Caroline crawls (sort of....)

Ok, now for something happy! Caroline makes her way toward me in her own Carolineish fashion. Listen closely, because I think there's a "mama" in there, too...

Warning shot

I don't know if this just applies to me, but I find that when I'm in the middle of something intense, I don't see the big picture. Ok, now that I write that, it sounds totally normal. But I'm trying to forgive myself for it.

Caroline had her 9 month checkup on Friday, and, apart from being happy, healthy and smiley, she actually lost weight from her 6 month appointment. She dropped from the 75th to the 25th percentile in 3 months. Our doc didn't seem too concerned because she is otherwise thriving and just wants her back for a weigh-in next month, but I can't stop beating myself up about it.

Yes, I had noticed that she was fussy, and refusing solid food on many occasions. While frantically running up and down the I-5 corridor and back and forth between various hotel rooms and my parents' house, I would frantically nurse her before running off, then forget to even bring solid food to offer on our many restaurant meals. Our store of frozen baby food ran low, and I relied on store-bought fruits, with very little variety or calories. I figured she would nurse more, and usually she did. She also still sleeps right next to me, with an open buffet all night long if she chooses to partake.

She was teething, I thought, or her cold was affecting her, or she was just "off" because of all the travel. What scares me is that it never even crossed my mind to think about this even further. And really, I'm trying to not beat myself up about this. But, this is exactly what I'd feared would happen in my dark moments...that my grief would eclipse the needs of my children. There it was, writ large on the baby scale. And I didn't even notice it was happening.

Right after the appointment, I went to the Ballard Market and bought ingredients to make up a plethora of healthy, filling, yummy food for her. The moment I walked in the store, no fewer than three people cooed at her, how cute she was, how good. I walked over to the bulk food section and started discreetly bawling. She is good, she is so cute, and I hadn't been taking care of her. Not only that, but I realized I was desperately missing calling my mom, something I did after every doctor appointment. This was the first time I couldn't. I also realized that while I so badly wanted her reassurance about all of this, the very fact that she was gone was the reason the situation existed. Somewhere in a parallel universe existed a baby who had been well fed and nursed, who wasn't under a tremendous amount of stress over the physical and emotional absence of her mother, and who had a grandmother who would be answering the phone to hear about how much she'd gained and grown, and how enchanted the doctor had been with her in every way.

I was so angry.

And then, I gathered myself and my purchases up, went home, and cooked like a fiend. I made rice and lentils cooked in broth and blended, sweet potatoes, avocado, yogurt and bananas...I cooked and blended until almost all the produce was gone, and the freezer was full. I still don't feel completely better. But Caroline is smiling, and eating, and shoving apple and pear pieces in her mouth, devouring a half-cup of plain yogurt in a go, and smacking her lips for more lentils. All I have to do is take out the Cheerio box and she grunts and waves her arms in her seat. She gets all the food I can possibly offer her, and nurses whenever she wants. This is all much, much better. But the warning shot grazed a little too close.

All Saints Day

This space has been empty for a long time. What does one write after one's mother has died? There's everything to say, and nothing to say. I told Mark last night that I feel like somewhere in my soul there's a deep, dark pit with my mom's name somewhere in the bottom, and I keep walking to the edge and peering in, then skittering away. Someday, I may fall in. But by then, it's possible that the hole will have filled a bit with dirt and time, and the fall won't be as great. Maybe it will fill completely, and I'll never fall. But the scar of the hole will always be there.

I've felt it already in the last couple of weeks since she left. Taking a picture of Sam, and suddenly realizing that I'll never show it to her, or Caroline cruising along the couch, and thinking about how she'll never see her walk. It's so easy to get caught up in the unfairness of it all. But is this what I'm supposed to do? Is this how grief is? All the books make you think that it's one long linear process, but now that I'm in it, I don't know at any given moment where I am in it, and what's next. I've already had so many surprises, good and bad, to believe any more in what to expect. I thought, for instance, that I would be sad, but mostly relieved when she finally died - mostly happy that she's finally free from pain. And there are those thoughts. But the overwhelming sadness that I've felt...I was totally unprepared for it. I was also unprepared for how grateful I was during the time leading up to the funeral to be busy and rock-solid, providing strength for others, even enjoying all of the old friends who came to her service. But now that life has returned somewhat to normal, I'm a little adrift. I think I just need to accept this feeling for now.

Funny how my kids have provided the most guidance on this strange path. Leading up to mom's death, both seemed edgy, unsettled. I prepared myself for the onslaught of emotion after it finally happened, and I told Sam about it, holding him in bed in the morning of October 20th. The amazing thing, though, is that it's almost as if a weight has been lifted from Sam. It's easy to forget sometimes that he's three, and three-year-olds like tangible, understandable, definite things, even if those things are negative and undesirable. Grammy has died. He went to the funeral and sat quietly and peacefully all the way through it, perhaps grateful that, finally, this was something permanent that he can understand, not the iffy, mommy-might-go-to-Portland-this-weekend, something-might-happen-to-Grammy-soon land he's been living in for the past year. He's talked about her a lot, easily slipping into the past tense that I have so much trouble with. And, blessedly, he's been liberal with the I-love-yous, the hugs, and the snuggles. My little man knows how much I need them right now, I think. Caroline, too, has become more settled, happy to be back in her routine, settling back into easy, milky smiles and grateful to be in my arms. And I think this is how my mom would want this to be happening with them.

I know it gets easier. The hole beckons, and I let myself look a little bit at a time, knowing that I have to manage this so I can still mother my kids and be a decent wife. The sucker punches to my gut when I think about how she no longer exists in this world will lessen, the ache when I look at pictures of her eventually will soften, too. This will all pass. But God, I miss her.

Fall

Today I am feeling: A little wistful, a little nostalgic. Today is my birthday. And as birthdays go, it’s just sort of what one would expect of a thirty-something birthday. On the whole much better than last year’s, when I was down in Portland on my own with Sam while my mom was in the hospital and Mark had to return to Seattle to go to work. It was a sad, lonely, exhausting time.

I’ve always loved the fall for lots of reasons, my birthday being one of them. It was always the start of something new - the start of the school year, a new city, a new job. It’s when I got married and moved across the country, it’s when I found out I was pregnant with Sam. I think of myself as an optimistic person, so these changes were always looked forward to. But, looking back, there was plenty of heartache to go along with some of those changes, heartache I didn’t always see coming. Now that I’m older, I think I’m better at acknowledging those possibilities, although I like to think I haven’t lost my essential positive outlook.

As I type this, it is looking extremely likely that I will be losing my mom soon. On good days, I am able to look at this as a change that I and our family will ultimately be able to deal with. On bad ones, I wait until the kids are asleep and cry, thinking about all of the grandmother things that both my mom and my kids are going to miss out on. In lots of ways, they already have. I know that if she was well, I would have received about a week ago a package of carefully and individually wrapped little gifts that she would have pulled together while out and about (Whenever I’d ask her where she got something, she always replied enigmatically, “Oh, I have my places...”). Right about now, she’d be sending Sam something unique and special to celebrate his start of school.

I remember when I got married we put together little copper cookie cutters with cookie recipes to give to guests at the reception. I printed out and tied the recipes onto the cutters myself. I remember my mom saying that when my child went to school for the first time, we’d pull these out and tie them with a pretty bow to give to his teacher. The thought seemed so far away and unreal...having a child, that child being old enough to go to school.

Next time I’m home, I’ll be pulling those cutters out of the bottom drawer in the kitchen and taking them back home to tie with something from my own ribbon collection.

Food and Fish Stories

Today I am feeling: Like it should be Friday. And it IS Friday! This week got a little drab when on Monday I had one of those dark nights of the soul when I thought that my children would probably be better off being raised by hyenas than churlish, crabby, yelling me. I put the kids to bed, drooled and snotted on Mark’s shoulder for a while, and woke up feeling better. I decided that I needed to call a truce between Sam and I and work more on going with the three-year-old flow. Obviously if he’s going to stick his finger in a light socket that’s not ok, but pulling over the chair to play with the faucet at the sink? Probably ok, and not worth a fight.

We’re heading down to Portland today to visit my parents, and Sam is bringing 3 of the rather feeble tomatoes our plant on the porch spit out this week to show them. I think the entertainment and attention from other people will be good for him, and hopefully we’ll get to use the pool if the weather is nice.

Exercise: Well, I haven’t gone all Rocky this week like last week. Exercise has mostly involved walks of about 2 miles to and from the village playground, some of them rahter slow when Sam decides he’d like to walk as well. But, it’s exercise, and I’m getting it. We’ve also (I think) made the decision to move Sam to the M/W/F preschool class, so he’d be going 3 time a week instead of 2, and with slightly older kids, which I think he’ll like a lot. There’s a little family-owned gym with a babysitting service right across the street...

Caroline: We exchanged the baby swing in the living room for the exersaucer. She wasn’t really enjoying the swing anymore, and is much more interested in seeing what we’re doing. I had a little pang putting the swing away, as the next time we’ll see it will be when another little one joins us in who knows how long. Or when we move, which God willing will be the first of those two occurances.

Sam: We went to see Ponyo yesterday, and it was so incredible! The film actually kept Sam’s attention for its entire length, which is no small feat. The animation is so gorgeous and so detailed. Like, the two main characters are getting in a boat and a crab creeps up the wall behind them, or an octopus crawls into the house. Who else would have thought to include that? The best part, though was the story. In the American version, the boy would have found Ponyo and mad capers would have ensued while he attempted to hide her from his judgemental and bitter mother. Instead, he instantly explains to her that she is his pet turned into a human, and instead of freaking out she simply acknowledges that there are indeed strange things in the world, and they make dinner. Combine that with a lovely scene that positively depicts breastfeeding, and I was sold.

Projects: Feeding Sam. Seriously, the kid is an eating machine all of a sudden. Yesterday, he had a huge bowl of yogurt and granola, two peanut butter sandwiches, two apples, milk, a bunch of goldfish, a whole piece of pizza, and part of a chocolate shake. Is this a preview of teenhood? I made an effort this week to move him gently towards weaning by telling him that he can nurse when I see him in the morning, at rest time, and at night before bed. So, I’m thinking that he was nursing at other times because he was actually hungry. Go figure.

Milestone: A very nice neighbor brought over a bunch of plums from her tree, which I cooked and pureed for C. I wish I’d had the camera ready...”Heeey, these are pretty goo..*puckerface!* *puckerface!*”

Blurg

So, it’s been way, way long since I’ve written anything in this big empty part of cyberspace. It’s not that I don’t have things to say...just the thought of stringing together coherent thoughts into a neat, paragraphed package at the end of the day sounds about as much fun as organizing my sock drawer. Blurging, however, sounds great! What is blurging? My husband assures me that it is an actual term used to describe a blog that is really just a set of short thoughts. And here, I will blatantly steal from the Freeway Diva and introduce a brand new format...the mommy blurg.

Today I am feeling: Like it should be Friday, unfortunately. I blame my new church job (more on that later), because after years and years of being conditioned to go to rehearsal at other church jobs on Thursday and then wake up on Friday morning, I am now going on Wednesday evenings.

Exercise: Feeling awesome! I managed two walks this week, and another is planned tomorrow morning. I finally figured out that the iPod is actually not for me...it’s for Sam. Sam listens to kid tunes with the occasional embarassingly loud question or comment, Caroline has her morning nap, and I zone out as I zoom around Green Lake. As soon as I feel like certain flubbery body parts won’t fall off when I do so, I might even try to jog!

Kid-ism of the day: I got to have coffee today with Laural and our friend Monica, and I got such a kick out of Alexa, who was very good at holding out her hand and saying, “NO, Sammy!” whenever Sam encroached on a toy. That girl knows how to stand up for herself.

Sam: was really fun today, when he wasn't being a pill. Pretty normal. We built a fort!

Caroline: now eats rice cereal, sweet potato, and pear, all blended and strained by moi. I forgot how much fun it is to feed a baby, and she really is fun. Sam was never super-enthusiastic about eating solids (although he’s a great eater now), so feeding him was always a little stressful and coercive. Caroline, though, opens her trusting little bird mouth every time, and chuckles when I airplane or swoosh, or whatever other ridiculous thing I feel like doing.

Projects: I’m currently looking for a sewing class to enroll in, a very generous b-day gift from my father-in-law. I have my grandmother Helen’s sewing machine on which she spent countless hours making costumes for us and I really want to know how to use it, especially now that I have a little girl. Cue Mark rolling his eyes at another project I’ve picked up to “save money,” and which actually involves me buying more stuff.

Milestone: So, Caroline started a few solid foods this week, and liked them so much that she is keeping them mostly locked tight in her little intestines. Not to go into total graphic mommy mode, but let’s just say that today I realized that changing her diaper will hereafter be a different and, dare I say, less pleasant olfactory experience. Gone forever is the mild, buttermilky solely breastmilk-induced contents. I never, ever thought that the smell of my child’s stool would qualify as a milestone, but there we are. And I’m sad about it, ok?

Final thought: I’ve gotten much better at typing with one hand,

Sam graduates from gymnastics class

This class was called "Superbeasts." I think it goes without saying that that is humorous.