll off me, without really thinking too much about it. And who the hell am I to do that? She’s right. Thanks to the miracle of science and the grace of God I do have a wonderful life. Hell, I have LIFE. But I’d forgotten how close I came to not having it.

I am humbled to look at my husband and my children and realize they all came after the cancer.

Thank you Mike, and thank you Stephanie, for reminding me that my day, every day, should be about celebration. You should be able to find me figuratively and literally on my knees with prayers of thanks. I can only hope my life and my second chance is a song of praise. A song of thanks. I will work harder to do and be just that.

November

Who can believe it’s already November? Crap, it’s already mid-November. Where does the year go? In my case, much of it’s been spent preparing for the arrival of our second child.  So, the rumours are true: we’re expecting a little boy in February.

If you had read the last iteration of this blog, you would know that I was diligent (well, relatively diligent) in documenting the ups and downs of my first pregnancy. This time? Not so much. I wonder why.

One major reason is definitely that I now drive to work. Laugh if you will, but the subway is ripe with pregnant woman blog fodder. My own car? Again, not so much.

My doctor said to me yesterday, though, that second children are pretty much neglected as of conception. And as I bristled defensively, I wondered if she was right. Case in point? I had to really think about how much movement I felt and when when she asked me — with Kee, I had probably kept some sort of anal retentive journal documenting each jab to my belly/bladder/etc. I was also at that appointment alone. Last time, it was all I could do to assure my husband that it was routine and that he didn’t need to take time off to be there. But there he was more times than not.

Not to say we aren’t excitedly preparing for his arrival, and aren’t happily anticipating him, but it’s different. There’s that pesky two year old to keep up with for starters. How humbling to realize that she is oblivious to my plights of puking and epic exhaustion.

And yet, as I write that, I realize that the key is that it is different. Not better or worse, just different. There were scary days at the outset of this pregnancy when we worried about whether or not it would ultimately be okay. Since then, I’ve felt a strong bond with my unborn son, a bond that came much later with my first. I can’t explain it other than to say that I feel we have been brought together in prayer and sheer force of will — and I have been challenged to really take the time to appreciate the fragility of life and the miracle of this whole process.

So, has he already been neglected? Some days, I fear yes. Others, I simply see he is being born into the reality of a busy and bustling and loving family. And a family that is eager to meet him.

I know he’ll find his place.

Joy

I wasn’t feeling well this weekend. I spent as much time as I could laying down on the couch hoping no one noticed my gross neglect of my chores and my family. I just wanted to sleep and wake up when it was all over.

During one of these neglectful naps, I came to to the squealing giggles of my not-quite-two-year-old daughter. She was sitting under a fort her dad had fashioned from family room pillows and blankets. Once she’d explored the fort, she plopped herself on Dean’s lap with the same book we’d read about 85 times that day already, and settled in, knowing Dad would read it again, as if it was the first time.

And despite the mommy’s sick setting, and the rainy day, it was perfect. There’s nothing like being able to watch true love. The best part is, they didn’t even kow they were being watched. That’s just them. Joyful. And my heart, it overflowed.

Having It All

I have a good job. Actually, it’s a terrific job. A job that is well suited to me and my strengths. A job that pays me well. A job with colleagues I admire. A job that challenges me (really challenges me) but that I love, despite the regular chaos.

When I was going to school, my dad wanted me to get one thing out of it: enough education to ensure I would never be financially dependent on anyone else. That I could always act in my own best interests. I have done that. And I am blessed that I somehow ended up at the intersection of fascinating work and economic reward.

But once I became a mom, I started reevaluating. I mean, I started wondering if I was even meant to work at all. But, 10 months after Keelan was born, I went back to work. And, the fact of the matter is, I was ready. Does that make me a bad mom? Some of you argue that in fact it makes me a better mom — a mom that can spend time thinking about things other than babies and home. You argue that my time away from home can only enhance what I can offer my family.

Some others of you — though no one to my face — I’m sure think I have sacrificed my family for my own means. Which is fine. I sometimes think that too. But I wonder, does anyone ever resolve it? Is there a moment in time when you look back at the forks in the road and decide yes, I walked the very best path I could. Or is part of being a mom always an overtone of self-doubt?

Some women I’ve talked to say they traded time for economic benefit. That their kids went to better schools and had more opportunities because they worked. And that they’d make the same choices again. Others claim that their children are stronger and more secure people because they provided a constant presence at home.

I don’t honestly know where I sit on this spectrum. I know I have to work. But I also know I could do something less demanding. Or could I? Would I find the same satisfaction in those fewer hours? Or would I crave the pace of life I currently have? Would I be bored? And does it even matter what I get out of it?

I’m an ambitious person. I always have been. But a number of years ago I was sick and it took me out of the race for about a year. And while everyone expected I’d come through my illness with a new appreciation for all things stop-and-smell-the-roses-ish, I also came away with a sense of having been left behind. So, when I finally got back to the working world, I was more determined than ever to make up lost time. And I have. But part of me wonders if that whole experience is what keeps me going now — the fear of falling behind again.

As a mom, I want my daughter to see me as many things, but a strong, professional woman is an important one of them. I want her to appreciate that women can achieve and I hope she is surrounded by many exceptional models of women’s achievement. I hope among them are the phenomenal stay-at-home moms we know and love. Maybe what I want her to know is that she has extraordinary choices. That her destiny is her own.

I wish I had more time with my daughter. Weekends fly by and evenings just disappear into dinner and bath routines. I often wish I could pause days and moments and hold on to them just a little longer.

But, as we all know, those moments pass. And when Keelan is grown and she looks back, will she know how hard I worked to walk the right path? Will she feel she had enough of me or that my job came first? Will she know how profoundly she changed my life and the way I look at the world?

Anyway, I’m rambling. And, I have no answers (how’s that for a piss poor blog entry?) but I guess it’s all just a work in progress.

Thanks for listening.

Ten Best Things

I’m feeling a bit down lately — more just weary than anything, so to combat that I’m taking a chapter out of the lovely Leslie’s book and committing to the sunnier side of things.

So, here are the ten best things about Keelan for today, Thursday, May 23, 2008 (tomorrow, I’m sure, is a whole new adventure).

10. She can count to 16. But is boycotting the number four.

9. Dean and I have been busy refurbishing her “big girl” room. We’ve recruited Papa painter and scoured furniture stores and agonized over curtains and bedding. Keelan’s favourite part? Sitting alone with her shoes in the basket on the floor of her closet.

8. “Mommy, mommy, I missed you” — until I also heard: “Oh, shoes, I missed you too”

7. She’s still sleeping 7 – 7.

6. Listening to her sleep and re-covering her with blankets before heading to bed myself.

5. Her passion for bubbles, ketchup, dandelions and weather-inappropriate hats.

4. That every piece of clothing she has is stained with some fabulous Keelan memory.

3. That every morning she faithfully offers to share her toast with me and Daddy.

2. That she enthusiastically applauds Potty Elmo but won’t go near her own to save her life.

1. Her first crush: Mason, the six-year old next door. Gotta say, the girl’s got phenomenal taste.

See, that did make me feel better. Maybe Leslie’s on to something. Wishing you a fabulous evening. m

My friend Jo

My best friend moved to Sri Lanka yesterday. And though I miss her terribly, I am so proud of her — and so happy for the people who will get to know her and her gifts of joy and generosity. The world is a more blessed place because of Jo.

And her move really has nothing to do with parenting, other than it made me think about a lesson I hope to one day share with K:

As I sat in the airport last night, with a table full of friends, I was humbled by the gift of them. Of course, there are the forever friends — the friends from childhood that were/are just somehow always there — and they are  irreplaceable in their own right. But last night I got to thinking about the friends that you make as an adult. The friends you consciously choose later in life. The ones that maybe don’t know your entire life story in all its gory goodness, but appreciate it nonetheless for its role in making you you.

And we are a motley crew — the sort of crowd that you maybe wouldn’t put together at first glance. But last night I realized how deep our bonds run — and how blessed I am to be counted among these grown ups I think so highly of.

What I think I’d offer K is this: stay open to the evolution of friendship; know that true friends can find you anywhere, any time and usually when you are least expecting it; don’t be afraid to tell them you love them; then, tell them you love them again.

And I’d also point her to her Aunt Jo, and let her observe the beautiful lessons of giving, adventure, and goodness.

Safe travel, Jo Jo. Know we miss you, but are taking good care of each other — as friends will do.

That’s mommy to you

Cue early morning setting — faint glow of dawn on the horizon, sound of my husband’s shower gently rousing me from sleep. Softly padding my way to my quietly cooing daughter’s room, opening the door, breathing in the soft smell of baby in her room, walking in to be greeted with (wait for it): “Hi, Marlo!” (okay, which actually sounds WAY more Scooby Doo-ish as in “Hi, Mar-row!”).

When exactly did my 16-month old start calling me by my first name?

So, we’ve now put a ban on our first names (see, these are the sentences you never guess you’ll write before parenthood) until K forgets we are anything other than Mommy and Daddy.

And, in case this inspires you to come by and try to perpetuate the Marlo/Dean monikers, just remember: pay backs are a bitch (or, as K would say: pway bwacks are a bwitch).

In pieces

I’m a bit of a thinker. And a bit obsessive. And what I’ve been thinking and obsessing about lately is my identity.

I’m not sure if it’s a product of relative new mom-ness, or maybe an (early?) mid-life crisis, but lately I’ve been feeling a bit fractured. Like I can see and feel and experience all the parts of me and yet they don’t seem to come together under any sort of complete whole. I see working me and momming me. And I see the me that loves a glass of wine and the book club book in the evenings, who is inevitably being chastised by treadmill me. And I see urban me who envies small town country fair me. And then there’s the me that just wants to paint that usually taunts getting chores done me. And they all exist and holler for attention and I’m never sure who wins.

And I wonder if I’ll ever work it out. If there comes a moment when you just settle the unsettled. When you just know.

Cuz when I think of the ideal me, open windows and warm breezes and fresh baked things and slamming (in a good way) back doors all come to mind. As do dirt roads, bare feet and long grass. Which is even more amusing (and by “amusing”, I mean “frightening”) because that bears no resemblance to my life at all.

Of course, I also continually imagine myself with an unruffled disposition, gently guiding my daughter’s way with some beatific glow about me. Bingo — that bears no relationship to my real life either.

I often fantasize (and yes, “fantasize” is the word I want to use here) about starting in the smallest, teeniest corner of my house and working my way out, making every inch perfect as I go. Correcting every blemish, setting everything just right. And then I get to thinking that maybe that’s what I’m hoping happens with my life too — that some day I’ll sit and start working my way out, bit by bit, making sure it all melds, all blends so perfectly. And then I realize I’d probably hate that person. But, I guess that’s what fantasies are for.

Anyway, I’m heading to bed. Hopefully, to fantasize about something other than this

Things I wish they’d understand

I was 35 when my daughter was born. That wasn’t by design, just the way life played out. So, by the time I had K, I had a career, a home, an active social life and a full roster of things going on. I was loving my job, volunteering, playing sports, renovating a house, taking in summer evenings on patios, etc. And, it was awesome.

Then, my husband and I had a baby. And the world changed. But not just for us. For everyone that was used to us being around and available and not exhausted. Most of my friends don’t have kids and don’t want them. The shared trepidation of what this baby thing meant, as you can imagine, was substantial.

So along comes K. And while my childless friends don’t necessarily get all of it, they are wonderful. There were baby showers (admittedly with a Slayer muscial them), visits armed with food, and patient listening as I cried my way through months one to three.

But, in the year since, there are still a couple of things I’d like to clear up. I think it might help. All of us.

1. I do miss my old life. It was fun. And it was exhilarating and challenging. Late nights at work followed by sushi dinners made me feel part of the up-and-coming. I loved the rush of feeling I could give everything to getting somewhere. I loved talking to you about it over drinks and contemplating just how much further “somewhere” might be.

2. But I also love my new life. I didn’t sacrifice to have a family. It’s different and I have been very honest in my struggles to adapt to life as a mom. But it is a good and happy life and I don’t feel it’s less than what I had. Just different.

3. I can’t always just “bring the baby along”. Stable, well-adjusted people come from regular bedtimes. And when you do see us at an event, no matter how short or conveniently-timed, it has taken more effort than you can imagine to get us all there. Let me say this: I am a frickin’ organizational savant.

4. I am exhausted. I have learned to live and function in this state of exhaustion, but make no mistake, I am always one not-even-terribly-comfortable pillow from crashing. Which may help explain my nodding head and heavy eyes on the evenings I do try to get out. I do appreciate you not pointing it out, though. Just keep pretending I always looked like this.

5. A baby does change things. Some changes are harder to swallow than others. Most are surprising. And I often need to grapple with and understand them before I can share them with you.

6. I am still me. I love you and good friends and bottles of wine and patios and irreverent jokes and time to myself. I still laugh a lot and love a lot and cry ALL the time But you, as my friends, are my connection to my me — the me that was before I was someone’s mom. And I rely on you to help me remember her. And bring her out for beers sometimes.

So there. I hope it helps. And I hope your weekend is happy.

m

Why I love it

I love being a mom. But I didn’t always. I mean, I loved my daughter. Immediately and profoundly. But that first little while was a tough go.

I am used to being a problem solver. Bring me your weak, your muddled, your impossibly messed up and I can usually come up with something. So to stare down at my own little puddle of all things baby and think “What the hell do I do now?” was a bit disconcerting, to say the least.

But that was when, one late night, with hysteria quickly approaching, my mom offered me some of the best advice I’ve had. “Mar,” she said, “mother is a verb first. Mother your daughter and it will all fall into place. Do the things you know how to do and you will become her mother. Just start there.” And she was right. So beautifully and wonderfully right (which is not surprising if you’ve ever had advice from my mom). So, a year and some later, I am a mom and I love it.

Why do I love it? I love bath splashes and pajamas with feet. I love new words and hearing them used in interesting — and often insightful — contexts. I love bringing comfort to a troubled little peanut, even late at night. I love watching her with her dad. I love knowing that we are doing our best to teach her about love and faith and family.

My daughter has offered me and my husband (and our family, friends, co-workers, random cashiers, etc.) unending amusement. She is a force unto herself and I love that about her. But, it’s not perfect and I don’t presume to have it all worked out. Many are the days I need to regroup, take a deep breath and go back to my mom’s advice, asking myself what the verb version would do.

But today, the sun is shining and the adventure feels great.