I have a yellow composition book titled "My Unhappy Book" that catalogues our household bills from month to month.  Once upon a time, a month used to be marked by another awful rent check, a slow countdown to the end of car payments, a varying utilities bill, glorious pay days.  A month was long days at work and and new tv shows, national holidays and birthdays, another bag of dog food, tank of gas, haircut.  Now that we're parents all those days have been a part of our first month and yet time has been marked by completely different milestones.

It's hard to believe a month has even passed.  There are no longer nights and days but cycles that keep tumbling along endlessly until I have a sudden burst of clarity and try to quantify the time passed by all those daily chores missing from my memory:  When did I brush my teeth last?  Take a shower? Made my bed, changed out of my pajamas, eaten a balanced meal?

Let sleeping babies (and husbands) lie
Miraculously, we have managed to do most of those things on a semi-regular basis but otherwise, details of these past weeks are kind of a blur.  Emphasis has been placed elsewhere I guess.  

This is what a month looks like:
- 350 diapers
- 24 cups of coffee brewed, forgotten, and turned cold.
- 7 consultations with lactation nurses
- 500 tears spilt learning how to breastfeed
- 12 hours spent on Google, BabyCenter, WebMD.  
- 750 photos taken (seriously)
- 2 calls to the advice nurse
- 1 trip to Golden Gate
- 16 loads of laundry
- 500 tears spilt just feeling guilty for getting mad at a helpless baby
- 5,000 ounces of water drunk
- 3 meals actually home cooked ourselves (luckily we had a band of happy cooks for a few weeks)
- 11 seasons of Frasier re-watched during feedings
- 500 tears spilt dealing with infant reflux (or was it reflux?)
- 10,000 prayers uttered, all along the lines of thanks, help, wow à la Anne Lamott.

And somehow in a month, there has been so much waiting:  for her first good poop, for her to gain weight, for the jaundice to go away, for more alert time, for the dog to adjust to being just a dog for once, for her to gain more weight, for my milk to come in, for my milk supply to increase.  It's amazing how happiness is suddenly measured in ounces.

Mostly, this month has been marked by the slow but inevitable capsizing of the iceberg.  All we thought was significant and grand is underwater and paled in comparison to substance of mass now revealed to us: Holy crap, we have a baby.

For me, it took about a month to really bond with my baby, to fall in love with her, to hear her name spoken and it feel normal, to say "my daughter" without feeling like a fraud, to actually call myself "mom" and really mean it.   I still don't feel like someone's mom.  I feel like a kid who has been suddenly thrust into an epic journey without being given time to pack or study or train and somewhere along the line I realized everything I need, I already have with me or will be provided for me and, most importantly, I am not the hero of this story anymore.

And that is fine by me.


Also, why in the world do newborns poop so loud?

The worst part of waiting for Baby is the mental battle.  With absolutely nothing in my control these days (finances, timing, bladder issues), I've mostly tried to distract myself from the absolutely earth shattering change that is quickly approaching.  Sometimes it feels like I'm trying to prepare for a surprise marathon and I need to be ready when that starter's pistol fires for any terrain, any weather, any condition.  Oh, and at the end of it, after the joy and euphoria and feeling of accomplishment has come and gone and all I want to do is sleep forever, I'll have to get up and run again.  And keep running.  While fending off angry monkeys.  And pulling sled full of watermelons.  Forever.  Welcome to Parenthood!

Most of my professional life has been spent in the circus ring with babies and young children and parents.  I regularly follow a dozen or so (crafty and creative) mommy bloggers.  My Facebook feed has become one big baby slideshow (to which I will probably contribute once I meet my own bundle of cuteness).  It's easy to get inundated by the idea of parenthood, by a magazine version of the total experience, but as I've imagined my own path as a mother, I've craved an understanding for the intimacy of parenthood:  the stuff we don't post about on Facebook, the tidbits my mother hid under a facade of control, the reality beyond sleepless nights and potty training.

So, of course, much of my inspiration and comfort has come from fictitious characters (all of course, drawn from very real experiences and then distilled and reflected by wiser artists) or writers simply examining their own lives.  I identify strongly with realistic characters, people with a frank view of life but ultimately hope for romance so I've found great comfort in the "regular-ness" of these parents while also drawing from the heroism of my own.

1) Waitress:
via collider.com


Witty, charming, honest, it was the first time I've seen a woman speak so frankly about her fears and despair about being pregnant, about feeling so utterly trapped.  I think the story has a unique twist on the generic "trying to find happiness" tale and genuinely pulls it off.  This is Keri Russell and Nathan Fillion at their cutest.  And the true story of the writer/director (and new mom) Adrienne Shelly's tragic murder just before the movie's release makes it all the more poignant.  






2) Crawling: A Father's First Year.
via author's site


Honestly, I read this like five years ago so I don't totally remember it word for word.  I really love stories written by fathers, just normal dads.  The TV trope of the flawed father (alcoholic maybe, war vet possibly, absent mostly) trying to make amends or having that cinematic moments with his son is, while realistic, overdone.  Aside from this father's somewhat glamorous lifestyle (a nice Berkeley studio, going to a posh bakery, putting his wife through grad school?  How is that logical in the Bay Area without a trust fund somewhere??), it's a great read.





3) Parenthood:
via HuffPost
I could do a whole post on Parenthood.  My husband and I started watching in 2010, when we had no immediate plans for having children but we fell in love with the show and it's uniquely intimate portrayal of the Braverman clan.  It hits the trifecta of TV:  solid cast, solid scripts, solid production quality, and somehow addresses so many tough issues (autism, adoption, abortion to name a few) without feeling melodramatic.  I cannot say enough good things about this show.   It's honest, heartbreaking, heartwarming, and did I mention honest?  Just watch the show.  And keep a box of tissues near.

4) Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year.
via BandN


Surprise, surprise that Anne Lamott made it onto my list.  Her writing has been a tonic for my writing, for my faith, my life!  Even her Twitter account is a source of great comfort for me, but this book is just lovely.  She was given the advice to try to write something every day in her first year of motherhood (advice I will desperately try to follow) and this was the result.  I read it when I got pregnant, when I was jobless and scared and alone in a new city, and I started breathing again.






5) Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father, and Son:
via BandN
I love The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay but this book may be my favorite of Chabon's.  The opening chapter had me hooked.  It's yet another memoir about a being "modern dad" but with the expected wit and candor of such an accomplished writer.









So none of these are really instructional, they're merely comforting to me.  I think parenting really is a million platitudes manifested and finding open arms in utter darkness.  I think my inspiration comes from my own mother, my own experiences, my complete faith in God, but sometimes when the road gets bumpy we just need a heavy dose of normal folk to keep us laughing as we trudge onward.

Also, I realize now that 4 of the 5 of those take place or are written in the Bay Area which is a little spooky now considering our situation with this baby and Northern California, but pure coincidence I'm sure.

Still waiting...
City Living.  Well, Bay Area living, I suppose.  Ridiculous real estate prices + epic student loans = Baby Corner.  At first, it was a rather sobering thought, especially for someone who lives half her life on home design sites like Apartment Therapy, Design Sponge, and the late, great magazine Domino.  I don't need sprawl, just a wee bit of space that I can cultivate and paint and nurture.  

But here's the thing.  Even though our bedroom has gotten so cramped that we have to shuffle between the bed and crib, do a half twirl past the changing table, fight with the glider, and answer a riddle from the Sphinx just to get out of the door, baby M has stuff.  Should I say, ample stuff.  We're crowded simply because we have been blessed by other people giving us nice stuff for free.  Thus far, we could furnish a whole nursery without having spent a dime, all because of other people who had to put their own babies in a corner.

"When we had our first baby..."   Stories have come pouring in, along side boxes of hand-me-downs and gifts of baby gear, of parents who muddled through circumstances far more challenging than our own. 

So, in light of all that's happened this week in Boston and the world, what's to come in the future and plague our social media feeds and whatnot, I still believe that the most contagious human trait is generosity, excessive generosity (if such a thing can/should be quantified in a way), and I think it's harder to be infected unless you yourself have been in a position of great need. 

Baby M's corner is starting to feel less claustrophobic, a bit cozier, and appropriately metaphoric.  There are parts of my life that I can regard with great pride, parts that are a product of hard work and sweat, but so much of my world has been an offering to me of charity, of love, of grace, and I feel utterly humbled.  I hope Baby M is proud of us, but more so, I hope M recognizes how abundantly we are blessed.  

 And to all those parents who have thought of their own struggles and done their best to ease ours, thank you.  I hope we get the chance to ever and always pay it forward.  
We're trying to read a book a night to my growing belly in the hopes of raising a dedicated bibliophile and last night's livre du jour was Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss.  While I am not the biggest fan of the late Theodore Giesel, somehow the words of that darn book got through to me.

The Waiting Place...
... For people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
- Oh, the Places You'll Go!, Dr. Seuss

 
I feel like I've been stuck in The Waiting Place for months now, years possible.  Life has been a game of Hurry Up and Wait and it's been driving me insane.  

We're waiting for baby, waiting for the weekend, waiting for the next paycheck, waiting, waiting, waiting...  What's made all this waiting worse (whoa alliteration train), is that I haven't been writing.  Not even my Daily Words or a journal entry, not even a short story or two or a blog.  

So, I am going to heed the good Doctor's warning and jump back into the fray, which is why I am blogging today (rhyme unintentional).  And tomorrow, we'll see.   So much of my life has turning into preparation for baby (eating well, exercising, nesting, buying, registering, researching, reading) and so it's hard for my brain to switch back to general writing fun and whatnot but I am going to make a whole hearted attempt to not turn this blog solely into my "mommy space."  

But then, I might.  

Tata for now!   Stay tuned for a countdown to The Great Gatsby movie.   I. Can't. Wait.
Somehow the cameo appearance by Christopher Nolan in my dream last night (if I remember correctly, it turned out not to be him and I was the victim of "catfishing"--boo), has given me a boost in much needed writing inspiration.

As evidenced by the frequency of my posts in the last, oh two months, my writing life has stalled.  The reasons, both good and bad ones, for my lack of writing have driven me into a permanent state of frustration.  And of course, the turning over of the new year has done nothing but reminded me of how little I've accomplished in the last.  Aren't I supposed to be filled with bushy-tailed, bright-eyed jubilee at the chance to start afresh?

Well, the new year greeted me with another story rejected.  A story that has been 3 years in the works and while it's still beginning the submission process, the first arrow struck right at the heart.  This time I didn't cry (growth!) and I didn't push aside all my papers and watch TV all day (more growth!).  I made a pouty face, re-read my year's mantra and sat down to work on my book.

My mantra comes from a battered version of My Utmost for His Highest by ye old Oswald Chambers that I use less as a daily devotional and more as a kind of spiritual horoscope. 
That was the one dominating interest all through our Lord's life, and the things He met on the way, joy or sorrow, success or failure, never deterred Him from His purpose.  "He steadfastly set His face to go to Jerusalem."
Whatever your religious conviction, I hope you take from the passage the core message of commitment.  My mantra is simply that writing (not publication or commercial success) will be my dominating interest, despite how I feel or how my writing is received.  I will steadfastly set my ass in this chair.

So I blog again.  What does that have to do with Christopher Nolan?  When I get really depressed about how little I have accomplished, sometimes I imagine meeting the people I admire one day and finding out that they are fans of my work.  Maybe for me, it helps to have imaginary people to impress when it's just me and this stupid laptop day in and day out.  Why, Mr. Nolan, I'm so flattered that you loved my book and ripped it from the hands of your children and read it in your garage laboratory instead of working on that mind-portal-sixth-dimension-space-western you're writing.  And you want to buy the film rights?  Well, you'll have to talk to my agent about that.

And that's why I'm wearing a party dress and heels to write this chapter and not my robe and pjs, because imaginary Christopher Nolan believes in me so I must toil and creep to the finish line.  Happy delusions, friends.  And try to surround yourself with positive imaginary influences.  Imaginary Sean Penn is such a downer...

Yours,
NaNoWriMo: Day 11

I mostly write to soundtracks.  I find words too distracting, merely because I often want to sing along (though some have slipped their way onto the list).  Here are some of my favorite soundtrack titles, Melancholy and Hope edition.  Enjoy!

Side A (Melancholy)

  1. Moving On, Lost (Michael Giacchino)
  2. This Bitter Earth/On the Nature of Daylight, Shutter Island (Dinah Washington/Max Richter) 
  3. Death is the Road to Awe, The Fountain (Clint Mansell)
  4. The Surface of the Sun, Sunshine (John Murphy)
  5. All Things Beautiful, The Assassination of Jesse James (Nick Cave, Warren Ellis)
  6. What Are You Asking Me? The Village (James Newton Howard)
  7. The Thing That Made You, Beasts of the Southern Wild (Dan Romer, Benh Zeitlin)
  8. Together We Will Live Forever, The Fountain (Clint Mansell)
  9. Pan's Labyrinth Lullaby, Pan's Labyrinth (Javier Navarrete)
  10. I Could Have Done More, Schindler's List (Itzhak Perlman, John Williams)
  11. Ride to Death, True Grit (Carter Burwell)

Side B (Hope)
  1. The Letter that Never Came, Lemony Snicket's (Thomas Newman)
  2.  The Road Goes Ever On Pt. 1, LOTR Fellowship of the Rings (Howard Shore)
  3. The Bathtub, Beasts of the Southern Wild (Dan Romer, Benh Zeitlin)
  4.  Gabriel's Oboe, The Mission (Ennio Morricone) 
  5.  Once There Was a Hush Puppy, Beasts of the Southern Wild (Dan Romer, Benh Zeitlin)
  6. October Sky, October Sky (Mark Isham)
  7. PM's Love Theme, Love Actually (Craig Armstrong)
  8. Your Hand in Mine (Goodbye), Friday Night Lights (Explosions in the Sky)
  9. Hoppipolla, Penelope (Sigur Ros)
  10. Time, Inception (Hans Zimmer)
  11.  The Gravel Road, The Village (James Newton Howard)
  12.  Nemo Egg (Main Title),  Finding Nemo (Thomas Newman)
  13. My Name is Lincoln, The Island (Steve Jablonsky)
  14.  London, Blood Diamond (James Newton Howard)

This list really wouldn't be possible with my music supervisor/husband, who introduced me to almost everyone of these composers, so I suppose he deserves a lot of the credit for my productivity.  Happy writing!

NaNoWriMo: Day 8

I swear I am being productive.  In my defense, I am writing about Hawai'i so this is kind of like research.  From me to you (and hopefully one of many), a postcard from my NaNoLand.


Image brought to you by the following free distractions:
Picassa, Pixlr, the font Matilde and Simply Glamorous.  My laptop is so ancient I can't run trial versions of any Adobe program and I would be sad but I'm finding ways to make do.

Happy Thursday!
Powered by Blogger.

About This Introvert

Hi! I'm Kristen. I'm writing to you from hot and sticky Hawaii, where I spend my days trying to keep two young girls fed, clothed, and (on a good day) bathed. Join me as I make space to create in the midst of a chaotic life.