The Mural on the Wall

I was putting M to bed tonight when I looked over at the wall mural behind his crib. Funny how something you see every day can suddenly have an effect on you. All of a sudden my mind took me back in time to the weekend J and I put that up on M's wall. At the time, we lovingly referred to him as Munchkin, having no idea he would be, well, a he. It took us two days to finish the project, at the end of which we stood back and looked with pride at the great work we had done together. The nursery was starting to come together, and it was starting to sink in that soon we would no longer be a family of two. Amazing how long "soon" felt in that moment, and looking back now, how fast it seems to have gone.

After ten months with M in our lives, my pregnancy seems to have lasted all of 5 minutes. Every now and again a memory pops into my head of life before him, but for the most part the routine of waking up, going to work, coming home, bed and bath time and finally crawling into bed completely and utterly exhausted prevents me from going down memory lane too often. Honestly I think it's the lack of brain power to devote to anything but the aforementioned activities that keeps me from daydreaming about the past.

It's amazing how one moment - one second - can break your life into before and after. J and I talk longingly about weekend mornings spent in bed, going out after work, watching an entire movie uninterrupted, making love when we felt like it and jumping in the car on a whim to head out of town for the day. I feel like I tell him I miss him more than I tell him I love him these days. And when he looks at me, it's like he's trying to find me.

For some reason I figured after ten months we'd have the hang of this new life. That we'd be old pros at this parenting thing and spend our days euphoric about our new family. I guess after 31 years of living our lives one way it takes a little longer than ten months to adjust to an entirely new existence. I am positive we'll get there. In the meantime (beyond being absolutely in love with that beautiful boy sleeping soundly upstairs), I will take what I can get in the little things like the mural, and be grateful for the small reminders of how this family began.

Is anonymity making us assholes?

I belong to an online moms’ group here in Boston, which I herald as one of the best things I’ve discovered since moving here. Moms ask questions about everything from baby sleep and feeding patterns to work issues and how to find a good couples’ therapist. Hands down it’s the best resource I could have possibly imagined as a first time mom. However, recently I became a bit disenchanted with a post from one of the other moms. While the details of the transaction do not matter for the purposes of this post, the gist is that she was unhappy with a local retailer and the way they handled a situation. So, like any scorned person with an internet connection nowadays, she took to the Web. She was angry—and she wanted other mothers to know it, and stand united against this big bad retailer. Except, this big bad retailer responded. Turns out, this retailer is a small husband and wife-owned resale shop in one of Boston’s neighboring suburbs. The couple pays their bills and raises their children on the profits they earn at the shop. They responded politely and with humility. As a PR professional, I think they handled themselves extremely well, and made sure to let them know publicly in a response to the whole group. But the whole experience got me thinking…are we losing our ability to treat people with respect because it’s so easy to hide behind the Internet? I would not hesitate to answer that question with a resounding YES.

Parenting is rolling with the punches (so throw out the expectations and learn how to duck)

We had a lovely weekend planned. J and I were going to take M and “Little J” to Portland for Disney on Ice and a fun stay in a hotel. This was an “experiential” Christmas gift we gave “Little J” since she receives far too many presents each year to really appreciate everything she has. And, what kid wouldn’t love a chance to see Disney on Ice!?! All of us were really looking forward to the opportunity to get away and enjoy some time as a family. We should have known better.

Parents are crazy (at least I admit it)

It amazes me that being a parent makes people so crazy. Men and women have been having - and raising - babies for thousands of years, and we continue to hold the rather insane view that despite that, we know what's best. I mean, sure, we are the ones that know our child(ren) the best. We have likely been there from the very first moment of conception, their arrival into this world, and are the ones who are at the center of their world. However, I refuse to be naive enough to believe that I am the only one who can care for my child. I for one truly appreciate that my son has the opportunity to spend some of his time at daycare where people discipline differently than me, are not able to give him constant attention, and likely hold different views on the world than me. I personally feel that exposing him to different people and opinions will make him a more well-rounded person.

Who Am I?

Funny thing, I thought I knew. Or, at least I knew who I was prior to having a baby. I was married to the love of my life. Made hard - but brave - decisions that got me to this point. Was spontaneous. Independent. Had breasts I was proud of. Stayed up late, and slept in on the weekends. With my husband. I had friends who called. And that I called. Friends who were there at my darkest moments. And my best.

Reading this description of myself now makes me sad. Because I don't know where she went. Or if she's coming back. I hope she comes back.

April 27, 2011: Our birth story

I thought about calling this post "my birth story," but soon realized it does not belong to just me. So, it is ours.

On Wednesday, April 27, 2011, I was 10 days past my due date. I weighed 128 pounds and was all belly. I had been in and out of doctors' offices and ultrasound appointments to make sure the baby inside was still healthy, despite the extended gestational period. My mom, dad and mother-in-law were in town, anxiously awaiting the birth of their grandchild (at that time, sex still unknown). My father-in-law had to leave on the 24th after 9 days of watching, waiting and consuming numerous bottles of wine (not alone - he had plenty of help).

A new last name

I never had any desire to change my name. My name has been my identity - who I was, how people knew me, what they called me. The thought of being something - someone - else frightened me. I always thought I'd be one of those women who marched to their own drum - a loving mother and wife, but one who just couldn't adopt someone else's identity through the old-fashioned "tradition" of taking a man's name. It's funny how time changes us.