musings on an April morning

(3/28/04)
Well, I am here now, at work. It’s Monday. It is raining outside. Dreary day, and I am already more than ready to go home or crawl under my desk and take a nap. This morning saw me leaving for work late, with Cara crying that she did not want me to go. Then, I walked into the 18th floor kitchen, and the cover of the Time Magazine caught my eye - a mother with a small, happy child and the title, “The Case for Staying Home” across the bottom of the picture. I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to put a post-it on the Magazine with something like, “fuck you” written in bold, red letters. If I had the option, I sure as hell would not be here. In a way, I was offended that someone would so tactlessly put that in here.

I thought specifically of Valerie, who sits next to me, and just returned from maternity leave. She is just learning the meaning of mommy guilt, as she tears herself away from her new baby girl every morning. Every 2-4 hours, she finds an empty conference room or office where she can use her breast pump.

There is the secretary on the floor above me who is due any day now. She walks through the hall with a hand always protectively over her belly.

Cara, my 4 year old, is so disturbed that I now work full time that she worries in her sleep and wakes up repeatedly, wondering when I am going to leave.

We take ourselves to court daily, building a case to come here, to work. This is not a career. This is not where we find purpose and meaning. This is our sentence. This is survival.

Outside, it is still raining.

Breastfeeding, Stretchmarks, and Motherhood

Let's talk for a moment about breastfeeding. What are my qualifications, you ask? I'm a mom. I have breastfed 2 children, and if I ever have any more children, I look forward to the opportunity of doing it again in the future. The benefits are countless.

1) Breastfeeding aids in the prevention of breast cancer.

2) It is scientifically proven to be better for children, both for it's physical nutritional value and contribution to healthy brain development.

3) Antibodies (see #2)

4) Mother and child bonding (once you get through the initial pain - cracked and bleeding nipples, the possibility of public boob exposure, and the occasional biting - once teething begins...)

5) Prevention of allergies (see #2)

6) Less diaper bag paraphernalia (like bottles and formula)

7) More constructive use of time (instead of needing to purchase bottles and sterilize them, heating water, mixing formula and water - usually resulting in some sort of mess)

8) Economical (booby milk is cheap)

Need I say more? Giving birth and breastfeeding is extremely empowering. Only a woman has the ability to create and sustain life with and within her body. Well, ok, we can't create completely alone. We do need a little help in the creation, but we do all the work. Not to mention, physical scars. I recently went bathingsuit shopping. Not fun, when you have stretch marks. Especially if you are partial to 2 piece bathing suits, and honestly, most stores don't carry a large variety of cute one pieces. I have a virtual road map of stretch marks lining my abdomen. My daughters ask me all the time,
"Mommy, why do you have scratches on your tummy?"
I very gently remind them, even to the point of pulling out pictures of me pregnant, that they are from them. Not in a blaming sort of way, more like a reminder of what I was willing to go through because of my love for them.
"It's squishy, Mommy!"
And I love them for it.

No matter what anyone says or what products claim to be able to do, stretch marks are genetic. Bottom line: if your mom has them, then you are likely to as well. I was prepared for mine, but I still fought them like hell. For 9 months, my bathroom constantly smelled of cocoa butter and other products that promised to "prevent stretch marks". Nevertheless, around 6 1/2 months into the pregnancy, my tummy started to itch, and then these little spots appeared. It was kind of strange to watch them gradually progress, as my stomach grew, from round marks to long jagged lines. It wasn't like I was huge, but I embraced my "battle scars." After Cara (my oldest) was born and my body started to recover, I was relieved when I realized that the stretch marks just fell short of coming out of the top of my bikini bottoms. A few months later, even before my hair had stopped falling out (another fun post-pregnancy thing), I found out I was going to be having another baby. I had already lost more than my pregnancy weight, and I thought that my stretch marks couldn't get any worse. Well...

The other day, I showed Cara which stetch marks were from her (all of them), and then I turned to Adia (my youngest) and told her, "See up here, the top inch of all of these is from you." Being a mother of two has stretched me farther - in more ways than one, sometimes farther than I think I am able to go. Still, the girls seem almost proud to own the responsibility for my stetch marks, and so I think I can bear them unabashedly. I bought a new bathing suit the other day. A 2 piece. I will show the world that I am empowered, and I hope I can do my part to empower the next generation of women.

so fast

I remember being a new mother, hearing everyone tell me to treasure every moment, because "they grow up so fast." But, I felt like I could just hold that warm bundle in my arms forever. Then, there was another one, and I could hardly keep up. Time flies when you're busy, and now my little girls are getting ready to go to preschool. So fast.

We were driving down the interstate the other day. Suddenly, there was a car coming across all the lanes and nearly ramming into the side up us. I slammed on the brakes and laid my hand on the horn. I could hardly take it off, I was so stunned. My shock and relief that we were not injured quickly turned to rage. Not road rage, but Mommy-rage. How dare that ignorant and completely oblivious driver almost run us off the road and get away with it. It was all I could do not to chase the driver down, drag my kids out of the car, and make him or her look into their eyes. Realize the lives he/she nearly cut short. It all happens so fast.