Having not been on FaceFuck or Hipmama for this past month taught me several new things.  One, I have a lot of self-control.  Two, I have more time to write.  Three, I feel no guilt telling my kids “I’ll do that when I’m done with this piece of writing.”  Four, it’s easier to stop writing to care for someone else’s needs {this surprised me}.  And five, I love to read.

There are days when I don’t turn on the computer until late in the day.  I no longer feel that sense of obsession, that urge to check my e-mail, or a longing for connection that always seemed to be lingering like a dark shadow just under the surface of every post, every blurb, every comment I made on-line.  I’ve reconnected to day to day life.

My Google Reader account has blown up.  I love reading books, but it has been about two years since I finished one.  Articles and blog posts are easier to get through and often lead to, “oh, I wanna read that book, someday.”

I wanted to write a little about Mindfulness.  Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t study any particular sect of Buddhism, nor have I read a book that focuses on Mindfulness since before Bella was born, but I think Mindfulness means to be in the moment no matter how you are feeling.  Mindfulness won’t get rid of all those pesky feelings associated with Anger.  Nor will it prevent those feelings from cropping up.  There is no avoiding Anger.  Just as we have an overwhelming capacity for Happiness, we also have an overwhelming capacity for Anger – and in Buddhism, there is neither good or bad associations toward the two.  The two just are, suspended from judgment.  Both Anger and Happiness need to be nurtured with equal attention, so as to not make us miserable {yep, Happiness, too.  Ever hear the saying, too much of a good thing, ain’t really good?}.  One is just easier to relate to than the other because of our training.

I opened my copy of, Anger, by Thich Nhat Hanh, randomly to this passage:

When anger manifests in us, we must recognize and accept that anger is there and that it needs to be tended to.  At this moment we are advised not to say anything, not to do anything out of anger.  We immediately return to ourselves and invite the energy of mindfulness to manifest also, in order to embrace, recognize, and take good care of our anger.

I love this book.  It has been the One Book that has really help me to accept all the feelings that come with life and mothering – Anger being of the most confusing.  And this acceptance includes the various words describing Anger: Frustration, Annoyance, Irritation – all common in this job we call: Parenting.

This book talks about “Embracing Anger.”  And goes on to give suggestions in how to do this.  I love this idea because intuitively I find Anger to be a useful emotion when channeled properly, which means in ways that cause no harm.   The idea of willing Anger out of my life through Mindfulness seems counter-intuitive to the very meaning of the word Mindfulness.

Anyway, I was just thinking about this so wanted to write it out.  It seems that I read more about Mindfulness being about obtaining happiness than what Mindfulness can do for Anger.

There are a million different ways to care for Anger.  What do you do when you are angry?  How do you care for your Anger?

I embrace Anger by writing the moment it visits {as clear by this blog.  Public expression isn’t necessary, but so damn cathartic}.  When I can’t do that, I breath deeply.  I tell the person I’m with {usually Hal or the kids} that I’m feeling angry/annoyed/frustrated and need to take a moment to myself.  I sit silently.  I take care of my Anger by speaking of it after it passes.  I cry.  I’m unproductive and yell, pout, and sometimes bully, but always following up with acknowledgment of my misbehavior and an apology.

Max says, “I want to take a deep breath with you, mommy.”  He uses his words, “I am so angry right now.  STUPID, FREAK!”  He name-calls.  Sometimes, he apologizes for this.  He says, “I want to be alone,” and goes into his bedroom.  He paints.

Bella hits, cries, yells, throws things, and pouts, and sometimes, apologizes if she hurts someone in the process.

Hal, gets quite, bottles it up and won’t talk about it at all.  He pouts.  He yells.  He uses sarcasm.  Sometimes, he bullies.  Then, when he’s calmed down, he talks about it all – apologizing {with me he always does, with the kids, not always}.  Often, he just talks about it, like, “Michelle, it really makes me angry when you… insert offense here.”  Hal and I have supported each other in learning how to respond to our personal anger and that of each other for years.  We are always “working” on it.    

I feel like anger is one of the emotions that got swept under the rug while I was growing up.  For years I didn’t know what to do with it until it built up inside, warped, distorted, and took over my common sense and general well-being.

Anger is not an emotion that I run from anymore.  It doesn’t scare me.  It isn’t going to permanently go away by practicing Mindfulness.  I greet it, invite it in, sit and chat with it, learn from it, enjoy the gifts that it brings, then see it out the door.  Pretty much the same interaction I have with Happiness.  This has gotten considerably easier as the years pass.  Mindfulness {aka: Awareness} doesn’t dissolve suffering but it makes it possible to live and love fully despite suffering.

So anyways, that turned into a longer tangent than I intended.  My original idea for this post was to just share this blog with you:

The Fat Nutritionist

and in particular, this post:

The Rules of Nutrition.

Enjoy!  Happy Saturday to you.  Or not.

Bella, really?

Yes Mom, really.  And don’t try to stop me, either.

I can’t be Nature Girl ALL THE TIME.

Now, ya’ll should know… I do not wear heals, pearls {any jewelry for that matter. Bella broke all five of my necklaces playing with them}, or have a hand mirror in the house.  I also don’t do pink, though I do like the color.  Oh Bella, I hope you wear a size 10 when you grow up so I can borrow your shoes.  Maybe you can teach me how to walk in heals sometime.  Soon?

Bella came home from Lola’s house sick.  She threw up in the car this morning on our way out to lunch.  The vomiting detoured our lunch outing sending us straight to Lola’s to wash up.  I should have insisted that she come home with me.  Her spirits were high and she didn’t have a fever at that point.  She wanted to stay and my MIL really wanted to keep her because she had plans to pick up Bella’s cousin of the same age, Sylvia, and let them play together.

I’m sure they all had fun, but it does make me nervous because Little Sylvia has a new baby brother.

Bella threw up again before she came home around 7pm.  As much as I dread the idea of sitting at the walk-in clinic for god-knows-how-long, if she still  has a fever in the morning, I’m going to take her.

I had a migraine up until around 6pm, today.  Max was miserable hanging out with me.  Though, for the most part he did really well to leave me in bed.  When I was up caring for him, he whined non-stop about how he ALWAYS gets a toy on Friday, and how I am THE WORSE MOMMY IN THE WORLD because I wouldn’t take him to the store to buy a toy.

He is use to going over to his Lola’s every Friday and she buys him toys.  It’s going to be hard for him to get use to alternating Friday’s with his sister and not getting a toy when he’s with me.  He is the kind of person who doesn’t let go of things very easily.  He stays upset for a long time, all day even.  I mean, seriously, ALL DAY LONG he was badgering me about buying him a toy.  I just kept saying the same thing over and over to him.  He’ll get it, eventually.

Our puzzle project got put on hold, too.  He recently busted out the mixed-up puzzle pieces and set out to put every one of the puzzles together, thereby organizing them at the same time.  It upset both of us that I wasn’t able to work on this with him.  He can do them all by himself, but what’s the fun in that? I was happy to see the puzzles spread out because this is an activity that we both enjoy.  He also got some games for his birthday that he can play with everyone.  I am really looking forward to a family game night when both kids are old enough. {note: that creepy doll in the background was a Goodwill find from Max to Bella.  Max was with his Lola, ‘cuz if he were with me, I would have vetoed that gift.}

And if you are curious about that new couch… {we’re still waiting for the ottoman to be delivered on the 18th}…

Have a lovely weekend, everyone.

I’m working on another post that is taking longer than it should, but in the meantime I wanted to share with you a blog post by, Mandolin, on Alas, a blog:

Q: Since When Is Being Criticized Like Having Your Limbs Blown Off by a Landmine? A: Since That Criticism Came from Someone with Less Privilege Than You

This was in my e-mail box sent by a feminist sister-friend.  Stuff that makes me think.

Year: 2004

Early Labor

Monday morning we were trying to figure out if Hal should call off from work. His job was letting him take a week off vacation time starting when I went into labor. We went back and forth struggling to decide if we were starting labor today or tomorrow. Finally, he called into work and told them today was it, he needed to start his vacation (which, by the way, the time he took off was not really a vacation). Even if labor didn’t start there was plenty to do around the house to get ready for it and besides, I wanted his company.

I had a little bloody show early in the afternoon but the day went on contraction free. I ate a lot, slept a lot, and just tried to relax when I was awake. Hal cleaned obsessively despite my nagging him to relax.  He had enough nervous energy for the two of us.  I would say to him, “Slow down and take a nap, we might be up all night! You need to conserve your energy!” And he would respond, “No, I can’t, _must_vacuum_this_dirty_carpet.” I just laughed even though I was a little worried about how he would fare during labor at 3am, with no rest during the previous day.

We had a 5pm prenatal visit at the birthing home with our midwife and she suggested coming in if we felt we could. Heidi stressed that we should carry on as per unusual because it’s really important not to obsess over early labor – that is a good way to wear yourself out, increasing your chance of a transfer to the hospital {exhaustion being reason #1 why homebirther’s transfer to a hospital}.

On our drive to the birthing home I started having extremely painful contractions. It became necessary for me to arch my back and squeeze Hal’s hand during each one. Ohhhh this is it! I thought. So this is what it’s like to be in labor – one big painful as all hell menstrual cramp! I had no idea it was going to get worse, nor did I think it was possible.

We’re in the parking lot when Heidi gets out of her car, walks over to us, and is cheerfully like, “So how ya feeling?” Face tense, I respond, “having strong contractions.” While saying this, I started to bend over bracing the nearby car. “Ohhhh yeah, assuming strange positions. You’re starting to cook!” Heidi exclaimed with enthusiasm. Hal and I chuckled and I felt reassured that this was normal.

My cervix was one centimeter dilated at the appointment.  My instructions were to keep carrying on as per normal, go home, and call Heidi when I was in “active labor.” My response was, “Active labor? Aren’t I in active labor?  This feels pretty fucking active to me!” She assured me that when active labor kicked in, there would be no mistaking it. Yeah, I felt a little panicked at this point.

Well, Hal and I, being the food centric folk that we are, decided that grocery shopping was in order.  We pulled into the “Reserved For Expecting Mom” parking space for the last time. As I waddled down the isles, one of the clerks walked by and said with an uneasy look on her face, “Girl, I know you not in labor AND grocery shopping.” The situation was absurd.  I chuckled at her and said, “Oh yes I am,” while thinking, “so leave me the fuck alone,” I kept walking and shopping. It’s safe to say she got the hint and carried on with her own business.

Every contraction brought me to my elbows leaning over the cart for support. It wasn’t a dramatic scene, not a scene at all, but it was surreal to us. Poor Hal, he was becoming visibly anxious and just started chucking all the stuff he knew we liked in the cart without thought. The bill was around two hundred dollars – way more than the 50 bucks we planned on spending. The drive home was intense and the contractions were feeling the same.

When we got home, Hal put the groceries away while I took a shower. The whole time I was showering, I knew this was it. I knew this would be my last shower with my pregnant belly.  I rubbed it gently and gazed in awe.

Hal needed to take the dogs to his parents house.  I went back and forth with, Could I stay by myself comfortably or did I need to call Liz to come over before he leaves?

My extremely independent way of managing pain got in the way of reason.  I called Liz just to give her a “heads up” that I was in labor and might call her back in an hour or so when active labor kicked in. Hal started to get the dog’s food and before he left I stopped him, called Liz back in tears, and cried while blubbering out, “Can you come over now? I don’t want to be alone.”

As soon as she got to our house, Hal gave her the quick low-down on what was happening and bolted out the door with the dogs. She came into the room were I was laboring on the bed and I asked her to spoon me. I needed to feel flesh and warmth to feel safe. I wanted to crawl into a cocoon.  She got into bed and wrapped herself around my body. We talked a little (I don’t remember about what) and she went through each contraction breathing with me. The fear was really beginning to build.

I needed to get up and move a bit so went out into the living room where I could hear, Cerberus Shoal, playing on the stereo. Liz and I held each other rocking back and forth, dancing to the soft music while I moaned through a couple more contractions.

I looked at her and said, “I am so scared.”
“Me too.” She replied.
We cried into each others shoulder rocking side to side.

We went back into the bedroom and I screamed my way through a couple more contractions. This, anyone knowledgeable about natural childbirth will tell you, is not the best way to manage the pain. The intensity and pain was picking up. Liz called my midwife and at this point, I was still able to talk so I let Heidi know that the pain was serious. As soon as we got off the phone with her, my water broke. Liz called her back to let her know that the liquid was clear and Heidi replied, “I’m on my way – I’ll be there in 45 minutes.”

“Good gawd!” I thought, “I’m going to have this baby in 45 minutes!”  Little did I know, I was just transitioning into active labor which means I had about 6-12 more hours to go, at least.  Hal got back and as soon as he walked into the room I said to him, “I need the trash can, I’ve gotta throw up.” And then it began.

Active Labor

I labored with Hal until Heidi got there. Once Heidi arrived and assessed the situation relief and calmness filled the room. She helped me to find my center. Even though I had the intellectual knowledge that my body could birth Max, I was still dependent on a professional to tell me that I could do it – that everything was going normally.  After all, I had never experienced birth before this in any capacity. All I knew was what I read.  I needed to be reminded of what I already knew. As soon as Heidi said I was doing great, confidence swelled within me.

I tested positive for Group B Strep, so needed an IV of antibiotics. Heidi was having a hard time finding a vein to cooperate and I was having a hard time sitting still, so we opted for the two shots – one in each hip.

She told me at this time, “If your blood pressure goes one point above normal we are transferring to the hospital.” My blood pressure had ridden a little on the high side throughout my pregnancy but never reached that dangerous point of preeclampsia high. I was okay with transferring at any point for a medical reason. My decision to have a home birth was based on the fact that I wanted an honest opportunity to have natural childbirth. No interventions unless medically necessary. Heidi’s position comforted me.  I knew I was safe.

Phil arrived and Heidi directed him to get the small kid’s pool out of her car so Liz and him could start setting it up. My eyes were pretty much closed from here on out, only opening to walk. I tried lying on the bed and relaxing while the pool got filled with air and then water. I threw up again. Two garbage cans required as part of my Home Birth Supply List, and a roll of garbage bags. While I was preparing for this, I remember thinking, what will this be used for? And, why two?

Finally, the pool got filled with water.  I was a little leery about getting totally nude so slid into the warm water with my undies and sports bra. When immersed in the soothing water I didn’t like the way cotton felt on my skin so took off my underwear. Shortly after this, the phone rang. I could hear Hal’s mom’s voice yelling for him to pick up the phone. She called three times in a row – I wanted to rip the phone out of the wall.

Things started to really pick up at this point. The contractions were closer together (I never timed them, not once), they were painful enough to cut off my use of words.  Memory at this point, encumbered and taken over by the power of my primitive spirit.

I fell into a place that didn’t allow for language to seep in.  A place I could never imagine existing.  Any time I tried to think of something specific my mind just simply did not allow words to form. Forced to stop thinking. This was the first time in my life that a situation barred words from my brain. I just became what I was doing. I felt At One with my body. I could have labored a million and one years ago and it wouldn’t have felt any different. The connection to my primitive brain was strong, beautiful, powerful, wild, foreign, erotic, and uninhibited. As labor progressed, I began to move on instinct alone.

I labored hard but more comfortably while in the water. I moaned, moved, cried and eventually became the pain. Pain at this point ceased to bring fear with it. I welcomed it.  Pain was power the way suffering makes you stronger.  Before this point, I had moments of doubt, moments when I said out loud, I don’t think I can do this. My midwife knew I could and as Hal put it, she didn’t even entertain the thought of transferring to the hospital because I was complaining about the pain. {Though, for the record, if I had flat-out demanded to transfer she would have helped me and switched to support-person doula-mode once we got to the hospital.}

It was Heidi’s belief in me, her support alone that helped me find way to that sacred place within that only I could travel. We all give birth alone no matter how many people surround us.  The person I trusted to watch over me was the one who had the power to “make or break” my confidence. 

I reached 10cm while in the pool – mind you, Heidi didn’t check me every hour. She ASKED a couple of times if I wanted to be checked. I always said yes. She told me to listen to my body and let it lead me into pushing. Some people say pushing is the best part for them. Well, for me, it was the hardest part. Before I started to push, I got to a point where I thought I could labor for hours. I even fell asleep between contractions (30 seconds to a minute little sleepy-time). All I had to do was whisper, water or juice, and a straw hit my mouth. I was so relaxed and deep into Laborland that two other friends arrived unbeknown to me and just slipped right into the groove of the laboring women.

When I started to push, the part of labor Heidi kept referring to as “athletic” during our prenatal visits, became clear. I was pushing with deep grunts in the pool for a while when Heidi suggested sitting on the toilet to let gravity help bring Max down through the birth canal. Otherwise, she said, I could be laboring in the pool until the following day. I was nude except my black sports bra and didn’t even give getting out of the pool in front of all my friends a second thought.

Modesty no-more.

While on the toilet I growled, grunted, pushed, and yes… pooped. I actually got embarrassed and tried to clean my ass right there in the middle of laboring! Heidi said in a calm motherly voice, everybody poops, Michelle. I chuckled at her and thought of the children’s book of the same title. Okay, I had to surrender, pooping is a reality of labor – even when all your friends are there.

Did I mention, modesty-no-more?

After pushing on the toilet, I moved to the vanity area to get into a squatting position. During the move a contraction came on, pulling me down to hands and knees. Moaning and pushing, it passed. After it passed, I got in position to squat and push through the next one. Heidi sat in front of me, the large pad underneath my body to catch liquid, blood, poop, baby – what-ever decided to come out, Hal on one side, and Heidi’s birth assistant was on the other. We barely made it through the contraction before I said, “Hal can’t do this, his back!” Hal has a herniated disk that he wasn’t thinking about, but I was. I needed him to be strong after Max was born, too! For the next few contractions, Liz stepped in to support my 250lb. body into a squatting position. The two women holding me weighed half of what I did but their strength and desire to help was enough to support my big-momma weight.

We moved to the bed, next. This is where I started to feel sheer exhaustion kick in. To feel like I was making progress, Heidi asked if I wanted her to keep her fingers inside of me during each contraction. YES! I said. I needed to feel like I was making steps forward because it was _such_hard_work.

I labored in this position the longest: on my back propped up by Hal who was sitting behind me. Liz was pushing my right leg back and the birth assistant had the other leg. Heidi was in front of me, Monica behind her and Phil and Jenna alternated holding my right hand and giving me drinks. We were all getting tired and we all felt like Max would never come (except Heidi, of-course). The moaning turned into growling a deep throaty growl.

During this time, I felt very connected to Heidi. At one point during my pushing when she needed to leave to use the bathroom, I felt connected to her in a weird _I can see you even with my eyes closed_ kinda way.

She made a little joke, “If you have a contraction, you know what to do!” Everyone kinda giggled languidly and she walked away.

“Okay,” I thought, “I’ll just wait for you to get back before I have another one.”

I listened to her pee, the toilet flushed, she washed her hands, went into the living room, started walking back towards the bedroom, in the hall way – okay contraction, you can come now. She was back in time to put her fingers inside of me to guide Max down. That was the longest pause between contractions that I had since starting to push.

Then, Heidi said, “Look, Monica, can you see that, that is Max’s head! Your baby is coming soon, Michelle! Push for your baby!” I got excited knowing that the head was finally visible.

I heard Monica in a child-like excited voice, “oh my gosh, I see it! I see the head!” I was like, YES! Finally!

Again, Heidi suggested changing positions. Man, was this getting annoying. When the heck was I going to get to see Max?! I tried going through a contraction while lying over the birth ball, nope, didn’t work. I aggressively threw the ball accidentally hitting Phil with it while yelling, “I don’t like this!”

And then, suddenly, I felt Max.  I said, I need to get back in the water. I need to get back in the pool right now.

Everyone helped me into the pool. As I began to sit a contraction came on so I squatted into it. “Yes!” Heidi exclaimed. “That’s it, Michelle! Do that again!” I pushed a few more times – one right after another – while holding on to Monica. I heard Heidi asking her birth assistant to watch the time. Remembering that Monica has scoliosis and not wanting to hurt her, I asked if she was alright. She said yes and before she got to the “s” part of yes, I was pushing again.

“Okay, now Michelle – little pushes. Cough him out, now. He’s crowning. The burning you feel will be the top of his head coming out.” I was in such disbelieve that this was actually happening to me. It didn’t burn.

*cough, cough* I pulled off my black bra without thought, yearning for his skin to meet my breast.

“Do you want to feel his head?”

“No!!!!! I’m scaaaaared!!!!.” I cried. Hal and Monica, with my permission, touched his head while he was crowning.

“Okay, his head is out. Now a gentle but good push and he’ll be out. Hal, hold your hands like this to catch him.” Push.

I felt his whole body slide out of me. I fell back with relief.  I saw Hal’s face while he held him and looked at him – big smile and teary eyed.  I heard Heidi chuckle and have to tell Hal to give Max to me. He put him on my chest.  He couldn’t stop smiling and staring at our baby.  Max was so warm.  So sweet.

I laid there with him resting on my chest and waited for that sweet first cry. Exhausted. Blissful. Proud. There was commotion around me but all I cared about was Max and Hal.  And HOLY SHIT I DID IT!!!!

Heidi rubbed his feet and he let out a cry. The most beautiful cry he will ever let out.

Heidi didn’t forget about the placenta, like I did, and said, “With your next contraction, you’ll birth the placenta.” I was still in the kiddy pool of water. A few moments passed, I contracted lightly and she said, “Give a push – it will be easy and painless because there are no bones in this.” That was really weird to hear someone say. To think that someone else with bones came out of me struck me as bizarre! I birthed the placenta. It was perfect and healthy.

Hal and I crawled into our bed with Max and gazed at him. Hal held him while I got checked over. I didn’t tear at all but had some mean looking hemorrhoids. After being checked, having my tummy massaged, and given herbs and homeopathic meds, I took a shower.

Jenna made me some food, which I hardly ate.  Heidi took care of the medical stuff with Max.  And Hal passed out on the bed for about an hour. Max took a bowel movement on his way out so Heidi had to put a tube down his nose and suck out the meconium that was in his lungs. He was breathing kinda funny but eventually started breathing normal after she cleared his lungs. There wasn’t a lot of meconium so she wasn’t worried. After all got “Okayed” with Max, I tried to nurse him. It wasn’t easy but we (me with Heidi’s help) got him to successfully latch on.

Everyone left. Hal fell into a deep sleep and I snoozed with Max on my chest. It was 6am.
We took him to the pediatrician’s for a 2pm appointment that Tuesday afternoon and got the second, “he’s perfectly healthy,” stamp of approval.  Our new life started.

8lbs 1oz
Born at 4:01 am, Tuesday, November 9, 2004

We had a small family birthday party for Max tonight at my in-laws.  My MIL baked the cake and then commanded my FIL to decorate it, barking orders at him something about green and the Incredible Hulk.  This is what he came up with:

The Incredible Hulk One-Eyed Clown? Awe, just kidding, Max ate the eye.  He was a little unsure as to what it was, too…

I think I may have to send this to Cake Wrecks, one of my favorite _make me laugh out loud_ blogs.

And this is me holding my brand new nephew who I happily snuggled with almost the entire night…

I have never been one to jump at holding an infant, EVER.  Now that I’ve had two of my own, and they are both far out of that stage in their lives, I just can’t get enough of that sweet newborn soft love.  My nephew is the best.  And the best part?  Why, handing him back to his mama, of-course.

Saturday started out pretty rough.

Words for a writer are like paint for a painter and wood for a carpenter.  Heart and Soul would rot of death if they had no access to the written word.  Had I been stricken with this awful disease before typewriters graced the tips of calloused fast fingers, if I had no access to a computer, the words would melt a hole in my head like a wild fire taking over a garden.  The stench of burnt and lost forever syllables would be torture.  Pain keeps the old fashion tools of pen and paper out of my hands.  I always need a way to spill my moonshine-mind out into the world.   To keep burning emotions locked in a manic-writer-brain would drive a word-smith into madness.

If you made it through the ashes of sorrow without pity, smugness, or feeling chafed by vexation, thank you.  I can hardly believe I share such pitiful reflections with total strangers through metal and wire.  I do appreciate your soft presence.  It is not without consideration for the worse of possible criticism that I write – yet I write as if you are not there anyway.  Though, there is something about knowing someone else is reading that keeps me from loosing perspective in the sea of self-pity suffering.

After the digging of anguish, much of the darkness lifted and dirt fell from my eyes.  It was a beautiful day by Florida standards, in the low 70’s, which allows for outdoor fun minus the usual buckets of sweat.  So outside we went…

On our way home from Lola’s, Bella gave Max all of her M&M’s.  He then shared all of his M&M’s with her, doling one out to her every time he ate a few.  I’m always comforted by how well they get along.  They have a strong bond, those two.

Sometimes…

Max makes me feel like I wasn’t cut out for motherhood.  He’s a bit of an energy vampire.  Needy of my attention.  Difficult to direct and redirect.  CONSTANTLY looking for approval and praise.

I feel like I created a monster.  His temper rivals any adult’s {though, he doesn’t break stuff or physically hurt people or things – counting blessings, here…} and his mouth is about as disrespectful as they come when he’s angry {short of cursing me out}.  He’s emotional.  Dramatic.  And screams at me.  I don’t really know how to respond to him, so a lot of the time I ignore the behavior and deal with what he wants.   When I can’t ignore it because he’s pushed me too far, I yell at him – things like, “Don’t take your anger out on me!”  And, “Just because you are mad doesn’t mean you can treat your family like dirt!”  I’m not sure what effect this will have on him in the long run, or if it is doing any good in the moment.  He knows he’s allowed to verbalize his anger but he’s struggling with how to do it in a way that isn’t name calling.  I’m struggling with how to help him.  It’s hard to deal with the wrath of a four year old.

Sometimes…

I worry that I’m teaching him its okay to verbally abuse people {specifically women} when he’s angry because I don’t force him to stop.  But, it feels impossible to “force” him to do or say anything.  I’d have to hit him, several times, and there’s just no way I’m going to do that.  He’s not afraid of me and I’d like to keep it that way. There’s gotta be a way to help him without inducing fear.

I don’t like to cater to his every whim ‘cuz I’d never leave the floor if I did.  I’d never be a person if I did.  He wants me to play the role of a playmate and I am trying so hard to break him out of that mindset in the most gentle of ways.  I am not a playmate, I am his mom.  I can be his friend, sometimes.  And yes, we do fun activities together.

I get so tired of him constantly saying, watch this, look at me, look at what I made, and then expecting me to clap.

I did this… the clapping and loud shouts of approval.  Every adult in his life did this as he was growing, before Bella came along, and even some after she got here.

I have other responsibilities than stroking his ego and ultimately helping it to grow too big for the likes of anyone.  I have another child.  And you know, when I really look at it, it’s not that he wants me as his playmate, but that he wants my constant attention and praise – this is what I don’t like.  Should I just suck it up and learn to like it?

How do I change this situation?  Maybe he’s just the kind of person who needs constant praise?  I get so annoyed by people like this, and here I am, the momma to one.  I know, I can’t pigeon-hole his personality into any particular character, that’s not fair.  My feelings are just at a heightened intense level right now because HE WON’T DO HIS OWN THING. 

Like Bella…

There, I said it and I feel horrible for it but its the truth.  Bella is a different creature.  Highly independent.  Enjoyable company.  Easy to be around.  Also, the second child.

Jesus Fucking Christ.  I gotta find a way to deal with my son.  This isn’t the first time I’ve had to learn a new skill to get along with him, to help him get along with me, to teach him what he is ready to learn at the age he is today.

Finally…

As I was typing all this, he pulled out all the blocks and is building with them.  He just needed to wind down from his Saturday morning TV-time and figure out what he can do.  Seriously, the TV is a constant issue for us.  Too much makes Max intolerable.  Then, it becomes a crutch so that I can get work done, rest, or regain my composure so I don’t kill him.  It’s times like the one we just got through that make me want to pack us all up and move out to the boondocks so I could send the kids out to play with the rocks, sticks and snakes.  So they would have a forest to frolic in within walking distance or a magical children’s garden, nature made, right in our back yard.

The flip side is that he does entertain himself, more than my complaining is giving him credit for in this post.  He’s at a stage that I’m trying to figure out and catch up with.  My guess is that he is the kind of child that needs steady intellectual and physical engagement in a way that I am not ready for.  He likes to move.  He likes to learn and figure things out.  I’m tempted to hand him a screw driver and our toaster – unplugged, of-course – and let him have at it, take it apart.   He is just that kind of kid.  The problem is, I’m not the kind of person who wants to sit with him while he does these kinds of activities.  I’m not physically active {working on changing this}.  I need to meet him half way and I’m having a hard time finding my way to do this.

Imagine permanently having a cold and one newly broken bone in your body.  The cold depletes your energy and the broken bone that never heals causes you to feel aches and pains if you move too much or too fast.  But you still want to be the best mom you can be, as if you were physically healthy.  That about sums up what mothering is like for me.

Writing in this blog is part of the process in doing what needs to get done.

I swear, just when your children are all peaceful and content, they go and grow and change on ya.  When as an adult, I’ve been re-conditioned to accept that  growth happens slowly, change happens differently, slow like molasses, compared to children.

The kids are playing together now, bouncing a ball up and down the staircase.

Motherhood is an evolving discipline.

Whew, writing saved me once again.

I took a much-needed nap today.  Thank you, BellaGrace, for cooperating with my tired body.

It’s time to start preparing homemade salad dressings ‘cuz I hate olive oil and vinegar concoctions paired with any dish that isn’t Italian.

While I’m not interested in eating all raw foods {I realized today}, raw food cuisine is exciting to explore.  We also have a raw restaurant a couple towns over that I’ve only been to once, but am wanting to visit again.

Feeling mildly better, but not enough to get me excited.  Still tired and sluggish with sore toes and feet.

What I ate today is pretty pitiful by any health novice standards.  I’m on a long, slow, winding road towards change.

I have never been a health nut and I don’t plan on becoming one, now {maybe a little nutty on some level, but never about my health.  I was an asshole vegan, once, way back in the day – but again, that was not about my health}.  The idea of fanaticism about anything turns me off.

Eating my bowl of zucchini tonight felt like an act of rebellion _not submission_ to these changes.  Like a big fat, Fuck You Change!  I’m gonna eat like crap even when I’m eating something healthy!  So NAH! Really, I know there are tastier foods I could choose – but I’m just so fraking mad that I even have to think about it.

While I was writing this post, Hal was in the kitchen making a raw almond based hummus.  OHMYGOD, it is delicious.  So now, for dinner I had steamed zucchini, raw carrots, rice cakes and this hummus:

Almond Hummus Recipe

Makes about 2.5 cups

Ingredients:

2 cups almonds, soaked for 12 hours, then rinsed
2/3 cup raw organic tahini
1/2 cup water
2 cloves garlic
Juice of 2 small lemons
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley or cilantro

Directions:

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and puree.

Hal is a huge help with all of this.  A bit of a home-grown nutritionist, vegetarian/vegan chef, he’s also getting interested in raw foods.  His palate is more accepting of diverse flavors than my own {more sophisticated, shall we say?}, so a lot of his dishes are hit or miss for me.  But oh my word, I love it when he makes a dish that’s yummy to my tummy.

I don’t think I could make these changes without the support of my partner.  It makes me happy that he understands me so well and shows it so easily.

Withdrawing from processed foods is hard.

I’m not looking at this change as “I have to control what I eat.”  I’m looking at it like this: I have choices, what are my choices? I have a lot of food choices.  I can eat a variety of foods.  Here are my choices.  Now choose.

Instead of: I can’t eat anything I want!  I have to control myself from eating all those foods that will make me sick!  ControlControlControl!  I can’t eat anything anymore!  WHAAAAAA!

Fuck that.  The reality is this:

There are a lot of foods that I can eat.  Sometimes, I will over indulge on foods that taste good – no worries, it’s okay.  This is transition.  There is always room for imperfections, mistakes, and failure – no matter what is going on in my body.  I have the rest of my life to get this Major Life Change right.  I don’t need to know everything about eating healthy right now.  It doesn’t need to happen over night.  It will come in pieces.  Slowly.  And softly.

I know all of this from experience.

Thank you again, BellaGrace, for all that you have already taught me and will continue to teach me about life.  I wouldn’t know this was an option – that I can be successful at – if it weren’t for you.

You really are quite magical.

My body is not doing well.  It could be the way I eat.  It could be because Bella is nursing less and this causes my hormones to shift and decrease, having an effect on my joints.  It could be because I have gained a lot of weight and this agitates my joints.  It could be all these reasons combined.  I don’t know what is going on, but I know I’m not feeling well.  My feet hurt so much I’m limping and my toes are swollen.  I am so tired I could sleep for days.  My energy is very low.

The only thing I have control over is what I eat.  This is one of the most difficult things in life to control – AND to do it in a way that is mentally, physically, and emotionally healthy is even harder. It’s depressing the shit out of me that the only way to potentially improve my health is to faithfully and consistently choose the right food.  The alternative to eating healthy is far worse: Eat what-ever the hell I want and endure the crippling pain, low quality of life, side effects of all the medication I will need to take to control the pain/inflammation, and ultimately, a shortened life span.  I wish when I ate the food that I love {which is not any different from the average vegetarian who eats moderately healthy, mostly vegan, and with the occasional processed tofu meal}, the only thing I had to worry about was making time for exercise every week.

The pressure to get it right every day is enormous.  And again, I won’t know if  changing the way I eat is worth it or working until I’ve stuck to it for a good six months to a year.  The plan is to eat a whole food, vegan, largely raw diet.  This means cutting out high fructose corn syrup, dairy, wheat, eggs, gluten, and eventually soy products – essentially, everything processed.  It also means trying new recipes, preparing more veggies to eat, and being more mindful about the process of eating.  I’m sure I’ll feel the difference in my energy level within days.

My body has changed since giving birth to Bella, which if you remember, her allergies lead me to give up all the foods that are common allergens for 10 months.  I felt really good during that 10 month period, especially when I finally got use to eating 99% whole foods.  It took about 7 months to get use to it.

*sigh*

The reason I went back to my old eating habits is because I wasn’t eating healthy for my body, it was for BellaGrace’s body.  Going back to the foods I love was always part of the plan.   I thought it was a temporary situation from the get-go.

Now that I have to do this for myself, most likely for the rest of my life, it scares me.

But I know I can do it.

I just gotta keep my chin up, talk about it when it’s down, and keep my eye on the prize: A Better Quality Of Life

The lame ethnic stereo-type did not make it past my radar for Racist Jokes Naively Committed By White Folks.  Had they left out the fake Afro-wig, this video would be perfectly silly.  The Afro-wig and the current reality that raw food diets attract mostly white people and folks with a certain type/amount of privilege - self included obviously – is an irony that is not lost on me.

Can someone tell me if I used the term “irony” correctly? I think you understand my point, anyway…

Last night, sometime early in the morning, it was still dark outside, I felt a swift gust of wind pass my face as a solid hard thud hit the pillow inches away from my nose.  That thud was my sleeping husband punching his pillow three or four times.  He was grunting, too, in order to add that little extra force to the punch.  It took a second before I felt it was safe to reach over and wake him up.  Literally, inches away from my face.  I think he may have even nicked my nose.

I asked him today, what on Earth happened last night? You almost beat the shit out of me! Well, apparently, Hal’s dreams are very intense and very realistic.  He was dreaming that he and Glenn Beck were in a coffee shop, sitting in the same booth, arguing about something.  Hal got so angry at Beck during their argument that he started walloping on his face.  Hence, the pillow punches.  I mean, Hal is a very chill dude in his waking life, but damn, he’s a bad ass psycho in his dreams.

Any man who kicks Glenn Beck’s ass, while sleeping or awake, is hawt stuff in my book.  Though, seriously, I think Hal needs to lay off the AM talk radio shows on his drive to and from work.  And maybe I should put a big body pillow between us for safety.