My High Maintenance Dream Come True

There is a bottle of ketchup, a snot sucker and piles of soaked tissues beside the bed.  Two fans going full blast, and it feels like an inferno in here if you can imagine that in Alaska.  I don't mind that my feet are summer dirty because the sheets are already crunchy with milky puke spots.  I feel like my life is an explosion right now. 

Ian is experiencing his first full-blown illness.  Seven months and not a sniffle or hint of fever, and right now he's got it coming from every orifice.  The peds say it's just a cold maybe combined with a stomach virus.  I guess mom's milk isn't entirely invincible.  I've been everywhere these last few days...from heart breaking for my pitiful little guy to sheer frustration that my magic boobs can't just get him to go to sleep.  We take it for granted that little ones don't know how to blow their noses, and they don't understand that the evil snot sucker is trying to help them breathe.  They just don't understand why they feel so miserable and no one can make it better.  It must be hard...

But I get it.  This is mothering.  There is absolutely nothing glamorous about it.  I've been covered in more puke the last four days than a weekend warrior on spring break.  And the thing is... life just smacks you whenever.  I just got a new job.  For my life in this moment, it's really a dream job.  Even though it will be the worst pay I'll have yet to receive in Alaska, I am more excited about this job than any I've ever had.  My official title is Breastfeeding Peer Counselor, which sounds slightly summer campish.  I got all dressed up to interview for a job that I get to do in my puke-covered pajamas.  As this counselor, I get to work at home calling new moms and providing basic breastfeeding support.  Nothing could be more perfect for me right now.  I don't want to leave Ian, but I can finally contribute a little to the family income.  And it is by far the most meaningful work I've ever done.  Not slingin' any coffee for tourists this summer.... No sir!

Even though this week has been an emotional rollercoaster, I am ever abundantly grateful for the shining sun.  Our mini garden is in:  herbs, lettuce, tomatoes and peppers.  I've been hitting my feet to pavement and sweating a little.  Manuel's grades are talleyed, and it's looking like the grand finale of school after many many moons.  And the best of all, I'm actually going to be oceanside in late July.  My little love might be under the weather but this summer might just be one for the books. 

Say and do something kind for a change...

Often listening to other people is such an eye opening thing.  We never get to hear how crazy self-centered and negative we really sound until it comes from someone else's mouth.  The last few days have afforded me several of these moments to reflect on how I want my words and actions to lift others up.  I can easily put people in a beautiful place or a dark one.  

So... we're walking in Fred Meyer and there appears around the corner a previous co-worker.  This person had never met our son, and we were of course excited to show him off.  The usual lines were said, and then this person turned to me and said, "Alison, you look tired.... but I guess that's what happens when you have a new baby."  

Now, this person probably didn't go to etiquette school and certainly didn't mean any offense by the comment.  It wasn't really a horrible thing to say, and I wasn't necessarily hurt by the comment either.  On the other hand, it did remind me yet again of the giant, now permanent bags under my eyes.  Ironically, I sleep very well these days.  I get plenty of it.  Ian sleeps with us and for the most part sleeps well.  He does wake up to nurse but I am hardly conscious when this happens, and we all go quickly back to sleep.  Being "tired" is the last thing I would describe myself as.  

I thought about the comment all day, much like I do when a less than positive remark comes my way.  Pregnant women are especially prone to sensitivity, and I got a few doozies last year.  However, instead of feeling sorry for myself and my dark circles, I thought of what a better comment would be, "Alison, you look great and have shed those pounds beautifully!"  I have in fact lost 30 pounds since this time last year.  What a great way to absolutely make someone's day and turn small talk into something positive.

Again yesterday I had a similar experience.  Manuel's science department had a cookout for students... and apparently for random tourists that wandered down from the museum.  A friend that was working the event said they grilled up 300 burgers and 150 hot dogs all in the space of about an hour.  We were toward the end of the line, and the grill line wasn't working as fast as the condiment/sides line.  Admittedly, the system in place for feeding this large number of people was not very logical.  And when some people scored burgers before others who had been waiting longer mayhem ensued.  I heard profanities.  I heard raised voices.  I heard condescension.  All directed toward the three people feeding a mass of hungry students, professors and free-loaders.  Seriously??  This was a FREE picnic.  Food for FREE.  Food you don't have to cook yourself or clean up after.  My God what is wrong with people??

Ok breathe....  

So I say all that to say this.  Instead of complaining about what isn't going right, say something nice.  Try just for once to frame your words positively. 

I can give one more story to illustrate this beautifully.  

Standing in the checkout line on that same Fred Meyer trip I noticed a young couple and child behind us.  I didn't get the whole scene but I assume the child dropped a piece of candy or whatever she was eating and started to cry.  All I heard from her father was this..."I'm sorry it's gone but be grateful for what you have.  It's important to be happy about the things we do have than to cry about what we've lost." 

Well said Dad.  I'm doing my part.  How are you framing your day?

 This is what I had to be thankful for.

Mama Mia

For most of my life, Mother's Day has been a sad day.  Seventeen years ago my mother slipped over to the next realm leaving me with sadness on this thoughtful yet commercial holiday.  For years I've worked the restaurant circuit and had to endure the giddy families taking their mom's out for a juicy steak.  Occasionally, they'd ask the lowly server about her mother, and I would kindly deflect the question.  She was supposed to be there.  She was supposed to bless me on my wedding day and hold my hand as I gave birth.  Instead these joyous events were shaded with hints of sadness.  Perhaps certain things always will be.  Sometimes your mom should just be there.

But I have come to understand how birth and death are inextricably linked.  The bringing of a baby into the world is that delicate moment - the brink.  It is truly the edge of the world and can sometimes end in sadness as well.  In Spanish it is called dar a luz - to give light.  How beautiful and fitting.  

July 11, 1994, the phone rang.  I went to tell my father.  Light flooding from the bedroom, he came out with a red face.  He said that he needed to talk to me and my sister.  Of course I understood.  We sat on her bed and gravely whispered what we already knew.  He came in and said two words - "She's gone."

But where two words can bring all the sadness of the end of a life spent together, they can also bring all the happiness and possibility this world can offer.

I screamed.  I groaned from the depths of my being.  I felt the burning ring of fire.  I grew and grew and grew 39 weeks of baby in my belly.  And then in that moment... with all the strength in my worn body, I gave light.  And all I could say was two words - "He's here! He's here!"

Like my mother before me and the millions of women before her, I stood at the edge of life and death.  Where one light was extinguished, another was illuminated.  Where a last breath sighed, another sputtered and cried into existence.  

I am the guardian.  I am the nurturer.  I am food and comfort.  I am as present as this life will allow.  Most of all... I am Mother.  And today is all about me.   

Photo by Amy Komar