Having a baby messes with your body. This much is obvious. Or, at least, I thought that was an obvious thing. But here is a rather unfortunate story in which I impute expertise to a person who really does not have any.
When I was about 8 months pregnant, right before we left Champaign, I went to the local Victoria's Secret store to be measured for my bra size. It had become apparent to me that the items I had no longer fit me, but I was totally clueless as to what size I should be wearing. I thought that the employees at a store that sells bras would be able to help me with my quandry.
I arrived, unfortunately, during their semi-annual sale. So the store was absolutely swamped with people. I headed straight for the fitting rooms and let them know I was just there to be measured. I did not need a fitting room, I really just wanted to know my size. So they had a lady measure me. For those who are unfamiliar with this process, it does not involve the removal of any clothing, just a couple of passes with a tape measure.
I was measured in the middle of the dressing area, outside the dressing rooms but not on the store floor. That's fine. I have no problem with that. My measurements resulted in the salesperson measuring me announcing that I needed a 40D. While I would have preferred for her not to announce that out loud in a volume that everyone could hear, I wasn't super bothered by it. It's my size, and the volume of her voice won't affect the measurement.
What did bother me is that she followed up the announcement of my size with, "Is that even possible?"
Given that she had just done the measurements herself, and that I was in fact a real-life person and not some sort of weird apparition, yes. That is even possible. To indicate otherwise means you either don't know how to do your job, or have done it very poorly. That's not even touching on how rude that statement is.
"Is that even possible?" Did you seriously just ask that question? Out loud? At such a volume and in such a tone that people waiting in line turned to gawk?
Yes, my body is possible. I am a human being. We tend to come in a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, and dispositions. Which should be common knowledge to anyone who has ever interacted with more than one other human being. To assert, or even to imply, otherwise is to wave a giant banner indicating that you have some deep and serious misunderstandings about the species of which you claim to be a part.
I didn't say anything to that poor salesperson that day. Really, what could I have said? Any comments I could have made would have been for my benefit, to make me feel better. There's nothing that I could have done, at least not in the time allotted before the store closed, to really educate her on all the issues with her statement. So I left. I haven't been back since.
Silver lining? I now feel absolutely no interest whatsoever in shopping at Victoria's Secret, which I'm sure will save me money in the long run. Target lingerie section for the win!
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Bikini Feminism
Last night the Pumpkin and I attended our first "Parent and Me" swim lesson. I had a blast and Theo did not freak out, which is about what I was hoping for from his first time in a big swimming pool with lots of strangers around. He even seemed to be enjoying himself by the end of the night, once he'd gotten used to things a bit.
So what does any of that have to do with feminism? It's in the details, I guess. Theo was wearing a new swim diaper with super cute swim trunks that we bought just for the lessons. The trunks weren't really necessary, but I couldn't resist buying them when I saw them in our local Once Upon A Child (second hand kid's clothing store). I was wearing an old racing swimsuit, as it was the only one that adequately covered by bust and butt. It was two pieces, and so of course I was completely freaking out about it. It showed off my pudge, my stretch marks, and my unshaven legs with aplomb. But it was either that, or I wore one of my other two swimsuits, both of which are noticeably too small in quite inconvenient places.
Why is that feminist? Because after my initial freakout, I felt pretty powerful. I was breaking pretty much every rule of stereotypical feminine beauty, but I'll be damned if I wasn't totally rocking that damn suit. The only downside is that it was designed with triathlons in mind, so it's padded in the butt. Which is great when you're transitioning from swim to bike. It's not so great when you're just hanging out in the shallow end of a pool with a baby.
Given that I still have quite a few pounds left to lose before I get into a healthy weight range, it felt pretty good to be able to forget about that and have fun in the water with the tiny human. Am I going to change the world by wearing a two piece swimsuit? Yes. Yes I am. I've already changed my world.
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon.
So what does any of that have to do with feminism? It's in the details, I guess. Theo was wearing a new swim diaper with super cute swim trunks that we bought just for the lessons. The trunks weren't really necessary, but I couldn't resist buying them when I saw them in our local Once Upon A Child (second hand kid's clothing store). I was wearing an old racing swimsuit, as it was the only one that adequately covered by bust and butt. It was two pieces, and so of course I was completely freaking out about it. It showed off my pudge, my stretch marks, and my unshaven legs with aplomb. But it was either that, or I wore one of my other two swimsuits, both of which are noticeably too small in quite inconvenient places.
Why is that feminist? Because after my initial freakout, I felt pretty powerful. I was breaking pretty much every rule of stereotypical feminine beauty, but I'll be damned if I wasn't totally rocking that damn suit. The only downside is that it was designed with triathlons in mind, so it's padded in the butt. Which is great when you're transitioning from swim to bike. It's not so great when you're just hanging out in the shallow end of a pool with a baby.
Given that I still have quite a few pounds left to lose before I get into a healthy weight range, it felt pretty good to be able to forget about that and have fun in the water with the tiny human. Am I going to change the world by wearing a two piece swimsuit? Yes. Yes I am. I've already changed my world.
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Just Drifting Along
Sometimes, I'm a bit slow on the uptake. For example, it took me until today to realize why failing the Texas bar exam may actually have been a Very Good Thing. To whit: It has forced me to stop and take a serious look at what the heck I want to do with my life.
I touched on this a bit the last time I wrote, which I know is now quite some time ago. But I've been really digging into it lately. When one spends all day having one-sided conversations with a 7-month old, one tends to get a bit introspective. I feel very much like I'm tired of just drifting along. I want some kind of purpose, or at least a list of goals. I want something to work towards; I just needed to figure out what that would be.
To be fair, just drifting along has been very very good to me. It has landed me the perfect husband, the world's most amazing baby, and three cats that don't always misbehave. I've traveled outside the U.S., run multiple marathons, saved Illinois high school mock trial, and done no small amount of good in the world. But currently, I've been feeling a bit... aimless.
Had I passed the bar exam, I probably would have just taken the first attorney gig that came my way. I would have done an acceptable job, but nothing to write home about. Unless I am really excited about something, I usually won't care enough to really invest myself in it. Then, I would have given it up without any sorrow when we moved away from this town and started the whole process over again, without ever really thinking about what I really want to do.
So what do I want to do? I want someone to pay me to do mock trial. Maybe I get a job teaching at some college and they pay me to coach their mock trial team. Maybe I get a job as the Director of Advocacy at some law school and I run their Trial Ad programs. Maybe I get a job running a state's high school mock trial program. Maybe I get a job running a national moot court competition.
I would jump at the chance to do any of those things. And I would be really freaking good at any of those things. Being away from mock trial has taught me that I need mock trial in my life. And teaching LSAT classes has reminded me of how much I adore teaching. I mean, seriously, the above list pretty much outlines my dream jobs.
Thus I have accomplished Step One in the Process of Realizing Your Dreams: Identify your dreams and write them down. It sounds much less inspirational when you get all business-like with it, but it does help the transition to reality proceed a bit more apace.
Now I just have to go about figuring out what Step Two is. If anyone has any tips, I would be more than happy to hear them...
Until next time, my friends. Take care, and I'll write again soon.
I touched on this a bit the last time I wrote, which I know is now quite some time ago. But I've been really digging into it lately. When one spends all day having one-sided conversations with a 7-month old, one tends to get a bit introspective. I feel very much like I'm tired of just drifting along. I want some kind of purpose, or at least a list of goals. I want something to work towards; I just needed to figure out what that would be.
To be fair, just drifting along has been very very good to me. It has landed me the perfect husband, the world's most amazing baby, and three cats that don't always misbehave. I've traveled outside the U.S., run multiple marathons, saved Illinois high school mock trial, and done no small amount of good in the world. But currently, I've been feeling a bit... aimless.
Had I passed the bar exam, I probably would have just taken the first attorney gig that came my way. I would have done an acceptable job, but nothing to write home about. Unless I am really excited about something, I usually won't care enough to really invest myself in it. Then, I would have given it up without any sorrow when we moved away from this town and started the whole process over again, without ever really thinking about what I really want to do.
So what do I want to do? I want someone to pay me to do mock trial. Maybe I get a job teaching at some college and they pay me to coach their mock trial team. Maybe I get a job as the Director of Advocacy at some law school and I run their Trial Ad programs. Maybe I get a job running a state's high school mock trial program. Maybe I get a job running a national moot court competition.
I would jump at the chance to do any of those things. And I would be really freaking good at any of those things. Being away from mock trial has taught me that I need mock trial in my life. And teaching LSAT classes has reminded me of how much I adore teaching. I mean, seriously, the above list pretty much outlines my dream jobs.
Thus I have accomplished Step One in the Process of Realizing Your Dreams: Identify your dreams and write them down. It sounds much less inspirational when you get all business-like with it, but it does help the transition to reality proceed a bit more apace.
Now I just have to go about figuring out what Step Two is. If anyone has any tips, I would be more than happy to hear them...
Until next time, my friends. Take care, and I'll write again soon.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
An Inglorious Return To Running
I have been waiting to get back into running basically since I finished giving birth. I don't know why it's taken me so long, but I have recently done the first two runs in a 5k training program. It is an immersive zombie adventure 5k training program, so it's a double bonus win! However, running after having a baby is in many ways a completely different activity from running before having a baby. As such, I have taken some of my major insights and listed them out.
1. All my sports bras are woefully inadequate
This tops the list as it's both one of the first changes I noticed and one of the most drastic changes. "Pump or nurse before you run," they said. "It'll be fine," they said. THEY LIED. There was way too much motion and so far nothing seems to contain it. Seriously, how do busty women deal with this? I'm not even that busty, even with mom boobs, and I still am having trouble dealing. Plus, sports bras are expensive so getting new ones is going to be a financial pain. Seriously. This is not cool.
2. Jogging strollers are awesome
My mother, despite any flaws she may have, is the most amazing person in the world for buying us a totally pimp jogging stroller. It may be the greatest baby accessory ever. It takes curbs like a beast and rolls smoothly even through the more deeply graveled parts of the jogging path I've been using. It is seriously amazing how much of a difference it makes in running with a baby to have the right stroller.
3. Running with a jogging stroller, no matter how pimp it is, is really hard
You're pushing a good 50-60 extra pounds in front of you with every step you take. Granted, those pounds are on well-oiled rugged wheels designed for beach/trail/whatever. But still, that is a lot of extra weight. Besides the stroller itself, you have the baby and all their gear, plus any water and/or carbs you may want to have. On the plus side, if I ever get the chance to run without the baby, it is going to be a breeze!
4. You suddenly have to pack before you run
Before, I would put my keys and phone in a pocket and head out the door. If it was a long run, I'd bring some water and a few chewy electrolyte calorie replacer thingies. Now, there's a whole diaper bag involved. Not to mention dressing the tiny human properly and incorporating sunscreen (for both of us!) and making sure you have enough toys that can be secured to the stroller and also amuse him for about 40 minutes of not having face-to-face Mommy Time. It. Is. A. Lot.
5. Running is no longer a luxury
It sounds counterintuitive, but it's true. This is the time when, more than ever, I need some sort of physical exercise. It helps drop the baby weight; it's an amazing stress release; it gets me out of the house; it allows me to set goals that are for me (and only me and have nothing to do with the baby).
Speaking of goals, I have a new running goal. I want to run an ultramarathon. That sounds really impressive, but it's really just any race longer than marathon distance (26.2 miles). So a 50k (about 31 miles) counts. However, being the nutter that I am, I would really like to do a 50 mile race. I've been looking into the training and trying to find a good goal race, so we'll see how this shapes up. But it's something I've wanted to do for a while, and I figure it's a good way to motivate me to really dig in now that I'm back in the game.
Then again, if the Pumpkin continues to insist on letting me get only 3-4 hours of sleep each night, this may not happen any time soon.
*sigh*
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon!
1. All my sports bras are woefully inadequate
This tops the list as it's both one of the first changes I noticed and one of the most drastic changes. "Pump or nurse before you run," they said. "It'll be fine," they said. THEY LIED. There was way too much motion and so far nothing seems to contain it. Seriously, how do busty women deal with this? I'm not even that busty, even with mom boobs, and I still am having trouble dealing. Plus, sports bras are expensive so getting new ones is going to be a financial pain. Seriously. This is not cool.
2. Jogging strollers are awesome
My mother, despite any flaws she may have, is the most amazing person in the world for buying us a totally pimp jogging stroller. It may be the greatest baby accessory ever. It takes curbs like a beast and rolls smoothly even through the more deeply graveled parts of the jogging path I've been using. It is seriously amazing how much of a difference it makes in running with a baby to have the right stroller.
3. Running with a jogging stroller, no matter how pimp it is, is really hard
You're pushing a good 50-60 extra pounds in front of you with every step you take. Granted, those pounds are on well-oiled rugged wheels designed for beach/trail/whatever. But still, that is a lot of extra weight. Besides the stroller itself, you have the baby and all their gear, plus any water and/or carbs you may want to have. On the plus side, if I ever get the chance to run without the baby, it is going to be a breeze!
4. You suddenly have to pack before you run
Before, I would put my keys and phone in a pocket and head out the door. If it was a long run, I'd bring some water and a few chewy electrolyte calorie replacer thingies. Now, there's a whole diaper bag involved. Not to mention dressing the tiny human properly and incorporating sunscreen (for both of us!) and making sure you have enough toys that can be secured to the stroller and also amuse him for about 40 minutes of not having face-to-face Mommy Time. It. Is. A. Lot.
5. Running is no longer a luxury
It sounds counterintuitive, but it's true. This is the time when, more than ever, I need some sort of physical exercise. It helps drop the baby weight; it's an amazing stress release; it gets me out of the house; it allows me to set goals that are for me (and only me and have nothing to do with the baby).
Speaking of goals, I have a new running goal. I want to run an ultramarathon. That sounds really impressive, but it's really just any race longer than marathon distance (26.2 miles). So a 50k (about 31 miles) counts. However, being the nutter that I am, I would really like to do a 50 mile race. I've been looking into the training and trying to find a good goal race, so we'll see how this shapes up. But it's something I've wanted to do for a while, and I figure it's a good way to motivate me to really dig in now that I'm back in the game.
Then again, if the Pumpkin continues to insist on letting me get only 3-4 hours of sleep each night, this may not happen any time soon.
*sigh*
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon!
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Yup, Failed the Bar Exam. And?
On Wednesday I got my results from the Bar Exam. I did not pass. I needed a scaled score of 675 to pass, and I got 667. So close, which kind of makes it suck even more. Sadly, I was sort of expecting that result. It was not the fault of my bar study program, or any lack of desire on my part to pass. It was more the fact that I was trying to study while dealing with a full-time job, and a baby who decided not to sleep through the night, and also still doing all my every-people stuff, like getting groceries and cooking dinner and doing laundry and every once in a while thinking about cleaning some part of my house.
At the end of the day, for what may be the first time ever, I had simply bitten off more than I could chew. That was a new thing for me. And, of course, it now leads me to the question of what I should do next. By which I mean, do I retake the Bar Exam?
I've actually been thinking about it far more than I thought I would. Mostly because of a conversation I had with Paul a week or so ago. He asked me, in a throw-away question kind of way, how long I wanted to be a stay at home mom. It wasn't a conversation of any particular depth, just one of many rushed moments when we could talk to each other without the baby awake. Neither of us appreciates those enough or works hard enough at cultivating them. I didn't think too much of the question right then and there.
Maybe an hour later, though, I thought of it again. Since then it's been rattling around in my head and I can't get it out. Because I don't know the answer. Trying to figure out how long I want to be a stay at home mom is like asking me to write out a detailed plan for "What I Want To Do With The Rest Of My Life", in 5 pages or less. Single spaced, with size 12 Times New Roman font. It's kind of an impossible question to answer, but here I am with my brain all abuzz trying to do just that.
Before I can even start on an answer to the question that was actually asked, there are several equally difficult preliminary questions that must be answered. How many kids do we want to have? What kind of career am I really interested in pursuing? Can I handle the bizarre guilt I feel at the thought of putting my kid(s) in daycare? What sort of work is worth it to not spend my time directly caring for my kid(s)?
It is all very seriously confusing. It's also a bit sad that I'm just now sitting down to do this. I always thought that, at 31 years old, I would know what I wanted to do. Or at least be enough of a grown up to suck it up and just find some kind of something to do.
That was a bit fatalist. Sorry.
Through most of high school and college, I had a very definite idea of what my life would look like at this point, and where I am is nothing like what I imagined. Which, to be very fair, is a really good thing. But it does leave one a bit adrift.
And right now it all seems to have been brought to focus by the question of whether or not to retake the Bar Exam. I probably will. It makes some sense to do so, and it keeps my options open. But that's part of the problem. Being a grown up means making decisions and picking one path from the many to walk down, at least for the immediate moment. And picking one path means you leave others behind. That always makes me a bit sad. I want to walk all the roads. I just do. Yet it seems that I am going to spend a bit longer stuck in the crossroads.
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon.
At the end of the day, for what may be the first time ever, I had simply bitten off more than I could chew. That was a new thing for me. And, of course, it now leads me to the question of what I should do next. By which I mean, do I retake the Bar Exam?
I've actually been thinking about it far more than I thought I would. Mostly because of a conversation I had with Paul a week or so ago. He asked me, in a throw-away question kind of way, how long I wanted to be a stay at home mom. It wasn't a conversation of any particular depth, just one of many rushed moments when we could talk to each other without the baby awake. Neither of us appreciates those enough or works hard enough at cultivating them. I didn't think too much of the question right then and there.
Maybe an hour later, though, I thought of it again. Since then it's been rattling around in my head and I can't get it out. Because I don't know the answer. Trying to figure out how long I want to be a stay at home mom is like asking me to write out a detailed plan for "What I Want To Do With The Rest Of My Life", in 5 pages or less. Single spaced, with size 12 Times New Roman font. It's kind of an impossible question to answer, but here I am with my brain all abuzz trying to do just that.
Before I can even start on an answer to the question that was actually asked, there are several equally difficult preliminary questions that must be answered. How many kids do we want to have? What kind of career am I really interested in pursuing? Can I handle the bizarre guilt I feel at the thought of putting my kid(s) in daycare? What sort of work is worth it to not spend my time directly caring for my kid(s)?
It is all very seriously confusing. It's also a bit sad that I'm just now sitting down to do this. I always thought that, at 31 years old, I would know what I wanted to do. Or at least be enough of a grown up to suck it up and just find some kind of something to do.
That was a bit fatalist. Sorry.
Through most of high school and college, I had a very definite idea of what my life would look like at this point, and where I am is nothing like what I imagined. Which, to be very fair, is a really good thing. But it does leave one a bit adrift.
And right now it all seems to have been brought to focus by the question of whether or not to retake the Bar Exam. I probably will. It makes some sense to do so, and it keeps my options open. But that's part of the problem. Being a grown up means making decisions and picking one path from the many to walk down, at least for the immediate moment. And picking one path means you leave others behind. That always makes me a bit sad. I want to walk all the roads. I just do. Yet it seems that I am going to spend a bit longer stuck in the crossroads.
Take care, friends, and I'll write again soon.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
You Know Who You Are
Yesterday was kind of a crappy day for me. I'm not even sure why. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed and no matter what I did (hang out in the sunshine with the baby!) or what I accomplished (made seitan from scratch!), I couldn't shake the totally bummed out feeling.
It got to the point where I went ahead and slept on the couch, just because I felt like I needed some space. Everything was making me grouchy, and I didn't want to give myself the chance to take it out on Paul. Because sometimes, I'm just that guy. I was getting more and more upset with myself because I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but I was still grumped out of my mind. Fortunately for me, I checked my email before I actually fell asleep.
Mixed in with the usual junk emails was a message from one of my former undergrad mock trial students. She had taken the time to write to me and update me on her law school application process. She recently made her final choice on which law school to attend (she had been accepted to multiple) and wanted to let me know. She also asked after my family and hoped all was well.
That email probably took her maybe 5 minutes to write, but it absolutely made my day. Aside from the fact that I am ridiculously proud of her for all that she has accomplished, and for choosing a great law school, it was the subtext involved in simply sending the email that really made me happy.
When you send an email like that, the information in the email is almost secondary. The act of sending it, of having someone reach out to me and letting me know how their life is going, is something that humbles me on a regular basis. The sender of that kind of email is saying that they miss you. They wish you were around so they could tell you this information in person. They are thankful to have had you in their life and want you to know what is going on, because you were a part of making it happen. They have just passed a super awesome and important milestone in their life, and you are a person that they thought of in that moment and wanted to talk to.
Seriously, that kind of connection is a precious thing. I got so happy when I read her email that I cried. I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky as to have amazing people like her in my life.
I haven't written her back yet. Mostly because I had to process the awesomeness that was her email before I could really formulate a response. I'm getting all teary eyed again just thinking about it.
This is why I like teaching. This is why I love coaching mock trial. This is why I will continue to do both those things any and every time I can.
Take care folks, and I'll write again soon.
It got to the point where I went ahead and slept on the couch, just because I felt like I needed some space. Everything was making me grouchy, and I didn't want to give myself the chance to take it out on Paul. Because sometimes, I'm just that guy. I was getting more and more upset with myself because I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but I was still grumped out of my mind. Fortunately for me, I checked my email before I actually fell asleep.
Mixed in with the usual junk emails was a message from one of my former undergrad mock trial students. She had taken the time to write to me and update me on her law school application process. She recently made her final choice on which law school to attend (she had been accepted to multiple) and wanted to let me know. She also asked after my family and hoped all was well.
That email probably took her maybe 5 minutes to write, but it absolutely made my day. Aside from the fact that I am ridiculously proud of her for all that she has accomplished, and for choosing a great law school, it was the subtext involved in simply sending the email that really made me happy.
When you send an email like that, the information in the email is almost secondary. The act of sending it, of having someone reach out to me and letting me know how their life is going, is something that humbles me on a regular basis. The sender of that kind of email is saying that they miss you. They wish you were around so they could tell you this information in person. They are thankful to have had you in their life and want you to know what is going on, because you were a part of making it happen. They have just passed a super awesome and important milestone in their life, and you are a person that they thought of in that moment and wanted to talk to.
Seriously, that kind of connection is a precious thing. I got so happy when I read her email that I cried. I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky as to have amazing people like her in my life.
I haven't written her back yet. Mostly because I had to process the awesomeness that was her email before I could really formulate a response. I'm getting all teary eyed again just thinking about it.
This is why I like teaching. This is why I love coaching mock trial. This is why I will continue to do both those things any and every time I can.
Take care folks, and I'll write again soon.
Monday, April 20, 2015
Reading To My Son
I believe that books are important. I believe that books can teach you how to empathize with other people. I believe that books cane make people, and therefore the world, so much better. I really do. I firmly believe that part of why I am the person I am is because of the books I read. The courage of those characters, their strength in the face of world-ending catastrophes, reinforced my ideas of what it meant to be honorable and brave and loyal.
Which is why Paul and I read to the Pumpkin every day. We started reading to him before he was born. Sometimes, I would make Paul read to the tiny embryonic Pumpkin just so I could get the benefit of being read to sleep. What I never imagined before the Pumpkin was born was how hard some of his books would be to read.
The Pumpkin has plenty of safe books. Those are the ones that are easy to read. Thomas the Tank Engine, Frank and Ernest, ABC books. I don't have a problem getting through those. But some of his other books, I have to read multiple times to myself before I can even attempt them with the Pumpkin.
Have you ever read Guess How Much I Love You? Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare have a bedtime contest to see who can express a bigger love for the other. It's a simple and adorable story that should be a breeze to get through. But when I read it to the Pumpkin, I completely lose it maybe three out of every four times we read it. I start crying and my throat gets all tight and I just want to hug the Pumpkin until I get a grip.
It's like that with a lot of his books. I read those books, the ones that cloud my eyes and close my throat, and they take all the huge universe of love that I feel for my Pumpkin and they smoosh it all down into my body at once. Like every atom of everything that has ever been, is now, or will be, gets jammed through my pores and into my body until I'm overflowing with the heart of the universe and it's always almost too much. Every time I get so close to being overwhelmed, my mind and heart not sure that there's enough room anywhere, anytime, ever, for all this love. I have to close my eyes and hold my breath to cut off the exchange for just a moment, until I can pull myself together, find the room, remember how to live with so much absolute beauty.
And then I'm better. Crisis avoided, self in one piece, I finish the book. I kiss the Pumpkin. I breathe in the air around him and wish I could make a perfume of his smell, that perfect sweet baby smell. The whole crazed moment has only taken a second or two. The Pumpkin doesn't even realized that it's happened. It will probably be like that for the rest of my life, with me losing it in small doses and him oblivious to the entire process. I suppose it will be like that with all of the kids I have, since I do want to have more.
I'm going to keep reading those books. I'm going to keep falling in love with my kid(s) each and every night. And when they grow up, I hope that they keep reading. I hope that, eventually, they get to fall to pieces in the exact same way.
Take care, and I'll write again soon.
Which is why Paul and I read to the Pumpkin every day. We started reading to him before he was born. Sometimes, I would make Paul read to the tiny embryonic Pumpkin just so I could get the benefit of being read to sleep. What I never imagined before the Pumpkin was born was how hard some of his books would be to read.
The Pumpkin has plenty of safe books. Those are the ones that are easy to read. Thomas the Tank Engine, Frank and Ernest, ABC books. I don't have a problem getting through those. But some of his other books, I have to read multiple times to myself before I can even attempt them with the Pumpkin.
Have you ever read Guess How Much I Love You? Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare have a bedtime contest to see who can express a bigger love for the other. It's a simple and adorable story that should be a breeze to get through. But when I read it to the Pumpkin, I completely lose it maybe three out of every four times we read it. I start crying and my throat gets all tight and I just want to hug the Pumpkin until I get a grip.
It's like that with a lot of his books. I read those books, the ones that cloud my eyes and close my throat, and they take all the huge universe of love that I feel for my Pumpkin and they smoosh it all down into my body at once. Like every atom of everything that has ever been, is now, or will be, gets jammed through my pores and into my body until I'm overflowing with the heart of the universe and it's always almost too much. Every time I get so close to being overwhelmed, my mind and heart not sure that there's enough room anywhere, anytime, ever, for all this love. I have to close my eyes and hold my breath to cut off the exchange for just a moment, until I can pull myself together, find the room, remember how to live with so much absolute beauty.
And then I'm better. Crisis avoided, self in one piece, I finish the book. I kiss the Pumpkin. I breathe in the air around him and wish I could make a perfume of his smell, that perfect sweet baby smell. The whole crazed moment has only taken a second or two. The Pumpkin doesn't even realized that it's happened. It will probably be like that for the rest of my life, with me losing it in small doses and him oblivious to the entire process. I suppose it will be like that with all of the kids I have, since I do want to have more.
I'm going to keep reading those books. I'm going to keep falling in love with my kid(s) each and every night. And when they grow up, I hope that they keep reading. I hope that, eventually, they get to fall to pieces in the exact same way.
Take care, and I'll write again soon.
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