books, babies, and identity

Why is it that when I talk to another mom for the first time, I ask about her child, but not about her? I am only compounding the issue of feeling as if we lose our identities when we have kids. I do it all the time. Other mothers do it, too. It is not conscious. Today at the library "books and babies" time, a new attendee sits next to me. The conversation goes like this.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Oh, fine, and you?"

"Doing fine. How old is your little one?"

"She's 10 months. And yours?"

"6 months."

"Oh, a little guy huh?"

"Yep. What's your daughter's name?"

"Lucy."

"Oh I think that's such a sweet name. Good choice."

"Thank you! What is his name?"

"Kincaid."

"Kincaid? I really like that." (People always repeat his name back to me. I've found they think I am saying his name is Ken Caid. No.)

"Thanks."


Conversation over, besides this thing we do I call talking "through" our babies. I notice that women (I don't see dads doing this) who don't know one another yet tend to talk to/about their babies without actually addressing the other woman. It's something like this:

"Oh Lucy, are you making eyes at Kincaid? He's a cute one! Good choice, sweetie."

"Kincaid! She's checking you out. She's an older woman; go for it!" We look at each other and laugh, as if we're putting on a cute puppet show or something.



This is disturbing not only because we are already controlling our children's dating life, we are also attempting to communicate with one another by putting words in our babies' mouths.

Granted, this is a step up from not having any conversations with other mothers at all, so I am not complaining, just observing.

Travis sometimes asks me if I met anyone at Books and Babies, and I have to realize that while yes, I did speak to other mothers, I did not actually introduce myself to anyone there. I have been at least six or seven times, seeing many of the same mothers there and exchanging advice and stories, yet I don't know any of their names. I know their children's names and ages, but not their names. Am I not privy to some rule that mothers are to stay anonymous? Are we suppose to project all of our being onto our children and become mere props? Of course not, or, I hope not, but it sometimes feels that way.


I feel invisible pushing a stroller or carrying Kincaid in the front pack. It isn't that I'm looking for a date or even real attention from men--even other women, older men, teenagers, kids...no one sees me, they only see the baby. Yes, he's cute, but HI! HELLO! I'M RIGHT HERE! It's easy to feel ignored; it's easy to feel like an invisible force, like wind. You see the effects of my presence, but you can't quite see me.


I imagine that second children pretty much throw this notion away. By that time, women have gotten comfortable with the idea that they are, in fact, mothers, and they are either OK with that identity, or they have found ways to be themselves and a mother at the same time. I am still working through this process. As stressful as my job is sometimes, I think it keeps me from going under. When I edit a paper or give advice about writing, I remember that there was one a Meagan who taught, and while she wasn't an amazing classroom teacher in the management field, she loved her students and did the best she could. This Meagan is still visible sometimes, and still loves to help people learn to write, and is still doing so.


This idea is discussed all over the place, but it has affected me, too. I feel guilty when I admit that I need more in my life than the role of motherhood. The messages are conflicting. "Make time for you!" and "You can't be a good mother if you don't take care of yourself!" conflict with "Be selfless and live as a servant to your family!" "The sacrifice is worth it! Put your children first!"



Maybe some mothers don't feel this way. Perhaps some women feel as if they were born to be mothers, and feel wholly human in this role and this role alone. I thought I might be one of those women, but I am not. I am also not a woman who feels the need to further her career while being a mother. I would rather accept my new role with tentatively open arms, find ways to use my skills and feel whole, and be mostly a mother, but also a teacher, a friend, a sister, etc. I wish I were better at being more than one thing at a time. I don't think any of the ways of mothering are right or wrong. I think every mother does what she needs to do. Our sanity is at the core of it all. I think my sanity would be in better shape if I had a family here--blood or otherwise. A church family will work in a pinch, if I can find one to take in our little "nontraditional" family.


My sleep clock is ticking. Kincaid fell asleep promptly at 7:30 tonight and it is now 11. I may be doomed for little sleep. Last night, for the first time, he went all night without nursing. I slept with him after he woke up for the first time around 1 a.m., but was able to soothe him back to sleep without eating. I think he had just scared himself awake with gas...it happens often. He woke up again around 4, but his pacifier sufficed. Then he got up for good at 6:45 or so when Travis left. I have to admit I was a little sad. I don't mind the middle-of-the-night nursings, as long as there aren't four or five of them. One or two is fine. They are quiet and sweet, and besides the random mischief that our upstairs neighbors tend to get into at 3 a.m., it is serene. (Seriously...they are up all night. I don't know what they are doing, if they work late shifts, or what, but it's killing me.) Either way, I know the night nursings are not over for good, most likely, but this is the beginning of the night weaning, I suppose, and I know I would much rather it happen naturally than have to make an effort to wean, so I will take it. Sleeping through the night again will be nice if it happens soon. I don't remember what that feels like.

where does the mommy club meet?

I feel as if I've moved far away from my non-mother friends. Not as in, from FL to MT, or from Missoula to West Yellowstone, or from West Yellowstone to Bozeman, far away in the sense that I don't feel I have anything in common with them anymore. It's really depressing. I try to talk to them, but I feel like I have nothing to talk about. They don't care about diapers, drool, and inconsistent bedtimes. They don't care that I feel like a fat tub o' lard, or if they do, they don't understand what it feels like to so quickly lose what your body was in every possible sense--skin, size, boobs, thighs, mind, face, hair...everything is different. They don't understand. And while I feel like I've graduated from these friends, I don't want to leave them. They are all I have. I don't have any mother friends yet, and I worry I will never have friends like I used to have, because they won't know the "pre mother" me. Not here. Yes, I know I need to make some, but it's not easy when you don't know anyone and you're trying to work and stay home with a baby. I barely get dressed and eat normal meals most days. Forget making it to mommy club, wherever it meets. I didn't get the invite.
I feel unreasonably restless and stir crazy. I want to get out of town for just a day, even. Maybe I will. I'm broke, but my tank is full.
Travis doesn't understand. He asks me, "Isn't this what you wanted? To have a normal, steady life?" Well, yes, I do want a normal steady life. I don't feel like working at home with a baby at home in a town where I don't know a soul is a normal, steady life. I feel trapped and terribly restless. I try to get out. I went to the library today. I spoke to an adult for a few minutes regarding my blacklisted library status. I got off free, which was nice. I bought myself a real coffee. We took the scenic walk home. But even when I go places, I feel invisible. I feel that no one would really want to get to know me even if they had the chance. I am not sure who I am anymore. Lately I just cry a lot, get frustrated easily, eat large amounts of trail mix (that I make myself so it's heavy on the M&Ms), work, and try to keep Kincaid happy, dry, fed, and entertained. I realize most mothers feel like this at some point, but most mothers also probably signed up for this life. They had the "before children" time to get to know their spouse (and this means they actually HAVE a spouse), they went on a "babymoon" trip, they took prenatal yoga classes, they bought cute maternity clothes, had "belly shoots," and painted nurseries. They joined pre-mommy clubs that read and discussed all the latest parenting theories. In other words, together with someone who loves them and also wanted a baby, they planned it. They may not have realized how crazy they'd feel, but they at least signed up for it.
Me? I feel like every single aspect of my life and body has changed in the past year. It was right around this week or a little later last year that I found out I was pregnant. Nine months is too long to be pregnant, but not nearly long enough to prepare for this new way of life.
Him? He still wakes up around the same time (give or take a couple of night wakings), goes to work, does basically the same job, and comes home at night. Has his life changed? Absolutely. Has he lost closeness with some of his non-father friends? Sure. But one of his closest friends in town is a dad, and a great one. Most of the men he works with are fathers. Whether he realizes it or not, he gets a lot more support for this life on a daily basis. I hate playing the comparison game, but I keep going back to it. It's lethal, and I always regret it, but it's addictive.
I feel like I have to very purposefully and even aggressively seek support. No one sees me start to lose it when he won't stop crying or won't go down for a nap or poop leaks out of his diaper for the third time in an hour. Even when I do feel like I am screaming for help, it's just not here. I don't have a single family member here. I have all of two friends in this town, and neither one is a mother. They would both think I was certifiably insane if I shared half the thoughts I have.
So much has changed, and it's hard to let go of the old life. I needed to. It wasn't going anywhere healthy. It's just that I would like to have had a spell of normalcy between carefree single life and full-fledged instant family life. I feel that if half the people I knew before saw me pushing a stroller to the library, they would laugh at me.
I feel like because I'm not 100% happy, that I can't be a good enough mother to Kincaid. He's happy and well cared-for, but I am not. At the same time, the thought of doing anything drastically differently sounds even worse than the current situation. I want to be home, even if I have to work from home, too. The thought of having to get up and get both of us ready, take him to day care, and take myself to work every day sounds MUCH worse than the lackadaisical schedule we keep now. Plus, I would be forced to find real clothes that fit instead of getting away with wearing sweatpants most days. Not only would that cost a lot of money I don't have, it would cost precious sanity.
Speaking of mama's new size, that does not help the depression level up here. Yes, I know, I should be patient. I will be normal again. But these months where I am not normal feel eternal. I want to walk and exercise, but my thighs don't just brush one another anymore, they ARE one another. I feel like I have one fat thigh that just kind of sways from side to side as I walk. I want to do some of the things I learned when I was taking Pilates classes, but I don't ever have the motivation to do that alone for any length of time. All the "mommy and me" yoga classes are ridiculously expensive. As are gym memberships. I really, really, really wish Bozeman had a YMCA. It would be perfect. We could get an affordable membership and I could use the day care for a couple of hours to myself. Most YMCAs even have a sauna/hot tub. Oh, the glory a hot tub would be right now. Why doesn't Bozeman have one?? OK, so apparently there is a Gallatin Valley Y, but it's not like the Missoula Y. It is more of an organization than a big facility. Anyway. Bozeman should have one. It would solve many of my problems. Maybe. I just feel like maybe another new-to-Bozeman mother around my age with an infant would walk in the door with me, and we'd knock our car seats into one another, apologize, realize we are both wearing shirts that make our nursing pads obvious, and smile. We'd be instant friends. It could happen, but only if Bozeman had a YMCA.
I just don't get why I feel so overwhelmed and testy all the time. I snap for no reason and feel like I have permanent PMS worse than I've ever had. I'm starting to think that some mothers actually like working because it gives them a break every day. I think I'd only like working if it paid me a lot of money, if Kincaid could be in the same building or on the same campus as me, and if I only had to work, say 10-3 with an hour lunch break. Then, maybe, I would want to work every day. Obviously, that is not a choice, or I would take it. I couldn't find a job out here or anywhere but Alaska that would pay enough to merit child care. There aren't any teaching jobs to be had in Bozeman, and if there were, I wouldn't want one right now. All in all, I love being home with my little guy. I just wish I felt like I was doing a better job.
I want out, but I really don't. I just want a temporary out. I just need (yes, it's a need, trust me) maybe three days in FL near my sister, who at least mostly understands what I'm going through. I want some comfort food in the form of ChickfilA and Sonny's. I want to be around people who care about college football, even if it's the stinky Gators. I want to finally see my friend Haley's baby. For most people, this would be a fairly easy thing to come by. Since I found myself thinking the thrift store was getting expensive the other day, I obviously can't afford a plane ticket for myself and Kincaid. I'm not sure how he'd do on a plane. I don't even care if he screamed the whole way. At least I'd get there. Maybe his screaming would make the pilot fly faster. I can dream, can't I?
At least we get to drive to Boise in a couple of weeks. I thrive on road trips. I may not thrive on a road trip with an infant, but we will at least get a change of scenery, and Kincaid will get some grandparent lovin'.

Why it took me two hours to grade one paper

Yep, it just took me two hours to grade one assignment. This is not because the assignment is terribly complicated, but because of the everyday interruptions I face as a mama.

1 p.m.
Kincaid is napping. Sat down to start grading. Found out I needed to read several documents to fully understand the assignment. Travis asks what I want for dinner and if tacos are OK. Yes, tacos are fine.
I go back to reading the documents and familiarizing myself with the assignment.
I open Student A's assignment and begin to read it. I fill in the first row in the rubric.
Kincaid wakes up after a short catnap. He starts talking to me, so I talk back. I pick him up and notice he needs a new diaper. Travis changes his diaper. Kincaid starts to scream. Travis tries to calm him down. I'm attempting to not let it look like this distracts me. Kincaid continues to be unhappy. I take Kincaid to the back bedroom to nurse him where it's quiet. He eats. He's happy. He spits up on his clothes. I change his clothes (I put on a football outfit since FSU plays Miami today...closest thing I've got, which reminds me, why don't we have an FSU shirt for him? I should order one pronto, but not right now.)
I bring Kincaid back to the living room to hang out for awhile and sit down and start to read the assignment again.
Dad plays with him and tries to take him out to the hammock to sit with him. Kincaid is not OK with this. Continues to fuss a bit. Dad brings him back inside to hang out in here. Dad shows me a book he's reading and asks if he's the same Christian singer guy we were watching on YouTube the other day (I was showing him the beauty that was Michael W. Smith's vest on the Secret Ambition video). I said no, he wasn't, and we then look up this Christian singer/author and discover his videos. They are cheesy and dumb. I say I need to get back to work.
Kincaid is making the "my diaper needs changing" noise. I take him to change his diaper and he is still quite unhappy with things. He's tired. It's about 2 p.m.
Dad is trying to comfort him so I can work, and says, "Maybe you need one of those nice naps Mom puts you down for."
I take the hint, put down the computer, and take Kincaid to lay him down for a nap. I lay next to him until he calms down and falls asleep. Then I notice that it's getting cooler and I should get out his 3-6 mo fall stuff. I pull the box out of the closet and sort this stuff from the 9 mo stuff.
He's asleep still, so it's safe to get back to work. I sit down and start to read the assignment again. I'm hungry. I get up to get a couple of cookies and some water. I sit down again and finish the first part of the assignment.
I sneeze a big sneeze, which necessitates a change of clothes (if you've had a baby, you understand) so I go to the bedroom to change clothes.
I sit down again to grade the assignment. I get done with the second part, and then realize my feet are freezing. I get up to get some socks. I sit back down. I get done with the third and final part. Because I've been so scattered the whole time, I second-guess myself and re-read it all to make sure I've graded it correctly.

This is my life. This is why it's not easy to focus at home on my work, even when Travis is wonderful and tries to help. I attempted to get started at 1 p.m. and it is now 3:15 and I have only graded TWO of 40 assignments. I should get to work before Kincaid wakes up again. But before that happens, I will probably get hungry again, need to use the restroom, someone will come to the door, the dog will need to go outside, I will get a headache, I will remember that I need to pay a bill or call someone or whatnot...

Do I have some strain of ADD, or is this just life with a baby? I am normally fine with focusing when I can. Oh well. Back to grading. But first, I need a sandwich!

things are blurry

Still a bit too small for the jump-up:)






So, this job. I love it and I hate it. I am still terrified that I won't get hired on anyway and this whole ordeal won't end up being worth it. Then I'll have to find some other job somewhere and have to put Kincaid in day care...and very quickly this mindset gets very ugly and I start to cry.

I can't focus on ANYTHING. It makes me want to get a really easy job that doesn't require much thinking. As if such a thing exists. Even when I waited tables I would get mentally exhausted from remembering everything and learning new menus, specials, wines and beers.

Does every working mother suffer from this inability to think clearly? An inability to stay organized? I'm not the most organized person on the planet anyway, but when I'm trying to hurry to get work done when my little guy is at home and I just want to be home with him, I forget things left and right. I leave the house so I can focus, and then I can't focus because I'm not home. I can't win. And Travis is constantly asking, "Are you done?" No! I'm not. I'm never done. It's endless. Why? Because I can't ever just sit down and get my work done. I'm interrupted by crying, fussing, hunger, dirty diapers, need for entertainment, guilt that the dishes aren't done, letting the dog in, letting the dog out, needing to go to the bathroom mySELF, feeling guilty that I'm not spending more time with Kincaid, feeling guilty that I'm not thinking about dinner, and on and on it goes. We NEED for me to have this job to make ends sort of meet. But I am not doing so well. I can't focus and I can't do as well as I want to because I've got this disgusting guilt trip disease. I don't know where it came from and I don't know why I can't get rid of it. Why my best isn't good enough is beyond me. I just want to be loved and appreciated, and somehow I think I will be loved and appreciated more the more I can do. I also think I'll be loved and appreciated less if I don't get to the dishes, the laundry, dinner, vacuuming, etc. I want to do those things. But 5:30 rolls around every day and I've barely scratched the surface of the grading I have to do. And then I forget one tiny thing and I get a big red note on my feedback that points it out. I think that's the issue. I can't ever do anything right, and I feel like what I DO accomplish is overlooked for what I DON'T. I'm trying, but it doesn't seem to count for anything.
Plus, this is all in my head and none of this lack of appreciation actually exists. But, if it's in my head then it does exist somewhere, right?

Plus, a lady came in with her 8-week-old little girl just now (I'm at a coffee shop), and she's definitely in her old jeans. I want to take the cheesecake in the display here and go shove it straight into her hips.

Why do I have all this rage? Where has it come from? Anne Lamott speaks of it too, and I don't know why it has all decided to surface now. Shouldn't all my gentle, motherly features surface? Aren't I supposed to be all doting and lovely and soft and sweet, like a mother? Why do I feel so angry and frustrated and guilty and beat down?

Speaking of Anne Lamott, I am almost done with her book, and I feel that I might fall apart when it's over. It's been my therapy for the last week or so. I've loved her total honesty and can relate to every last word in that book. I need to start looking for other first-year mother memoirs. I don't want "how to" books, I want, "this happened" books. I want, "this happened, and it was really shitty and awful, and I hated myself, but now I'm better, and even though I still sometimes want to throw big, heavy things across the room, I'm mostly OK."

Kincaid's growth spurt seems to be over. We haven't gotten another 8-hour night yet, but we are getting our 4 and 5-hour spurts again. I really love sleeping in the bed with him after his first middle of the night feeding. He's so sweet and happy when he's that sleepy, and I forget all the stress and worry and guilt for a moment when I wake up and find him smiling at me.

I should be working right now. My battery is about to die at this oddball coffee shop where there are no outlets. This weird, distracting man next to me took the only one. It's on the ceiling. He is terribly distracting. I don't know what he's doing, but he speaks outloud to whatever he is reading on the screen. He also just groaned and then went up to the counter and said, "I don't want to be rude, but this music is driving up a wall, I mean, I was just sitting there thinking, "what is driving me so crazy and I realized it's these stupid OLDIES you're playing, and I thought I would just ask if you could change it." Good grief. They changed it. I think he referred to it as "contemporary jazz." I'm referring to it as muzak.

At least I have a pork roast waiting for me at home. And tomorrow, I think we might make it to try out a church. I'm scared to try a new church in this state. We're not married, and I'm terrified about being judged. We're not even engaged, for pete's sake. People are going to think things. Yes, I know I shouldn't let it bother me, but you try being us and not letting it bother you. At the dentist the other day, despite the absence of a ring, he referred to Travis as my husband. I can't bear to correct people, because I'll get the "oohh..." response.

I just pray that the sermon is about something uplifting, and about anything, ANYTHING, but money.

I want to be happy, and generally, I am. I can count my blessings easily. I'm sorry I"m not more upbeat. Trust me, I feel guilty about that, too! I just need to vent sometimes, and since writing is an outlet for me, I feel a little better when I write things down. Plus, I want to remember how I felt during these days, because it can only get better.

growth spurt

I'm pretty tired today. Kincaid is in a growth spurt, meaning he's been eating every two hours around the clock. Travis is not working this week because his shoulder is hurt and they won't let him work. It's killing him, and it's going to be even tougher than usual financially, but Lord, am I glad I could get up at 6:30 today, feed Kincaid, and hand him to Dad so I could get a little sleep.

My dad and stepmom were here this weekend. It was a great visit, but I feel guilty that I was so stressed out, as I usually am these days. I wanted to spend about three times as much time with them as I got to, but I'm grateful for the time I did get. For once, it was because I was busy working.

Speaking of working, I had a minor breakdown today. I'm glad all I had in my hand to throw at the computer screen was a napkin, because I am pretty sure I would have thrown anything at it, I was so frustrated. I screamed, and not into a pillow. This mentor of mine has got to go. She has me as "not on track" to pass my mentorship. Why? Because I don't have 100% responsiveness. Except I do...she just didn't listen when I told her I responded to the student in a different location. I made a mistake, and that mistake was not that I didn't respond quickly enough. I feel like she's out to fail me, not that she's there to help me like a mentor should. I desperately need this job. I like the job. I dislike my "mentor." I finally did email the greater powers that be about my concerns. She is demeaning when I ask questions. This blog is public, though, so I will stop there. I'm just terrified and frustrated. I feel as if I'm doing my best. I'm not used to failing. I usually do extremely well when i try hard. I never do poorly when I do my best. My students thank me and tell me they appreciate what I'm doing for them. Why shouldn't that count for anything? It's very upsetting to me, especially when I'm already hanging by a thread. I'm living with a man I'm just starting a relationship with. We're bonded by a shared complete and total adoration for our baby, but sometimes that isn't enough. I cry too much. I just had a hormone-soaked piece of plastic shoved inside me yesterday, so I'm in pain and a little off-kilter once again, but I won't have to worry about getting pregnant for the next five years. I am about to be sleep deprived again for a few days due to the growth spurt. I am fat. I need friends. I need a church. I need a book club. I need SOMETHING, and it all seems impossibly out of reach. I realize it isn't, that soon I will have these things...but today, when I need to sob and have someone around who will just LET me sob, listen to me say self-deprecating things that make no sense, tell me I'm nuts and make me laugh...it seems impossible.

If I had anything close to enough money, I'd jump on a plane to go see my sister, because she would at least temporarily make me feel normal because she is in close to the same place I am. Yes, she has a mother-in-law in town, a church, and friends, but she at least sympathizes and doesn't think I'm nuts. I have a picture of all three of us over this computer desk, and I remember the day. It was her bridal shower, and it was before we were really sisters, before we shared the misery of pregnancy and the joy/sorrow/misery/frustration/elation of becoming mothers. I resented her that day and my smile is fake. Back then, I never thought I'd miss her like I do now.
I'm reading "Operating Instructions" by Anne Lamott, and it's like therapy for me. She is helping me feel normal for the crazy thoughts I've had lately. If you are a mother and have not read this book, get it. I paid something like .10 plus shipping on Amazon. It's worth much more. I've been devouring it since it came in the mail yesterday. It's made me laugh and cry, and, as the jacket says, it's exactly the sort of book you should read if you hate books that make you laugh and cry.

I really wish there was a way for men to understand the toll all of this motherhood/working/living in a new place crap takes on your body and mind. I just want Travis to understand for five minutes, and I know it's impossible. He is out picking huckleberries with friends. I didn't go because I am sleep-deprived and, when he left, was sobbing because I'm failing at my job, apparently. I don't blame him for wanting to get out. I just don't think he understands how strong my need is to both be with Kincaid AND get out. I try to get some "me" time, but it always ends up being just grocery shopping or attempting to find clothes that fit me. The clothes-shopping is the worst idea, but I can't seem to learn. I continue to think that something will not make me look like a cow, but I'm wrong. I try on clothes with impossibly high numbers for sizes, and they are too small. I tried to put on a pair of Travis' shorts the other day-size XL, and couldn't get them over my thighs. At least his T-shirts are still too big on me. I should just go sit and read and drink some sort of frilly drink for just an hour somewhere outdoors, but I can't justify the time when I have work, laundry, dishes, baby, and I have so little clothing that fits. Winter is coming,and I have one pair of jeans. That one pair is currently soaked in baby pee, waiting in a ridiculously tall pile of laundry to be washed. Travis did laundry all day yesterday, bless his heart, and somehow the pile is taller than when he started.
I don't intend to complain that Travis is not doing anything...he does more than I'd ever expect and then some. He's an amazing father. I just wish he understood how I felt, and knew how to just listen. I imagine most women feel that way about men at some point.
I should also mention my fear about losing my health insurance. I lose it on Sept. 1. I can't afford COBRA (who can!?), I don't qualify for the subsidy, my job does not offer any such benefits to adjuncts (most schools don't), and while catastrophic coverage is somewhat affordable ($133/mo), it is just that-catastrophic. If I need medicine or to go to the doctor, I will have to pay full price. Last time Ihad to do that, it was over $100 for just a simple office visit. Hopefully if I get sick, there will be generic medications I can take. Obama, do something. I don't care what, but just make basic healthcare affordable, please. Congress, stop fighting and compromise. Please. There are people in much worse situations than I am who need a way to afford proper care. We need wellness care. We need preventative care. I don't have any answers...I vote for you so you can figure out the answers. Just hurry, please!

I should stop complaining and get some work done. I have about 30-odd papers to grade, participation to, well, participate in, and 40 weekly feedbacks to complete. I want to get out of the house today and do something completely useless, but I won't, because i will feel too guilty. I still have about 50 thank-you cards to write from baby gifts hanging over my head. I still haven't sent out baby announcements, for pete's sake. First, I should take a shower. It's 2 p.m. and Kincaid is sleeping. Having clean hair and washing the tear residue off my face will help me feel better. I promise I'm not trying to have a pity party, I'm just trying to get my thoughts down so that someday I can remember what all this was like. I hope that I can look back on all this and realize it made us stronger, that it helped me grow. I'm sure it will, like every other difficulty I've been through. Maybe God just wants to lump all the hard times into my before-30 years, so that after that, things will be happy, healthy, and prosperous. I can only hope.

sleep, fat, and clothing

So, per Andrea's encouragement, I am starting to level out, I think. I still have some random cry-fests and sour moods that blindside me in the middle of a perfectly great day, but if I can identify them as hormone-induced, it's a little bit easier to move past them. Sometimes. Ok, it's not that easy, but at least Travis is catching on that I'm not suffering from multiple personality disorder...I think. Kincaid will be 3 months old next Thursday, so hopefully I will continue to improve.

Kincaid slept at least 4 hours in a row every night last week. Hallelujah. I know that doesn't sound like much, but when you've been suffering through night after night of no more than 2.5 hrs of sleep in a row for a few months, you feel like a human being again when you get four hours in a row! His latest "schedule"/routine at night has gone like this: He gets super cranky at around 8 p.m. I try to get him into a dark quiet place and help him get some sleep. I also try to top him off in hopes of longer sleep. He will usually sleep for a couple hours...till around 10:30 or so, then wake up, hungry, and eat. Then if we're lucky he'll sleep 4-5 hours, wake up, eat, fall back asleep, and usually sleep for 3 more. Sometimes he randomly wakes up screaming an hour after I've fed him. After that 2-3 a.m. wakeup and feed, I usually just put him in the guest bed and sleep next to him. I get more sleep, and he sleeps better.
I know a lot of people love that Babywise book, but I hate it. I really think, despite what I thought before I had a kid, that I'm more of an attachment theory parent than I would like to admit. I enjoy sleeping next to him, he naps next to me, I carry him in the front carrier a lot and prefer it to the stroller (usually), and I have absolutely no desire to try to put him on a steadfast schedule. He already has a routine, more or less, that we've fallen into naturally. He eats, I let him chill for a bit so he doens't throw it up, I change a diaper, I play with him or otherwise let him be awake for awhile, watch for when he's tired, and then help him fall asleep. I think if he were a difficult baby, we'd need more structure and routine, but he's only 3 months old, so he's either just going to be fairly mellow, or this is the honeymoon period still.
I just wish all those baby sleep theorists out there would stop bad-mouthing each other. I can't read a page of BabyWise before they bash the Sears' parenting books, and vice versa. I just figure he's only gonig to be this little for so long, and I want to spend as much time with him as I can. Once he sleeps more like 6-7 hrs a night or longer, I won't need to sleep with him. But right now, I'm trying to survive, and it works. Besides, why wouldn't I want to do that when, instead of waking up and screaming for me, he wakes up and smiles and coos?
While trying to take care of this little guy, who is napping next to me right now, I am attempting to facilitate courses online. I enjoy it, for the most part. Right now I am still somewhat in training, teaching on my own, but under the advisement of a "mentor," who does not seem to enjoy her job so much. She doesn't answer all my questions and does not seem to want to engage in any sort of conversation with me about how to best go about this job. She gives very short, terse answers. My sister likened her to a DMV worker who doesn't listen to what you're asking and has about five canned responses. Frustrating, to say the least!
Then there are my students. I have about 40 split between two sections, and most of them are great. I admire all of them, as I imagine it's really hard to go back to school after you've raised/had kids, worked for years, etc. Most of them are doing it just to better themselves, some are doing it to "make their kids proud of them," others are required to gain a degree to keep their jobs. I feel inadequate to be teaching them, although now as we've gotten started, I can see that I am certainly qualified to teach this course. It's the first course in an AA program. It seems like most students at this school get their AA, then their BA/BS, then a Masters, if they desire. So, I'm teaching adult students who have never been to school before, and have never taken coursework online. It's confusing to most of them, to say the least. I do not think the classroom is set up to be confusing, but I do udnerstand how, if you're not accustomed to using a computer or the internet, you might be confused. I have one student who repeatedly posts her assignments in the wrong places, despite intricate directions on how to do so properly.
I've had a few "I'm stuck!!" phone calls, and I'm sure they think I sound like I'm 12.
I have one student who doesn't know how to copy and paste, so who knows what other basic computer skills she's lacking.
Sometimes it is difficult to do almost all of our correspondence in writing. I can type very fast, so I'm not really struggling, but I do constantly wonder if my tone comes across as I hope it does.
I feel like one of my sections is going very well. The students engage one another in discussion (which, having been a part of both types, I strongly prefer online discussion to verbal in-class discussion), they talk in the "chat room," they're respectful, and most of them are completing assignments correctly and on time. They say they are learning adn enjoy the class. I can't feel too good about that since I don't write the syllabus, but still, I'm glad they feel as if they're learning. It is a basic communications course, and I do think the materials and assignments are all well-designed. I hope that once I've taught for a bit, maybe I can teach something a little more English-related instead of a communications course.
It's sad to me that many of them don't read (or only read Danielle Steele), and that their writing skills are so deteriorated. I suppose, though, that if you've operated a forklift for 20 years, you might not need to write very often.
I lose my group health insurance on Sept 1, and I'm terrified. I haven't been without insurance in a LONG time, and then, it was only for a couple of months between work and school. I can't join on to Travis' until we're married, and although catastrophic insurance is not that bad ($133/mo) it is a lot when I'm trying to pay off baby medical bills, old medical bills on credit cards, student loans, and generally trying to eat and clothe myself.
Speaking of clothes...trying to clothe this new, much chubbier version of myself is certainly the cause of many an emotional breakdown lately. I don't know why I even TRY to find clothes anywhere right now. I have to wear something, but why CAN'T I wear sweats all the time? Oh, because that also makes me feel disgusting. Skirts are friendlier than pants, and pants are friendlier than shorts, and thankfully I live in a cool climate, so pants are the clothing du jour. Except, I only have one pair of jeans. And I'm broke, as usual (see above). In about a month or so, skirts will no longer be weather-appropriate, unless they're paired with tights. I am horrified about finding pants that will fit me now.
I see women with babies about Kincaid's age, and many of them are obviously in their old clothes. How in the HELL!? I am breastfeeding like a maniac, and I am still pretty gigantic. My belly is, anyway. I had a C-section, so they advised me to not do ab workouts for awhile, and I'm drawing near to the end of that advised period, but still. I really would like to even fit into my old T-shirts, for pete's sake. My boobs are too big to wear my T-shirt, and my thighs are too big to wear my old pajamas. Forget the jeans, I just want to fit into my old flannel pants. But alas, I cannot.
I realize my body is supposed to be different, but I thought it might start to shrink a little by now. My arms are improving because Kincaid is getting heavier, but my thighs and belly? Not so much. My biggest problem is affording new clothing. I would not be so upset about this new me if I had the money to buy clothes that made me not hate my reflection so much. No one tells you about that added expense.
Today at Target I saw a woman with a TINY baby...clearly only a few weeks old. She was also teensy. I snuck a few close glances and then decided that the baby has got to be adopted. The poor baby's mother is somewhere, without a baby beside her as an excuse, trying to lose weight AND recover from what must be the most difficult thing a mother could ever do. I do find I feel especially fat and gross when I don't have the baby with me. When he's with me, people look at him, not at me. I don't think people really look at me much anyway, but that isn't the point. I want to feel like I look at least DECENT, much less thin. Really, if I could wear a 10, I'd feel better. We can get back into the 6's, the 4's or maybe, if I'm lucky, those size 2 jeans that I LOVE someday, but let's just find a happy medium for now.
Time for a shower and the fun of finding something to wear to go into public. I guess I should be grateful that I work from home for now, and so I do not really need a lot of stuff to wear to work. I really can (and do!) work in my sweatpants most of the time. Sometimes I get dressed just so I don't feel like such a lump!
The Sweet Pea Festival is going on in Bozeman right now, and it's a fun deal. I love that we live close enough to walk. Art festivals are about my pace. Put the kiddo in the stroller, pack up the diaper bag, and stroll over to hear some music, watch some dancing, and wish I had money to buy the beautiful paintings. In the meantime, I'll just buy a tasty crepe or a corndog:).

who am I again?

People can try to tell you how hard it is, and you can think you have a good idea, but you really don't until you live it. I read the baby books and heeded the warnings of other mothers that it's hard, but I had no idea. I don't think any new mother does. I feel like my (our) situation is compounded because we haven't even known each other for a full year. All Travis has known is the pregnant or postpartum Meagan, and I know quite well that neither of those people are my favorite versions of myself! Both of those Meagans are hormonal and exhausted, unhappy with her appearance, and therefore pretty snappy and not all that fun to be around. I feel for him, really. I know he must be hoping I'll snap out of this any day now. I certainly hope I do. But in the meantime, I'm overwhelmed. I love my little buddy more than life itself, and want to do all I can to make him happy and comfortable. I am still a person, though, and feel as if I have no outlet lately for my frustration. He has fishing, his garden, friends in town, work, photography...I have few friends here and the ones I have are not mothers, so they don't understand. I don't have a church, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. I have no family, no one really to turn to (in person) to vent to. Sometimes the phone just doesn't cut it. He's 7 weeks old. Things are supposed to be getting better, right? And they are. He is sleeping somewhat longer periods most of the time, he eats more efficiently now, and I'm learning his quirks and temperament. We get smiles now. I want to say I'm doing fine, and I am. I could be doing much worse. I know what depressed feels like and I'm nowhere close to that. I am guessing I'm like any other woman who can't handle her hormones causing her to go from happy to pissed to horny to terrified to full-out-bawling in a matter of a few hours (minutes?)! It is more than frustrating. I don't feel like myself and haven't in a LONG time. I would like to meet myself again, really. It isn't even really that I feel my identity is lost in motherhood...I just feel as if I have so little control over my emotions sometimes that I don't recognize my reactions to things. Poor Travis doesn't know that I'm not always like this, and is justifiably skeptical when I say "this is not like me, I'm sorry." I don't know what to do. I'm sure getting a shot of progesterone last week doesn't help, but I couldn't do much else with my insurance changing over twice this summer. I'm stressing about starting a new job in a couple of weeks, wondering how I'll have the time and energy for it with a baby around who seems to require most of my waking hours. But I have to work. And, for the record, I don't "have" to work so that we can continue to afford gym memberships and our Hummer lease. I have to work so we can pay the bills. If I didn't have to, I definitely would rather go volunteer in my friend's kindergarten classroom, fix lavish meals for Travis every night, go to mommy/baby yoga classes, take coffee to Travis at break every morning, etc. But alas, for now, I must work a bit. I am grateful to have the job and really hope it works out. Maybe that will make me so busy I won't realize I'm overwhelmed or have the energy to care. That would be real healthy, but at least I wouldn't be crying so much!
I really do wish they'd spend more time in the birthing classes talking about the postpartum time period, and how it's difficult for ALL women, not just the small percentage that suffers from the disease of postpartum depression. Men need to know that the hormone roller-coaster is not even close to over. They need to know we feel fat and disgusting. They need to know that although (most of us) love breastfeeding, it's overwhelming to be someone else's food supply, and it doesn't always come easy. They need to know that even when we cry or feel overwhelmed that it isn't because we don't love being mothers, it's because...well...I guess men need to know that we don't always have a reason for feeling the way we do. Just let us be and comfort us; we'll be OK.
We both need time to get to know one another, and we really haven't ever had that chance. For the majority of my pregnancy, I spent weekends with him because I was still working down in West Yellowstone, and most of those weekends were spent at a house with his roommate who isn't exactly Mr. Friendly towards me. We got a few weekends of time alone in our new place, and they were glorious. Once I moved up here, it was because I was on bed rest and was pretty exhausted most of the time. I was here for about three weeks before I went into labor. How easy would it be for you to start parenting with someone you'd only lived with for three weeks and had only known for ten months? It's all worth it for little Kincaid, but it is not easy. And when will we have time? We are strangers passing in the night at this point. We try to spend time together on the weekends, but we end up arguing and I end up in tears, and it's all a wash because I feel like a jerk for ruining everything, even if it's really no one's fault. We need a serious retreat, and who knows how or when we'll get such a thing. That requires money, of which we have none.
I'm not trying to throw a pity party, I promise. I just need some sort of outlet, and writing is all I have for now, and for that I have little time. All any of us want is to be loved, and it's hard to give or receive love when you're so exhausted. Things are pretty tense around here, and it's not how I want them to be. I need the support system I'm used to having, but such a thing takes time to build. I have a small one in Missoula and another in West Yellowstone, but next to nothing here in Bozeman. I like this town, but I wish I had the energy and knew where to go to meet people. I need like-minded women...women who like to read (or did before they had kids), women who believe in God but can't stand most Christian music or Fox news, women who are intelligent but want to be "just" mothers and do all they can to stay home and avoid child care...who don't care about climbing the corporate ladder.
I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping even though I'm completely worn out. I can't often go back to sleep once I've gotten up to feed Kincaid in the middle of the night. But I will go try again tonight, even though my mind is racing and I'm worried and overwhelmed. I will try to end on a happier note, though: