Gotta Crack the Code!

I remember being in first grade and being asked by the teacher to pick out a book for her to read to the class during "circle time." I got up and picked a book I liked: Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham. This is a good book! Right?! She totally chastised me, "I expected YOU to pick something much more interesting."  I had no idea what she meant. And in years past, I've thought about that memory numerous times and thought "what a bitch!" Truth was, in 1st grade I was a prolific reader. I loved it. You could open a book and a whole world was available to you! My dork-tendencies revealed themselves early as I preferred to sit in my room and read rather than watch TV when I was six. It was just who I was/am. I love to read.

But I forgot this fact when I had a child. It didn't seem relevant. Until a year ago, this past November. I felt that it was important for Nico to learn her letters when she was a little over 2-1/2. I don't know why. I just did. I started in October and by the end of November, she knew them all. But that was it. She didn't seem that interested in doing anything else with them. Being a Waldorf parent, I wasn't going to force it. Whatever. At least she knew them.

A year later, she started showing an interest in learning more about letters - as she put it. I consulted my dear friend, Peggy, who is a reading specialist and she told me what to do, what books to read, etc. But it didn't go terribly far. Again, whatever...it didn't really matter. Then she discovered the keyboard on the computer - and after "typing" words that we wrote out for her came this phrase, "Mommy, I have to crack the code! I need to learn to read!"

Oh. Kay.

And so it began. Now, as I type, the child still doesn't "read" exactly. But we spend a LOT of time talking about letters and sounds. And lo' and behold, she writes, too. How?! I have NO idea. But I was floored the other day, nonetheless. While emptying the dishwasher, she sat on the floor and asked me to spell 'Happy Birthday.' I didn't look to see what she was doing - until she told me that she was making a card for a friend. Holy crap! When did she learn this? When did she figure this out?!

So. Despite how much my child may look like my husband. She's mine...on a whoooole other level. Mwa-hahahaha....

As I Lay Me Down To Sleep....

Probably the biggest misconception I had about having a child was the lack of sleep. I used to talk to my sister, Alisa, after my second niece (her second daughter) was born and listen to her say, "Lord, I had a rough night last night!" But I had no idea what she really meant. Sleep has always been something elusive to me. As I've gotten older, I have to take a fair amount of medications to make sleep "stick" through the night. According to my dad, I've always been a crappy sleeper - from day one - but I didn't take him seriously. How bad a sleeper could a child really be? So, when everyone told me that sleep is the one thing you will miss SO desperately, I thought: Oh, please. I've always operated on little or no sleep. It is something I do well. Having a child will work right in with that. Oh. What a fool. I was.

From the moment Nico was born, my doula said, "Wow! Look at how alert she is!!" All the postpartum nurses said the same thing. I thought this was a good thing. Right? Damn.

While I apologize for the boob shot, notice how awake this child is, moments after birth!

So I was in no way ready for the nightmare of sleep deprivation that came next. Holy crap. I NEVER knew I could be so tired!! NEVER! I had run the gambit of sleep-deprived situations in my life: Columbia's architecture program, writing a dissertation, 20-something NYC party-girl...Cake. All of it. Nothing was this bad. Nothing. I remember a pediatrician appointment when Nico was about 6 weeks old. There had to be something wrong with this child! In a 24-hour period, she had slept about 25 minutes. I told the doctor this...and she didn't seem phased. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" I gasped. "Some children aren't great sleepers," was her calm, patronizing reply. The nightmare continued.

Not only would she wake up a dozen times a night, she would wake up early, full of laughs and giggles. 

It just wouldn't end! I couldn't get a reprieve! Finally, once I put her in her own crib at five months, she slept. Through the night. For four glorious months. And she would take this great three-hour nap in the morning with me. It was heaven. And then it started again.

Night after night. Twice a night. Sometimes every hour. And it lasted for months! And then, miraculously, God would take pity on me, and she would sleep. A desperate, exhausted call to my dad one day yielded some interesting information. He said, "This is the exact same way you were. Exactly! You were a terrible sleeper! I used to rock and rock you for hours, saying softly, 'Please go to sleep.' And you would just giggle and coo at me." I went cold with these words. Shit. Its hereditary. There's nothing wrong with my kid! Its just me!

I developed the habit of taking pictures of her when she wouldn't sleep - especially at naps. Here are a few 'doosies' when I was particularly tired.

The number pf pictures I have taken of this child in the middle of the night or on a day when she should have been sleeping are too numerous to post. Suffice to say: there are three years worth. 

Deep down - in a secret part of my brain - I know why I don't sleep. The answer is simple: I may miss something. Why sleep when the whole world will pass you by?! Granted, I don't feel this way anymore. But it took having a kid to arrive at this. I can't begrudge my kid for this feeling. Its the one thing that's driven me to every success, adventure, risk I've ever taken. Some of my most alive moments have been when everyone else is asleep! My writing is done at night. The best movies are on...in the middle of the night. Of course she doesn't want to sleep: Life may pass her by. 

So. What to do. Answer: Just be tired. Very tired. And know that my kid will share my fate of sleeplessness. She will accomplish great things - when everyone else is asleep. And will have epiphanies at 2:30 in the morning. She will watch the sun come up in Pompeii while smoking a joint. She will cross the Brooklyn Bridge in a limo at 4am and think "I couldn't be more alive right now!" She will feel the pulse of the sleeping world while inhaling the night air. Until then, her mother will continue to ass-drag herself down the stairs at 2:45 in the morning to tell her, "We aren't going to talk about the friggin' Tooth Fairy right now." Yawn!

 

The Aftermath...

So, I made it. The three days went by rather quick, actually. And in an interesting turn: I hit the wall on Wednesday. Come Thursday, I was fine. Really fine! By the time we went to pick up my husband on Friday, I was sure that I could have gone another three days! I no longer will have any fear about him leaving. And I have to say, I'm a little proud of myself for this! Not to sound corny, but most importantly, I have a deeper connection with my kiddo. We're definitely closer.

But the bad part - and you knew there was a "but" - the adjustment to my husband's return was a little rough. And I am - frankly - horrified by that. I fancy myself to be an independent woman. Very independent. Always have. My hard-as-steel grandmother told me these words when I was 22: "If you can't take care of yourself and find everything you need in this world within you, then what's the fucking point?!" And she was right. I live by this and will pass this on to Nico. And while I had accepted my limitations on the Mom-front (i.e., really needing him at the end of the day), this trip proved to me that I'm okay by myself - even with a 3 yr-old. I am malleable. I am still that uber-strong woman - hear me roar! And I do still have an ability to bend and flex. Truthfully, I needed the validation. What bothered me was that all of these things proved that the "old" independent, pre-child me is still there - still pushing against needing someone. I was in therapy for years to learn how to co-exist, rely, need someone. If I hadn't, I would have ended up as one of those "cougar" women - using men for my own "fun," never letting anyone in. I would have never evolved into what I am proud to be now.

Within the first hour of Bob's return, I was annoyed - like a kitty having her fur rubbed the wrong way. His energy, his cynicism, his vibe just pissed me off. I couldn't get behind it. The mother-earth view I have of the daily world/reality is not something Bob and I have in common. And, as usual, that irritated me. As is typical, we argued, I cried, we avoided each other for a few hours. And then Nico went to bed and we couldn't avoid each other anymore. We didn't "talk it through." We didn't apologize. We didn't really do anything. He painted. I talked on the phone with a good friend. And I finished the night by telling my sister, "I just have to sleep on it."

And sure enough. Today is better. He hasn't annoyed me at all today. Well. Maybe a little - but nothing more than usual.

The interesting thing is: While he was away, I slept terribly. Nico woke up WAY earlier than usual (7:00). And she went to bed WAY too early (at 8:00, which is crazy for my sleepless child). Last night, she was asleep WAY too late (9:15) AND...AND! She slept until 9:30 this morning (an oh-so-rare occurrence)! And I slept fantastic! 

Bottom line/Lesson I have learned: 1) I am still me, despite being a mother. 2) I am a strong woman and find the man in my life to be annoying, as I should, frankly - or at least according to my grandmother. 3) The "habit" of Bob is exactly that, a habit, a comfort, a reality, a good thing - but not a crutch. I do fine if I'm left alone. I could pull off this Mommy gig by myself - god forbid I should ever have to (knock on wood). Essentially, I can cover my own ass. And that is good. My grandmother would smile.

Holding my breath for three days...

Tomorrow my husband, Bob, is leaving for Florida for three days. This shouldn't be a big deal, right? Except for these few factors: 1) The last time Bob and I spent a night apart was when Nico was born. 2) Before that, it had been three years. In the the total time we have lived in this house (11 years), we have spent no more than 10 nights apart. Not because we're madly in love with each other or that we're afraid to be apart. It just doesn't happen. We like each others company. We travel well together. We're a habit.

So there is that. As a Mom home with her kiddo all day, I need him to come home at night. Need! If even for the luxury of 30 minutes alone while I clean up Nico's room, make her bed and check email. Shoot, after some days, I'm grateful for the 15 minutes of alone-ness I get while washing the tub! I need that break - before the struggle of bath and bed begins. So this three-day stretch in front of me is a marathon I am dreading running. I will be holding my breath for three whole days. I'm not made to be a single-mom. I'm too much of a wuss for that. I will survive. We will get into our rhythm and I will come out of it, Friday, a new person - with new callouses.

But despite all that, there is something that I am even more afraid of, something that gives me a twinge of nausea when I think about it: My muffin-girl, who loves her Daddy more than the moon and sun, will be sad. She will ask about him over and over. I am afraid of her sadness, her missing him. And the more I think of it, I know its my projection. I know I'm feeling myself miss my own dad - which isn't terribly relevant to the conversation (my dad is still around). I just know that feeling. I remember it well when my parents divorced, when my dad traveled on business, when he would leave after visiting me in college. I hate that feeling. And I am terrified of seeing her feel this, too. I know it won't be the same as mine. It could be worse, more powerful...or not. I am so dreading it, though. We will have reminders throughout the entire first day of how Daddy isn't here. Bed time will be this series of "When is Daddy coming home?" I'm friggin' crying while I write this, for pete's sake! sigh

I know I'm reacting to something that hasn't even happened yet. And I do have plans, of a sort. We will make a chart to mark off each day. We will talk to him a couple of times a day. I will post pictures on Facebook for him. We will have adventures to new places we've never been before - as the traveling team I hope us to be when she's older! And in reality...come on...it is only three damn days. I'll be fine. I'm just not up for one of those "parental learning experiences" where you feel the alien-ness of your child in contrast to your own emotions, where you're reminded of her separate, unique personality. I like the familiar. And this week, my friends, we will be on a far-away planet in a far away universe - at least in my head.

And lastly, when I think of this week ahead of me, I keep hearing the phrase, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" and I really have no idea why.

And so it begins....

My sister, Elena, has been after me for quite a while to start this blog. I have been resistant to it for many reasons - primarily, time is too precious to waste sitting at a computer typing about myself. But she claims that I will have something to offer, can contribute something to the world of Moms as women and women as Moms. 

For now, I am a stay-at-home who supposedly runs her own architectural conservation firm, specializing in the conservation of architectural wood.  Before my daughter, Nico, was born, I was successful and accomplished. I liked my career. I've had great projects. And, evidently, my opinion does still matter. But since Nico's birth in March 2007, I've kind of quit caring. Sure, staying at home with your kid is hard, challenging, and overwhelming, but that's not it. Everything was thrown into perspective as soon as she came home. The question, "What the hell am I doing with my life?!" repeated itself over and over in my head. A new person emerged from the horrific sleep deprivation. And I've yet to figure out who that is. If anything, this blog hopes to provide a place for me to remember who I am - or used to be.

So. To do it justice, I intend to write about the unspoken things women don't dare mention in the world of Mom-ness. I'm going to speak some of my darkest thoughts as I drudge through long days. I'm going to share some of the ugly issues my husband and I struggle with. I'll discuss grown-up topics (politics, religion, sex) that seldom see the light of day outside of my head.  Hopefully, I can arrive at a place where I'm more accepting of myself and can approach the difficulties of this Mommy-thing with a fresh perspective. And I invite others to relate and join in the conversation.