having a baby is hard

Before I had this baby--

OK, first of all, a digression. (Digression from the digression: I had to think for a while before I could remember that word. "Agression? Progression? I should go have a nap.") I don't want to use the baby's name on the internet. I grew up with the privilege of creating my own digital profile and I think he should be able to do the same, without potential employers or girlfriends/boyfriends reading about his farts and drooling and the hilarious face he makes when he's pooping. So I need a name for him. How does Peanut strike you? Too cutesy? We call him Peanut a lot at home, so it feels natural. Let me know.

 

Anyway, before I had Peanut, I thought I would be blogging about him all the time. Maybe too much! People would get sick of it and I would have to try to think of other things to blog about! And here I am, I have blogged twice since he was born (and only posted one photo!) and now he is 11 weeks old. Oh dear.

I don't think it's lack of time (although I don't have a lot of that) so much as lack of energy. When he naps I am doing things like showering, eating, and sitting on the couch watching Seinfeld pretending I'll get up and do some Pilates as soon as this episode finishes.

It's not like I haven't written blog posts. I have, I've just written them in my head while I'm lying in bed trying to get the baby to go to sleep. Once he's asleep, it all just seems too much effort and not a priority.

But I am going to make an effort to write more, because it's kind of like having a conversation with adults, and I need more than that. (I guess it's a conversation where I do all the talking, but that's no drawback.)

I'm going to try to write more short posts, instead of planning long ones that never get written. And I'm going to try not to worry about whether what I'm writing is clever or funny or even interesting. I'll just write to keep writing.

blog-drunk thoughts

Egg in Tree by drteeth on Flickr

You know that feeling when you've read a blog's entire archive, become so caught up in the story that you've been not only thinking but dreaming about it, and then suddenly you've caught up and you feel bereft and unsatisfied? "What do you mean, I have to wait for more? Quick, live your life so I can read about it!"

Rebecca has been blogging at Fosterhood for three years and I just finished reading all 185 pages. She's a very unusual foster parent: young, single, highly educated, working full-time. (This is not based on my prejudices, I have no preconceived ideas about foster parents; I am comparing her to the statistics on FPs in New York.) I think what makes this blog so amazing is that it isn't full of posts about how blessed she feels and how she's responding to a Calling. She writes very honestly about her experiences, the good and the bad. She writes about feeling overwhelmed, she examines her motivations for foster parenting, and she is perceptive about the changes she undergoes.

Being 36 weeks pregnant, it's been making me think a lot about my situation and my baby. I don't know how coherent (or how interesting) these thoughts are but I wanted to get them down anyway...

First of all, it's increased my understanding of my own privilege (something I'd like to think I'm savvy about but I could always use reminding about). Many factors including my skin colour, education level and family structure mean that I have a level of support that many women could only dream of. Even when institutional/governmental support is available to people, the ability to a) find out about it, b) access it and c) advocate for one's self is not universal. I have literacy, unlimited internet access, an understanding of formal and institutional language. I have confidence in using government agencies because I don't have a history of being in trouble with them. My privilege allows me to see myself as a taxpayer and citizen who has a right to assistance.

It's also made me think about my baby's level of privilege. In fact, ever since I found out I was having a boy it's been in the back of my mind. This white, male child of a heterosexual, cisgendered married couple, both of whom have stable jobs and supportive families, will have chances and choices other children will never know. 

Finally, it's made me realise how easy it is as a new/prospective parent to get sucked into the rabbit hole of doing everything perfectly. You can spend days researching the best BPA-free, shatter-proof bottles (for your pumped breast milk, of course) and still feel inadequate. When I start to get crazy over this stuff, I need to remind myself, "My baby is warm, fed and loved. I am doing great." I also need to remember (again) that I am in a position of immense privilege that allows me to obsess over stupid shit instead of how I'm going to pay my bills, where my child and I will be sleeping tonight, how to avoid abusive family members, etc.

Like many people, I've said in the past words to the effect of "I could never foster a child! It would be way to hard emotionally." Rebecca's blog has made me re-examine this statement and realise that the truth is, I choose not to foster a child, even though I am capable of it, because it would be hard. It's hard for everyone. I don't think I'm a terrible person for that choice, but no matter how difficult raising a child is going to be (and I know it will be very, very hard at times), I hope I can keep some of this perspective and remember how fortunate we are.

2013

 

 Born on New Year's Day. From the Flickr Commons.

I love making New Year's resolutions. I've even managed to keep some. This year, though, I'm not going to try to achieve anything but this:

Stay sane and healthy.

No clean house, no weight loss, no artistic achievements. Just try not to lose my fucking mind with the insane life change coming my way in February.

The pregnancy is going well, by the way. I am 35 weeks in and the baby has turned head-down (turns out that when I thought I was gently cradling his head, I had his bum cupped instead). He has started grinding his head into my pelvis as though blindly searching for the way out. Please don't be impatient, baby. If you don't give me some more time, you're going to end up sleeping on a pile of laundry because that's what's taking up the space where your cot will be.

panic

 Sugar cage available here.

I have always known I wanted to have babies. My husband and I have been ready (well, as ready as you can get) for a while but we wanted to pay off our debts and save a little money. When I saw the second pink line on the test I burst out crying and literally fell on the floor. I am very happy!

Is it okay if I'm also freaking out a tiny bit?

See, this is the first thing I've ever done that is truly irrevocable.

Everything else has an escape route, even if it's difficult. Jobs can be quit. Houses can be sold. Pets can be given away. Marriages can be ended. Countries can be fled. But this baby is FOR EVER.

I have been in bad situations, and I know the suffocating feeling of being trapped, and the giddy elation of escaping. One of the reasons I knew it was a good idea to marry my husband is that I never felt trapped with him. And now I've voluntarily put myself into a position where there is no escape.

And it's already started. I can't take drugs and stay up all night partying. To be honest, I don't really want to. I didn't before I got pregnant, either. BUT NOW I CAN'T. I have a human being inside me and I have to look after it!

This isn't something that's keeping me up at night. I think I'm just hormonal and predisposed to anxiety and I'm exercising one of my greatest skills: finding something to worry about. The truth is, choosing not to have a child would be just as irrevocable.

It's hard being a grown-up.

on fear

Last night I had my first swimming lesson since I was a child. I was a timid kid and I absolutely hated swimming lessons. My sense of survival stopped me from putting my head under water. Why the fuck would I do that?! There's no air down there!

It took a long time for the smell of chlorine to inspire in me anything but dread. But my dad taught me how to tread water and float, and I learned how to doggy-paddle, and now I snorkel at the beach. But I still can't swim properly, with my face in the water, moving faster than six feet a minute.

little things

Powwow by Gene Davis, 1969

I am less than a month away from turning Very Old, and one of the few advantages to advanced age is knowing all the secrets of life. So I'm about to drop some piping-hot wisdom on you suckers:

The secret of being happy is to recognise your happiness. 

Being generally happy in your life is not about the moments of joy or ecstasy or excitement, it's about recognising that quiet satisfaction, fulfillment and peace are the elements of day-to-day happiness.

I've been thinking about this lately, and realising that my moments of happiness are mostly supremely dorky. But without them, my life would be a grey canvas with occasional riotous splodges of colour; with them, it's a textured map of different shades. Day to day life isn't about birthdays and holidays and making out, it's about getting on the bus and having coffee and making spreadsheets. So the secret to a happy life is to recognise the things in your daily routine that bring you tiny joy.

Like I said, my list is pretty dorky:

• Putting a new desktop picture on my computer
• Hearing the French girl at the coffee cart call me 'honey' in her adorable accent
• When my public transport card gets low and then automatically updates up to $50 (no idea why this makes me feel so satisfied)
• Arranging my bottles of nail polish before choosing a colour
• A freshly cleaned-out handbag free of receipts and lolly wrappers
• Turning over the calendar to a new month and seeing a new Matthew Scott illustration
• Cleaning up my work desk so that all the papers are in piles, notebooks stacked and pens in penholders
• Seeing a new window display at the bookshop on my walk from the bus stop 
• Getting home and putting on my comfy pants to signal that I am chillaxing now
• Getting home and putting on my pyjamas because I am chillaxing too hard even for comfy pants, I am chillaxing SO FUCKING HARD RIGHT NOW
• Making a list

What are the stupid things that make you happy?

what is... blog?

After an enthusiastic burst of blogging, I've been silent here. The reason is that I've been thinking about what I want this blog to be. Well, the reason is 75% laziness but 20% wondering, and 5% forgetfulness.

I started this as a craft blog, when crafting was my #1 obsession. I still craft, and read craft blogs, but there's lots more stuff I want to talk about.

I worry, though, that what I want to talk about isn't what you want to read about. If you came here to read about sewing, are you interested in my humour? If you came here because you read my comics, are you going to be annoyed if I post about nailpolish or perfume?

I guess the question comes down to why I have a blog. Is it to gain lots of readers and receive revenue/free presents/friends/love? Well, probably not, since I leave it sitting here alone for weeks at a time. I'm a busy lady and most of my free time is spent making comics and other things. So maybe this blog should be where I write about anything I like, and if you like reading it, you can come along.

Tell me: what would you like me to write about? Or should I just write about whatever I like?