Here are 12 things I don’t want to forget about him (inspired by Sandra Boynton’s Little Pookie)

1. He wakes with a smile. Immediately, he wants to look out the window, play with the alarm clock and cordless phone, and, if I’m lucky, snuggle.
2. He likes to feed himself. With a spoon.
3. He likes to screw lids onto jars. Or anything.
4. He loves to dance to music. He plays with his magic cube, plays the tabla, plays xylophones, claps when I sing.
5. He has discovered gravity: he throws things down the stairs, he pours water in the bath, he drops food for the dog.
6. He gets very excited about food. He yelps, flaps his arms, and giggles, reaching for whatever I’m preparing for him. And he eats everything. He cries for raisins, claps for hummus, and loves liver.
7. He has begun throwing tantrums. If he doesn’t get his way, for example, if we have do something terrible like puts coats on before we go outside (because it is winter), he arches back and screams.
8. He loves playing peek-a-boo chase. I go in another room and hide behind a chair or wall. I surprise him and he chases after me. I hide again, surprise, chase. Etc.
9. He knows what he wants and remembers things. We went to the park in early January on a warm day and I let him play on the toddler playground. A week later, we were at the park, swinging, and he turned, reached for the toddler playground, and whine-giggled (which is his way of saying he wants to play over there). And he played in the same way that he did the first time.
10. He still loves nursing. I was so nervous that he wouldn’t. That because I wasn’t making enough for him, he would tire of my low supply and go 100% bottle. But he didn’t.
11. He doesn’t walk yet, but he manages to get around without crawling. He sort of kneel-walks/hops. It is hilarious, especially when he dance-kneel-walks. 
12. He has become brave and very friendly. In a new place, he takes off to explore, looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching. And he approaches people, smiles, and waves goodbye. You can’t help but smile to look at him (and I’m not just saying that because I’m his mom). Love my Little Buddy.

Not the life-of-the-party kind, but the needs-to-be-with-people kind. 

I’m terrified of people but I also really like them. Big groups, no thanks. But small groups, ok. And one-on-one, especially if it is someone I like, yes, please.

I like going up to the cafe to write. In part because I don’t look up and see dishes/toys/cute faces who I want to play and talk with. And in part because if I time it right, my friend-neighbor will be there with her daughter and my work will turn into coffee with a friend. At the very least, I can chat with the barista and sometimes random cafe-goers if the mood strikes. 

What do I do with this realization?

I have a few different kinds. I have bum genius one-size, all in ones. One size means that they can fit a (large) newborn to a toddler, adjusting with snaps in the front to fit different sizes. I love that aspect of them, because I don’t have to buy more as Abraham grows. They are easy to change because they are one piece, like disposables. But they take FOREVER to dry. FOREVER. For this reason, I would not recommend using them exclusively. I hang them outside all day in the summer, and in the winter, I usually hang them overnight and then put them in the dryer with a load of other clothes, so I’m not wasting energy.

I also have some bum genius pocket diapers and one happy heinys pocket diaper. I like these a lot. I can stuff the pockets as much or as little as I need to. They all came with pads to put in the pockets to absorb pee, and you can add other pads or other absorbent materials too. I stuff them when the have dried and then they are still easy to deal with for my husband or a babysitter (or me; have you ever wrestled a one year old with a poop?).

I like snaps rather than velcro or aplix to close the diapers. Abraham can undo velcro, and I don’t really want him to change his own diaper (I mean, I do, but I don’t…).

I didn’t start using cloth until Abraham was 5 months old. I had a C-section and couldn’t keep up with the laundry anyway for a while. Then I was just exhausted. When I was able to keep up with the regular family laundry, I added in the diapers. I wash them every other night, so they don’t stink. I always rinse the poop off right away, but the pee can hang around for a day or two.

I use a disposable at night. With cloth I had to change him throughout the night, which would wake him and make him very sad. I figure cloth isn’t worth it if it stresses us out! I also use disposables when we go visit grandparents or other traveling.

I have some friends who use a little piece of cloth in the diaper as a liner, so they don’t get poop stains. I just hang them in the sun and they bleach out pretty well.

I have a large wet bag to keep the pee diapers in at home and a travel wet bag that comes with me.

I don’t always love dumping poops into the toilets or washing diapers every other night, but to me, it is worth it to keep his little tush in cloth.

Some people manage to make their own diapers or use a cheaper system, but I bought the diapers we have on ebay, which helped keep the cost somewhat lower.

Did I forget anything? Do you use a different system? This works for me, but it is not even close to the only option! Good luck!

So strange to think that last year, at 8:30am, I went to the Doctor’s office for an amniotic fluid index (I was at my due date, and they wanted to check little Raspberry’s stats) and saw Abraham’s little face where his little tush should have been.

My first thought, seeing his head just under my ribs on the ultrasound screen, was “Holy Shit, i’m having twins!” thinking that that baby I was seeing was the surprise up-side down one and the other was head down as my midwife had assured me he was only the week before.

Then Dr. Cammarano verified the actual truth: breech baby.

Me: Crap.

Dr. C: Hmm.

Me: So what do we do? Can we turn him?

Dr. C: No. You don’t have enough amniotic fluid.

Me: Crap. (although secretly happy because version scared the shit out of me)

Dr. C: Ha.

Me: So I get to have a C-section, huh?

Dr. C: Yes. (he is a man of few words, but excellent sword)

Me: When, like next week or something?

Dr. C: Today.

Me: Wow. Ok. Can I call my husband? He is on his way to work in Philadelphia.

Dr. C: Sure, we’ll wait for him.

His super nice surgery-scheduler gave me a 2pm OR slot, plenty of time for David to get there.  I called David, who had just arrived at work. I called my parents to let them know the scoop (I too was breech, so my mom knew the scoop all too well. She was mostly concerned that I was super sad about not having a natural, birth center birth, but at that point, I was ready to have my abdomen back and my baby out.). I called David’s parents so they could drive over to be with us/meet their latest grandchild. Zoe and Nathan were at their mom’s house for the weekend, which meant they wouldn’t get to meet the baby right away, but we wouldn’t have to worry about David splitting himself into two to take care of them and me and the baby.

Some funny things: We were at the tail end of remodeling out kitchen/downstairs, so I went home and told the guys, who I was friendly with after months of work, that I was going to have a baby that afternoon and could they be done in the next couple of days? At least with the messy stuff.

I also had arranged for a woman to come clean the house (post construction + 9 months pregnant = need help cleaning). She came about 30 minutes before I had to be at the hospital (which is 2 blcoks away). She started freaking out that I was about to have a baby. I meanwhile, was pretty calm.

I was pretty calm about the whole thing. I was so excited to meet Abraham and not be pregnant. I was not nervous about surgery, having had some before, and I knew that I’d heal well based on my previous experience. I was also a little relieved that I didn’t have to deal with labor, pooping in front of people, episiotomies, and incontinence. As the midwife who came by to see me the day after said  ”there are some perks to having a c-section.”

Now it is later in the night and Abraham (the one year old) is asleep upstairs. This past year has been everything: the best ever and at times, the worst ever. Parenting is hard, and doing anything else while parenting is hard. But I wouldn’t send him back. He is the best baby for me and David, and I am grateful that he chose us to be his family.

Abraham’s first birthday cake

My step kids celebrate Hanukah with us, and Christmas with their mom. They love Santa and love that he knows to bring their presents early if they are with us over Christmas. 

Abraham is only almost 1, but he loves Santa too. We see him everywhere. At the used book store we frequent, there is a small statue of Santa and Mrs. Claus by the register. He reached for it and whined a bit. I told him who they were and that they bring presents to kids who celebrate Christmas. He may or may not have understood anything, but I like talking to him. 

When I was a girl, my parents were straightforward with me about Santa – he didn’t come to our house, I shouldn’t talk about my knowledge of him with my friends. When Santa came to my school in Kindergarten (public school, in the south), I told him I was Jewish, but I wanted a wagon. Because that is what you are supposed to ask for, right?

I also remember that the local news gave a Santa report on Christmas Eve. In maybe 4th grade, I watched the report, looked out the front window and made a deal with Santa. If he brought me presents, I would believe in him. You can guess how that turned out. 

I’m not sure what to tell Abraham about Santa when the time comes. I don’t want to lie to him (I remember discovering the truth about the tooth fairy because my quarters had gum all over them, just like the ones in my mom’s purse). I also don’t want to give him information that he can’t carry. I don’t want him to be the kid who ruins Christmas for his friends (or siblings…). 

It isn’t urgent. Right now, he says “dog,” “duck,” and “truck” (all pronounced “Dah”) so spilling the Santa beans isn’t a big concern. But this time of year gets me thinking.

Ok – I LOVE shopping at Thrift Stores. Also consignment shops, but Thrift Stores really have my heart and mind. And I buy used clothing almost exclusively (socks…underwear….).

I have many reasons, including: I don’t like spending lots of money on things, especially clothes; I believe in reuse and try to live that belief; I like the search and the find!; and more…

But.

I don’t know if it is really working out for me on all fronts. I did just score a great fall jacket from the Goodwill Outlet (giant tables of random clothes and things to sort through), and I find board books in great condition for 47¢ for Abraham on a regular basis. But…the Butt. I need a good pair of jeans and I can’t find them.

I’ve been thinking that maybe it is worth it to spend the money on a pair (or two? now I’m getting really indulgent) of jeans that fit me and that I really like. I’ve probably spent as much money on mediocre jeans as I could have on a pair that actually fit. And the time I’ve spent searching…

And I don’t like the idea of buying clothing brand new, especially when there are so many decent pairs of jeans at Goodwill, waiting for me to hem/belt/wear with a big shirt so no one sees my butt crack when I sit on the floor. But I will wear them to the end. I have a pair that I bought new in 2005. Still wearing them, faded and with holes in the knees. Maybe next summer they will be shorts.

I mentioned this to my mom (who loves shopping) and she was delighted. She even offered to go with me and buy me a pair.

Not big, dramatic, life-changing stuff here, but it feels like an adult thing to do. To spend money on the right thing rather than being thrifty and trying to make the wrong thing work. And for me, that is a big deal. I’m an adult. Thank, Jeans.

But then I do all the things (care for Abraham, care for everyone else, care for the house, care for any work on my plate) and then…my brain is empty. I can’t remember what I wanted to write about. It’s gone.

Isn’t this why I practice yoga? Yogascittavritti nirodhah. Yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. Yoga is when the thoughts stop. And here I am, thoughts stopped.

But I don’t think that is what they really meant.

How is it that I could once wake up early, practice yoga, work all day teaching and creating theatre, go home for big conversations with roommates or yoga classes or craft projects, read a novel for fun, and then sleep peacefully? Now, I don’t do half of that in a day, but I struggle to remember to make a phone call to get my oil changed or to pick up a book at the end of the day.

I know, I know…I have an infant, don’t be so hard on myself. I’m not being hard on myself. I want to read, craft, create art, and practice yoga. And that is just solo projects. I want to spend time with my husband, talk to my far away friends (and close by friends!) and family.

But at the end of the day, I plop down at the kitchen table and mull over…facebook. Over pinterest. Over things don’t deepen my days. No offense to facebook.

But my brain is empty.  I don’t have the motivation to close Whitey (yes, my computer is named Whitey. He’s white. What would you name him?) and pick up my book/craft project/script. By 9 or 10pm, I’m not able to start a meaningful yoga practice.

So…what do you do? How do you, friends and readers, motivate yourself to do the things you love? That just sounds ridiculous – if I love them, why is it effort?

And please don’t tell me not to worry about it right now. I am not worrying, but I want to be a great mom for Abraham, a great wife for David, a great step-mom for Zoe and Nathan and I can’t if I’m not feeling like myself. You know?

Am I just writing in circles?

The other night, as I was angrily nursing Abraham to sleep (angry at a situation, not my precious nursling), I had a possibly life changing realization. Something I have known but finally sunk in.

It isn’t about me.

Do you ever watch a movie or read a book and feel like you are the main character? This happens to me a lot, I feel like I take on the emotional life of the main character. (Side note: I once took an empathy test, an online test to see if you have Asperger’s syndrome (I don’t) and I scored way above normal on empathy.) I think this is happening to me in real life too. I’m taking on someone else’s anger. I’m letting myself be hurt by actions that were not meant for me.

I have become the supporting actor in my own movie. My life isn’t about me.

That sounds strange to say, maybe even depressing, but after a moment, I found it to be freeing. My job here, in the movie now, is to support, is to let someone else’s story shine.

I had my chance (David said, when I had accomplished my career goal of acting professionally and burned out at 28, that I hit my mid-life crisis.) – I have had my dream job, I have travelled to amazing places and had great adventures, I have pursued my passions, I am experiencing true love.

As a mother to an infant, it is hard impossible to keep the starring role. A friend told me, after I quit my job (one of them…) after I realized I couldn’t keep up with it and a baby, that “Women could have it all, just not at the same time.” Maybe that isn’t true for everyone, but it is for me. I thought I could do all things, be all things, all at the same time. But I can’t. And it is ok. It is even really good for me to learn that lesson. Abraham needs me now in a way he never will again. I want to enjoy it, not rush through it.

As a step-mother, I definitely don’t have the starring role. Step-parenting is a supporting position. Again, it is ok. The kids need supportive adults in their lives. I am not their mom, but I am one of their parents, and I try to be present for them without being pushy. I’m waiting stage left in case they need me.

As a stay-at-home wife, I’m a supporting actor too. I’m obviously contributing to the family, taking care of keeping the house clean, full of food (sometimes even cooked food!), comfortable, and alive. Not literally, but you know…functioning for all of us. David comes home from work and talks to me about interesting physics he figured out (and that I don’t really understand), and I tell him how much dog hair I vacuumed up and the cute thing Abraham did that day. Not exactly world changing stuff from me, but if I weren’t doing it, our family’s world would be very different.

I’ve been reflecting on my personality lately, and I don’t even know if I am main character material. I am shy. I don’t like talking to people I don’t know. I don’t really like talking on the phone to anyone (except my family). I have passion, but not ambition. I am a quiet leader, preferring to lead by example than to rally the masses. This is not necessarily the make up of a main character.

I keep telling myself that in 5 years, Abraham will go to school and I can be a person again. I can begin to take my time rather than stealing it. I can really practice yoga again, make theatre, engage in my community. Until then, I’ll be here when you need me.