In the year 2017

Today is January 16, 2017.

Someday my children may wonder what life was like when they were little. 

At six years old, Fletcher is on the threshold of discovering just how hard it is to grow up. The emotions are up and down and hard to control, a river with a smooth surface and a deadly undertow. "What do you want to do with me?" can be heard from him at least once per day, and I'm sorry to say our reaction is often a groan because we have two other children and a million things to do and HERE'S A VIDEO GAME. (Sorry.) We play a lot of card games (Uno, King's Corners, War, Go Fish, Old Maid) and board games (Trouble, Candy Land). We make up dumb games that both boys enjoy like bowling to knock over baby toys, balloon battles, and making and throwing paper airplanes. He can read anything now if he takes the time to sound it out, so his level of success in school is more about improving his willpower than his intelligence at this point. He rarely ever wants to play by himself, unless it's video games.

At three years old, Truman loves putting puzzles together and watching movies. He has the highest of highs and lowest of lows, not just because of his age, but because that is how he has always been. He can throw tantrums that would win gold Exploding Eardrums Awards, and yet he can be the sweetest most charming little lovebug you ever snuggled. He often speaks in the third person ("No, Truman do it!") and will repeat the worst things you say ("Damn it!"). I'm sorry to say he's showing keen interest in video games as well, but he's still very active and happiest when he's being chased around the house. Unlike Fletcher, he enjoys playing alone as much as he enjoys playing with you. Recently, he began showing interest in his sister, coming up with little games that make both of them laugh. In the car today, Clare realized that if she turned her head sharply, she could see me in the driver's seat, and every time she did it, Truman would tickle the back of her neck and they'd both dissolve into giggles.

At one year old, Clare is eager to get more mobile and get into more trouble. She smiles and laughs often, including when she knows she's doing something we don't want her to do, like going after nightlights. She loves her family. She's still breastfeeding because she likes it better than the bottle and I'm in no hurry to end that chapter of my life. She crawls, climbs up to standing, and occasionally walks along holding the couch (or her favorite—Truman's toddler bed) for support. I can't lie; babies are my favorite age so far. Everything about her (except for how she fights diaper changes) melts my heart into a puddle. I can't get enough of holding her and nuzzling her and making her smile. She already loves having her picture taken. Her favorite foods include animal crackers, graham crackers, applesauce, corn chex, and goldfish.

Andy and I both work full time and struggle to be enough for our children and ourselves. Days are so short and fast, we have trouble keeping up with the dull, repetitive tasks of our lifestyle (dinner, dishes, homework, baths/showers, brush teeth, bedtime, make lunches, moan about life, REPEAT AD NAUSEAM). We love it. We wouldn't change it. I'm going to miss it someday. It's still hard. No earth-shattering revelations here.

Outside the safety of our home, the year 2017 is shaping up to be strange and tense for anyone paying attention. And I think that's a very important task, paying attention. The country gets a new president this week, and each day things are changing in subtle ways, which history has taught us is how authoritarianism begins. "What is the precise moment, in the life of a country, when tyranny takes hold? It rarely happens in an instant; it arrives like twilight, and, at first, the eyes adjust." Trump says the most effective military alliance in history is obsolete, and he will not say a word against one of the world's most dangerous terrorists, Putin. With his corrupt appointees and methods of psychological manipulation, Trump will corrode the system of checks and balances. He is already destroying the freedom of the press and will continue to use his methods of psychological manipulation to get away with massive ethics violations, conflicts of interest, market manipulation, and worse.

Even if he is not being blackmailed by Russia, his actions are not based on facts but on his opinions, which change at the drop of a hat because they're based on his fragile ego, as well as keeping and compounding his privilege. He is constantly the victim.

That is the ugliest part of all of us, times a thousand. And I think that is what keeps racism going; not so much "I'm a horrible person who wants to enslave you based on your skin color," but "I don't realize I'm a horrible person for wanting to keep the privileges I didn't earn because I have lied to myself inside this bubble to the point of believing that we're all equal now and you just haven't earned it."

This lack of empathy, this habit of talking instead of listening, this unwillingness to self-examine, this unwillingness to humbly admit there's a lot that white people don't know and refuse to see is a problem. I hope that I am strong enough to raise my children to be humble, curious people who will never stop watching, listening, asking, examining the self, and trying to be better people. I hope I will make them proud during both dangerous days for our country and the safe everyday moments of our mundane, privileged life.

So I will shut up now and listen. Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

"I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. The Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to 'order' than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: 'I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action'; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a 'more convenient season.' Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will." Martin Luther King Jr., Letter from a Birmingham Jail, 1963

Monday: a typical day in the life

1:12 am: Wake to baby screaming. Feed baby, burp. Lay him back down. Go to sleep.

2:28 am: Wake to baby screaming. Wonder if I changed his diaper last time. Change his diaper. Feed baby, burp. Lay him back down. Go to sleep.

3:02 am: Realize baby is screaming because he doesn't want to lay flat, because he's so used to sleeping upright in his car seat and I'm a crap mother. Pick him up and try to comfort him. Sit him in his car seat. Listen and watch him fuss for ten minutes until he falls back to sleep. Lay awake wondering how little sleep is needed to actually function.

4:10 am: Wake up coughing. Cough on and off for the next couple hours, mostly just terrified that my coughing is going to wake the baby.

7:28 am: "Shit. Ohmygod why didn't my alarm go off?" Discover my cell phone has moved from the nightstand to under my pillow. "Really, Lindsay? Really?"

7:30 am: Stare at the ceiling, feeling guilty that Fletcher is going to miss his 8:10 speech class. Sigh heavily.

7:31 am: Start running around the house like a crazy person to get the kids ready for school (i.e., trying to breastfeed the baby and put Fletcher's socks on at the same time).

8:08 am: Congratulate myself on getting Fletcher to school.

8:30 am: Try to get some work done while holding a wiggly baby. Feed him. Wheel the pack-n-play into the bathroom. Make Truman's day by introducing him to a toy tambourine. Take a shower. Wonder where all my bruises came from.

9:00 am: Compliment Truman on his excellent tambourine playing. Wonder if he's going to be a musician. Watch him go from super happy to super upset in a matter of seconds. Yep, he's a musician.

9:30 am: Start laundry. Feed the screaming baby. He falls asleep. Eat a pop-tart and do some more work. Try to find something healthy to make for lunch.

10:38 am: Baby wakes up. Check the window to see if Fletcher's bus (van) is here yet. It is. Find out later that the van driver had been early today and left a message on husband's phone stating that if no one came out to get Fletcher soon he would take him back to school. WTF. Move laundry to dryer.

10:54 am: Fletcher begs for pancakes and insists on using the new bottle of syrup, not the one that's already open. Wonder if/how other parents manage to serve healthy food.

11:40 am: Clean up kitchen and Fletcher from syrup tornado. Feed the baby. Try to get everyone ready for daycare. Remember belatedly that there's laundry in the dryer.

12:35 pm: Kids are now at daycare. Drive-thru Taco Bell because Fletcher's soggy pancake leftovers really didn't hit the spot. Go to work.

12:55 pm: Work. Pump milk. Work. Pump milk. Work.

7:45 pm: While still obsessing over work projects, drive to meet the family at McDonald's for yet another super healthy meal.

9:04 pm: Back home, put in Captain America at Fletcher's request. Nothing says preschool education like a World War II movie. Feed the baby rice cereal. Try to prevent massive hungry baby from eating the bowl and spoon as well. {see video above}

11:00 pm: Normally this is when I'd be doing my second job, book editing, while the rest of the house sleeps. Since I'm on a brief sabbatical from that, I'm blogging my life instead.

An interesting time

I'm licking the frosting off my doughnut wrapper and thinking this is what desperation tastes like. Pregnancy has turned me into Homer Simpson. I would do nearly anything to obtain my daily doughnut, because it seems to be what gets me through the day.

In the process of trying to make life better I keep making life worse, at least for myself. Is this what parenting is? Is this what living is?

There's no time for anything. In fact, I don't have time to make this blog post, but I am, because I'm a stupid twat. That's the essence of the problem--every time I take something for myself, it's a bad idea because it's at the expense of something important, like one of my jobs, or my family members, or my home, etc.

It's rough when the guilt you feel for "me time" is justifiable. It's not just the "I'm being too hard on myself" guilt. I've worked myself into a tiny corner, and now I have to figure out how to live here. The word "sacrifice" bounces regularly through my head, and my opinion on it varies.

Our home finally goes up for sale today. Fletcher is starting daycare next week. This week, I need to get to the doctor to pick up his daycare paperwork, to the pharmacy to get his epi pen, and to the clinic for his allergy blood draw (fun). I need to coordinate around Andy's work training. I'm completely out of personal time at work, so every minute off the clock takes away from my maternity leave. I have a huge editing project due in two weeks that I've barely started. I have another prenatal doctor appointment tomorrow. And every other fricking day there's another therapy session, evaluation, or meeting regarding Fletcher's speech delay.

So, yeah. The good news is that Fletcher is starting to talk a little. He remains the bright shining light that illuminates my tiny corner. His favorite thing to say lately is "fell down." So he (and all his toys) regularly fall down. It's like living with a drunk.

His favorite foods right now are ice cream (cream!), cookies (coo-kie!), poptarts (tart!) and golden crisp/honey smacks (cereal!). Mac 'n cheese (noodle!) and apples are also popular. He says open (owen), mommy, daddy, blankie, play, sock, shoes, coat, in, out, no no no, no way, milk, up up up, toot, burp, car, tractor, plane, flower, ball, run, water, tree, stick, lion king, and several animals--his favorites being turtle, cow, bunny, monkey, sheep, horse, pig, duck, and kitty. Other words we've heard include "thank you" (although he says it when he expects you to say it to him), farm, grandma, movie, sweep, orange, apple, arm, ear, nose, hair, eyes, teeth, belly, toes, foot, sand, home, push, pull, santa, baby, diaper, pretzel, toast, corn, fries, sit, guitar, roar, light, stool, clean, dirty, wipe, where are you, remote (ote), mine, turn, set go (won't say "ready" though), icky, ni-night, sky, pillow, uh-oh, sun, spoon, refill, kick, high-ya!, happy, sad, ow, cord, meow, moo, bzzzz....sting, and I can't think of the rest but there's a lot. He might say "I'll get it" or "I got it," I'm not sure.

My goal is to get him to the point, soon, where I can ask him a question that isn't "yes or no" and he answers. Right now, if you ask him if he wants this or that, he just whines.

We're on the edge of many changes. With no cover on his doorknob anymore (for potty training purposes), Fletcher has the most freedom he's ever had. Next week, he will for the first time in his life spend a few hours without any family members. Andy's work hours are changing. We may have showings coming up soon and if we're lucky, we'll be moving. And oh yeah, there's a squirmy baby inside me that we have no clue how we're going to fit into our schedule.

It's an interesting time.

teamwork

The fallout of a baby with a cold, ear infection(s), and eye infection taking two doses of amoxicillin per day, is the diapers. I think the medicine may have worsened that part of his cold.

While I was beginning my Thursday (getting out of the shower this morning), Andy was ending his Wednesday (getting home from work around 6 a.m.). The daddy-baby bonding time was cut short by a dirty diaper of such epic proportions that I was recruited to help. Stark naked.

Want to know how far up his back the poop went? Sure you do. His neck. I think we even found some poop in his hair.

Nothing finishes off a shower better than nakedly attempting to wipe down a squirmy baby who's wearing a poop coat.

As the only one who wasn't naked in this scenario, Andy did say he felt left out.

This time, Andy and I worked together and no one threw anything. He wasn't inefficient or questioning. I was thorough and not temperamental. Still naked, I got Mr. Squirmy into a new pair of pajamas. Andy faced the task of cleaning out the disgusting old pajamas and doing a load of laundry.

Crisis over, I was able to finish getting ready for Thursday, Andy was able to wind down from Wednesday, and Fletcher was able to take another dose of medicine, which will surely keep our lives interesting.

a future in haircutting, I have not

tooth

We've had a rough night.

Having a baby is an education. One finger at a time, I've had to loosen my grip on my sense of order.

Sometimes, I have to give up and let him roll around in half-buttoned pajamas. He won't let me tidy him up, not without hysterical motion and fussing.

Sometimes, I have to give up and let him wear clothes marked with drool, spit-up, milk, and baby food all day. Changing him is futile.

Sometimes, I have to accept that he's going to squeal and complain in McDonald's, no matter how many other diners we might be bothering.

I've had to accept a home filled with clutter. A routine so unpredictable it shouldn't be called a routine. A horrible night that until moments ago had no explanation.

I have to accept that there is nothing I can do to stop the pain of that tiny, sharp little tooth now poking up through his bottom gums.

My poor, poor baby.

sleep

When going through our most recent photos, I couldn't help noticing a theme.





We're all really tired, apparently.

I busted out some of the six month toys he received in the baby showers or shortly after he was born. He's completely surrounded in colorful plastic. He's adding more playfulness to his all-I-want-is-for-it-to-fit-in-my-mouth phase, so things are going to keep getting more fun.

He's reached every milestone there seems to be for a five-month-old. I read that six-month-old milestones include sleeping less -- taking a few naps in a day, totaling three or four hours of sleep.

Our morning routine has been off this week and I can't help panicking that it isn't going to work anymore. If he isn't going to sleep in the morning when I leave for work, then he's going to have to scream to get the attention he wants, as he did today. And Andy is not going to sleep.

It isn't Fletcher's fault or anyone else's that we need to work. I have to remind myself of that in the morning when I turn away from his smiling, eager face and leave him.

Recent videos:

6w 5d ghost

Yesterday, Andy was kind enough to pick up some drive-thru for lunch and bring Fletcher to my office. Then the three of us went to my doctor appointment, where I got a nod of approval, a prescription for progesterone-only birth control, and was sent on my merry way.

The physical normality makes me feel like I should be back to normal emotionally as well. Not the case.

The lost feeling is still here, no less intense. But about 50 percent of the time, it's quiet -- a little more hidden, a little less obvious that a huge part of me is gone... It's like I'm less substantial away from him. A ghost.

He's a bit like fuel. The longer I'm with him, the more full my tank. The longer I'm away, the closer I get to empty. By the time my lunch hour rolls around, I'm getting pretty desperate, and the time with him isn't long enough to take me back to full.

Fridays, when I can't hold him until 6:30 or so at night, I'm pretty well destroyed for most of the day.

What is it that makes it so impossible to be away? It's not like I don't trust Andy or the rest of our family. It's not like I don't realize how incredibly spoiled I am by this arrangement. But I still find myself spending the day obsessing... is he crying right now? Sleeping? Cooing? Thirsty? The root of the problem seems to be that if I were home right now there would be no wondering. So why is "wondering" so terrible, when I'm not actually worried about his care?

Why am I unsatisfied that anyone other than me is meeting his needs?

pooped family on independence day

Note the final novel in the Harry Potter series. I started the first one on the morning I went into labor. Finishing the series this week felt a little like closure. I'm not sure I like it. I kind of feel like picking up book one again. I'd read the Twilight Saga for the twentieth time if it weren't for the fact that Andy would kill me... or worse, burn the books...


From "Impossible" by Shontelle, a song that has been stuck in my head all week.

Tell them all I know now
Shout it from the roof tops
Write it on the sky line
All we had is gone now

Tell them I was happy
And my heart is broken
All my scars are open
Tell them what I hoped would be
Impossible

5w 4d superwoman

Today is bad, like the first day. Worse, maybe, crying more. It's sinking in that when my baby needs attention I'm not there to give it to him. When he's hungry I'm not there to feed him. When he's awake and quietly curious (my favorite), I'm not there to stare back at him and make smiles with him and share life with him. Three days was long enough -- too long; how can I get through today and tomorrow?

Tomorrow will be the worst, as Andy or I will have to drive Fletcher to Hartford before work, and drive back to get him after work. I won't have my lunch time with him. He will no longer be 12 minutes away. He'll be on the other side of the county and I will have to experience, again, the greatest separation of distance and time that there has ever been between us.

Then this weekend, which I had counted on as my recovery time, has been overrun with plans. Everyone wants Fletcher. What I want is to relive maternity leave for three days -- just the three of us at home, focused at all times on giving Fletcher what he needs and wants at every moment of the day.

But maternity leave -- those beautiful, brief weeks where I could be the mom that I want to be -- is really over. I can't believe I won't get to experience that again, at least not until we have another baby. I can't be selfish anymore. Nearly six weeks in, and I'm supposed to be adjusted already.

Realization: I am not superwoman. No amount of effort will fix this fault.

If I'm honest with myself, I'm sure that Fletcher hasn't noticed any difference and I'm sure that he's perfectly happy with life. He doesn't go back to the doctor for almost four weeks. He has a fairly severe rash on his face and head (cheeks especially), of which we aren't sure the cause. We're being careful not to touch it or put anything more than water on it, and now we just need to be patient and non-panicked while we wait for it to go away.

5w 3d routine

I've failed so far to properly put into words the dichotomy caused by this new routine.

How can you explain being the happiest and most content you've ever been in your life, and simultaneously anxious, agitated, needy...? So full, yet so void.

In writing about the heartache, I feel like I've under-emphasized the power of the love, the good, the happy, the peace. If I wasn't so wrapped in this love, it wouldn't hurt so much to be separated.

As everyone has said, it will "just" take time. How can you successfully adjust to something when you don't want to?

In one way, it is better today. The pain of separation isn't any less, but a routine is taking hold. Part of me is beating my fists against such a routine, but having one serves as a reminder -- surviving yesterday means surviving today.

P.S. I just found out that late last night was the first time Fletcher managed to roll from his stomach to his back all by himself!

29 days schedule

What I'm looking at now...


How much has happened in four weeks? Instantly, my life changed. Fletcher is what matters more than anything. Every day has been a blur that flies by with feedings and diaper changes and feedings and baths and feedings... I blink and 8:00 a.m. becomes 4:00 p.m. There is no time for anything at all except Fletcher, and that's fine with me.

I'm stealing one more week home with my baby who, unbelievably, is almost a month old. The days disappear.

My goal this week is to get (or almost get) a routine going that will fit with my work schedule. Fletch is still insisting on eating every two hours, though, and he's recently become just a little fussy -- not colic, just awake for a five-hour period where no amount of eating will satisfy his appetite (I think it's because he simply has nothing else to entertain him during this wakeful period, just milk, fuss, milk, fuss, milk, fuss). So far, this high maintenance wakeful period has been in the morning, with him sleeping fairly well in the afternoon.

The schedule I'd like to achieve...
1:00 a.m. Feed Fletch
4:00 a.m. Feed Fletch
6:00 a.m. Get ready for work
7:00 a.m. Feed Fletch
7:30 a.m. Pump
8:00 a.m. Go to work, pump mid-morning & mid-afternoon
9:00 a.m. Bottle feed
11:00 a.m. Bottle feed
1:00 p.m. Feed Fletch on lunch hour
3:30 p.m. Bottle feed
6:00 p.m. Feed Fletch
8:00 p.m. Feed Fletch
9:40 p.m. Bathe Fletch
10:00 p.m. Feed Fletch
repeat

With this schedule, I would be looking at a manageable six hours of sleep if Fletch eats quickly, but I don't know how to make this schedule a reality. Come next week, I will have no choice but to leave for work at 8:00 a.m., and Andy will get stuck with whatever schedule the little dude is on. Today, Fletch needed constant attention from 8:00 a.m. until 12:30 p.m., as in I couldn't take the time to eat, shower, or do anything for myself unless I wanted to hear him scream. (This afternoon, he's back to eating every two hours and sleeping between.)

If this keeps up, poor Andy will be getting no sleep. With his new schedule, he'll be working all night on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, plus a little afternoon on Wednesday and a day shift on Friday. It sounds like Grandma Patty might help out on Wednesday and Friday.

I can't help feeling like if I work out a schedule and practice it this week, maybe it will help me deal with next week. Or maybe I'm kidding myself.

I know we'll be okay, all three of us. I told Andy this week, I have everything I want. Everything. A husband I love like crazy, a son that I can't live without.

I'll see Fletch every night and every weekend. I'll see Andy every weekend. It will have to be enough.





"Innocence" by Avril Lavigne

Waking up I see that everything is okay
The first time in my life and now it's so great
Slowing down I look around and I am so amazed
I think about the little things that make life great

I wouldn't change a thing about it
This is the best feeling

This innocence is brilliant, I hope that it will stay
This moment is perfect, please don't go away
I need you now, and I'll hold on to it
Don't you let it pass you by

I found a place so safe, not a single tear
The first time in my life and now it's so clear
Feel calm I belong, I'm so happy here
It's so strong and now I let myself be sincere

I wouldn't change a thing about it
This is the best feeling

This innocence is brilliant, I hope that it will stay
This moment is perfect, please don't go away
I need you now, and I'll hold on to it
Don't you let it pass you by

It's a state of bliss, you think you're dreaming
It's the happiness inside that you're feeling
It's so beautiful it makes you want to cry

It's so beautiful it makes you wanna cry
This innocence is brilliant, it makes you wanna cry
This innocence is brilliant, please don't go away
'Cause I need you now
And I'll hold on to it, don't you let it pass you by