the weight

it's hard to write a paper after having spent the previous night at the ER with your 18 month old for something that turned out to be nothing but was a terrifying something that 2 doctors could not assure you was nothing so herded you to the UMD ER  to see a doctor who is "superb".

it's hard to write a paper for a class when you've been skimming the reading all semester long with your mind on your new job, your burgeoning toddler creature, the photos that you need to have edited for your brand new clients, the bill that you forgot to pay....again..

it's hard to write a paper when all you want to do is curl up in your bed and sleep, because work today was exhausting, and the bedtime routine with your sassy little Isabelie was the cherry on top.. sealed the deal... get me my pajamas pronto she said... and make it snappy... 

it's hard to write a paper when you've been surviving on coffee and adrenaline and cereal... and Airborne... and bananas..

it's hard to write a paper knowing that tomorrow will be just like today, only you will probably be more tired, and more worried about the paper after not having done enough tonight. 

It's hard to feel that life is speeding by.. and I can barely catch my breath... and barely fulfill obligations... Nevermind fulfill them very well.  

paralyzed by the weight of it all.... it's all too easy to freeze. 

And I dyed my hair brown.  

WHY??!!

Which phase of the moon can I blame???  

#woof

XX

Cassie

gray matters

It's a rainy Sunday morning.  Izzy is in bed next to me, making quiet baby babble cooing noises...too early... I know she's not going to fall back to sleep, although I try to will her to do it by closing my eyes and pretending to snore. 
Doesn't work.  
I knew it wouldn't.  
I wonder-- (and on some mornings, seethe, but not this morning) 
Why can't my husband just surprise me and get up with her.  
The level of exhaustion that hits me at various points of the day, it's like a ton of bricks, suffocating, crippling... but not really.  
Because it can be shoved back under, and forgotten, like a postcard under the bed, in a shoebox full of other random memorabilia that doesn't necessarily mean anything but means enough to not throw away... that stuff gathering dust.  
Evidence of a different life & time.  
The corners bending, the print fading, the colors yellowing. 
I wonder if I'll ever feel normal again.  I wonder if everyone feels this way. I wonder if this degree of exhaustion means that I'm old, or depressed, or worse, ungrateful.  
Or maybe just human.

Izzy and I get out of bed and stumble into her room, where it's chilly, and her sound machine is still on.  The whale.  Whale-boy, as my husband and I call it.  
It feels like we're at the bottom of the ocean, the waves echoing and crashing, the room dark, the rain softly hitting the window. I get her dressed and changed.  
She plays on the floor, sometimes crawling over top of me, reaching around my neck for a hug, but almost as soon as she makes it into my lap, she is reaching back down for the floor.  

I lie on the carpet and watch her, sometimes join her.  I wonder how I could've wished to miss this.  How I could've wished that my husband would do this, would have this, would take this, while I sleep it away.  
This is our rainy Sunday morning.  
Izzy is funny, she is sweet, she is the most adorable little creature that I could've ever dreamed up.

I wonder if this is just a haze of new mother lust.  
When will I hit a plateau, and look back on these days like they were the good ones.  
When will I hit that 'senior slide', and feel weathered, bored,  blase, antsy.

Today though, I'm happy to squint through this still-new haze.. Which is equal parts joy - exhaustion - settling hormones (sometimes raging) - shifting identity (sometimes lost) - a full, bursting heart (sometimes lonely and afraid).
So many contradictions.
We're settled in this gray space. 
The in-between.  

I have to go to work this morning.  Because I was out sick for a day, and a half.  
I have to get off of this carpeted ocean floor, leave this baby's soft babbling, and float along, through this city.  To work with people who don't give a sh*t about this ocean floor and this baby and this nest.  

I will soon have to wake up my husband, who will be grouchy and puffy eyed and will shuffle into the kitchen, and demand to know what is in the trash that smells. 
Izzy will yell for him, and do her fastest crawl towards him.  She'll pull up on his legs and reach for him to pick her up.  He'll pick her up and smile and the morning grump will melt.  He'll hug her and kiss her and pull me in.  
I'll try to forget my anger.  I'll try to let it go, and see this moment for what it is.  Then he'll make another grumpy comment.  

I'll leave the house, into the rain, and tell myself not to cry. Hating this morning,   
Hating this city.  
Hating this rain. 

I'll look for our postcard. The one where we have all of the time to spend together, where we can be sick at home when we need it, and travel towards the sun when the rain and the cold gets to be too much.  Where we can sit in the sand and hear the waves crash and recede, and where we can know that everything will be right.
(But even in my gloom and doom mood, I know that everything is right.)
 
I'll sit in my car and hope that an extra hot Starbucks latte will fool me into feeling good about this day. 
It just might.
Or maybe it'll be the sugar in the raw that collects at the bottom of the cup.  

So I'll go. 
And push all of this back underneath the bed.  .  
To gather dust, and be forgotten. 
But not entirely. 
To be left. 
But not completely. 
Maybe tomorrow I'll figure out how to fit all of these pieces together. 


X

Cassie

Saving Up

Something I'm learning about babies is that there are these little tiny moments and little tiny wonderful things that they do that make them uniquely babies.

I wish that I could bottle those up and save those little moments. 

And carry them with me.

They're not photograph-able, or video-able... 

They're those spontaneous little noises or
reactions or looks or
glances... 

They're those silly faces with the tongue and the eyebrows...

They're the sound of lips smacking together tasting new food. 

They're the songs of soft 'baba's' and 'dada's' coming from the back seat of the car.... 

They're the way that she rests her head on my shoulder and lays her arm across my chest as she's falling back to sleep... 

They're the slobbery 'kisses' that come lunging for you
across the bed... 

They're the scampering crawl 

towards the dog//trashcan//day-old puff//tall glass vase///
and towards you...

The look of excitement as she stands,
as she swings,
as she bounces.
Her soft snore...
Her sleep positions// bottom in the air,
horizontal,
face in my face.

The purest smiles.
The most carefree squeals.

I'm wrapping them carefully..
And saving them.
Because I know that the next day will be
flooded with more.


X

Cassie

Forests for Trees

That saying, the one about not being able to see the forest for the trees..It's been on my mind a lot over the past couple of weeks.

I've been thinking about it.... as it relates to different issues, different angles.... Separate ideas and conflicts... 

Although, maybe, since we're talking forests, the issues are all related.  {well duh, Cassie}

I've been thinking about what it means, to not see the forest for the trees....

And have shouted in my head: "NO!  You're missing the forest!!!". 

It's true that we each have different forests//our own forests// different sorts of forests//different views on forests//different dreams for our forests//different relationships with our forests.

But I find myself wanting to focus on the trees, and having faith that if I give my all to the trees, then there is no way that the forest could falter//wilt//be stunted// fail.

I don't necessarily want to focus on the forest.. Nor do I want to give in to the push to grow and capitalize and keep up with the forest's status quo.  {maybe we've taken on the wrong forest//a too large forest} 

Where is the joie de vivre in that? If we are so busy just keeping things alive....making more....working for more, then won't we miss all of the nuances in the changing seasons?  Will we be too tired to care about or absorb.... life? The little things?
{The trees} 

We'll be too busy to notice that this is even happening.  

And then what good will it be to have all of these trees, if we can't even savor them?

And excuse me but, what about visiting other forests??
I want to travel to other forests, dammit!! (:

#lordhelpmebalancetheforestsANDthetrees

#weallhavemanyforests

XO,


Cassie

 

Answered prayers/// A dead batt

Last night, I had some major Sunday sadness feelings.  This Monday morning would've been Izzy's first day back to daycare in 2 weeks.  It would be the start of our first full work week since before Christmas. After Monday morning, I wouldn't see her awake until Tuesday afternoon.  I've managed to get through these months, sending her off to daycare, by telling myself that we still spend a lot of time together.  I've adjusted my schedule so that I work 4 days a week, 10 hours each of those days.  {6 am to 4 pm most of the days}.  Will calls this my fireman's schedule.  I love it because it give me 3 full days at home.  2 days was just NOT cutting it. So, this is working better.  But those sad feelings still creep out of my subconscious, and invade my days.  I try to ignore them, and push them away, they're always there lurking-- sometimes quieter, sometimes louder..  Like last night.  I started thinking about going back to the cold harsh reality that is my job, and Izzy going back to daycare all by her little self.  Isn't she much too tiny to be sent off to fend for herself?? Are they going to read her a story before naptime like we do?? Are they going to praise her when she pulls herself up on something???? Will they love her enough??

It all just feels lonely and empty and grey and sad and cold.  But then, that's also January embodied.  

I guess you could say I was ruminating.  Stewing.  But I started thinking about how, even if tomorrow, I quit my job and said to hell with these sad, yucky, dumpy feelings, and was able to, from that day on, spend each day with Isabel.... I'd never get these last 5 months backs.  Those 5 months are history.  And all of those little moments that make up each day, those are gone.  Because in a baby's life, in a baby's day, there are these tiny little moments that are the most important ones-- a shared grin, a surprise belly laugh, frustration turned to determination turned to a new skill, those slobbery kisses from out of the blue, the babbling..the sweet touches... her backward glance to make sure you're still there in the room with her.... Missing any of that is heartbreaking.  Heartbroken.

SO that is the path I took last night.

Cold. Sad. Gloom.

I considered calling in sick today.  I prayed that something could change.  Some circumstance, some way for us to shift gears and enjoy more of those little moments together.  

Greedily. 

So I told myself to soldier through and pushed those thoughts back to their depths, so they might surface next Sunday night, or the following. 

And then this day happened.

When I went out to my car in the morning, carrying Izzy in her 80 pound carseat, my car didn't start.

I turned the key, and nothing happened.  No lights, no engine, nothing.  Tried again.  And again. And again. Nothing.  

Never ever have I  been so happy for my car to not start.  

Will was already at work, with important meetings throughout the day.  

So we were stuck.  

So happily stuck.

And it was the best bonus day.  

Someone was listening.

Thank you.  

 :) 

It turned out that my car had a dead battery.  From the cold I think.  

When I texted my mom to tell her that the car had a "dead batt"-- she assumed there was an actual DEAD BAT in the car.  Wouldn't you? 

Her texts were: "don't pick it up!!"  "dangerous!!"  "sanitize!!!!!!"  

Fun.  

XO

Cassie 

Sleeping Woes

Sleep has NOT been normal over the past 7 months or so, and that is to be expected with an infant {so, I guess this is what we might call 'the new normal'}.  Izzie hasn't been a really great sleeper, but she's also not been a bad sleeper.  {She's actually a very easy baby, with a pretty laid back 'tude.}

So our recent sleep issues lately have thrown me for a loop.  At first, I chalked them up to the fact that we had been away from home for 2 long weekends in a row.  Til we got back home, and the sleep issues continued.
{**update:  I'm almost convinced that we're dealing with teething here...good news? yea!} 

Tonight as I'm writing this, I feel so torn.... And scouring books and babycenter forums for clues and suggestions. {that being said, those mothers who brag about their babies sleeping through the night should be permanently banned..}

Sleep deprivation is a form of torture. 

I now understand this.

But letting Izzie "cry it out" also feels like a form of torture-- for both of us. 

Someone said to me recently, "A baby has never died from crying".  And I was left thinking, okay... so we are going for just slightly better??? {and in my sleepy fog, hearing the words death and crying in the same sentence did not help the matter- worst association ever perhaps?}.

Til now, I've been trudging through, thinking that I wouldn't need to resort to any Ferber-ish measures because everything would magically fall into place without a hitch.

And that has pretty much been the case. Until last week, when we went to Atlanta, and on into this week.  It's reached a point where I'm thinking that maybe she really does need to learn how to put herself to sleep, even if that means that she cries herself to sleep... because waking up every 90 minutes and needing mom there to fall back to sleep can't be good for her either.

But then I remember this huge cloak of guilt that colors some of my decisions....I feel guilty and sad that I'm leaving her with others for such a large part of the week, so the hours that I am home with her, leaving her to cry feel doubly hard. {um, impossible actually}

Admittedly, I have also created some "bad habits", which I then feel guilty about-- using the pacifier to fall asleep, bringing her into bed in the middle of the night, sometimes rocking her to sleep, the loose schedule that she has kept {which seems to shift every couple of months}... I've been told by other mothers that this is all normal, which I guess is comforting...? 

I don't want to foster an environment of neediness and clinginess; I want Isabel to be independent and self sufficient.  But on the other hand, I also want her to know that we are there for her always, and that she is loved, without anxiety or fear.   

When I started writing this, I was in the middle of a 5 minute interval of letting her cry.  She was on her 3rd wake up {3 hours after bedtime}. 

Hashtag: the pits.
Hashtag: the trenches. 
  Hashtag: I just wanted to scoop her up. 
Hashtag: I just wanted her to go to sleep. 

Once I did go and pick her up, her body relaxed immediately, she stopped crying and was asleep within 30 seconds.

I mean...... 

Hashtag:  I'm a puddle of mush.

My being a puddle of mush is, in this particular scenario {and I'm sure in plenty more to come} my kryptonite. Or maybe not?  {I'd like to think that being sensitive will be a strength...}

 



That's all I've got // Just a Cliff Notes version of what's been stewing in my brain for the past 48 hours. 

If anybody has an up to date instruction manual for babies, please pass it along.  I must've missed that somewhere along the way. 
Til then...We'll be getting through these teeth with some crying and lots of cuddling.
A healthy balance, I'd say ;) 

 XO

Cassie

Two Faced

{I'm going to try to explain something that is hard to explain. Please excuse and pardon run on sentences, vagueness, and rambling}

I've been having a problem since I've gone back to work, and have had trouble articulating it// to myself and to anyone else. But today I think helped to solidify the root of this problem.  Today, Isabel stayed home sick from daycare.  So naturally, I stayed home with her. 

The problem was, I have very little leave time available because I used up my stash during "maternity leave" {it's really scoffable that we even call it that when so many of us are just using accrued sick and vacation time to create a puny cobbled couple of months leave after giving birth to another human. whoops sorry. I'll try to lay off the italics, and melodrama ;) }. 

 I was worried because later this week, we have an out of town trip planned, so I'll be taking off a day for that// not to mention the holidays which are starting next week//I'll have to take some days for those too......

SO my point is, staying home today was not part of the plan, and even threw a little wrench into the "plan".  Today, Will and I decided that I would stay home for the first half of the day with Izzie, and then he would come home at lunch time so that I could go to work for the rest of the day.

 Problem was, when he got home, leaving Izzie// and our little nest of tissues, pillows, toys, coughs and sneezes was the absolute last thing I wanted to do.{I do not get paid enough to be motivated to leave that nest// that baby}.  I tried to do it though.  I brushed my hair, put on some work pants, and envisioned going there and putting on my work face for 5 hours or so....

 But Isabel had had a rough couple of nights, and this weekend we had learned that when she is touchy and sicky, she wants mom, and has a very hard time being calmed//comforted by dad. {I truly believe that this is related to her being a baby who loves to nurse, and still does// nursing = comfort. period.} 

SO, I sat there and pictured being at work, away from the sick baby nest// and knew that I would be mostly unproductive, distracted and sad.  I also was not so sure that I would actually be able to put on my work face, nor was I sure that I should.  I just knew that I needed to be there for my sicky bebe. 

My "issue" then, is this:  switching from mommy face to work face is hard, and is not seamless.  My brain tries to make the transition, but is often left feeling displaced// while my thoughts wander {sometimes endlessly} at work, to avoid really accepting the transition to work {because what do you do with the mom feelings? stuff them into a pocket for later I guess..?}. 

At home, with an hour and a half in the evenings to: enjoy Izzie, give her dinner, bathe her, and put her to bed// it's really hard to feel like I've been able to switch gears back to mommy mode// and in a way, I think this is an act of self preservation.... because if I were really feeling, absorbing and switching between these roles daily, I would get lost in the middle.  But aren't I already sort of lost in the middle?  Where does my "self" fit into this mess?  {and the mess includes more than being a mother and an employee-- there's being a wife, a daughter, a niece, a friend...} 

A  partial solution would be to make more of an effort to really be in the moment, whatever that moment may be.  {I need to practice my Ommm}  To not allow myself to escape into thoughts or daydreams, and to push myself to be fully present// in my work and at home.  But this also requires carving out some blocks of time that are "escapes", because really, who can be present and giving all of the time?  
It's a delicate balance, I'm finding.. And I'm clearly still looking for the right balance.
I may never find it {that perfect recipe}, and that's ok, but I can move closer towards finding it.
And in the mean time, I will be trying to merge my different faces {or masks?} into one fluid person, so that these transitions might become less transitional {and icky} and more.... smooth.
Peace and Love and Om. 

{By the way, disclaimer: I realize that this issue is not unique to me, nor is it unique to mothers, but I have only just started to notice it and to feel quite annoyed by it.}

Fearless

Being a mother, and becoming responsible for a tiny, helpless person's survival, is {well, duh} a major undertaking. Since becoming a mother, I've been introduced to a new kind of guilt and worry {and really, let's be honest, it started with pregnancy, before the baby was even born// it has something to do with being the protector of this tiny person. 
To me, it's worry on a larger scale than what I've known in the past {and looking back on my previous worries, I remind myself of a whiny teenager...}

These new feelings of {what should I call them? Maternal guilt?} usually centered around some item I had read about, which was the optimal way to carry a pregnancy//usually related to exercise, nutrition, stress, and anything else that may have a direct impact on the growing baby. 
So naturally, I proceeded to avoid all conflict at work {which is not easy in my profession}, for fear that confrontation would undoubtedly raise my blood pressure, and therefore lower my child's IQ {totally rational, righttt???}. I ate close to 7,000 hard boiled eggs, and 865 scoops of peanut butter, because I was paranoid about getting enough protein.  I fretted over the many spoonfuls of Nutella that I ate, because the sugar!! Was I giving my fetus a sugar high? Making her diabetic? Lowering her IQ still further?  Was I getting too little exercise?? {I walked miles at the end// my efforts to meet my Izzie sooner rather than later// but did very little, ie NOTHING during the other 2 trimesters} Or the fish and mercury problem! Did I have 2 servings of fish this week? Oh no! Did I unknowingly poison my child? Her IQ! Brain development!  Basically, I envisioned her being essentially perfect at the outset of her fetal journey, and saw my choices as either chipping away at this sacred perfection, or helping to further build it.  Completely healthy, right? I thought so.

Needless to say, I have learned to let go {a little bit}, and trust in God, and in others.  But this is still a work in progress.

Now that Isabelie is here, there are new ways to make myself feel guilty/bad/paranoid/unworthy.
On any given day, I feel guilty for sending her to daycare while I am at work 40 hours a week {if I had been more successful, I could've prevented this, right?}
// Guilty for wanting time to myself, even though I'm not with her for 40 hours out of the week
// Guilty for sometimes looking forward to her nap times
// Guilty for not spending every waking minute with her. 

Rational me knows that, in order to be healthy, and to be fully present and functioning optimally {for her} I do need time for just me.  Because caring for others constantly, at work and then at home, is positively draining.  And in order to be the best mom, wife, daughter, counselor, whatever, I do actually need some guilt free time just for me.  Without fear of being less than perfect.  And that's what I would like to teach my Isabel..
To be fearless.
 Like her mama?
Yes, like her mama.

XO 

Cassie 

Mais Oui

I don't know if it was the rain, or the music on the radio, but this morning I felt like I was playing a part in a French movie { 3 parts sad, 1 part pensive, 2 parts love}.

Just as I got into the car, my phone buzzed with an email.  It was somebody wanting to buy my bookcase {yes! excitement!}// Then I read further// This person wants to buy it so that they can strip the paint and refinish the wood.....Yes, you read that correctly....

But moving on. 

The drive to daycare was particularly gloomy, listening to the classical station {because that will make Izzie smart, non?} // AND it was a Monday morning, which is even more triste than others-- without the heavy gray blanket of Fall clouds, and of course without the arrival of a dream-crushing email { it helps if you let yourself really wallow in the gloom ;) }

Then, just as we pulled up to daycare, the clouds decided to open up and start pouring.  Raining. Heavily.  Buckets. And in those few moments where I sat there in the car, with the music playing, and Isabel in the back seat making her quiet little baby noises... It felt like time stood still for a minute.  I pictured driving off into the sunset, saying bon voyage to you much too hectic city life... But that wouldn't happen, not even in a movie//not even in a French movie. 

So I got myself out of the car {cue the soaking of the clothes & hair }  to carry Izzie in her heavy-as-a-bag-of-bricks carseat // her bag of milk-blankets-bottles// and her ginormous bouncy chair.

The most difficult point of all of this being that moment when Izzie watches me walk out of the daycare room with her big blue eyes.... 

Knowing that I won't see her til midnight {for her late night milk party} is so hard, but knowing that she doesn't know or understand all of this coming and going, is even harder.  The hardest. 

I will become more accustomed to this, and it has already gotten much easier...

We're all okay, and doing what we should be doing....

I think it must've been the rain. 

{Cue the sad music..}

 

XO

Cassie

:

  

Brand new day

 

I'm writing this blog because I have found myself wishing that I could find a "mom blog" that I can relate to (granted, I haven't looked all that hard).... I've come across quite a few blogs lately that are written by women who are able to stay home with their little ones.  As they describe life via blogging, they can spend time shopping (clothes for themselves, clothes for baby, home furnishings, beauty products...), decorating the house//cooking delicious meals// and then documenting in writing and photos all of these mommyish exploits. Now that I am back at work, and filled with so many emotions related to being a "mom who works outside the home", I read these blogs in a new light.  Part of me feels so envious, because I want to do these things// I want to be able to spend actual time shopping and preparing yummy dinners// I want to be able to arrange, clean and organize the house just so// I want to have the luxury of not rushing out of the door in the mornings (usually forgetting something) with a sweet baby (and all of her accoutrements) in tow// the list could really go on and on.  But the number one thing I want, is to be able to spend all of that precious time with my little Isabel.  Going back to work was heartbreaking, and every day, I rush, in hopes that we might make it back earlier this afternoon so that I can have just a few extra minutes with her before she falls asleep. 

I totally get that these women (these "mom bloggers") cannot possibly be leading the life of perfection and happiness that I have gleaned from their blog posts..... But they sure do have a pretty important ingredient that I am missing, along with a lot of other mothers who go back to work out of necessity. Being without the choice of staying home with my tiny, perfect baby felt like a jail sentence (no exaggeration- sorry for the melodrama).  It is a loss of freedom like nothing I have ever felt.  The idea of paying someone else to care for my child, while I work at a job that barely helps us afloat, seemed so, unequivocally wrong, and still does. 

But the point of this blog is not to give myself a forum to sit and complain. My goal is to use this as an outlet, and hopefully to give others an outlet. I know that I would personally love to read another mother's account of raising a child while working outside the house, because it always makes me feel better to know that I'm not alone in this struggle (duh). There is something so cathartic in being able to relate to others (duh)......

Soo that's my beginning here. 

I also have a feeling that no one will read this, and it will end up being my own personal diary.  But that's helpful too :) And fun.

xo

Cassie