A Kincaid update

This picture makes me laugh because they both have the same expression. I took this when we went huckleberry picking a couple of weeks ago.

Kincaid is now 15 months old. I want to stop and admire this age, because tomorrow he might start teething again or be otherwise difficult for whatever reason.

Right now, though, and generally so far, he is a happy, curious, loving, active little boy and I love him to pieces. He is so much fun and I feel beyond lucky that our circumstances (kind of--if we really owned up to ALL our circumstances I'd be working three jobs and so would Travis, but oh well.) allow me to be home with him. Working from home is difficult and frustrating--I'm feeling ready to teach in a face-to-face classroom again, even if I do keep up the online teaching gig.



That aside, I wanted to share what Kincaid's been up to and how much fun he is at this age. Seasoned mothers tell me that each age seems like the best as you're going through it the first time, and that's fine--I agree. I loved 3 months because it was the end of the true newborn stage. He was more responsive, moving more, and smiling. He spit up less and pooped less often. He was more active and seemed happier.

I loved 5-6 months because he was learning to sit up and look at the world in a new way. He slept a little longer and played a little more. He smiled and laughed and was more able to show his like and dislike of things. He started to eat real food.

I loved 7-9 months because he was trying to crawl and was at a stage where he would just chill with me while I read to him. He was just starting to be interested in stories and hearing my voice read and sing, but not quite adept at turning (or trying to rip) pages. At this point we're in board book only territory.



At 12 months he was fully mobile and loved to be outside (as he still does) and loves his daddy and his doggie. His first real word was "doggie" (oggie.) He was pulling up and cruising around furniture and exploring the different corners of the house. Still generally happy, not much of an eater--too much to do.

Now, at 15 months, he's on the cusp of walking and is so proud of himself when he stands for a long time on his own. He picks up sign language easily which makes life SO much easier for us. For example, just today he crawled over to me, did the sign for "sleep," and laid his head on my lap. So sweet. I took him back to his room, did the naptime routine, and he was down with no trouble. That rarely happens but I'm praying for a trend.

He adores being outdoors and I think he'd go on two hikes a day if we could. Today was rainy and chilly but we did a stroller walk (it has a rain cover) and he was totally content. Being indoors does not suit him one bit. He loves going up and down the stairs, mostly to stand up at the screen door and look outside at the back steps. (We live in a daylight basement so we have two half-flights of stairs leading out of the apartment.) If I let the dog out in the morning but don't "let Kincaid out," he cries and is mad.




I notice that he understands and responds appropriately to many things that I say. When he gets mad and I know why he's mad, I can say, "You're mad because we aren't going outside right now. That is OK; we will go outside after breakfast" and he will stop crying. He is pretty verbal for a boy (according to the stats) and mimics a lot of words. He's still not getting the "D" sound, so "daddy" is "Ah-ee," and "doggie" is "oggie." Mama, however, is loud and clear!

Yes, he still wakes up at night, and yes, he's still nursing, and yes, I'm sure I'll do things differently if I have other kids, but he's my first, and I'm supposed to make mistakes and be naive, right? Besides the fog I've lived in for the past year and a half, I love this kid more than life.

Because of him, I view every person differently, especially my students. Because they are someone's child, I know how special they are. Before I had my own kid, I certainly thought highly of my students and wanted the best for them, but I find that my more difficult students are easier to handle now. Maybe it's because they don't wake me up at 1, 3, 5, and 7 a.m.? (By the way, that's a bad night, but it's not too uncommon, and yes, we're working on it, and no, I won't use the BabyWise method.)




He loves music and I'm currently experimenting with different lullaby CDs from the library, hoping for some magical cure. I like the Putamayo World Lullabies CD the best. So far I know that he does not like "Jesus Loves Me--Fast Asleep!" because he woke up about 30 times the night I played that one. Yes, I turned it off around 2 a.m.

My mom bought him a drum that he loves to hit, and I got him a xylophone that he will bang on as well. I so wish we had a piano, but I will have one again someday. He isn't much of a TV watcher but I put on Sesame Street anyway. I don't buy the "TV lowers your kid's IQ" business. He isn't even watching it, and an hour of TV a day, five days a week is not going to harm anyone. I barely turn the thing on lest I get sucked in to an episode of Martha Steward Living. Who can watch that daytime junk anyway? I'll admit to an occasional viewing of The Today Show, but they're all in such a hurry to tell you about the best ways to serve punch at a party that I get a little overwhelmed. So, we turn on KGLT, our local alternative radio station, (not alternative music, but alternative as in, they don't play the same stuff all the time) and jam out.

He's still kind of scared of the beautiful rocking horse Travis's dad made, but he's intrigued still. He will climb on it and rock it, but he will cry if I put him on it to rock like it's made to be used. Baby steps.

He's kind of over the Johnny Jump-up and I joke about making a run for it from the kitchen to the living room so he can walk around in it. Would that be inhumane? A baby zip-line of sorts? I think it's brilliant personally.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to wean him. I have a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding right now. I'm still not back to my usual clothing size, but I'm damn close. I'm easily in a 10 and I'm usually a 6/8ish. I was in a 16 after him, so this is progress, ya'll. It's been a slow but steady loss. I'm convinced these last 10lbs or so aren't going anywhere until I give up breastfeeding. I'm ready, but he is not. I'm hoping that with walking will come lessened interest. I am torn between the theory of child-led weaning and forced weaning. I'm trying a gentle, slow approach. He will go to bed without nursing but wakes up later wanting it. The "don't offer, don't refuse" theory sort of works, except I already know when he's going to ask for it so I usually just offer instead of waiting for the inevitable (loud) request. And no, he doesn't scream, "WANT BOOBIE!!" He just screams. I think the day he screams audible words like that, the game's over, kid.

He loves putting things on his head, and sort of says "hat." He does the sign for hat which clears up any confusion. Anything that stays on his head for a few seconds is a hat. He especially likes my hats, Travis's hats, and kitchen towels.



Well, since he'll probably be up and needing something soon (earlier he woke up and I tried to let him cry for a few minutes thinking he could handle going back to sleep himself--then discovered he desperately needed a diaper change--I always feel guilty when that happens), I'll stop gushing about my cute and wonderful baby boy and go to bed myself. The forecast low is 33 tonight and we don't have the heat on. I might set it to click on at 65 just in case. I can use the baby as an excuse, right? Most of the time I feel quite acclimated to this Montana weather after living in the South my whole life, but when it comes to my house, I like to be warm.

What now?

Or....


Or...



Many of you know this, but for the past five months or so, we've been seriously considering (and looking for jobs to make it possible) a move back South. North Carolina, to be exact. Why? Many reasons--the biggest of which is the need and desire to be closer to my family (or any family--Boise was also considered) and to give Trav an opportunity to go to school. NC was the best bet: my dad and stepmom are there, it's closer to my family in FL and other places in the region, and it offers job opportunity for me and school choices for Travis. It also provides the same recreational choices we love about Montana: fly fishing, hiking, (some) skiing, four seasons, and relatively scarce population.

Well, tonight I learned that my dad, for several legitimate reasons, may leave NC at some point. He was giving me a head's up so that we could rethink our moving decision. I greatly appreciate this, clearly, but I am also a little bummed. NC seemed so perfect; the best of both worlds--the South, but not too hot. Close, but not too close, to FL where my sister and mom are. Different, but not too different from Montana. Of course, we could still try to move there, but there's a chance we may not have the family we hoped for.

In addition, I've had zero luck securing a job there, and the prospects are not good. I suppose they're bad everywhere, but the unemployment rate there is quite high. I imagine they will hire locals over some unknown lady from Montana.

So, while I still desperately want to move away from Bozeman, we have new choices to consider. I have stated countless times that I will NEVER move back to Florida. I would like to stay true to that word. However, the thought of giving Travis a taste of the culture in which I grew up (he grew up in Boise, Idaho) is attractive to me. I think he'd understand me better if he experienced the South in all its glory. The heat and humidity keep me away, though. If I had to pick just once place where I know I could be reasonably happy (even though I'd be sweaty) because I'd have a nearly instant support system and family close by, I'd choose Tallahassee. However, I'm not sure the job prospects are any better there than they are in Asheville.

However, I also feel driven to go back to Plan A, which was Boise to begin with. Whereas Boise: Travis :: Melbourne: Meagan, we could live in a different area from where he grew up and it could feel significantly different. We'd have his parents and grandmother, plus his network of friends (some of whom are parents, too). Boise also offers a good university, community colleges, and a ground campus of my current employer: The University of Phoenix. Not sure I could get a job with them there (or that I'd want to necessarily), but it's an option.

To me, Boise seemed like a solid option since it also offered the recreational options we enjoy, it's still out West, which I prefer, and the climate is relatively mild. It also has a bigger airport with more options for me to fly home.

I find change exciting, but also infuriating. I want to just pick up and GO and not have to deal with the job hunt and the uncertainty. I want to BE where we're going to be for a while and feel as if I can put roots down. Here, I feel as if I can't really invest in the community since I plan to be gone soon. Is that a mistake? Should I just jump in and be part of things while I'm here? I suppose I am doing that, since I'm attending (but haven't joined) a church here. I've made a friend or two, and I've volunteered to co-facilitate a valley-wide women's Bible study this fall. I like to be part of things and feel as if I'm invested in a place. It's not difficult to do that here, but I want to do more. I'm eager to volunteer with the church youth group again. I miss working with teenagers and I have always found so much fulfillment from those experiences. I always learn more from those kids than they could ever learn from me! But I don't want to jump in only to leave a few months later. I feel guilty whenever I get to know kids and then leave. I don't want to be that person--I want to be committed and deeply rooted.

Oh, I should mention that one of the major reasons why we can't really take root here is the cost of living. I can't find sustainable work here, and neither can Travis. Plus, this town doesn't offer a good school solution for Travis. Even if it did, I couldn't make enough teaching to support us living here. Housing costs alone are absurd. Boise and NC both simply had more options. NC's cost of living is significantly lower. Boise's is somewhat lower, too, and because it's a larger area, it has community colleges as well as universities. We need options, folks.

Letter to Parents Magazine, May 2010

Just thought I'd share the whole text. I sound a little angry and judgmental, but it captures how I felt as soon as I finished reading the article. I do realize that $75,000 of income for a family of four is not "rich," but it would certainly feel rich to me and many other families I know.

I literally snorted in disgust and disbelief at the article, "Secrets of Couples Who Don't Fight About Money." Truthfully, it was the subtitle that make me roll my eyes: "They're not rich...." Not rich? The lowest income in the article was $75,000/year! Try getting some advice from couples who make around $35,000 -$40,000 which is what we're lucky to pull in here in Montana. Especially during a recession. If we were bringing in $80,000, we wouldn't be fighting about money, either! The advice in the articles was generally good, but it's hard for a struggling family to take an article seriously when these families are obviously comfortable. They're renting condos in the summer and paying extra on their mortgages, while most of us are deferring school loans (again) and renting small homes. Even one more realistic representation of America would have improved the trustworthiness of this article.

To the woman who thinks she can judge me

Today, my landlord, who offered to clean the carpets in Kincaid's room after the mold eradication, said something to me that made me feel about an inch tall and incapable of mothering my son any further. She is not a mother. She offered to do this for us, and I'm beginning to wonder if she only offers to do things so that she then has the freedom to give us guilt trips about all the "man hours" she's spent helping us. The current tally is 25. She says she wants no payback one day, that she just wants to help because she knows we're overwhelmed, and the next day she says, "I hope you're enjoying your trip, because I've been working since you left." Does she want to do us a favor, or is she just out to build up the guilt?



I told her that we would clean the carpets next weekend. She said, "We'll just do it while you're gone, it will be easier." I told her that we would pay for the rental of the steam cleaner. She said, "Oh no, we'll use it, too, and get our bedroom carpet clean." I then said that we'd like to at least split the cost, as it's our responsibility to do this. She shooed that idea and said she was happy to do it for us.



Today, Kincaid and I stopped in to say thank you, as the house looked good and they'd also done a once-over on the living room carpet that was exposed.


We chatted about our trip, and how exhausting it was to take three flights each way, etc... At some point she stopped and said, "Well, I have this to say after spending 25 man hours cleaning down there (meaning in our apartment).You would probably all be healthier if you lived in a cleaner environment."


I think I responded with something like, "We do our best; it's hard with me working from home and taking care of a baby, too." What I wanted to say was, "If you want to judge how clean we're able to keep our home, perhaps you should live a week in our shoes first, and find out how much time you have to devote to floorboards and dusting picture frames."


Or something much nastier.


Truthfully, the mold is a product of several variables, which are perhaps the result of poor planning on our part, but are not the result of us being dirty people or bad parents. To give some background, Kincaid's bedroom is at the back corner of the house. Two walls are outside walls. One wall is against a closet, the other against the bathroom. Right outside of his room is a washer and dryer. This winter, because his windows were so drafty and leaky, making his room about 10 degrees colder than the rest of the house and wasting heat, we put plastic film on the windows like most people do around here, to keep the heat in. In addition, at the advice of our doctor to help with cold symptoms and breathing at night, we ran a humidifier.


No ventilation + humidifier + proximity to the bathroom and washer/dryer = MOLD.


We didn't find the mold until February. It was hiding behind a coat in the closet. We immediately cleaned it with bleach solution, removed the plastic (even though it was still freezing), and tried to keep the room more ventilated.


Of course, we told our landlords about the mold, and they were unhappy with us that it had come back. Around 2006, they put in a good amount of money cleaning up after this place flooded due to bad plumbing. They replaced half the carpet and had any mold (mostly under the carpet and behind the drywall) removed and replaced parts of the walls. Mold had already been here. I imagine that to them, seeing it return was frustrating. We were only trying to do two things: Keep our baby warm and breathing. It didn't occur to us at the time that those two things together would create the perfect environment for mold. Looking back, of course, it seems obvious. When our landlords heard that we'd had plastic on the windows, they were angry.


Well, I think anyone would put plastic on windows that were as drafty as these, especially in a baby's room. We were also facing high heating costs over this eternal winter from hell. Conveniently, they looked more closely at the windows and discovered they needed some maintenance. Surprise.


So, our landlord, on her own, offered to come clean the walls in Kincaid's room and clean the carpets. I offered to do it myself, and she said that it would be too hard for me to do it while taking care of Kincaid. Now I'm thinking she just thought I was incapable. I don't know what she thinks of me, but it sure is different from how she treats me.


Part of me wants to tell her she should either be up front and real with me, or just not bother to help us anymore. If she isn't going to offer help without also expecting to be able to comment on our parenting or cleanliness or whatnot, then she can stay next door and keep to herself. I suppose I feel so hurt by her comments because she comes across as genuinely wanting to help. When she then turns and makes it clear that she's keeping a tally of how much time she's spent helping us, I feel betrayed. I am always gracious for her help and give gifts. Travis offers sweat equity in payment when they won't accept money. We fix little things all the time without even telling them.


She wants to be a mother to me when I already have three, and none of them are quite so quick to judge. Perhaps because they have been here themselves. I am also hard enough on myself and do not need anyone else to tell me that I could be doing a better job. I know our house is not clean. I know the bathtub needs a good scrubbing. I know the floor needs to be mopped more often. I know the dog hair is ridiculous. I know the living room is cluttered. I know my child has dog hair on his clothes after crawling on the floor. I do sweep, I promise. I even Swiffer. And yes, I brush the dog. She also said that the dog was the cause of most of the cleanliness problem. If she was insinuating that we should get rid of our dog, I might lose it. I would sweep five times a day in return for the love, loyalty, and joy that dog brings to this house. I wouldn't go a day without Dexter in our lives, hair and all. Plus, he helps keep the kitchen floor cleaner than I ever could by happily eating whatever we drop, unless it's onion, banana, or garlic.


In addition, for someone who's never been in my shoes to tell me I could have a cleaner house is infuriating. Apparently we aren't trying hard enough. Believe me, I'd like my house to be cleaner. But between working from home and trying to take care of an 11-month-old, the chances to scour the tub are rare. I barely have time most days to empty and fill the dishwasher and keep up with basic laundry. Forget mopping and things like cleaning behind the fridge and vacuuming behind the couch.


I suppose I could do those things, but it would mean ignoring my baby fussing, or ceasing to do things like take walks with him, go to the library, read books, play on the floor (or now, thank God, in the back yard!), or try to document his speedy growth during this fleeting first year. I doubt I'll look back on this year and think, "Wow, I sure wish I'd taken a toothbrush to the grout more often," or, "My life would feel more complete if I knew there were no crumbs under the stove."


If you know me, you know I'm not the neatest person on the planet. But I like to think I at least take care of the necessities, like dishes, laundry, and the bathroom. Our tub is well overdue for a cleaning, but the toilet and sink are fine. I am simply not a neat freak, but I am also not gross. I've long outgrown the moldy cups of orange juice that populated my bedroom as a teenager, along with the makeup stains on the carpet. I am still a fan of stacks, and am still guilty of taking off my clothes and not sorting them into the appropriate laundry baskets right away. I am still fond of taking off my shoes whenever I sit down, instead of when I come in the door. I still have a couple of water glasses by the bedside table, along with a few books I'm working on.


I desperately want my home to be more organized than it is, which is a work in progress, but I refuse to put "whiter than white" ahead of my duties as a mama and a teacher. I don't know many other mothers who work from home. I imagine (maybe?) the house would be cleaner if we were here less often, but maybe not. I wouldn't have it any other way than the way it is. I would love to have the help and support I need to be a happier, healthier person, but I hate to say, that does not include a spotless, dogless house. If we aren't to your liking, Ms. Landlord, you are welcome to boot us to the curb.

the longest day

Yesterday was the longest day we've shared with Kincaid so far. Saturday morning, he unexpectedly bit me while nursing. Yes, it hurts. He's bit me before, but I usually anticipate it and can grit my teeth and not jump or yelp. For whatever reason, yesterday, he bit me and I wasn't expecting it. I jumped a bit, and he pulled off and cried. Unlike normal, he wouldn't latch back on....for the rest of the day. Nor would he take a bottle. If you've ever breastfed, you know how excruciating this can be. I felt rejected and defeated. I wondered if our nursing relationship was over, even though I am not near ready to call it quits. I didn't think he was, either, but when he would start to latch on, look up at me, and then begin to scream again, time after time, I wondered if he was.

He cried most of the day. Travis took him for a walk, and he calmed down somewhat. But he would only cease crying for a few minutes before he'd start again. He wouldn't sleep. He would eat solids, but wasn't happy about it. I know he wanted milk, but he wouldn't take it. As one day, in retrospect, it was just one day. But while it happened, I felt lost and worthless. I think this is why we wean children gradually, or allow them to lead the weaning. Sudden weaning is heartbreaking. I know a few women who have had to wean quickly for different reasons, and I cannot imagine how difficult it would be. I do think that having a reason (such as needing to start a medication that is incompatible with breastfeeding) would help, but it would still break my heart.

When I chose to breastfeed, I had no idea this would be such a close relationship. I knew it would be the best nutrition I could offer Kincaid, and since I was physically able and planned to work from home, I knew it would be easiest to breastfeed. I have saved some money, although I sometimes wonder if I've spent as much in granola bars and Luna bars as I would have in formula and bottles! I'm starting to feel ready to wean, as we have about three months left until he is a year old. I imagine this could spill over past a year old, but I don't think I want to try to breastfeed until he is two. I admire women who do, but I do feel as if my body is still on loan as an extension of pregnancy. I'm ready for this phase to end, and for another to begin. I worry that he may be lactose intolerant or have a dairy allergy (not unlike my occasional issues with dairy) but hopefully he can transition to cow's milk at a year old. The transition will be difficult for both of us, and I want to follow his lead, so we'll see how that goes. I just pray that we don't have any more days like yesterday. It tested our patience close to its limits.
Sometimes we wonder if we will ever catch a break. We are doing the best we have with the circumstances we brought upon ourselves. We're even going to church regularly! A woman named Brenda spoke at our church this morning in our pastor's absence. She shared the story of coming to our church after 30 years of not attending. She said she nearly vomited as she imagined coming into the church. But she also said that being willing to share her story and listen to others' stories has been the best thing she's ever done. She said that deciding to be a Christian was the best thing she'd ever done. I'm glad I only lasted about two years away from church. Still, because I didn't feel as if I'd be accepted, because of the judgmental behavior I witnessed as a child, I was terrified. I am still technically an unwed mother, although not a single mom. We are a statistic. We are the people pastors talk about when they mention the "damage" caused by "cohabitation." Even though I already believed this, living through this situation causes me to see every situation case by case. Never again will I consciously judge or look down on anyone's living situation, especially before I know the entire story. I encourage you to do the same. After all, you may be looking down on us. And how could you look down on this guy?

Smoking around kids

This is going to sound judgmental, because it is.
The baby boy, Dexter, and I just returned from a mental health stroll to the park. I threw the ball for Dexter and let Kincaid swing and be happy. He's been so fussy recovering from his stomach virus.

Anyway, as we approached the park, I saw a woman ( I won't assume she was the mother) smoking while pushing a baby in a stroller. Now, I don't live in a cave, and realize that mothers still smoke. I understand that nicotine is more addictive than I'll ever know, and I know most people who smoke desire to quit. I just have a hard time understanding why anyone would smoke around a baby, knowing what we know today. As a new mama, I know it's difficult, if not impossible, to get a few moments outside for a smoke (if I needed such moments). I don't think the answer is smoking with your baby. It may be difficult for me to be able to do the dishes with Kincaid fussing, so I might put him in a sling or the Ergo to help calm him down and still be able to get things done. I'm not sure this team effort applies to smoking. I don't know this woman's situation, and perhaps today it was all she could do not to throw the stroller, baby and all, across the state, and a cigarette on a walk stood between her and her sanity. But I still find it hard to believe.

We once ended up spending an evening outdoors, downtown, with a couple and their baby. They both smoke. I felt like a prude trying to keep our baby away from the smoke. Yes, my own father smoked until I was around five, but I still think we knew less about the effects of smoking on kids in 1986. I don't want to seem like an overprotective parent, because I don't think I am, but I do want to keep him away from what are known health risks and dangers. If you smoke near your kid, so be it, but don't smoke near mine.

It's been entirely too long since I've posted, but it isn't for lack of happenings. I have plenty of videos on YouTube under "oldberry" to show that we've been up to things. This motherhood business ain't easy. For the past week and a half, we've been dealing with a vomiting baby boy (and boyfriend for a day or so), followed by diarrhea, which we're still dealing with. Handling all these blowouts makes me want to start potty training now. There is something dehumanizing about pooping on yourself, even if it is cleaned up rather quickly. Hopefully once Kincaid can walk and communicate a bit better, he will agree with me, and want to learn how to use a toilet.

I am on an organizing kick this week. I feel as if my nesting instinct is about nine months late, or maybe I just now finally (kind of) have the energy to care that this place is a wreck. It's the result of two households hastily mashed together when half of the couple (me) was on bed rest and said, "just put it wherever, I'll deal with it later." Well, that has resulted in piles and general mayhem. Add all the baby gear and you've got a decent mess. I took a trip to the dollar store to get some cheap plastic baskets, got a lazy susan a-la Mrs. Webster for the kitchen, and some other containers and baskets. I went through the bookshelf and finally picked out some books I don't need to have around. Yes, I might teach middle school English again, but at that time I can get copies of those young adult novels I've held onto. And yes, I might want the Norton Critical Edition of The Heart of Darkness someday, but I can check it out from the library if so. I kept my marked-up Huck Finn, as it's invaluable and falling apart, I kept things that make me look smart if they're on my bookshelf, and I kept books I see myself reading to Kincaid someday. We also have a few fly fishing books....


I organized the books by color, which is weird, I know, but I saw it in Real Simple and thought it looked more put-together. Most of my books are either black, white, yellow, blue, red, or green. Good to know, I suppose.


My job is still going fairly well. I am on my third round of teaching the same course, and it gets much easier each time. After this month, though, this course will no longer be offered, and a new one is rolling out. I'm approved to teach it, but haven't been asked yet. Here's hoping I'll still have work. We desperately need it!

Speaking of, I should get some done while the boy is napping in his newly resurrected swing. He hated it for awhile and decided he liked it again sometime last week, so now it's the only place (besides the Ergo) where he'll nap in the afternoons. Whatever works. Sorry for the terribly boring post; I'm not quite at 100% myself.

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.