Happy Anniversary to Me

Today Tim & I have been married for 5 years. As I like to tell people, "Five down, two to go." Hehehe. We've been married for five and have known each other for ten. Two nights ago, reflecting upon our upcoming anniversary, I told Tim that the one event that had the most physical and emotional impact was Rain's birth. He agreed. Sometimes, I still can't believe Rain is here. She is unlike anything we imagined and has changed the dynamics of this family forever.

And yet ...

Yesterday, I saw a talk show about new mothers and depression. Each of them described, during their darkest moments, the violent things they envisioned happening to their children. Some women in the audience seemed appalled. As I listened to the mothers confess their thoughts--crying from the shame--I remembered those first three months with Rain. When she cried, howled, and screamed, didn't Tim & I feel anger and despair? Of course. We were mad we couldn't pacify her and disappointed in ourselves for feeling that way.

I wanted to shout through the TV screen, "The feeling will pass! Don't feel guilty. Things do get better!" I held Rain up, kissed her, hugged her--I wish those women knew that we were OK now. The one thing I had that those women did not was support.

Because I'm blessed with Tim and a nutty (but loving) family, Rain & I are going to be all right. Yes, there will come a day when Rain will slam a door in my face because she's angry, and I'll take the hinges off her door to teach her a lesson, but we're going to make it. Without Tim's support, though, who can say what I was capable of? I can honestly say that it would've been better for me not to have children, than try to be a mother without Tim.

Tim, Happy 5th Anniversary!

Warning! Subliminal message to follow: Tim, you're the sweetest DIAMOND, generous, and most NECKLACE thoughtful husband to me. Thank you DIAMOND for being a wonderful father to Rain. Here's to many more NECKLACE years!

Food Fight

Now that I resemble the turkey I roasted for Thanksgiving (darn you, pumpkin pie! Why do you have to call my name, apple pie a la mode? What do I have to do with thee, cheesecake?), I figure I'll relate what's been going on in my realm of chicken entrees and jarred sweet potatoes.

Food is a sensitive topic in this family. This began when I was pregnant. I was militant during my first 2 trimesters about what I ate ("Must have 2 more servings of whole-grains, 1 more vegetable ..."). The last few weeks, my lower back throbbed in pain, and I was in no shape to cook or care. I ate whatever Tim brought home from a local restaurant. Tim's not into sugar substitutes or anything that sounds like fats have been liberated (fat-free, sugar-free, etc.), so most nights we ate poorly. After Rain was born, I had to go back to watching what I ate.

By then, food had lost its appeal. Most of my meals were cold (from stepping away to change, calm, or feed Rain) or hurried. My attention shifted from what I was eating to what Rain was eating. What she getting enough milk? Should we supplement with formula?

Now we've entered the next stage in the evolution of food's place in our home: how should we shape Rain's eating habits? When Rain was 3.5 months old, she began watching me eat with interest. At first, the action itself was mildly entertaining enough to watch. After 2 weeks, she seemed to realize that somehow I was getting satisfaction in a way she hadn't. We decided to give her rice cereal. Three days later, she'd squirm with anticipation when she saw us mixing cereal with her baby spoon. Every time she would end up with cereal or oatmeal in her hair, on her seat, dripping from her legs, splattered on her shirt, in her nose, dried on her ears, across her face--but, she was happy. Two weeks ago, we introduced her first food: sweet potatoes.

True love, that match was. Tomorrow we venture (again) into the world of pureed carrots. We tried today, and she was like, "Um, sweet potatoes?" Besides this, Rain now stares me down when I eat. She sticks her tongue out, asking, "Just a bit won't hurt me, so come on, ma ..." It's getting to where I'm eating on the sly ("Look at this stuffed pony! Isn't he cute?" *gobble, gobble, gobble*) rather than see the pleading eyes. I'm questioning more and more of what I put on my own plate, too. Don't I want Rain to see me eat lots of veggies and fruits? So, I force myself to eat tomatoes (bleh), more greens (no real problems with this, just a pain to prepare), and, though I never thought I'd see the day, soy chicken patties.

Oh for the days when eating was as simple as, "Can I have the #2 ... with extra cheese?"

This Episode: "Keys" OR ...

"The Straw That Almost Broke This Camel's Back"

About 2 weeks ago, I had a pity party (you didn't get your invitation? Lucky you ...). I was telling Tim that I felt like I've spread myself thin these past few months. There are several reasons for this: (1) I've tried to take on many projects at one time like I did before Rain was born; (2) People think I'm just chillin' at my crib (a.k.a. "stay-at-home mom"), so they feel like I should be available 24-7 (ex: calling me at the last minute to perform favors or meet up, volunteering my services, etc.); and (3) I can't stop myself from "helping" people (read: enabling). That last one is the trickiest. I want to help, but frankly, a lot of the time I end up babysitting grown men and women. Sometimes, a person's definition of receiving help is "please just do it for me." The problem with doing things for people that they are capable of doing themselves is that they lose their desire to do things on their own. You know what I'm talking about; we've all enabled someone before. Point is, the stress of trying to be everything to everyone got to me a few weeks ago. The final incident that put the last shovel-full of dirt on my grave was this: I lost my keys.

I misplace things about once a week, but I usually recover them within a day or two. Anyone who has lost a set of keys knows the drill: the first day, you console yourself with, "They'll turn up soon." You take a quick look around the house and check your car. After a day or two, you, the eternal optimist says, "Perhaps I left them at my sister's place. I should call and ask about them." By day 3 and 4, you're calling everybody. The coffee shop, grocery store, library--everybody gets a phone call. By day 5, you'll even call your mother ("Honey, you lost your keys again? I've told you a thousand times to ..."). After checking your house (again), and car (again), and calling your sister with an accusatory tone ("Are you SURE they're not there?"), you resign yourself to the task of rebuilding your key set. Forget about the gaudy, and thankfully irreplaceable, key chain you bought in New Mexico, what about the keys to your safe, file cabinets, house, mom's place, mailbox, etc.? And all the grocery store key tags? What about those??

For some reason, losing my keys became a symbol of the loss of pattern, control, and all things systematic I loved about my former life. I felt like I'd never be able to do more than tread water when it came to scheduling, being on time, doing all the things I need to get done.

So, after talking with Tim, we decided I need to pull back. I have to stop micromanaging everyone's life around me. I can give guidance, but it's time to stop doing things for fully-capable people.

I let that sink in for a few days.

Yesterday, I found my keys. They were under my car seat, a place Tim & I had checked 3 or 4 times. It was a sign.

I thanked God I wasn't losing my mind, and that things were manageable. The next chance I got, I called Tim. "Guess what?" I said, still thrilled. "I found my keys! A while ago I found my keys in the car. I wanted to call you right then and tell you, but I can't find my cellphone ..."

BFF

So, you think I went on vacation did ya? Thought I was out having oodles of fun and neglecting my updates, eh? Nay, I say, nay! I've just been weathering some changes, that's all. I've had no recognizable schedule for the past 2 weeks (and if you have to ask why, you're probably not at fault, so no worries) for reasons I'll explain another time. Now, onto the latest about Rainbow ...

Well, as you can see from the photo, Rain has chosen her best friend forever. Remember the days when Rain only had eyes for me? I don't, either. She's Tim's lady now. I can tell the way they giggle together as he gives her a bath. They laugh and chat, and I walk in to bring Rain's towel, and she looks at me like, "Did anyone call you, Milkmaid? Be gone!" Every morning/afternoon, Rain cries for me to feed her every time she has a whim for a snack. If Tim watches her, and I call to check up on them, he'll say, "We haven't used a bottle yet. She's happy and playing." *Stab in heart*

I have a theme song I sing when they are together: "Me and my dad ... AND NOBODY ELSE!" It's catchy, trust me. The other day, Rain cried for 45 minutes. She got into this hysterical rhythm that I haven't heard since she was 2 months old. The second, and I mean, the second Tim walked in, silence. She smiled and was like, "Carry me away, Father, from this treacherous caretaker." Tim picked her up, and they walked away, peacefully into the sunset ... or well-lit kitchen, can't quite recall.

My Girl

Ever since the incident (which I shall now refer to as the "FALL of 2007") when I won my BMOY award, Rain & I have changed. Now, I am distrustful of everything. I don't trust Rain's blankie (suffocation risk), rattle (choking hazard), crib (strangulation waiting to happen), or fuzzy stuffed animals (germs, at the very least). When Rain fell from our bed, she had been screaming about her sore gums (teeth still haven't shown up, by the way). It was her flopping about that caused the tumble, but it didn't matter. I blame myself completely and have since doubled my efforts to pad her life with pillows.

By the way, Tim's reaction:
Me: I'm a terrible mother! She fell right on the floor, and now she probably has internal bleeding!

Tim: Honey, I'm sure she's fine. Babies are made tough, so don't feel bad. I've dropped Rain several times and never told you.

Me: Really??

Tim: No.

As for Rain, well, the next day she hardly cried about her teeth. "Maybe she thinks the punishment for crying about her teeth is getting dropped on the floor??" I told Tim. The day after that, she stopped crying about her teeth altogether. Since then, she's softly chewed on her finger when they bother her. I haven't had to run for the Baby Orajel in days. Better still, she's been getting up at almost 8 A.M. every morning. 8:00, people!

When she gets more sleep, wow. She's so much happier. She has giggled more in the last few days than she ever has. She's all about cuddles and playtime. When I walk in the room, she smiles and does her best to get me to snuggle her. Some days--let's be real now--Mommyhood can be a cold crust of bread. Today, it was a glazed chocolate, cream-filled Shipley's doughnut. Ooooo, doughnut ...