Knoxville Girl

Chris playing Knoxville Girl
Originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

I'm putting up some more pics from Friday night. Here's one of Chris playing Knoxville Girl while Scott and C. look on.

Scotch and Chocolate

Scott and Chris playing
Originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

Where to begin describing one of the best nights of your life?

Maybe at the beginning?

Our original reason for traveling to New York this past weekend was to attend a dinner party hosted by our friend Z.

Z. is an old friend of Scott's from college, actually an old girlfriend. And a really amazing person. She's smart, beautiful, works for a prestigious magazine, and travels among New York's most urbane, sophisticated circles.

Z organized a dinner and music night for Friday evening and we couldn't pass up the opportunity. It was a unique opportunity for us to mingle with a host of individuals from the art world including photographer Dudley Reed, the painter Steve Ellis (who is also one heck of a guitar player), along with half a dozen or so other editors, gallery owners, and random famous people.

The focus of the night was on good food and great music featuring the playing of Grammy-award winning mandolin player and Nickel Creek member Chris Thile; his girlfriend C, who has the voice of an angel and plays ukulele and banjo; Scott, who played several of his new songs; and Steven, who has an extensive knowledge of American bluegrass and traditional music.

Scott and I were the first to arrive at Z's. We came bearing a bottle of Bowmore Darkest Scotch and visited with Z and her beau, W., an architect, and very good cook.

Soon the other guests began to arrive and we all began shuffling around trying to find a place to land. Scott and I ended up in a corner, opposite the front door, talking with Steven and W. about Chapel Hill, New Orleans, and, naturally, music.

We soon realized what a great decision it was to bring the Bowmore instead of the typical bottle of wine. Everyone who came in expressed curiosity about it and ended up having a glass. Including Chris Thile.

When he came in the room and was offered a glass of Scotch, he got excited and said that it was one of his favorite single malts. He was the only one who had heard of it, and as it turns out, is quite the Scotch afficianado. He gave us a quick lesson on Islay Scotch and then we settled in to talking about everything from root canals to religion.

I was a little surprised that he sort of locked in on Scott and me right away. Then, it dawned on me that we were the youngest people in the room, other than Z. and Chris's girlfriend, C.

So.....after talking and enjoying a delicious supper of chili and salad, Z. asked the musicians to gather their instruments and get to work playing.

And play they did.

It was easily, hands down, the best night of music I've ever heard in my life.

Steven played first, playing a Robert Johnson song. Then Scott played his song Vampire. Chris jumped in and played mandolin on both of them.

Ultimately, between the four musicians, over twenty songs were played, more than a couple of hours worth of music with only a 5 or 10 minute break in between. Chris and C. sang and played a cover of The Decemberists, Yankee Bayonet. I thought my heart might just disentegrate from the sheer beauty of their harmonies on the song, not to mention Chris's delicate playing.

C. also played one of her originals that just really blew me away. Her voice is really magical and I feel honored to have had the opportunity to have heard her in such an intimate setting.

And, God! Hearing and seeing Chris play like that and on Scott's songs, too! Wow! Words can't do justice to what an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime experience that was. There was just something chemical going on between the two of them. Chris really seemed to enjoy playing along on songs he had never heard before and which weren't nececssarily easy songs to play.

I am still having chills when I remember his performance on Still Life, especially when he and Scott harmonized.

Oh! And then, there was the Bach piece he played. One of the most moving experiences of hearing classical music I've ever had in my life. I hope he records it some day, because unfortunately, it has already begun to fade from my grasp.

Really, really, really just one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. I was so proud of Scott and the fact that Chris genuinely liked his songs and enjoyed playing with him. On one song, he said, Killer chorus! And at the end of the night, he told Scott that it had been a great experience to play with him. Naturally, Scott said the honor was his.

I'm still kind of stunned by the whole thing. Mostly by the fact of what a stand-up guy Chris Thile is and what a lovely person his girlfriend is. They may be the two sweetest people I've ever met. Not to mention two of the most talented.

I'm thrilled to have had the opportunity to be there with Scott as he had the chance to play with them. They all put on a terrific performance. It was hard to believe Scott had anything left the next night, but Saturday's performance might have been even better.

I'll write more about that later.

19th Nervous Breakdown

Well, last night was amazing, but I don't have time at the moment to share all the rich and glorious detail. I will write a longer post later.

Right now I'm hanging around the venue where Scott will be playing in less than one hour, while he and our friend Chris are off buying a new microphone cable.

I'm excited, but nervous. I don't know why I'm nervous when I'm not the performer, but I am. At the same time, based on Scott's talent and skill, I'm certain everything will be fine. Especially if last night's performance gives any indication of things to come.

Spiritual Regeneration

It's no great revelation that beautiful art of any sort can lift your spirit, even turning a bad day into a great one.

I recently discovered an artist online whose work really moves me. She's a collage artist who creates the most amazing pictures from torn bits of paper. Pretty cool stuff.

I'm linking to her new works, but I love her abstract and conceptual pieces as well.

Check her out....

Eileen Downes.

Hope you enjoy!

New York, New York

So, we're going to try this out of town thing again...

Our friend Chris asked Scott to come play as the inaugural performer for an acoustic music series at CRS, a spiritual community arts center founded by Chris and his partner, Yasuko. Scott will be playing at CRS on Saturday night at 8 p.m.

Can I just say how excited I am?

I think there are a few of you out there reading this who live in New York or nearby who might be interested in seeing Scott play. Please come. You can order tickets online through the CRS web site. And if you're not in New York but have your peeps up there, let them know, too. The more, the merrier.

Road to Joy

This weekend was one of those busy, crazy, hectic, joy-filled weekends that leaves you both a little empty-sad and relieved when it's over.

On Saturday, we had Beckett baptised at our church. It was a little strange. My favorite deacon performed the ceremony, but it still felt rushed and sloppy, where Brendan's -- held during a mass and performed by our priest -- seemed magnificent.

It makes me extremely sad that the priest at our church has decided he has no time for children or their concerns and that baptisms, one of the most beautiful and basic of the sacraments, is treated almost as an afterthought.

Still, Beckett, borne of an act of love and joy, received an act of original blessing. and has begun his walk of faith. I hope that I can instill in him a love of God and a belief in the miracles that surround us. I pray he finds great joy in this life. Joy in the smallest things, as well as the great moments of life.

I hope Beckett knows the kind of joy and love and pride I felt Saturday night watching his dad play and sing before a packed house at our local coffeehouse. He was brilliant. Just brilliant. He played for almost two full hours. It was actually the first time I had ever seen him perform live. I mean, I've seen him play at parties at our house, at weddings and rehearsal dinners, at events for just family and friends. But, I'd never seen him play an actual show for paying (or tipping) customers before. It was very cool! And, very hot!

I also hope he enjoys a loving, joyful relationship with his godparents...his Aunt Kimberly, Uncle Greg, and our friend J.Ed. They are all such unique, special people and we are blessed to have them be a part of our lives. Kimberly is sweet and gentle and loving in her own, special way. Greg is charming and kind of funny. J.Ed is smart, and funny, and kind. Like I said, they are very special, unique individuals who will bless our child in their own ways.

Mostly, I really just hope he knows love. With enough love, I believe anyone can find their path in life and walk in the light.
With enough love, anyone can find their own road to joy.

Heroes

I'm not sure that it would be an exaggeration to say that the doctors and nurses who treated Beckett in the ER on Friday saved his life. I know they told me that if I had not brought him in when I did he would have stopped breathing. Pretty scary.

I'm thankful it's over, but the whole experience made me see how lucky I am...how many truly wonderful blessings there are in my life, my sons and husband chief among them.

It also made me deeply appreciative of the fact that I live in a city that boasts not just one, but three, children's hospitals. Amazing.

I guess technically, now, there are really just three different campuses belonging to the same hospital, Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. However, each facility began as a unique children's hospital or medical program in its own right. Egleston was your basic children's hospital that was founded by a wealthy man who was his mother's only surviving child, his four siblings succumbing to early childhood diseases. Hughes Spalding was a hospital for the children of African-American families who could afford to pay for healthcare; and Scottish Rite began as a rehabilitation facility for children of all races whose families could not afford long stays in other hospitals.

Few places actually even have a dedicated children's hospital, leaving kids to receive treatment from doctors and nurses who aren't always trained to treat their small patients.

Both of my boys have been treated in the Egleston ER now and Brendan has had surgery at Scottish Rite. I can't imagine their having to go through that at a hospital catering to adults. It's such a scary thing, yet all the caregivers at Children's really are focused on helping the children through the process. And their parents as well.

I don't think I dealt with one person, from the intake coordinators to the doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists, who was impatient, short-tempered, or ugly. I certainly have met doctors, nurses and others like that in the hospitals I've been in as a patient. It was so calming and refreshing not to have to deal with anything extraneous when my son was sick.

I hope we never have cause to visit Children's again. But, I'm very glad to know it's there. I'm also glad to know that it's there even for families who cannot afford routine healthcare. We're very fortunate to have insurance; not everyone is. And for those families, Children's provides close to $80 million a year in medical care that it doesn't recover.

When she was sitting with me in the ER the other day, the hospital chaplain suggested I remember the words of the hymn, What a Friend We Have in Jesus as a comfort while sitting with my sick child.

I say, what a friend we have in Children's.

Mysterious Ways

What a very long week it was and most of it for naught.

My mother-in-law has never kept Brendan overnight. That was all about to change last weekend, but, alas, it was not meant to be.

My mother-in-law works at a school and was or is on spring break this week. She offered to watch both Brendan and Beckett so that Scott and I could have a very much needed weekend away. I made last minute travel plans to a resort on the Outer Banks, scheduling a romantic couples' massage in a spa overlooking the Currituck Sound. We were looking forward to the nine hour drive so that we could talk and listen to music without interruption. I was looking forward to sleeping late and for two days not having to do anything for anyone else but myself. And really, mostly, just looking forward to talking to my husband without having to stop every five minutes to say, Please, say excuse me. or No, not right now. Please wait just a minute while I talk to your dad..

We had made all the arrangements and were so excited. All I had to do on Friday after dropping Brendan off at preschool was come home and pack our suitcases. One for us, one for the boys.

But there it was...that nagging wheeze that Beckett has had off and on since January. He had a little bit of it Thursday night, but Friday morning it was so loud I could hear above the car radio. And he just didn't seem like himself. My hungry little caterpillar only took 4 oz. of his bottle when normally he wants a full 6 oz. on top of nursing.

Mother's intuition said I should take him to the pediatrician just to be sure before leaving him with my mother-in-law for the weekend. So, after dropping Brendan off, I popped into the pediatrician's office. It's right around the corner from the preschool. I asked the nurse to listen to him and five minutes later we're in the exam room. The doctor comes in listens for a minute and tells me I will not be going on vacation after all. Two breathing treatments later and the doc is telling the nurse to call an ambulance to come take my little guy to the children's hospital. Whoa! This was not what was supposed to be happening!

They were supposed to tell me I was overreacting and that he was fine!

I talked the doctor into letting me drive Beckett the 10 min. to the ER. We were there until 3 p.m. when they finally admitted Beckett to the hospital. He had four breathing treatments in the ER and was put on oxygen. They could never get his blood oxygen level to stay above the 80s without oxygen. The wonderful ER doc told me that if I had waited just a few more hours to take Beckett to the doctor that I would have had to call 911. It was all very scary.

Of course, my initial reaction was disbelief and I'm sure the doctor thought I was a terrible mother for asking him if he was sure we wouldn't be leaving and that I wouldn't be taking my trip. The first trip alone in 5 years. The last time Scott and I took a trip alone together was to NYC in May 2002 and Brendan was conceived on that trip.

In fact, I know the doctor must have thought I was a terrible person because despite how nice and consoling he was to me, becasue he did have the chaplain come in to talk to me....a woman much younger than myself with no kids who had the audacity to ask me if I was mad at my baby for getting sick!

Now, they may have had her come in because of the seriousness of the situation. Scott and I were at one point discussing whether or not we should have a priest come from our church to baptise and anoint Beckett. But, it felt like they had her come in to talk to the crazy lady who was disappointed that her trip was ruined.

Still, I wasn't angry at my child and can't believe someone would think that. I was angry at the nice Presbyterian chaplain for suggesting that and angry at God for his terrible sense of humor. In hindsight, though, I realize that God may have actually used this to save Beckett and his brother from something even worse.

After spending Friday night and most of Saturday in the hospital, Beckett was able to go home Saturday night around 8 p.m. He was doing much better, but we are having to give him breathing treatments at home every 4 to 6 hours.

When I called my mother-in-law to tell her we were going home from the hospital, she was in tears from pain. She has kidney stones and was in such acute pain that she didn't remember talking to me when I called her yesterday to check on her.

I am terrified to think what could have happened if Brendan and Beckett had been in her care. I'm sure she would have probably called my sister-in-law to come help her, but you just never know.

It sure is strange, though, that this respiratory virus kind of came back out of nowhere, optimally timed to keep us from going out of town.

Very, very strange.

There's Always Someone Cooler Than You

So, while visiting Keziah's blog, I saw her Visual DNA and was intrigued. Naturally, I had to get my own. Here it is:

Read my VisualDNA™     Get your own VisualDNA™

I'm surprised at how accurate the analysis is. It's just a fun little thing to do. Of course, it really bugs me that none of the apostrophes show up in the text. What's that all about? Is someone apostrophobic?

Ghost World

I haven't blogged much about this because it's such a personal issue (as if breastfeeding isn't?). That said, I kind of feel like I need to mention this, even though I feel much better today.

Beginning at about four weeks post partum, I started having some serious emotional issues. Emotional as in I couldn't stop crying and felt crazed. I felt as if my world were caving in. The baby was fine. He was great. A sweet and gentle little soul who was, and still is, really, easy breezy. We had no trouble with sibling issues, although Brendan did suffer a stomach virus the second or third week of Beckett's life.

Eventually, when I had my melt down and ended up so sick a few weeks ago, my doctor prescribed an anti-anxiety medicine. It seems to be working or did. However the last several days I've been very emotional again. Yesterday, I felt as if my body were an empty shell and I (my soul or being) was floating outside of it, watching all that was going on, but not really feeling anything at times. When I did feel as if I were present, all I could do was cry. I was also very anxious and stressed out. Brendan wanted to climb on me while I was working on my computer and I had to tell him to get off of me because having anyone touch me made me feel like crawling out of my skin.

I know that when a baby is weaning your hormones can get out of whack again. I wonder if Beckett's little nursing strike initiated that process.

Speaking of which, we saw his pediatrician yesterday. She is one of the leading breastfeeding advocates in our area (won't give out formula samples or coupons, etc.) and she thinks it's time for me to give it up. She told me that she thinks I need to stop for my own sanity, that the hormonal changes caused by breastfeeding are not good for me and that I just need to make the decision to wean and get through the difficult emotional phase that accompanies it.

I don't know how I feel about that. Maybe that's why I feel so empty.

Rufus Is a Tit Man

Beckett, however...not so much.

It's hard for me to believe that this is happening already, but sadly, my baby boy seems ready to wean. He'll be three months old in two days. It's too soon. I'm simply not ready. But he is, pulling away, struggling, getting angry and frustrated each time I put him to the breast. For the last three days, every time I've tried to nurse him he has given it a lame, half-hearted effort, nursing but a few minutes before patently rejecting me and the nourishment my body offers up.

Before having a baby, I never realized what a complex, challenging, and emotional act breastfeeding could be. I had never known anyone who breastfed their babies or if I did, I never paid much attention. When I got pregnant, I read copious volumes on breastfeeding. I received instruction from our doula who even brought a doll for me to practice with. I thought nothing could be more natural than a mama nurturing her tiny babe with her own mother's milk. And, of course, I believed that breastfeeding was the right and only way...everything I read said so. Everything I read said what a terrible mother I'd be if I gave my child formula.

Of course, it probably goes without saying that I had trouble breastfeeding Brendan. He couldn't latch on, I wasn't producing milk. He became jaundiced and the pediatrician had him on formula before we even left the hospital. We struggled for 12 weeks of me feeling like total shit because I was a failure as a mother. At least that's how I felt because my body wouldn't do the one thing I thought should come so naturally. And the La Leche League told me so. Not in those exact words, of course. Actually, what the LLL representative told me when I called for advice was You're poisoning your baby by giving him formula. The alternative? Not give him anything other than the tiny bit of milk I was producing and eventually my milk would come in.

Finally, on the day he was baptised, the day he turned 12 weeks old, Brendan flat out refused to take the breast again. I was a little sad as it was a bit of a surprise. I was committed to continuing to try. But, after the long struggle, it was also a bit of a relief. I still felt like an abject failure at mothering, but at least it was over.

This time the breastfeeding has gone smoothly and been a joy despite the fact that I have had to supplement. This time the problem wasn't that my body didn't cooperate, but rather that we just had a very hungry boy whose metabolism required more nourishment than I could provide. We made it for two full weeks before adding formula to our routine. Beckett has nursed well and seemed content up until this week. Now, here we are, right at 12 weeks, and the little man suddenly seems to look at me the way I look at Brussels sprouts.

I feel like I gave it my best try this time and unlike with Brendan, I am planning to try nursing him one last time, a chance to say goodbye to a ritual, a gift, that has meant everything to me. I no longer feel like a failure as a mother and I am grateful to God and my baby for giving me that.

Still, knowing he's my last, it would have been nice if he could be my baby just a little longer.

That Party

You know....The Ultimate Blog Party over at 5 Minutes for Mom. Drop by, listen to some tunes, meet some new friends, say hey to your hostesses with the mostest, Janice and Susan, and visit for a while.

You can check out the best mom-owned stores, a vast array of mom blogs covering wide-ranging lifestyles and interests; get tips on organizing your home and life; and much more, of course. You can even add a link to your own blog if you like.

So, come on. What are you waiting for? Join the partay!

Xmas in February -- The Perfect Post Awards

This month, for the first time, I am participating in the Perfect Post Awards, put on by Lindsey at Suburan Turmoil and MommaK at petroville.

The purpose of the PPAs is to recognize all of the fantastic writing being done by bloggers across the Internet. The idea is for each participant to choose the one post that most moved her or him the previous month. It can be a post that made you laugh out loud, made you cry, moved you to action, or got under your skin in some way.

My selection for February's Perfect Post is The Maggie List, over at championable.com.

I think there's so much snarkiness out there on the Web (and the world in general) and it just gets old. I really get sick of cynicism and sarcasm and everyone's efforts to be the coolest kid in school. It's just really nice to see someone being honest and sincere, talking about real feelings, and appreciating the gifts that have been given to him.

The way Rich talks about his wife Maggie in this post made me so happy. It made me stop and think about all the really wonderful things my husband does and is and helped me remember just how lucky I am to be loved and to have someone to love.

It would be nice if we never needed to be reminded to appreciate the good things in life, especially the good people who love us no matter what. But sometimes we need a little nudge. And I thought Rich's celebration of his love for Maggie was just a really perfect reminder for the rest of us, and the perfect post for the month when we celebrate love.

Solitude Standing

Wow! I can't remember the last time I experienced this... Practically alone and relaxed in my own house, listening to music of my choosing at this time of the evening. This is generally the most stressful part of my day...the getting dinner, getting boy ready for bed, adults trying to talk to one another about their days and relax, time of day.

Scott's working late. Brendan's fed, bathed, and in bed (almost asleep, I think!). Beckett's napping peacefully after not napping all day! I have a pan of penne al' arriabata with sausage simmering on the stove, garlic bread in the oven, and a salad with a lemon and olive oil dressing on the table. I'm sipping a glass of shiraz and writing. My house is mostly clean. Not perfect, but better than it's been since Beckett was born. It's all good. Mostly.

I do hate that Scott is having to work late for him. He's been working incredibly long hours as his team gets ready to launch a new product.

But, I am thankful to have this moment of peace and calm for myself right now.

They are few and far between.

Girl Blue

I never even realized I wanted a daughter until I heard the words It's a boy!. The first time I heard the words, when I was pregnant with Brendan, I was elated. I knew I wanted my firstborn to be a boy no matter what.

Still, I came home and took the little blue dress my mother had saved all those years out of my cedar chest and sat on the floor and cried, knowing in my heart that it would never be worn again.

Almost exactly one year earlier I had lost a baby, having a miscarriage at just 10 weeks. My doctor performed a D & C and sent the tissue off for analysis to determine what had caused the miscarriage. One of the things we learned was that this baby had been a girl. Apparently, the girl of dreams I didn't even know I had.

When I got pregnant last year, my hopes battled against one another. On the one hand, I had never really visualized myself having a daughter. I'm not really a girly-girl, and my own relationship with my mother was a roller coaster of angst that always left me envying the relationships my friends had with their mothers. When I saw myself with a child, it was always a sweet, loving little boy. But, usually only the one. Yet, there was some sense there of wanting to experience raising both sexes. This, despite the fact that I hate Barbie and princess stories, and the whole nine yards that's wrapped up into having a girl these days.

But when I again learned I was having a son, I was happy. Really happy. Happy that Brendan was having a brother. Happy that I had experience with a son. Happy that I didn't have to start from scratch. But, at the same time, I was heartbroken.

Sons really love their moms in a way that daughters never will. But daughters need their moms in ways that sons never can and I'm never going to know that.

I will never get to decorate a room that doesn't involve planes, trains, automobiles, diggers, bulldozers, insects, lions, the Atlanta Braves, Falcons, or sports in general.

I will never experience dance lessons. Or help my daughter learn to wear make-up. Or hear about a first crush.

I will never help my daughter pick out a prom dress. Or buy children's shoes that are any color other than white, brown, red, black, or grey, or used for any purpose except to learn to walk or run up and down a field or (hopefully!) basketball court. If I'm lucky, I can get them both into a pair of saddle shoes at Easter. Just for something different.

I will never help plan a wedding for my daughter. I will never get to see her try on a wedding gown for the first time or have anyone to wear the wedding gown that still hangs in my closet. I will never put the pearl necklace I wore at my wedding around her neck.

I'll never get to see Scott whisper sweet, funny, words of wisdom to his only girl just before he walks her down the aisle.

My daughter will never call me and ask me what to do about a colicky baby or ask me to be with her when she has my first grandchild.

The best I can hope for is that my sons marry girls who like me and invite me to be a part of their lives in some way.

Good luck with that.

(And all of this just because a friend had her fourth baby last week. The third girl. Named one of the perfect beautiful names on my short list.... Clare.)

Reasons Why

After 2 1/2 hours in the ER at the Children's Hospital, Scott asked Brendan who his valentine was. Without missing a beat, Brendan gushes Mommy!, looking at me with his big, gorgeous blue eyes and smiling a smile that could melt Antarctica. Then, he runs over and gives me what he would characterize as a ginormous hug.

Somehow, that makes it all good.

Big Brother

Yesterday did not go quite as planned.

We spent three hours in the ER at Egleston Children's Hospital so that we could learn Beckett has a cold. News we've known for over a month now.

I took him to his pediatrician yesterday because he was wheezing. His doctor has always told me that if the child is wheezing or pulling in at the rib cage when he breathes, you should bring him in. So I did. After examining him, the doctor decided to do a breathing treatment. Nothing changed. She told me his lungs sounded terrible and she wanted him to go to the ER for a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia.

The whole process was actually much smoother than you imagine going to the ER will be. There was one thing that impressed me more than anything else about it all, though, and that was how well both boys did.

During the breathing treatment at the pediatrician's office, Brendan asked me if Beckett was scared and then proceeded to hold his baby brother's hand for at least five out of the ten minutes he had to wear the mask. When I sang a lullaby to comfort Beckett during the treatment, Brendan joined in, making up his own words as he sang along.

Scott met me at the hospital, originally planning to take Brendan home, but he was so well-behaved that the two stayed, adding comic relief to what would otherwise have been a long and boring process.

Brendan did so well and was so patient waiting that the nurses and technicians were jumping over themselves to give him stickers and little gifts. And he was such a sweet big brother that he asked his dad if he could share his stickers with Beckett.

I never knew or imagined that love between siblings was so organic and would come so naturally to a child. But with Brendan it has just blossomed ever so magically. I can only think of one moment of jealousy from him since Beckett was born. Otherwise, he has been sweet and funny and helpful as much as a child his age can be.

I am in awe of their love for one another. We're starting to see how Beckett reacts to his big brother...ocassionally annoyed by having someone touching him and in his face, alternately amused by his brother's antics. In fact, Beckett laughed at his brother, out loud, for the first time on Tuesday night. I didn't get to see it because I was out meeting with a client, but Scott got to see it and told me about it yesterday.

It's all very cool. Being an only child I had no idea how this whole sibling thing works. I've seen too many siblings who don't get along and wondered what the magic secret to loving siblings is. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe it just happens. Maybe, like with any love, it's chemistry. I don't know. But it sure is cool to see it blossom before your very eyes.

Shot of Love

Valentine's Day has never been a huge deal to me. I'd much rather celebrate my birthday or a friend or loved one's birthday or an anniversary of a special occasion.

Scott and I have always done small, sweet things for each other on Valentine's Day, the grand gestures reserved for occasions unique to us and our relationship. Like last year, when on the 10th anniversary of the day we met, he recorded a version of my favorite Beatles' song, Michelle, and gave it to me.

On our first Valentine's Day, when we'd been dating slightly less than one month, Scott brought me three yellow roses in a small vase along with a mixed tape of music he felt passionately about: Allen Toussaint on one side and Blind Willie McTell on the other. I loved it! It stands out for me more than any other Valentine's Day gift I've ever received or given. In fact, I can't really remember any others even though I know lots of other sweet things have been done for me on Valentine's Day along the way.

Still, music is so much a part of our relationship and when he shares music with me, it's...well, it's the thing I love most. It makes me feel a part of him because music is not merely a part of Scott's life or somethign he does, it is simply who he is...an amazingly gifted musician.

He's been in various bands for a long, long time, singing and writing really great songs the whole time. Right now he's working on an album and it's really great.

Anyway, my plans for sharing music with him this Valentine's Day got shot down, but I hope the fact that I don't have a gift for him is made up for by this...

Yesterday, I took a CD to a local coffee house that has music on the weekends and now Scott is booked to play there next month. I'm excited! Obviously, this isn't a gift. It is something Scott earned by virtue of his talent and the work he has put into creating new music. It was also something I wanted to do to be a part of this exciting, creative process. It took me way too long to get around to doing it, but I'm glad I did.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all! I hope everyone feels loved today! I love you all!

The Shape I'm In

If I ever doubted the connection between the body and the mind (which I didn't), I would now be completely convinced that the two are inextricably linked. Of course, I have long understood how the two are intertwined, but because I generally use my powers for good and not evil, it hasn't really been an issue for me.

Unfortunately, caught in the snare of postpartum depression, my addled brain has been stuck in a negative cycle, fixating on one negative issue after another: I'm old. I'm fat. My life has no meaning. I thought I'd be fulfilled as a mother, but I'm not and therefore I'm a terrible person. My life is slipping away from me while my husband is embracing his life and making amazing things happen. .

My thoughts swirl in a massive tangle of fear and anger. And then, with no warning, I'm knocked totally off my feet by the worst illness I've had in over ten years. As someone who rarely gets sick, it was quite a shock. I kept thinking I'd be better in a day or two. A week later, Scott and I were discussing who we could get to come help take care of me and the boys because I was so sick. At the doctor, I was diagnosed with the flu, a sinus infection, an eye infection, and naturally, an outbreak of fever blisters just to put the icing on the cake.

I wanted to die. Already depressed, being sick felt like the nail in my coffin. It's so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you can barely lift your head. And for someone like me who can fight through anything... It's really unnerving to feel so weak and desperate.

I'm mostly well now. I've been on antibiotics for 10 days now. My doctor also prescribed something for anxiety. He thinks that having a newborn and not getting enough sleep, not eating well, and having so much on my mind did my immune system in.

I can't really tell a difference yet. Maybe a little. Things don't seem quite as dark and dire. I am still having trouble getting everything done. We still don't have a schedule or routine established. I still feel exhausted. And like a failure as a wife and mother. And I do feel like I'm having a midlife crisis.... Who am I? What is my purpose in life? Have I screwed everything up?

But, I am trying to break free of my negative thinking, to focus on positive goals, to love my adorable new baby and be present for him and his brother and my husband. I keep waiting for the moment when I'm going to snap free and feel genuinely happy again, when life is fun again.

It's coming. And boy, am I ready.

Lost in Space

I'm still not used to the fact that we are now a family of four.

Today, I got our new insurance cards in the mail. When I opened the letter, I was confused as to why four cards fell out. Fortunately for me, the first one I picked up had Beckett's name on it, so the issue was resolved rather quickly.

Who would have thought it would take this long to adjust?

Today is the Greatest

Well. Actually, Saturday was the greatest.

Saturday was my birthday. And it started off not feeling all that special at all. But, because I have such a thoughtful, amazing, totally awesome (that phrase should tell you how old I am!) husband, it turned into a really delightful day.

I have had a lot of bad birthdays in my lifetime, or at least a lot that started off rough. I've had many that started off in the most pathetic manner you can imagine and turned out to be really fantastic. I've actually probably written about it before. When I was a kid, I never had a party. Not once, until I turned 18. That year, I planned my own party. I invited four or five of my closest friends to my house, we ordered pizza, and played Trivial Pursuit. Whoo-hoo.

So, let me just say that I am a big fan of the turnaround just because I've experienced it often enough to know that what starts off as a mess can end up being beautiful. Still, I never expect it.

Saturday really just seemed like any other day. I took Brendan to his friend Joseph's party that morning and was planning on my in-laws coming to keep both boys for a while Saturday evening while we went out. Originally, they were going to spend the night meaning that Scott and I could stay out as late as we wanted. I planned to invite some friends to go to dinner and out dancing or to a show with us. Then, on Tuesday, Scott's stepmom called to say they had to leave our house no later than 10 p.m.

Okay. So, no show, no dancing.

By Friday, I was feeling pretty bummed about the whole thing. Happy that we'd get to go out, but accepting that it couldn't be anything special because of the limited time we'd have to celebrate.

Well, leave it to Scott to make it one of the best birthdays ever.

He took on a full-fledged shopping spree. We went to Lenox Mall and he gave me three hours to go to any clothing store and buy anything I wanted. I had trouble engaging in the process. I took my time. I looked at price tags and tried to be conscious of the cost. But still! It was so much fun and such a sweet thoughtful gesture.

I got a gorgeous A-line wrap dress at Ann Taylor (my all time favorite store!) that Scott picked out for me. It's the perfect thing to wear to Beckett's baptism. I also got a very feminine sweater and a sharp wrap blouse that I can't wait to wear. I need to lose a few more pounds before it looks perfect, but what a great incentive to move quickly on that front.

I also got a softy-soft sweater from The Gap, some sexy heels from 9 West, a blouse, a book, some Aveda Comforting Tea, and Aveda Hand and Foot Lotion.

It was, hands-down, one of the best birthdays ever. Not because of the clothes. That wasn't the real gift, though it's a luxury I appreciate deeply. It was awesome because I got to spend it with Scott who acted as my personal shopper and focused solely on me for the three hours we shopped while he helped me pick out things that flattered my body and indulged my desire to feel like a beautiful, sexy, complete woman and not just a sweatpants-wearing, minivan-driving mama.

I am a lucky, lucky woman to be loved. In this way. By this man.

37 rocks.

These Are Days

Exhausted. Crazed. Bi-Polar even.

The last 16 days have flown by, shrouded by a veil of tears, fear, sickness, and a brutal burst of sleep deprivation.

It would be so easy to focus on the negative emotions I'm feeling right now. The baby blues are a bitch anyway, but add the bruising winds of outside forces to the gale, and boy... It can sure seem like God or someone else has pulled the rug out from under you and you're lying ass over elbows up to your neck in the mire.

Now, all that said I just want to say how thankful I am to have such incredible friends right now. We have had meals brought to us every night for the last week by friends from my MOMS Club. My friend Laura came and cleaned my kitchen, vacuumed, folded laundry, and watched the boys while I ran to CVS.

Our friends the Foleys went to the drugstore for more Pepto and Jello in the midst of Brendan's stomach virus this week. They had also offered to have Brendan come over for a playdate with their little boy before he got sick.

My friend Susan has outdone herself with her graciousness. She has taken Brendan to her home for several playdates, taken him to a puppet show, brought us dinner three times, and went to the grocery for me when Brendan first got sick this week. Amazing.

Another friend, Jennifer, also cleaned my kitchen when she brought us dinner. She and Lucy (of the Foleys) also offered to help decorate my Christmas tree when I was in tears because we weren't going to have a tree.

I feel so blessed to have such an amazing group of friends, most of whom I barely knew a year ago.

I wonder, when I look back how I will remember this Christmas, the year my darling baby boy was born. Will it be the worst? The one where my son didn't gain weight and the stresses of life started pulling at the seams of my joy? Or will it be one of the best? The one where friendships were sealed, where love was made stronger by being forged in the flame of a difficult situation?

I wish my crystal ball weren't broken. I wish I knew. Right now, my heart says it's the latter and I simply have to trust my heart.

Welcome to the World!

Beckett Dylan surfed into the world at 2:18 p.m. on Wednesday, December 6. He weighed 7 lbs, 12 oz. (exactly the same size as his big brother) and was 20 inches long.

He's gorgeous, if I do say so myself, and amazing. He's a world of difference from his brother. He has slept a lot so far, although I haven't. I have a weird sort of insomnia where I can't relax when I should.

The labor and delivery were amazingly fast and trouble-free. I went in Wednesday morning for my weekly check and learned that I was leaking fluid and was already at 4 cm dilation. Next thing I know, it's "Go directly to the hospital, do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

I arrived at the hospital at 11:25, at 11:45 they had me hooked up to a Pitocin drip. At first the contractions were very mild, but with every incremental increase in the Pitocin, the contractions became much more intense and by 1:30 when Judith, my midwife, checked me, I was at 6 cm. She told me it would be about two hours until I was ready to deliver, one hour if were lucky.

Just then, the contractions really started to go into overdrive. I was beginning to freak out, but Judith and Scott and our nurse, Missy, just kept telling me how wonderful I was doing. Scott was sitting on the bed behind me, rubbing my shoulders and back while Judith massaged my legs. I kind of started to lose it and could tell I was entering transition when I suddenly felt like I might need to push. I told Judith and she checked me and I was 9 cm. Thirty minutes had passed since she last checked me and I was at 6 cm. They quickly broke the bed down and got me on my back and the fun began.

Roughly four pushes and Beckett came flying into the world. He immediately began grabbing everything he could get his hands on. It took forever for me to deliver the placenta and my midwife had just paged the OB when it decided to come out. So, it seemed like I couldn't hold my darling for an eternity, but it was very cool because they did all the baby exam stuff right in the room instead of taking him to the nursery.

He barely cried and still has only cried two or three times, once when he was hungry and once with a tummy ache.

I love him. Naturally, I do. But, I am just so happy about the way he came into the world and our first few days together. He's nursing like a champ and even though my milk isn't in fully, he's trying hard to help me get it in. It's so different than my first few with Brendan. I just feel far happier and more confident in my abilities.

Really, all I can say is that I'm relieved that he's finally here and happy he's such a wonderful baby two days into the journey.

Beautiful Wreck

Saturday was a great day! Scott, Brendan, and I attended two parties together, a birthday party in the morning and then the MOMS Club Christmas party around dinner time. After that, we brought Brendan home and left him with his favorite babysitter and went to a wonderful grown-up Christmas party at the Tula Galleries. The party was hosted by our friends Mark and Ginny and their friend Melanie and was a benefit for Toys for Tots.

The party was great. It was so nice to put on a pretty dress and heels and feel like a woman, instead of someone's mom. I was shocked and flattered by the number of compliments I received from total strangers. Several people told me I was beautiful and glowing. It was really, really nice. And totally unexpected.

Of course, it would be wonderful if that feeling could last. By yesterday I was back into my spiral of anxiety. I have worried about everything from money (I'm being blown off by my editor at ADL again) to how to care for a newborn to how having a newborn is going to affect my sanity and marriage to Brendan's reaction. It's non-stop. The only time I let go of my negative thinking was while Scott and I watched Prime Suspect 7 and The Wire. Within 15 minutes of starting The Wire, I fell asleep, but woke for the second half of it. But when I got in bed, my mind wouldn't stop. Finally, Scott suggested self-hypnosis and walked me through a relaxation exercise. In minutes I was fast asleep. I used the same technique again when I awoke with ligament pain at 4:00 a.m.

At the moment, I realize there's not a lot I can do about any of this. I have to take everything a day at a time. Maybe even a moment at a time. I'm hoping that all the tears I've shed the last few days can be attributed to a hormonal shift as my body gets ready to deliver this baby. I never felt like this while carrying Brendan but fell apart following his delivery, so hopefully, I'll be happier and more stable following this birth.

If nothing else, I will have to hold it together in order to help Brendan with his transition. Last night he overheard his dad talking to MeMe about the logistics of when she should get here and where she should go, etc. He started freaking out and saying that he didn't want her to come, he wanted to stay with his dad if I wasn't here. He asked me, "Mommy, who is going to protect me?"

It just killed me. All I could do was hold him and cry silently. After holding him and thinking he was okay, I stood up to go cook supper and he started wailing and sobbing, clinging at me. Again, I just held him and walked around with him. It took around 20 minutes for him to settle down. I just feel awful for doing this to him.

I know he'll get over it and in the end he'll be so blessed to have a brother. But as a mother, it breaks my heart to see him so scared and upset. And I know exactly how he feels.

Scott gave me some wonderful advice. He reminded me of how his first few days at his new job were really difficult for him. He reminded me that he couldn't eat and had to throw up because he was so upset that he wouldn't have as much time to spend with Brendan. He thinks that I'm going through the same thing and reminded me that although he was right, it has worked out. He makes the most of the time he does have with Brendan and Brendan seems happier and closer to his dad than ever.

So, I guess our weekend -- like the rest of life -- was filled with joy and sadness. Ultimately, it's all good. Simply life, rich and full.

My Angel

I was told at my midwife appointment last Wednesday that if I haven't gone into labor on my own by the following Wednesday they will strip my membranes. Sounds like fun stuff. Given that warning, we've been trying to kick start labor ourselves the last few days. I've eaten more than my share of Thai curry, Mexican, and egglpant. We've walked. I've drunk raspberry leaf tea. And still nothing so far. Yet, we know that it will be relatively soon and I think Brendan knows, too, though we haven't been real specific with him.

It seems like ever since that appointment, Brendan has been on a crusade to be as cute as possible. Sadly, I can't even remember half the funny, wise, and profound things that have slipped off his tongue. But there have been several things.

Yesterday, as we were driving home from his friend Lyle's birthday party, Brendan says from the backseat, "It's wonderful to relax in the sun with a lollipop."

This morning in the kitchen he asked me if Mao, our orange tabby cat was a girl. Of course, he knows that Mao is a boy cat, but said he wished Mao were a girl because as he put it, "Mommy, you need a girl you can talk to and we're all boys." It was all I could do not to cry. I've never said anything to him about that, but it was so sensitive and perceptive of him. I have been feeling a very strong need for someone I can talk to about something specific, and obviously a baby daughter would not be what I need at all, but strange that he chose that turn of phrase.

I'm sure he's feeling some anxiety on part of me and Scott and knows something is going to happen soon. He has told us he loves us repeatedly (and happily), but has also asked us if we love him, which gives me pause. Still, he seems pretty happy and has been very well-behaved lately, aside from refusing to apologize to his dad for throwing something at him when he was angry one night. That aside, he has been behaving very well and has just been so easy the last week or so.

It has been enough to make me think it might not be so hard. I imagine I'm kidding myself. I remember how hard it was with just a single newborn. Mostly because I felt so isolated and jealous of my husband for getting to go out into the real world. I remember how much I hated my body for not doing what I wanted it to do...for not producing the milk needed to sustain my baby...for not shedding the weight I put on while pregnant. I imagine that feeling of jealousy will be exacerbated this time and my depression deeper, though I hope not. I'm afraid of not having any time to exercise or the wherewithal to prepare healthy foods for myself and family. I know what grand ambitions I had last time and they all fell through as I fell into a spiral of hopelessness. This time I have no such grand plans. I just want to survive and thrive.

I hope I can just focus on my new baby boy and his darling big brother and get through.

Home is Where the Heart Is

It occured to me today -- as it does every so often -- that I have lived in Atlanta for as long as I lived in the small Tennessee town where I grew up. It brought me to the question of where is home? I used to think of Nashville as my home, but I haven't lived there since I was 18. The longest period I lived in Tennessee since leaving for college was for one three-month semester break in 1989. When I went back there for my mother's funeral in 2001, I felt like the proverbial stranger in a strange land. All that was left for me there were memories, some good, some bad, but nothing tangible I could hold on to or ever think about going home to again.

Here, in Atlanta, I have a life that I built for myself and in conjunction with a wonderful partner. We have created our own traditions, and now that we have a child (and another to be here any time now), we continue to find ourselves creating new ones all the time.

I can't really think of any traditions my family established when I was a child. Isn't that weird? And sad?

But the things we're doing, the rituals we're claiming as our own are so special and exciting to me that they more than make up for anything I was lacking. And really, they're little things that I never even thought of as becoming traditions.... Going to the same Christmas tree lot where kids from our neighborhood work and picking out our tree each year; going to Rich's (Macy's) Lenox Mall and riding the Pink Pig before Christmas; spending every Christmas Eve with our family, going to Mass, then coming home to stay up all night putting presents together and out under the tree.

They're small things. But things that I hope will help create a foundation of love and meaning in our children's lives, and in our own.

I look forward to learning what new traditions we'll create. What our boys will come up with on their own as the years pass. Which they will embrace and which will fade out over time.

Home is where the heart is. My heart is here, in Atlanta, Georgia, with Scott, Brendan, and Beckett, where it was always meant to be.

Thanks for the Pepperoni

I had aspirations of putting into words everything I am grateful for in my life on Thanksgiving morning. Somehow, between everyone in our house having terrible colds and getting ready to go to our friends' house for dinner and having out of town guests, I never got around to it. But, I think any time is the right time to count your blessings. Especially when you feel like crap and need a pick me up.

First and foremost, I am grateful to be alive. To have a wonderful family and good friends. I am thankful that friends we have known only a short time cared enough about us to invite us into their home for Thanksgiving when we couldn't travel. I am thankful that I have a smart, sweet, beautiful little boy who tries hard to be good while also trying my patience and helping me grow every day. I am thankful and excited that I can give my son a brother and that soon I will have a second darling little boy to nurture and love.

I am grateful that Scott has a new job he loves and feels passionate and inspired about life again. I am grateful he's making some amazing music and making music a priority. I am grateful that I am married to such a loving, thoughtful, interesting man who is also a fun, tender, loving dad to our kid(s).

I am thankful that Brendan is recovering from his cough and cold despite fighting me every single time I try to give him his inhaler. I am thankful that he has friends and is learning and growing every day.

I am very grateful that we found Cooper, our dog, after he ran away yesterday. I am grateful he is still healthy and relatively happy at 10 years old. And I am grateful our little orange cat has decided he loves Brendan and sleeps with him at night.

And I am thankful, of course, for the hundreds of things we take for granted every day. Food on the table. A roof over our heads. Clothes on our back. Warmth. Safety. Healthcare. Health. A chance to serve others in some way. Freedom....to live, to be, to be a woman who has choices in life, to read what I want, be what I want, to associate with whomever I choose, when I choose.

Life is good. Even when your head feels like it might explode and all you want to do is go back to sleep.

9 Crimes

The new Damien Rice single, 9 Crimes, slays me.

I want to fall into the floor, a puddle of sobs and heartbreak.

It really hits home right now for a long list of reasons I can't explain or don't want to. It's ninety-nine percent irrational of me to feel this way. But I can't stop myself.

I've heard this song at least 10 times since I first heard it on Conan last week, but every time, I still find myself in tears.

Don't Be an Idiot: Get Your Kids Immunized

Okay. I will be the first to admit that I don't trust pharmaceutical companies or the government to have the best interests of mankind at heart. That said, there are reasons that most of us don't spend our summers indoors hiding from one another anymore and why our infant mortality rate has declined and why killer diseases like smallpox have all but been eradicated. One of those reasons is vaccines.

I'm not a fan of all the combined vaccines or giving 2-month old babies four shots at the same time in the same leg or of giving a newborn baby a vaccine for a sexually contracted disease. However, I think there are better ways to look after your child's well-being than not having your child immunized at all. I did ask our pediatrician to delay the Hep-B vaccine and to only give my child one or two vaccinations at a time. I even looked into having him break-up the MMR into three separate shots. I understand looking at the system and routine practices with caution.

I do not understand putting your child's life and THE LIVES OF OTHERS at risk by not immunizing your children. It's utterly irresponsible and a way of saying to society at large, fuck you!

I am pissed right now because there's a 3-month old little girl lying in a hospital bed in Montgomery, Alabama right now, struggling for every breath because some idiot probably didn't have their child immunized. against pertussis. Or because some adult who has been around her, like 99% of the rest of us, has not had an adult booster for whooping cough because no one ever thought we'd need one. Why? Because the disease should have been eradicated by now.

I am also pissed because my mother-in-law, who is supposed to come help us look after Brendan when I have the new baby sometime between now and the next three weeks or so, held that little girl just five days ago. Right before she was diagnosed with whooping cough. Her parents thought she had a cold. She wouldn't stop crying and my kind mother-in-law who has mad baby whispering powers held her to help the poor mother out. Well, now if I go into labor, my mother-in-law can't come over here.

The incubation period for pertussis is anywhere from 7-21 days. We can go almost all the way up to my due date before we know for sure if our MeMe contracted it. My hope is that her doctor can and will start her on a prophylactic course of antibiotics when she goes to see him today. Still, it will be in the back of my mind when she comes here. All because of the story I read about a year ago of a woman who was exposed to whooping cough while pregnant and gave it to her newborn when he was born. He lived less than three weeks as a result.

Damn it, People! It's not like these diseases don't exist anymore just because we have the relative fortune of low rates of them in the U.S. Have you failed to notice the number of immigrants and illegals coming into our country every day? Do you think Guatemala has a really awesome healthcare system for migrant workers and is immunizing all its residents against every communicable disease?

If you don't immunize your kids, you are putting my child's life in danger. Or my life. Or my elderly grandmother's life. You don't have that right. I don't care how many piles of paper printed off the fucking Internet you have that show some correlation between the MMR vaccine, thimerosol (which, by the way is not used anymore except in a very few instances), and the rise of autism. I can print an equal number of pieces of paper showing that researches think there is a genetic connection. Signs of autism are apparent as early as three months if you know what to look for and that's long before your child has received most of his or her vaccinations.

I understand your desire to protect your child. But you can't just pick and choose what you're protecting them from, a brain disorder (that really you have very little control over) or a communicable disease that you can do something about.

Just, please, don't be an idiot. Sure, think about. Ask your doc to space the shots and not give more than one or two at the same time so you can figure out what may have caused a specific reaction. But don't just let your children run loose without being immunized. Then, you're putting all of our lives in danger.

My Evil Twin

Okay. So, I'm just going to chalk my last insanity-laden post up to pregnancy hormones and the fact that I was coming down with a cold. And lack of sleep.

I don't want anyone thinking I would actually leave my husband and child. God knows I love them more than anything and life without them would truly be meaningless for me. This is what I've always wanted.

I just feel overwhelmed. And confused because I need to integrate the mommy-me with the other parts of me. And I"m not always very good at that. Other times, it feels seamless.

Brendan had been sleeping like a champ, but with a cold of his own and a couple of naps thrown in, his great sleeping pattern went to hell in a handbasket last week. There were at least two nights toward the end of last week where I only garnered four or five hours of sleep in between getting up with him, trying to sleep in his bed, and getting up to pee every couple of hours.

Getting a sitter Saturday night and going out to dinner with friends and not talking about our kids did help. A lot. So did sleeping until 9:00 a.m. on Saturday morning. Brendan actually woke us up at 7:00 as usual, but was happy to let me put PBS kids on the tv in our room and watch that and play in his room until I was ready to get up. Yesterday, I felt horrible, though, and ended up taking a two-hour nap while Brendan napped and Scott walked Cooper and watched the Falcons game.

Actually realizng that I was sick, running a fever, and then having Scott take such wonderful care of me and Brendan yesterday, made a huge difference. Just knowing that there's a reason why I've felt so blah lets me know that this too shall pass.

So, though I still physically feel like crap, mentally, things are a little better. I've made a list of all I need to do before Deuce arrives, i.e. in the next 4-7 weeks. I've checked one off the list already today. I enjoyed an evening with my husband and friends and have hired a sitter for next weekend so we can enjoy dinner and a movie. I spoke with the client who owes me money and found out she has mailed my check. I'm working with Scott on some logo designs. And then, I read this, which really gives me hope. Hope that one day Scott and I will have the freedom to travel together, alone, with our kids, or with other friends and their families. In fact, I forgot that we've already talked with one of our best friends about renting a house with him and his family for a week next summer, either at the beach or in the mountains.

I really think I've been anticipating the sense of isolation I felt after Brendan was born and forgetting that it doesn't have to be that way this time. Babyhood is brief and as Scott and I discovered going to the beach with Brendan this summer, even travel with the kids is better than going nowhere. Plus, it's an opportunity to see the world through their unusual point of view.

What a difference a little sleep and someone else's perspective can make.

Endless Numbered Days

Midlife crisis? Identity crisis? Pregnancy? Just being me?

I feel like I'm being tossed about in a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts, desires, and choices. Though in reality, the choices really are limited by my own fear and inertia and compulsion to do the right thing. Or at least what I think is the right thing.

I really thought that being a wife and stay-at-home mom was my destiny, at least for some period of my life. But it really isn't turning out to be my forte. I mean, I thought I'd love this and be very good at it. However, in all honesty, I just can't quite get it together.

I really don't enjoy playing. When I do sit down to play with my son, I have trouble being in the moment. I'm thinking about the twenty other things I need to do.

I hate what pregnancy and childbirth did to my body.

I hate having such limited time for myself and my husband.

I hate that my husband and I will never get to go on a trip alone again.

I am very jealous of my friends who have parents who keep their children for them so they can get away once in a while.

I am angry that my mother-in-law keeps my brother-in-law's kids for a whole week twice a year while they go on vacation, but has never once kept our son overnight even when we have asked her to.

I hate that my brain feels like mush much of the time and even when I do get to be around other adults, they're usually women who want to talk about their kids.

I hate that I have no male friends with whom I get to interact on a regular basis.

I want to run away. And I feel terribly guilty for feeling that way.

I feel horrible and selfish for feeling the way I do because I know how incredibly lucky I am.

I love my husband and son(s) more than life itself. It feels like a betrayal of them to have these feelings.

I feel like I don't really know who I am, what I want from life, or how to figure it all out.

I worry that it's too late. A lot.

I want to take control of my life and change, but I can't quite figure out how.

If anyone knows the answers, I welcome your input.

Like School on Saturday

I finally talked to Scott's stepmother. It's only been five months since she threw Brendan and me out of her house.

She called to say that she really cares about us and feels bad that she let things go so long without us talking. She never apologized for her behavior. She never apologized for criticizing my child or my parenting. It was awkward. But, I bit my tongue.

Scott and his dad have actually talked a few times in the last month and his dad has been very gracious and supportive about Scott's music. I see that their relationship is moving forward and I am willing to bite my tongue and do what I need to do to have a relationship with the stepmother so that Scott can have a relationship with his dad.

Of course, I'm worried about my children. I would love for them to have a wonderful and loving relationship with their grandparents, especially since I have no parents to bring to the table, as it were. I simply don't know if that will ever be possible with Scott's stepmother. Until this summer, I thought it was. But my trust with her has been corrupted.

And it doesn't help matters that she has zero tact. She has repeatedly made comments about my mother's alcoholism. My mother was practically a tea-totaller. I think I saw her drink twice in my life. She had many problems, but alcoholism was not one of them.

Her other favorite topic is my weight. I'm not really that big, though I am considerably larger than my stepmother-in-law. She literally weighs about 98 lbs. and is probably 5'5" or so. Skeletal comes to mind as the perfect description of her.

Naturally, she asked me during our conversation yesterday if I was as big as you got with Brendan. Wow! What composure it took not to hang up. I did choke on shocked laughter before I could answer her. Who asks a question like that?

I don't know what to do. I don't want to have to deal with this woman, but really, what choice do I have? I don't want to be the bitch who comes between a man and his dad. But, I don't know how long I can keep my feelings inside.

Maybe it's hormones, but today has been hellish and I feel like talking to Julie just opened up an emotional floodgate that I didn't need right now. But, hey! Here I am. I'll just have to wake up and hope tomorrow is a better day.

Only the Lonely

As an only child, I continue grappling with the idea of being the parent to siblings...to the point that I fear my own biases will get in the way of my love for and treatment of these two boys.

My love for Brendan is so deep and beyond comprehension or description, that I can't get my mind around loving yet another human as much. Everyone I talk to and everything I read uses the same cliched verse, saying, your heart just expands to make room or the capacity to love is infinite.

And I'm sure it is. But that doesn't change the fact that Brendan will never again get the same level of attention and affection and doting on that he gets now. And our new little guy will never know the kind of one-on-one attention and devotion that Brendan has received. He'll always get the short-end of the stick...from a lack of intense one-on-one love and attention to hand-me-down clothes and toys to always having to share everything and never having anything that is just his. It just doesn't seem fair.

I know there has to be an upside. I know that when my mom died I craved having someone to share it with who was deeply and intrinsically part of me to go through it with. In a situation like that, I feel like friends and other relatives can only understand so much. So, in that case it would have been nice to have a sibling to share with. And I know that, in theory, they can be great friends with a common history that will bind them forever.

But that said, I know so many siblings who don't get along. There's jealousy and competitiveness and grudges over little things that happened when they were kids. As married adults, there are in-laws that don't get along with the siblings and vice versa resulting in bitter disputes between the siblings. And it all just seems horrible to me.

Why exactly did I want to put my son(s) through this? How is it that I can avoid these things? How can I teach them to love, respect, and value one another? Will the four-year (almost) age gap be an advantage or disadvantage in lessening sibling rivalry and fostering a close relationship? Will Brendan forgive me? Will our new baby even know the difference?

I suppose we'll find out soon enough.

Daylight

The last few weeks have flown by and life has left me little time to slow down and write. I can't remember when I last wrote here, but I know that in the time since I did, I have written four stories for Atlanta Dog Life, hosted a dinner party, painted the baby's room and set up the furniture in there, washed a ton of baby clothes, been sick at least twice, cared for a sick litle boy twice, and a sick husband once, had my mother-in-law visit, and thought I was going into preterm labor at least twice.

I've been a busy girl.

But here I am. Tired, oh so tired. Ginormous, though I have only gained around 25 lbs. so far (yay me!), and nervous.

I still have so much to do. I've just had my nose down focused on all the things I've been doing lately. The highlight of these activities was the tapas party Scott and I hosted for our neighborhood dinner club last week. It was so much fun. I really think everyone had a wonderful time, and I loved getting ready for it. We had such wonderful food. I made Duck Maduros, Mini-hamburgers with caramelized onions and smoked gouda, and had a Spanish cheese tray with three kinds of Spanish cheese and quince jelly, with Spanish olives. Our friends brought Greek meatballs and potatoes, a wonderful salad, oyster casserole, chicken satay and a delicious bruschetta, and Nigella Lawson's delicious chocolate pots.

The food was divine and we ended up having a great time with our friends. The next day, however, I was miserable. I could barely walk, I was having ligament pain and contractions. Not so good. By Sunday, I was much better.

But now that we've completed that obligation, and had a nice visit with my mother-in-law, I have to get serious about finishing the baby's room, packing my bag, and thinking about having this baby.

And I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that.

Riding on the Sunset Road

I love meeting cool people. I love meeting people who inspire me. And I love dog people. Today, I met someone who seems to be all three. Okay...well, I didn't actually meet him. I interviewed him over the phone for ADL today. His dog Brandy is a mold detection dog and I interviewed them for my working dogs column.

Anyway, Bob, the guy I interviewed, is a huge supporter of music and musicians. His brother is an organizer of the High Sierra Music Festival in California and he has worked the festival for several years. The High Sierra group formed a foundation to help fund local arts organizations and local groups that provide aid, not only to musicians, but to a diverse range of those in need. They're doing great work and now they're raising funds to help musicians and their families who were displaced by Katrina.

Bob and Brandy, his chocolate lab, are going to undertake a cross-country ride, from Georgia to San Francisco, in order to raise money for the High Sierra Foundation. They need 50,000 to donate $5 each in order to raise the $250,000 Bob has set as his goal.

If you want to read more about Bob, Brandy, or the ride, you can visit his web site here.

I just think it's a cool thing to do and thought I'd share.

Ode to Joy

After feeling really blue all day Monday and Tuesday -- whether from pregnancy hormones, 9/11, or what, I don't know -- I awoke Wednesday feeling...happy! A total and welcomed surprise. Brendan, too, awoke in a fabulous mood, full of good humour.

Before he awoke, however, I spent some time browsing on-line for writing jobs. I'm still doing my gig with Atlanta Dog Life, but I need more work. I did write October's cover story on Uga, the University of Georgia mascot as well as two brief articles on agility dog training and Frisbee dog training. But I need more! More writing, more money, a greater sense of self-worth.

So...anyway...I found an ad on craigslist for a writing job with this group. The concept of the organization blew me away. And when I read the web site, which I did in depth, I felt a little overwhelmed by a renewed sense of purpose and joy. I can't really explain it, except to say that when I read about what they do, I really thought this is where I belong.

Crazy. I know. But I sent my resume and some writing samples along with the requested sample paragraph describing what their organization does. I thought that it would be like most of the other ads I've responded to in the last year where it takes several weeks before anyone gets back to you. Within a few hours, however, I had heard back from the founder of the organization, who by the way, sounds like a really cool woman.

Her e-maibeganin with the word namaste, which means (in case you've never heard it before) the god in me salutes the god in you. It's a lovely greeting that I have never been able to bring myself to use because I feel a little pretentious saying it. But I love it when others use it.

Anyway, she sent me a delightful e-mail asking me to tell her about my spirit, about what makes my heart sing. She asked me what I would do if I could do anything in the world. It's exactly the kind of interview process I've been dreaming of my whole life. I'm not sure I answered with the answers she would have wanted to hear, but I think I answered very honestly.

For some reason, I feel that the sense of joy with which I awoke that day had a part in my finding that ad. I don't know why, but I feel very confident about this. Oddly so. It may not work out at all. I'm sure a thousand other writers have applied for this same job. But I'm okay even if I don't get it because I had a brief, but meaningful encounter with another human being. One who, by all accounts, is a genuinely loving and wonderful person.

I'm having difficulty articulating it, because it seems strange to me, but something has changed within me, and relates directly to discovering this organization and seeing the good they want to do in the world, and feeling like I have the power within me to do good in the world, even if it's just in making life better for the people I touch every day. That may be enough. It's the kind of thing that if everyone did it, the world would automatically become a better, more connected place.

100 Years

I remember being a kid and hearing my grandmother and mom and other friends and relatives telling stories about where they were when they heard President Kennedy had been shot. I remember my grandmother saying that moments before the news came over the radio, she heard a loud cracking sound and looked out the kitchen window to see a very large branch fall from a tree near the house. She always saw it as an omen.

September 11 has become that day that will live in my memory forever, a miscarriage my harbinger of the evil in this world.

Five years later, every moment of that day is as vivid in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Sometimes I wish it weren't. Sometimes I wish that I didn't feel the emotional pain of that day still lingering on in my heart. Other days I simply accept that like the scar on our nation, I will always carry this tender scar on my heart, on my soul.

I spent much of September 11 in the hospital, having a D & C and recovering. Before I went into surgery, Scott and I sat in the waiting room, glued to the TV, terrified of what was happening, wondering how much worse it could get. When I awoke following the surgery, I couldn't stop crying. In the days to come, I lay in bed, immobilized by sorrow. The pain and guilt I felt over losing my baby seemed trivial examined next to devastation of the World Trade Center and the greater loss of life. Still, I needed to mourn my loss, my baby girl that I would never know.

Those first few days after it happened are all a blur. I just remember lying in bed with Scott, both of us crying silently, watching CNN constantly, and reading about miscarriage, trying to figure out how I could have prevented it.

In many ways though, I wondered if it was a sign from God that we were entering a dangerous time and that it was too dangerous a world to bring any more children into. I wondered if it were somehow a blessing in disguise.

In the months that followed, we began to talk of trying again to conceive another child. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, still afraid of this new and terrifying world. But Scott said one day that having a child is the greatest act of hope anyone can perform in this world. For me, it was a turning point. By May, on a trip to New York City, we conceived Brendan. Finally, I felt hopeful and happy again.

And today, five years after the whole world changed forever, I have another darling baby boy growing within me. As I sit here writing, feeling him shifting and stretching, I am again filled with hope. I remain in awe that the families whose lives were devastated on 9/11 found the strength and courage to go on. But when I look into the smiling face of my three-year old boy and I think about holding the new little person growing inside, I know why. Hope can be buried within our hearts beneath all the burdens this world throws at it. But ultimately, it cannot be destroyed.

Trouble Me. Or Don't. But Don't Bitch about the Advice I Give You.

Have you ever had a friend who asked for your advice? Repeatedly? Not just your advice, but even asked you for specific information that is readily available from books, TV, magazines, or the Internet? And, when you've given the person the advice he or she asked for, had them freak out and say you're overwhelming them?

I just had this experience and it really chapped my hide. I am pissed.

My friend is newly pregnant and began inundating me with questions regarding pregnancy the day she learned she was pregnant. I mean, she called me to ask what two lines on the pregnancy test meant and has asked me everything from whether it's okay for her to have sex with her husband to whether or not she should stick with her OB/GYN or find another.

What the hell? How should I know?

I am happy to help her and excited for her, but she was driving me nuts. In a series of e-mails, I told her some basics and in each case sent links to web sites and the names of books where she could go do her own research.

So after several days of this, she sends me an e-mail yesterday telling me in the bitchiest way possible that I am simply overwhelming her with information and asking her to make decisions she's not ready to make yet.

Excuse me? She's the one who asked for the information. She's the one who acts as if she's never met a pregnant person and doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground. I offered her resources where she could do her own research at her own leisure, but she kept coming back to me asking the same questions and more. So, I thought I was giving her what she wanted.

AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

Lack of gratitude really frustrates me and there's no quicker way to get me to turn against you.

Lord Protect My Child

Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but why, why is it so difficult to parent and feel confident that you're making the right decision?

I am almost 100% certain that neither my mother nor my grandmother ever weighed any decision they ever made regarding discipline. They didn't think about what they were feeding me, although I'm certain they gave a lot of thought to whether or not they would be able to put food on the table at times. They never questioned whether or not they were playing with me enough or providing me with essential experiences to make me more well-rounded or to enhance my intellectual opportunities. They didn't send me to preschool, so they never worried whether or not it was a good enough school to ensure I could go to kindergarten when I turned five. They just did what they did and that was it. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and clothes on my back, and books to read. And that was enough.

I'm not being critical here. They did the best they knew how under the circumstances and they did just what 90% of all parents in their generation(s) were doing.

Why have things gotten so complicated and we parents so competitive? I worry about every little thing and feel I get little of it right.

I love my son so much. But this summer has been so hard. He's just at an age where he wants to be his own person and challenge every thing I do or say. I feel as if we have spent our summer with horns locked, neither of us willing to back down. And instead of pushing back harder, my urge is to back away. I know my mother never thought like that and by the time I was my son's age, I knew not to argue or to sass my mom. I knew "the look" that meant I needed to stop whatever I was doing or else I was in for it. Part of me feels like giving him some freedom now will help him to become more independent and better able to make decisions for himself. (Something I have always been terrified of and horrible at.) The other, more rational and less emotional side of me feels as though I have to whip (figuratively speaking) him into shape before it's too late. I don't want my child to be a brat. And when I have pushed back this summer, we have seen some amazing breakthroughs.

We can now go into Target or ToysRUs without his asking for a toy. He is listening better most days. He is sleeping better, relatively speaking. He is sharing better with other kids and seems generally happier when he is playing with other kids.

He still doesn't eat and the things he does eat, he has suddenly decided that he no longer cares for. He still talks back. He still won't talk to adults in stores. He still has major meltdowns in the doctor's office, to the point I fear they will tell me not to bring him back. He is still bossy, though less so than a few weeks ago. He still is not potty-trained, but I hope we're getting closer.

And me? I still feel horrible for not having the perfect child. For not being able to overcome these shortcomings. For having my son tell me that he's mad because I'm mad at him all the time. For failing to believe in myself and feeling that my child is not perfect.

But you know what? He is perfect. He's perfect for me and I am the perfect mother for him. I simply have to remember that God gave him to me for a reason and me to him for a reason. We have something to teach each other, to learn from each other. All I need to do is try and remember to trust God and to ask for his guidance when I need it.

Easier said than done for a stubborn girl like me who just wants a little more control over her own life.

Gotta Serve Somebody

It never ceases to amaze me when someone says something like "But you don't seem religious; you're so intelligent."

Why is it that intellectuals -- particularly those who don't wish to have anyone else's faith pressed upon themselves -- are so quick to deny others their faith? It really boggles the mind.

We had this experience on Saturday night when we went out to dinner with some new friends. Wonderful people that we are delighted and excited to know. In so many ways, they are more like us than anyone else we've met in years. We are so excited to be getting to know these folks. But, that said, now I feel a shadow cast over my enthusiasm.

They didn't say this, but my perception is that they think that because I have faith in God, practice a religion, and believe in something bigger than myself, that I am somehow, intellectually inferior.

I didn't want to argue the point, but I was mentally making a list of people of faith and great intellect. Just off the top of my head I can think of: Albert Einstein, Thomas Merton, C.S. Lewis, Bill Clinton, Jimmy Carter, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Walker Percy, Dorothy Day, John Newman, Graham Greene. Of course, there are a lot of Catholics on that list because, well, I'm Catholic, and they're probably the ones I know the most about.

Clearly, I don't put myself in league with those people. But I'm no idiot. And I certainly don't think that my faith lessens my ability to think. I came to my faith through a great deal of thought. As is true with many Catholic converts, I thought my way into my faith and into the Church. There were a lot of obstacles to overcome, many things I disagree with. But no other faith spoke to both my heart and my mind the way Catholicism did. The belief in the unity of good works and faith drew me to Catholicism perhaps more than any other facet of the faith. And now here I am. Unwilling to accept the notion that intelligence and faith are mutually exclusive ideals.

Thankfully, everyone involved Saturday night was willing to have an open dialogue on the subject and to accept each others' beliefs.

And that alone was enough to maintain my faith in friendship.

Misunderstood

Have you ever said something, only to have your brain scream at your tongue, "You idiot, what are you saying?", as the words come tumbling out head over heels landing in front of someone you care about, where they lay dying in a painful, awkward silence?

Yeah. Me too.

Last night, in one of those fortuitous moments of pregnancy-induced insecurity and insanity, I said something really stupid to Scott. Sadly, he felt the need to throw me a few very specific comforting crumbs this morning.

I felt like an idiot. I hate it when my insecurity comes to the surface in a way that makes someone I love feel like they have to justify themselves or reassure me in some way.

I'm an idiot.

Hopefully, this, too, shall pass.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

So, last night Scott, Brendan, and I are watching The Simpsons after dinner. Homer, disgruntled about something, says, "Damn It!"

Brendan whirls around, looks at me and says, "Mommy, Homer says 'Dammit' just like you do!"

After we stopped laughing, Scott and I reiterated the point that "Dammit" is a bad word and you shouldn't say it. I also apologized for having said it in front of him, but for the life of me, I can't remember when I did say it in front of him. I have been very careful to clean up my act since I had him. From time to time, these things do pop out, I suppose, but I just really can't remember when I said that with him around.

And yes, I do realize that The Simpsons isn't the most wholesome programming for a three-year old or anyone for that matter. It's not like he watches it all the time, but when he does, he really enjoys it.

Just Like a Woman

Hormones, hormons, hormones. I am sick and freakin' tired of hormones.

Of course, hormones are my excuse. Maybe I'm just a bitch. Either way, I am sick of feeling this way. Crying every 15 minutes. Feeling like I am constantly fighting with my child. Feeling guilty for fighting with him. Being angry at my child because of his behavior. Feeling guilty because I'm angry and guilty because somehow I've made him this way. Second-guessing every parenting decision I make. Feeling utterly useless and unable to feel like I am in control.

At this point, I really don't know if it's him or it's me. My perception is that he's defiant. He talks back. He argues. He doesn't eat. He demands a lot of me. Too much. He won't dress himself. He won't use the potty. Every fucking thing is a power struggle with this kid. And as much as I love him, I am sick of it. And I keep asking myself how we got here. I've always tried to encourage his independence and he does play well by himself. But at every other turn, he wants me to do something for him.

And then, I think, well, it's my job to do things for my kid. But it's also my job to teach him how to grow up. To do things for himself.

I just feel like I'm in a pit and I can't climb out. And to make it all more confusing and/or emotional for me, I've been having really bizarre dreams.

Early Thursday morning, around 4:00 a.m., I awoke from a very scary dream. In the dream, a DeKalb Co. Police car was parked in front of my house and it was obvious the cop was watching someone. I was home alone. Scott and Brendan had gone somewhere overnight. I decided to go set the alarm. Just as I was setting the alarm, our kitchen door opened. I had my hand on the alarm and accidentally pushed the button that calls police directly. Within seconds, the police officer was at my door. He was young, friendly, African-American. The person coming in the kitchen door turned out to be Scott with a sleeping Brendan on his shoulder.

The officer told us there had been some burglaries and home invasions in our neighborhood and he was trying to catch the burglars.

Okay. Here's the freaky part. When I awoke for the day at around 7:00 a.m. and read the paper on-line, I saw there had been a home invasion at the home of a DeKalb Co. Police officer just a mile or so from our house. The officer killed one of the three men who broke into his home. This happened at 2:30 a.m. Just before I had my dream. Freaky.

In addition to that dream, for the last three nights in a row, I have dreamed I was a teenage girl. Each dream involved either a boyfriend or a cute boy that I was interested in. Each dream was in a different location with different "co-stars" and different subjects. I haven't a clue what it means unless it's a series of wish fulfillment dreams. I wish I were young and unencumbered by the tedious and frustrating aspects of my life. The thing is, I hated being a teenager and couldn't wait to grow up. Of course, in these dreams, my life is very different than my real life was, so I guess that makes it a double wish fulfillment dream.

Right now I'd take a kid who listens, cooperates, and doesn't say, "But I was just...."!