portraits

Power in Numbers

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Last week I took Ben for his first museum visit. I don't think he was overwhelmed by the Richard Tuttle exhibit, but he sure had a great deal to say about the photography. Apparently the fact that his mother has already taken about 10,000 pictures of him has made him an expert on the photographic arts. We met up with some women from the mother's group in the museum cafe. It's funny because I am still a little uncomfortable breast feeding in public. But as soon as I get with other moms I can whip it out with the best of them. Modesty quickly becomes a thing of the past.

When I was still a childless singleton I used to be THAT PERSON. The one who is uncomfortable with women ripping out their breasts to nurse their kids in public. Now I realize that it is such an innocent thing and I only objected to it because our culture has treated women's breasts as purely sexual objects. It's like Jack Nicholson says, show a breast in a movie and it's rated R, hack it off with a knife and it's PG.

So for all those people who are still like the old me. I'm sorry. I will try to keep my boob out of public view. And if that still upsets you. Well, bite me.

La Leche League International

Mommy Brain

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I am reading this book called The Mommy Brain about how motherhood supposedly makes us smarter. I must admit that I have my doubts. I used to be scrupulous about appointments. I had the memory of an elephant. I could no more imagine forgetting an appointment than forgetting my gender. Since I have been pregnant I have fogotten one acupuncture appointment and 3 (yes THREE) appointments with my shrink. I think he is going to fire me as his client. And who can blame him? He must be so bored with making the same phone call continuously."Hello Bonnie. This is Dr. L. I thought we had an appointment today..." And then every time I call him back I explain that I am not usually like this. I am normally very responsible, yadda, yadda. At which point he most likely rolls his eyes and says "yeah, right lady". Now at this point in the story you are going to suggest that I start writing things down in calendars. And I DID! I even remember the appointments the day before, but forget the day of. Josh says that it's because subconsciously I am not putting enough importance on it, but I don't think so. I think it's the REAL mommy brain.

It's the same with worrying. I am not a worrier by nature. And thank God for that because Josh worries enough for the both of us (and half of North America). But since Ben was born I find myself switching teams. Ben usually wakes up by 2:00 to nurse. Last night I keep waking up every hour and looking at the clock. 1:00. 2:00. 3:00. 4:00. And then I knew it. He must be dead. He must have stopped breathing. That's it. End game. And then seven minutes later I hear him cry. And I think, "I knew he was fine". I once asked Josh about all the things he worried about when Ben was inutero and after 5 minutes I had to stop him because, frankly, I was exhausted and tense just listening. So to all you worrying mothers (and fathers) out there, my heart goes out to you.

A Letter to Benjamin

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Dear Benjamin: Today you are six months old. SIX MONTHS! I can hardly believe it. Time is already passing so quickly. It feels like you arrived yesterday. You are changing so much each day. Sometimes it feels like every hour. You are holding things yourself and grabbing for things at the table. We even put you in a high chair for the first time on Sunday when we went out for breakfast. We gave you a spoon to play with which you proceeded to bang rhythmically on the table (although the other diners might not have appreciated your fin musical abilities). When we go to stores you love to be in the Bjorn so you can grab at things on the shelves. I have a feeling we will have to put an end to this soon or be banned from Target for life. And then what would we do all day?

This is an especially fun stage you're in right now. You seem happy almost all of the time. You entertain yourself for long stretches of times. You seem excited by all that the world has to offer. Like you cannot wait to get out there and see what it's all about.

You have developed a slight case of stranger anxiety. It seems especially acute around my parents. That will teach them to visit more often, huh? I know what you're up to. You have become quite the little manipulator. You cry and cry until you get what you want and then a big smirk comes across your face. 'Atta boy.

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You hate to nap. I think you are afraid that you are going to miss something exciting. I can't say that I blame you. I used to be like that too. I was always certain that the moment I would miss would be THE MOMENT to end all moments.

We are trying to give you solid foods, but you aren't buying it. We put the spoon in your mouth and you just look at us like "What the heck did you do that for?" I can see Dorothy Parker's spirit coming through your face as if to ask "What fresh hell is this?" Yet you are very interested in our food and you follow the path of our forks to our mouths and back again. Today we took the dogs to the beach and threw the stick for them in the bay for them to fetch. You thought that was pretty cool. Even when I had to ceaselessly lean over to pick up the stick and you ended upside down in your Baby Bjorn.

When I was born, my birth parents felt that they were too young to keep me and raise me. So they put me up for adoption. Grandad and Nana took me home with them where they raised and took care of me. I cannot imagine ever having to part from you. I promise that no matter what, I will never leave you. And no matter what, I will always love you. You are such a little angel. I don't know what I did in this life to deserve you. I feel so unworthy. I only hope that I can be half the mother that you deserve.

Gros Bisous, Mommy

Public Enemy Number One

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Yesterday I met with my mother's group. I always hate going out to see people when I am feeling irritable. Irritability is a symptom and side effect of my depression that I particularly abhor. Not only does it make me difficult and no fun to be around, but it also makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. So I had a bad feeling about being in a group of women today. As we started to 'share' I tried to keep to myself and keep quiet. I knew that anything that came out of my mouth would come to no good. But of course I could not keep my big mouth shut. I have NEVER been able to keep my big mouth shut. My ex-husband used to say to me "Bonnie. [long pause] Life is not a monologue." Well no shit Sherlock! So after listening to talk about sleep training and pumping I basically asked when we were going to talk about something 'real'. What a fucking idiot! I just couldn't keep it to myself.

I have always had a problem with small talk. I suck at cocktail parties. People ask questions about what I do, where I'm from, etc. Suddenly I am launching into how I was adopted or I ask them some incredibly personal question. I can't help myself. It's not that I want to put people on the spot or make them uncomfortable. I am GENUINELY interested in people's lives. Not where they live or what they do to pay their rent, but the real nitty-gritty. But some people have boundaries (unlike yours truly) and I need to respect those boundaries. But shit people, when are we going to talk about something INTERESTING and REAL? This is one of the many reasons I love blogs. People put it all out there on the line. Something about the internet allows people to bare their deepest secrets and damn if that's not interesting.

So keep it up people. Keep it real.

Carbohydrates Are Good

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Since Ben was born I have been wanting to lose all the weight I gained while pregnant. But when I realized that I would have to give up bread and ice cream I decided that it wasn't such a good idea. I'm just not that strong. And besides, breast feeding makes me so damn hungry all the time. There are mythical stories about pregnancy cravings, but in my book NOTHING rivals the hunger of a lactating mother. So yesterday I decided that I should minimize my carbohydrate intake. I lasted about 12 hours. If a world exists without warm bread, sweet rolls, pizza, and ice cream, I don't want to be any part of it.

Wild World

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When Ben was born it was, of course, an amazing moment. Not just because of its inherent miraculousness alone, but also because of the environment. We were in an operating room (which was a drag), but all of the hospital personnel were women. I found this to be comforting in a world that had previously been dominated by old, white men. The anesthesiologist was playing Cat Stevens and the moment Ben came into the world, the song 'Wild World' was playing. It was perfect. Today I went to walk around the Lafayette Reservoir with my friend Maura. After listening to NPR on the drive over, I was devastated by the news of the destruction of Katrina and the Bush administration's apathetic response. As I passed all of the rich, white women with their $800 strollers and perfectly manicured hands and coiffed hair and their cell phones glued to their ears, moving obliviously through space, their worlds untouched, while children and the elderly are starving and dying in the South I realized what a wild world it is.

Let's do something to help these poor people. Here are some suggestions. Please offer others if you have them.

Donate money: http://www.redcross.org/ http://www.catholiccharitiesusa.org

Donate goods: http://beenthere.typepad.com/been_there/2005/09/a_clearinghouse.html

Buy a CD: http://cdbaby.com/group/redcross

Buy a photograph: http://www.flickr.com/groups/katrina_auction/

And here's and article on what a bad job Bush is doing: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9174806/site/newsweek/

An Open Letter of Adoration

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I LOVE women. Don't get me wrong. I love men too. But as friends and confidantes I love smart, articulate, funny, compassionate women. And I have been blessed to know many in my life. Not that they are a dime a dozen, because God knows they're not. Today I was reading an interview with Heather Armstrong about her blog called dooce. And damn that woman impresses me. I have never met her or had any human contact with her (short of writing her a fan e-mail and yes, I am that much of a dweeb), but I am SURE if we met we would be friends. How lame does that sound?

Anyway, that's how this whole blog thing started for me (yes, you can blame Ms. Armstrong). While I was pregnant (and miserable) my friend Rebekah told me I should check out this blog called dooce. She thought I might find some solace in the fact that I was not the only pregnant woman in America that thought that being pregnant was NOT the greatest thing EVER. I must admit that I was skeptical at first. I held the view that blogs were narcissism disguised by a nice typeface (and sometimes not even that). But I overcame my prejudices and read the blog. And I laughed. Out loud. And again. And again. And then I was rolling on the floor and the corgis were looking at me like I was acting even more insane than usual. And then I was hooked. Both my husband and I are regular readers of Heather's blog. Josh used to work at 'The Red Herring' with her husband Jon (it is indeed a small world). We like to discuss Heather, Jon, Leta and Chuck as if they were soap opera characters. Our own little personal Sims game.

And if that were not enough reason to like her, she's also from a Southern family and her life is also consumed with the question of when she will poop next. A concern that I have become all too familiar with since Ben was born and my stomach was CUT APART to get him out. My plumbing has not been the same since.

But seriously, I have found the writings of Heather (and other funny women such as Ayun Halliday, Laurie Notaro or Susan Gilman) to get me through some days when I feel that I am the only crazy, medicated, overweight girl in this Martha Stewart world.

So cheers to smart women. If you know of some I can read, watch or meet, please pass on the goods. I promise to do the same. In the interim, I will keep reading dooce, look at the beautiful photographs she takes, and try not to hate Ms. Armstrong for being so damn skinny. In her defense, she does eat Pop Tarts, so she can't be all bad.

p.s. I totally stole the idea of writing Ben a letter from her. Well, okay, I steal from her on a daily basis. She will probably haul my ass into court.

Bad Mommy

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Today we tried to take a group photo of the babies at our mom's group. Meltdown ensued. Babies crying everywhere. Except in this picture only Ben is crying. Josh accused me of abusing our child by letting him cry so much. I didn't dare tell him I thought it was funny.

Into the Wild Blue Yonder

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We are leaving to go to Maine in less than 24 hours. I still have not packed. Ben is napping and I should be packing. But I don't want to. All I want to do is read my book and write on this blog. I was dreading this vacation, but now I'm not. It has been pointed out to me that the babysitting potential is enormous. So now I plan to leave Ben in the company of the Liebster side of his family while I get a massage at the local spa. Thank God for the breast pump. The key to freedom and the best friend of daughters-in-law everywhere.