Chasing Light Still

Sunday evening I angled myself in the living room corner to see the bright moon on my right while I quickly gazed over my left shoulder to catch the sunset.  Parenting works like this.  Chasing simultaneous shades of light because the moment fleets into memory so quickly.  Big puffy crystal white clouds seemed scotch taped to a clear-clear blue sky all day Sunday, 15 May 2011.  Weather predictors scored the day at a 60 percent chance of thunder storms.  Parenting seems as mercurial.

This is a disclaimer to acknowledge that I can’t believe my last posting was several months ago.  Yet in the daily flow of full-time mothering, time is elusive and experience spontaneously different every day as a human life comes to consciousness.  Humbling is all I can say.

Time spent with my son Darien reminds me how I feel most safe in this world and that is wrapped by light: sunshine, fluorescent, candle, fireplace, reading, car, street, lightning, swimming pool, skylight, or any kind, really.  So, my child and I learn light together.  To watch his face look to the ceiling as I place his finger on the light switch is to see a luminescent smile.  The bedroom we use to sleep, relax, read, and play in has two lights–ceiling and table.  Today when I turned on the small switch for the table light he turned his head around to see if the ceiling light would flip on.  He memorizes patterns then.  Straying from these does not fluster but rather ponders him.  He seems like a thoughtful baby.

New experiences, for example, take several times to settle in.  Traveling to Hawaii a few months ago he dipped several toes into the ocean.  Yeah, that’s cold and what else?  I encouraged him to dip more toes to discover the depth of the water.  The second time we went to the beach, standing in sand disappearing through his toes with tepid ocean water up to his knees, he seemed to ask for real what is this.  And for Darien, the third time is a charm.  Sitting in the sand as small ocean waves lapped us, he celebrated with hands energetically shaking from side to side.  The trip motivated him to start rolling, too.  The last week of March he learned how to roll from his back to his belly, pulling his arms up to his side.  Now in the middle of May, here he celebrates seven months of discovering life.

Thoughtful

We live an incredibly simple life that encourages each of us to notice the small shifts of light.  As I moved him from the stroller to the car seat the other day, he looked quickly up to the bright crescent moon hanging so high in the sky.  My aunt who observed all Darien’s changes when she went with us to Hawaii, and who was standing by his side in the Stanford Hospital parking lot as he noticed the moon, exclaimed, “He is so observant.”  Thankfully, yes.  Any mother would hope this for a child.  I took him into my therapist’s office the other day (never too young to start processing, yes?) and his first reaction was to stare at the quirky ceiling light found there. Yesterday I worked until 4:30 a.m. (juggling full-time work and parenting can lead to late hours, of course) and when Darien woke up at 6 a.m. I kept the bedroom blind closed hoping that after a bottle and some play time he might snuggle closely, sleeping for an extra morning hour.  He took the light cue and we enjoyed an early morning siesta, which I so appreciated.  Later, we spent a peaceful morning turning on and off light switches before I had to run off to work.

Once I arrived home, we dashed back out again to the Walgreen’s a few blocks away for a last minute diaper run, where standing in the parking lot he noticed the green and red street lights.  In the house again and changed into his pajamas, Darien fell asleep in a few minutes once I pulled the blinds down to create a peaceful safe dark space to slumber.  Lights out.

Belly Up to that Reality Bar

Monday seems blah sometimes, yet I can feel the pull out of self-pity into acceptance and gratitude as I make my third round of amends while following through on the steps.  We sobriety folks keep returning to what we call step-work, meaning that to create a happy, joyous, and free life, we maintain this equilibrium by working any one of the recovery steps.  I guess with some grace, I might have the chance to do that for the rest of my life.  Fingers crossed.

Lucky me since a woman far my senior decided today to return to the bottle and experiment some more.  First drink  at nine years old, and 50 years later she is still unsure if she is an alcoholic.  She has lost everything–home, family, sanity–yet she will research the drinking life some more just to make sure.  This is why we call this condition one that is cunning, baffling, and powerful.  Trick is that by working with her as she attempted the steps, I myself stay sober.  We call this successful sponsoring because in my witnessing her denial, I can face my own and find peace there.  Strange but true.

And amends are a way to end isolation since to look another person in the eye and calmly admit to bad behavior, well, this helps heal the past and keeps you vulnerably honest right in the present.  For example, I remember the experiences of three miscarriages kept me isolated from my body.  I simply could not reconnect to her.  That sounds funny, but I had been one to numb out by smoking a ton of cigarettes and drinking lots of coffee my first couple years in sobriety, and so now I am returning to my body.  She likes me and I like her.  Sounds ridiculous, yes, and yet I can create distance from my grounded real self, flying off in a distant disassociating fog, with the best of them.

Paddington Darien

One way I have returned to my body, and make amends to her,  is the daily walking in the jogging stroller with Darien on board.  Today he wore the same yellow colored jacket that I have.  We make quite a pair visually as we each sport a different version of Paddington, one of my all time favorite books to read while growing up.  Once I got on the cell phone chatting with different family, I picked up my pace, reaching Trader Joe’s–1.9 miles away according to Google maps.  I believe that because the walk talks us 20+ minutes one way.  I bought the basics tonight for quick dinners then returned swiftly.  I missed a comfortable bottle time for Darien by a few minutes, so he cried earnestly while waiting in the kitchen for me to make the formula milk.  A few minutes later we were giggling as I tossed him into pajamas and off to sleep he went at 7:30 p.m.  We now have 10:30 p.m. here in San Francisco and not a peep from him yet in his crib.  Easy as can be.

The other return to my body is that I have lost my stomach paunch.  For the last six years, I have carried around an extra twenty pounds on my stomach, a combination of cortisol stress, grief, trauma, beer, cigarettes, and pizza.  Yet all of these home-made ingredients are nearly gone–the last three for sure.  After walking every day, I stretch, including sit-ups, so this helped shift the weight around.  Plus, as I mother Darien, my puffed up “pregnancy belly” is no longer necessary.  I believe for a while I carried such a big belly on the unconscious hope a baby would pop out one day.  A baby did arrive just not from my belly.

The synergy of becoming Darien’s mother helps me feel and act more grounded.  I won’t date or begin a relationship for one year while he grows more sturdy in himself.  I guess I just saw the connection that he is growing a new body and so am I.  Real physical change takes time.  The bathroom scale tells me I have taken off seven pounds that has stayed off this last month.  Yet my breathe and my shape feel significantly different to me despite the scale’s number.  I feel strong.  And I dig that my belly does not protrude anymore–that used to embarrass me.  Don’t even go there by looking at Darien’s belly after he drinks a bottle of milk; geez, that little boy can eat and then some.  So far I’m counting his double chins and let’s hope he doesn’t try to for a triple play there.  Time will tell all.

Wash Your Hands, Sometimes

Around 8 a.m. or so this morning, Darien and I strolled into Walgreen’s.  Mind you, not on foot but in the jogging stroller.  We practically live in this store.  The walk is seven minutes from the house.  The big ticket items are never what we go for.  Today we invested $6 for 50 diapers, $1.49 for spring water used in Darien’s formula, and $1.99 for two bars of Ivory soap.  Frugal we are for sure and my goal is to build that financial future for our little family that I had always hoped for.  Wishing is one energy and taking action is another.  This weekend I am working on an accurate and realistic budget.  I enjoy the peace of mind having one “affords” me.

So, for the sake of ritual and consistency, we will begin to use Ivory because of its low cost.  Before I can get the Kleenex to wipe a Darien sneeze, he will be at least one years old when hand washing from then and beyond matters.  Truly.  I already have the Ikea stool for him to reach the faucet better.  And as this blog so clearly announces, our little family intends to live off the shop-to-you-drop child rearing consumer model.  Enter Ivory.  Two bars for $1.99?  That’s pretty decent.  Mind you, Walgreen’s had their generic brand for 79 cents.  But would theirs float?

In one way that I am lucky, I enjoy all the silly details found in the day randomly.  For example, did you know that Ivory soap floats?  Somewhere along the way, Procter and Gamble pumped air into the formula, making the bar of soap lighter than water.  For the same reason, when you take a small chunk of Ivory and toss it into the microwave for 90 seconds or so, voila, a puffy cotton candy version of soap.  See for yourself.

Mind you, Procter and Gamble is no small fish in the sharky waters of corporate profits.  So, why do I shop with them?  Their Ivory soap bar barely breaks even is what I understand from a profit analysis.  By going old school on the soap selection I can still remain new school by minimally feeding the pirahna waters that whisper “greed is good.”  Alright, that wasn’t a pirahna making that noise, but a gecko, Gordon Gekko from the original Wall Street, that is.  Some corporate purchases are inevitable.  Noticing them is probably a big choice in itself and so I am content to only contribute my $1.99.

Reaching Out

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m all down for material comfort.  Why can’t we just share some of the goodies is what floors me.  In my neighborhood here in Ingleside, I only have to walk two blocks to shift from $500,000 homes to one million and up.  No exaggeration.  Darien and I often walk in the upscale area simply to enjoy the expensive architecture.

And given the success of two hours to myself last night while swimming at the gym, I thought I’d venture out again for an hour and half while a roomie watched Darien for a while.  He sleeps soundly after 7 p.m., so I walked two blocks down to Ocean Avenue for the second annual film festival held in Cafe Melanio.  Yes, they hit me up for $10 at the door otherwise we would of had a super frugal day.

The films were short, yet intriguing to watch for those amateur moments that help you recognize film successes–what works and what does not–in your own work.  One clip of a film that was fascinating was the one on living roofs.  I had forgotten how successfully these can transform an entire community.  And guess what?  Even major corporations can pull off the environmentally friendly stunt.  If you and I can find the energy to not simply wash our hands of corporate influence, we can make a difference for sure.

Darien himself is using his hands more and more everyday.  A week ago he would brush his hands against an object.  Now he distinctly reaches out to grab something.  The changes happen so fast now.  Soon he will be teething.  And then we can complement his milk (formula) cuisine that he exists on right now with solid foods.  Bring on the organic veggies.  I wonder if my landlord would go for a living roof so I can grow Darien and I some good eats?  Just asking.  Whether the living roof manifests or not, I can still bring Darien to the backyard as it is now to muck around in the dirt.  And once we are inside, he will instinctively reach for the Ivory soap.

Swimming to the Surface

Today flowed about as ordinary as possible, meaning the goal to raise Darien and I in real-time–off the fast consumer track–might just work.  He woke up around 6 a.m. as he usually does since he falls asleep around 7 p.m. or earlier the night before.  At least this is when the ritual of bath, music, and bottle happen.  In the last few weeks, he falls asleep within fifteen minutes or so every time.  Lucky me.

He has a swinging crib that I pull him from when he wakes early for Mom time and shuffle him to my side of the room.  Beware because right now he loves to talk.  Truly.  Sounds filter from him that imitate so clearly a conversation.  His eye contact is totally lucid and expressive while we “talk.”  If only I had some idea what he is saying.  Doesn’t matter, of course.  What we build is empathy–that I take the time to understand him is what he registers emotionally even if we don’t make any sense, which I hope makes sense to you.  Something’s working  because this camper, small as he is, wakes up a happy one.  How often do you roll over and smile delightfully at anyone who will notice when the clock reads 6 a.m.  Hmmmph.  I thought so, grumpy.  Go back to sleep.

Anyway, after talking until 6:30 a.m. or so, I fall asleep and he usually does, too.  By 8 a.m. I  am roused enough to jump start a strong coffee in the donated Italian espresso contraption.  Most of the material trappings in the small two-bedroom bungalow-like house that I rent are volunteer donations from my Mom.  Some people are more creative than others when they wish to de-clutter their houses.  My Mom is one of those savvy souls.

So far, then, our little family has managed to stray very far and wide from Toys-R-Us.  Darien probably has five outfits total.  And now I need to recycle in some new ones because he has outgrown the first set already.  At Tuesday’s pediatrician visit, the scale tipped at 13 pounds for Sir Formula-a-lot.  The recipe for his health is become pretty clear: avoid consumer baby culture, change diaper when aromatic, and feed infant on crying cue.  My life is pretty simple right now.

In this way, I have more joy and am more free than in many years, probably ever.  Which is different than happy.  Wouldn’t go so far as to say I am that.  Yet the vulnerable care I give Darien as his mother has softened me to acceptance of my life just as it actually is.  Staying in the present moment has always been a challenge for me.  I tend to wander in my thinking.  Not so much any more.  And because sometimes reality stings, the joy I feel is moment specific, less an overarching happy feeling.

Smiley

And we alkies say in recovery to trust God, clean house, and help others.  These six words help a sober drunk like me have fun in life with nary a drop of alcohol in my system.  The clean house simply means to stay honest, searingly so and make amends.  When I first began sobriety, I thought making amends to yourself seemed selfish since others were more stung by self-absorbed alkie behavior than I was myself.  Yet now I understand, two and a half years into working an AA program, how an amends to myself is truly healing.  And the more conscious I become, the more I understand why amends for myself are necessary to create actual change in my life.

One of the best ways I can make a living amends to myself is to engage in simple activities that I enjoy.  Walking with the jogging stroller with Darien is number one for sure.  We tear up this Ingleside neighborhood pretty good.  For the ambitious run, we beeline all the way to Trader Joe’s and back, exercising for a good hour and a half round trip.  Yet the shorter distance of a half hour stroll also feels rewarding because a small donut shop makes the best raised maple doughnut I ever should not have eaten.  Yummy, truly.  Can you spell living amends?  Apparently, I am learning  how to pretty quickly.

And tonight I took the first me-time since Darien was born at 3:36 p.m. on that Thursday, 21 October 2010.  A friend stopped by to watch him while I drove to the gym for a swim.  I absolutely love to swim in the pool at the UCSF Bakar Fitness Center.  So beautiful to glide through the water without a worry in the world, supporting my body with the ease and power that water offers.  A cup of Peet’s downed before I hopped in, and the sensory experience made for a mending moment, becoming more alert to my body, one that I honestly cannot say I have consistently stayed present in.  My therapist is helping me to use a patting yourself technique that sometimes I see the Chinese folks in my neighborhood do while they take their walks on the streets here.

Today, just the ordinary life of a Mom and her three-month-old son transpired in a familiar day–with the exception that I went swimming.  Day by day, then, my life with Darien surfaces.  We create ourselves as we go.  Striking a balance to remain an engaged adult in a hipster city like San Francisco while moving gingerly through the early single lesbian parent phase (which, by the way, is not at all for the feint of heart), I can now finally catch my breathe to realize that my son Darien is quite happy and healthy.  We have made some progress for sure.  Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Reciprocal Learning

What I still wonder is how I can answer the question this blog poses–why become a parent?  Perhaps this morning helps explain why in small part.  Darien loves to welcome the day at 6 a.m. or so.  Usually I don’t mind either when I am working.  But I am on vacation and no matter how many times I try to sign language the message to him, we have a communication gap.  Take this morning.

My eyelids barely crack open to see a grinning wide awake toothless little creature a few feet from me.  Huh?  How did he get there?  Oh, yeah, that’s my newborn son.  I am still in a place of wonder.  Next week I go back to work for a few hours, so these early mornings to sleep in are precious.  I snuggle him close to me, so he is all set and then go right back to sleep.  But in the hour and a half that I continue to snore, I can audibly hear him talking in the background.  In two weeks we take a baby sign language class together.  Will be fascinating to see if we truly can “talk” by signing.  Will practice by reminding him to sleep later.

For sure he loves to talk right now.  Turns out I have a ham on my hands who will perform for most anyone and see what response he gets.  A friend came by today and scooped Darien up for some bonding time, which left me free for five hours.  Before he left, Darien was all talking and smiling; same thing when they returned.  Little guy is coming into his own–a welcome sign for a mother whose entire parenting goal is happy confidence.  What else, yes?

I suppose that’s one reason to parent–the opportunity to witness every single day as to how a human begins to come to consciousness.  Darien is literally having a spiritual awakening.  The more his physical side develops, the more his creative energy surfaces.  He wants so badly to talk as advanced as I do.  He listens and watches me constantly.  As I do him.  The reciprocal learning is now set for, say, 18 years or so.  Usually longer.

Ordinary Pacing of Love

Today swept by without any intention, meaning an ordinary parenting day.  We woke up at 7 a.m. and stumbled into the kitchen for coffee and talking.  Darien loves to talk these days.  He makes clear “goo” and “mmmph” sounds for several minutes.  He waits for me to imitate then starts laughing.  Go figure.

Expecting a friend over, I started to clean up.  She didn’t show after all, so we had free house time.  I began to vacuum and toss in several loads of laundry.  He is super alert a good portion of the day, which means I simply bring his swinging chair to wherever I am.  Reaching out for the hanging toys, he has this proud smile on his face.  In other words, we have already begun parallel play.  This is when two toddlers play side by side pretending they are not aware of the other, but actually the proximity is what provides security and comfort to continue playing.  This is a little like working in a cubicle for adults.

Soon enough, he let out a few muffled cries to indicate that play was over and nap time imminent.  I was in full swing of mopping and asked him to wait for a minute.  That was a touch too long and a real cry broke out.  What I learned today is how not to ask a two and half month old to “wait.”  Doesn’t work.  Mind you, the instant I pick him up, he responds by quieting and calming.  He is the absolutely easiest baby to mother.  So far we are a good team.

I strolled with him to the bedroom to put him down for a nap, which he began taking in earnest pretty quickly.  Someone I work with in AA stopped by my home for our weekly meeting.  We spent an hour and a half or so while I kept checking on Darien.  Finally, two hours later he woke up crying.  And he was a mess.  I had missed another cue.  His diaper had leaked everywhere.

I usually change him quite often, so he has the comfort of a dry diaper.  I was off today–earlier in the morning with waiting too long to respond to his cry and now with the diaper.  I am re-learning the ordinary pacing of an infant, which is simply watch closely and respond rapidly.  That’s all.  Simple.  I changed him completely because his onesie and outfit were soaked.  Then he needed a bottle.

Ten minutes later he was a totally different baby and the pace reminded me how little this changes for humans.  Especially for a woman like me who has a charged bio-chemistry, I need to pay attention to HALT as we say in AA–Hungry, Angry, Lonely, and Tired.  A sandwich can shift the entire day’s direction.  As did the bottle and fresh diaper for Darien.

We had a chimney sweeper stop by today and while he worked, the little one and I hit the road to exercise.  I am hell bent on returning to the weight I so enjoyed five years ago.  Hell bent is not the right phrase.  The process is more organic because I can visualize myself at that weight since this is so much more really me especially as a healthy Mom.  Walking helps speed metabolism to burn fat, but lowers stress.  I don’t have much stress right now, but my body has stored up a zillion stress cells over the years.  I am walking off the past–a good thing.

An hour and a half later I had ventured all the way to West Portal and back to Ingleside while Darien stayed awake at least half the time looking around at everything.  Often his look is the most peaceful gaze I have seen in a long time.  He is my little Buddha baby.  My goal was the Goodwill store to buy new jeans.  We made it but frustratingly the styles and sizes were not working.  I kept Darien in my sight the whole time, of course.  Once I stepped out from a rack of clothing where he hadn’t seen me for a few seconds and he broke into a smile.  This little boy and I are bonding.

Seems so utterly surreal and totally ordinary this pacing of love.  He captures my whole attention while I continue to live my usual life.  That’s an aspect of love, pretending all is the same as before just to have the ground to walk under your feet.  Funny how he arrived because I had fallen for a woman and simply could not, would not admit my feelings for her, so I created a baby instead.  No joke.

Sure, I am careful with my words here, yet the truth is true.  I remember sitting in the doctor’s office the day of insemination and so wanting to be with her instead, yet texting her that I would need to cancel our lunch because we were running late.  Right, the timing was off.  Painful to feel one thing and say another.

Hopefully that disconnect in my life might change.  I would so welcome growing the courage to speak what I am really feeling.  Of course as timing goes, she moved out of San Francisco, taking a significant slice of my heart with her, and, instead, Darien moved in to my home.  Didn’t have to be instead and then it was anyway.

Obviously the two types of love–for a child and for a partner–are radically different, yet both rock your world in a simple matter-of-fact way that the day can have an ordinary pace yet underneath the daily events is an awareness that this connection is like no other.  And that timing is everything.  Darien cannot “wait” for me to show him that I love him; his needs are too immediate.  Adults can calibrate better yet eventually they too have needs to be met.

In the bigger flow, Darien is the child I was always meant to raise.  And later in life when I run the parenting tutorial on girls, I can share with him a story about the one that got away.

Feeling Abundant in Less

Midnight in the Garrett house and I am enjoying some adult time.  What a fine luxury to have stepped out of a hot shower and start sitting down to a cup of tea.  Darien has been sound asleep since 9:30 p.m., so I take the free hours to relax into the remainder of the day.  A Duraflame log burns down in the fireplace while the heater blasts warm currents over my toes.

Parenting now eases up for me.  At nine weeks old, Darien sleeps longer at night and needs fewer feedings, too.  That rush of the first month is over and I am grateful.  He weighed in at 11.14 pounds a few days ago at the two month pediatrician visit.  We are on our way and I am watching him always for growing signs of health.  Many appear.

Take this morning when I slept past the alarm and he helped begin the day by cooing and smiling in his spot a few feet from me on the wide stretch of bed where we slumber.  The soft noise woke me in time to dress ourselves for a morning at Calvary Presbyterian Church.  Nearly four years ago I took a Sunday morning childcare job here to further my mama skills.  Now we spend time there every other Sunday to earn a few extra pennies while he enjoys social time with other kids.  Several run up to him and coo themselves: “Oooooh, there is the cuuuuute baby.”

Still, I grab every moment to rest myself and recoup.  My immediate Mom challenge has been met and I can breathe easier for sure.  The trick is to engage in adult moments that nourish me.  Like tonight we went to a nighttime AA meeting titled simply “Waterfront” because the meeting is on the water at Fort Mason in San Francisco.  One friend hurried up to me for some baby holding time and then I leisurely strolled to the bathroom, recognizing a luxury moment when I saw it unfolding.

Even so, it is true, I have enjoyed one week free from work, yet will wake tomorrow as if returning because the planning for January through May is now vital.  I can only think this far into the future.  A friend of 15 years stops by for a few hours in the morning to watch him while I clean house–organizing stuff in the storage area downstairs and maybe even running the vacuum upstairs.

Still, this is also adult time as I continue to enjoy a streamlined parenting approach.  So little baby paraphernelia lines the floors in this cozy two-bedroom.  But I always welcome the chance to let go of even more old clutter.  “You are a minimalist,” my pediatrician stated the other day.  Yes, I am and in this way even one hour to nurture myself feels so abundant, so healthy.  Better grab a few of those free hours to sleep while baby Darien does, too.  Good night.

Sleeping Beauty

Last post was on a Friday night around midnight, a few short hours before my ex-roomie needed a ride to the airport at 6:30 a.m.  Wow.  Sure, I hauled myself out of bed at 5 a.m. but the weight on my bones was heavy.  Still, the details began to appear.  Her six month old needed feeding.  My son needed a fresh diaper.  Travels bags needed loading into the car.  And then I needed to perch myself behind the wheel and safely guide the vehicle to to its intended landing–San Francisco International Airport.

We all made it just fine with the piled up gear, two babies, two adults, and two cumbersome car seats (material for another post because I am developing a major resentment against car seats, but for the purposes of your reading safety will “let it go”).  One baby and one adult unpacked from the Volvo station wagon while at the airport, and away they went with a departing hug.  Smiles all around and I acknowledged an amazing experience living with this woman even though I would not do so again.  Too stressful on me.  (Yes, you got it–material for another posting; sorry folks, I’m a writer and what can I say?  Life is prone to description and colorful material to share–just is and just saying.)

That’s the rub, though.  Parenting details flip you into the moment whether you like it or not.  Sleep is truly optional.  Some details absolutely need tending, so the little one flashes that winsome smile–as he now does–when he enjoys welcoming the brand new day at 5:30 a.m.  Have I said, “Ouch!” before?  Ouch.  Just one “ouch” written for the record.

Even so, I found myself jubilant at a clean and peaceful house to find upon my return from the airport.  Once Darien and I were safely inside the front of our little house, I ventured into the vacant bedroom, finding a cool temperature and clean, free space to stretch out for a while.  Darien is in my arms–as usual–and we simply recline to rest for at minute.  Time now is 7:20 a.m.  My next awareness of time is 12:30 p.m.  No joke.  Ok, it’s true; I am seriously sleep deprived.  Driving back from the airport, I felt my head nodding carelessly to the left or right as if I were a newborn myself with little to no neck control.  Exhausted, plain and simple–that is my day to day living condition right now.

And waking up in the middle of the day can pinch your plans.  I rescheduled two friends; I was supposed to meet one in 15 minutes and then the other in an hour.  Each completely understood and I returned guilt free to resting.  Before I took a chance to transition into the day from this long morning nap, I ate a leisurely breakfast.  Full and happy, I returned to the cool bedroom to change Darien.  Oh, what can it hurt to just take another brief cat nap, was my train of thought.  Turns out that train arrived to the bedroom station at 4:00 p.m., which is the next time I woke up.  I need sleep.

Good napper like his Mom

So, after the Saturday “wake up call” as to how sleep-deprived I am, I have adopted a rhythm that respects and honors cat naps whenever possible.  I took a three hour one on Monday afternoon.  And so on.  Now the time is after 11 p.m. on Wednesday night and I am authentically exhausted again.  Yet my classroom duties are free for three weeks, so I can afford to sleep in tomorrow.  For Darien this means 6 a.m. up and awake for an hour then back to sleep.  This is a pace I can handle, truly.

 

I suppose, though, my most serious sleep-deprivation was before Darien was born.  On a Wednesday night, 20 October 2010,  just like tonight, I sat in the faculty room at the San Francisco art school where I teach, and prepared lesson plans for the two subs who would cover my classes while I was gone.  Planning ideas to teach is always fun for me and so I was into the energy of doing so.

Yet two colleagues were joining me in random teacher talk, which started to draw the time forward.  I had a 7 a.m. flight and I still needed to pack everything.  Finally, by 8:30 p.m. I knew that I had to finish and submit the teaching ideas.  I did and arrived home at 10 p.m., but it felt horribly later because I had terrible flu-like symptoms of feeling achey all over and high fever.  I was literally starting to see double by the time I shut my eyes at midnight, still leaving the packing for morning.

Of course, I radically over-packed and had to leave an entire bag on the porch for roomies to unpack later.  And since I would walk to BART with my bags, I had to travel lighter than I imagined.  Naturally, I missed my 7 a.m. flight but caught the 10 a.m.  Once in Portland, Oregon, I took the train to the house where I would stay for a few days.  At least that was the original game plan.  At noon I met the baby coach, Megan Felling, who I hired to help me those first few nights.

She left at 1 p.m. and with the fever increasing, hormones weighing me down from my monthly cycle about to start, only getting four hours sleep the night before, I literally climbed into my pajamas at 2 in the afternoon for a nap.  What an indulgence, I thought!  How decadent.  A nap before my son’s arrival–just the sort of spoily action a hipster mom like me would take.  But having shut my eyes only ten minutes, I listened as my cell phone chirped away on the desk.  One text had come in.  I happily rolled over and began to snooze.  Chirp chirp.  A second text arrives and, still, I felt content as I pulled the pillow over my eyes.  But when the third musical chime broke the silence of needed napping, I had a feeling.  Sure enough, the third one was a request to come to the hospital now.  All adrenalin kicked in full force and I was no longer sleepy; exhausted I still was for sure, but not drowsy.

But my exhaustion derived from other factors besides simply not physically sleeping.  During the last two months of Darien’s pregnancy, I had little if any communication on him.  This created a sense of lethargy in me that is hard to describe.  I didn’t sense dejavu, but rather what will this silence require of me as I strive to bring my son home?  I felt tired before the challenge began, if you know what I mean.

And I made a mistake I have made all my life and that is I didn’t ask for enough help.  I can think of three women for sure who would have traveled with me to Portland and simply been the back up that I so sorely needed emotionally.  Yet as I felt uncertain as to how the delivery would go, I relapsed into familiar behavior–pretending I had everything covered.  And, of course, in a practical way I did.  And I do.  That’s my modus operandi.  I am efficient and competent mostly.  But how draining and fatiguing to consistently resist emotional support when friends offer so repeatedly.  I’m smart but still so ignorant in ways of personal relationships, asleep at the wheel of life.

I can remember on Saturday night, 23 October 2010, standing on the train waiting platform as a nearly full moon peaked out from behind rolling gray clouds, wondering how well I could pull this off, bringing Darien home.  By now I had a raging flu and was feeling absolutely terrible from head to toe, coupled with a gnarly monthly cycle that had begun that morning.  Holding the rail, I felt a touch feint, actually. I stared into the face of the moon and prayed the process would be quick, so I could return home with this little newborn Darien to where I could reach out for support right away.  Little did I know how misguided I would be.  So much for praying to the full moon.

Darien's sunny smile

Yet the volition of a newborn happens anyway and that is the pure magic of this process called parenting.  Sleep or no sleep, drama or no drama, Darien unfolds.  He grows every day in a big way so he must now weigh around 11 pounds–healthy and robust.  Darien turns two months old tomorrow, and last Thursday at the seven week mark he woke up with an authentic social smile for his Mom.  Now he routinely smiles at me and the circle of aunties who help me so altruistically provide care for him.  For now his needs are paramount and because he sleeps all the time, he is happy–what every parent hopes their child becomes.  So, I will celebrate by catching some zzzzzzs since we have almost 1 a.m. local time here in San Francisco.  Good night.

 

Sleep

I suppose the most strange aspect of parenting a newborn is the sleep factor.  You don’t get much.  Darien arrived into my arms legally and physically at 1:20 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon, 21 October 2010.  Seven weeks later my sense of sleep is completely upside down.

Oddly, I have a newborn work ethic that actually makes no sleep seem ok.  I keep the momentum by combining one strong cup of black coffee when we wander into the “day,” which is actually identical to night for a newborn’s first couple of weeks, and then maintain a sense of equilibrium not through coffee but green tea.  This keeps the flow of sleep deprivation at a crisp exhaustion and not simply seeing fuzzy doubles all the time.  When you are tired, but crisply so, well, then the chances for a reasonably functioning day are good.

Still, it took me a while to remember to sleep when Darien did.  The first two weeks I continued to work a great deal online because I am such a workaholic.  But that meant at night getting up every hour and a half was brutal.  So, I practiced sleeping when the baby did.  And that helped because although I rarely have a clear enough conscience to enjoy a nap (I must have done something wrong during that day and as we all know–no rest for the wicked), I absolutely love them.  I’m over myself now and will nap instantly given the chance.

Sometimes I don’t choose to rationally and simply fall over while changing Darien’s diaper.  I mean that.  I lean in close to clean well, so he doesn’t get diaper rash, and the cushy bed looks so comfy, I finish up quickly and just sort of glide onto the mattress.  An hour or so later (one time it was three hours later) I stir, usually completely unaware how I fell in that spot.

My musings on this subject are lengthy, yet I didn’t sleep well last night, and so now at midnight I am happily beyond exhausted.  Some positive changes are afoot here in the house since one room flies to Dublin tomorrow to reunite with her boyfriend and the father of her six month old son.  But I offered her a  ride to the airport, which we leave for at 6 a.m.  Damn how time flies in any given day and that elusive eight hours of sleep escapes me time and time again.  For now though good night and sleep well.

Strolling for Vietnamese Pho

My son Darien was born at 3:36 p.m. on Thursday, 21 October 2010, an afternoon in Portland, Oregon during their rainy grey season–those 350 days of the year there.  Go directly here for foul weather year round.  Vigilantly standing by the window with Darien, waiting for a break in the downpour, on the Sunday when he was 13 days old, we made our break.

Walking a quarter mile with him tightly wrapped in a long cloth to the front of my chest, we arrived to a cavernous Vietnamese restaurant.  Picture random 7-Elevens and Tire Shops then voila a huge Asian restaurant.  The days before I had been literally craving a bowl so bad because we had been locked inside with little to eat.  This place seemed like a mirage to my eyes on the horizon of the mundane urban dessert, a shimmering neon green Pho sign beckoning us.  But the place was very real.  I sat down and ate a delicious bowl of Pho.  Many folks stared and wondered how old Darien was.  I simply smiled and spooned in another helping of pungent broth.

And this morning I treated myself to another bowl of Pho.  The trick here in San Francisco is to time Darien’s feedings and naps.  So, this morning he just fell asleep in the magic wand of helping newborns sleep easily–the jogging stroller, this Mom’s best helper right now.

Even so I had to rock him back and forth gently while finished up the big bowl of soup because he woke up some in the restaurant.  Finding this soup is easy and yet I am persistent because one bowl grounds my entire day and I so enjoy that full but not stuffed feeling.

And that results from the jogging stroller that a set of friends bought me for the baby shower.  My only request, because I am so wary of too many kitschy newborn gadgets, is that I walk with a newborn.  Leaving the house for fresh air is a Mom’s most worthy antidote to sleep deprived cranky moments to whittle down even further the small pack of loyal friends who actually follow through on promises to help.  Those tried and true souls I so value.

In combination, the strolling–at first simply by carrying him wrapped in his favorite yellow blanket yet now in a sophisticated rolling stroller with bicycle wheels and all–plus a steaming bowl of pho make for strong parenting motivation moments.

Darien seems to appreciate the cool winter weather, too; at least, his pose in the stroller appears alert and curious enough.  And when he is of age, we can stroll towards a shared bowl of pho.  I often see in the restaurant toddlers spooning in pho broth.