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A change in perspective

I used to spend so much time here, putting my thoughts to “paper” and publishing for anyone to see. My kids are only 6 and 3, and there are so many stories to capture about them.

Maybe things like Facebook have ruined that for me, where I can dash off a thought whenever, instead of composing something more … interesting … than I do now?

But I don’t even know where to (re)start. My oldest is in kindergarten and I don’t know for sure what’s okay and what’s not anymore. Will he enjoy my stories about him? Be mad that I put them online, opening both of us to criticism? (I got a lot of flack from attachment parents for that one.)

I used to feel compelled to write. Like something wasn’t quite right in my life unless I was putting pen to paper. Now, after I’ve hit 40, I’m just not sure I need to chronicle everything. Who will care in the end? My grandkids? My great-grandkids? (I would have *loved* to discover an old journal from a relative – but who knows if there will be anyone in the family like that down the road?)

It has to be for me, or not at all. So I’ll write when I feel like it, try to put down some fun thoughts that I think my boys will enjoy later, and try not to pressure myself too much. I have enough of that in other areas of my life.

The problem with blogging

Social media killed my blog. It’s true. Facebook and Twitter are so quick. I can fire off a quick thought, a funny observation, or as many non sequiturs as I’d like. Them BAM I can get right back to work without missing a beat.

But blogging’s not like that. It takes time to think about things. Develop the story you want to tell. Add photos to make it interesting. It takes work.

And I am inherently lazy. Yes, lazy. I’ll take the easy way out just about every time.

Take a whole hour to sit and think about what I want to say? Organize my thoughts? Make sense to people? What’s that? I’m all about the brain dump, baby. Vomit it all out there and move on.

But that’s not what people are looking for. They want you to DO something. Make them laugh. Think. Cry. Give them something useful to act on. I have a lot of cool stuff in my head (I think), but getting it out through my fingers has become almost impossible for me.

Then again, I can’t remember the last time I picked up my paper journal and got everything out either. I’m stuck. There’s so much jammed into my brain that I just don’t know where to start. So it stays in there until it disappears into the fog of my memory. Lost forever.

There are moments I don’t want to forget. And then there are others I wish I could.

I miss writing. I’m not really sure what I want this place to be. But it’s my space and I’ve poured out a lot of my soul over the last 10 years. And I’m stubborn. I just can’t quite quit yet.

So the problem with blogging is this: it’s me. That’s my blogging problem. Just me.

Finding my voice

It seems sometimes like I’ve lost my voice. Not my physical, yell at my children voice, but my writing voice. My personal writing voice. I think of little things here and there to blog about, but by the time I’m done with work, I really just want to get off of the computer and spend time with hubby and the boys. Or it’s something that seems stupid. Or silly. Or not worthy of my time — or yours.

I want to chronicle this time with my boys. I’m not even doing that. I have way too much to do and I haven’t been very good at managing my time on & off the computer.

On top of that, I wonder if anyone even cares any more. Do I? I’ve been writing online since 2002. I remember that date because I was writing about a fishing trip I took that summer. But I’ve since lost those archives. What’s my point? I don’t know. I’ve been writing a long time. Do I have anything worth saying anymore?

I’m not really sure. But I still need a place to write, to get things out of my brain. Does anyone else do that? Write because you need to clear your head? I’ll go crazy if I don’t.

So it may be disjointed. It may be boring. But I need to get it all out once in a while.

He knows something’s up

My son has been a little more clingy recently. He stands right next to my chair when I’m working. He’s constantly leaning on me. Or climbing into my chair and standing just behind my shoulder. Or crawling up into my lap.

He knows something’s going on. And that time is short.

It is short. As of Tuesday (the 19th – I started writing this earlier in the week) I have less than FIVE WEEKS to get ready for Baby M’s appearance. I still haven’t dug any of the supplies out of the garage. We have a few diapers on hand. My Moby wrap is in the closet but probably needs to be washed. The bed is still in the garage. Everything is. On top of that we have a ton of other laundry to get caught up on. I am so far behind it isn’t funny. I wish I could take a week off of work to prepare, but we can’t afford that right now.

Nesting? Yes. Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy that accompanies my long lists of what needs to be done.

Back to the boy. He’s grabbing as much mommy time as he can. No complaints here. Mostly. I love it, even as I’m stressing about the work I’m not getting done because he wants to visit my lap repeatedly throughout the day. Soon we won’t have the together time that we do now. Soon he won’t want hugs and kisses from mommy. Soon I’ll be too busy nursing his little brother to cuddle every morning while he watches Elmo’s World. And as much as I’m looking forward to meeting little M, it breaks my heart that I’ll lose the time where it has just been me and the Boobah. I will miss this, even as I anticipate all the good to come.

Still here, still pregnant

We’ve hit the 28 week marker. Time has moved so slowly I thought that I’d never get here. And now it’s third trimester time. Did I hit the uncomfortable stage of things this soon last time? I don’t remember. I’m already having trouble breathing and eating – where’d all the space go? At my last appointment, I was measuring a week ahead already. That prompted my doctor to go ahead and schedule a c-section.

Unfortunately, Thanksgiving gets in the way. And that means dates are limited, especially since I don’t want to go in on my other son’s birthday. I refuse to have two birthdays on the same day if I can avoid it.

So the doctor scheduled it the day after. Sigh. I don’t care about being in the hospital on Thanksgiving. I really don’t. But I am frustrated that I’m limited to two days just before then AND the doc chooses the 23rd. Why couldn’t he schedule it on the 24th and at least give us a day in between?

And don’t get me started on feeling like my choices have been taken away. My original due date was 11/29. But based on conception date, I know that’s early by at least 3 days. I didn’t get a chance to give him those details (and would he listen anyway?). Because of my gestational diabetes, he doesn’t want me to go to my due date. In fact, he apparently doesn’t want me to get too close to that since it’s possible my son will be big.

Let’s face it. i have a big family. I don’t think it has a lot to do with diabetes. We’re just big people. My other son was 9 lbs. 10 oz. My uncle was either 10 or 11 lbs. when he was born. Another uncle, other side of the family, was somewhere in the 6′ 6″ range as an adult. My hubby is 6′ 2″ See? Big people.

If I’m “lucky” I’ll go into labor on my own. But since the c-section is a week early and my last son was late, that’s not looking likely.

I was really angry and upset when I first got the news. Now I just feel resigned to it. The ultimate goal is a healthy baby and mommy, no matter how we get there. I just really hate feeling that my choices are limited. I was really hoping this pregnancy would be different. Instead we’re hearing the same tune just three years later.

And that’s part of why I’ve been avoiding much personal blogging. It all turns into angry rants or whining. And who really cares? It could be much worse. At least I’m not in the hospital on bed rest, unable to work or take care of my son.

One thing I’m dreading is caring for my older son while trying to recover from a c-section. Did I mention that he weighs 44 lbs.? Yeah, there will be no lifting him out of the crib in the mornings. Which is one reason why my husband is pushing to get him a toddler bed – one that he can crawl in & out of. (That still won’t help with diaper changes, though, which we do on our waist-high bed.)

I’m a mess. Have been the entire pregnancy. Worried about money. About how I’ll care for two kids at home by myself. How my older son will react to mommy’s attention going to the wee babe. How I’ll miss this wonderful time with my older son. We are such good buddies. Man, I love that little guy. But I don’t want to write a bunch of anxiety down, lest my younger son someday think he wasn’t wanted. He really is. So much so. But I haven’t done anything to prepare for his arrival — which is now ELEVEN weeks away thanks to the surgery — nor have I taken more than 2 weekly belly pics. Last time? Took a ton. This time? Not many. I wonder how I’ll give both of them adequate attention when I don’t even feel like I give ONE child enough attention (thanks to having to work so many dang hours – another story in itself).

See? Even I don’t want to listen to me anymore. Hence posts about anything or everything except my pregnancy. Or nothing at all.

I suppose I could write about how much I loathe both of my downstairs neighbors right now, BOTH of whom are doing remodeling. I hate it with a burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. Wouldn’t you think it would be, I don’t know, courteous to let your neighbors know that you’ll be starting some noisy remodeling? Especially those that you KNOW have small children? Yeah, none of that. I hate this place. Hence my looking for a 2 BR closer to hubby’s work. But those are way out of our price range. Actually, EVERYTHING is out of our price range. And I feel trapped. Another source of anxiety.

I really hope all of my stress doesn’t affect the wee babe, too much. But it probably has considering that it affects my eating and blood sugar numbers. See? Mommy fail AGAIN. I just want this to be over with so we can go visit my family and decompress for a month or so. Really hoping that helps. I need a break. I need to stop worrying about money, living quarters, my car that’s going to need a lot of work soon, working too hard for too little… I need something. I just wish I knew what it was.

Oops, I did it again.

I’ve had several people ask me if I’m okay after that last post. I am, really. I was just having a super-craptastic day and needed to write something. Maudlin, much?

Of course, there could be a tiny reason why I’m a bit easily pushed down into the depths, thinking the world just might end.

And it may have just a wee, teeny bit to do with hormones.

Lots

and

lots

of

hormones.

Oops, we did it again.

It has been really tough not talking about this. I have been so very sick, averse to a lot of foods and just plain miserable. And happy. But oh how I wanted to share my woes over feeling so sick that I have been taking a nap almost every day at the same time as my son.

Or how utterly exhausted I have been. All. The. Time.

Or how my husband is thinking about banning me from drinking merlot ever again. (But that’s a different story.)

Last week, about Thursday or Friday my belly POPPED. It’s a little hard to hide the news now. And Friday night, I went to Mamafest here in San Diego and ran into a bunch of ladies I knew. During the course of conversations, the news slipped. Oops.

That’s really okay, though. I’d already had my first appointment, seen that tiny little being, and heard a heartbeat. It’s real.

Oh boy. I’m going to be a mom to two littles, exactly 3 years apart. And I do mean exactly as this wee one is due a week after his/her brother’s birthday.

We’re calling this baby 3.0, because the boy was jokingly referred to as 2.0 on our shower cake last time AND this kid will be the third. So there you go.

The holidays are going to be busy this year, y’all. I can’t wait.

The façade

The façade collapsed
as the carefully constructed walls crumbled.
The foundation buckled
as the supports evaporated.

Alone.
Unsure.
Nowhere to go.
Broken.
So very alone.

This is why I love the internets

Gratitude

“It’s really not all that bad.” That’s what I — and my husband — keep telling myself. I love the time I spend with my son, even as I feel guilty that it’s not enough… or especially not enough quality over quantity.

But then I lie in bed in the morning, after my son is up and we’re both snuggled up watching a cartoon or two, and I realize how good I have it. There’s no rushing around in the morning to get him to daycare and me to work. I doze a little while he plays with his cars and sips his milk. I smile as he runs his cars all over my head and shoulders, making these new little “vroom vroom” noises.

And I realize all of this, even as we’re terribly short on money, when I am able to get out of my own head. That’s not easy when you work from home and don’t really get out much. And yet, the internet helps me there, too. I chat with people on twitter when I take breaks. I read blogs and get to see how my internet friends are doing.

I’ve even made new local friends. That’s probably the biggest thing that the ‘net has brought me. As I think I’ve mentioned before, several of my closest friends have moved in the last few years. Since I don’t work outside the home any longer, it has been much harder to find new people to hang out with. But then I went to a couple of events that I found out about on Twitter. And I started meeting other moms.

From there, I found out about events through sdGNO (San Diego Girl’s Night Out) and sdIRL (San Diego In Real Life). And wouldn’t you know it? I have made a bunch of new friends and connected with some old ones, too. (Of course, that totally doesn’t include everyone, but you can see lists of people I’ve met via some twitter lists.)

Just getting to hang out with many cool people, get our kids together for playdates, and get out of the darn house has been making a big difference for me. It’s slowly getting better, the more I push myself to go do cool things.

As long as I can keep reminding myself not to think to hard about all that I’m not doing and not getting accomplished — and concentrate on the good — I think it’ll be okay.

Nah, I’m sure of it.

I’d also like to thank the kind person who nominated me for a “Best in Lifestyle” award from the San Diego Social Media Awards (#influenceSD). I absolutely wasn’t expecting it and no matter where I wind up, I’m honored to be in a group with so many of my friends. (PS – you can vote for me here, if you are so inclined.)

My reality

Recently, it feels like I am such a failure at everything. And when you feel that way, it is so hard to write about it. Since that’s all I’ve been talking about lately anyway, it gets pretty old. And if it’s bugging me, it certainly must not be fun for you to read about.

And yet… it is my reality. All I see are the things I haven’t done. Projects I haven’t finished, things I have failed my son and husband in, my messy house, a stack of books I haven’t read, filing and laundry and dishes to be done…

I used to be (and feel) so organized. I was on top of everything most of the time. And now, if it weren’t for automatic billpay, we’d probably be without living quarters or utilities. I just can’t seem to get it together.

It’s hard to admit. Hence, the ongoing silence. What do I say without sounding like I’m just whining? AGAIN? It’s still my reality right now. All I see right now as I look around is everything I haven’t done yet. Every misstep. Every failure.

When I get there

I used to think I would die young. I’m not sure why those thoughts were in my head. I just didn’t foresee a future of me getting old. But now, I do hope I get old so I can see my son grow up. Have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Watching my aunt pass away and seeing all of the people gathered around her to help in the end made me realize how much I want to be surrounded by family. Lots and lots of family.

And yet, even if I grow old and everyone’s gone except me, the kids are too busy with their lives & their own kids to visit, I will hold these times close. I will wrap the memory of these days around me like a soft, familiar blanket. I will comfort myself with the remembered feel of my sons arms around my neck as he climbs down from his high chair, pausing at the end to just stand there and hug me. I will store up these times and treasure them.

He’s small now, but he won’t be for long. I want to treasure the big things. The little things. The ordinary, everyday things. Things to keep me warm with rosy memories in my old age. When I get there. I do plan to get there.