Nine Days
I've had a whirl-wind 9 days or so, and that's an "I" statement, not a "we" statement. For the first time since my darling, fiery Lorelei entered our lives, mommy had 9 very mommy-centered days. It's true, and I feel no guilt.
I remember when Charlotte entered full-blown toddlerhood, and I was stunned by how much I loved the toddler stage. I mean, toddlers have a terrible, terrible reputation, so I figured we were heading downhill for a while with Charlotte. But it didn't happen! Sure, she became more mobile and exponentially more willful, but she was so funny! And fun! And engaging! I loved the "young toddler" stage with Charlotte.
Apparently, these little people get easier at this stage. I can't pinpoint the exact moment with Lorelei, but all of a sudden, I looked around at my day-to-day life, full of mothering and working and building (and maintaining) this charmed life with my BFF (Chris), and I found myself taking a breath. Was it the promise of spring? Or was it Lorelei reaching a developmental milestone that wasn't QUITE as much work as the infant stage?
Was it #2 finally reaching legitimate toddlerhood?
I dunno. But somehow, some way, I found a wee bit of mental space and energy. And in that space, the idea I've had for a creative project (writing related, OF COURSE) unfolded a bit more, and some of the specifics started getting mentally filled in. Hmmmm. However, I felt like I needed a refresher to remind me how to construct narrative and story in a non-shitty way, but I wasn't quite in a place where I felt ready to take on an 8-week writing workshop. But a day-long course on the art of the short story? Yeah, I could manage that.
I took the class at a very well respected writer's center here in the DC area (oh yes---I may live in The Sticks, but I have access to city stuff). The class was extremely well attended, and I was sort of surprised that I was one of only two people in the very full class who had children still living at home.
The other person was a dad. In a class otherwise stuffed with women. This told me that writing in a meaningful, structured way with young children is effing HARD. I mean, I already knew it, but geez. It also kind of worried me. I certainly identified with the bright-eyed young women currently bound only by day jobs, and I hoped for their sakes they reached some writing success before their uteruses decided otherwise. And I had nothing but respect for the women who finally shooed their offspring out the door to college, or retired from teaching or working for the State Department or a DC law firm or whatever and now were taking a chance and spending some time on a long-held writing dream.
But for me, the days of writing pre-children have passed. And I'm glad, because Charlotte Marie and Lorelei Belle are quite remarkable little girls who bring sparkly greatness to the world. And I adore them. But I also don't want to wait to pursue the writing thing until retirement. Because (a) I'm inpatient, (b) there's no guarantee I'll freaking live that long, and (c) I just don't want to. What if I get dumber?
Anyhoo, the class was fine, and I've made some progress on a short story that seems to be heading in the right direction, so yay.
Hours after the writing class, and entirely unrelated to it, I woke up at about 1:30 a.m., my chest killing me and radiating in all sorts of not great directions, and I felt myself on the brink of passing out. Chris, bless his heart, called the 24-hour nurse for our insurance company, who instructed him to take me to the ER in case my heart was crapping out. I said no, because I didn't want to wake up the girls and ruin everyone's night. Chris responded, "I don't want you die because you didn't want to wake up the kids." I promised him that if I was 53 rather than 33, I would go. But I had had an EKG 2 weeks prior that was totally normal, plus oodles of lab work (annual physical) that showed my cholesterol in what my doc called the "fabulous" range. Also, I have extremely low blood pressure--I almost passed out birthing both girls, and I actually did faint during both pregnancies multiple times. It's just how my body operates when it's working a tad too hard on some other physical task, like creating life.
Two hours later, I was clutching a mixing bowl in bed and being utterly unpleasant, so I felt confident I wasn't dying of a heart attack. But I did ruin Chris's night, which I felt bad about. The guy needed a good night's sleep, and here he was trying to sleep with the light on, so he'd be somewhat aware if I took a turn for the worse.
A sleepless night led, predictably, to a miserable Sunday in which the kids seemed annoyingly energetic and Chris and I didn't. It was cold, slushy, and rain-snowing to boot. We took the girls to a bounce house place to wear them out. AND IT WORKED.
Then I launched the biggest week of my professional year for my org's annual conference. With almost 7,000 folks coming to conference, this event takes me away for 4 days. I'll spare you the details, because nobody finds the ins and outs of my job interesting except me and, sweetly enough, Chris, but all went very well. I'm still limping a bit, as too much time on concrete destroyed my feet, calves, and hips, but the vibes were good, we sold out of lots books, I had fantastic meetings with published and potential authors, and I'm feeling happily POOPED as well as fired up and optimistic. I missed last year's conference, in part because I was still nursing Lorelei and the event was in Southern California, so this was the first time I had been kid-free and AWAY for a period of time, focusing ONLY ON WORK, since that dear child was born.
Coming home, I was SO GLAD to see my family (I fell asleep each night imagining that my girlies were snuggled up next to me---is that weird?). Charlotte ran to me with a loud "MOMMY!" and wrapped herself around me like a monkey, unwilling to let go. "Don't. Leave. Again," she said. I hugged her tightly and told her that Mommy always comes back. I waited for the wave of guilt that always accompanies any sort of work vs. kids compromise, but it didn't come. I mean, 4 days in the past 2 years? Um, yeah. Charlotte, darling, you can cope.
I was also just so freaking gratified about how things went at conference and being part of something so big and that I was quite proud of. As cheesy as it sounds, it takes a team of people to pull off what gets pulled off, and it's very feel-good to meaningfully contribute to something a whole lot bigger than yourself. Although it's exhausting, it's also strangely energizing.
So, what do these past 9 days have in common? Chris. Sure, I've covered for Chris many times when he traveled for work, but this time around, it was his turn to play the supportive spouse. He did it without complaint (except for Saturday morning when he mad-texted me that Charlotte wouldn't put on her gymnastics leotard---like I could do a damn thing about it). He took over ALL child care and maintaining the home front so I could take advantage of that writing class on a Saturday, and he single-dad parented for a few days, so I could put ALL my attention and energy into work during the week following it.
I guess it was because he did it so naturally and with zero begrudging that I feel so grateful. I'm not one of those moms who has to leave a detailed list of what he needs to do while I'm gone. Chris already knows, because he's tuned in and engaged with his family life.
He doesn't think me spending a whole Saturday at a writing class is frivolous or inconvenient to himself, and he certainly doesn't begrudge the demands of my career. He cares. He knows which book titles are mine (I get very attached to "my" books) and he asks about their sales, or a particular meeting I was nervous about, or a new project I've gotten the green light from my org to pursue. And when he thinks there's even a possibility that a heart attack is brewing in his wife, the man sleeps with the light on.
In short (actually, looking at the length of this post, I should say "in long"), I've felt very much supported by my main squeeze, and I don't know that all men could do what he does. Oh, sure, in theory, every marriage should have its equal give and take, but I have to say: It's really, really nice being on the receiving end for a the past week (plus), with no grumbling but just an implicit "it's your turn now." With no family on the East Coast and therefore massive interdependence on each other when it comes to Chris and moi, it's just . . . it's just nice to know that my partner in life has my back.
I remember when Charlotte entered full-blown toddlerhood, and I was stunned by how much I loved the toddler stage. I mean, toddlers have a terrible, terrible reputation, so I figured we were heading downhill for a while with Charlotte. But it didn't happen! Sure, she became more mobile and exponentially more willful, but she was so funny! And fun! And engaging! I loved the "young toddler" stage with Charlotte.
Apparently, these little people get easier at this stage. I can't pinpoint the exact moment with Lorelei, but all of a sudden, I looked around at my day-to-day life, full of mothering and working and building (and maintaining) this charmed life with my BFF (Chris), and I found myself taking a breath. Was it the promise of spring? Or was it Lorelei reaching a developmental milestone that wasn't QUITE as much work as the infant stage?
Was it #2 finally reaching legitimate toddlerhood?
I dunno. But somehow, some way, I found a wee bit of mental space and energy. And in that space, the idea I've had for a creative project (writing related, OF COURSE) unfolded a bit more, and some of the specifics started getting mentally filled in. Hmmmm. However, I felt like I needed a refresher to remind me how to construct narrative and story in a non-shitty way, but I wasn't quite in a place where I felt ready to take on an 8-week writing workshop. But a day-long course on the art of the short story? Yeah, I could manage that.
I took the class at a very well respected writer's center here in the DC area (oh yes---I may live in The Sticks, but I have access to city stuff). The class was extremely well attended, and I was sort of surprised that I was one of only two people in the very full class who had children still living at home.
The other person was a dad. In a class otherwise stuffed with women. This told me that writing in a meaningful, structured way with young children is effing HARD. I mean, I already knew it, but geez. It also kind of worried me. I certainly identified with the bright-eyed young women currently bound only by day jobs, and I hoped for their sakes they reached some writing success before their uteruses decided otherwise. And I had nothing but respect for the women who finally shooed their offspring out the door to college, or retired from teaching or working for the State Department or a DC law firm or whatever and now were taking a chance and spending some time on a long-held writing dream.
But for me, the days of writing pre-children have passed. And I'm glad, because Charlotte Marie and Lorelei Belle are quite remarkable little girls who bring sparkly greatness to the world. And I adore them. But I also don't want to wait to pursue the writing thing until retirement. Because (a) I'm inpatient, (b) there's no guarantee I'll freaking live that long, and (c) I just don't want to. What if I get dumber?
Anyhoo, the class was fine, and I've made some progress on a short story that seems to be heading in the right direction, so yay.
Hours after the writing class, and entirely unrelated to it, I woke up at about 1:30 a.m., my chest killing me and radiating in all sorts of not great directions, and I felt myself on the brink of passing out. Chris, bless his heart, called the 24-hour nurse for our insurance company, who instructed him to take me to the ER in case my heart was crapping out. I said no, because I didn't want to wake up the girls and ruin everyone's night. Chris responded, "I don't want you die because you didn't want to wake up the kids." I promised him that if I was 53 rather than 33, I would go. But I had had an EKG 2 weeks prior that was totally normal, plus oodles of lab work (annual physical) that showed my cholesterol in what my doc called the "fabulous" range. Also, I have extremely low blood pressure--I almost passed out birthing both girls, and I actually did faint during both pregnancies multiple times. It's just how my body operates when it's working a tad too hard on some other physical task, like creating life.
Two hours later, I was clutching a mixing bowl in bed and being utterly unpleasant, so I felt confident I wasn't dying of a heart attack. But I did ruin Chris's night, which I felt bad about. The guy needed a good night's sleep, and here he was trying to sleep with the light on, so he'd be somewhat aware if I took a turn for the worse.
A sleepless night led, predictably, to a miserable Sunday in which the kids seemed annoyingly energetic and Chris and I didn't. It was cold, slushy, and rain-snowing to boot. We took the girls to a bounce house place to wear them out. AND IT WORKED.
Then I launched the biggest week of my professional year for my org's annual conference. With almost 7,000 folks coming to conference, this event takes me away for 4 days. I'll spare you the details, because nobody finds the ins and outs of my job interesting except me and, sweetly enough, Chris, but all went very well. I'm still limping a bit, as too much time on concrete destroyed my feet, calves, and hips, but the vibes were good, we sold out of lots books, I had fantastic meetings with published and potential authors, and I'm feeling happily POOPED as well as fired up and optimistic. I missed last year's conference, in part because I was still nursing Lorelei and the event was in Southern California, so this was the first time I had been kid-free and AWAY for a period of time, focusing ONLY ON WORK, since that dear child was born.
Coming home, I was SO GLAD to see my family (I fell asleep each night imagining that my girlies were snuggled up next to me---is that weird?). Charlotte ran to me with a loud "MOMMY!" and wrapped herself around me like a monkey, unwilling to let go. "Don't. Leave. Again," she said. I hugged her tightly and told her that Mommy always comes back. I waited for the wave of guilt that always accompanies any sort of work vs. kids compromise, but it didn't come. I mean, 4 days in the past 2 years? Um, yeah. Charlotte, darling, you can cope.
I was also just so freaking gratified about how things went at conference and being part of something so big and that I was quite proud of. As cheesy as it sounds, it takes a team of people to pull off what gets pulled off, and it's very feel-good to meaningfully contribute to something a whole lot bigger than yourself. Although it's exhausting, it's also strangely energizing.
So, what do these past 9 days have in common? Chris. Sure, I've covered for Chris many times when he traveled for work, but this time around, it was his turn to play the supportive spouse. He did it without complaint (except for Saturday morning when he mad-texted me that Charlotte wouldn't put on her gymnastics leotard---like I could do a damn thing about it). He took over ALL child care and maintaining the home front so I could take advantage of that writing class on a Saturday, and he single-dad parented for a few days, so I could put ALL my attention and energy into work during the week following it.
I guess it was because he did it so naturally and with zero begrudging that I feel so grateful. I'm not one of those moms who has to leave a detailed list of what he needs to do while I'm gone. Chris already knows, because he's tuned in and engaged with his family life.
He doesn't think me spending a whole Saturday at a writing class is frivolous or inconvenient to himself, and he certainly doesn't begrudge the demands of my career. He cares. He knows which book titles are mine (I get very attached to "my" books) and he asks about their sales, or a particular meeting I was nervous about, or a new project I've gotten the green light from my org to pursue. And when he thinks there's even a possibility that a heart attack is brewing in his wife, the man sleeps with the light on.
In short (actually, looking at the length of this post, I should say "in long"), I've felt very much supported by my main squeeze, and I don't know that all men could do what he does. Oh, sure, in theory, every marriage should have its equal give and take, but I have to say: It's really, really nice being on the receiving end for a the past week (plus), with no grumbling but just an implicit "it's your turn now." With no family on the East Coast and therefore massive interdependence on each other when it comes to Chris and moi, it's just . . . it's just nice to know that my partner in life has my back.
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